by Scott Rhine
His only regret was that he might not have reached her soon enough.
Chapter 49 – Rescue
Sarajah woke on a padded altar in the magnificent sanctuary of a strange temple. It was evening. Through a skylight, both the full moon and the Compass Star illuminated the vast room. When she attempted to sit up, she discovered that she was tied to the slab. Her wrists and ankles were pulled taut to the corners with ropes. Was she the Sacrifice now? Mess with the cards and they found a way to correct. With effort, she could move her torso and head the barest bit up or to the side, but her limbs were tight. Maybe the cloak could provide a way out of these ropes.
The cloak of Archanos was gone.
Sarajah refused to give up. “Screw predestination and fate,” she muttered.
Hindaloo chuckled from the corner. “I fully intend to, but after you’re suitably prepared.”
The sudden chill through her body felt like she had the flu, with the corresponding desire to run to the outhouse and vomit. In hindsight, maybe it hadn’t been wise to hire a man with the nickname the Despised. “What did you do to me?”
He sauntered up to the altar wearing her cloak and a pair of gloves. His shirt was open in some twisted attempt to seduce her. His voice had a smooth charm that insisted everything would be fine. “Nothing . . . yet. I usually make the subject beg first.”
“I have a fever.”
“Oh, that.” He ran a gloved hand over her forehead. “Yes, you’ve been infected with the plague your sister concocted for my people. Ever since the plague erupted, the guilty have been brought here to the temple of Eutheros to pay the penalty for her suffering. Your higher brain functions will slowly erode and eventually, you’ll do anything I say in exchange for a little water and some bread. Shambler women get very enthusiastic for fruit on my weekly visits.”
Damn. Pinetto should’ve insisted on being paid in advance. Was she immune to the effects or was she sweating for a reason other than fear? “The others will find us soon. I can keep them from killing you if you leave now.”
He tsked. “Your demon lover won’t find you in time. I paid the pirates to take us to the mainland, and they’ll be back for me in a week.”
“For you?” she turned her head, unable to bear the sight of him any longer. As she did so, she noticed the desiccated remains of two other women bound to the wall. A shriek escaped her.
Hindaloo nodded. “That one died because of my capture. Pity; I did love her, but I only leave five days of water.”
She noticed a dagger tucked into an alcove on the side of the altar. If she could free one hand, Sarajah could grab it. All she had to do was keep him talking. “I thought you said you came every seven days.”
He shrugged. “Two days of deprivation makes the women more . . . receptive.”
Forget the dagger; she could kill him with two fingers—if she could just wiggle free. The left hand moved a little because of the gossamer. “Why did the second woman die?”
“Oh, her. She chose death over the alternative. Since then, I don’t give a choice . . . which is why I infected you with the plague first.”
Hindaloo the Despised pulled a primitive necklace of crystal shards from beneath his side of the altar. “Behold, the Goddess Deliah . . . or what little remains of her echo. But it’s enough of her that her screams of agony and violation resonate to her whole family. That way, they all know what we’re doing to their youngest flower and are powerless to stop it. I’ve been wanting to see you in this necklace, and nothing else, ever since we met.”
She struggled as hard as she could against the bonds, to no avail. “I’ll never submit!”
He smiled. “That’s why I waited till the full moon, when the spirit of the necklace is strongest. With the plague and lack of water, your resistance will get steadily weaker. Eventually, you’ll yield to avoid the suffering. It’s not you I want, just your body.”
As he slipped the necklace over her head, she bit him, but she couldn’t puncture the leather of the gloves. When nothing happened immediately, he said, “Oops. Silly me. She needs direct skin contact for the transfer.” He ripped her bodice open until the crystal shards lay cold against her breasts. “Oh, the panther didn’t do them justice in his descriptions. You’re going to be my new favorite.”
