by James Somers
Agnes stammered a moment. “They are gods, Gwen. They can do whatever they please. Who are we to question what a god does?”
She looked pleased with that answer, as though it offered all the finality in the world. But for me, it only raised further questions. “You’re right, Agnes, the gods know all things—”
“Of course they do,” she added, hoping I was at last satisfied with that realization.
“But since they do know all things,” I furthered, “why would they need to lay aside the law in order to gain information from these criminals that they already know?”
Agnes blinked several times. For an awkward moment that was all she did. I let the silence sit there between us; punctuating my own frustration with these questions. I had no intention toward blasphemy. I simply didn’t understand the seeming inconsistencies, but I wanted to.
Agnes’ eyelids lowered to slits as her mouth closed to a grim thin line. “What is it you are trying to do? Are you undermining the gods?” She looked skyward as she said this, as though expecting Belial or one of the other Serpent Kings to charge out of the sky at any moment and pounce upon us like rabbits.
“Of course not, Agnes,” I pleaded. “How could you say such a thing?”
“I’m thinking the same thing about you,” she said. Agnes was clearly bewildered by the questions and agitated by my persistence. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Be warned, Gwen,” she whispered. “You are walking a dangerous line. To suggest such things could have you sentenced to death.”
“I do not mean to suggest anything, Agnes,” I said, feeling that I’d already gotten myself into serious trouble and had to now argue my way back out. “I have been as zealous as any for the Serpent Kings. Is it wrong for me to want the truth?”
“I cannot say that it is wrong,” she admitted. “However, it is certainly dangerous. We are on a mission to assassinate the leader of the Resistance, and you, with your questions, sound like one of their prophets. Now, we will not speak of this any more during this journey. We have a job to do. The best thing either of us can do is to prove our loyalty to our gods by carrying out Belial’s command to the letter.”
The discussion had ended. Agnes turned away from me, eating her food almost grudgingly. I stood up and walked away from the fire, feeling her eyes upon me. Agnes wanted me to forget about my questions. But despite how much I would have liked to, I didn’t think I could.
JILLIAN
A full moon bathed the streets of Tarris in pale white light as a distant guardsman tolled the midnight bell. Jillian walked at a brisk pace, hoping to get home to a good night’s sleep. As Captain of the High Guard in Tarris, she had returned from her recent mission to a city on the brink of terror. And it was spreading.
Travelers and traders had brought news of a recent attack upon the Temple of Belial and his palace located in the patron city of Babale. Reports were spreading fast throughout Tarris of rebels brazen enough to kill the priestesses of the High Serpent King by destroying a ward cafeteria with explosives strapped to their backs. Many had died in the attack including the rebels themselves.
The attack on Belial’s temple, though, had actually been thwarted. While worshippers brought their prayers and hopes to the High Serpent King, another group of rebels working in concert with those striking the palace had infiltrated the temple. Fortunately, a young apprentice had been on hand, responding to the explosions at the palace. The priestess had managed to intercept the rebels and kill them all before more explosive charges could be detonated.
On the one hand, the stories had ignited fear in the hearts of the people. But they also carried reassurance that all was not lost. The wraith dancers had met the challenge, with a single young girl eliminating half a dozen rebels by herself. Jillian did not know the identity of the priestess, but she had apparently been promoted very quickly, graduating her apprenticeship immediately prior to another promotion to the High Guard in Babale. Such a rapid move through the ranks had never happened before, at least not to her knowledge.
Jillian wondered how much of the girl’s appointment to the High Guard had been politically motivated. Certainly, the attacks would have impacted the citizens of Babale far more than the growing alarm occurring in Tarris. The High Priest would have wanted to divert attention from the terror attacks to more hopeful news as quickly as possible. Promoting a local hero with great fanfare may have done the trick to some degree.
Jillian grinned to herself as she walked. At least it was a wraith dancer receiving the praise. She was only marginally surprised that the High Priest hadn’t tried to take credit for foiling the attack himself. Such things were not unheard of, at least among those who were privileged enough to know the inner workings of the priesthood, as Jillian certainly was.
More troubling, though, was the recent reports filtering in from outlying villages and farms. In the last few weeks, death walker sightings had jumped exponentially. These horrifying cannibalistic creatures, once believed to dwell in solitude only in the most remote areas outside kingdom boundaries, were now attacking in groups. Jillian might have thought these reports total fabrications were it not for the fact that she had seen the evidence for herself.
Just two days outside of Tarris, she had found a troupe of merchants massacred. Two of their wagons had been overturned. The third had been burned almost completely. She might have supposed it was a robbery. But the half eaten corpses of several families and the gore strewn all around the wreckage had convinced her that the reports must be true. Things were changing somehow in the kingdom and these weren’t the only signs of it.
Animal attacks had been reported as well here and there, but given the reality of the other occurrences she felt an investigation would prove them true also. The mood was changing—an upset of the blind loyalty to the dragon gods. Some of it had been building for years among the people. There had always been the rebels, who were blatant in their revolution. But now an undercurrent of discontent was welling up among the general populace.
