The Godspeaker Trilogy (73 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

T
ell me again, Zandakar,” said Lilit, smiling, “how you saved your brother crossing the Sand River.”

Zandakar laughed. “Again, Lilit? I have told you already, more than once!”

It was the soft time before lowsun, that Lilit called dusk . A little more than one godmoon had passed since the first time they spoke and yet his world had been made anew. They walked the banks of a lazy stream, picking their way through bluebells and starshine, as birds called owls soared through tree shadows overhead. The air was warm and moist, sweetly scented. Frogs croaked tunelessly in a nearby pond, they were ugly creatures. He must draw one on a clay tablet so his mother could see.

Lilit’s fingers tightened around his, they walked hand-in-hand. When he walked with Lilit he was not alone, the screaming thousands were silenced. Now in his dreams he saw her face, not the rubble of hammered cities. When he walked with Lilit he was a man, not the warlord.

If that is a sin, then god, I am sinful. But could I walk with her if you had not sent her? I think I could not. I think this is meant.

She said, still smiling, “It is a good story, warlord. There can never be too many good stories in the world.”

“Then I will tell it,” he said. “If that will please you.”

“Yes,” she said, and raised his hand to kiss it. “It will please me very much.”

So he told her again of that bad time when Dimmi, impatient, had galloped ahead of the warhost to see if the next rocky outcropping held hidden water fit to drink. He had blundered into a quicksand sinkhole, already three hundred and nine warriors had perished that way and they were barely halfway across the Sand River, so the godbones said.

“I heard my brother screaming, my blood turned to fire. I galloped too, though it was madness. I was so afraid, and I was angry. With his dying breath Raklion warlord said I must protect my little brother but I had failed him, now Dmitrak was dying!”

By the time he reached Dimmi, his brother’s horse was gone. Dmitrak was sinking fast, his head, his shoulders and one arm in the air, that was all, and not for much longer.

“That was when the god spoke to me, Lilit, it showed me in my heart how to save my brother. I used the hammer, the god’s mighty weapon, I fused the sand that swallowed Dimmi’s body so I might walk upon it, and pull him free.”

Why he had not thought to do it for those other fallen warriors he could not explain. He had loved them also, but they were not his little brother. They were not angry Dimmi, brave Dimmi, laughing, fighting, infuriating Dimmi, begging Zanda to save him with tears in his eyes.

“Aieee,” sighed Lilit, leaning against him. “How mighty is Zandakar warlord. If I were in danger, would you smite with your hammer to save me, too?”

He pushed her against the trunk of a moss-covered tree and leaned his forehead against hers. “You know that I would, Lilit. I would smite anything, anyone, to save you from harm.”

In the dusk-light the pale parts of her skin glowed, translucent. He smoothed the dark hair away from her face, kissed her eyes and her cheeks and last of all, lingering, her pliant lips. Kissing her was not like kissing a vessel. The vessels felt duty, what he felt was lust.

He lusted for Lilit, too, but in a pure way. The need rising in him was for more than flesh, the fleeting release of a hard, fast fuck.

What I feel for Lilit, I think it is love.

Drawing back, breathless, marveling at how she could move him, he said, “You never ask to hear of my other smitings. You do not ask for stories of Drohne, or Bryzin. Not even of Targa, when you say yourself the warhost saved you from those sinners.”

She looked at his chest, played her fingers along the edge of his linen tunic. Her touch woke fires in his flesh. “I have heard those stories. Your godspeakers tell them. They are stories of death, Zandakar. I do not like death. The story of Dmitrak, that celebrates life. Here in Harjha, life is important. Life is a beautiful thing, we do not waste it.”

Her words stung him. “Nor do I, Lilit. I do not smite for the sake of smiting, every city I have thrown down, first I have given them the chance to kneel. If a city does not resist me, I do not destroy it. Did I destroy your village? I think I did not. You did not resist me, I have left you in peace.”

She smiled at him, and stroked his cheek. “I know. You do not like to destroy those cities, the dead sinners in them haunt you. I see it in your eyes, Zandakar. When you sleep you hear them screaming, I hear you weeping in your heart.”

Stunned, he stared at her. “I do not speak of that. Only the god hears my weeping heart. How do you know this? How do you know ?”

She stood on tip-toe, she kissed him gently. “I know because I love you. Your heart is my heart, what it feels I feel. When you weep in your dreams, beloved, Lilit weeps with you.”

