Bloodchild

by Anna Stephens

  ‘Kill him,’ Tanik roared and Crys tensed, but no one came at him. He smiled then, his teeth bloody, willing himself not to fall. If he fell it was over, regardless of all he’d done and shown them. Just a little longer, legs. Don’t fail us now.

  And then the Warlord stepped forward. Crys blinked, dizzy, and licked dry lips. Hadn’t expected that. ‘Do you challenge me?’ Brid demanded. Crys shook his head. ‘Do you seek to rule my people?’

  ‘I seek to lead them, both back to the Light and then in war. You are the Warlord; I do not seek that position. But if you need to prove the Seer-Mother’s words to be a lie, then do it. I won’t stop you.’

  Ash’s face was just visible over Brid’s shoulder, panicked, frantic. He was shaking his head and Crys felt a little courage leak away. He sucked in a shuddering breath, not sure he could stand another. It wasn’t even the pain so much; it was looking into their faces when they did it. And choosing not to fight back.

  ‘Brid Fox-dream, you who share the fox shape with me, of all people should understand. Your life has always been mine. Shall mine now be yours?’

  The Warlord twitched. ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t just dream of the fox, did you, back when you were a boy? You dreamt of me. A warrior with one blue eye and one brown, sitting on a rock with a fox in his arms. You never told the Seer-Mother, who saw only what she wanted to in your soul-dream; you never told anyone, so afraid were you that you’d done something wrong. You saw me.’ The Fox God put His palm on the man’s chest. ‘See me again.’

  Brid stumbled backwards. Then he knelt. ‘I knew it was you,’ he whispered hoarsely, hand going to the fox amulet around his throat. ‘I knew it, I just – I couldn’t believe it. Forgive me for what I have allowed to be done.’

  ‘It was I who allowed it, Warlord. And it was necessary.’

  The Fox God faced the crowd and raised His arms again. ‘Do any here contest my claim?’ The summit of the tor echoed with silence. ‘Then it is done. Warlord, if it be your will: send out riders to summon the warriors. Gilgoras stands on a knife edge. I ask that you help me bring her safely from the precipice.’

  The Warlord stood tall. ‘We fight by your side, Lord. We are your children.’ He pointed at Tanik. ‘As for you, exile is too easy a punishment for your poison.’

  Tanik Horse-dream, false Seer-Mother, screeched and clawed, but Crys didn’t like the triumph that still shone in her face. ‘It doesn’t matter what you do to me,’ she shrieked. ‘You’re all going to die anyway!’

  The Warlord jerked his head and cheers rang from the crowd as the warriors holding her wrestled her to the edge of the tor and pushed her off. She didn’t scream.

  It wasn’t the ending Crys had wanted, but it was probably better than the ending she deserved. And it was done. Ash’s relief flicked over Crys’s skin like feathers.

  He looked at the jubilant crowd and then, very carefully, he sat. For now, at least, they were his.

  THE BLESSED ONE

  Eighth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Red Gods’ temple, temple district, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  ‘What progress have you and the East Rank made in finding your sister? We must have that child, Sire, or all we have accomplished, all we have done so far, will be worth less than piss in the wind.’

  ‘That is what you wish to talk about, with Valan gone and the city a tinderbox? Estimates suggest as many as a quarter of the city’s slaves are dead.’

  Lanta smoothed the material of her gown across her legs, taking her time. ‘Then that is however many fewer mouths to feed, something I believe you were concerned about. We have been dealt a heavy blow, more than one of them. We will deal with this as we have dealt with all the others – with the strength of character and true belief that makes us Mireces. The women and children are dead, Sire, and I have prayed with our warriors several times a day, Gull as well. We have done all we can to soothe them, but it is time to focus on what we can achieve, what we must achieve if those deaths are not to be for nothing. Now is not the time to falter.’

  ‘Falter? We were lucky our own warriors didn’t tear us both apart for this! Lucky we only lost a quarter of the slaves. The men are not the only ones who begin to doubt, Blessed One.’

