Goddess (4 page)

‘No, it is not. But it is possibly the first time I have been so candid about Lazar in front of you.’

Boaz looked away, refusing to acknowledge Herezah’s confession. ‘So they never behaved secretively?’

‘Never. In fact, Tariq spent the most time with your wife. The dwarf, of course, was always flitting around her, serving her food and fussing about her in his strange, demented manner, and the man Jumo was always very diligent and courteous towards Ana but Lazar was consistently remote. The only time I could cite a single moment where the Spur let his guard down might have been when his servant, that same Jumo, perished. It cut deep into Lazar and we sent Ana to speak with him—to comfort him. They are both such fringe-dwellers, aren’t they? Tariq agreed that if anyone could get through the ice fortress of Lazar’s reserve as he grieved, that Ana might.’

‘You left them alone?’

‘No, son. I was with Ana the whole time. But I allowed Ana to lead the conversation. And she did so with elegance and grace. She did not let us or you down. Why do you pursue this?’

He gave an ironic laugh. ‘Coming from you that is amusing. No reason at all, Mother. I’m jealous that you all had time with Ana when I didn’t. And now she’s gone.’

‘We will find your Ana. But you must help me get Lazar well. No-one else knows where she was taken.’

‘But surely he doesn’t either?’

‘I think Lazar may have some idea.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Boaz shot back.

‘This fellow, he calls himself Arafanz, he knew all of us and he certainly knew Lazar. There are clues in that show of knowledge. Lazar’s too sick to focus on it but he’s the only one amongst us who knows the desert, who knows in which direction Ana was taken. If you want Ana back, you need your Spur.’

She watched Boaz raise his head to capture a soft swirl of breeze that blew in through her apartments. The weather seemed unnaturally warm and still for so early in the season, so this gust was a welcome respite.

‘You want to bring him into the palace?’

Her pulse quickened. ‘Yes. Near to the harem so I can attend him each day. The Elim can be present at all times but I want to supervise the care. He needs this drezden poison—it alone can restore him.’

‘From snakes?’

‘They have to be found and milked and he must ingest copious amounts in a tea, apparently. The pure venom will restore him but only for a short while. The tea heals him, makes him well.’

‘You have my authority to organise it.’

Perhaps he expected a squeal of delight, a sense of triumph? Instead, Herezah very deliberately showed no overreaction; she simply stood quietly and hugged him.

‘Thank you, darling. I give you my word, we shall find your wife and we shall bring home your heir.’

Ana stepped into the chamber with trepidation, afraid of what ghoulish event she might have to witness next. To her relief all that confronted her was a sparse room containing a shallow clay basin, a mug and pails of water nearby, and a wizened man who was waiting to offer her some drying linens.

The man bowed slowly, reverently. ‘You are to bathe,’ he said in the ancient language she had heard spoken earlier that day, ‘and then Arafanz will see you.’

She looked around, fearful. ‘Where is he?’

‘Not here. He awaits you but he asks that you feel free to take your time.’

‘Where does this water come from?’ she asked, perplexed, as she gratefully reached for the towels.

‘A fresh spring feeds the fortress. We do not squander it but Arafanz has commanded that you have access to it. Three pails are warmed, the other tepid.’ The man shrugged. ‘It is all for you.’

‘But why? Just an hour ago he was—’

‘I am a servant only. Save your questions for him alone. Bathe, please. Do you need any assistance?’

‘Er…no,’ she stammered. ‘I can manage.’

‘Then I shall leave you now. I will not be far away should you need anything.’

Ana watched him leave, her mind racing. She had believed these past few months that her captor’s intention was to ransom her but today’s display of power had nothing to do with money or the desire for it. Why his people were being so polite to her, why he himself was so courteous to her whilst he was so ruthless to others, baffled her.

She undressed and stepped into the clay basin, reaching for the first pail of heated water and the mug, which she used to tip the water over herself. Ruefully, she recognised that, despite all her bitter words about the decadence of the harem, she had taken its bathing rituals for granted. As the clean water broke over her head and splashed down her body Ana felt herself gradually relaxing. She spied a pot of paste, presumed it was soap and was delighted to discover that it wasn’t made purely from goat or camel fat as she’d expected, but was lightly fragranced with cinnamon and rosewater. It was mixed with sand and dried petals which acted to slough her dried skin. She couldn’t help but feel pampered again as she applied the slow-lathering paste, smoothing the gritty substance across her swollen belly, enjoying the tautness as its precious cargo began to make room for itself.

Until now Ana had deliberately kept all thoughts of her child pushed firmly to the back of her mind. She had refused to acknowledge him—it was a boy, she was sure of it—because she had been certain her death was imminent and didn’t want to feel guilty for the child. But now she found she could not ignore him any longer. It was a shock, realising that at nearing sixteen, she was to be a mother. Her lack of knowledge and inexperience scared her but it seemed her body knew what to do and so she would leave the tiny mite to its own devices and try not to think too hard upon his fragility. She smiled in spite of herself. One night her belly had been tender but flat, and the next day it seemed to have popped. Her gaolers had obviously kept Arafanz well briefed.

