Thrones of Ash (Kingdoms of Sand Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Save him," Ofeer whispered. "I'm scared."

  There were four figures carrying her, she thought. She could not see their faces. They wore hoods and cloaks, and veils hid their faces. The walls of the city rose around them, dark, craggy, lined with windows. They rushed through the alleyways. And the blood kept flowing.

  Ofeer closed her eyes. One of the figures clutched her hand, and she held it, squeezed it, and she prayed.

  Please, Eloh. Please. Please. Please.

  The walls grew closer, and they were rushing through a doorway, climbing a staircase, and soon she lay in a bed. The blood soaked through the sheets. They stood above her, four of them, removing their veils at last, and she saw that their skin was light brown like hers, their hair black, their eyes dark. Desert people.

  "We have to stop the bleeding," one said, an aging man with a long beard.

  "She's fading. Her pulse is weakening." A woman held Ofeer's wrist, touched her forehead. "Where in Ashael is Noa?"

  "I sent Elinathan to fetch her," said the man. "She's tending to Halachi's boys. She'll be here."

  Ofeer was fading into darkness. She managed to place a hand on her belly. She felt him. She felt him there, afraid, crying out to her. Mother. Mother.

  "Mother," Ofeer whispered.

  She too suddenly felt like a babe, so afraid. She missed Shiloh. She wanted her mother so badly. She wanted to be home.

  "I'm so scared," Ofeer whispered. "I'm so scared. Please help him. Help him. Help me."

  She had not wanted to bear Seneca's son, a son born in incest, but now Ofeer wanted that babe to live—to live, to live, wanted him to live more than anything, more than she had ever wanted anything. She prayed through her tears.

  "Please, Eloh, please." Ofeer shuddered, and her voice faded to a whisper, then only to thoughts.

  Please. I've never prayed to you before, but now I plead. Please forgive me. Please. She reached upward as if she could clutch God's hand. Please, Eloh, forgive me for all I've done. For sleeping with men at the port. For betraying my family. For joining the Aelarians as they killed my people, as they killed my father. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please.

  "She's fading!" cried the woman. "I can barely feel her pulse."

  "Periel, go to the boys' house, tell them we need Noa now. Now!"

  Footsteps shuffled. Ofeer could barely see.

  I'm so sorry, Eloh, and I beg you. I promise you. If you heal me, if you save my babe, I will change. I won't be the same Ofeer. I will be better. I will be good to you. I will follow your light. I will be a child of Zohar. Please. Please. Save him. Don't punish my child for my sins. Please. I love you, Eloh. Please, please . . .

  She could no longer think. All there was—only blood and shadows. Only fading light, and God's grace far from her, beyond her reach.

  Her hand fell onto the bed.

  In the darkness, a light emerged.

  A figure stepped into the room, holding a lantern, the light illuminating a narrow, dark, young face. The face of a Zoharite, her eyes aglow.

  A lumer, Ofeer knew, the thought emerging from the depths of blackness.

  "What happened?" the lumer said, rushing toward Ofeer.

  "Thank God you're here, Noa," said the bearded man. "Men attacked her in an alleyway. She's with child. She's been bleeding for an hour now."

  The lumer—Noa—placed down her lantern, inhaled deeply, and at once her hands glowed. The light shone from her eyes, two moons. When she placed those glowing hands on Ofeer's belly, there was terrible heat and cold and pain, and Ofeer screamed.

  "Hold her down," Noa said.

  The others clutched Ofeer's hands, squeezing, pinning her arms down. She screamed again. The light invaded her, pulsing through her, exploring her innards, seeking, twisting, serpents of luminescence. Ofeer had never been in God's graces, never been pious like Maya, and Eloh's light seared her.

  "Is he . . ." Ofeer managed to whisper, sweat in her eyes.

  "Your child still lives," said Noa, her eyes alight, her hands wreathed in luminescence. The light flowed through her, into Ofeer, crawling inside her. "His heart is weak. I can barely feel it beating. But he lives. He is strong. He is a lion of Zohar."

  "Save him," Ofeer whispered. "Please."

  "Only the grace of Luminosity can save him," Noa replied, and suddenly Ofeer knew who this was, recognized her, had seen her before in the distance—this was Worm! Worm was Noa Bat Seean, the lumer who had fled Porcia's service, the lumer now sought across the Empire, a great reward on her head.