Sarajah’s back arched, and she tossed like she was having a seizure. She could hear the disjoint voices babbling in her mind: the insane screams, the buzzing questions, the need for any physical stimulation, and the overwhelming panic. She held her center against the spirit assault the way Tashi showed her. The exercises had seemed stupid and pointless at the time. Now she wanted to thank him for every boring moment. Eyes closed, she entered proto-dream state, drew the circle of fire, and beat back the wispy fragments.
Eventually the fragments coalesced into a figure—her sister. She had holes and her eyes were tortured, but it was Deliah. When they recognized each other, Sarajah calmed, and her body settled back to the cushions. She heard the woman’s voice whisper, “End this, please.”
When she opened her eyes, Sarajah mimicked Deliah’s voice. “Use the dagger on me.”
Hindaloo shuddered with excitement. “Oh no. Not yet. You have to earn the dagger to end the game early. You have to be a very bad goddess.”
Breathy, she lowered her eyelids and said, “By now, I know what you like.”
He licked his lips and pulled out the dagger with a shaking hand. “Yes?”
“Climb on and start at the top. Kiss me first, rub your beard on my neck, and then you can be inside Deliah for as long as you like.”
He practically vaulted onto her body. As he leaned down to devour her neck, Sarajah strained her chest upward into his. When the shards made contact with his skin, he froze. Then he made a whining sound as he slid off and rolled on the floor. Hindaloo kicked and smashed his forehead against the stone, but nothing stopped the goddess from taking control of his body.
Deliah stood in her tormentor’s body, staring at the dagger.
Sarajah shouted, “Wait, free me first.”
Deliah looked at the man’s wilting erection and the knife several beats, wanting to mutilate him while he watched helplessly.
Sarajah broke through the thoughts of revenge. “Kill him now and I die slowly, sister. That’s poor repayment for ending your years of torture.”
“Swear you’ll crush the shards,” Hindaloo said with a high voice.
“We’ve almost located Ashterah. We might be able to reconstruct—”
“End it!” Deliah said, panting with effort.
“I swear.”
“Tie his body to the wall like he tied me. Crush the last piece just as I slice off his manhood.”
“He’ll bleed to death quickly.”
“Too quickly, you’re right,” said the fragmented spirit. “Give him a leather thong that he can twist around the injury with his free hand. Then, place a water bottle just out of reach. If he wants to drink, he’ll have to bleed.” The knife freed Sarajah’s ankles as the goddess spoke. “Have him tell you the names and location of every member of his twisted sect that still worships Eutheron. Offer him bread, but make sure it’s caked with salt. Then empty the water bottle on the floor.”
“That’s a bit extreme,” Sarajah said as Deliah freed her hands.
“It’s what he did to me last time.”
“No problem. Can I have the cloak back first? I don’t want to get blood on it.”
Hindaloo’s eyes blinked. “Right, sorry.”
****
An hour later, a golden wagon hovered outside the lost temple. Sarajah was bathing in the night surf after putting Hindaloo out of his misery. She wished for the first time that she hadn’t included rules against torture in her new religion. A giant woman in a gown and hair that matched the night sky strode up to her. “You don’t seem to need rescuing.”
Eight other Dawn creatures landed on the sand in an arc pattern and watched. They wore golden armor with huge, curved, unmoving wi
ngs—a little late, but impressive nonetheless.
“Well, you saved me from having to kill a score of pirates next week to get a ride home.” Wary, Sarajah added, “But I won’t pay a service to get the ride.”
“No, your favored has paid the price for you.”
Sarajah softened for a moment before asking, “Where is he?”
“I’m keeping him safe in the armory till you return. He loves you very much.”
Realizing some of the implications of this statement, Sarajah whispered, “The Sacrifice,” and sank to her knees in the lapping water.
“Yes. The Chorus owes you a service before we rejoice with my husband. What do you require?”
Sarajah wanted to cry, to rail, but she forced herself to use cold reason. “You’re going to Center with me to break the siege against Emperor Pagaose.”
“We do not serve the children of Osos,” Ashterah spat.
