The Black Gods War

do you not answer your Lord?”
    Because you’ve invaded my bed and my dreams? Damn you for making me feel ill again!
    “Only one god dwells in the dark. Do you believe I wished to be him?”
    More gods-damned theology.
    “I did not. I chose the lot I had to choose. This is the nature of free will, for both gods and men. Choosing and wishing are not the same. Soon you and your brother will know this, too.”
    How long can a narcissistic god talk to himself?
    “If none of us had chosen to live in the underworld, you would have no gods or goddesses. My sister Ysa could not exist without me. Remember, you are called to worship us all.”
    And I neither wished for that, nor chose it.
    “We chose Rezzia and made your people special. We gave you religion and noble purpose. We watch over you. Yet you reject me, Lucia.”
    You traumatized an innocent girl and want to be worshiped? Perhaps it’s forgiveness you’re after? I still remember the sensation of my own flesh burning night after night in my dreams.
    “The truth is that I love you, now and forever. Sleep deeper, my daughter. Sleep deeper.”
    Lucia awoke to eerie sunlight shining through the canopy of her royal yurt, and was appalled to find a crowd waiting for her. Ten Rezzian guards stood in their cream tunics, with their backs turned to her bed. With their identical wide belts and sheathed swords, it was impossible to tell them apart.
    She bolted upright and tightened her robe. “What is this?” As she ran her fingers through her long hair, she found all of it soaked with sweat. A rotten, sweet odor filled the air.
    The guards moved to either side of the yurt, giving her a view of a tattered family of four—more sufferers of the new plague. They sat with their legs folded and stared down shamefully at the palatial rug. The little boy and girl leaned against their mother, their bare feet twitching.
    “We couldn’t leave them outside,” a soldier said.
    The father lifted his head slightly but kept his gaze downward. “Your Grace, we are dying. We need a miracle from our Haizzem. Can you grant us the gods’ mercy? At least heal our children, if nothing more. Please!”
    “He will be here soon. My brother will surely heal you.” Lucia stood up and itched to do it herself.
    “We can’t wait days. 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.
    “I can pray for you,” Lucia said, “but you may still need to wait. Our Haizzem is leaving Remaes this morning. He should arrive in no more than six days.” She took a few steps toward them.
    The nearest soldier partially blocked her path. “It is not safe, Your Grace. Please stay where you are.”
    The boy, no older than four, fell forward onto his stomach. He choked, fighting to suck in air, but his lungs wouldn’t expand. His arms flailed as his parents dropped 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.
    Ysa, this child is innocent. Whatever the reason for this plague, it had nothing to do with him. Grant him your grace .
    The boy went limp, his little head hanging off her elbow.
    Lucia’s blood pulsed with indignation as she heard Lord Danato’s voice again.
    “They are dying, Lucia. Children, parents, grandparents, and soldiers. Sadly, this boy will die soon, too. But there is a reason for all things.”
    Lucia turned and thought she saw a blur of black skin. No one was there. No one else seemed to hear the voice. She relaxed and shook her head, realizing she was experiencing yet another nightmare from Lord Danato.
    The girl grabbed Lucia’s leg. The parents began to wrestle the boy from her, almost fighting over the corpse.
    “Gian, it’s your father. Wake up, boy. Breathe for me!”
    The mother wailed. She yanked her son away and pressed his body to her breast. The boy’s arms and legs dangled like a doll’s.
    Lucia knew she would never forget Gian’s dying eyes. Her muscles shuddered with rage, knowing the boy would eventually die from this plague.
    “Arrows, arrows, arrows. So many burning arrows, Lucia. Thousands of your soldiers dying with each battle, as if the gods of Lux Lucis have forgotten Rezzia. Yet your men feel they honor us. You will watch them fall for a decade more.”
    Lord Danato had been telling her this