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Ro’ghez, High Priest of Belaal, stood beneath the magnificent arch of the huge throne-room entry and surveyed the crowd, his austere face calm. Briefly he closed his eyes, bowed his head to Bel-Tygeon, and then strode forward. Dignity surrounded him as if sewn into his stately blue mantle. He walked like a man hearing his own grand, silent processional hymn.
A man used to wielding power, even ordering deaths—including hers.
Warning glimmers of light slid through Araine’s fingers, and the branch turned metallic, its inner glow intensifying. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, seeking Him.
Infinite, what must I do? What does this man intend to do?
A dreki entered her thoughts. First liquid-dark and sinuous flesh. Then crimson and immortal, ancient fire pluming from its mouth with its every breath, in time to a rhythmic rebel’s chant.
Willing down a rising tide of pain and panic, Araine clutched the prophet’s branch and stared into the vision. The crimson dreki returned her stare with the burning gaze of the undying, and she comprehended the beast’s desires, its thirst and its craving the chance to draw her into its endless self-worshiping fire. To permeate her mind, consume her heart...while its eternal song of rebellion thrummed dark chords of hatred through her soul, through its realm.
Infinite!
Araine gasped and fled, glimpsing the Infinite’s immortal warriors of fiery light at the edge of her vision, shielding her against the dreki’s pursuit. “Oh, Infinite, bless You forever!”
The blood thudded in her veins to the pulse of the dreki’s chords, and she pressed one hand to her forehead trying to ease its ache. Breathe.... She opened her eyes, in the mortal realm once more. Safe. Though sweat beaded on her forehead, edging her scalp. Surely she’d lived an entire lifetime in that instant. Mercy! If the Infinite’s immortal fighters hadn’t been there, would she have died? Would she have remained in that dreki’s realm forever?
One day, My child of dust, you will stand with my warriors, prepared to fight.
Her? How? She couldn’t even grasp the notion. Infinite? What does it mean? What does this immortal dreki have to do with Ro’ghez?
In spirit, Ro’ghez is within the dreki’s claws, about to be consumed by the Adversary.
Infinite, Ro’ghez wants me dead! Why would he listen to me?
Are you My servant?
Yes.
In obedience she studied Belaal’s high priest. His robes flaring and pooling around him, lending power to his gaunt form, Ro’ghez bowed low at the foot of Bel-Tygeon’s throne. His voice carried through the throne room, clear and vibrant. “Prized of the Heavens, rule us forever!”
“Stand,” Bel-Tygeon ordered, his voice hinting at bemusement. “Today is a day of petitions. What do you ask of me?”
“Lord-god, your priests plead for a month of honor within your realm when all our prayers are toward only you, for you alone are our god and king.”
No! Araine rushed forward and knelt before the bottom step. “Sire, I beg your forgiveness, and the chance to speak to your high priest.”
Bel-Tygeon’s face remained impassive, statue calm. Yet she sensed his acute interest in the looming confrontation. “Speak loudly, Prophet. Let everyone hear.”
Exhaling Araine turned to face Ro’ghez. Like Bel-Tygeon, the man seemed impassive, even tranquil, masking his acute interest and...admiration. Truly? She cleared her throat. “Ro’ghez, your Creator warns that the Adversary seeks your soul as food. Already you are within its immortal claws, about to be consumed.”
He smiled, so benevolent that it was difficult to believe he’d commanded an assassin to ensure her death then warned her of his actions. “Are you indeed a prophet? You speak in riddles that prove nothing.”
Tell him, before the king, the Infinite murmured into Araine’s thoughts with the stern love of any parent rebuking a wayward child. No riddles this time.
Gripping the branch close, remembering the immortal dreki, Araine said, “Then I will be clear. He warns you plainly, Ro’ghez. You’re moving toward disaster. Retreat! You have already lost your god-king’s temple, and you will never regain it.”
Seated above them Bel-Tygeon stirred. One gold-clad foot shifted then stilled, the movement of a man who longs to attack but pauses to consider all the implications of war. When he said nothing Araine continued. “High Priest of Belaal, your petition risks your life and soul, and the king’s—with his kingdom—though the Infinite offers help to you both.” Beneath her breath she added, “My life is risked as well, for you are the one planning my death.”
