God of Destruction (27 page)

When they reopened, the depths of her eyes
were completely black, her touch with reality broken. She
remembered.

Chapter Twenty-Three

629 B.C.

The sun was just beginning to set beneath
the sand dunes when Ziba swept through the temple toward the shrine
to Kurshid, the Persian goddess of the sun. A small smile was fixed
upon her face, as was common for the young woman. Since her arrival
in the temple at seven years old, Ziba was accustomed to a life of
luxury in her gilded cage. She was never without food, like others
in the city may have been, her clothes were always immaculate and
silk, and she had a relationship with the gods that others could
only dream of.

It was a life she loved, but frequently
found to be…just the slightest bit…lacking.

Ziba had been born in a faraway village to
parents who had been frightened of her. The color of her hair was
foreign to the dark-haired Persians, and when she had been born
with a cluster of sunlight-blonde curls, her parents had
immediately kept her hidden from the world. It wasn’t until her
sister, Shireen, left to join the temple six years later that it
was made clear that Ziba’s only place was with the gods. When she
first stepped into that great building, rumors of her peculiar
appearance spread like wildfire across the desert. It didn’t take
long before everyone believed she was the human incarnate of the
sun goddess herself.

Now that she had turned fourteen and was
beginning to experience her first taste of womanhood just like
every other girl her age, Ziba was beginning to realize how unhappy
she was in the temple. Most women in the village were married at
this age, whenever they too became women.

It wouldn’t be difficult for her to find a
husband, too.

At one time she had been the most sought
after woman in most of Persia for her beauty and high standing with
the Gods. Unfortunately, a priestess could not marry, lest she
wanted to be punished to the full extent of the law, as a lighter
consequence. Eternal damnation would be sure to follow. She was
supposed to have dedicated herself entirely to the Gods for the
entirety of her life. It wasn’t a bad life, just not one she would
have chosen if she had known the conditions of it.

In a perfect world she would have wanted a
man who loved her; no, she wanted a man who worshiped her like she
worshiped Kurshid. Except, it was not a perfect world, and men like
that just did not exist. She envied the families she saw passing
the temple each day, though she knew they envied her. She wore
white silk and gold jewelry like the other priestesses, a symbol of
her status, and her only work consisted of praying from dawn until
dusk. She led a charmed life, an unwanted life, in her gilded
cage.

She knelt before the altar to the goddess
and pressed her forehead to the cool floor. “I pray to you,
Almighty Kurshid, to give me wisdom and guide me through this time
in my life where I fear I may stray. For I am now and always will
be your loyal servant,” she prayed under her breath in Old
Persian.

With her head bowed, she kept her hands
pressed together and her eyes squeezed shut. It was normally silent
in the temple, so, with her eyes shut, she could easily hear the
quiet sobs echo through the building. Her eyes shot open
immediately and searched the room, only to find a man’s shaking
figure at the shrine to Sraosa, the god of the afterlife. From
behind, all she could see was black armor and robes, as the top of
his body was bent over his knee.

Even without seeing his face, she knew who
it was. “Lord Bomani?” Ziba whispered once she was close enough.
She placed one delicate hand on his shoulder in a sorry attempt at
comfort. “Whatever ails you?”

Furiously, he wiped at the tears she knew
were falling down his face and spun around, throwing her hand away
from him with a fervor that sent her staggering back. Though it was
slightly reddened and moist from crying, Ziba had to stifle her
gasp at the face she had never seen so close before. Lord Bomani,
of the Persian army, was quite famous, almost as famous as she, and
she had seen him wander the roads of the village, but he had never
entered this temple. He was a brute of a man, exceptionally muscled
and well over average height, with wavy, brown, shoulder-length
hair around a deeply tanned face, the norm in Persia. His bloodshot
eyes were light brown like the desert sand but as cold as ice. His
chin and jaw, along with his upper lip, were dusted with hair.

“
It is none of your concern what ails me,”
he snarled.

