by Laura Abudo
Pearl lifted her hatchet into her fist and bellowed, “We already killed you.”
The god’s image turned to Pearl. Rage showed on his face as he realized she was the one who had attacked him first. He reached out a hand. Coral screamed, knowing what he was capable of, even without true form.
“I…will...kill...you…again!” Pearl shouted and with each word took a step forward swinging. She cleaved at the muddy form with her Marshall hatchet, its parts staggered with each concussive blow. The Kusira sisters convulsed with each stroke. The mud dissolved back into the water gone for good.
“Oh, Pearly!” Glory cheered rushing to her friend. “That was marvelous.”
Coral stood, drenched and in shock, staring at the girls. The Sisters on the beach lay shaking having just witnessed the death of their god, having him ripped from their souls. The fighting stopped. Siri stepped from the trees. The King’s soldiers on the beach lay down their weapons and fell to one knee. The Kusira warriors fell to their knees beside them. All watched the group of Marshalls, the three small girls and their lady guardian as they emerged from the water.
A general rode forward on his horse barking orders to secure the Kusira. He dismounted his horse, rushing forward to help Coral steady herself in the waves as she walked up into the dry sand.
“Lady Doran,” he said breathlessly. He shook his head in wonder. “Captain!”
“Thank you, General,” Coral smiled finally catching her balance on dry land. “The girls. Girls come.”
“General,” Amias stated, saluting, “Lady Doran and I will meet with the generals at your convenience.”
“I will have an escort for you within a few minutes. I’ll gather the others.”
Coral looked to Amias who whispered the word, “Debriefing.”
She frowned. “I think there are nine other generals we need to debrief first,” she said.
He nodded. “You go. I’ll wait for you with the girls.”
Chapter 20
Debriefing
The nine gods looked on Coral with gentle and proud smiles. She walked around the bright blue pool as they watched her.
“Was he one of you?” she asked.
“In ancient times,” the soothing voiced woman replied. “Very ancient.”
“Are there more?”
The goddess nodded. “There may be, but none quite like him.”
“He was going to take me.”
“He would have taken you out of hatred, to control you. Only one who could have taken you yet didn’t out of love could stop him.”
Coral thought for long minutes. “The girls.”
“Those girls,” a god spoke, “are a wonder.”
She smiled in agreement. “How do I protect them? I know what they become. But I want to protect them…from themselves.”
The god smiled at her. “You are wise. They have strengths and skills that could corrupt and destroy their spirits. The Well was generous. It determined what was required at a time of peril. Those skills won’t be necessary now. If they find themselves in need, the Well will provide. But only in need.”
“Amias,” she whispered in adoration of the man.
“Ah, a great man,” the goddess said. “Trust him and his judgment. He will always do what is best for all of you. And be patient with him.”
“They wait for you,” the god said as he peered through the arch.
She looked each god and goddess in the eyes and thanked them. Through the arch she could see a row of generals; both Danycian and Siri seated in front of her Marshalls and the girls. Dozens of messengers and scribes stood behind them waiting.
“I’d better go,” she sighed.
“Take this,” the god said, passing her a rolled blue fabric. “She’ll need it.”
Coral allowed herself to slip back into the real world amid a sudden and unanimous rumble of voices as she appeared from nothing in front of the generals. Amias smiled in pride at his wife. The sky was dark now, lanterns had been lit, campfires burned, the fields around them were filled with soldiers.
General Fischt cleared his throat to silence the crowd around them. “Captain Doran, will you please introduce your party clearly and slowly.”
The Marshalls were introduced first. Kel, Denon, Pat, Rolf, Divand, etal. Their full names, fathers’ names and homelands were written down by every scribe and messenger in the group. News of the events of the day would be sent to every part of the land. The men who fought at the Verdera Isthmus would be heroes.
“Lady Coral Estel Teres Doran, formerly Brother Karl of the Faold. Daughter of Lord Marden of Wickton. My wife.” Soft murmurings were heard in the crowd.
Krisa was brought forward. She introduced herself as, “Krisa Tei Riva Sunn, daughter of Denn Pilar Kiv Sunn of Brynntown, daughter of Shenna Tru Lis Velt Siri nation.”
Whispers of respect rent the crowd at the mention of Krisa’s Siri mother. A low ululation spread through the Siri at the recognition of the honored dead. Krisa glowed with pride.
Pearl stepped forward. Coral saw the look of pain and confusion on her face. They waited for her introduction. “Pearl…”
Amias put his hand on her shoulder and announced, “Pearl Faith Dog Doran, formerly of Brynntown, now resident of Doran Estates.”
Pearl looked up at him in surprise and Coral sniffed back tears of happiness. A chant welled up in the crowd around them that Coral couldn’t quite make out. Amias leaned over to whisper in her ear, “God-Smiter.”
Coral searched the faces of the men surrounding them and saw admiration on every face as they chanted ‘god-smiter’ at Pearl. She looked embarrassed. She stepped closer to Coral and held her hand.
