by R. J. Larson
Silent, he organized his boxes and spices. Ela persisted, “Prove the Infinite to yourself, Deuel. Give up on the Ateans. They’re a lure to the flesh that will cost you eternally if you ignore your Creator’s call—His love!”
His hands stilled. “How would you know of Atean rites? Did you attend a gathering?”
“No. The Infinite told me. And His word is enough.” Ela straightened, shifting the branch, seeing its iridescence, its inward light. “The Chacens are coming for me as we speak. Allow yourself a serious discussion with the Infinite. Now. Tell others what I’ve said. Don’t go up to the wall.”
She left his booth and surveyed the marketplace. Prill moved from vendor to vendor, lugging her basket with both arms, while a now-weighty cloth sack hung heavily from her shoulders. Obviously Prill was taking Ela’s advice and buying everything she could afford. Though there was far less food to buy today. As if answering a similar observation from one of his buyers, a grain merchant to Ela’s left declared cheerily, “We’ve received word through a courier. Our supplies will arrive any day now.”
Supplies from the traders, who’d gone to Istgard and Siphra. Ela shut her eyes, watching their approach in her vision.
Until someone jostled her and a light girlish voice said, “Why don’t you move on? You’re not wanted here.”
Ela steadied herself and looked at the voice’s source: a pretty young woman her own age. Beautifully clothed, with elaborately braided brown hair, showy goddess-coil ornaments, and artful face paint. An exquisite exterior, masking corruption within. “Go home,” Ela told her.
The painted face sneered, less lovely now. “I’m not the one causing trouble, Prophet.” As she spoke, the young woman glanced beyond Ela and her eyes brightened. Pouting provocatively, she swept past Ela and joined the Chacens, who now approached Ela—all three wearing swords. As if they expected her to fight. As if they hoped to win.
Zade Chacen brushed off the flirtatious young woman. Cold-eyed, fixated on Ela, he spoke, his resonant, dignified voice carrying to all the booths. “You will come with us. We are bringing you to the courts, to be charged with Mikial Tavek’s murder.”
“You’ve finally summoned the courage?” Ela asked. “Or did you lose a draw of lots?”
The eldest Chacen grabbed Ela’s arm, digging his fingers in hard enough to leave bruises. Despite herself, Ela winced. Sius Chacen shoved her. “Cooperate and we’ll be merciful—a swift death rather than lingering torture.”
“The Infinite offers you true mercy,” Ela countered. “Even now, it’s not too late.”
Shifting his hand, Sius Chacen wrenched Ela’s braided hair, forcing her to look up at him. His scar, inflicted by the branch, showed black as ashes against his puffy, infected skin, marring his handsome face. “Do anything, try anything, and we’ll cut you to pieces!”
A pulsebeat of fear thudded behind Ela’s protective, emotionless barricade. Particularly as Sius slipped a dagger from beneath his cloak and pressed it against her ribs. Just a bit more pressure and he would draw blood. A bit more force and he would inflict a lethal wound. As she stared into his eyes, Ela saw his desire to cut out her heart.
Za’af closed in behind them, his swollen, hateful face mirroring his brother’s threat.
Matron Prill’s agitated voice summoned her attention from a distance. “Ela?”
“Stay near!” Ela called to her chaperone. “Prill, don’t run. Stay near as my witness. The Infinite will protect you!”
Zade snarled at Prill, “Don’t interfere, woman! We’re taking her to meet justice.”
Ela’s hidden pulsebeat quickened in terror. She prayed. Willed her fear to submerge once more. “If only you would listen! Even now your Creator longs for harmony with you—He loves you!”
High above them on the wall walk, the watchman signaled a warning blast with his trumpet as another man yelled, “Soldiers! An army! Seal the city!”
Wielding the branch and raising her voice to match the watchman’s, Ela cried, “Parne, you’ve been warned—Belaal approaches! Lock yourselves inside your homes!” To the Chacens, she said, “Belaal will capture Parne’s traders.”
Sius pulled away his dagger. Zade’s grip on her arm went slack. He looked around the marketplace at his fellow citizens, whose faces reflected his own shock. The watchman sent up another warning trumpet blare. A war call.
