by K J Taylor
“A little while” was nowhere near little enough for Laela, and she was thoroughly bored by the time Inva arrived with Ravana. However, when she laid eyes on the man who’d come to see her, she sat up at once.
Unlike the other former slaves who’d come to see her, Ravana didn’t look the slightest bit nervous or awed. He walked ahead of Inva, moving with long, confident strides, his head held high.
But when he reached Laela’s throne, all that disappeared in an instant. He knelt at her feet, bowing his head so low it nearly touched the floor. “Master.”
“Get up,” said Laela.
He did, looking her boldly in the face but saying nothing—waiting for her to speak first.
Laela examined him. He was tall and lean, like most Northerners, but thick with muscle in the arms and chest. Like all members of his race, he had black hair—still cropped close to his skull—and jet-black eyes that made his expression difficult to read. He wore a woollen tunic with a low-cut neck that showed several raw red scars on his body, and one of his ears had been half–hacked off.
“Ravana, is it?” Laela said eventually.
He nodded once.
“Inva said yeh wanted to see us.”
Another nod.
“Speak, then,” said Laela, finally giving up. “Tell me why.”
Ravana put his hands together in front of his chest and bowed low. “I am Ravana,” he said, in fractured Cymrian. “I am Hm-Waw’ew.”
“What’s that?” said Laela, glancing at Inva.
Ravana followed her gaze, and said something briefly in Amorani.
Inva stepped forward. “He does not speak Cymrian. I will translate.”
Laela gestured at her to continue.
“Hm-Waw’ew is a warrior slave,” said Inva. “Trained from birth to do nothing but fight. Slaves from our race were prized as fighters. Their masters would use them for . . . many purposes.”
“I see.” Laela looked at Ravana with renewed interest. “Yer a fighter, then, Ravana.”
Inva translated. Ravana smiled, showing several broken teeth. He spoke rapidly in Amorani, showing a hint of what looked like excitement.
“‘I was a valued Hm-Waw’ew,’” said Inva. “‘I have fought many battles against the sand-barbarians and the snake-spears. I have taken many hands.’”
Laela kept her eyes on Ravana and began to be more and more interested in him. A fighter was just what she needed.
Ravana spoke on, and Inva continued to translate. “‘In the beginning, I had no name. But I fought for the right and was rewarded. For my ferocity they named me Ravana, the demon of the flaming sands.’”
Ravana gestured at his scars as he continued.
“‘Every mark you see on me is the last mark of a dead man.’”
Laela thought of her father and the terrible scars he hid under his robe. She shuddered.
“‘When the wars were done, I was sold to a noble in Instabahn,’” Ravana said. “‘I was his guard, and I followed him through night and day, protecting him against his enemies. Now I have been sold again. I see my new Master, and she is most beautiful and most powerful.’”
“I ain— I’m not his master,” Laela interrupted. “Tell him that. He’s not a slave now.”
Inva translated, but Ravana only shook his head. “‘You are my Master now, my Queen. I have come here to see you, so that I may offer these hands of mine in your service, as they were meant to be used.’”
“He wants to serve me now, then?” said Laela.
Ravana knelt again. “‘Master. Accept me, and I will guard you as I guarded my master in Instabahn. Make my life your shield. I am yours.’”
Oeka looked up. “A guard for you?”
Laela thought quickly. “Inva, what do yeh think?”
Inva folded her hands. “I have known many Hm-Waw’ew in my life. There are no better bodyguards in the world, my Queen.”
Laela got up and confronted Ravana. “So yeh want to protect me, is that it?”
“‘I would be beside you always, protecting your life at any cost,’” Ravana said at once.
Oeka had come down off her platform. She walked around the man, examining him disdainfully. “He is big for a human, but still human. What protection can he provide that I cannot?”
“Extra protection,” said Laela. “The more the better, I say.”
“We shall see,” said Oeka, and sprang straight at her, talons outstretched.