They had been lovers for seventeen highsuns. Though he’d wanted it badly, he had not meant to fuck her. She was conquered, she was piebald, the Empress would not approve. But the Empress was in Mijak, and he was in the world. For six seasons uncomplaining he had slaughtered for Hekat. Only the god knew how many more seasons he would fight. He did not want to live his whole life without softness, with nothing but blood to warm his skin.

He told himself: the god sent Lilit to me. We do nothing wrong .

He’d learned swiftly that with Lilit, it was not fucking. It was gentler than that, it was sweeter, kinder. He was her first man, she was his first love. They’d wept together, afterwards, as she held him close.

“ Zandakar ,” she whispered. “The god wants us together, I know this. You know it.”

He wanted to believe her. “The godspeakers have not told me so. They take omens daily, they did not tell me this.”

“Tcha,” she said, a word she had learned from him. “They are men of blood, they look for reasons to kill. They see the god in dead animals, you hear it in your heart. You do not need them to tell you things that matter. Those things you know yourself. Tell me I am lying.”

He kissed her. “You are not lying.”

She smiled, she laughed. She filled his aching, empty heart.

The god must want this. Lilit sees my godspark. She is my gift from the god.

That was their first time. Every time since, it grew sweeter and sweeter. With each passing highsun, his feelings deepened. Strengthened. Loving her, he began to change.

There is more to life than war and killing. She has shown me this and I hardly know her. What else will she show me, as time goes by?

Entwined together, they walked through the fading light back to the village. Before reaching his warcamp he let her go, reluctantly, so she might return to her dying father. The godspeakers had eased the chieftain, as far as they could. He was an old man, and failing. His life was almost done.

The warband camped outside the village was two thousand warriors strong, the rest of his warhost in Harjha still scouted, preparing the way for the godspeakers and settlers to come. As he approached his private warlord lodging, a mocking voice greeted him out of the dark.

“When I said she was a fuckable woman, brother, I did not think she was fuckable by you .”

Aieee, Dimmi, returned from riding with Akida and her shell. He slowed, he turned, he joined his little brother at the opening to his tent. “Are you jealous?”

Dimmi shrugged. “I’ll wait to see if your cock drops off. If it does, the jealousy will not be mine.”

“And if it does not?” Zandakar said, grinning.

“Then I will have to find a piebald of my own.” In the lamplight, Dimmi’s face was wryly amused. “I confess, you surprise me.” He sat on a camp stool, kicked another closer. “I was come to think you are not like other men, with their urges.”

Zandakar lowered himself to the other stool, and rested his elbows on his knees. The business of nightcamp continued about them, without imminent battle snapping at the warhost’s heels the camp felt almost restful.

“I have my urges,” he said, after a moment. “But still, you are right. I am not like other men.”

“I know,” said Dimmi, and reached out with a comforting hand.

His brother’s touch on his shoulder was almost his undoing. “I love her, Dimmi.”

For once, Dimmi did not shout at the use of that name. Instead he sighed, and tightened his fingers. “I would not do that, if I were you. She is a prime piece of she-flesh, fuck her till she bores you. Do not give her your heart, Zanda. That will be your undoing, so our father would tell you if he were alive.”

Always, always, a knife-jab at Hekat. “It is not so simple, Dmitrak,” he said, almost sharply. Then he relented. “It is also too late. Lilit is so sweet. Vortka would like her, they share the same kindness. She is gentle with her father, you should see them together. When I am with her, I do not feel old. I do not feel weary. I do not smell the blood.”

“Tcha,” said Dimmi. “What sadsa-froth is this? You are not old .”

“No. Not in seasons counted on my fingers. But I tell you, there are times . . .”

Dimmi did not want to hear that. He said, grinning slyly, “Vortka might like the girl, but the Empress won’t.”

“I know,” he admitted, after a moment.

Dimmi laughed. “No, she will hate her. So I say fuck on , brother. Hekat is in Mijak, let her stay there and rot. You are the god’s hammer, I say fuck who you like, even if it is a piebald bitch. It’s your life, Zanda. You don’t belong to the Empress.”

Zandakar shrugged, and loosened his brother’s hand. “Do not call Lilit a piebald bitch.”