  Lanta’s breath caught in her throat and she covered it with a low hum of displeasure. ‘What does it matter if the ritual is complete but the Bloodchild is lost to us?’ She showed him her bandaged hands; then she jerked at the neck of her gown so the bruises and scratches were visible. ‘Which one of us is working harder, my lord king?’ she demanded. ‘Which one of us puts their life at risk for the gods? Find me your whore of a sister.’

  A muscle jumped in his cheek, but his voice was calm. ‘You assume that the Godblind spoke true, that Rillirin is in fact pregnant. You put all your hopes in the words of a man who proved false, who turned traitor and committed the most terrible of crimes. Even if he did speak true, I already have men scouring every town and village; she is not to be found.’

  Anger tightened the skin of Lanta’s face. ‘You think I don’t know his treachery? You think it somehow escaped my fucking attention what the Godblind did? You talk of searching the towns and not finding her. Then clearly she isn’t in a town. What about the hamlets, the isolated farmsteads? The lands of the nomadic horse herders in the north; the abandoned and destroyed forts? Are your men searching those too? Must I think of all the options for you?’ She slapped the arm of her chair in frustration. ‘Perhaps if you weren’t so enamoured with your new crown and those pretty slaves and that ridiculous palace you’d understand your priorities. You think we have won; I know we are still at war and I, at least, am acting accordingly.’

  Corvus blinked, his eyes blue as a midwinter sky. ‘We all mourn, Blessed One,’ he said in tones of ice, ‘and we all pray for your success. The Dark Lady’s absence has broken everyone; I seek to strengthen us again in body, just as you do in spirit. And yet this new catastrophe has weakened us once more. On top of all this, I am working to secure this country against further uprising and prepare it to receive the return of our Bloody Mother. There are many demands on my time—’

  ‘You think I care?’ Lanta almost spat. ‘You think administration is important, that taxes will make us great? You think Rilpor matters any more without Her here to rule it?’

  ‘Yes, Blessed One, I do,’ Corvus said. ‘Rilpor matters, because when the Dark Lady is brought back, She will be brought back here, to this place. Or would you have us retreat to the Gilgoras Mountains and the frozen, animal-torn corpses of our dead? Would that be more fitting to Her glory?’

  Lanta sucked in breath to retort, but Corvus spoke over her. ‘Are you more likely to be successful up there? Because if you are, Blessed One, I will give the order today to abandon this country and the men will jump at it. They will race back there in the forlorn hope they might find survivors and they will feel the loss anew when they do not.

  ‘You think my priority is ruling Rilpor; you are wrong. My priority is the gods’ will – and that, as interpreted by you, was the subjugation of Gilgoras. That is why I concern myself with administration and taxes and slaves. Because that is my task in this great purpose of ours.’

  The muscles in his shoulders and thighs were tense; it was clearly taking all he had not to leap from his chair and shout at her the way he would a slave. She wanted him to try it, could almost taste the satisfaction it would bring her. And he expected her to back down, to acknowledge his efforts and the odds stacked against them; instead Lanta attacked.

  ‘Not good enough. Your excuses bore me. Do better, Corvus, or suffer the consequences.’

  His cheek twitched again, the only sign of dark emotions running swift beneath the surface. ‘I understand your frustrations, Blessed One. Indeed, I share them. We all do,’ he said with a restraint she hadn’t anticipated and didn’t like, not one bit. She wanted a fight. She wanted … a reason to act, to do what needed to be done. It felt as if
Corvus was hindering the Dark Lady’s return, and hindrance Lanta would not tolerate.

  That he would doubt my desire to bring Her back, to see all the gods’ plans succeed. That he would think his devotion the greater …

  ‘Where before we could have beseeched the Dark Lady for aid in locating my sister, or told our men to pray to Her for succour, now we are lost. You are not the only one who has given everything, after all. We can only search. And so we do.’

  Beneath the blood-soaked hem of her gown, Lanta’s toes curled, the only – invisible – sign of her utter fucking outrage at the king’s gall. ‘You need not remind me of our plight, or the Dark Lady’s absence from Gilgoras. I am well aware of those facts, Corvus.’ She used his name deliberately, making it an insult in her mouth. ‘If you seek to imply our Mother’s absence is my fault, or the actions on the Sky Path, then I advise you to choose your words with especial care. Without me – without the gods – you are nothing more than a jumped-up warlord with delusions of grandeur.’

