The Demigod Proving

by S. James Nelson

  “We all go back,” he said again.

  His mind told him that the Master had to know about his wife’s unfaithfulness, but his heart feared the consequence of that action. He couldn’t handle all of this. It was too much for him. But he couldn’t shake any of it—his brother’s and mother’s betrayals. This test. The possibility that he could become god.

  If it happened, he would do things right. He wouldn’t create situations such as this, when the hearts of his children would ache, and those who believed differently would die. He would be better than the Master.

  The thought shamed him. He couldn’t think like that. The Master was god, his will was law. Wrend had to obey with humility.

  Did that mean he could try to delay the eventual choosing between him and Teirn? Or was that, too, trying to thwart the Master’s will?

  “It’s done, demigod Wrend.”

  Wrend opened his eyes with a start, not realizing that he’d closed them. The paladins had returned, and he hadn’t heard them gathering around. The front-most one, in a red mask, had spoken to him. He held a bloody sword, and his eyes were as hollow and empty as ever.

  “It’s done?” Wrend said.

  The paladin nodded. “Yes. They’re all dead.”

  Wrend did not respond. He looked around, at the paladins, his brother, and his mother—who still sobbed into his chest. Then he steeled his heart and released Rashel. He turned to the body of the leader and drew his sacrificial knife. He would use it to remove the head.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then we can leave this place.”

  Even so, he knew the place would never leave him.

  Only when he next encountered Leenda, just a few hours later, could he focus his thoughts on something else.

  Chapter 66: Parting and joining

  When it’s hard to know what to do, you wish for a guide, for someone who can open up the gates of the future and show you the unforeseen results of your action. When such a time is upon you, do not stay frozen in indecision. Make the best choice you can. Whatever you learn from the experience, remember it. Keep it for later use.

  -Krack

  As Krack descended onto the dirt road about five miles north of the caravan, small animals scattered away: prairie dogs, deer, lizards. A cloud of dust rose from his paws as he landed. Leenda slid from his shoulders to the ground. She sneezed from the goat-gutted dust, and squinted up at him as he stood on his hind legs and gave her a long look. His head blocked the sun, giving him a bright halo. The sky was clear and deep. A slight wind blew.

  “When will you come to the lair?” he said.

  She shrugged. “When this is over.”

  When she’d exhausted all possibilities for convincing Wrend to go with her.

  “I don’t plan on going anywhere. You’re welcome to come. We can find you a draegon body.”

  She smiled, unsure if he gave the invitation out of sheer obligation. Only a few hours before, he’d said he didn’t want her to come with him.

  “Thank you.”

  He spread his wings wide and lifted into the air. The wind blew more dust around her. It swirled, and she held her breath as he banked eastward. He wouldn’t fly far. Draegons were simply too huge, so the flying generally only lasted a few miles. But he certainly wanted to get away fast.

  He soared away from the road toward the nearest hills. When he’d disappeared over them, she turned south and started to walk along the road. With Ichor, she could’ve moved at a decent clip, but she wanted to reserve that for an emergency; anything could happen when she reached the caravan. It would’ve been good to have some fresh vegetables to harvest some Spirit Ichor, but those had been hard to come by in recent weeks. So she settled for harvesting the Flux from her walking.

  Of course, the prickly pear cacti she walked past bore fruit. Maybe eating that would produce Spirit Ichor. She only thought about it for a moment before rejecting the idea. She simply didn’t want to expend the effort to harvest the fruit. She just wanted to walk, to try and get Krack out of her mind.

  She found the land beautiful in a stark way. The red dirt stretched in every direction, but prickly pear cacti, blossoming red, spotted the land. Saguaro cacti, as tall as trees and in the distance looking like men standing with their arms raised up, grew in clumps, as if they held little meetings to determine what they should do with their afternoon. Yellow mule’s ears and stemless woollybase nestled at the bottom of the cacti, swaying in the gentle spring wind. Rocks, ranging from huge boulders to small stones, peppered the landscape with dirty white, burnt red, and smoky black.

