CHAPTER 17
Hours had passed as they traveled, but the rock and sand didn’t look any different than it had earlier.
Everything is dead or dying. Fitting considering how I feel.
The news of Shadya’s pregnancy still remained fresh on his mind. Rondel hadn’t said a word while trying to process the information. Thankfully, neither Shadya nor Athar had spoken to him either. Instead, the two kept to themselves or spoke briefly with each other, using a harsh language Rondel was not familiar with. It reminded him of the language first used by the djinn outside of Hegra.
Gods!
he thought.
She was the second voice Andrasta heard the majun speaking to at its lair. More lies.
Later that night, he sat against a low rock, beside a foul dung-filled fire pit. He stared into the clear, night sky trying to ignore what sounded like new voices in the distance speaking in the guttural, gulish tongue.
Looking at the twinkling specks above, Rondel recalled snippets of at least two dozen songs about celestial bodies.
The heavens have always been an easy source of inspiration. Easier to put your spin on what might actually be up there than to write about facts already known.
The heavens shine brightly
On a cold, lonely night
The stars never dim
For those who find comfort in their light
Ah, Solvit. Such beauty in such simple lyrics. Too bad you or your contemporaries never wrote about an alignment that could bring about the rebirth of a god.
Thinking about what little he knew of Erban music, Rondel couldn’t recall any songs regarding the restoration of Nasnas.
The Erban people have a nice selection of stringed instruments though, especially the oud. Always wanted one for myself.
He sighed.
Turning his attention back to the night sky, he searched for the signs of the heavenly alignment that Shadya had mentioned. He didn’t see any of the constellations or glowing red stars. He recalled knowledge gained from an astronomer in his youth. He couldn’t remember anything like what Shadya had spoken of.
Of course if what Shadya said was true, and it occurs only once every five hundred years, it’s likely documented as an anomaly and then forgotten.
“Listen to you,” he mumbled. “You’re actually justifying the story of the alignment when it’s probably another lie.”
“The alignment is no lie. You’re simply looking in the wrong spot.”
Rondel jumped as Shadya strode back into camp. Walking, the small bump on her stomach looked more noticeable. She settled beside him so their shoulders and hips touched, almost as if they still had a familiar relationship.
Maybe she thinks we do.
She raised her arm. “Follow my hand and let me show you.” She moved her index finger across the sky, pointing out faint dots that Rondel had to squint to locate. A clear pattern slowly took shape. “The
scroll
, representing knowledge. The
sword and shield
, signifying war and peace. The
gallows,
for justice.
Bushels of wheat,
for food. The
chest
for gold. And at the center is the
crown
. When Hubul’s son takes his rightful place as leader among the gods, he will be master of all these things. No one will want for anything again.”
Of course.
“Why are the alignment of the heavens so important to this ritual anyway?” he asked.
“Because the celestial bodies that make up the alignment will funnel power from the heavens down to earth.”
“And?”
“And this is the same event that occurred when the earth was created. Power that mimics that of creation is crucial to the ritual.”
“Why?”
She paused. “It’s difficult to explain. But trust me, all will make sense once the process begins.”
Trust you?
Rondel managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. He shifted topics. “I thought you said the
crown
would have glowing red jewels at the top of each peak. I see only two, maybe a third.”
“The others will shine brighter as the alignment nears completion. They mark the altar at the center of the City of Pillars.”
She lowered her hand and rested it on Rondel’s knee. He tensed.
“Do I truly repulse you so much?” she asked, removing her hand. A genuine sound of hurt rang out in her voice.
“What do you expect? You manipulated me. I’m nothing more to you than a tool.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered. “And I didn’t manipulate you as much as you’d like to believe. Those wards I placed on the amulet don’t work that way. At least not well. They simply intensify feelings already there. If someone tries to use the amulet too forcibly it becomes painful for the wearer which is what happened at the end when you removed it. I apologize. I knew that you were close to Andrasta, more than I realized initially. I thought that if I could get you to forget her for awhile, until I better explained your role in the ritual, you might choose not to remember her on your own.” She stared at the fire.