Glory stepped forward, her back straight, her chin held high. The crowd hushed. “Glory Beca Filomen Strenn, daughter of Lord Franc Benn Isha Strenn, Brother of Duke Strenn of Brynntown.”
“Betrothed of Prince Tomas,” Coral added loudly.
A cheer rang out as Glory spun to face Coral demanding an explanation. “What?”
“Betrothed of Prince Tomas,” Coral repeated, turning the girl back around to face the generals.
Pearl giggled into her hand as Glory beamed in delight. The men didn’t know what to make of this child who had reportedly destroyed an entire enemy regiment and a dozen Sisters with their own lightning bolts flung back at them, but at the announcement she was betrothed to the future king of the land, they were glad she was on their side.
Introductions concluded. Captain Doran was asked to come forward to present his report privately to the generals first. The talks went on into the night. A tent had been erected for the girls and soon Coral was ushering them into it. They spread their bedrolls and chattered. Krisa hugged Coral then slipped out with Pat to rejoin the Siri.
Glory turned to Pearl suddenly and asked, “What did you do to him? To stop him?”
“He was going to take Coral,” she told her. She shrugged, “He had knockers. I pulled them off.”
Coral choked. Glory looked confused as she repeated, “Knockers?”
“Hush, girls. Time to sleep.”
Pearl giggled and got under her blankets. She waved at the rolled fabric in Coral’s hand as she was straightening up their things. “What is that?”
Coral looked at it absently. “Oh, I’m not sure.”
She untied the white ribbon that held it together and let the fabric drop open. She held beautiful blue robes with white embroidered symbols, symbols of the gods, down the front. And they were just her size.
“It’s for you,” she told Pearl, turning the robes to face the girl.
Pearl and Glory both gasped. Pearl let a single tear fall from her eye then wiped it away. “It’s…I hope they don’t mind if I wear my hatchet over it. I can’t be without my hatchet.”
“I don’t think they will mind at all.”
Chapter 21
Consummation
The only piece of furniture in the manor was a large sturdy bed hauled all the way from Danyc. It h
ad been made by a well-known furniture maker, who reportedly supplied the King with special pieces. Coral studied it then looked at Amias, who was feeding the fire in the huge hearth of the master bedroom.
He stood. Coral moved to his side and took his hand.
“We are alone,” she told him.
The corner of his mouth lifted. He realized they had never really been alone. Ever. He kicked off his boots and crawled into the bed to sit against the head board. She climbed over next to him. “This is our room,” he told her.
“It’s nice.”
“Do you like the house? I built it wondering what you would like, what you would need.”
“You did not,” she laughed. “You built it for her, that other woman in your life.”
“No,” he said seriously. “I built it for you.”
“I love it,” she told him, sliding down and turning on her side to face him. She put her hand on his chest then tugged at his shirt. He moved down to lie next to her. “Glory is right. You are the handsomest man in the land.”
He scoffed, placing his nose close enough to touch hers. “I heard her say the same thing about Kel the other day.”
“She did not!” Coral chuckled. “Though I’m sure Prince Tomas is going to start looking good.”
Amias kissed her nose then pecked her softly on her cheek, her jaw, next to her mouth. Coral closed her eyes as his soft lips found hers. His hand drifted to her hip. He pulled her closer.
She hadn’t known what to expect from Amias as her husband. His body firm, muscular, rugged even, had warmth and smoothness as he held her. As he moved with her. Against her. At times his limbs were solid, powerful. Then he’d melt and nuzzle into her gently caressing.
He was ticklish, she discovered, and she could produce a rash of goose bumps all over his body with a delicate stream of air on his neck. Her skin reacted the same way if he kissed her in the soft tissue at the crook of her elbow or at the curve of her waist. Coral reveled in the feel of his hands on her, exploring her, discovering his wife for the first time. She loved the way Amias reacted when she was pleased, hungering to please her more.
Coral loved the feel of the valley of his spine down his muscular back, of his legs sliding against hers. She ran her hands over his skin, feeling firmness her body just didn’t have. He seemed to love her softness. He’d linger with his kisses there. They kissed forever. They breathed together. Coral gasped as he let out long exhalations. He took short gulping breaths when she sighed into his hair. They loved and breathed for hours. Finally, with jagged shallow breaths, they slipped into sleep holding onto each other tightly.
A tenth figure stepped forward into the grey world. He nodded a greeting to the others. The wrap he wore around his waist was stained. He had a distinctive black line around his neck.
“What are you doing here?” the soothing voiced woman asked out of curiosity.
Through the arch appeared the image of two figures lying together in passion, their limbs entwined, gently moving with one another. He watched them for long moments, his eyes squinted in disdain.
“Who are they?” he asked. When they didn’t answer he looked around. “Did you send them to me?”
“No, they went to you on their own,” one of the male gods answered.
“You have never interfered before. Why now?”
“We weren’t aware it was you,” the woman told him. “My believers were being infiltrated so I sought to fix things.”
The view in the arch changed to show two girls among several men laughing and playing in front of a hearth.
“There are three,” he said.
“They are ours.”
“Who are they?”
“You sent your witches after them, you should know.”
