by James Somers
THE SERPENT KINGS SAGA
Omnibus Edition Including:
Serpent Kings
Wraith Dancer
Shadow Walker
By
James Somers
Kindle Edition
2010© James Somers
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GWEN
I never wanted to be a killer—an assassin—a Wraith Dancer. But as a priestess of the High Serpent King, Belial, I had little choice in the matter. Still, despite my inward desire for a life of perfect peace, it must be said that I was one of the best. Blood had splattered across the front of my tunic. At my feet lay the body of an infidel called Peka; his throat sliced open from ear to ear; the bones of his left thigh and right arm shattered. He had come with a group of rebels hoping to desecrate Belial’s temple here in Babale. I could not allow that.
This day had begun like any other: sunshine reflected from thousands of Babale’s brilliantly polished marble structures spread across the vast Muat Plain, the fertile fields beyond ripe with fresh produce, cattle grazing in great herds upon many low-lying hills and a peaceful feeling of harmony present in the breast of every faithful follower of Belial and his Serpent Kings. Such were the days of the Reign of Peace—a thousand years of tranquility under the benevolent rule of the dragon gods.
Only the promise of today’s annual celebration, marking the first day of a new year, could make it a happier occasion. And while passing from one year to the next was always festive in the five patron cities, the final year before the Renewal presented a far more delightful opportunity to celebrate the rule of the Serpent Kings and worship our gods. At the end of this one thousandth year the faithful would finally see their hope realized when the five dragons became one with their disciples, extending to them eternal life and godhood. Beyond the many wonderful blessings granted by Belial and the other dragons, this one promise of becoming more than human held the highest place in our hearts.
With Renewal now only a year away and the week long celebration of New Year beginning in earnest, it was no wonder the Resistance had chosen today to strike at the very heart of Belial’s rule: his glorious temple in the patron city of Babale. Destroying this place at the center of dragon worship would plant fear in the faithful and render a symbolic slap to the face of Belial himself. Only his priestesses stood in the way to stop them.
We had been taught by the Elder Mothers to always be ready. But I admit that today my mind had been on other things. I had been present at a wedding ceremony the previous day for one of the daughters of Lord Mazreth, a high political figure in Babale, who owned many cattle. The young groom came from Tarris, the patron city of the dragon Moloch. His father held a high office there.
Though some of my sister priestesses had only been present as a matter of proper ceremony, I had actually been commissioned by my lord Belial to protect the wedding party from harm should that blasphemous prophet, Ezekiah, or some of his Resistance followers attempt to disrupt this well-publicized event. However, as I watched the ceremony unfolding I could not escape my own curiosity. What must it be like to fall in love with a man? To have him fall in love with you and then seek your father’s permission to marry?
I actually imagined myself in the place of the bride for a moment. Oh, not to have her groom. Lord Mazreth’s son was foppish and not particularly attractive. But I still saw myself behind the veil in the ceremonial gown that had taken at least a month to make ready for the occasion. Presented for all others to adore and envy for my beauty and well-favored husband who loved me enough to devote the rest of his life to my happiness. It sounded so interesting.
As a priestess, I was bound to my lord Belial’s service and my virginity. It was the highest honor a daughter could be afforded. This honor extended to her family as well, allowing them to experience the Renewal as soon as their child was placed within a ward of priestesses to be raised and trained by an Elder Mother.
I had often wondered what my family experienced when they stood before the great dragon, Belial, to become one with him. Even my older brother had been taken. To become gods earlier than the rest of us must have been quite amazing. But I was here with blessings of my own. I belonged to Belial the High Serpent King—a high calling. But it did not keep me from curious thoughts about things like love, marriage and having children of my own; things I would never experience.
I had still been distracted by those thoughts the next day as New Year began.
The air was neither too hot nor too cool; just as it was everyday. The dew had burned away already, but the soft grass felt pleasant gathering around my bare feet. My cheek burned where Zora had passed through my defenses unexpectedly striking me with an open palm.
“Pay attention!” she scolded. “What if I had been using the Touch at that moment?”
Using the back of my hand, I wiped a drop of blood from the corner of my mouth. “I’m sorry, Zora.”
She sighed. “There is no sorry on the battlefield, Gwen. You know this as well as anyone. Even a single mistake like that can cost you your life. Do not suppose those damnable rebels will show you any mercy.”
“I understand, Zora,” I said. “I’m only glad the rebels don’t have the Gifts of Transcendence at their disposal.”
Zora’s posture stiffened. “Don’t be so sure, child. I’ve heard rumors of traitors.”
“From among wraith dancers?” I asked, incredulous. “But that would be—”
“Not as impossible as you might suppose,” Zora finished.
I looked suspiciously at Zora. “But who could possibly turn away from such a high office? The privilege of serving the High Serpent King; how could anyone turn away from our benevolent lord like that?”