He lifted one grayed eyebrow and murmured, “Ah, Prophet, do you understand why?”
“Through the Infinite.”
“Through Wisdom itself,” Ro’ghez countered softly, his brown eyes almost kind, lending warmth to his gaunt features. “You will destroy the kingdom, Lady, if you live. That cannot be allowed.”
His tone conveyed the sense that her planned death was an impersonal necessity. The notion almost made her laugh, except that the situation was grim. Raising her voice she said, “Your Creator declares that you’ve sought to enslave souls, Ro’ghez, to be forever consumed. That cannot be allowed. What you command for me will be your eventual repayment unless you renounce your plans.” Whispering, she added, “And your petition for compulsory worship of the mortal king Bel-Tygeon!”
He acknowledged then rejected her warning with a serene shrug. Then he called to the king and the entire throne room. “Though others oppose us, Wisdom, I implore you to continue the good you’ve recently ordered. Please command and accept the pure worship of your people for one month, untainted by any false notions from other nations!”
“Sire!” Araine called to him, the branch glowing, so dazzling that Bel-Tygeon and all watching squinted. “The Infinite decrees that if you allow this and do not acknowledge that He gave Belaal to you, you will lose what you treasure the most when you least expect it!”
Bel-Tygeon regarded her as a man watching the antics of a trained creature. Diverted yet unchanged. And he nodded to Ro’ghez. “Your petition is granted. Let it be so, commanded, sealed, and unchangeable.”
Araine bowed over the glowing branch, suppressing nausea. Tears seeped from her closed eyes as she sought the Infinite’s vision. The other realm opened to her again, and from a distance, she watched the crimson dreki breathe its fire of self-exaltation. Unbearable, intolerable beast! She turned away within the vision, still clenching the prophet’s branch for consolation. There, within a vast field, she saw a mortal caricature of the Infinite’s eternal Tree, His symbol of life. The mortal tree unfurled its branches, sheltering yet grasping all the countless souls it touched, claiming them as its own, nourishing them, even as it absorbed them as food. As its branches and leaves extended into every mortal realm, seemingly invincible, a warrior of the Infinite’s Spirit approached.
Sensing rather than seeing the warrior’s eternal might, Araine heard him call for the tree’s near destruction. And in her thoughts she lifted her head, watching...as the Infinite’s Spirit tore the tree down to its roots, down to such stunted ugliness that she hid her face and wept. Why did the ruined stump devastate her so? It was a tree. The remains of a tree....
When she finally returned to her senses, to the crystalline coolness of the exquisite floor beneath her and the subdued wooden plainness of the prophet’s branch, she was alone.
The king, Ro’ghez, and all the courtiers had departed.
With the exception of Ebatenai, the love, who sat nearby, his expression a kindly mingling of compassion and impatience. Gentle, as if afraid of hurting her, he said, “Lady, it is time for you to return to your rooms. Before the king becomes angry that you’ve defied him.”
Sniffling moistly, she stood and rested her face against the branch. “Ebatenai, is all lost?”
“Lady, let me walk you out of here.”
***
WITHIN THE STARK CONFINES of his stone cell, Nikaros stared at the three commanders, unable to believe what he’d heard. “Say that again?”
Commander Utthreates cleared his throat. As Rtial Vioc and Axiyn Seir waited, hands resting on their swords’ hilts as if they’d fillet him, Utthreates said, “You heard me. Order us away for forty days to practice the new archery methods in secret with our men.”
“Why would I do that?” Nik shook his head. “You’ll ultimately use the tactic against my own people!”
With a wary glance toward the cell door, lest anyone walk by, Rtial Vioc said, “Son of Levos, if you sign and seal our documents to pass General Siyrsun’s inspections, you’ll save our lives and our men’s lives, many of whom are among the Infinite’s faithful.”
“How will this save your lives?” Nikaros frowned, spying a flicker of caution twitch over Utthreates’ cold face, as if Belaal’s most severe commander feared revealing a secret. “Utthreates, what are you not telling me?”