Rondel chewed on what that meant. All he could think about was the fact that he was now a prisoner and had been taken advantage of when vulnerable. “Why should I believe you when all you’ve done is lie to me?”
“I haven’t lied to you about everything.” She paused. “I did plan to. But you surprised me. Our talks had an effect on me I didn’t expect. My feelings and reactions to those talks and to you were real.”
“Then what did you lie about?”
“Mostly things that had to do with getting the Mask of Halves back.”
An earlier thought came to mind. “What happened in Hegra with the majun? You sought it out didn’t you?”
“Yes. It was one of the fallen gods punished by Hubul. I hoped to win it to Nasnas’s cause. However, it still harbored too much resentment. It sought to make me suffer for its anger at Nasnas’s failure.”
“Did you really need our help?”
She hesitated. “Yes. I was not yet as strong as I thought.” She touched his hand. “I’m sorry for my deceit. I do love you.”
He stared at her fingers slowly stroking his damaged hand. Anger coursed through him. That small gesture had once meant the world to him. Now it represented an act of betrayal. He raged inside for what she had put him through and raged further at himself for a lingering feeling of affection that would not go away.
He told himself it was in some way related to the residual effects of the amulet. But he wasn’t sure. In his past, he had manipulated countless women to get what he desired. Until now, he had never been on the receiving end of such manipulation. Even though he was no longer the person from his youth, his current position made him want to find every single woman he had ever manipulated and apologize.
He shrugged his hand off and gave Shadya his back.
If he had half a brain, he’d take the small feelings she hinted at having for him and turn the tables on her. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. At least now. His past mistakes haunted him too greatly.
“Well, I don’t love you. Leave me alone.”
Soft footsteps padded away behind him.
* * *
Even after the first day on the road north, Andrasta still doubted whether Melek would keep his word.
Though Melek had given her good reasons for wanting help, Andrasta had known too many men who would change their mind on a whim. Even after removing her bonds, giving back her gear, and allowing her to move about freely, she remained on constant guard. Every word muttered under the breath from someone in the Host made her uneasy.
Are they talking about me? Planning some way to kill me in my sleep?
Melek issued orders that she was not to be harmed, but she wouldn’t put it past men so highly trained to come up with a believable looking accident.
She walked toward the dinner line at the edge of camp. A pair of men gave her vengeful looks. Three others stepped into her path at the last moment to cut in front of her, pushing her back in the dinner line.
She let the gesture go with a snort.
Like a bunch of children.
One of the men turned. “Do you find something funny?”
“Yes,” she said simply. Her refusal to elaborate only angered the man.
“Well, tell me.”
“I was just thinking that men are childish. They do things slyly, hinting at their feelings, rather than just coming out and saying what’s on their minds.”
“You call me a child, you stupid wh—”
Andrasta’s fist lashed out, crunching into the man’s nose. He dropped to the ground with a thud. She had always been thin-skinned when it came to that word.
Scimitars appeared in the hands of those around her. She waited in a crouch, already holding her sword.
“Hold! By Hubul, what’s going on?” came a loud voice.
Andrasta recognized Omar. The large man with the hard look and wild beard had been the most outspoken about Melek’s decision to free her, making comments all day to others in the host, loud enough so she could hear them.
Omar pushed his way past others crowding around her. He sneered. “I should have guessed it would be you.” He looked down at the man lying unconscious on the ground. “Causing problems already.”
Andrasta said nothing.
“No attempt to defend your actions?”
She twisted the sword in her grip. “I have what I need to defend myself.”
He eyed the man to his right. “What happened?”
“She was angry at Talib for his place in line. She struck him.”
“Sounds like something an uncivilized foreigner would do.” He looked around. “Break it up. When Melek returns from scouting, I was told we would receive a demonstration of her fighting prowess. Perhaps I can convince Melek to allow some sparring. If so, don’t hold back. I know I won’t.”