Zora smiled knowingly. “You and I understand the wisdom of it, but not everyone is so appreciative of the gods. Just don’t go about your duties so muddle-headed that you forget what I’ve taught you.”
“I won’t forget, Zora.”
Zora placed her jeweled dagger inside the sheath at her waist. “We’re done practicing today,” she said. “Go to the temple and meditate on these things. The High Guard will be picked next week, and I’ve submitted your name for consideration. Try to clear your mind. Belial will help you.”
Zora turned, heading back inside Belial’s palace. I nodded as she left, but couldn’t help but remain puzzled by what she had said. Traitors from among the priestesses of Belial? It was unthinkable. My gaze ran up from the gardens where I stood in the cool green grass taking in the polished marble: columns and spires of exquisite beauty that vaulted high into the blue sky above.
I breathed in the fresh air; the scent of flowers providing just the right amount of sweetness to it. Looking over the garden’s low retaining wall, I took my view of Babale beyond. Belial’s patron city stretched to the horizon; a city full of prosperous peace-loving people grateful for the reign of our Serpent Kings. “How could anyone not love this life?” I muttered.
My trip to the temple took me near one of the markets providing produce, meats and anything else a person could desire. A hundred different smells drifted on the gentle breeze: cattle, poultry, perfumes, roasted meats, spices refined in distant Cazwell, stews and gumbos of every sort sold in heaping bowls and servants willing to indenture themselves in exchange for room and board.
The streets of Babale were alive with activity. Wagons carried sellers of goods and services. Some carried passengers to and fro in the city. But the wide avenues had been designed with dragons in mind. Wagon traffic was minor in comparison.
The palace of Belial, where his priestesses had their ward, was relatively close to the main temple. My trips through the city never took me far from the palace unless Belial requested justice against some individual. On those occasions either a priest was sent to collect tribute for Belial’s temple as punishment, or a wraith dancer was dispatched to take the life of the individual.
Executions were always carried out on the spot wherever the individual was found. My Elder Mother had explained that Belial’s justice must be carried out swiftly and publicly in order to warn others as to the consequences of disobedience. Even one execution served greatly as a deterrent.
I had only been sent to dispense justice twice. The first time had led me into the countryside. A certain cattle owner had failed to pay his monthly tribute to the temple of Belial. I had found him on a horse among several cattle handlers. The cattle owner had never seen me before, or I him, but he knew what I was and why I had been sent. Somehow, the man had actually had the audacity to question Belial’s judgment.
The man had warned me to leave his land. When I refused, he drew his sword and charged toward me on his horse. Instinctively my hand passed over the dagger sheath at my waist, retrieved the weapon and sent it hurtling into the man’s chest. His limp body fell out of his saddle while the horse passed me by at a gallop.
One of the other men dropped from his horse, perhaps the cattleman’s eldest son, and took up the fallen sword. I suppose he must have thought my only weapon was still stuck hilt-deep inside his father’s chest. However, a wraith dancer never goes unprepared. I had many weapons on my person.
As the younger man approached, swiping at me with his father’s sword, I used the Gifts of Transcendence to pinpoint weaknesses in the bones of his forearm. I allowed his strike to pass on my right side. With my index and middle fingers locked together I used the Touch, tapping the bones of his forearm, fracturing them.
The sword was only beginning to fall from his limp appendage and the cry escape his lips when my left hand flew out, striking the pulsing artery in his neck. His voice was stifled instantly. The young man fell forward, landing among the cow manure. His body jerked a few times before he became still. The bewildered expressions on the faces of the other men told me they were wiser than these two corpses. It was time to go.
My second time dispensing Belial’s justice had been altogether a different and more troubling experience for me.
I had come to the quaint home of a man named John. I have never been able to forget his name, though I have tried desperately since. John had a family: a wife and small daughter. I did not know their names. I’m glad now that I never learned them before going.
John had also been found guilty of not paying monthly tribute to the Temple of Belial. And while defrauding a neighbor usually carried stiff financial penalties, to defraud Belial made one worthy of death. John and his wife had between them managed to confuse a previous month with the current dues. The mistake had not been caught until it was too late.
To his credit, John did not try to excuse himself by blaming his wife. I still respect his integrity when I think of that day. John had been standing at his dinner table speaking with me while his wife and daughter remained seated; listening and hoping.
But Belial’s justice was carried by the wraith dancer not his mercy. It was not mine to arbitrarily give. My hand trembled at my side as John waited, his eyes never leaving my face. I doubt that he was quick enough to see my resolve harden before my dagger slashed the air, catching him across the throat.
His wife and child leaped away from their seats screaming as John’s body fell backward; his hands managing to clasp his wounded throat. John was already dead when his wife and daughter fell upon his chest, pleading for him not to leave them. I had already turned; not wanting to see their faces, not wanting to hear their cries. I left their home that bright spring day with John’s blood on my knife and tears beginning to stream down my face.