Laela reeled away, but she wasn’t quick enough. Oeka’s front paws struck her in the head and shoulders, knocking her back against the throne. As Laela struggled to rise, the griffin came at her again, rasping aggressively.
“Oeka, stop it! What are yeh doin’?”
Oeka ignored her, and reared up, batting at her with her paws.
Laela meant to step forward and face her partner down, but in that moment something hit her in the midriff and she found herself being pulled away. “Hey—!”
Ravana ignored her. He pushed her behind him and darted forward—running straight at Oeka. Still up on her hind legs, she leapt. He flung himself at her without an instant’s hesitation, ramming his head into her stomach. Once she was off balance, he seized her by the forelegs, where they joined her body—jamming his thumbs into the joints.
Oeka screeched in pain and hurled him away. He landed hard on his back, and she closed in, beak open to strike.
But Ravana wasn’t defeated yet. He kicked upward, catching her in the hind legs. They folded, and she stumbled sideways. In an instant, Ravana was up and had her by the neck, lifting and twisting it sideways. Oeka struggled, but cringed and held still when he gave her head a painful wrench.
Panting, Ravana glanced at Laela and spoke.
“What’d he say?” she demanded, panic-stricken. “Inva!”
“‘Shall I kill her, Master?’” said Inva, appearing from behind the pillar where she’d taken shelter.
“No!” Laela yelled. “Tell him to let her go right now!”
Ravana obeyed at once, dropping his hands passively to his sides.
Oeka returned to Laela’s side, shaking her head frantically. “Kreea’kayee! That human’s grip is stone!”
Laela turned angrily on her. “What in the gods’ names was that all about? What were yeh playin’ at?”
Oeka sat on her haunches and began to groom herself. “Be still. I would not have hurt you.”
“‘Be warned,’” Ravana said. “‘The next one who tries to attack my Master shall die, no matter if it is human or griffin.’”
Oeka watched him, green eyes gleaming. “Laela,” she said. “I tell you now that you shall find no better human to guard you than this one.”
“He fought you to save me,” said Laela—adding more quietly, “. . . an’ he won, too.” She looked at Ravana, who was kneeling again. “Yeh’ve proven what yeh can do, Ravana, and I’m impressed. Now stand up an’ listen.”
He did, and stood to attention as Laela spoke on through Inva.
“There are no slaves in Tara, an’ there never will be again. Not so long as I’m Queen. We’re a land of free men an’ women. We can choose what we do with our lives, say an’ think what we want. You’re one of my people now, an’ that means you’re free to do what yeh choose. If yeh choose t’be my guard, I’ll be honoured to have yeh.”
“‘I do choose that,’” Ravana said at once.
“Good. Yeh’ll be paid a proper guard’s wage, plus some extra, an’ as long as yer with me, yeh get a good place to sleep an’ all the food yeh want. If yeh need a weapon or armour or anythin’ like that, just ask an’ it’s yours.”
Ravana accepted all this gravely, and when Laela had finished, he only said, “‘As you choose, so shall I live.’”
“All right, then,” said Laela, and that was that.
3
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A Broken Family
Saeddryn did not return to her personal quarters after the council meeting, even though she was hungry. Hunger sharpened the mind, and she needed to think.
More than that, she needed to pray. The Eyrie might be her home, but it didn’t belong to her. Only one place in Malvern was truly hers, and that was where she went now.
The great Moon Temple had been built close to the Eyrie, and its high, domed roof was visible from almost everywhere in the city. It had originally been a Sun Temple—the same one where Saeddryn’s cousin, Arenadd, had fought and killed the man everyone had thought was the greatest threat to him.
After Malvern’s fall to the Northerner rebels led by Arenadd and Saeddryn, its Temple had not been demolished, but gutted and refurbished as the first Moon Temple anywhere in Cymria.
