I stared at his unmoving visage for what seemed like eternity. I don’t know if I was expecting the statue to answer me or Olluhm himself to descend from the sky and sweep me away. As I knelt in prayer I remembered seeing Caol’non in the corridor, how he was so happy to see his brother with a saffira, thus proving he wasn’t besotted with any priestess. Yes, that was the very word Caol’non used, besotted! And here I thought I was the only one who couldn’t control her thoughts or deeds, but Caol’nir’s smiles must be meant for me alone, he must care for me if…
I caught myself and looked back to the statue’s face as shame overtook the joy in my heart. Here I was, begging the god who was also my mate to forgive my wayward impulses, and I still couldn’t get this man out of my mind. But then, Olluhm wasn’t yet my mate, and that was his doing.
“Why have you not claimed me?” I whispered. “I’ve always been an ideal priestess, I’ve followed all the customs…I have endeavored to welcome you to my bed…and you have never come.”
The stone god continued regarding me with his blank stare, and I thought I’d collapse into tears right there in the shrine. Most priestesses were claimed within a few moons of taking their vows, and he would return often to those he favored. Why, he had honored Atreynha many times, so many that I could no longer pretend to be happy for her. Olluhm didn’t want me, I had no idea why he didn’t want me, and if I couldn’t get Caol’nir out of my mind he surely never would. I would live out my days an unclaimed woman, alone.
I recited for the hundredth, maybe thousandth time the incantation to welcome Olluhm to my bed, laughing inwardly as I said my name the requisite seven times. ‘Servant of the gods’ my name meant, and here I was all but begging to serve Olluhm in the most basic way imaginable, yet he remained indifferent. Would I have to dance naked atop the altar in order to fulfill my vows?
“Alluria?”
The voice startled me, and for a moment I thought that Olluhm had finally come for me. But no, it was the novice Sura, peeking her head into the shrine.
“Forgive me for disturbing your meditation,” she continued, “but a man is requesting to see you.”
“What man?” I asked as I rose. I hoped it wasn’t that annoying lord from the north who was pestering me for a spell to convince the neighboring lord to relinquish his lands, all over a few wayward sheep…
“It’s that warrior that always follows you about,” Sura replied. “I can tell him you’re attending to something far more important than dealing with him. Just because his father is Prelate, he thinks you must appear at his command!”
“Sura, we’re all in service to the gods,” I said sternly. “No matter who requests me, I must hear them out on Olluhm’s behalf, regardless of their parentage.” I hoped my formal tone would overcome the fluttering of my heart.
“Yes, my lady,” Sura said as she bowed her head, sufficiently admonished. I murmured a quick blessing as I swept by her and nearly ran to the central chamber; I composed myself and slowed my gait before he saw me. I found him waiting near the eastern door in a shaft of sunlight, and I wondered if he truly did look like Solon. His back was to me, and his blond hair, caught up as ever in that braid, was a river of sun coursing down his back.
“Again, such an early visit to temple,” I said, and he turned to face me. Caol’nir’s smile burnt away the lingering feelings of shame and abandonment I’d felt in the shrine. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I have your herbs,” he replied, holding out the bundle I packed less than a day ago; we had agreed that he should bring me the herbs the following morning, lest others wonder how fresh plants appeared in my possession. “The correct herbs.”
“Many thanks, warrior.”
“Are we back to that, then?” he asked, and I laughed loudly enough for my sister priestesses to look over. I didn’t care; let them think Caol’nir made me happy, for it was the truth.
“For now,” I replied. Caol’nir made a show of bowing and handing me the bundle, I thought to appease those around me with nothing better to do that stare at us. What they did not see was how he grasped my hand, that gentle squeeze saying more than his words could while in the temple.
I was thanking him when his eldest brother, the Prelate’s second, appeared and started ordering him about. I wondered if Caol’non had recognized me and reported what he saw, but my fears were unfounded. Fiornacht is the type of man who enjoys having authority over others, and who better to use that authority on that your younger brother? Not having the slightest desire to listen to Fiornacht’s diatribe I took my leave of the two, intent upon working with the herbs.