“I just know they are powerful. Look what they did to me,” he told them pointing at his wrap and his neck.
“Quite clever,” the woman smirked.
“Clever?” he demanded. “What are you playing at? You are no different than me. You use them for your own gain.”
“If we wish.”
“Why are they more powerful than mine?”
Again the image changed to the same two making love, sweetly, slowly. He watched with a sneer, aroused, impatient.
“Bonds. They love. They protect each other, cry, get angry, laugh. All the things worth living and fighting for. Yours know fear and hatred and the love of power, not each other.”
The goddess waved forward two others. “Go clean up his mess in Kusira.”
He frowned, watching the couple as they became more animated and desperate, grasping one another.
The woman told him, “You have to be careful or I’ll send you to watch over some spores just coming into conscientiousness.”
“I can do amazing things with that,” he told her. “Look what we did with that fever.”
She frowned. Perhaps it was better to leave him here with them so she could watch over him. The problem with that was that she’d have to tolerate him.
“How? What are they? They aren’t like mine,” he said, pointing to the two now crying out together.
She didn’t answer. They simply watched.
“You don’t know, do you?” he shouted. He turned to all of them and pointed into the arch at the couple collapsed in each other’s arms, sweating and smiling, still kissing and touching. “You don’t know what you’ve created. They are living gods, walking gods. Look what they did to me. They can do worse.”
“Is that what you think they are?”
“Well, what do you think they are?”
None of them had an answer. They watched the couple as they nuzzled faces and laughed, as he ran his hand down her body. She moved in pleasure and he smiled so sweetly at her.
The goddess smiled, slightly flushed. The bloodied god watched her face in exasperation. He stepped up behind her, his menacing voice in her ear. His arousal pressed against her. “Is that what this is to you? I’m enjoying it as much as you are. If you need passion and a good dricking I’ll give it to you. Just don’t go playing around with this sort of thing.”
Without moving away from him she watched as the two in the arch laughed and rolled over, the woman’s hair falling around his face as she slowly, gently sat across his hips. Watching them move together, the god moaned in the goddess’ ear and she gave him her neck.
“You don’t even have all the necessary equipment,” she whispered as he roughly took her neck with his teeth. “The god-smiter took it from you.”
He pressed up against her more firmly. She leaned against him. They stood together watching the pair love each other, be with each other, take each other over and over.
“I have what we need. We can’t reproduce anyway.”
“I don’t know what they are,” she told him breathlessly. “But they can.”
Part 2
Chapter 1
Duties for the King
“Doran!” King Fredrick shouted at the top of his lungs from the war room. “Doran!”
One of his guards made a movement with his hand and a page jumped out the door to find the wayward soldier. Boots could be heard running away from the war room and down the corridor as the page searched.
“Where is he?” the King demanded, expecting no one to answer. He sighed in frustration drumming his fingers on the desk. “Doran!”
“I know where he isn’t,” a pleasant female voice said from behind him.
The King turned to look at her. She had appeared from one of the two entrances at the back of the room. He raised his eyebrow to question. “The barber?” he asked.
“Exactly,” she smiled and they both laughed.
Pearl wore her sandy blonde hair in a loose braid down her back. At sixteen years she was a pretty young woman of average build. But she stood tall with pride in her deep blue robes with white sacred symbols down the front. Around her waist she wore her official Marshall belt with her own smaller version of a Marshall hatchet made just for her. She cherished
it.
She walked forward to stand beside the King. Two pairs of footsteps approached at a run, someone banged into the closed double doors and Pearl winced. The page swung one of them open; he was out of breath and his face red. A small boy of five years rushed into the war room, his boots threatening to trip him with the clumsy feet of a boy that age. He wore a black leather short coat and the scalloped leather breast plate of a Marshall. Around his waist was his own small hatchet. His eyes were big and brown as he stared at the King from under his mop of dark brown hair. He clumsily fell to one knee and saluted King Fredrick.
“Doran,” Fredrick said gruffly. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes. I told you to stay close.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said changing knees uncomfortably.
“Get up,” the King said gruffly, hiding his amusement.
The boy stood and glanced at Pearl, wondering if he was really in trouble. She didn’t give him any indication by the look on her face until he caught a quick wink and he relaxed. She was the best big sister a boy could have, even if she wasn’t his real big sister. She was God-Smiter and she told the best stories and tickled him and played with him in the vineyard and through the well…
“Doran!” the King barked, getting his attention.
Little Darius stood straighter in his best attempt at being at attention. He wobbled.
“Did you complete your orders as instructed?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he called out.
“Report!”
“Prince Tomas and Miss Glory met in the gardens, Your Majesty. They walked and walked and walked. Miss Glory talked and talked and talked.”
Pearl stifled a laugh, knowing that was exactly how the meeting would have gone. Prince Tomas was shy and Glory was not. He always paid rapt attention to her though, Pearl mused.
“So where were you just now?” the King asked. “You were supposed to be back here to report ages ago.”
Darius blushed. “Miss Glory told me one of the hounds had pups this afternoon and I went to see.”