Gouging his fingers into Ela’s arm again, Zade shoved her toward the stairs nearest the wall walk. “Move! Hurry!”
“Zade, no! If you go up to the wall—”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “You’ve said enough! Move!”
Sius pressed his dagger into Ela’s side once more. “Go.”
“Remember my first day as prophet, Zade! Here is your calamity. Don’t go up to the wall!”
The dagger moved. Stinging. Making her gasp as it scratched through her clothes. Zade was dragging her now, adding his bellowed orders to the watchman’s call. “Parnians! Gather your weapons!”
“No!” Ela screamed over her shoulder at the marketplace while the Chacens dragged her up the stairs. “No weapons! Parnians, go to your homes and pray!”
Zade shook her. “You stupid girl! Shut up! If our enemy approaches, we have the right to defend ourselves! And we will show them we intend to fight!”
Thrown off balance, Ela slipped on a step and caught herself with the branch. Chacen yanked Ela to her feet again, then shoved her along.
Following them up to the wall walk, Matron Prill cried, “Ela, what should I do?”
“Prill, stay close!” Ela prayed for her chaperone and mourned for the Chacens. As well as for the other Parnians who were rushing up to the wall walk, against her warnings, brandishing their swords and bows and arrows. Infinite? Why won’t they listen?!
At the wall’s crest, beside the watchman’s stone shelter, Ela sucked in a breath.
From north to south, all along the mountains rimming its southern plains, Parne’s western fields teemed with approaching soldiers. Banners of gold and sapphire shone against the arid blue sky. And the midmorning sun reflected a harsh glare off the approaching soldiers’ shields.
As Zade Chacen and his sons stared, Ela said, “It’s not too late. Leave the wall and pray to the Infinite for mercy.”
“Traitor!” Sius accused, still squinting at the nearing army.
Za’af said, “We should throw you from the wall.”
Not yet, Ela pleaded to her Creator. Save me!
A form moved behind Ela, casting a shadow over her. Fingers touched the nape of her neck, making her shiver. Someone twisted her braid. To Ela’s left, Matron Prill scolded, “Amar, take your hands off her!”
Amar snapped, “Stop squawking, hen!” He leaned so close to Ela that she felt his breath against her cheek. “Not so courageous in the sunlight, are you, my love?”
Love. He’d failed there. “You’re brave now because you believe I’m defenseless.”
“Aren’t you?” Amar questioned.
Zade Chacen spoke, his voice low with dismay. “There are the traders with our supplies.”
A long line of horses and carts emerged from a stone pass in the northern borderlands which separated Parne from Istgard. Even as Ela recognized them, she saw the next fragment of her vision unfold. While the main army continued its relentless pace toward Parne’s walls, horsemen rode out from Belaal’s lines and charged the traders, surrounding them.
Zade called to the watchman, “Belaal’s taken our supplies! There’s no hope that we’ll retrieve them. Tell everyone below to form a line and fill the Murder Maze with stones and mortar! Tear down homes for materials! Command it done!”
As the watchman elbowed his way through the crowd to issue Chacen’s orders, Amar asked, “How long can we hold off such an army?”
The former chief priest grimaced. “For as long as our food and water hold out. We’ll send courier birds to Istgard, the Tracelands, and Siphra requesting their help.”
“They will not com
e as allies, but in their own defense,” Ela warned.
Sius shook Ela. “Shouldn’t we just toss her from the wall and kill her?”
Zade ran one hand over his tensed brown face, seeming lost in thought as he stared at the army. “No.” He studied Ela now, suspicious, as if considering her poison. “Hasn’t Belaal’s army arrived as she said? I believe we should imprison her. She may yet be useful.”
“Useful? Not when you won’t heed the Infinite’s warnings.” Ela gazed out at Parne’s drought-dried western fields. Seeing Belaal’s first contingent of horsemen approach, her own terrified scream—locked deep inside—persuaded her to try once more. She looked up at Chacen. “Tell everyone to put down their weapons, please. It means their lives.”
Though he didn’t seem ready to kill her now, Chacen was clearly none too pleased by her words. “You speak like a traitor, not a true Parnian. Our best tactic now is to gain the enemy’s respect. We must show that we can defend ourselves!”
