Chapter 69

A soft cool breeze, a clear blue sky, Evanis stood on the top of the world and looked at the rusty old spearhead Jabbit held out to her.

“Touch the lance and it will take you where you want to be.”

She looked up at his face but the sun stood behind him and the light was blinding her.

“The last time a man asked me to touch his lance, I cut it off,” she said as she lowered her gaze and slowly stepped around him. She walked until the sun was at her back.

Jabbit turned to face her. “It was an offer, not a request.”

She looked up again and had to squint. His eyes shone with a glaring light.

“Stop trying to annoy me,” Evanis growled. “I want to see your face when I talk to you.”

The light shining from his eyes diminished.

“Can you see me now?”

And Evanis saw him. She saw his face; his flawless face. Saw his eyes; light gray eyes, shining like polished silver. Saw his mouth; lips arching at the corners. She saw him ... all of him. Suddenly, Evanis felt dizzy and stumbled.

He caught her in his arms and laughed as she gasped for air.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she grumped and shook off his embrace. “I was thinking and...”

“And forgot to breathe?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, now that you can see me, I’ll ask again,” he said, smiling brightly. “Do you want to touch my lance?”

“Don’t you dare taunt me, you smug little shit,” Evanis threatened. “I told you where I want to go. I want to meet your army, the Yorak. Where will it take me if I touch the lance?”

“I already told you,” he answered. “It’ll take you where you want to be.”

Evanis glared at him. “That’s the same ominous shit you always spout. ‘Where you want to be’ isn’t the name of a place. I want to know exactly where it’ll take me.”

“Sorry, but the lance doesn’t work like that,” he said. “I can’t tell you the name of the place where it will take you; only you know the place.”

“If I touch the lance it’ll probably drop me naked at a campfire, surrounded by thousands of warriors.”

“Only if that’s where you want to be.”

“I don’t trust you,” Evanis replied. “I want to know exactly where it’ll take me before I touch the lance. I don’t care if it doesn’t work like that. It’s your lance and you told me you are a god now. Just change the rules. In other words, do what you always do - cheat.”

Jabbit shook his head and sighed. “Your distrust in me is disturbing.”

Evanis shrugged. “If you don’t like to feel disturbed, you should’ve hired a more gullible demoness.”

He tilted his head to the side and looked at her. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched him watching her ... for a while.

“What?” She broke the silence.

“No,” he answered.

“No?” She asked. “What are you bloody talking about?”

“No, I chose wisely,” he said. “Strong, beautiful, and fearsome - you are a very good demoness. A bit more gullible would have been nice though.”

“A lot more gullible. You’re not trustworthy at all.”

“Faith,” he said.

“Faith?”

“I am a god and you are my demoness. You should have faith in me.”

Evanis snorted. “Faith is for the blind.”

“Then close your eyes when you touch the lance.”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she warned.

“When you touch the lance with closed eyes, you will see where it will take you,” he said. “If you don’t like what you see, let go of the lance and you’ll stay where you are.”

She glared at him. “Why didn’t you say so from the start?”

“I told you all you need to know.”

Evanis looked in his eyes and then down to the lance he held in his hand. “If you trick me, I’ll never trust you again.”

He didn’t reply.

Evanis closed her eyes and reached out until her fingertips touched the rusty old spearhead.

It was close to noon when Agon var Dosha returned to the White Citadel. He had spent the morning at the harbor, inspecting the three Ibanee war galleys and their crews. As he opened the door to his family’s chambers, he saw his wife standing at the open window. She didn’t turn to look at him when he entered and crossed the room. Standing side by side, they both watched the darkening sky.

“Any news from our son?” Irja asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Agon shook his head. “Only one ship passed the blockade today. It was a merchant vessel from Barthobar, loaded with grain. The merchant and his crew hadn’t heard anything. That’s not surprising though; I’m certain Captain Shinta sailed to the east so any news about Shinta and Hammie will have to come from the east as well.”

“Just like the storm,” Irja replied, looking at the sky.

“Where is Nahsie?” Agon asked.

“After you left this morning she asked me to help her write a letter to Uncle Hassunabi,” Irja answered.

“A letter? What did she write?”

“She asked Hassunabi to end the blockade because Aloria and Empress Sybelien are allies of Ibanee.”

Agon sighed.

“I know Hassunabi will never listen to Nahsie,” Irja acknowledged. “And Nahsie knows it, too.”

“Why write the letter if she knows he won’t comply?”

“I asked her the same question,” Irja replied. “She said I don’t need to worry. God Jabbit told her it’s alright to ask her uncle for a favor. A niece may ask whereas a queen has to command. Nahsie wrote the letter to ask her Uncle Hassunabi to recall his ships before the Queen of Ibanee commands the ships be burned.”

Agon stared at his wife. “Be burned? ... But ... Does she still believe the dragons will return?” He stammered.

“I’m not standing at the window to watch the gathering storm,” Irja stated. “I’m waiting for our daughter to return. She’s up there, riding a dragon.”

“She’s what?” Agon burst out.

Irja smiled, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “She never was allowed to ride her pony. Now our daughter is riding a dragon.”

Agon groaned.

“Yesterday, after the conference, our little girl was cracking under the burden to be a queen,” Irja recalled. “What did we tell her to stem the tears?”

“We told her it’s not her fault,” Agon answered. “The blockade, the coming war, nothing of this damned insanity is her fault.”