She suddenly realised this child would be Percheron’s heir, and she stumbled in the basin at the thought that the Stone Palace would claim her son. Perhaps she was better off here as the desert’s prisoner than the harem’s? She sighed and put the futile thought from her mind, turning her attention to cleansing her hair. Before she knew it all three buckets of warmed water had been utilised. It felt wicked to use the last pail but she did, in defiance of Arafanz’s deeds on this day.

Twenty fewer thirsts to slake
, she thought. Her anger at the men’s senseless deaths returned and she sucked in her breath as the coolness of the final pail of water bit, awakening her. She stepped out of the basin and began towelling herself, rubbing hard to revive muscles that had felt too little exercise. When she was finished, and the
towel loosely wrapped around her, she called to the man outside who emerged holding two candles on a tray of braided grasses along with some combs and a brush. Ana hadn’t registered how dark it had become and she shivered at the realisation that dusk had obviously fallen in the desert. It would become cold very rapidly.

‘Sit, please,’ her aide said, gesturing towards a small wooden bench. ‘I will brush your hair.’

Ana wanted to decline but kept silent and did as she was asked. The man began working behind her; his touch was careful, his fingers only coming into contact with her hair, not even grazing the skin of her shoulders. He began to hum softly as he worked.

‘What is that tune?’ she asked, equally quietly, enjoying the rhythm of his combing.

‘It is about frankincense and myrrh. It is a song my mother used to sing.’

‘I don’t know the language. What does it mean?’

‘It’s about a woman singing to her husband that she would rather have the smoke of the crystallised sap than the glint of gold from the ground.’

‘Ah. It’s nice. And what is your name?’

‘We don’t use names here although I was once known as Soraz.’

She could tell she’d made him feel uncomfortable, so Ana fell silent again. After a while the man put his combs back on the tray. ‘Your hair is still damp
but it’s shiny now,’ he said. ‘I will leave you to dress it as you wish. I’m also leaving you with a small pot of sandalwood oil should you care to use it on yourself as perfume. Someone will fetch you soon. He will bring fresh robes.’

‘Thank you for your kindness,’ Ana said, turning to stare at him.

Soraz said nothing in response, simply bowed his head and departed.

Ana tipped some of the thick, dark oil into her hands and rubbed it onto her neck, chest, and pulse points as she’d been taught in the harem. Its deliciously spicy perfume filled the air and she was reminded of the time that Elza had been given permission by Salmeo to use the expensive sandalwood fragrance on Ana before a visit to Boaz. ‘This is the perfume of the gods alone,’ the servant had whispered as she had smoothed it on Ana’s skin. Ana shivered slightly at the memory. Pez believed she was a god. A wave of sorrow rippled through her, for despite the dwarf’s dedication to this notion, she knew she was no such thing.

Another robed figure, with only his eyes showing, appeared within a couple of minutes bearing simple linen robes. He turned his back whilst she pulled the soft swathe of fabric about her.

‘I am ready,’ she said, unsure of what was expected.

He bowed. ‘Follow me,’ was all he said, and then, in the silence she had begun to expect from
these faceless, nameless men, she accompanied him on a journey through the fortress. She ran her fingers along the rough hewn walls, watching the soft light of the oil lamp that her guide carried bounce ahead of them. Once or twice she thought she saw symbols cut into the walls or engraved above doorways, but they were moving swiftly and illumination was brief, the symbols swallowed by darkness in the instant they passed.

Finally, they arrived at a low doorway. Her navigator nodded, and silently pointed towards the dark opening. She had no choice. There was nowhere else to go but inside. Ana took a deep breath and pulled at the handle of the smooth timber door. She stepped in and was taken by surprise at what she saw.

Lazar was sweating, twisting in bed from the pain that even a weightless silken sheet seemed to provoke. It hurt to lie down but it hurt more to sit or stand; there was no position that would bring him peace. But he had been here before, recognised the familiar sense of nausea and dislocation as fever swept through his body and claimed him. Oh yes, he remembered this suffering all too well from his time on Star Island. It had been different then—he had not been able to so much as hold a thought; all he had been able to do was drift abandoned on the waves of illness. But this time he felt more anchored in reality. He could think; he was aware of himself and his surrounds—that much was a
blessing—but the pain felt sharper because of that greater level of consciousness.

He rode the pain until he thought he could take it no more, until he was sure he was screaming at the top of his lungs. In reality he was not screaming although his eyes were shut tight and his mouth was pulled back in agony.

Open your eyes
, someone commanded.