Why wouldn’t these rebels listen? As Belaal’s preliminary ranks neared, Ela forced her voice to carry, to convey strength. “Parnians! Lower your weapons! Do not resist the will of your Creator, the Infinite!” The branch glowed in her hands now, dazzling, beckoning attention from every direction. “Do not defy Him—you won’t win! Instead, you’ll die!”
Mutters lifted along the wall. Rebellious growls. A man to Ela’s left cursed her in vicious, hard-clipped syllables. Prill said, “How dare he!”
“I don’t care if he curses me,” Ela murmured, “as long as he doesn’t curse his Creator.”
The commander of Belaal’s lead delegation drew his horse to a standstill. Thickset and older than his men, he waited before speaking, as if wondering whether Ela would say more. When she remained silent, he urged his wearied horse forward and shouted in a deep, accented voice, “Parne! I am General Siyrsun. In the glorious name of King Bel-Tygeon of Belaal, we require your surrender. Open your gates! Clear our path and do not resist us! Thus you will survive!”
Again the man to Ela’s left cursed, this time invoking the Infinite’s name. Before she could rebuke him, he aimed his bow and shot one of the general’s men.
The soldier fell from his horse and writhed in the dust.
Siyrsun and his men rescued their comrade, then turned their horses, swiftly rejoining the main army, which neared.
Triumphant laughter spread along Parne’s wall walk.
Undeceived, Ela reached for Matron Prill, tugging her within the circle of the vinewood’s glow. “Kneel with me and pray.” Prill obeyed.
Trumpets blared from the army below. And a sickeningly familiar sight threatened to shatter Ela’s icy core.
A volley of gold and blue arrows arced upward from Belaal’s army, then sliced down, perfectly aimed at everyone standing on Parne’s wall walk, drawing blood and screams. Chacen bellowed and dropped inside the watchman’s stone shelter to his right.
Prill shrieked and clung to Ela.
Ela held her chaperone within the branch’s light and prayed.
21
Within a breath’s span of the first, a second volley of arrows fell. Fresh screams and wails echoed along the wall walk. Prill huddled within Ela’s arms crying, “Oh, Infinite, save us!”
Beside Ela, Sius Chacen slumped on the stones beside Za’af, who howled in agony. Za’af attempted to wrench an arrow from his chest, then fainted.
Behind Ela, Amar clawed at her mantle, his voice rough. “Ela . . .”
She turned and saw what had not been within her first glimpse of this vision. The young man she’d almost married, downed by an arrow just below his left collarbone. His scar showing ink-black against his inflamed cheek, Amar clutched Ela’s wrist, muttering, “Help me . . . stand.”
Quavering, Prill told Ela, “I-I’ll support him to the left, if you’ll t-take the right. But . . . what about the arrow?”
With a glance at the stilled Za’af Chacen, Ela said, “Leave the arrow. It may be that we’ll injure him further by removing it.”
They managed to haul Amar to his feet. But as they picked a path along the wall walk, between the wounded and dead, Amar gasped. “Stop!” He dropped to one knee, a hand fumbling to touch the paving stones for support.
Heartsick, Ela knelt with him. He would never descend this wall. Perhaps now Amar would finally listen. She pressed a hand to his whiskered cheek, making him look at her. “Amar, I’m going to find your father. Listen, it’s not too late. Speak to your Creator, please. He loves you! You need only call His Name and—”
Amar shoved at her weakly, unwilling to listen. Clearly signaling her to go.
He eased himself onto the pavings and shut his eyes.
Opposite Ela, Prill shook her head and pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking, as if suppressing sobs.
Supporting herself with the branch, Ela stood. Amar didn’t stir. He rested on his side, his breaths shallow and rapid. Was he dying? She was afraid to petition their Creator for details. Helping the matron to stand, Ela said, “Prill, if I could cry now, I would. And I’d welcome it. But this is only the beginning.”
Prill sobbed, “For me, this is enough! More than enough.”
“Let’s hurry.” Ela gripped her weeping chaperone’s arm and propelled her toward the nearest public path leading down into the city. Parnians, dead and dying, were scattered in every direction. It seemed that few arrows had missed striking someone.
How could this be real? Infinite? Let it still be a vision—an image not yet lethal.
“Why are we alive?” Prill demanded. “So many others have fallen.”
