Goddess (35 page)

‘Loyalty is my life.’

‘Not to him and his madness. Be loyal to your family. He stole you. He admits that. They did not sell you as my family did me. You were taken
without their consent. They must love and miss and no doubt mourn you to this day.’

He looked uncertain. Ana had worked hard on Ashar since that first day they spoke and found that fragile connection that often springs up between two lonely people of like age. In a strange way they had become friends. Perhaps now she could use that friendship—not for her own safety, for her future was here, at least until her son arrived. But Lazar, Lazar could be dead within that same time frame and she had to find some way to help him flee. She was sure he would rather die consumed by the desert, trying to escape, than helpless on the end of Arafanz’s blade.

She pushed Ashar further. ‘Find the woman. She was of the desert tribes, wasn’t she? I only glimpsed her but perhaps she can tell you which direction to head in—she may even know something of your family. Try, Ashar, try. This is no life for a young man. This is for clerics, mystics and—’

‘Madmen?’

She sighed softly. ‘Yes.’

‘I thought you liked him.’

‘I do. When he’s not being cruel, he’s such a sad, vulnerable, beautiful man. He could have been so much more than this.’

‘He told me he was chosen. As I was chosen.’

‘Yes, and I believe him. But whilst he was chosen by someone he considers his god, you were chosen by him—a mortal. If anything he has been a destructive influence. Surely you want more than to
die in the service of a god who has yet to ask anything of you? If Lyana calls to you, that’s different. But I suspect she calls only to him. The rest of you have been coerced, your minds stripped of everything you once knew and loved and trusted. He has replaced that with himself and his crusade. It is wrong, Ashar. I promise you, it is wrong.’

He looked at her and for the first time she saw the usual zeal blur and a new clarity shine in his eyes. ‘Go and see the tribeswoman if you can…and, Ashar, if you can think of anything to help the tall, golden-haired man, I beg you to share it with me or do what you can. He is a good man. He is of Lyana, he is not your enemy. He is in tune with the desert, respects your people. He is the man I truly love, the father of the child I carry. He is the Crown Prince of Galinsea. You have a future king preparing to die in your prison. Help me find a way to save him, I beg you.’

Ashar backed away, fearful. She had said too much and frightened him.

Another wave of pain grabbed her, took her on a long ride of agony, leaving her gasping. When she had recovered her wits, Ashar was gone and she was alone with her fears and the labouring child who would be soon pulled from her womb and taken from her.

Ana wept.

Herezah could feel the tension in the city escalating. It unfurled from the crowded lanes of the bazaar and moved like an invisible but blanketing mist throughout the streets of Percheron, reaching up the hillside to the palace and the balcony where she stood. Panic!

It was nearing fifth bell, not even noon, but the day was already unbearably hot. She had insisted that the messengers spread word that the general population was not under any threat from the Galinseans, that although there was no need to flee, those who wished to leave the city should do so immediately. Even to her ears it sounded hollow. If she were an everyday Percherese, living beneath the Stone Palace, she would grab her family and head for the foothills as fast as she could.

And whilst the city looked to be a roiling cauldron of activity, the palace seemed unnaturally calm. An hour ago all dignitaries and senior members of the staff had gathered in the Throne Room as she had delivered them the news she had hoped to avoid. Herezah had
deliberately gone nowhere near the throne itself, but kept herself a step down on the lower plinth to make her announcement. She was sure her humility had not gone unnoticed—not that it mattered right now. No-one was thinking about her dignity or her succinct speech. They were thinking about their loved ones, deciding whether to stay put and take their chances or leave everything behind and flee.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Most of the people in that chamber were certainly under threat. Bin had stood stoically below her, glanced once or twice with approval at her calm, precise delivery and then had escorted her briskly from the room full of stunned people to the balcony where she now awaited the captain of the guard.

As she stared out across the harbour towards Star Island she was reminded of Lazar. She badly needed his co unsel right now. She had since realised that it was only because of the letter he had left that the Galinseans had agreed to the private parley on the Daramond. What trust they had given her, and what fatal treachery the Percherese had shown in return. The nausea rose again, as it had so many times since the previous day, and threatened to overwhelm her. The temptation to simply curl into a ball, locking herself into her old room at the harem and awaiting whatever fate came, was seductive. But as irresistibly as cowardice beckoned, this was not Herezah’s way.

Fighting wasn’t her way, either, and though stealth and cunning were her weapons she didn’t know how to wield them in this situation, which had long spun out of her control. So fight she’d have to, and she would pray to Zarab that she could achieve a stalemate for long enough to allow Boaz and Lazar to return. Hopefully the Spur would have the ability to persuade his estranged father against savage reprisal. In her heart the hopes felt hollow but for the sake of her pride in the crown she represented, she knew she must not lose hope.

Bin interrupted her thoughts. ‘Captain Ghassal is here, Valide Zara.’

‘Bring him in,’ she said, not turning yet. ‘Does he look frightened?’