The sound of the voice stunned him into consciousness. He blinked slowly, expecting light but saw only darkness, tasted the tang of salt and heard the slosh of waves.

Fully!

Lazar obeyed. He could do no less. And felt instantly terrified. He thought he dropped to his knees, clung to the cool of the stone.

I don’t understand
, he gasped.

You will not fall. Raise yourself up. Look at me.

I am dreaming.

You are not. You are here. Say my name.

You are Beloch
, Lazar whispered.

Louder!

Lazar gathered his courage, lifted himself straight and stared into the stone-carved eyes of the giant.
You are Beloch
, he stated clearly.

Good. And my brother?

Is Ezram.

And you?

I am Lazar.

State your real name
, the giant growled.
Don’t hide behind that alias.

He complied, murmuring,
I am Prince Lucien of Galinsea
.

Indeed you are
, the giant said more gently now.
Welcome, Prince Lucien.

How is this happening? I am dreaming.

You are dying again. You were saved once and will be again if you take the help you are offered. You must accept the aid, despite the person who offers it. You must get well and you must find Ana.

I know
.

She is with child
.

Lazar thought he might have nodded.

A new voice joined them. It was Ezram.
You must bring the heir back to Percheron. It is important to restore the balance
.

Lazar looked up, puzzled.
Balance?

My brother means for the chaos that is coming
, Beloch explained.

You will need all of us
, Ezram confirmed.

I don’t understand.

You will when the time arrives
.

But I want to understand now. What does Ezram mean?

Beloch sighed in a low rumble.
You must free us, Lucien. All of us—not just us twins, but Crendel, Darso, Shakar.

But how?

Fret not, at the right time we come at your call.

At my call?
Lazar repeated, totally confused.
What is this time you speak of?

The coming of Lyana. It is what we have waited for.

But the old stories tell us she has come and gone before and none of the stone statues of Percheron did anything
.

This time it is different
, Ezram said.

So I am told
, Lazar replied, a bleakness in his tone.
What is my part in this?

You do not know
? Beloch asked, surprised.

I have never known
.

Then it is not for us to say. One of your duties is to release us, Lucien. That is your part for us.

Release you! How do I do such a thing? You are set in stone!

We are alive! We have always been alive! We are imprisoned through magic. You must thwart the magic.

How?

Only you know. You must find the solution fast. War is upon us.

Lazar hung his head.
I don’t—

It is within you
. Beloch cut across Lazar’s despair.
You must go back now. Someone attends you.

Hurry,
Ezram urged.

Through their voices and through his own breathing, above the pounding of his heart and the whoosh of blood echoing in his ears, fringing his fever and cutting through his confusion, Lazar heard a whisper, a voice he recognised, calling to him. Yet he turned back to the darkness, to the stone statues.

Answer me this!
he cried at the brothers.

There is no—

Answer me! Is Ana the Goddess?

No,
they replied together.
But the Goddess rises.

And Lazar was flung backwards, his eyelids springing open to regard Herezah leaning down, looking into his face. He read fear in her eyes.

Arafanz stood before a small fireplace that did little to ease the chill of the room. He was dressed in loose-fitting trousers and a shirt, looking more like a soldier, less of a cleric. He looked younger. In his hand was a clay goblet, from which he sipped as she entered.

‘Welcome, Ana,’ he said, voice soft, melodic. ‘I trust you are refreshed.’

‘I am, thank you,’ she stammered, unsure how this cosy scene matched the prison she understood this place to be.

‘Come, sit, warm yourself. I should have sent a blanket to wrap around your shoulders. Forgive me.’

‘There is no need to fuss. You did not trouble yourself for the past two moons of my incarceration. It can hardly matter now.’

He held her gaze intently and Ana was pleased she did not wither beneath it.

‘Would you like me to explain?’

She nodded. ‘I would like to understand what this whole business of my capture is about. If you have no intention to kill or even ransom me, what use am I to you?’

‘Come join me. I will tell you what I can.’

She dabbed his lips with a soaked sponge. ‘Be
calm. It’s me, Herezah. You are feverish and hallucinating.’

‘But Beloch and Ezram are—’

‘Still in the bay, yes, where they’re meant to be. Lazar, pay attention if you can. The Elim are here to bring you with me. They are going to carry you in a special karak. Can you hear me? Lazar?’

He shook his head from side to side, his face a mask of confusion.

Herezah turned to the two senior Elim with her. ‘Just take him. Ignore him if he resists. This is on the Zar’s orders.’

Salmeo stood nearby. ‘Rather intriguing to see him look so wasted. At the flogging he at least appeared strong but now he’s just a shadow of the Spur we all knew.’

‘Not once I’ve finished with him, Grand Master Eunuch,’ Herezah said, her voice crisp. ‘Let’s get him back to the rooms we’ve prepared.’