She was unaccustomed to be spoken to in such
a way, but she knew he was correct. She bowed her head respectfully
and murmured a quiet, “My sincerest apologies, my Lord. It was not
my place,” as she took slow, measured steps backward.

While her head was bowed, she heard his
sharp intake of breath and a loud thump. When she lifted her sky
blue eyes, another one of her oddities, she found the great Lord
Bomani, bowing to her on the floor.

“
It is I who should be apologizing, Lady
Ziba, I did not know it was you!” he cried, his voice muffled
slightly against the floor. “Forgive me, your holiness. I did not
know.”

“
Please, sir, rise,” she pleaded. “You are
forgiven.”

“
I cannot. I may as well have insulted the
goddess Kurshid, herself, for screaming at her holiest servant, the
Lady Ziba,” he lifted his eyes to stare up at her
reproachfully.

“
You are forgiven, sir. I frightened you
and it was not my place to ask questions. Now please, rise,” she
said, this time a bit more forcefully. Reluctantly, he did as he
was told and curiously searched her with his eyes.

“
Well, Lady Ziba, I see that all of the
stories about you are true,” he offered a small smile.

“
What stories?” she inquired
skeptically.

“
You are, without a doubt, the most
beautiful woman in Persia.”

Her face flamed, but she could not bring
herself to reprimand him for his flattery. After all, this was
exactly what she had wanted. “Thank you, sir.”

“
Please, my name is Bomani. Address me as
such,” he demanded kindly.

“
It would not be proper of me to do so,
sir!” Ziba cried.

“
When there is no one around to hear it,
My Lady, how can you deny me this? Please?” he beseeched.

After a moment to ponder his words, she
nodded. “Alright, Bomani. But if we are to be acting in such a way,
then you are to call me, Ziba.”

He took her small hand in his very large one
and gave it a light squeeze. He placed a kiss in her palm and said,
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ziba.”

“
Likewise, Bomani,” she gasped through the
sudden obstruction in her throat. Inconspicuously, she attempted to
clear it, but it did not help. In fact, she might have made it
worse. The man before her smirked, clearly aware of his effect on
her. “Are you well, Bomani?” she inquired, unable to meet his eyes
again.

His sharp intake of breath in answer told
her she should not have asked. Timidly, she looked to his face,
waiting for an answer. But, Bomani didn’t look like he would ever
speak. With glassy eyes and a face that was obviously contorted by
grief, his head whipped to the side, away from her prying gaze.

With movements that were not her own, Ziba
cupped his face in her hands and felt a pleasant chill travel up
her fingers. She gasped, drawing the attention of some nearby
patrons but she was far too reluctant to break contact with the man
standing before her to look. Bomani’s startled gaze met hers, and
she knew without a doubt that he had felt it too. She stared up
into his eyes while he gazed into hers with an indecipherable
passion hidden behind his deep brown orbs.

Unfortunately, reality set in quickly.

“
Lady Ziba,” a cold, familiar voice hissed
behind her.

Ziba swiftly and unceremoniously let her
arms fall to her sides as she spun to meet the even gaze of her
sister. Shireen’s dark hair was pulled up and away from her face in
a large, gold diadem, as was expected for the High Priestess, but
it only served to highlight her blazing green eyes. Ziba had always
known her older sister to be a tranquil creature, so it came as
quite a shock when she found evident rage in Shireen’s face.

Ziba stepped back, only to find that she had
flattened herself against Lord Bomani’s chest. “Shireen.”

“
What is going on here,
priestess?”

Ziba could not think of any way to cover up
her indecency. “Bomani…I mean L…Lord Bomani…”

Bomani fell to his knees behind her. “My
apologies, High Priestess. I distracted the Lady Ziba.”

“
Did you, my Lord?” Shireen asked with a
predatory grin. “Surely Ziba had some part in your
little…tryst?”

Bomani rose to his feet, a self-satisfied
grin on his face. “It was hardly a tryst, my Lady. This priestess
was attempting to console me over the death of my brother.”

Ziba masked her shock well, but Shireen
looked visibly embarrassed. “My apologies, my Lord. And my
condolences. Lord Fehrer was a good man and a great warrior.”