With the Renewal now a little less than a year away, a palpable apprehension had surfaced. What would really happen in a year? Would life as we know it really change? Would the faithful really become gods, joined as one to our dragon gods? And if so, what would that experience be like. Jillian could sense that the faithful weren’t really sure about giving up the utopia they knew for pipe dreams and promises unknown.
The growing tension made for a volatile situation; a powder keg waiting for a match to be struck. Rebels on the move, the death walkers bringing slaughter, even the Renewal itself—all sparks that could kindle an uncontrollable blaze at any time. And it was Jillian’s job to see that her wraith dancers, serving with her in the High Guard here in Tarris, were ready for it.
Moving swiftly and silently down a cobble lane, Jillian suddenly noticed something that made her pause. She sniffed. Then, drawing upon the gifts a little, she sniffed again. With a slight grin, she turned down a narrow lane, keeping close to the shadows.
Jillian paused again. She hadn’t exactly heard anything out of the ordinary. But there was something—
A knife was suddenly pressed against her throat from behind. A strong hand groped for the hand at her side, but she had instinctively moved it away. Her finger glided up to the knife hand giving her leverage to push the blade away. At the same time, her head snapped backward into her attacker’s face, stunning him momentarily as she pushed the weapon clear and ducked beneath.
Bathed in shadow, the man regained his composure, striking out with the knife in wide swipes. Jillian backed up, feinted, and then dodged inside the man’s reach to block the next swipe of the knife. Using the back of her hand, Jillian whipped her arm at his wrist. The knuckle of her middle finger popped his median nerve, sending a shock of pain sensation coursing through his hand and up his arm. The combined force of his movement with hers knocked the knife out of his hand.
Her attacker cursed at the pain, only to have the wind knocked out of his lungs as Ji
llian continued her forward momentum, landing elbow strikes to his ribs followed by a stinging open-handed blow to the left side of his face. The man fell backward, hitting the ground hard.
Jillian landed on top of the man, straddling him with her own blade nestled up against his pulsing carotid. She brought her face so close that their noses were almost touching. The man was breathing hard, trying to recover when she suddenly smiled and kissed him passionately.
He returned the kiss, enveloping her in his rugged arms. Jillian, starved for his affection, bit his lip in her excitement. The metallic taste of blood mingled with their passion. She suddenly pulled her blade away from his throat, sitting up on his stomach. Varen looked up at her, grinning, the left side of his face still burning where she had slapped him a moment ago.
Jillian hadn’t been winded from the fight, but she was breathing hard now. Her dagger returned to its sheath in a brief blur of motion, like an adder’s strike. Jillian leaned forward again, pinning Varen’s shoulders under her slight weight. Grinning, she said, “You’re late.”
LOVE and WAR
Varen traced the curve of Jillian’s back with his fingers. Her bedchamber held the aroma of costly perfumes and cinnamon. She giggled slightly under his touch. He grinned at her. “Is the mighty wraith dancer slain so easily by a mortal man?” he asked playfully.
She opened her eyes, purring beneath silken sheets. “Are you only a mortal after all?” she asked. “I thought I might have been ravished by a god—my innocence stolen away.”
Varen grinned at her, tickling her with a poke to the ribs. “There’s nothing innocent about you, Jillian.”
She rose up on her elbows next to him. “And you, sir, are no gentleman. A scoundrel, perhaps, but no better.”
Varen smiled, scratching at his stubble. “Have I ever claimed to be anything more?” He rolled onto his back with his arms behind the silk pillow under his head.
Jillian leaned toward him, kissing him with the scent of apples on her lips. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Do you think I lack confidence in you?” he asked.
“No, I just thought you might be curious as to what happened,” she said, grinning.
Varen rolled to his side, propped on his elbow, staring into her eyes. “Truth be told, I’m dying to know. Did you have to kill anyone getting it? I had to think quickly once we came back down the mountain.”
“I only had to kill one guard in Ezekiah’s room,” she said. “But I killed the two soldiers at the base camp just for the thrill of it. How did you explain their disappearance?”
“I didn’t explain it,” Varen said. “I demanded that they explain to me how I and my men could have had anything to do with their disappearance while under constant surveillance from the time they escorted us up the mountain.”
“Did you kill them then?” Jillian asked, a delightful gleam playing in her eyes.
“No,” he said, “I thought I would leave them wondering instead. Ezekiah will not know what happened since we were with him the entire time. He won’t send anyone to stop us.”
“His map has been stolen…a map to one of the most valuable treasures in all the kingdom and you think he won’t send his men to the cavern?”
“He may,” Varen admitted. “But he won’t realize an army will have already secured the site.”
“He will not let it go,” Jillian said. She played with the hair on his chest. “Honestly, I don’t understand why you haven’t killed him yet.”
Varen cast a sidelong glance at her, but said nothing.
“Are you afraid of him?” she pushed.
He bolted up in the bed then, barely restraining his temper. “I fear no man.”
Jillian smiled, jumping up to wrap herself around him, face to face. “Then kill him,” she said, purring in his ear.
Varen almost stammered for an answer. “You don’t understand, Jillian. He has real power.”
“The power of a dead god…you said so yourself.”
