The Black Gods War

cold.” Caio didn’t have whatever benefits of warmth came from the padding of armor, unlike Lucia. The goddess Mya and Lord Oderigo hadn’t left behind sacred battle relics as Ysa had for her royal devotees. Caio’s armor was spiritual. Oderigo entrusted the royal lineage with his sacred text, The Book of Time. The goddess Mya handed down to the royalty a wooden rod shaped from the first olive tree the gods gave the kingdom many centuries ago. Caio squeezed the solid, grainy wood of the healing scepter in one hand and felt its majestic aura.
    This power was given to me so that I could heal. This is madness.
    “I think this land hates us,” Lucia whispered back, her sharp eyes remaining focused past the edges of the bush, up the hill. “Later, you’ll be glad you dressed for the heat.”
    Caio squeezed one of his arms, feeling the loose sleeve of his unbleached cotton thawb, a long tunic running down to his sandaled feet. He thrust his head back and let the matching head scarf settle behind his shoulders.
    “This is as close as we’ll get,” Lucia said.
    “I pray none of them have to die,” Caio said to himself as much as to the others.
    Ilario had said little since they set out, keeping to himself most of the hike. Caio sensed his friend’s fears about their mission and his conflicted feelings for Lucia. Ilario’s eyes focused on the Pawelon outpost and the steep climb leading up to it.
    “You were right,” Ilario said to Lucia. “There's no practical way to assault them. Their archers would have perfect positioning while we climb the hill, and they must have sages ready with a complete strategy for defense.” He turned and patted Caio on the back, making brief eye contact. “Remember, you hold the goddess Mya’s rod in your hand. Everything is possible for you, my Haizzem.”
    Lucia’s gaze pried into Caio’s soul, making sure her message was received. “Prevent them from seeing our forces behind us, and prevent them from alerting their army. You can do this.”
    Caio looked down on the intricate red and black lines the gods had painted on his palms while he was still in his mother’s womb. As with all the other Haizzem before him, the patterns started at the center of his palms, wrapped around his hands, and wound along his forearms to his elbow. Gazing at the thorny lines centered his mind.
    He gripped Mya’s smooth rod with both hands and exhaled warmth onto his cold fingers. “Will our gods need to kill anyone to accomplish this goal? We only need to distract the Pawelons.”
    “I am sure The Ten will obey you,” Lucia said, “though you know they aren't always compassionate.”
    “We will see a great miracle today,” Ilario added. “Clear the way, my Haizzem, and let the gods decide the details.”
    Caio noticed that Ilario momentarily looked away from the hill, to Lucia's face. Earlier that morning, Caio had seen his sister relax and smile much more deeply than usual around Ilario. “I wonder what we’ll be doing when we marry and grow old together,” Caio said.
    Lucia’s and Ilario's eyes met for a moment before she said, “Caio, you should focus.”
    Caio stood up, still using the bush for some cover. “If anything should ever happen to me, know how much I love you both, and that nothing would make me happier than to see you together someday.”
    He knew they’d be uncomfortable hearing his words, so he gave them no time to respond. Caio ran into the open, up the long hill. If not for his trust in the gods, the empty distance would have been terrifying. He looked back, upset at seeing Lucia and Ilario chasing after him. The ten warpriests spread out to protect them, their flowing, white clothes snapping like flags in a strong wind.
    The goddess Mya appeared three paces in front of Caio, wearing a lush green dress of leaves. Her enigmatic eyes quivered with a hint of moisture. She held up the palm of her delicate hand.
    Caio remained upright but dropped to his knees. He heard the others stop and felt their eyes on him. He extended his open arms before his goddess, her rod clenched in one hand, a plea upon his face. If you will help us, Mya, what will you do to our enemies?
    He felt a sudden shiver of heat.
    Must we kill them? Is that what I should ask for, and would you even grant such a thing?
    No response came from The Goddess of the Great Waters. His heart was pulled deeper into her mesmerizing gaze.
    How can I go against my own marrow?
    Silence.
    I am your chosen