Axiyn muttered, “Belaal’s high priest has been permitted to proclaim one month of worship in the king’s honor. All prayers, pledges, and sacrifices are to be directed only to the king. Anyone caught worshiping or even speaking of another deity during that month will be put to death. In other words they are enforcing Belaal’s legal codes of worship. But after everything that’s happened this past year, who can refrain from speaking of the Infinite?”
“That’s impossible.” Nik’s thoughts spun with the fatal implications. Not only he but Josias and Lije, off on their morning tasks, would be dead within the month.
Before he could address the question to the Infinite, Utthreates said, “You are a slave and a prisoner. Officially you do not exist to Belaal until you are released.”
“If I don’t exist, then how can I legally sign and seal documents?”
Rtial Vioc smiled, the wearied lines of concern lifting in his brown face. “You don’t exist. However, you possess the king’s personal seal, a privilege granted to only a handful of administrators. No one will question the seal, particularly if you scrawl your name illegibly. Not even Siyrsun will defy the order. Indeed he will command it fulfilled at once to honor the king.”
“In return...” Seir licked his lips and cast another nervous glance toward the doorway. “...we will thwart any future attacks against your people.”
“We pledge this,” Utthreates agreed quietly. “You save our lives, and we’ll save theirs. We trust you to remain silent.”
Yet another secret to keep against Belaal for the sake of the faithful within its borders. Nik nodded, sat down cross-legged at his table, and lifted the lid from his ink jar. “If you need additional supplies, I’ll approve them now.”
Utthreates actually grinned. “Son of Levos, beginning today, for their food and safety, three battalions will honor you for the rest of their lives.”
“As you say.” Would such loyalties eventually offer him the chance for freedom? And yet how could he leave Araine?
Unless the decree was her death sentence.
Nik paused writing mid-sentence, his stomach knotting violently.
Being imprisoned would save him. And Josias and Lije as well. But....
Beneath his breath, he whispered, “Infinite, I beg you, shield Araine!”
***
THE LADY DASARAI LEVELED a look at Araine, undoubtedly the sternest she’d ever cast upon anyone. “You will cease your mourning, for there is no cause! Look.” She lifted one soft bejeweled hand toward her window. “The dawn promises us a perfect day. Rejoice at the king’s continued blessings and his favor toward you despite your faults. Did you bring your lyre? I command you to play for us and be glad!”
“Yes, lady.” A funeral dirge would be most appropriate today. But Dasarai wouldn’t be happy with that. Instead... Araine accepted her new lyre from Inae and plucked at one or two of the strings, drawing out plaintive, haunting notes. Goodness, she was beginning to sound and think like Iris with dithering melancholy chords. Enough. Smile and mean it...eventually. “A love song, then, from most ancient Siphra. ‘He is my Joy.’”
For the Infinite.
Closing her eyes, feeling the strings vibrate until the chords seemed to physically reach her heart, she played. Though the ancient song had no remembered lyrics, Araine saw golden words flow from the eternal verses, living, beckoning.
Your eternal love, Infinite, strengthens me. In my sorrow, Your consolation gives me joy....
The final verse struck her like a dart, a warning directly from the Infinite. Can a corrupt throne ally itself with the Infinite, a throne that brings torments with its decrees?
Infinite, have You declared the king’s punishment as final?
Yes.
The Lady Dasarai’s voice scattered her thoughts. “The tune is lovely, but why have you stopped?”
“I...was contemplating another...final verse.”
From the doorway a man’s voice interrupted. “Forget your verses for now, Prophet.”
The king! Gasping inwardly Araine lowered her lyre and bowed over it, proper as any slave in his kingdom. Behind her Inae stifled a small exultant squeal.
Dasarai bowed as well, her voice joyous. “My lord! This is an unexpected delight. Shall I send for food?”
Bel-Tygeon’s footsteps padded briefly over the decorative carpets, and then stopped. His garments rustled as he sat opposite Araine. His voice terse, he answered his sister, “No. Thank you, lady. I’ve eaten.” He exhaled, an exasperated sound. “Prophet, tell me why I’m here.”
Araine lifted one hand from her lyre and covered her face.
Yes, she knew why he was here. Dear Infinite, how could she tell him? The truth was too awful.