“I cannot say what power it is,” he said. “But I know what I’ve seen. They have tried to kill him before, you know? Assassins, like you, have come for him only to be destroyed every time.”
Jillian looked into his eyes until he unwillingly met her gaze. There was no hint of play in her expression now. She kissed him. “I could kill him for you, Varen,” she offered. “I have the gifts, after all.”
“So did those who came before to kill him,” Varen said. “Besides, it is not necessary for us to kill him. Ezekiah has received the blame for the attacks I had Peka carry out in Babale. A scapegoat can be a very useful thing. The dragons will remain distracted with him while we secure the weapons and plan a major attack upon one of the patron cities.”
Jillian studied his face for a moment. “Do you really think we can win against the gods?”
Varen grinned, then took her hands in his and kissed them. “Perhaps, my love, you will think better of my courage when I stand upon the carcass of Belial himself.”
“An audacious vision,” Jillian said. “But no one has ever attacked one of the dragons before, let alone slain one.”
“Whether they are gods, or not, is not as important as the fact that they are physical beings,” Varen mused. “They have flesh and bone and blood. They have to eat just like the rest of us. In all of these things they must be able to be killed. We only lack the necessary force at the moment. But that is all about to change.”
Jillian appeared skeptical. “Exactly what weapons will you find in this secret cavern of Ezekiah’s?” she asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Varen admitted. “Weapons from the old world that have been preserved in great numbers.”
“Old world weapons can already be had,” Jillian pointed out. “Many of them are sold on the black markets every year. Of all the weapons the High Guard has confiscated since I became Captain here in Tarris, I’ve never seen any that would lend me any confidence against one of the Serpent Kings.”
She rolled away from him, staring at the oil lamp burning at her bedside. Jillian seemed to see the future in its dancing flame. “Their scales are like plates of iron; thousands upon thousands interlocked with no way to penetrate them. They might be flesh and blood beneath, but they are not like other creatures we know. And they will not lie quietly while you make your attempt. They will rise up from their mountain and come down to kill us all.”
Varen came up behind her, seated upon the edge of the bed, transfixed by her own terrible premonition. He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, squeezing gently. “You talk like you’ve seen them come out of their hiding place.”
Jillian turned her face toward him. “You would mock what you don’t understand,” she said. “They do not have any need of hiding, Varen. Who would they hide from?” She turned her body to him. “You wouldn’t mock them, if you had seen what I’ve seen.”
Varen cocked one eyebrow. “I did not know your faith in the dragons had returned.”
“Not my faith returning, my love. It is my fear of them which has never left.”
Varen noticed that she was trembling. “What happened?”
“I was privileged to see what many never knew happened,” Jillian said. Shortly after I joined the High Guard, there was an uprising that took place to the northeast.”
Varen appeared skeptical. “But no one lives northeast of Tarris,” he said, interrupting. “It’s a dead land.”
“Nothing lives there anymore,” she continued.
Varen’s eyes grew wider, urging Jillian to go on.
“The High Guard was sent by the High Priest to quell the rebellion,” she said. “However, their resistance was more organized than we expected. As you may know, some of the ruins from the old world can still be found there.”
Varen nodded. He did remember stories of the ruins of an ancient city in the northeast, spires of bare twisted metal that had once been mighty buildings of glass and steel. It was a forbidden place and said to be very dangerous to venture in
to because of high levels of toxins present there.
“Evidently, these rebels had managed to salvage a great number of guns along with a seemingly endless supply of ammunition,” she said. “Despite one thousand wraith dancers sent to destroy them, the rebels survived our attacks. We went to them with sword and shield, bow and arrow and the Gifts of Transcendence. We could not break their line. Even getting close was perilous. Their guns were faster than those you sent with Peka and his men. They fired many bullets with only one pull on the trigger. And they did more damage; penetrating our shields to kill our warriors before we could get within striking distance.”
Varen swallowed against the lump gathering in his throat. He had no idea Jillian had been part of such an action. He had never even heard rumors of a rebellion in the northeast. He found himself about to ask what had turned the tide, but he had an empty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
Jillian sighed. “When the rebels could not be defeated by the High Guard, Moloch arose from his slumber in the mountain. I can still remember his monstrous black form descending upon the battlefield. We were all but defeated, and the rebels were charging across the blood-soaked field toward us. The few of us who had managed to survive were huddled behind an outcrop of rock, bullets whizzing past, ricocheting off of the boulders.”
A tear formed in the corner of Jillian’s eye, then cascaded down her cheek. “I had never actually seen any of the dragons before that day,” she said, looking into Varen’s eyes. “I’m thankful that they stay in the mountain sleeping most of the time. Moloch was massive and terrifying. I’ve never seen Belial, but he’s supposed to be even bigger. Anyway, we few survivors were pinned down. Then we heard Moloch’s terrible roar.”
Varen stilled her trembling hands with his own.
“The ground shook with it, Varen. I could feel it jarring my very bones. Some of us dared to stand upon his approach. The wind displaced by his passing knocked us to the ground again. By now, the rebels had stopped firing on us, so we climbed the rock to see.