The hand was withdrawn. “You are the warlord,” said Dimmi, no longer smiling. “Your word is your word.” With a sharp nod, he disappeared into his tent.

Zandakar sighed, and withdrew to his own.

A tensun later, after newsun sacrifice at the village godpost, Radeet godspeaker pulled him aside and said, “Warlord, the god has spoken. There are omens and the godbones agree. The warhost has rested long enough in Harjha. It is time to ride upon Na’ha’leima.”

Zandakar felt his heart thud. The other godspeakers were cleaning up the blood and carcasses, the villagers were gone about their business, Lilit sat with her dying father, and the warriors in camp walked to the cleared training field for knife-dance practice with Dimmi.

He wished with his whole heart he could be with Lilit, but he was the warlord. It would not be wise.

He said, “If that is the god’s desire, godspeaker, then it must be mine also. But do not forget I am the warlord and the hammer, the warhost is my business. It will ride when I say it is ready to ride. When you say now, that means within a godmoon. You know what must be done for the warhost to ride.”

Radeet nodded. “Warlord, I do.”

“Very well, then.” He turned back for the warcamp, but the godspeaker took his arm, restraining him. “ Radeet ?” he demanded, his voice a whip.

There was no apology in the godspeaker’s face. It was cold and unflinching. They were nearly the same age. “Warlord, I am given a private omen, I received it in the last quiet time when the god moved me to pray. The woman you fuck with has conceived a son.”

A son? “What woman?” Zandakar said, after a shuddering moment. “Who says I have—”

“Tcha,” said Radeet. “You thought it secret, you were wrong, Zandakar.” He frowned. “I should have stopped you, I should have tasked you for lewdness and forbade you her flesh.”

“Why did you not?”

“I have eyes, warlord. I see your burden,” Radeet said simply. “I asked the god should I task you for fucking her, the god did not answer. I took that as an answer in itself. In six warring seasons you have not looked at a woman. You looked at this one, it must be the god’s plan. You do not shun your taskings, you are not a sinful man. You are its hammer, its chosen in the world.”

He hardly heard the godspeaker’s reply. Lilit, Lilit, she carries my son . He said, “Your wisdom is appreciated, Radeet godspeaker. If this matter remains between us do not speak of it further, not even to your fellow godspeakers. I will ask the god in solitude for its guidance in this business.”

Radeet nodded. “And you will also prepare the warhost for war. That answer I did receive, warlord, there was no room for dispute.”

Aieee, more blood and smiting, it was his purpose. “No dispute, godspeaker. The warhost will ride.”

Of course, he told Dimmi.

“ Pregnant ?” his brother echoed. “Aieee, Zandakar, that is disaster. How could you not make sure she was sealed against your seed? The warlord of Mijak cannot breed with a piebald . Fucking is one thing, but her blood is not pure. The dregs of her people are slaves in Mijak, would you raise a slave and call it your equal ?”

“Do not speak like that!” he commanded his brother. “This is the god’s will, Dmitrak. You speak against the god.”

“Oh, so the god told you to plant your son in her belly? Zanda, what if he’s piebald ? You think Hekat will accept a piebald grandson? You think Mijak will follow a piebald warlord? If you do, you are mad ! You were mad to fuck her!”

Zandakar stared. Dimmi was his little brother, little shadow at his heels, he did not raise his voice like this, he did not disrespect his warlord brother. They were alone in a woodland some distance from the village, he had invited Dimmi to ride with him as he looked at a possible site for a new Mijaki city. Their horses’ reins were hitched to a sapling, the horses tossed their heads at the sound of raised voices.

“How can you say that? You encouraged me to fuck her!”

“Yes, I did, but I never said get her pregnant!”

Zandakar felt his fists clench. “I am the god’s hammer, Dmitrak. I live in its eye. Do you think this could happen without its will?”

“You are so certain,” spat Dimmi. “ I say this is the work of demons. I say the piebald is demon-touched, she has poisoned your heart. She has stopped your ears so you’re deaf to the god, and me.”

Zandakar struck him, he knocked his brother to the ground. “That is a lie ! You lie with your tongue! She is gentle and precious, there is no demon in her!”

Speechless, Dimmi sprawled on the grass.

Zandakar cursed and fell to his knees. Never in his life had he struck his brother. “Aieee, Dimmi, forgive me. I am not myself. I am turned about with this news of a son. I want you to be pleased for me, I want you to understand—”