Sarajah stood, jaw set, and poked her sister in the knee with her index finger. “You obey Archanos. I’m his high priestess. He’s ordered us to bring the Amber Scythe to aid Pagaose. If you stop jerking your knee in reflex and think, you’ll agree with me.”
“For the vestige of my sisters that remain, I will listen for sixty beats.”
“Pagaose freed the Traveler. Tashi freed our mother . . . mostly. Together, they killed Eutheron and sealed the gods off for three generations. The revolution is over and we won it without you or your stockpiles. We have churches to Archanos on Center, Kiateros, and now the Outer Islands. The only people who stand against us are Sandarac, his rogue Imperials, some mercenaries, a few homeless ki mages, and the fire mages of Intaglios.”
The giantess’ mouth fell open. “But we prepared so long. It’s over?”
“Not yet. That’s why I’m here. Pagaose has gone through a lot of trouble to gather and hold the villains all in one place for us on boats outside his harbor.”
“So the Fallen can triumph once and for all.”
“Something like that.”
Addressing the eight giant Dawn creatures behind her, Ashterah proclaimed, “The Scythe rides to Center tonight!”
“Whoa. I’ve already gathered the Greens and a merchant ship full of Babliosians and equipment for our attack.”
“Is that all? The Scythe is the most potent weapon ever assembled. It can kill a hundred men each time it’s used on an open field in battle. When the targets are most tightly clustered in ships or buildings, it’s even more effective. But I suppose we’ll need them to minimize our losses and to clean up the ones who flee.”
“If that’s your attitude, why did you train the Greens at all?”
“Because ki mages and fireballs can still hurt our incarnations. They provide a buffer; although, one ship of fodder may not be enough to clean all the Inner Islands. Have my servant Ava rally my children at the docks. Our company owns several of the cargo vessels in the marina.”
“You’re the ones buying the Sacred Amber from the Arinaw? You’re letting them oppress and abuse your people?”
“The humans are a gathering system for war materials, no more. We draw no substance from them. This gathering system is simply more efficient than we had in the past. Fill a barge to capacity with volunteers.”
“But the arkies aren’t trained warriors.”
“Numbers are all that matters. Loose them on a ship that contains Imperials or metal, and it won’t matter. I hear Ooma speaks well and inspires the masses.”
“They’ll be massacred.”
“For a time, but you commanded this battle. They will distract the enemy on deck while the Scythe kills the rest. Besides, after this war, I won’t need so many gatherers. Their only purpose was to arm us.”
Sarajah bit her lip rather than say what she felt about the goddess’ attitude. “Fine, just warn them away from my prophet.”
The goddess snorted. “He’s done fine so far without my help. However, in the interests of harmony in battle, I will propagate acceptance for Imperials who worship our pantheon and bear our mark.”
“Great. How long will it take for all of us to reach Center? I need to tell them when to expect us. I have a person trained in dream craft who is waiting for word from me.”
“Use my fountain to do so, and while you’re there you can bid farewell to your favored. We’ll loan you a helmet. The cloak should shield you from the radiation for brief periods unless the geyser erupts.”
“Wait. The plague. I don’t think I have it, but I don’t want to spread it. Archanos promised us the antidote when we brought him the Scythe.”
“Grallfish.”
“What? That awful stuff we ate on their island in the Starday ceremony?”
“It’s engineered. Only the faithful eat it as part of their observance. No one else would touch it, the taste is so bad.”
“So the only people who die are the ones who didn’t follow your stupid instructions?”
“In battle, the commander must be obeyed. The others are of no use.”
Sarajah narrowed her eyes. “How do you know I’ll deliver the Scythe and not hide it away somewhere?”
“You misunderstand. Together, we are the Scythe. Our armors together focus enormous psychic energy. Don’t worry; the blast leaves the buildings and ships intact.”
“That’s horrible,” Sarajah whispered. “I can see why Osos ended the war rather than risk its use in battle. Still, what’s to prevent you from becoming the next tyrant with such a force?”