  Corvus thrust himself out of his seat and Lanta leapt up to meet him, glorying in the challenge, the battle to come.

  ‘If you had not let loose the Godblind on the Fox God—’ Corvus began.

  ‘If you had not allowed them both to escape when they were within the grasp of your warriors,’ she retorted, the words echoing through the temple. ‘If you had secured the city and all within it. If you had not bickered like a boy with Rivil. If you had not let Rillirin escape in the first fucking place. If, if, if! You think to lay this blame on me? It was I who told you not to trust the Godblind, and it was you who saw in him a way to the gods that didn’t involve me. You sought to divest yourself of the need for a Blessed One and because of it, you let the Dark Lady die!’

  Her chest was heaving, face hot with righteous indignation. The godblood whorls on her skin prickled, urging her on.

  ‘You overstep,’ Corvus said, and his fists were bunched at his side. ‘You go too far.’

  ‘And you do not go far enough,’ Lanta screeched, daring him to hit her. To give her a reason. ‘You argue over slave allocations and harvests, you worry about subduing broken villagers, you waste time building fucking walls we ourselves knocked down. You build and consolidate when you should search and wage war. And then you blame me for not finding Rillirin. Me, when I spend my days and nights in ritual, my soul cast further than you can imagine into the realms beyond this one. When I beg and beseech our Red Father to aid me in my search. What are you doing, Corvus? What are you doing?’

  Lanta stepped forward and poked him hard in the chest. ‘This country has made you soft. It has stolen the fire from your belly. It has seduced your eyes away from the gods who are our true reward.’

  ‘Take your hand off me,’ Corvus said, so quietly and with such venom that even Lanta, the Blessed One and Voice of the Gods, felt a moment’s pause. Her hand dropped to her side. ‘Will Rillirin’s child make a difference if we have been slaughtered by our own slaves? Will the Dark Lady’s return be celebrated as it should if the Mireces are no more? If we are dead, Lanta, how will we bring Her back?’

  His use of her name, as deliberate as her use of his, was like a slap of cold water in the face. This is where we are now. This is how far our alliance has fallen.

  Then so be it.

  ‘I will see every single one of us dead if it brings Her back,’ she said softly. ‘I will kill us all for Her, myself included, and I would rejoice in it. If you were a true Mireces you would understand that.’

  He stilled. Everything about him became the watchful coiled readiness of a predator spotting prey. Sweat prickled across Lanta’s palms; she raised her chin.

  ‘And so we come to it at last,’ he murmured. ‘Honestly, it took you longer than I’d expected. Is it my faith that you doubt, or just my blood that you hate? Is that why you always hated Rill, because Liris valued her, a foreign bed-slave even you couldn’t supplant?’

  Lanta found she didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Do you doubt my faith?’ he asked and rolled up his sleeve to show her the scars of blood oaths and blood promises, the jagged, ugly lines he’d made in his flesh when the Dark Lady first vanished. He pulled a knife from his belt with just enough swiftness that Lanta flinched. His smile was without warmth, without humour. ‘Tell me, Blessed One, how deep to cut. Tell me that if I kill myself here and now it will bring Her back, and I’ll have opened my wrist before the words have finished echoing.’

  He watched her face, her eyes, as she thought about it. She had no doubt he’d do it, not the tiniest sliver. And despite everything she felt and thought and wanted, Lanta let the moment go.

  ‘It would not serve our purpose at this time,’ she said. ‘Though if – when – it does, I will be honoured to perform your sacrifice myself.’

  ‘The honour will be mine, Blessed One,’ Corvus said, and Lanta knew the danger was past, at least for now. Their alliance remained in existence, ragged and under immense strain. When it finally broke, Lanta would need a replacement ready. An acceptable, devout replacement.

  ‘We will find her, Blessed One. We will because we must. The East Rank has her description and knows to question the townsfolk for a redhead with a Mireces accent. Someone will know her, will be willing to give her up in return for some small reward. But with the news of our losses in the mountains, I cannot send the Mireces out looking for her. They would be hasty, and I could not guarantee that Rill would make it back to us unharmed.’