“
Thank you, High Priestess.”

Shireen pursed her lips as she scrutinized
Ziba’s face, but she gave each of them a curt nod before she swept
gracefully out of the room.

Ziba kept her hands folded tightly behind
her, anticipating and preventing another mishap. She turned back to
Bomani when she was sure Shireen was gone. “I am very sorry for
your loss, my Lord.”

“
What happened to calling me Bomani?” he
inquired; the mirth on his face did not meet his eyes.

Ziba scowled at the floor. “I think it would
better, sir, if we kept to formalities.”

“
Oh. I see.”

“
Lord Bomani,” she found his face
again.

“
Yes, my Lady?”

“
Tell me about your brother?” she pleaded.
He bit the inside of his cheek and wordlessly shook his head.
“Please?”

Taking a moment to ponder her question, he
offered his hand to her. “Come with me.”

“
Sir, I cannot leave the temple!” she
whispered, warily appraising his hand.

“
Then somewhere we can be alone?” he
beseeched.

“
Sir!” she gasped, just a little too
loudly. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Recovering enough to
lower her voice, she searched the faces of anyone who might have
caught interest. “I cannot risk such an improper thing being seen.
If Shireen were to find us…”

“
My Lady, I bear you no ill will. I only
wish to tell you what you have asked for.”

The girl knew that nothing good could
possibly come from following Bomani, a man she had met only a few
minutes prior, but, for some strange reason, she trusted him. And
so, it was without any further reservations that she took Bomani’s
hand and led him into the corridors deep within the temple, away
from any prying eyes.

When she passed the final window and arrived
at the darkened sanctuary, she dropped Bomani’s hand and began
lighting the candles around the small niche in the wall. “Please,
my Lord, take a seat,” she gestured grandly to the single wooden
bench against the wall.

“
Thank you…Ziba,” he muttered as he took a
seat.

“
My Lord…”

He narrowed his eyes at her harmlessly. “I
will tell you nothing, Ziba, if we continue in this manner.”

They glared at each other, waiting for the
other to break. Ziba sighed. “If you insist, my l…Bomani.”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

When he did not delve into an explanation,
she said, “Do not keep me waiting another moment, Bomani. I will
surely be missed.”

“
My apologies,” he took a deep breath. “My
brother, Fehrer, was killed in battle this past month. It was a way
he would have wanted to go, Ziba, and I am happy that he was able
to die in a blaze of glory and in the protection of people he
loved, but…but…” His eyes brimmed with tears and he shook with the
effort to hold them back.

Ziba rubbed her hand along his back.
“Bomani?”

“
But I cannot accept that when I know that
I will never be happy again without him!” he bellowed. “He will
never fight by my side again. I will never see him again. I do not
know what to do without him.”

Then, the giant of a man broke into
sobs.

Ziba pulled her hand back from his massive
shoulder and let it fall in her lap. “Bomani.”

He seemed unable to hear her, or, merely,
unable to respond.

“
Bomani,” she repeated, hoping he could
hear her over his monster-like wails. “Sraosa will keep your
brother safe and watch over him until you meet again. Life is only
fleeting. You will meet again.”

His sobs died down slowly after that. “Thank
you, Ziba…thank you for trying to help.”

She stood. “It was no trouble, Bomani. And…I
know that Fehrer has everything he could possibly wish for now. He
received the greatest honor a warrior can desire, and now he
watches over you in a world much better than our own.”

His bloodshot eyes burned into her face for
a short second. Suddenly, she found herself pressed into the
material of his armor, forced to inhale the pleasant odor of his
neck.

She loved the feeling of his embrace as he
held her. All too soon, however, he jerked away from her. She
stifled her disappointment enough to smile up at him.

“
I am glad to have helped, Bo—”

She was silenced when an almost painful
force impacted her face. She couldn’t move, held in place by some
unseen strength around her neck and waist. Her eyes blinked open,
only to find herself pulled flush against Bomani.