by Rachel Aaron
The girl jumped and scrambled back. The woman stood less than a foot away. She was naked, her skin flawless and alabaster white. White hair fell in a cascade across her white shoulders, and her white eyes were sparkling as she looked down at the muddy girl at her feet.
Hello—the woman’s voice was like cold silk—Nara.
“How do you know my name?”
The question was out before the girl could stop it. Nara was her tribe name. Ever since the invaders took them to the camps, she’d shared it with no one. She should be furious that this woman, this obvious outsider, knew it, but she could not be angry with her. The woman was simply too beautiful.
The White Lady knelt, and Nara couldn’t help noticing that the mud did not smudge her perfect skin. The woman extended her hand, cupping Nara’s dirty cheek in a burning grip.
I know everything about you, the woman said. I am your Shepherdess. I have been watching you since you were born. You are a brave girl, Nara. Brave and beautiful. The white fingers stroked her cheek, leaving burning trails that made Nara tremble. So beautiful. More beautiful than anything else I’ve created.
“Created?” Nara whispered, the word little more than a feathered breath.
Well, the Lady spoke and smirked, as though this were some long-standing joke, not fully. I am not the Creator. But I shaped you, you and all humans, in my image. Her beautiful face fell. For all that, you always were ugly, ridiculous creatures, fitting for the ugly job I made you to do. Even so, every now and then I catch a glimmer of something more. The fingers slid down to brush Nara’s lips. Like you. You are beautiful, Nara. From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you. Knew that you and you alone of all the ugly, blind humans were worthy of being my star.
Nara’s eyes widened as the White Lady leaned down and pressed a burning kiss to her lips. It was the briefest touch, but the proximity alone was enough to send her reeling. Still, Nara had never been quick to trust, and, though it went against every instinct she had, she pulled away, putting space between her and the woman who called herself Shepherdess.
“Your star?” she said with as much strength as she could muster. “And what is that?”
The White Lady looked at her with a smirk. My servant.
Nara scowled. “I’m done being a servant.”
I am not like your human masters. The Lady laughed. Those deaf sacks of meat. I am Benehime, a Power of creation. I am the Shepherdess, all spirits serve me. But my stars are different. They are raised above all others, and answer only to me. As my star, there will be no want you can think of that I cannot provide. No wish I cannot grant.
“Any wish?” Nara said, her throat dry.
Anything at all, the Shepherdess answered, spreading her arms. All you have to do is worship me. Fear me. Obey me. Love me more than any other. Become my star, beautiful girl, and whatever you desire will be yours.
She must have seen the hunger in Nara’s eyes, for the White Lady smiled. You have a wish, don’t you? Speak it.
Nara had never told her wish to anyone, but it came tumbling from her lips before she could think of denying the White Lady.
“I’ve been a slave for ten years,” she whispered. “I and my people and all the peoples I met when I was a child, we all were made slaves when the invaders came because we could not fight back. They crushed the spirits of the forest and forced the stone to vomit its riches into the mines. The Enslavers turned our lakes into swamps and our mountains into open pits that we were forced to work. But that’s how the world is. The strong step on the weak, and the weak can do nothing but weep. I want to change that. You said you could give me anything I wish—that’s it. I want to stop the cycle of war and Enslavement. Can you give me that?”
The White Lady’s face broke into a brilliant smile. So noble, she said, running her white fingers through Nara’s dark, tangled hair. So determined. I like you even better now, little darling. You might even become my favorite if you keep it up.
“So you can grant my wish?” Nara said.
The Shepherdess leaned back a bit, her lovely white mouth pursed as she made a show of thinking about it.
I won’t just give it to you, she said at last. That would be no fun. But I will give you the power to take it for yourself. She leaned in until her lips were a breath away from Nara’s own. I will give you power unlike anything you have ever seen. You will bear my mark, speak in my name. I will give you dominion over all spirits great and small and the life span to see your wish come true.