It had been Arenadd’s idea, and, at first, Saeddryn had disagreed. The Night God was meant to be worshipped in the open air, where the moon that was her eye could shine down on her people and witness their prayers. But Arenadd had been insistent. It was time to move on, he had said, time to shed the old ways and go on into the modern age.
“The Southerners think we’re savages,” he had said when Saeddryn argued. “Too uncivilised to rule ourselves. But we’re not, and if we want to survive, then we have to accept that the past is dead.”
Persuasive words, but, then, he was a persuasive man. Even Saeddryn had given in to his wishes, and once the new Temple was ready—built according to a design Arenadd himself helped to draw up—she had quickly come to agree with him. It had been the proudest moment of her life when he had named her the new—the first—High Priestess of Malvern.
“You like this new Temple of ours,” he had said. “Well, now it’s yours.”
Saeddryn felt the memory of those days move through her as she walked slowly down the main street outside the Eyrie, with Aenae following closely beside her. Ever since Laela’s ascension, the big griffin had kept a close eye on her. He’d been just a youngster back then, when Malvern was freed from Southern rule, and she was young, too, so young, and happier. Everything had been so clear back then, and now it wasn’t.
“Why are we going to the Temple?” Aenae’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
Saeddryn took a moment to answer. “Because I need to pray.” She spoke griffish as a mark of respect though, like all civilised griffins, Aenae understood human speech.
“Prayer,” Aenae huffed. “Even after so many years together, I still do not understand it. You speak to another human who is not there—who was never there and does not exist.”
“It’s good for me,” said Saeddryn, who had heard this sort of thing from him before. “It helps me think. Sometimes, a woman needs t’be calm an’ still for her thoughts to be clear.” She said nothing about finding guidance from the Night God—she knew Aenae would only sneer. No griffin believed in any kind of god; to them it was all human nonsense.
His kind did, however, respect the human ability to think and plan, so Aenae accepted her answer and said nothing else.
The Temple doors were open when Saeddryn reached them, though worshippers rarely went inside except at night. There were important rites to be conducted then, at moonrise, and people liked to come and witness them. Saeddryn would conduct the rituals herself, except when she had some other important business and would leave it to one of the thirteen lesser priestesses.
Despite the fact that it was daytime, the Temple was still dark inside. Its windows, which had once been intended to let in sunlight, had now been blacked out, and the only light came from the lamps.
Saeddryn paused briefly in the doorway to admire her Temple. Even now, its beauty never failed to touch her.
Once, before the war, the people of the North had worshipped in stone circles, on hilltops and forest clearings. But here, in the Temple, it was just the same. The floor was covered in elaborate tile work, showing a textured pattern of grass, earth, and fallen leaves. Pillars stood here and there—not in lines, but spaced irregularly, like trees in a wood. To add to the effect, they, too, were tiled, in shades of brown and silver, like bark but with a touch of the ethereal to it. Silver lantern holders jutted from their sides, shaped like curling branches, and the blue-glass lanterns that hung from them gave off a dim, tinted light.
Above, the ceiling was painted to look like the night sky, with careful reproductions of the constellations. And, at the far end, under the dome itself, there was the circle.
Thirteen standing stones, each one the height of a man, grouped around the altar and the statue that stood over it.
Saeddryn took it all in and smiled to herself.
“Truly, it is astonishing what humans make,” Aenae said quietly.
“Aye, it is.” Saeddryn walked on toward the altar, savouring the fact that all this beauty belonged to her.
The Temple was deserted, except for a young novice priestess who was sweeping the floor around the standing stones. She wore the silver robe of any Temple initiate but cut less finely than that of a full-fledged priestess, and she looked up nervously when Saeddryn arrived.
“Milady, I wasn’t expecting—sorry—”
“Get away, Teressa,” Saeddryn snapped back, impatiently waving the girl away.
The novice took the hint and hurried off.
Left with only Aenae for company, Saeddryn went to the altar, her single eye fixed on the statue that stood over it.
