The Black Gods War

hand resting on top of Caio’s skull. Caio didn’t seem to notice. The warpriests carried her into a hallway, out of the public’s view.
    She squirmed. “Let me down. Let me walk.”
    They released their grips. “Then go on to your chamber. We’ll follow you there.”
    The military Strategos with curly hair entered the hallway. His eyes shone with concern above his rosy cheeks. “Is everything all right, Lucia?”
    “No! Caio isn’t safe.”
    “He’s absolutely fine,” the man said. “Perfectly all right. Can I walk with you?”
    Lucia clenched her jaw and stared at him.
    The Strategos put his hands on the shoulders of the two warpriests. “Let me handle this.”
    They bowed to the older man and stepped back toward the stairs, watching her as they exited.
    The Strategos put his hands together near his solar plexus. “My name is Duilio. I’m sorry you’re upset.”
    “Lord Danato intends to kill my brother. If you want to help me, go now and protect him.”
    “Your father and the warpriests won’t let that happen. I promise you, everything will be fine. I will walk with you, Lucia. Let’s talk.”
    She squeezed her fists, wondering if she could run past him to get another look.
    “Lucia, don’t make your father angry again. Let’s walk together please.”
    She spun around in defeat and began walking toward her chamber. They passed two statuesque soldiers. Lucia kept her gaze down.
    Outrage and embarrassment boiled inside her. She erupted, turning and pounding her fists against the hardened clay wall.
    Duilio held her arms. She screamed through gritted teeth like a trapped animal.
    “It’s all right, Lucia. It’s all right. I know you’ve been through a lot.”
    “Let me go!”
    “Tell me, do you know about The Lord of Miracles?”
    “Of course I do.” She relaxed a little.
    Duilio released her. “Will you join me in praying to him?”
    Lucia slumped down onto the floor and leaned her back against the wall. “No. I only pray to Ysa. I don’t even know if she hears me.”
    “Of course she does, dear. You once chose her on a day just like this, on your special day, and now she watches over you.”
    Just like the goddess Jacopa looked after my mother?
    “If you don’t want to pray with me, I would still like to pray for you.”
    “Do what you like.”
    “My Lord Cosimo, I humbly beseech you to grant Lucia your miracle. She worries about Lord Danato harming her brother. Please intercede on Lucia’s behalf. Please heal the source of her fear. Will you please? She is our royal daughter. Her brother needs her. Her father needs her. Rezzia needs her. Look after her. She more than deserves your grace.”
    Lucia felt a little calmer as she heard Duilio praying.
    “I saw,” she said before stopping herself. You won’t understand.
    “What did you see?”
    “Nothing. I’m going to my chamber.”
    Lucia stood and turned her back to the Strategos. She ran to her room and heard Duilio following her at a distance.

    ~~~~~

    The Black One shadowed Lucia as well, invisible to the eyes of men. The black god visited Lucia again that night, after she drifted off to sleep. It was the first of many more nightly visits from the god, and the onset of Lucia’s transformation.

Chapter Three: A Sacrifice for Apollo

    Caio’s nineteenth birthday. The day of the Dux Spiritus ceremony in Remaes.

    JURG FORCED HIS WAY across the white stone plaza, plowing ahead on his good leg while dragging the aching, lame one. At the end of his long journey, he held just one target in mind: the Haizzem boy.
    The exotic, curving architecture of the Rezzian holy palace loomed over the crowd with its religious gravity. Behind it, the vanishing sun fell onto the desert horizon.
    You’re an ugly people with an uglier religion, he thought, but you’ve made one beautiful thing—this white city. I’m glad to see it before I crumble to dust.
    The pilgrims pressed in on Jurg from all directions, muttering prayers in their guttural language and shouting exultations . Their saccharine incense filled his nostrils, making his stomach sick. Jurg smashed his way through the crowd with his thick forearms, his bloodied Andaran garb staining their immaculate cremos robes. The Rezzians just swayed in worship, lost in ecstasy.
    In a sea of white, Jurg was a haggard red stain.
    Good thing most of the freaks are gone. Those who’d left had already received what they wanted; their holy savior had touched them. Now Jurg was one among a