Nara’s stomach clenched. She still wasn’t sure if this was a dream or not, but the Shepherdess was there in front of her, white and cold and more beautiful than anything her mind could make up. And in that realization, she knew her answer.
“If you give me the power to make the world what it should be,” she said, trembling at the beautiful woman’s closeness, “I will love you above all others until the day I die.”
Though the shameful truth was, Nara already did. The woman was so beautiful, so powerful, Nara was already lost. But the Lady expected a wish, and Nara would give it to her. She would give her anything, Nara realized with a sinking feeling, and from the look on the Lady’s face, the Shepherdess knew it.
The White Lady smiled and leaned in to kiss Nara gently on the lips. It was a bare brush, but the connection that opened between them nearly made Nara faint. Power burned through her, pouring into the well of her soul until she feared she would burst. Light seared her body from the inside out, burning her away until Nara was sure that she had died and her spirit simply hadn’t realized it yet. And then it was over. The Shepherdess pulled away, catching Nara’s falling body in her arms.
It is done, she whispered, cuddling the girl to her chest like a kitten. You bear my mark forever, now. You are mine, mine alone.
“Yours alone,” Nara said, looking up into the Lady’s white eyes. Eyes she now knew as well as her own. The white fire was still burning through her as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I will love you forever,” she swore, leaning into the Lady’s embrace. “Forever and ever, beautiful, beloved Benehime.”
The Shepherdess laughed in delight as Nara said her name. She stood, taking the girl up with her. As they rose, the dirt fell reverently away, leaving Nara clean and perfect in the Shepherdess’s glory. A white slit opened in the air in front of them, and Benehime carried her through, away from the swamp, away from the mud and the pain of slavery, into a perfect, white world.
When the sun rose the next morning on the slave camp, an unknown woman in golden armor carrying a gleaming sword strode into the master’s tent and began killing the officers. She killed them quickly and efficiently, leaving only one alive to bring the word of what had happened to the other camps. After she’d sent him running, the woman turned to the buildings that held the cowering slaves. The stones barring the doors rolled away at the barest touch of her will, desperate to do what she ordered, for the mark of the Shepherdess was plain on her soul. The people cried in fear as the doors opened, but the woman held up her hand for silence. When the silence came, she told them they were free. Some of the people fainted, some ran in terror, but others raised their arms in praise, swearing their lives to the woman who’d won their freedom.
This was the Immortal Empress’s first conquest.
Eight hundred years later, the Immortal Empress treasured this memory. By the time she’d conquered her first kingdom, Benehime had named her favorite, the soul beloved by the Shepherdess above all others. Many joys had followed in the centuries after, but that first night was still dearest in Nara’s heart. Even now, the smell of mud brought a dreamy smile to her face.
“Empress?”
Nara opened her eyes and turned to face her commander. The old man winced, but he did not shrink back. He had been her general for many years before she’d vanished, and he knew her well. Now, however, he looked as though he had something to say, and so, regretfully, she let the memory go and returned to the bitter present.
“Report.”
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“Empress,” the man said again, bowing. “Your return could not have come at a better time. The storm has been blowing for weeks now without weakening. Tidal waves have devastated your southern coast. Those who survived the initial flood escaped to higher ground, but they are now stranded and running low on food. I ordered your army to aid in the evacuation, but the storm is too dangerous. Now that you are with us again, however, I am sure—”
He fell silent as the Empress stepped up to the edge of the balcony. They were standing on the observation tower of her southern-most fortress, the one she’d left to remind the desert tribes who had conquered them. That was two hundred years ago now, but the fort was still one of her largest. From its tower, she could see clear across the sandy desert to the coast, miles away, but even if she’d been on the ground, she couldn’t have missed the storm. It loomed off the edge of her continent’s southern coast, a wall of black clouds and forked lightning stretching as far as she could see in any direction. Great winds blew in the smell of rain and sodden mud, and though the smell triggered her memories again, Nara did not smile. The storm chewed at the edge of her lands, destroying everything in its path beneath a rain of lightning and the endless booming thunder she knew too well.
