The Black Gods War

her newborn brother high above his head, and the masses, hundreds of feet below, roared with devotion.
    Father, what are you doing! she thought. Be more careful with our savior.
    Lucia glanced down at her mother resting in the birthing pool. The queen’s black hair clung to her neck, all of it soaked by the holy waters.
    “You did it, Mother!”
    Kindness brightened her mother’s face. “Thank the gods, dear. You have a brother now. A very special brother. Go, join your father and wave to the crowd.”
    “You stay here and rest. I’ll wave to them on your behalf.”
    Her mother laughed. “Thank you, Lucia. That sounds perfect.”
    Lucia crept toward the archway leading to the balcony wrapped around the circular chamber. She squinted, fighting the midday sun. Tears soaked her father’s cheeks as he presented the pink baby to the faithful. Nature had tattooed thorny red and black vines on little Caio’s hands and forearms: the holy markings of the Haizzem.
    As she gazed at Caio, a spiritual energy filled her body with peace and warmth. Her spirit soared. The teachings are coming true! A Haizzem had come again, to rescue all the world. Her brother would conquer Rezzia’s foes and bring the gods’ light to everyone.
    Lucia skipped forward to participate in the royal scene. She looked down at tens of thousands of pilgrims in their cream robes and felt dizzy. The clay-white acropolis of the holy city sprawled across the desert plateau: massive domed structures, spiraling minarets, and temples of the ten gods supported by grand columns.
    She clutched her father’s ceremonial cremos robe to steady herself. The fabric was bloodied; he had obeyed the scriptural commandment for Rezzia’s king to oversee the birth of his own Haizzem son. She felt so lucky, knowing every Rezzian alive would love to be in her place, touching the king’s garments and the words of divine power stitched into them.
    Her father pressed the baby against his chest, and pushed Lucia backward with his free hand. He raised up baby Caio and beamed his joy again.
    The rejection shattered Lucia’s bliss.
    Her father’s face, with his heavy brown eyes and his perfectly trimmed beard, always showed his serious nature. But as he admired the baby—so high above the masses—he transformed, positively euphoric. He looked at Caio with such true love, a look Lucia had never, ever seen before.
    Lucia’s vision darted from her father to her brother and back again. Your love for me is a lie . She dropped her head and long vermilion hair fell around her face. She wouldn’t cry. Not then. Not in front of him.
    The crowd’s chanting grew louder and louder. They cried out in the old tongue, we love and adore him!
    “Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
    “Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
    “Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
    Hearing their hypnotic praying, her pummeled heart found direction and clarity. The truth struck her as she watched the red-faced babe glowing against the sky: her brother was divine. According to the warpriests’ teachings, it had been hundreds of years since a Haizzem graced the kingdom with his holy presence. They said Caio would possess spiritual gifts beyond compare, including the ultimate proof of his godliness: he would be able to resurrect one person from death during his lifetime.
    I don’t matter anymore . Her royal duty would be pure devotion to him. As his only sibling, she would always be there to provide whatever he needed. All of her divinely given powers from the goddess Ysa would serve him alone.
    A deep voice rumbled from inside the chamber, startling her: “My dearest Lucia.”
    The man’s tone upset her stomach. “Sweet Lucia, come see your mother.”
    She turned, tugged on her father’s robe and pointed into the sacred chamber. “There’s a man in there!”
    The chanting of the crowd grew louder. Her father pushed her away, harder this time.
    “There’s a man in there!” Lucia stomped one foot and swung her fists through the air.
    Her father ignored her again. She crept closer and peeked inside. A colossal man stood behind the now much bloodier waters of the birthing pool, looming above her mother. The black of his bald head and muscular arms was as dark as the leather he wore from his shoulders to his thighs. A single orange teardrop decorated the skin beneath his left eye. She recognized the face from scriptural stories: The Black One, the god Lord Danato.
    “Your mother is going away forever.” Danato crossed one arm