  Lanta was Mireces; she well knew how hot their passions ran. ‘I agree, and yet we must act faster. That is not an insult, Sire. Have the East Rank question every pregnant woman they find. Your sister could have dyed her hair, be working hard to change the way she speaks. But the babe should be showing by now – no woman can hide that.’

  ‘Your will, Blessed One.’

  ‘Not my will. The Lady’s.’ She forced a small, conciliatory smile on to her face. ‘Thank you, Sire. And now I must pray. I will join you in the square at dusk, and I will offer what succour I may to our people.’

  Corvus inclined his head and strode from the temple, past the godpool that reeked and slapped thickly against the sides of the basin, its waters red and scummy.

  Gull emerged from the shadows and took Corvus’s chair for himself.

  ‘We are surrounded by faithful idiots,’ Lanta said quietly, ‘who have no conception of the delicate nature of the work we do here.’

  Gull nodded, stroking a long finger down his cheek. ‘They do not. But nor do they need to. They need only obey and believe and, when the time is right, unleash their rage at the losses we have suffered on our enemies. It is we who will change Gilgoras and restore our Bloody Mother to us and to Her dominion. And that one does believe; there is no doubt about that. Despite his secular preoccupation, Corvus believes utterly, as though he was never Rilporian at all. His faith is unshakeable. He was a wise choice for king.’

  The Blessed One’s mouth turned down. And yet I did not choose him. Though I will choose the next.

  ‘He will serve,’ she said shortly, ‘for as long as he is useful. And then we shall see.’

  MACE

  Eighth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  South Rank headquarters, Western Plain, Krike border

  Edris had come. Against all the odds, and despite the possibility of further Mireces patrols on the Western Plain, Edris had come.

  The colonel wasn’t riding at the head of an army of Listrans and accompanied by Tresh, their new king resplendent in shining plate. Edris wasn’t leading a wagon train of supplies or trotting in the midst of a mercenary company sent by their new monarch.

  Colonel Edris was alone. He guided his horse through the postern gate and reined in in front of the administration block, where Mace stood with Hadir, Dalli, Hallos and the senior staff.

  Mace’s stomach was churning as he examined the colonel’s blank expression, the sort of face you made when you were about to stand in front of your seni
or officer and deliver the worst possible news.

  Edris unhooked a crutch and manoeuvred himself on to the ground. Mace noted with distant detachment that he was moving well for a man with one leg. He pulled a sack from its place by his saddle and held it in his crutch hand, limped forward and then saluted. The officers returned the gesture, and then Mace smiled.

  ‘Colonel, you have no idea how glad I am at your safe return.’ He gestured at the sack. ‘I do hope that’s full of letters from Tresh, or promises of aid or some such? Gold wouldn’t go amiss, enough to raise an army, perhaps.’ He knew it wasn’t gold; Edris’s arm would’ve snapped off if he’d been carrying a sack that big full of gold. But the man looked so haggard that Mace was seized with the ridiculous urge to try and cheer him up.

  Edris licked his lips and said nothing, limping past them towards the door. Mace’s mouth opened in shock at his lack of manners but he gestured for everyone to follow and they crowded into his office, jostling to stay out of the way as a stench rose from Edris that was far more than the rigours of travel.

  ‘Colonel? What is going on?’ Mace demanded when Hallos had slammed the door on Hadir’s curious adjutant.

  Edris wedged the crutch deeper into his armpit, untied the neck of the sack and upended it on to the table. The object within tumbled free and rolled to a stop, staring at him from rotting eyes.

  ‘Behold King Tresh,’ Edris said, throwing the sack on to the floor. ‘Corvus’s men reached Highcrop sixteen days after us and massacred everyone on the estate, my men included. The king is dead and our Listran alliance with him. Long live King Corvus.’ Edris’s tone was black and bitter as gall.

  Mace’s guts turned to water. ‘So they know we’re not in Listre?’ he asked in a hushed voice.

  He gestured them all to seats and poured wine despite the earliness of the day.

  Edris stared at the head until Dalli used the sack to scoop it up and placed it gently on Mace’s desk instead, no doubt staining his paperwork with its … juices. Out of sight, if not out of stench. Hallos’s eyes followed it, and Mace knew the physician was desperate to inspect it. He’d have his chance.