by Devin Madson
“Dom Villius?”
“Dom Villius.”
More footsteps joined us, their figures vague outlines. Voices whispered. I flinched at a touch to my arm, but the firm grip made it easier to walk. I didn’t want to be grateful for anything, but I hadn’t realised how much I’d been struggling. Pain had just become… normal.
I staggered as we left the road, the ground uneven beneath my feet. Thanks to the white robe and mask, they steadied me with more kindness than I’d ever seen a Chiltaen show, and anger bubbled inside me. If nothing else, my voice gave me away as Levanti, but while I wore the trappings of their culture I was allowed to be human.
Other voices rose around us, followed by little sounds of activity. Of horses and cooking and the flap of tents in the wind. The Chiltaens guiding me called out to others and were answered, still no words I understood. But no one jammed a knife into my back or slit my throat, and I was led on through the haze of unfocussed shadows.
Eventually we halted amid whispers. More talk. Men came and went. Then I was led forward toward the hazy light of a tent, its fabric brushing the top of my head. The men helping me inside let go, and I took my first deep breath of incense-laden air.
“Ah, Dishiva,” Leo said, his voice a sudden shock though I had known where we were going. He sounded no worse for his fall through the floor, assuming he was still in the same body. “So clever of you to think of using my cruel joke against me. Now if only it had been a cruel joke, how foolish I would look.”
His footsteps crossed a carpeted floor, the shape of him drawing closer but not close enough to be in focus.
“Positions in the church are not hereditary,” he went on. The soldiers who had brought me were heavily breathing statues around me, their shadows falling across my vision. “My father was the hieromonk, but that does not make me the hieromonk. It is the hieromonk’s job to name an appropriate successor, a task my father abstained from doing, sure naming me would lead to his death, while naming someone else would fracture the fragile alliance we pretended to have.”
His robe swished as he moved slowly around the tent, trailing fabric.
“How fortunate that I had the foresight to name a defender in his place, ensuring that when he died, Chiltae’s great faith would continue to have strong leadership. Because he is dead, you know, killed by the very assassin he once sent to kill me. Which makes you, Dishiva, the hieromonk of the One True God.”
I tried to focus on his face, hoping it was another of his cruel, manipulative lies, but it was all too believable. Too believable that he’d had a long game, that he’d played me, that he’d used me against myself. Again. I wanted to be sick.
“No.”
“Oh yes, Your Holiness. You now carry the title even though you are no believer, making you a—”
“False high priest,” I finished in a breathless voice. “You named me defender so I could die for you at the right time.”
In the silence I heard the wet click of his lips spreading to a toothy smile. “Your cleverness is what makes you so much fun. Luckily there’s still some time left for us to play. A pity, however, that although you have so much power, I’m the only one who can translate your commands. Oh, great and wise leader of the church.”
The room spun. I ought to have found something clever to say, have sought a plan, but in the hazy shadows of my new world I could think of nothing but a man with strong arms who had held me to him and accepted me for everything I was and everything I wanted, though it had been the hardest thing he could do.
I’m sorry, Jass. I’m afraid I might not be coming back after all.
32. RAH
We walked. We walked from the open gates out into the night. We walked though some of us had horses, though I itched to run, to see Gideon safe with my own eyes. And though we walked in silence, we were not alone.
I led Jinso, Lashak e’Namalaka on one side, Shenyah e’Jaroven on the other—two Levanti I would never have met in another life. Kuroshima Shrine, Amun had said, and Shenyah had known it. Had ridden there as one of Gideon’s guards upon his marriage and was able to lead the way.
It was late when we came to the bridge. The dark shadow of a river roared beneath it, and lights glimmered on the opposite bank. I stopped, causing a cascade of halting steps behind me.
“I think I should go ahead on my own,” I said, turning to Lashak. “It might scare them to have so many Levanti appear without warning.”
And there were many. There hadn’t been time to count, but the sight of them following me had constricted my throat with emotion I wasn’t ready to deal with.
“Both for the townspeople and Amun,” Lashak said. “I’ll stay here with the others until we get your signal.”
She didn’t need to tell me everyone was tired, that I shouldn’t keep them waiting long—I knew it.
Leaving her to explain, I patted Jinso’s neck and walked on alone.
The bridge was a steep arch, and at its peak I could hear nothing but the rush of water beneath me. I was on my own now, but I didn’t speed my pace toward the flicker of lights on the other side, worry beginning to gnaw at me. Whatever I would find when I arrived, I would not be able to change. Any number of things could have gone wrong in their escape. I might find no one here at all.
Jinso’s hooves echoed upon the stones as we descended toward inevitability.
A collection of houses sat nestled in the dark trees, the only light the welcoming twinkle of lanterns set either side of the mountain stairs. Shenyah had said the shrine was up there, that our horses wouldn’t be able to make the climb, and as I looked around for signs of life, a shadowy figure waved from the lee of a house. I recognised Amun as he stood, but he was alone. My stomach turned over as he approached.
“You found us, I see,” he said, his gaze unfocussed like he had been dozing.