“Yes,” Irja agreed. “We told her it’s not her fault. It’s not her responsibility and she can’t prevent it. We told her she’s just a little girl and the little girl kept crying. She was still crying this morning when she went to her shrine. Then she talked to her god and stopped crying.”

Agon groaned once more.

“We’re losing her, Agon. We’re losing her and that is our fault.”

“We’re losing her because the God of Bribery is stealing her from us,” Agon fumed.

“The God of Bribery?” Irja asked. “That’s a new one and as fitting as any of the names I’ve given him myself. Vengeful, cruel, depraved, malicious - he’s all that and worst of all, our daughter loves him.”

Agon balled his fists. “He’s corrupting her,” he cursed.

“Yes,” Irja agreed. “He made Nahsie the Queen of Ibanee. That was a cruel joke. We know she isn’t a queen. She’s just a little girl, totally overburdened with such a responsibility. She should live a carefree life, playing with dolls.”

Agon glanced at his wife and frowned.

“We know she is powerless and he gives her two dragons.”

Agon’s frown deepened.

“We know Nahsie can’t fight Hassunabi, the true King of Ibanee. We know she’ll crack under the burden of a war. We know she can’t win.”

“Stop,” Agon whispered. He watched the sky. A lightning bolt flashed in the distance. “What do you want us to do?”

“We need to believe,” Irja answered. “A god has chosen our daughter as the Queen of Ibanee. She believes in him and we need to believe in her.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Petting the little black rabbit in her arms, Irja turned to her husband.

“He makes her smile when no one else can dry her tears.”

They had crossed a river. Aishen Mashuren stood at the riverbank and was looking back to the east, as she had done often that day. Aishen Mashuren still stood motionless, staring to the east, after the last members of the tribe had crossed the ford. A young woman approached her.

“Alsani, are you well?” The young woman cautiously asked. “You have been behaving strangely all day.”

“I’m the Alsani, a crone who talks to the spirit of our ancestors; I’m supposed to behave strangely.”

“I’m glad you’re fine, Alsani,” the young woman said and turned to leave.

“Zaya,” Aishen stopped her.

“Yes, Alsani?”

“The spirits are in an uproar. He’s coming. We need to prepare.”

“Who’s coming?”

Aishen Mashuren glared at the young woman.

“I’m sorry, Alsani. I’ll go and tell the others. We’ll be prepared.”

“No, we won’t,” Aishen whispered as the young woman left. “We won’t be ready and we’ll pay the price.”

“Where are we?” Evanis asked, looking around the circular room, which was about twenty feet across and lit by oil lamps mounted on the natural-finish, red sandstone walls.

“How should I know?” Jabbit answered, looking around as well. “You brought us here.”

There was one door, which was closed, no windows, and a thick wool tapestry covered most of the stone floor. Three rows of alcoves had been carved into the wall and each niche contained a foot-tall jade statue. The statues represented men, women, or animals. Some of the niches housed creatures of probably fantastical origin - humans with bird wings, animals with human torsos, and creatures with a motley mixture of body parts.

“No, I did not,” Evanis objected. “You said when I close my eyes, I’d see the destination. This is not what I saw.”

“It’s not?” Jabbit wondered. “And what did you see, if not this room?”

“Nothing,” Evanis muttered.

“You saw nothing and still brought us here?”

“Don’t blame this shit on me,” Evanis groused. “It was your stupid magic lance which brought us here.”

“They are looking more ferocious,” Jabbit stated.

“What?”

“The statues,” he said, stepping closer to a wall. “They also appear to be older than any likeness I’ve seen of Alorian gods.”

“So what?”

“I think this is a chapel,” Jabbit said, scrutinizing the statue of a woman with humongous breasts and eight legs like a spider.

“That proves your magic lance doesn’t work right,” Evanis commented. “I didn’t want to visit a chapel, neither of Alorian nor of any other gods.”

“I know,” he said and smiled at her. “You only serve me.”

Evanis glared at him, then spun on her heels, stormed to the door and pushed it open.

Behind the door was a short, narrow corridor to a flight of stairs, leading down. Evanis went along the corridor, made of the same red sandstone as the chapel, and the same sort of oil lamps dimly illuminated her surroundings as she stepped down the stairs. Every thirty-six steps was a turn-about, a new oil lamp, and another thirty-six steps, leading farther down. An eternity later - more precisely thirty-six oil lamps or two-hundred and sixteen stairs later - she finally reached the end of the stairway. It ended at a crossing of corridors and Evanis chose the one leading straight away from the stairway. There were doors at both sides of the corridor, which she ignored and went for the door at its end. She opened the door and was blinded by daylight.

“Who are you?” Someone asked.

When her vision cleared, she saw a spacious room, the sun shining through its wide-open windows. In the center of the room, a man, dressed in simple brown garments, sat cross-legged in front of a low black table with a bowl of rice on it. His weathered face and gray hair, woven into a braid, spoke of a long life.

“Who are you?” The man asked again.

“I’m Evanis Danjala,” she answered as she strode through the room toward the open window.

Looking outside, she recognized she was high up a mountain. A mountain surrounded by plains. Plains overgrown with tall grass as far as the eye could reach.

“You are a woman,” the man stated.

Evanis turned away from the window and faced the old man. “Damn,” she cursed. “That was supposed to be a secret. What gave me away, my name or my tits?”

“But women don’t come here,” the man insisted.