“My lady?” Caol’nir called after me. I turned and saw that Fiornacht was gone, and that Caol’nir’s wide grin had returned.
“Yes, warrior?”
“May I say farewell?”
I knew he didn’t mean a farewell with words, and I extended my hand. “Yes, warrior, you may.”
As he pressed my fingers to his lips I thought of Olluhm, of how I’d lain awake all those nights hoping he would honor me, of all the rituals I had performed, all the incense I had burned, all for nothing.
I gazed at the top of Caol’nir’s head as he kissed my hand, all the while my head telling me that I needed to limit my contact with him, to not entertain these thoughts about him that I hardly admitted to having. Then Caol’nir straightened and I was again awash in the warmth and contentment that I only felt when Caol’nir was close to me, and… and I no longer cared if Olluhm honored me. In fact, I hoped he never would.
Chapter Four
The guard brought Hillel small items that wouldn’t arouse suspicion but were useful as weapons. On the first day, he also brought a smooth piece of wood scored with marks denoting how many slaves were willing and able to join Hillel. She was disheartened by the small numbers; she knew of at least thirty women and twelve guards, but the wood bore a total of twenty-seven scratches. On the fifth day he smuggled only a small jar of powder.
“What am I to do with this?” Hillel turned the pot over in her hands. “Throw it in their eyes and blind them?”
“Everything I’ve obtained thus far has been spelled by my brother,” the guard stated. “When the time comes, assemble all I’ve brought you and sprinkle this powder over it.”
Hillel received no further instruction, for at that moment several demons lumbered down the corridor and the guard slammed the cell door closed. She stared at the door and wondered where the guard’s brother’s true allegiance lay, then she shrugged. All would be revealed soon enough.
Hillel turned toward the window; she and the guard had agreed to make their escape during the dark moon, three nights hence, and he had rearranged the lots to ensure that the slave taken that night was one of the women beyond help. Hillel hadn’t asked, but the guard shared that the woman, knowing she was unable to fight or flee, had volunteered for the right. Hillel silently thanked her for her sacrifice.
As Hillel pondered such a selfless act, her gaze settled on Torim. Even in the dim light, she was pale with fear.
“We will soon be gone from here,” Hillel whispered as she pulled Torim into her arms. “I won’t let another demon harm you.” Torim nodded against Hillel’s shoulder, then her shoulders shook and Hillel sank to the floor, cradling her friend against her breast.
“Promise me you won’t leave me,” Torim whispered.
“We’re locked in a cell; neither of us is going anywhere.”
“No, once we’ve gotten away.” Torim raised her wide, wet eyes to Hillel. “Hillel, I cannot live without you.”
Hillel smiled as she stroked Torim’s cheek. “What makes you think I could live without you? I’ll never leave you, Torim. You’ll never know what it’s like to live without me.” She drew Torim closer and kissed her forehead. “I will always be here for you.”
Torim twined Hillel’s pale hair about her fingers. “Promise to stay with me,” she insisted as she drew Hillel’s face close to hers. “Say it.”
“I promise,” Hillel swore, and she kissed Torim again to seal the vow.
###
Three days passed before the moon went dark; three long, agonizing days during where neither Hillel nor Torim saw the guard. They hoped that he was being cautious, the alternative being that he had been found out and put to death.
The cellmates knew it was midnight by the whimpers of that night’s female as she was dragged away. Her cries had barely faded when the guard appeared at their door.
“Assemble the pieces,” he hissed. Hillel and Torim arranged the bits of wood and leather and rusted iron into some semblance of a weapon, then Torim dug the tiny jar from beneath the straw and flung a handful of powder at them. Before their eyes, the meaningless items melded into two shining, sharp swords. Hillel hefted one, and as she made a practice swing she realized that while her mind had no memory of wielding a sword, her arm remembered the motions well.