“Gideon?”
His lips twitched in wry amusement. “He’s fine. Or… alive at least, I’m not sure he’s ever going to be fine. He’s sleeping.” He jerked his head toward the house behind him. “A lot of the houses are empty. We found a mat. Loklan and Esi are sitting with him.”
“I don’t—”
“They’re Jarovens. Dishiva’s. They were in as soon as I said you planned to deal with Leo. Their story is… wild, honestly. You need to talk to them.”
I nodded. “We need to do a lot of things. I didn’t come alone.”
Amun’s eyes widened, and he looked fully awake for the first time. “How many?”
“I don’t know. More than I thought would listen to me.” The look in his eyes grew hungry. “I didn’t want to scare anyone without warning, so I left them with Lashak on the other side of the bridge. Ezma was… not happy.”
He hadn’t wanted to save Gideon, had only done it for me, but a spiteful grin stretched his lips. “I wish I could have seen it.”
“I’m sure you’ll get another chance. I don’t think we’re rid of her.”
Amun’s smile became a grimace, and he gestured toward the bridge. “Shall I fetch them?”
“Yes. I want to see Gideon. Where did you put your horses?”
“I’ll take Jinso, you go on. I can see you won’t relax until you’ve seen him.”
I hadn’t noticed I was shifting foot to foot, making Jinso twitch with my nerves. I gave Amun the reins with a wry grin.
Dim light welcomed me into the house, emanating from a second room deeper inside where voices hissed like sand. They stopped at the sound of my footfalls, and two faces looked up. They sat side by side against the wall, two young Levanti who had surely expected a far different life to the one they were living.
Neither spoke, but both looked to the man lying on the mat. Gideon was dozing, fitfully shifting in a way that had crumpled the blanket laid over him. His dark robe was the same colour as the short growth of hair on his head and chin, everything about him soft and tousled, only the bandage on his neck a stark reminder of his desperation to die.
“He’s been a
sleep most of the time,” one of the Levanti said—both familiar from our time marching with the Jarovens. “We’re worried he doesn’t want to wake up.”
“Did you try insulting him?”
They looked at one another. “No?”
“It works surprisingly well.” I knelt beside Gideon and ran my hand over his hair, his warmth releasing a tension inside me. His brows twitched into a sleeping frown. There was much I wanted to say, but with Dishiva’s two Swords watching on, I kept it all to myself.
“We were going to let him sleep until morning then try to get him to eat.”
“It’s not your job,” I said. “Thank you for sitting with him, but he’s my responsibility, not yours. No one should have to take care of him after what he did.”
Neither answered, but their silence was acknowledgement enough. Outside, low voices were rising. “If you could extend your kindness and sit with him a few more minutes I would be grateful. I’ll be right back.”
Both saluted, and glancing a last look at Gideon, I walked out.
Amun and Lashak were outside, a slow tide of Levanti crossing the bridge behind them. I had expected a few to follow me, had known I wasn’t entirely alone in not trusting Ezma or in wanting to go home, but to see so many… My heart swelled with a pride I hadn’t felt for a long time, and for a moment I couldn’t speak, could only watch them spread out around the clearing and begin setting up camp. Quiet. Wary. This the unsure beginnings of something bigger than all of us.
I was exhausted. The doze with Gideon in the early hours of the previous morning all the sleep I’d had since leaving the Kisian camp with Jass. Yet these Swords had followed me. Had trusted me. I could not rest until I was sure they had all they needed. That was the responsibility of a captain after all.
“Well, Captain,” Lashak said, coming to stand beside me. “What now?”
“Truthfully, I don’t know.” I grimaced, glad she couldn’t see my thoughts at that moment, couldn’t feel the bite of fear at how poorly I had led my last Swordherd. “We have plans, but there is a lot of work to do. A lot to discuss and decide. How to deal with Leo. When to go home. Whether we stay here or move on. And we’ll have to elect a Hand before we can do any of that.”
“And give everyone time to rest and grieve. We’ve lost a lot.”
Agreement was unnecessary, and for a time we stood in silence and watched the beginnings of a camp rise around us. It wouldn’t be a full camp until tomorrow, or until we decided where to go. For now all we needed was somewhere to sleep and to know our horses were safe. Everything else could wait until morning.
Amun soon joined us. “Esi says Gideon is getting more restless. She wants to know what she ought to do.”
“I’ll go to him,” I said. “I shouldn’t have left them to the task so long.” I gripped his shoulder. “Amun, if you would take the position, I would gladly have you as my second. You are all I have left of my old Swordherd, and I value your expertise and honesty.”
He saluted. “I will take the position and fulfil it with honour.” I hoped he would not think, as I did, about what had happened to my last second.
“That takes a weight off my mind. Now I must relieve the Jarovens watching over Gideon.”