  Noa reached down, and she placed her hands between Ofeer's legs, and the pain was horrible, and Ofeer thrashed and cried out. The light flowed, filling her womb, caressing her child . . . soothing.

  Her pain eased.

  Her bleeding ebbed.

  And Ofeer saw it—the desert.

  The dunes rolled into the shimmering horizon. A caravan of camels walked toward the tan mountains. There on the mountains it rose—the city of light, of copper and gold. Domes and columns and palm trees, ancient stones, three thousand years of prophets and kings and desert songs. Beth Eloh.

  A dove flew above the city, an olive sprig in its beak, flying toward the sea.

  Child.

  The voice spoke inside her. It was not Noa speaking, not the people in this room. It did not speak in Zoharite, nor in Aelarian, nor in any other language Ofeer could recognize. And yet she understood.

  Child, be strong. I will protect you.

  Sad. The voice was so sad.

  "He's good," she whispered, weeping. "He wants to help us. He didn't create evil. He wants to help us."

  I am with you, Ofeer Sela. Always.

  "Sela," she said. "I am a Sela. Thank you. Thank you, Eloh. Thank you."

  She could speak no more. The light flowed across her, and Ofeer slept.

  It seemed that she slept for years, and she did not dream.

  Light fell on her face, and her eyes opened.

  Ofeer blinked. She still lay in the bed. It was not luminescence that fell upon her now, but sunlight—just plain, good, beautiful sunlight, streaming through the curtained windows. Ofeer looked down, horrified that she might find herself in a pool of blood, but somebody had changed her clothes, changed the sheets. She wore an eggshell-colored tunic, soft on her skin.

  She looked up to see a woman sitting at her side.

  The woman looked to be about forty years old, her hair braided, her eyes brown and kind. A lion pendant hung around her neck.

  "How do you feel?" the woman asked softly, speaking in Zoharite. Ofeer recognized the voice—one of the people who had lifted her from the alleyway, who had carried her here.

  "Weak." Ofeer placed her hands on her belly, then looked up at the woman, and her heart quickened with fear.

  The woman stroked Ofeer's hair. "Noa said that your babe is strong. He still lives."

  Ofeer closed her eyes, and a tear streamed down her cheeks. "Where is Noa? I would thank her."

  "Noa Bat Seean has many to tend to in this city, but she will return before sundown. Rest now, Ofeer."

  But Ofeer could not rest. She had too many questions. She looked around her at the room, finally taking in more details. Clay pomegranates hung from the walls, ancient symbols of Zohar. A bowl of dates and figs stood on a small table. A cracked scroll rested beside it, half-open, revealing Zoharite text. Ofeer recognized the Song of Sand, a holy poem from her homeland. For an instant Ofeer was sure she was back in Zohar, but the light was wrong. The sunlight was too soft here, not the searing light of the eastern sun.

  "Where am I? Who are you?"

  "I'm Sheerel," said the woman. "You're in a safe place. You should rest now, you—Ofeer! You must lie down!"

  But Ofeer was already rising to her feet. She left the bed, made for the doorway, and stepped into a hallway. A staircase led downward, and she began to take those steps, leaning against the wall.

  "Ofeer, please, rest," said Sheerel.


  But Ofeer didn't want to rest. She needed to know where she was. The stairs took her to a stone chamber filled with wooden pews. A pulpit stood by one wall, bristly with scrolls. A silver pomegranate the size of a dinner plate hung behind it. A massive scroll rested on a pulpit, wrapped around two rollers, each of the wooden beams topped with a golden pomegranate. The scroll looked so heavy that two men would struggle to lift it. Ofeer had seen such scrolls before; here was the Book of Eloh, the holy scripture of the desert. A bronze plate was worked into the pulpit, engraved with words in Zoharite: Ohel Adom.

  The tent of Adom, Ofeer thought, the first man.

  "A temple," she whispered. "A temple to Eloh."

  Several people were here, rising from their seats as she approached. They wore prayer shawls and lion pendants. Zoharites. They rushed toward her.

  "She needs to rest," said the bearded man, the one who had helped her last night.