The Empress shook her head. “I cannot banish this storm.”
The general’s eyes widened. “But surely,” he began. “You are queen of everything. The spirits would not dare—”
“You question me?” the Empress said coldly.
The general froze. “No, Empress,” he said, bowing so low that his helmet slipped off. “Forgive me, Empress. Your voice is the only law.”
She nodded and held out her hand, letting the storm-tossed winds sweep over her fingers. When she felt a particularly strong one, she closed her fist. The wind squealed at first but grew still when it realized what will had caught it.
“Hail, Empress,” it whispered.
Nara glanced pointedly at the enormous storm. “What is he doing here?”
“The Lord of Storm is in disgrace,” the wind said, wiggling in her hand.
“I can see that,” the Empress snapped. “He’s been in disgrace for weeks, apparently, and wrecking my shore in the process. What did he do that Benehime would impose such a harsh punishment?”
The wind jerked. Lesser spirits were so obedient that even the mention of the Lady’s name was enough to send them into a fit of reverential terror.
“He raised his blade against the favorite,” it whispered at last. “The Shepherdess’s wrath was swift.”
White-hot fury roared through Nara’s mind and, for a moment, she forgot everything. Forgot the storm, the general standing beside her, even the wind in her hand. Time seemed to flow backward, carrying her back to that hated day when everything in her life had fallen apart. The day the Shepherdess brought that boy into her white world.
She could see him clearly in her mind even now, a skinny, dark-haired thing sitting smugly on Benehime’s beautiful lap as the Lady doted on him. The memory made Nara tremble with rage. That spoiled brat had stolen the Shepherdess’s love from her, and with it everything Nara cared for. All the things that had given her pride—her victories, her legions, her unified country, the fairness and efficiency of the government she had built, the peace she had brought to her people, her loyal spirits, even her great wish of a fair and peaceful world—none of it meant anything when Benehime, her beautiful, beloved Shepherdess, was ignoring her in favor of that hateful, conniving, selfish child.
Nara bared her teeth at the enormous waves washing over the ruins of her sea towns. How could the Shepherdess love that brat enough to punish the Lord of Storms this severely just for raising his blade? He’d raised his sword to Nara several times, and the Lady had never done anything like this. Was she finally sick of his disobedience? Or was it because she loved the boy more than—
The Empress stopped that line of thought dead. She could not believe it. The Lady’s love was for Nara alone. The boy was nothing more than an infatuation. He’d beguiled the Shepherdess. What else would explain Benehime’s abandoning her Empress after eight centuries of Nara’s ceaseless devotion? Her undying love? Nara clenched her fists. Den had been right. For eleven years she’d lived in her misery, waiting for the Shepherdess to remember who truly loved her, and all she had to show for it was the suffering of her own lands. She was through hiding, through crying. If the Lady loved her as an Empress, then Empress she would be. She would rebuild her army as never before. An army fit to conquer the rest of the world. And when all the lands of creation were united under her good rule, her wish would be fulfilled. She alone would rule a world without war, without unfairness, a world that was guided by her wisdom alone. And then Nara would take this perfect world and throw it at the Lady’s feet. There, she would say, who is your favorite now?
Just the thought of it brought the smile back to Nara’s lips. With such a grand offering, the Shepherdess would have no choice. She would cast the thief aside and return to her true favorite. Benehime would take Nara in her beautiful embrace once again, and together they would laugh at the memory of the boy called Eli, when they thought of him at all.
She was still savoring that thought when a high-pitched squeal brought her back to the present. The wind was writhing in her clenched hand. The Empress eased her grip, letting the wind slide gratefully through her fingers.
“Go to my war palace at Istalirin,” she said. “See if Den has arrived yet.”
“Yes, Empress,” the wind panted, flitting gladly away.