Andrasta remembered Omar’s fists striking her when previously bound. She allowed a wicked grin to shine.
Good.
* * *
Melek watched Andrasta and Omar circle the makeshift practice area. The two contrasted each other in every way.
Over his trousers and shirt, Omar wore traditional lamellar armor to protect his torso. The small metal plates and leather laced together in rows extended past his waist to protect his groin. Hardened leather vambraces and shin guards offered some additional protection. A metal, bowl-like helm sat on his wide head.
Andrasta dressed herself in confiscated thigh-length chain mail, metal gauntlets and shin guards. She decided to forego a helm, having been unsatisfied with how her options fit. She wore her long black hair in small, tight braids that hung behind her ears.
The style suits her well,
he thought, watching her familiarize herself with her new attire as she walked back and forth in the practice circle. The rest of the Host stood around it, eagerly anticipating the match.
She’s completely serious in how she handles herself. A very intriguing person.
As usual, Omar moved with confidence, trying to stare down the woman.
Andrasta ignored him, gliding about the circle, stepping lightly and effortlessly around the occasional foot cast into the ring in hopes of tripping her. Melek made note of those men and their “carelessness.” He would speak with each later.
Everything Andrasta did was with perfect balance.
He wanted to laugh.
Omar doesn’t have a chance.
If his lieutenant had been wise he would have allowed others to spar with the woman first to gauge her strengths and weaknesses. Instead, he wanted to be the one to humble her.
You should have listened to my warning, my friend.
Their circling stopped and to the surprise of everyone, Andrasta attacked. She covered the distance between them in four quick steps. Her sword swept out at Omar’s head. His scimitar came up to block it. Somehow she drew her sword back before the blades struck and spun into a crouch while sweeping her leg out.
Omar’s eyes widened at the sudden shift, and he leaped out of the way. Andrasta followed with an upward slice. Omar blocked it, but he missed her left cross. A strike to the jaw dropped him to the matted sand, his scimitar skittering away.
Andrasta gave him her back and walked to the center of the circle.
Omar rolled quickly to his feet. Blood dribbled down his split lip. “Where are you going?”
Andrasta stopped at the circle’s center. “I’m awaiting my next opponent. You lost.”
“I didn’t lose anything. I can still fight.”
“You went to the ground and lost your weapon. In battle, you would be dead.”
“You cheated,” he snapped. “We were sparring with swords.”
Andrasta tilted her head. “So cheating is using something other than your sword? Would you whine in battle if someone kicked you in the stomach?”
Several of the Host chuckled. Some raised an eyebrow, knowing Omar’s temper when mocked. Melek felt the weight of several stares cast his way. He refused to acknowledge them. As much as he didn’t want Omar to embarrass himself, he knew it was necessary to let things play out.
Only then will they accept Andrasta’s instruction.
“Whore,” Omar hissed.
“Lieutenant!” Melek shouted. All heads whipped his way.
Omar started to open his mouth in protest, but stopped. He lowered his head. “My apologies,” he mumbled.
Melek nodded.
“Captain, I request another turn in the circle against this . . .
woman
.”
“Andrasta?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It matters little to me.”
“Permission granted,” said Melek.
Omar turned to Andrasta. “Things will be different this time.”
She made no indication whether she even heard him.
“Begin,” said Melek.
Unlike the previous bout, the match began without delay. Omar went on the offensive, sprinting toward Andrasta as she had done in the previous round. Andrasta didn’t flinch, didn’t crouch, didn’t even move, as he closed the distance. She stood deathly still with hands at her side, sword limp in her right hand.
Omar shouted, and swung his blade with incredible speed. Andrasta waited until the last moment before stepping aside, allowing the scimitar to pass by her cheek at a hair’s breadth. Omar careened forward. Andrasta’s boot caught him in the backside and he went face first into the sand.