It was of a woman, carved out of white marble. She wasn’t much taller than Saeddryn, but still imposing, her stone face stern and cold. She had been carved with almost no clothing at all—a mantle of some kind hung over her shoulders, leaving her nearly naked, with her breasts exposed. Some had protested over that, but Arenadd had insisted.
“That’s what she looks like,” he had said, and nobody argued.
For herself, Saeddryn liked the way the statue looked. It reminded her of her mother, Arddryn, and even of herself. Because, like her, the Night God only had one eye. A black gemstone had been set into the statue to represent it, while the other was a silver disc, representing the full moon.
Saeddryn smiled up at the statue and tapped the patch that covered her own missing eye. Then she knelt.
In front of her, the altar was carved from a single block of grey stone. A sharp silver knife lay on it, and now Saeddryn picked it up. She stabbed the point into her thumb and smeared the blood onto the altar, murmuring the ritual words.
“With this offering of true Northern blood, I call to ye.”
She waited for a long moment after that, calming her mind and collecting her thoughts. Then, when she felt ready, she took a deep breath to begin her prayer.
“Saeddryn!”
The voice cut across her, instantly breaking the spell of the Temple.
Saeddryn’s eye narrowed, but she ignored it and breathed deeply again. This was more important.
“Saeddryn.” Footsteps came up behind her, and the voice grew louder.
Saeddryn stood up sharply, and turned. “Can’t ye see I’m trying to pray here?” she snapped.
The intruder hesitated. “I’m sorry, but it’s important.”
Saeddryn sighed. “Fine. What is it, Torc?”
Her husband rubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s not like you to pray in the daytime.”
“I’ve got plenty to pray for right now if ye hadn’t guessed,” said Saeddryn. She eyed him with a hint of caution—it wasn’t like him to come into the Temple at all. It had always seemed to make him uneasy.
“I know you do,” said Torc. “Saeddryn . . .”
“What?”
“You’ve got to stop this,” said Torc. “Stop antagonising the Queen. You’re going to get yourself into trouble. You’ll get all of us into trouble.”
“We’re already in trouble,” Saeddryn growled back. “In case ye hadn’t noti
ced. We’re in deep trouble. Not just ye and me, but our children as well. The whole North is in trouble, for that matter—what did ye think I was prayin’ for?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” said Torc. “Yes, Arenadd’s gone, but we’re still here, and we can keep protecting our people. But this—what you’re doing isn’t the way to do that.”
“It’s exactly what I have to do,” said Saeddryn. She curled her lip at him. “D’ye think a real Taranisäii is going to take orders from a half-breed? A bloody Southerner?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Torc. “She’s Arenadd’s daughter, and she’s our Queen, and if you keep on trying to get in her way, then it’s only a matter of time—”
“She’s not his daughter!” Saeddryn shouted, so suddenly that he started. “Are ye insane, Torc? Him, with a Southerner? He couldn’t have children—ye saw what happened when he tried! She’s an imposter. A liar.”
“No, Saeddryn,” said Torc. “She’s real. And even if she weren’t, he adopted her. You saw the documents proving it. He wanted her to rule after him, and that’s all there is to it. And I for one still care about Arenadd’s wishes, even if you don’t.”
“Arenadd’s wishes?” Saeddryn repeated. “Don’t be stupid, Torc. I know he set ye free, but the man was a drunk and half-mad by the end. He was the Shadow That Walks—the Night God’s avatar—but he wouldn’t even come in here for any of the rituals. That Laela’s not his true heir. He put her on that throne to spite us, Torc. That’s all.”
“He trained her,” said Torc. “She proved her worth more than enough in Amoran—making the alliance with the Emperor, bringing the slaves home. She did just as Arenadd would have done. What’s wrong with that?”
“No, Torc,” said Saeddryn. “She’s a ursurper. Our son should be King. He was born for it, trained for it.”
Torc looked troubled. “I know that, but after what he did—”