  As she walked further away from where Krack had left her, more animals appeared. Deer grazed in the distance. Prairie dogs chattered from the side of the road. Goldfinches twittered and played, and hawks soared above it all, circling in the air, periodically diving for some unseen prey.

  Leenda enjoyed it—as much as she could, anyway. She also kept waiting—hoping—for Krack to come back. But he never did.

  She walked through the afternoon and into early evening, until the sun angled low in the west, casting long shadows over the road and making the rocks practically glow.

  Just as she began to wonder if Krack had let her down too soon, she crested a hill. The caravan spread out before her, just outside of a town. Workers erected tents, and wagons clustered near them. People moved about, hurrying to get camp set up for the night.

  But something was missing. It only took her a moment to realize what.

  The troops. The paladins. All twenty thousand of them. Usually they lined up on the fringes of the wives and demigods and all their priests and serving girls, but she couldn’t see them anywhere. They simply weren’t around. And Athanaric, who usually moved among the workers, didn’t loom over anyone. He’d taken the troops somewhere. Had he taken Wrend with him?

  Frowning, she sat on a rock next to the road and watched the camp go up. She’d avoided thinking of what she would do upon reaching the camp, and now she really had no idea. So she just sat there on the side of the road, hoping no one came by. She made and discarded a dozen plans, finding she simply didn’t have the heart for any of them, and concluding that coming here had probably been a bad idea in the first place.

  But all of her thinking didn’t matter, anyway, because just as the sun touched the western horizon, horses rode up the road behind her. She turned to watch them ascend the hill.

  Three horses came up at a trot. Behind them, rows and columns of paladins jogged. She couldn’t make out the identity of the riders, for the sun had already descended far enough that it cast that side of the hill in shadows and turned the riders into black shapes. So, she stood to face them. She waited on the side of the road and tapped her discernment.

  Near the top of the hill, perhaps thirty feet away from her, they rose into the sunlight, and Leenda caught her breath. Wrend rode at their front, his back straight and his face forward, consumed in thought. He didn’t look to either side, and didn’t notice her. She cringed at the mangled head hanging by a rope from the back of his saddle and bouncing up and down with the horse’s trot. Teirn and Rashel rode behind him, both looking like they’d had the worst day of their lives.

  “Wrend!” she called, too excited to worry about the others around.

  He rode past her. Teirn gave her a curious look, but said nothing. Rashel’s eyes widened with recognition.

  “Wrend!” she called again.

  Maybe he’d seen her, and chosen to ignore her. The thought made her heart flutter. Had he already decided to reject her?

  So it seemed, for he continued riding.

  “Wrend!”

  This time it was Rashel who called his name, with such sharpness that finally he looked back at her as she pulled up on her reins and stopped her horse. Teirn did the same.

  “What?” he said. Leenda had never heard him use such a harsh tone.

  Rashel pointed at Leenda, and Wrend’s eyes followed. Only then, already ten yards past Leenda, did he stop. He turned his h
orse around and rode up to her, frowning and shaking his head. The paladins stopped on the road and stood at attention, in their straight rows and columns. One or two looked at her.

  “Leenda?” Wrend said.

  She couldn’t read the emotions in his voice, but thought she heard relief there. She nodded.

  “I’ve come for you.” She had no idea what else to say. “Come away with me.”

  He shook his head and glanced down at the severed head.

  “I can’t. I have to deliver this.”

  “Well do it, then come with me.”

  It sounded pathetic, but she didn’t care. What did she have left, other than asking him?

  He frowned and didn’t speak for a long time. Teirn and Rashel watched him without blinking, as if afraid he would do something sudden and deadly. What had happened between the three of them that day?

  “I have to do as the Master asks. That’s all I know. I have to return to him, take him this . . . trophy.”

  “Then I’m coming with you,” she said.