‘No, Valide. Resolute.’

‘Good. I need his courage and reassurance.’

Bin bowed and disappeared. Herezah took one last look at the uncharacteristically quiet harbour and imagined it filling with war galleys. She turned away to greet Ghassal of the Protectorate and wondered if she’d be dead by this time tomorrow.

Ashar brought a clay flask of water and a goblet into the prison area of the fortress. ‘I’ve been told to give the female prisoner fresh water,’ he answered the guard at the top of the stairs, a man Ashar knew well. The prisoners needed no more that this single person, for Arafanz felt safe in the knowledge that his prison was impregnable.

As the man checked the contents of the flask, Ashar asked, ‘Is everything all right?’ He jutted his chin in the direction of the cells downstairs.

‘Quiet,’ the man replied. ‘Why do I get this boring task? You get to look after the beautiful woman.’

Ashar grinned. ‘I’m no more than nursemaid right now. She is in labour.’

His companion’s mouth widened. ‘It’s happening?’

Ashar nodded. ‘It’s almost time,’ he confirmed, his voice quiet.

‘Hard to believe we’re here at last. It’s been years. We’ll be riding for Percheron imminently.’

‘Seems so. We have to pray to Lyana she keeps that baby safe and he arrives without problem.’

‘Have faith. He is Lyana’s future. She will protect him.’

Ashar nodded. ‘I’d better get this delivered. What about the others?’

‘They took the young one away—he began to scream to be removed from the tall one’s presence.’

‘Were they fighting?’

‘No. I think the tall one frightened the younger one. Here are the keys. She’s in the one at the end, with the window. As you’re here I need to relieve myself. I won’t be long.’

‘Don’t be. I have to get back to my post.’

His friend grinned as Ashar disappeared down the stairs and into the dimly lit corridor. He
hurried along to the last cell and put the key in the lock. What he was doing was wrong but he was too far down this path to turn back now. He had to satisfy his increasing hunger for the world outside the sheltered existence at the fortress. All the other young men seemed to be happy and dedicated to their cause, but for Ashar their leader’s influence had never fully claimed him as it had his peers. He’d worked hard to be like all the other Razaqin but something inside refused to allow him to give up all of himself; he had kept back a tiny portion, locked it away. Ana’s arrival and his closeness to her had opened the vault where he’d stored his few memories. He was a chief’s son. He had older brothers and sisters. He had worshipped his father, a wise, gentle man, and he could still remember his sweet-natured mother, who had died in childbirth trying to push out a baby brother, who had also perished. Ana’s painful labour was calling up these old memories. He desperately wanted her to survive and for the boy to survive. Ashar covered his face as he entered the cell, in accordance with Arafanz’s rules.

‘Who is it?’ asked a woman’s voice from the darkest recesses. Morning light would normally flood sharply through this cell’s windows but the day had turned dark from the Samazen’s wrath. Sand whipped around the chamber and he could feel its grittiness beneath his sandals. He could just make out the woman in the corner, her robes pulled over her head to shield her.

‘I have brought you water,’ he said, unsure of what to say, ‘but perhaps you need shelter more than anything.’

‘The wind can’t hurt me and I li ke to feel the sand in here,’ she admitted. He could hear the puzzlement in her voice. ‘I didn’t expect any kindnesses.’

‘I brought it of my own accord, not at his behest,’ he said, feeling awkward but preferring to be truthful.

‘Why?’

‘Miss Ana said I should meet you.’

‘How is she?’

‘In labour and very sad, although I could be killed for telling you this.’

‘Then why do you share anything with me?’

‘I don’t know, I…I really shouldn’t be here. Let me give you this water and then I shall leave.’ He bent to place the flask on the ground.

‘No, wait!’ she cried, pulling back the linens that hid her face. In the eerie half-light he froze, his face blanching.

‘Ganya?’ he whispered, barely able to form the word.

She stared at him. ‘How do you know me?’

Ashar hesitantly raised his hand to pull free the black fabric that covered his face. ‘I am your brother, Ashar,’ he prompted, realising she probably couldn’t recognise him; he had been secreted away from their tribe as a child and now he was a man.

‘Ashar?’ she croaked, her expression telling him that she barely dared to believe what he said.

‘What are you doing here?’ he breathed. Before he could say anything else, though, a dawning swept across her face as she finally made out the beloved features of a brother and he was swept into her arms, was hugged and kissed through tears and smiles.

‘Our father came to find you,’ she explained finally. ‘He never stopped searching, never gave up hope.’

‘I think he’s the reason that I took this risk. This place has become my home and the other Razaqin have become my family but I have not forgotten my real home, my real family. I want to see my father again.’

Ganya began to weep once more. ‘Oh, Asha r. My poor little brother. Our father is dead. His body is still likely warm, his murder is so fresh.’

‘Murder?’

‘Your precious Arafanz. I had to stand by and watch the madman slit our father’s throat as he tried to explain why he was in this part of the desert, that he was searching for his son.’