Nara nodded and turned to deal with the mess the Lord of Storms had made. Without a word of warning to her general, she walked to the edge of the balcony and jumped off. The desert winds caught her fall, setting her down gently on the fortress’s stone yard. The soldiers dropped to their knees when they saw her, pressing their heads to the ground in reverence. She ignored them, focusing instead on the stone beneath her golden boots.
“You,” she said, stomping on the ground. “Wake up.”
The stone rumbled as it woke, and then lowered itself in obedience.
“Yes, Empress?”
“Form a wall along the coast. This storm is no concern of ours. We will protect our borders and wait it out.”
“Yes, Empress,” the stone said again.
The Empress nodded and slammed her foot on the ground a second time. The stone obeyed instantly, and a pillar of rock shot up beneath her feet, lifting her back to the edge of the watchtower balcony. Her general ran forward to help her over the railing. When her footing was solid again, she turned to watch as the bedrock spirit followed her orders.
All along her coast, a great wall of stone exploded out of the sandy beach, forming a barrier between the water and the land. The stone wall ran as far as she could see, following the snaking coastline until her continent’s entire southern tip was cut off, safe from the storm surge behind a fifty-foot barrier.
Nodding in approval, the Empress turned back to the waiting wind, who had just returned from the north.
“Den has arrived,” the wind said. “He’s demanding to see you.”
“He would,” the Empress sneered. “Well done. You are released.”
The wind bowed and fled, vanishing into the clear, desert sky.
“General,” Nara said, turning to face the old man who was still bowing in reverence. “You will leave five hundred men here to resettle those misplaced by the storm. The rest of your army will march to my war palace at Istalirin. I want everything: support, supplies, siege troops, the full panalopy. March them hard, I want my armies gathered by dark tomorrow.”
The old man paled. Istalirin was miles away. Such a deadline, even on the Empire’s awakened roads, would be nigh impossible. But the Immortal Empress expected the impossible from all her subjects as a matter of course, and her general knew better than to complain.
“Yes, Empress,” he said, bowing lower than ever. “Is it war then?”
“War indeed,” the Empress said. �
�It is time at last to bring the entire world into the light of my Empire.” And to show Benehime who was truly worthy of her love.
The general eyed her nervously. “Permission to speak, Empress.”
“Granted,” the Empress said.
“Your army marches wherever you command,” he said. “But the man Den is not to be trusted. While you were gone, he did nothing but wander your Empire, terrorizing your towns and challenging every strong fighter he could find. We lost several of your best to him. He has no discipline or loyalty, and he does not follow orders. You are the chosen of the land, Empress, and I would never question your judgment, but can such a man truly be a servant of the Empire?”
“No,” the Empress said. “Den is a traitor. He betrayed his homeland to join our invasion as soon as the tide turned. He is a monster who thrives on conflict with no loyalty to anything but his own lust for battle. I know full well that he will never be my soldier, but I do not need another soldier, general.” She looked west. “Soldiers I have in plenty, but the other half of this world is a barbarous, uncivilized, lawless place. If I am to bring such lands into my enlightened peace, soldiers won’t be enough. If my control is to be complete, I must conquer swiftly, completely. We must devour their land before they realize they have lost it, and for that, I need a monster.” She turned and smiled at her general. “Have no fear, this is the last war. When we are done, the whole world will be under my law, and there will be no more need for monsters. If Den is still alive when we reach that glorious end, I will see that he meets a monster’s death.”
The general bowed, his eyes shining. “As you command, Empress. Your soldiers march for Istalirin and the endless glory of your Empire.”
“As they should,” she said. “I will expect you there.”
With that, she waved her hand, and a white line appeared in the air, twisting open to reveal the ornate map room of her war palace. Her officers stopped what they were doing and stood at attention as she stepped through the hole in the world. They murmured praises in her name, but the Empress paid them no mind. She marched straight past the table to the great window and looked out over the bay.