  That would mean facing Athanaric. He might try to kill her. But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would listen to reason, and maybe Wrend would make a decision in her favor. In his favor, really.

  Wrend grunted. “Of course you are. Because today wasn’t complicated enough, already.”

  He motioned for her to get on the saddle with him, and she obeyed, careful not to touch the head.

  She kept her arms around him as they rode down into camp. She hoped that he felt as she did—unusually contented to be together. Surprisingly at ease.

  It all ended once they reached Athanaric’s tent.

  Chapter 67: Gone to war

  There is no point in delaying combat—unless you can gain a strategic advantage by waiting. But usually you can’t. Once battle has become inevitable, it’s best to get it over with.

  -Athanaric

  Wrend sought out the Master’s tent, to tell him about how the task had been completed.

  He didn’t know what to say to Leenda as he led his mother, brother, and paladins into the camp, and so said nothing. He was happy that the Master hadn’t killed her, and found it altogether distracting and pleasant the way she wrapped her arms around him, pressed her body close.

  But he still couldn’t even entertain the idea of doing anything she wanted. He had duties. Obligations. He was loyal to the Master, and needed to do what the Master wanted. Maybe someday, when he was god, he could humor Leenda.

  They rode down the long hill at a trot, about a quarter mile into the edge of camp. A dozen paladins stopped him with lowered pikes. Leenda tried to hide and make herself as small as possible by ducking her head low against his back. But once the paladins saw who he was, and that he had nearly a hundred paladins behind him, they let him through. He headed for the Master’s tent.

  “Haven’t you noticed,” Leenda said, “that most of the paladins are gone? I doubt that Athanaric is here.”

  Wrend nodded and frowned. Even though the sky hadn’t yet darkened, few people walked among the tents and sagebrush. The handfuls of serving girls ducked their heads and scurried away like frightened mice, and he saw no one else. No priests or mothers running errands. No paladins on patrol. No demigods. If Wrend hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed that they’d abandoned the caravan. Something wasn’t right.

  But he didn’t think much about it. He was too worried about lying to the Master. He planned to report that he and Teirn had decided to work together—had even jointly killed the leader. It was a blatant disregard for the instructions they’d received, but Wrend needed the Master to know he found this test a travesty and a waste. He’d wearied of it, simply grown too tired of the fear to care about it anymore.

  As for Rashel, he’d decided to let her speak for herself. He would say nothing about what she’d done. It was her action to be accountable for, and not his place to tattle.

  When they reached the Master’s tent, unchallenged by even a single priest or paladin, he dismounted and motioned for the others to follow. He paused at the door and took several deep breaths, dreading the coming conversation, and entered.

  The tent lay in general darkness save for a single lamp lit on a stand next to the enormous bed. It cast a ruddy glow over the bed sheets, table and chair, divans, carpet, and poles rising to support the thirty-foot ceiling. The table lay bare, without a spread of raw vegetables and baked breads.

  “I didn’t hear you coming, love,” a woman said.

  She lay in the bed, barely visible in the light, dwarfed by the pillows and sheets. The covers lay over her body, yet showed her bare arms and shoulders. She held them against her breast as she sat up with a gasp and looked at Wrend.

  Calla.

  Wrend closed and diverted his eyes. Behind him, Leenda squeaked in surprise, and Teirn growled.

  “Lovely,” Rashel said. “Waiting here for him? The rest of us obey his commands and wait for a summons when he needs us, but you wait here for him?”

  “How do you know he didn’t ask me to wait here?” Calla said.

  Rashel harrumphed and Wrend—eyes still closed—heard her move past him, toward the bed.

  “Cover yourself,” she said. “There are children present.”

  There was the sound of clothes being picked up and thrown.

  “Wrend, is that you?” Calla said. “And—Teirn? What are you doing here?” Her voice became hard. “You’ve failed again?”

  “Where’s the Master?” Wrend said.

