The Black God's War (60 page)

Rao wore common worker’s clothing, oversized grey trousers and a long, scratchy wool shirt that ended above his knees. Aayu wore a matching ‘uniform,’ with a bulge at his right shoulder from all of his bandages. No one here would recognize them for who they were, not from their dress anyway.

A greying woman stepped out from the door at the end of the walkway. “Come on in.”

Rao heard what sounded like a heavy man screaming in pleasure as he passed the first door. He increased his pace. “Come on,” he said to Aayu, then turned and saw his friend about to break into laughter.

Rao and Aayu entered the room and the lady stood before them in the center of the room on an old rug, peeling off her long gloves.

“Please—” Rao said, holding up both of his hands.

“What sort of pleasures are you looking for?”

“Aunt Halima, it’s Aayu. I’m your nephew.”

The woman stiffened up like a board and her voice deepened, “Aayu? What are you doing? I am not about to—”

“We’re not here for that.” Aayu shook his head side to side. “Believe me.”

Rao fought back a smile. “We’re here to give you something.” He produced a copper medallion from his shirt pocket. It had been carved into the form of a sun with seven curving rays streaming out from its center. “This is the highest medal our army can offer.”

“Who
are you?”

“I’m the Rajah of Pawelon, formerly your prince.”

The woman’s mouth flew open. Rao took her hand in his and placed the medal in it.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Because your daughter can’t receive it herself. She’s dead. But in dying, she saved Pawelon from Rezzia’s crusade. She saved my life and slew Rezzia’s king.”

Narayani’s mother scrunched her lips into sour confusion.

“I wanted to make sure you know your daughter was a great soul. She didn’t know how to find you while she was alive, but we managed to track you down.”

The woman’s voice turned weak. “How did she die?”

“The king killed her,” Aayu said, “as she killed him.”

Halima walked, with legs that seemed ready to crumble, over to her bed. She collapsed onto the heap of colorful, stained pillows.

“There’s one other thing,” Rao said. “I don’t want to impose anything on you. But if you would like to leave behind this lifestyle, I’ve set up a private residence for you, a few streets away from our palace. If you’d like to, you can live there, and I’ve also arranged for a stipend so that you will never have to worry about working again. If Narayani had lived, I’m sure she would’ve wanted something like this for you.”

“Was she your lady?”

“Yes. I loved her very much.”

“Where is her father?”

“He served the lands of Pawelon with distinction, throughout the course of the war against Rezzia. He has since been released from his duty. I don’t know where he is anymore.”

Rao produced a small parchment from his pocket and placed it at the edge of her bed. On top of it, he laid down enough coin to pay for ten visits to the brothel and a small metal key. “The address is written there. And that note will get you access to the palace, if you wish to draw your stipend.”

He nodded to Aayu and began to leave the room.

“Thank you,” she said. “I was in the middle of a terrible time, Aayu, when I left.”

“It’s all right,” Aayu told her.

Rao led the way back down the stairs. The old lady of the house smirked and winked as they approached the front door. “That was fast, gentlemen. That’s easy money for my girls. Next time, one of you comes for half the price.”

“Hey, it was our first time,” Aayu said.

“Sure it was, son. I’ve heard that one before.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t worry about it. Believe me, it’s no problem.”

Aayu couldn’t seem to stop himself, “To tell the truth, my friend couldn’t, you know, get excited. I’m the one who went too fast.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, son, it’s your money,” she said as she winked and opened the door.

Rao erupted into laughter as the door closed behind them. The two walked through the dirt alley together, laughing despite their watering eyes.

Chapter 85: In Requie

Remaes, Rezzia.

ONE HUNDRED CONCENTRIC WHITE CIRCLES rose and widened out above her, hardened clay rows of seating filled with countless thousands of grieving pilgrims. Far above, at ground level, ten shaggy palms formed a great circle; their leaves shook in the gentle wind. The bones of kings and Haizzem had been buried here for centuries, but never before had the remains of a Haizzem so young been brought to The Reveria.

Lucia stood in its center, at its lowest level. A hole had been dug in the cracked clay floor. She held two jars of human remains, one painted maroon and yellow, the other green and blue.

The Reveria hummed with quiet prayers the faithful muttered to themselves. The smoke of sweet incense rose to the sky. Lucia looked to silver-haired Tiberio, The Exalted, seated on the first row above her, next to his most powerful warpriests. She awaited the signal to begin. Tiberio brought his hands together in prayer.

Lucia tried to remember the words she wanted to speak. She tried to conceal her own tears, quickly wiping them away with her bare hands and forearms.

I’m tired of hiding.

She released her shoulders, dropped her chin to her chest, and raised her head again as she began to sob. She soon heard her people sobbing with her.

After a long silence, she began to speak.

“A sister should not have to bury her brother along with her father. Men should not die from pestilence. Parents should not lose their children to wars.”

Tiberio trained his burning stare on her.

“So I believe. But our gods of Lux Lucis see things we do not. So I pray to them for grace, wisdom, and hope.