Ashar felt as though his lips had gone numb. He had trouble forming a response. The shock that his beloved father had come so close, only to be denied so much as a sighting of him, broke Ashar’s already bleeding heart. ‘You saw this? You know Arafanz wielded the knife?’

‘It was his own blade, I tell you. I witnessed our father gasping his final breaths about finding you as his blood spilled into the sands and the man who sees himself as Zar-maker talked over him as though he were a mere dog being put out of its misery. His body was left for the vultures circling overhead.’

Ashar violently pulled away from her, hammering the walls with his fists until the skin of the knuckles broke and bled. He groaned his despair, his head shaking in denial. Ganya let his pain pour out before she put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

‘We must get you away from here,’ she whispered.

‘He killed my father,’ Ashar said. ‘He must pay for that.’

‘No! Ashar, listen to me. You know he has a small army behind him. They are fanatical; they will cut you down if you so much as threaten a hair on his head. Let them do whatever it is they need to do. You escape. You get yourself far away from here so that our father’s death achieved something.’

‘And you?’

‘They will miss me, not that I’m important, but they won’t miss you. What’s one less black-robed killer amongst so many?’

‘He has given me a specific task. He expects me to be at my post.’

‘Then feign illness. Think of something, Ashar—anything that allows you to get away.’

‘There is nowhere to go. It is Samazen season and this is an angry one. Look at your chamber—this is just the beginning. We have days to go yet; its strength and ferocity are only going to increase.’

‘Promise me you will do nothing rash,’ she begged.

‘Nothing rash, I promise you,’ he replied. He knew Ganya heard the other message behind the wording.

‘Talk to Lazar. He’s incarcerated here somewhere. He will know what to do. I beg you, Ashar. Take him into your confidence—he is…was…your father’s friend. He has sworn to avenge his death.’

‘Then he is my friend, too.’

‘Find him. Tell him all that you know. Help him to escape if you must.’

‘That’s what Miss Ana asked me to do.’

‘Then listen to her. Don’t bother about the young one. He is not to be saved. Go. Lock me back up and go. Here, take the flask, and give it to Lazar. Use that as your excuse. If anyone asks, tell them that Miss Ana instructed you to do this. It will leave you blameless. He clearly has no intention of harming her.’

Ashar obediently took the flask that she anxiously pressed into his hands.

‘Go, Ashar. Be safe.’

‘You too, be safe,’ he said, his eyes trusting.

Ganya pushed him back out of her cell door. He carefully locked the door behind him. There were
five cells. He tried two that were empty before the third opened to a sigh from the darkness. With the soft light that spilled from the small lamps in the corridor he could just make out the figure on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest.

‘Lazar?’ he hissed.

‘What?’ The man spoke in Percherese. His meaning was clear, though Ashar didn’t understand the word.

Ashar spoke in the desert language rather than the Sharaic of the fortress. ‘I’m here to help,’ he tried.

‘And who might you be?’ came the reply in Khalid.

The youngster felt a surge of relief. They could understand each other. ‘I am called Ashar, I—’

‘Salim’s boy!’

‘That’s right.’

‘Your sister is—’

‘I know. I also know about my father. I will avenge his death.’

‘On your own?’

‘With your help, perhaps.’ Ashar slipped further into the dark chamber.

‘I am not in a position to do much right now.’

‘Miss Ana sent me to find you,’ Ashar whispered.

‘Is she…?’

‘She is managing. The pains are more frequent now.’

‘Where have they taken Boaz?’

‘He is accommodated on a floor below Miss Ana.’

‘What are they going to do with him?’

Ashar shrugged. ‘I have not seen him. I know nothing about him, although our leader has specifically given me orders to take care of his needs.’

‘Arafanz obviously trusts you.’

‘Yes.’

‘All right, Ashar, listen to me. If you want to avenge your father’s murder but you also want your sister and yourself safe you will have to think with your head and not your heart. Right now nothing you do can bring Salim back. So do what he would want you to do: find a way to save Ganya and yourself. And I need you to help me get Miss Ana away from here too.’

‘She asked me to help
you
get away. She is going nowhere, Spur Lazar. She is too frail, too heavy with child. She could move into the next stage of her birthing process any time, or so I believe. I have watched camels give birth. It can’t be much different.’

Lazar smiled grimly in the dimness. ‘Not much,’ he said, irony in his voice. ‘Do you have access to the camels?’

‘I know where they are kept. They will all be under cover now.’

‘I want you to get one readied for Miss Ana and one for yourself and your sister. Two only.’

‘You’re going to risk the Samazen?’

‘Our chances are better out there than in here.’

‘What about you?’

‘I will find a way, I promise you. Take your sister with you. Dress her as one of the hooded Razaqin. But have that camel for Miss Ana ready. Does she know her way to where they’re kept?’ The boy nodded. ‘Good. No-one will be checking. Only a fool would be out in this storm.’