Ashterah laid a hand on the relatively small woman. “Every time we fire the Scythe, the Dawn person directing the blast is destroyed by the energy focused through him. The cause has to be one you’re willing to die for.”
****
Back in the pit, Tashi held Sarajah in her radiation-proof armor. He closed his eyes and savored the moment. “Were they in time?”
Not wanting his sacrifice to be in vain, she said, “Yes. Thanks to you. And more importantly, I was able to hold off possession because of the training you gave me. I owe you so much. We’ll find a way to fix this.”
“Time passes more quickly near the Rift. It seems I blinked and you were here. Five hundred years will go by before you know it.”
Climbing out of the pit, she lay with her arm dangling over on the rim so that Tashi could hold it. Entering the proto-dream state, she searched for Corrie. When she couldn’t locate the woman, she investigated a smaller, familiar pattern in the same area. She peered into the woman’s dream. Not a true talent, Komiko had been exposed. She was puttering around the dream arena like an ant moving boulders of dirt. In her sleep, she fretted while constructing a mansion. Komiko was all alone in a white kimono.
Entering Komiko’s dream, Sarajah said, “Greetings, witch. Why do you mourn?”
“Ember and her baby were burned down by fire mages.”
“Are you ready for some revenge?”
“Yes, o queen.”
“Good. We’re arriving next Fireday just after dark. We’ll have the advantage then.” Sarajah formed an image of each ship and the troops it carried as she listed their assets. “We want you to mass as many little ships as you can. We call them mosquitoes. When we zap one of the warships with the Scythe or dark clouds, your people should swarm them and kill the mages. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Now repeat it back to me.”
Komiko did so, adding particular emphasis on, “kill the mages.”
Chapter 50 – The Roseate Lens
Serog perched in pale, human form on the lip of a great, round skylight. The opening let celestial light into a vast marble chamber full of scrolls. The dream palace had appeared in the last few months, but this library was the only place she’d never entered. Humming, Pagaose busily arranged and catalogued the scrolls by category: poetry, history, theology, and song. She watched, tilting her head like a bird as he selected scrolls seemingly at random to place into a bin marked ‘dictate to Scribbles’.
Most intriguing, he took one ancient par
chment and placed it between two black covers, tying the spine with white ribbon. Curiosity made her itch. When Pagaose turned his back, she leaned closer. The cover said only: ‘In Loving Memory’.
“This place is sacred to me,” said the emperor. Serog was so startled that she almost fell off her perch. “But if you swear not to harm me or its contents, I will let you enter.”
“Why?”
“You’re sacred as well, ancient spirit. You’re the only one who could appreciate most of what’s in here.”
She floated down in her white kimono, not quite touching the floor. Her face was painted in white makeup, highlighted in the orange-pink of sunset. Serog arched a fine, black eyebrow. “No one else has ever been here?”
He shook his head. “The others use the dream plane for recreation or passion. Only I try to store things that no one else remembers.”
Serog examined some of the titles. “This is priceless. You need to surrender to Sandarac tomorrow and finish transcribing these treasures. He’s attacking with every wizard and weapon he has. If he kills you before—”
“He won’t,” the emperor said quietly. “However, if it would ease your worry, you may pick one item from my library and I’ll put it at the front of my queue for tomorrow morning.”
“What’s in there?” she asked pointing to the memorial folder.
He handed the thin book to her. “I found this when I was looking for a poem for my own daughter’s funeral . . . service.” He choked a little on the words. “It made me think of you, so I made you a copy.”
When she opened it, Serog saw sheet music and words in the ancient tongue. Pagaose sang for her. For the first twenty years of his life, he’d been a tenor for a prison choir. His voice was now deeper, but the training and suffering shone in his words like wood hand-polished for a century. He sang the oldest funeral hymn known to man, given to them by the Dawn race. When he spoke of the loss of his child, she felt the echoes in her own chest. Tears rolled down her face, leaving flesh-colored tracks in her mask of white.