“Because His plans for us are not yet finished, and you are my witness.” With each sight of fresh blood from a corpse or of a weeping, bereaved citizen, Ela drew more deeply into herself, sheltering behind the terrible, protective coldness. “Go retrieve your supplies from Deuel’s booth, Matron. I’ll come back to help you once I’ve spoken to Amar’s father.”
Surely even the shielding numbness wouldn’t protect her from this next task. Bracing herself, Ela hurried past the marketplace, into the public square beyond, then up a flight of stairs tucked between the structures of several houses. Hadn’t Amar’s parents heard the commotion? She rapped on the door, waited, and rapped again. Amar’s father, Shekar, answered the door, tousled and groggy, as if she’d summoned him from sleep. Fumes, like the afterwash of heavy drinking, surrounded the man. Ela sighed. “You must go through the marketplace, then up to the wall. Amar was struck by an arrow from Belaal’s army. We tried to bring him down, but he couldn’t continue.”
Shekar squinted, then blinked. “What?”
Pitying him, and Amar, Ela repeated her message. Shekar stumbled inside again, evidently seeking his cloak.
Ela hurried toward the marketplace once more. She would find Prill, lead Shekar to Amar, then alert Father. Perhaps they could assist some of the survivors.
She found the matron just entering the wide public square adjoining the marketplace. Behind the matron was Deuel. The merchant’s rounded face was ashen, and his sturdy legs wavered as he shifted a large basket on his shoulders. The instant he saw Ela, Deuel stopped and stared. As if she were frightful.
He lowered the basket and knelt beside it. Bowing, hiding his face in his hands, the vendor cried, “The Infinite is God, and Parne is cursed!”
His words struck Ela with an almost physical impact. Deuel might have been a prophet. She wished he were.
Hiding behind an intricately carved white column in Siphra’s throne room, Kien read General Rol’s letter.
It seems Prophet Ela’s prediction has come to pass. This morning, a courier bird arrived in East Guard from Parne. Now, after shunning their neighbors for generations, the Parnians are appealing to us all for rescue from Belaal, which is now encamped before their city. Furthermore, Commander Thel’s reports indicate a deeper disaster. Parne’s wells are drying, and their crops have failed this year, due to a severe drought. Thel believes that unless Parne receives su
bstantial rains within the next few weeks, thirst alone will force Parne’s surrender to Belaal within eight weeks—unless we intercede.
Furthermore, Istgard’s prime minister has sent word to the Grand Assembly that certain ores have been recently confiscated from Parnian traders and Tsir Aun himself has personally witnessed their destructive effects. Because Tsir Aun’s courier-note corroborates Commander Thel’s written testimonies, the Grand Assembly has approved the measures I have recommended. Our army is alerted and the campaign planned. We must ensure Belaal does not gain control of those ores, lest that god-king Bel-Tygeon rule us all!
In light of these concerns, the remainder of your leave is rescinded. You are, by default and preference, the Tracelands’ envoy to Siphra in this matter. We order you to request Siphra’s aid in neutralizing Belaal. We will send further instructions as decisions are reached. You will treat this communication as confidential, to be shared with only the king and his closest advisors.
On a separate parchment scrap, Rol added:
Regarding the king’s curiosity concerning the Azurnite sword, allow him one bout in strictest isolation. You will also allow his advisors to inspect the sword. Soon, however, if Belaal emerges victorious with Parne’s spoils, then the Tracelands, Istgard, and Siphra must join forces for battle. Further secrecy concerning the swords will be, to twist words, pointless.
Kien refolded the general’s missive and hid it within his money purse. General Rol wrote this a week ago, yet Kien had received it only this morning due to a tardy messenger. At most, Parne would fall in seven weeks. He must persuade Siphra to act today! Wasn’t the king’s audience finished? Aggravated, Kien leaned around the carved pillar and studied the last of the petitioners.
A thin, dark-clad nobleman was now speaking to the king. Why did he seem so familiar? Kien frowned at the nobleman’s arrogant bearing, his black swept-back hair and his embroidered cloak. Could it be . . . ? Kien slipped from behind the pillar and joined the crowd of bored Siphran courtiers. Unable to see the noble petitioner’s face, he listened intently.