  "This one is wild as a true lioness," said Sheerel. "I couldn't stop her."

  Suddenly Ofeer was woozy. She swayed. The people caught her, helped her toward a pew. She sat, breathing heavily, gazing up at the silver pomegranate.

  "It's a temple," Ofeer repeated. "A temple to Eloh." She glanced out the window, half expecting to see the desert, but she saw the narrow alleyways of Aelar, not the rolling dunes. "You're Zoharites. Like me. I didn't know there were others here aside from slaves."

  The bearded man smiled. "There are others here in Aelar. Not many. But we help one another when we can." He knelt before her and patted her hand. "You're in a safe place, Ofeer Sela of Zohar. You're with family."

  Ofeer looked again at the silver pomegranate that hung above the pulpit, and she remembered the voice she had heard last night, the soothing words in her mind. Had that been Eloh speaking to her, the god of her people? Or simply a delusion brought about by blood loss?

  Ofeer didn't know. But she would not forget that warmth, that love she had felt. The desperate need of a good, godly presence to deliver her from evil.

  And she would not forget what the voice had called her.

  Ofeer Sela.

  Not Ofeer Octavius, the daughter of an Aelarian general—but Sela. Sela. A daughter of Zohar, of the Lord of the Coast. Yes, Ofeer's true father had been an Aelarian, but sitting here, in this temple, healed, among the people of the desert, Ofeer knew that she could choose her own path, that she was not bound by blood. Her bad blood had spilled from her.

  Let it be the blood of Aelar that left me, she thought. Let only the light of Luminosity fill me now. I am Ofeer Sela, a lioness of Zohar, a child of Eloh. My home lies across the sea, in the deserts and forests of a land of light.

  She embraced the bearded man, and her tears fell anew. Her child lived, and for the first time in her life, Ofeer knew who she was.

  The story continues in Temples of Dust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 4).

  Click here to read the next book in the series:

  DanielArenson.com/TemplesOfDust

  AFTERWORD

  Thank you for reading Thrones of Ash. I hope you enjoyed the novel. Want to know when I release the next Kingdoms of Sand novel?

  Join my mailing list (and receive three free ebooks) at: DanielArenson.com/MailingList

  And if you haven't done so already, please review Kings of Ruin, the first Kingdoms of Sand novel. Help other fantasy readers and tell them why you enjoyed reading. Please leave your review here.

  I've written many novels in other series too. Find a list of them all by flipping the page.

  Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

  Daniel

  NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

  KINGDOMS OF SAND

  Kings of Ruin

  Crowns of Rust

  Thrones of Ash

  Temples of Dust

  Halls of Shadows

  Echoes of Light

  EARTHRISE

  Earth Alone

  Earth Lost

  Earth Rising

  Earth Fire

  Earth Shadows

  Earth Valor

  Earth Reborn

  Earth Honor

  Earth Eternal

  THE MOTH SAGA

  Moth

  Empires of Moth

  Secrets of Moth

  Daughter of Moth

  Shadows of Moth

  Legacy of Moth

  REQUIEM

  Dawn of Dragons Requiem's Song

  Requiem's Hope

  Requiem's Prayer

  The Complete Trilogy

  Song of Dragons Blood of Requiem

  Tears of Requiem

  Light of Requiem

  The Complete Trilogy

  Dragonlore A Dawn of Dragonfire

  A Day of Dragon Blood

  A Night of Dragon Wings

  The Complete Trilogy

  The Dragon War A Legacy of Light

  A Birthright of Blood

  A Memory of Fire

  The Complete Trilogy

  Requiem for Dragons Dragons Lost

  Dragons Reborn

  Dragons Rising

  The Complete Trilogy

  Flame of Requiem Forged in Dragonfire

  Crown of Dragonfire

  Pillars of Dragonfire

  The Complete Trilogy

  ALIEN HUNTERS

  Alien Hunters

  Alien Sky

  Alien Shadows

  OTHER WORLDS

  Eye of the Wizard

  Wand of the Witch

  Firefly Island

  The Gods of Dream

  Flaming Dove

  KEEP IN TOUCH

  www.DanielArenson.com

  Daniel@DanielArenson.com

  Facebook.com/DanielArenson

  Twitter.com/DanielArenson