The Black God's War Read Free Page B

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.

 
    “The descent to Hades is the same from every place.”
    -Anaxagoras

 
     
    The First Stanza:
     
    To Brave the Divine

 
    Chapter 3: 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 gotten what they wanted; their holy savior had touched them. Now Jurg was one amongst a crowd of only a few thousand. His chances of intercepting the Haizzem might still be good.
    Walk faster, you damned, useless legs. You’re not that old, are you?
    Bashing his way through the crowd gave him little guilt, but leaving his people and family still weighed on his mind. He’d left the forests of Andars weeks ago, knowing he would probably never breathe in their crisp sweetness again. He’d yet to stop worrying about what would become of young Sky, Dag, and Idonea.
    Amazing, how easy it is to approach this Caio . After the day’s Dux Spiritus ceremony, the Rezzians’ passion now focused on just one man, no longer two. The king retained his political throne, but the military power now belonged to his son; the religious savior was the new Dux Spiritus of Rezzia’s armies. Ironically, the young man was also believed to be a great healer.
    The hypnotized crowd