“My father believed in his war. My brother did not, not until the final days of his life.

“Yet the gods have taken them both.”

She felt heat throughout her body. It was difficult to ignore Tiberio’s penetrating glare.

“When Caio was himself, he wanted nothing to do with battles. He wanted to love and heal and uplift
all
the people of our world, light skins and dark. His death and my father’s death have somehow brought peace back to our kingdom. I only hope the generations of Rezzia to come will remember their sacrifice.

“Perhaps they gave their lives to usher in a new world. It seems the gods did not want Rezzia to be left alone, without a Haizzem. After my brother and father died, the gods painted these markings on my arms.”

She held up her red and black palms. Thorny vines worked their way around her forearms, down to her elbows. She grew uncomfortable as the markings began to itch and burn.

Tiberio gritted his teeth as his eyes pushed the heat of the sun into her body. Lucia tried to push herself to finish.

“I did not want this role. I wish my brother and father were still here. But I will fulfill the duty the gods of Lux Lucis have given me, with all the grace they can lend.

“I ask you humbly, to pray for the souls of the lost, the uncounted soldiers, the Strategos, the king, and the young Haizzem. Let us remember them.”

She poured the remains of her father into the pit, and then Caio’s ashes on top of his.

The Reveria resounded with the chant, “We love and adore Her.”

Exhausted from the funeral, Lucia wrapped herself in white sheets and prayed to her goddess for a peaceful night’s sleep. The warm black before her eyes felt soothing.

She dreamt of lying naked on a deserted beach, with her body roasting under the sun’s rays and the chaos of the ocean a comforting noise inside her head. The azure sky stretched around the horizon, welcoming her mind’s expansion.

The waves tumbled onto the shore, one after another, seeming to panic before crashing down against the sand and sea. The ocean reclaimed each reluctant wave.

She looked down at her normally olive skin and found only pink and red all over her body. She touched her skin between her breasts, and a searing burn pained
her to her core.

She stood on the hot sands, then ran down the slope and finally dove into the ocean.

“My Haizzema.” A man’s voice woke her.

“What is it?” she yelled, gathering the sheets about her in the dark. A thin line of candlelight stretched across the clay floor, through the barely open door.

“There is a family here. They claim Lord Danato sent them with something that must be done before the sun rises.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She touched her skin to see if it was warm. It wasn’t.

Lucia dressed herself in a presentable long robe and exited her chamber. Five guards stepped right and five stepped left, giving her a view of a tattered family of four, more sufferers of the new plague. The four of them sat with their legs folded and stared down shamefully at the elegant rug. The little boy and girl leaned against their mother, their bare feet twitching.

“My Haizzema, they assured us—”

“It’s no problem. Don’t worry,” she said.

The father lifted his head slightly, but kept his gaze downward. “Your Grace, we are dying. Can you grant us the gods’ mercy? At least heal our children, if nothing more. Last night my son stopped breathing. We were sure he had died. He’s still with us, but for how long? His episodes come at all times. Please.”

“Our only son,” the mother said with a whimper.

Lucia looked around to see if any tall figures hid among the shadows.

“Can you heal us, my Haizzema?”

The boy, no older than four, fell forward onto his stomach and began choking violently. He fought to suck in air, but his lungs wouldn’t expand. His arms flailed as his parents fell to their knees and put their hands on his body.

Lucia ran to the boy and lifted him into her arms. His tiny face flushed with pain and begged her to save him.

Can I heal them?

“I can.”

HERE ENDS BOOK I OF
SPLENDOR AND RUIN

LOOK FOR BOOK II,
THE GODS DIVIDED
, COMING SOON

Afterword

Thanks very much for reading this story.

This is my first novel. I spent two years writing this one, but I hope to put out at least a novel a year from now on—maybe three every two years (famous last words?).

I feel incredibly blessed to be following my dream. I want to thank my wife for her support. Believe me, she’s tired of hearing me talk about this book. She’s a saint. My amazing son, Athens, has been very patient with me, too.

In case you’re wondering about the chapter titles, the more obscure titles are allusions to Homer’s Iliad, the tale that this story was written in homage to. I also have also a shout-out to Robotech and The Decemberists among the chapter titles. The 85 chapters are there because of my childhood obsession, Robotech, a saga that was also split into three parts of 36, 24, and 25. You see, I’m a geek.

As an indie author, I don’t have a publisher or a publicist or a marketing team. I’ve got me and my computer and a need to figure out how to write my next book (with a fried brain) while promoting this one … with a second child on the way—which is another thing I’m thrilled about, by the way.

Whether I’ll be able to write many more novels, as I’d like to, could depend on whether people enjoy my stories and tell their friends about this crazy Moses guy.

One powerful way to support
any
author is to write honest reviews of his or her books on Amazon, B&N, GoodReads, LibraryThing, Shelfari, etc. Reviews don’t have to be long and thoughtful. Even just a couple sentences or a paragraph can do the trick. But if you write a review, please be honest. You don’t have to use the kid gloves with me. Although, mean reviews will make me pee my pants.