“Before you go, Captain,” Amun said. “A piece of the honesty you value.” Before he spoke I could feel every part of my body tensing as though preparing for a hit I did not want to take. “Not everyone is happy that Gideon is here. You’ll have to tread carefully if you intend to keep him with you. I may be able to swallow my anger and accept him for your sake, but not everyone will. What I’m saying is—”
“It’s a risk,” Lashak interrupted. “Especially if you intend to lead this herd more… democratically than has thus far been our way. If enough people object…”
They shared a look.
“You want me to abandon him?” I said. “An honourable way to begin.”
“We didn’t say that.” Amun folded his arms. “I just wanted to warn you that there is already talk. You may have to accept that a time is coming when you have to give up on him. Some people cannot be saved. Some people cannot be redeemed. There are dark places too deep to ever see light again, and as a captain you must put your herd before all else.”
Mere moments ago, I had stood there with hope, confident that we could all build something new and strong together, could make our way home together, but already that dream had burst. Exile had not only taken lives from us. Not only taken our freedom. Our pride. Our blood. It had taken our unity. Our forgiveness. Our trust. We were not truly Levanti anymore. We were survivors.
The story continues in…
WE DREAM OF GODS
Book FOUR of the Reborn Empire series
Coming in 2022!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
So many people work on these books of mine, and they are all amazing, from my agent (yay, Julie!) and my editor (Nivia Evans, the true genius here) to the cover artist, art director, and publicity team. I’ve thanked them all before many times now. The team at Orbit are wonderful, and I feel daily grateful for the effort they put into these fantastical tomes of mine.
Normally, as with my previous books, I would list all these people and the tasks they do and thank them individually (and if you want to see such a list, check the back of my previous books; all the people I work with are amazing), but this book was wholly written and edited in the Times of Covid 2020 (it’s October as I write this), and instead of my usual acknowledgements, I want to thank all the little things in life that have kept me more or less sane this year.
• Black rice crackers. True champions.
• My weighted blanket, even if it does like to slide off the bed.
• Sniffing ground cardamom (it smells nice, okay?).
• Plants.
• Renovating. It’s so cathartic building and decorating things with your hands.
• The new wheelbarrow with a wheel that CAN’T GO FLAT.
• Numerous rewatches of Pride and Prejudice. Again. Also Emma.
• Watching livestreams from Melbourne Zoo. Giraffieeees!
• Plants.
• My discord fam (Flaaaaaaps).
• The Bunker.
• Plants.
• Zoom chats with my daughters on the other side of the world.
• Anxiety meds, oh how I love thee.
• Bed.
• Hibiscus and rosehip tea.
• Plants.
• The YouTube channels where they just play with Thomas the Tank Engine toys, thereby entertaining my child for endless repetitive hours so I can sometimes work.
• Lists. Of anything. Everything. Lists are amazing.
• History books. For some reason, nonfiction has been much easier than fiction this year.
• And last but definitely not least—PLANTS. Our house is getting full of plants.
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meet the author
Photo Credit: Leah Ladson
DEVIN MADSON is an Aurealis Award–winning fantasy author from Australia. After some sucky teenage years, she gave up reality and is now a dual-wielding rogue who works through every tiny side-quest and always ends up too over-powered for the final boss. Anything but Zen, Devin subsists on tea and chocolate and so much fried zucchini she ought to have turned into one by now. Her fantasy novels come in all shades of grey and are populated with characters of questionable morals and a liking for witty banter.
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if you enjoyed
WE CRY FOR BLOOD
look out for
LEGACY OF ASH
The Legacy Trilogy: Book One
by
Matthew Ward
A shadow has fallen over the Tressian Rep
ublic.
Ruling families—once protectors of justice and democracy—now plot against one another with sharp words and sharper knives. Blinded by ambition, they remain heedless of the threat posed by the invading armies of the Hadari Empire.
Yet as Tressia falls, heroes rise.
Viktor Akadra is the Republic’s champion. A warrior without equal, he also hides a secret that would see him burned as a heretic.
Josiri Trelan is Viktor’s sworn enemy. A political prisoner, he dreams of reigniting his mother’s failed rebellion.
Calenne Trelan, Josiri’s sister, seeks only to break free of their tarnished legacy, to escape the expectation and prejudice that haunts the family name.
As war spreads across the Republic, these three must set aside their differences in order to save their home. Yet decades of bad blood are not easily set aside. And victory—if it comes at all—will demand a darker price than any of them could have imagined.
ONE
Preparations had taken weeks. Statues had been re-gilded. Familial portraits unveiled from dusty canvas and set in places of honour. The stained glass of the western window glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Come the hour of Ascension it would blaze like fire and cast an image of divine Lumestra into the hall so that the sun goddess too would stand among the guests. It would not be so elsewhere. In the houses beneath Branghall’s walls the part of Lumestra would be played by a doll, her limbs carved from firewood and her golden hair woven from last year’s straw. There, her brief reign would not end with the fading of the sun. Instead, hearth-fires would usher her home on tongues of flame.
The chasm between rich and poor, ruler and ruled, was never more evident than at Ascension. Josiri strove to be mindful of that. For all that had befallen his family, he retained comfort and privilege denied to many.