“And now, we go,” Hillel proclaimed, and she left her cell for the final time.
“My brother,” said the guard, “we must free him first so he may break the thrall.”
Hillel nodded, and the three of them crept down the corridor. The guards they passed turned away, some quivering with the effort of resisting the magical impetus to recapture them.
They found the mordeth where they had expected, in the sole room that could be described as a bedchamber. His back was to the door, and he gnawed on a joint of meat while his slaves cowered in the corners. With hardly a thought Hillel strode up to the beast and plunged her sword into the back of his neck.
Torim screamed as the mordeth lunged backward, trying to strike back, but the killing blow was struck. Its great body fell with a thud, and black, caustic blood flowed around floor in small eddies.
Perhaps I was once a warrior. Hillel marveled at the ease with which she had killed the mordeth. The creature that had ripped her from her home and destroyed her life, the most fearsome of her captors, was now a corpse at her feet. Filled with newfound confidence, she spun about and grabbed Torim’s hand.
“We can do this!” Hillel whispered. Torim nodded, then turned her attention to the slaves in the corner. Hillel stripped the mordeth’s weapons and started speaking to the guard, when she realized he was no longer behind her. He crouched next to another man bound in chains.
“Your brother?” she asked, and the guard nodded. Hillel found a set of keys on the mordeth’s body and loosed the magic handler from his manacles. “Can you break the thrall?” she asked as they helped him to his feet.
“I can,” he affirmed as he slowly, stiffly crossed the room to the mordeth’s sleeping area. He grasped a red sphere, smooth and translucent as if made of glass, and threw to the stone floor. A wave of magic permeated the room, and Hillel saw the thrall fall away from the guard as if he’d cast off a dirty cloak. He looked at Hillel and nodded, her heart leaping at the fire in his eyes.
“Now, the others,” she said. When they emerged from the mordeth’s chamber, they found the other guards’ eyes darting about; not only did they feel the absence of the thrall, their free will was returned.
“The spell is ended,” Hillel proclaimed. Gods, how good it feels to be able to speak aloud without fear of a beating! “To me!” she cried, and the cell doors flew open at the magic handler’s command. Slaves and guards alike poured into the corridor, makeshift weapons in hand, slashing and stabbing at any demon who dared approach them.
Hillel did not join the melee in the corridor but instead ran to the chaining room. She wished to rescue the poor, wretched woman who had made their escape possible. Bursting through the door, she killed the one demon inside just as she had dispatched the mordeth. She kicked the body aside and began unshackling the woman, then noticed her limp limbs. She was already dead.
“Thank you.” Hillel closed the woman’s eyes, then she ran back to the fray.
The corridor was a mess of limbs and blood, but the liberated slaves and guards far outnumbered their captors. Quicker than Hillel would have thought possible the demons were subdued, their bodies thrown into a heap in the mordeth’s chamber.
Once the last corpse was in the room, Hillel looked to the guard. “Now begins the task I most dread.”
The guard accompanied her as she made her way to those who could not be rescued, whether they be ruined woman or demon whelp, and performed the ultimate act of mercy.
After all were released, in one way or another, Hillel cast her gaze about the group, seeing some for the first time in her long incarceration. They were ragged and broken, but all stared at her with hope in their eyes. Hillel realized they were waiting for her instruction, so she straightened her back and moved toward the exit.
“Come.” Hillel’s voice resonated off the stone walls. “Let us leave this hell.”
They took the time to lovingly construct a pyre so those who could not accompany them in body may leave in spirit, and once the pyres had burnt to the ground they set the prison alight. As the flames illuminated the night sky, Hillel looked around at her motley band of survivors. All told, only twenty-four had escaped.
“Are other demons nearby?” Hillel asked the guard as she watched the billowing clouds of smoke.
“I have no idea,” the guard replied. “I’m of a mind to leave before we find out.”
“Run,” Hillel called out. “Meet by the water!”