  He dared crack his eyes. Calla stood next to the bed, her back toward him, pulling on a blouse. The bed hid the lower half of her body. Now that the shock of seeing her naked had passed, a dull anger seethed to life in Wrend. Calla had done so much to harm him. How could she treat him so ruthlessly in secret, and yet have been so kind to him all his life?

  “He’s gone,” Calla said. “After he sent the two of you off, he headed out with his paladins. He intends to engage the armies of Hasuke in the morning.” She turned around and bent over to begin pulling on a skirt. The look she gave Teirn might have killed. “And here you are. Both of you. My understanding was that only one of you would return.”

  “Stop it,” Rashel said. She stood next to Wrend near the foot of the bed, her fists on her hips. “Teirn told us everything.”

  “You tied me up at the Seraglio,” Wrend said. “You planted the letter at the Strengthening. And you told Teirn about the proving years ago.”

  Even in the red light, he could see her face blanch. She licked her lips, tightened her eyes.

  “I wanted to help my son.”

  “We were forbidden,” Rashel said. “You know as well as I do that our sons were never supposed to know that.”

  “Bah,” Calla said. “You, of all people, cannot lecture me on obeying our god. Where have you been the last two days? Where did you disappear to? You didn’t tell anyone.”

  “You little sneak,” Rashel said.

  She took a threatening step forward, fists clenched, but Wrend grabbed her arm to stop her, even though he would’ve liked to see her punch Calla in the face. Rashel tried to pull free, but Wrend held tight. They needed to move on and find the Master, report to him that they’d eradicated the renegades.

  “And you,” Calla said. She sneered at Teirn. “You told them everything? You betrayed your own mother? And you failed.”

  Teirn stood by the door, his face covered in shadow, his shoulders slumped.

  “I’m sorry, mother.”

  “Sorry won’t save you. And it won’t save me. I can’t believe you told them everything. I’m as good as dead.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Teirn said. “I—.”

  “How do you expect to become god if you—.”

  “Enough!” Wrend said.

  Behind him, Leenda jumped at his shout. Everyone looked at him. But the silence lasted only a moment as Calla came around the bed toward him and Rashel, lips curled up in a sneer, finger raised in rebuke.

  “You’re
all reckless,” she said. “You openly defy the Master and provoke his wrath. You’ll get us all killed if you tell him what’s gone on.”

  With a surge of strength, Rashel pulled free of Wrend’s grip and flung herself at Calla, screeching. For an instant, Wrend thought his mother would claw Calla’s eyes out, but Calla reacted with unusual speed by grabbing Rashel’s wrists and shoving her backward. With a cry, Rashel fell into Wrend. He caught her by the arms before she hit the floor, and looked at Calla in disbelief.

  She’d moved so fast. Almost like a demigod using Ichor.

  Was it possible? Was she Athanaric's daughter? And his husband? Would he do something like that?

  Wrend didn't know anything about her past. It seemed conceivable.

  “None of you understand what’s at stake,” Calla said. She stood there with her finger raised and trembling, eyes intense. “You think you can outsmart your god—that you can avoid this proving. You think it’s so wise to run to him, telling him what I’ve done. Well, you cannot tell him my faults without telling him yours. You’ll only end up getting us all killed.”

  Wrend had no idea how to respond. He almost hadn't even heard her little speech, from how his head reeled at the possibility he'd uncovered. But he understood her logic, and even agreed with it. Even so, he would defy the Master as long as possible, no matter the cost. He would not forfeit his life—or the life of his brother.

  “Be that as it may,” he said, helping Rashel stand up straight, “Teirn and I worked together to defeat the apostates, and must report on our success.”

  “Failure, you mean,” Calla said.

  “Success,” Teirn said. “Success as brothers.”

  Calla snorted. “You'll all end up dead. We all will.”

  Rashel stood next to Wrend, rubbing her wrists where Calla had gripped them. Leenda still made no sound.

  Wrend turned away and headed for the door.