I have often told myself since that such actions are necessary to maintain the balance of our glorious society; that as a god, Belial knows all and does not dispense such judgment without a full understanding of every situation. Surely, this man John had not been the just man I had witnessed. Belial must have known the secrets of the man’s heart. It had been justice after all. It had to have been.
Still, there were sleepless moments in the night when I wondered.
Arriving at Belial’s main temple in the city, I took in the carved images and the molten images of the High Serpent King with due awe and wonder. How I had come to such privilege as his servant was a mystery to me. I passed through the many columns surrounding the primary marble image of Belial and approached one of the altars where offerings were made by the priests. Two of the priests, officiating at the altar in their crimson robes, nodded to me as I held out my hand toward the fire burning there.
A flame leaped away from the altar to my fingertips. Long ago I had learned that the Gifts of Transcendence allow wraith dancers to do things other mortals cannot: touch bones so that they break, speak to animals, communicate with Belial and the other dragon gods by thought even over great distances, fight with preternatural skill and even capture and throw fire with our hands. Other worshippers entering the prayer gardens took with them a small pot of incense from the incense altar, but wraith dancers were not allowed.
The incense burned in the temple had the effect of dulling the body’s senses so that the mind could flow more freely, allowing the worshipper to lose themselves in thoughts of Belial and his Serpent Kings while praying to the same. However, as guardians of Belials interests, the wraith dancers had to be always ready at a moments notice to do his bidding when called. Our minds had to be sharp; focused upon our duties even in prayer.
The flame from the altar danced upon my upturned palm as I entered the prayer garden. Many others walked among its pebble paths, trickling fountains of water and lush green grass. Pots of incense smoldered gently beneath happy faces lost in meditation and prayer. Some had been in the gardens so long sleep had taken them. In these cases, the priests retrieved the pots but left the worshippers alone to dream of whatever mysteries the dragon gods might reveal to them.
I paused with the flame at a fountain and knelt upon the cool grass. Staring into the dancing flicker of fire, I offered up my prayers to Belial. I did not use the direct communication offered by the Gifts of Transcendence. Somehow, it seemed like an unnecessary intrusion upon Belial. If he desired to hear my prayers, surely he could pluck them from the air as he did for everyone else.
ELDER MOTHER
Zora walked through her ward, the place where priestesses of Belial made their home within the palace of the High Serpent King here in Babale. Young women dressed in brightly colored knee length tunics and dark breeches flowed through the halls of marble on their way to breakfast or the baths, depending upon their prescribed routines given by their Elder Mothers. Zora was herself an Elder Mother within this particular ward, but had trained and released all but one of her dozen apprentices to the mature ranks of Belial’s priestesses here in Babale.
Gwen alone remained, but soon she too would go. Quite possibly it would be the High Guard who would claim her particular talents. Zora certainly hoped so. She smiled as she thought of Gwen’s peculiarities and her excellent quality. She managed to stand out among the priestesses of Belial, and she was a gifted wraith dancer even if she didn’t see it as Zora did.
“My finest pupil,” she had commented more than once. And, without question, one of the few Zora felt belonged among Belial’s High Guard. Zora had served as one of the High Guard during her younger days, a hundred years ago, but had considered it a fine privilege to be chosen by Belial as an Elder Mother. After all, a wraith dancer wa
s normally only expected to serve as one of the High Guard for twelve years, and Zora had served far longer.
Still, even at over one hundred years of age, she was only considered middle-aged. Such was the norm during the Reign of Peace. There was much to be done, and Zora hoped to have the opportunity at serving as an active wraith dancer again. With Gwen soon functioning independently, she at least hoped for that possibility.
Zora made her way to the baths, finding it relatively empty at this time of day as she liked it. As an Elder Mother raising young women to maturity from very early ages Zora considered any quiet moment she could find very precious.
One of the older servants of the ward, Jana, at three hundred years old with graying hair, drew her fresh water into one of the baths. Jana was a friend of many years, even a trusted confident. Her lower station had not prevented them from becoming so while Zora was still a young apprentice herself.
Zora smiled at her friend as the woman nodded and walked out of the chamber leaving her alone. “Thank you, Jana,” she called after.
Zora disrobed, placing her soiled garments in a nearby hamper where they could be collected by servants later. She descended the stone steps, gliding out into the steaming water still flowing from four sculpted dragon-head faucets. The bath’s depth began waist-high near the steps, becoming shoulder-deep at its farthest point.
Grabbing a bar of perfumed soap Jana had left for her; Zora lathered her body and then made her way deeper until she was completely submerged below her neck. There she rested, closing her eyes, allowing the steam to caress her face. Jana peaked around the corner, then turned off the flow of water and was gone again.
These peaceful respites from mothering her girls had come more frequently over the last year. Six of her girls had become independent within a very short time of one another. Zora allowed her mind to wander, but did not realize she had fallen asleep until Jana shook her shoulder.