They did, and it wasn’t long before they reached the stream. As the assembled slaves—No, thought Hillel, we will never be called slaves again!—drank the clear, cold water and washed away the grime of captivity, Hillel’s mind turned toward the future.
“Where are we to go now?” asked Torim, her words echoing Hillel’s thoughts. “I don’t even know where we are.”
“Teg’urnan is half a day to the south,” offered the guard.
“We’re not going there,” Hillel said.
Twenty-three sets of eyes turned toward Hillel, shocked that she didn’t want to seek asylum in Teg’urnan.
“It’s the king who imprisoned us; if we go to Teg’urnan we will likely be recaptured. We must stay away, at least for the time being.” Hillel turned to the guard. “Do you know of somewhere we can rest, and regain our strength?” To her surprise, the guard’s brother answered.
“There is a cottage we can go to,” he said, his voice rusty with disuse. “If we walk through the night, we can be there by first dawn.” He pointed the way and offered a few rough directions, and then Hillel turned to the rest.
“You are all free,” she declared. “You may go wherever you wish.” As Hillel said the words she saw their faces clouded by fear, and she realized that they, like her, might not have anywhere to go. “If you wish to remain with us, you are welcome to do so,” she continued. “I don’t know what tomorrow will hold for us if we remain together. We may merely wander in the woods, starving and cold. What I can do for you, my friends, is give you my solemn oath that as long as you remain with me no demon will harm any of you, not ever again.”
Her impromptu speech ended, Hillel turned on her heel, not looking back as she made her way through the trees. Torim fell into step beside her, followed by the guard and his brother. By unanimous, although silent, vote, the rest decided that Hillel was their leader, whether she wanted them or not. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw them following her.
After they had travelled in silence for nearly half the night, Torim approached the guard. “Thank you. We never would have been free without you, or you,” she added with a nod to his brother.
The guard bowed his head in acknowledgement. “We would not have gotten out without her,” he said, jerking his head toward Hillel. “We still don’t know what to call each other. I am Harek; I was once a soldier in the king’s legion. My brother is called Sarfek.”
“I am Torim,” she replied.
Harek indicated Hillel with his eyes. “Do you know her name?”
Torim smiled as she watched Hillel’s back. “She is the Asherah,” Torim proclaimed, “a
nd she will save us all.”
###
They reached the cottage just as the elder sun rose; it was a small and nondescript, situated in a small clearing. It could have belonged to a baker, or a weaver, or anyone who had never been a slave. Torim stopped to greet the elder sun, for it crested the cottage’s thatched roof just as the band of survivors stepped forth from the trees, and the rest joined in as she led the prayer. Once the prayer was complete, the survivors followed Hillel as she entered the cottage.
It was small, much too small for twenty-four adults, but to the survivors it was as fine as any palace. There were cots against the wall, chairs to sit upon instead of the floor, and several baskets of clothing off to the side. A wide wooden table, heaped with bread and fruit, took up most of the interior. Miraculously, the cottage held everything the survivors needed, but Hillel had stopped believing in miracles some time ago.
“How did you come by this cottage?” Hillel demanded of the magic handler, who she now knew was called Sarfek. “Is this some sort of a trap?”
“This is a gift from Rahlle,” Sarfek replied. “He has seen that the king must be dethroned. He is hoping that you, Asherah, will accomplish this.”
Hillel glared at Torim; by the time she learned that Torim had named her Asherah, the entire group was calling her Asherah and there was no convincing them otherwise. She returned her attention to Sarfek, who shrank from her icy stare.
“You speak to Rahlle,” she stated.
“Rahlle speaks to me,” he corrected. “He is mad as they say, and I doubt he would notice me if I were standing in front of his nose.”
“If Rahlle spoke to you, why did he not free you?” Hillel pressed. “Why would he let us remain in our torment when he could just wave his mighty hand and end it?”
“Rahlle has sworn fealty to Sahlgren; he cannot act against him,” Sarfek replied.
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