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Just as the beast’s teeth scraped against Araine’s jaw and scalp, the branch flared beneath the murky green-brown waters. A whirlpool opened, its force knocking aside the dreki’s head, simultaneously sweeping water away from Araine. “Ugh! Infinite!”
Air. She was breathing air. “Thank You!” She sucked in a humid, water-creature scented breath, and stared about her, shaken by tremors. The whirlpool widened, and she floated in its unmoving epicenter...descending. Descending? “Infinite?” Shouldn’t she be moving upward, not down? “Infinite? I praise You, truly, but downward is not comforting!”
Do not be afraid.
Very well. Teeth chattering Araine sucked in another dank, consoling breath; air was air, after all. As she calmed herself and waited, she sensed her Creator’s dear Spirit shielding her, swathing her like an unseen cloak. The whirlpool widened then calmed, and Araine’s bare feet touched the pool’s chilly, sludgy bottom, then rested. Around her the whirlpool stilled yet remained intact, its walls a clear liquid crystal tube, with a swarm of drekar circling its exterior. No doubt the beasts longed to consume her. The thought made her swallow. And hiccough.
Seeming lured by her vulnerable-mortal sound, the lead dreki swooped downward in the water, nosing the reservoir’s sludgy floor, stirring mud at the whirlpool’s base, as if hoping to slither beneath it.
“Oh, you clever beast!” she breathed.
And cruelly beautiful, she conceded, with its blue-tinged reptilian skin reflecting iridescence within the silvery branch-light. Raising itself again the beast snapped toward Araine, making her jump. “Infinite!”
The dreki’s massive mouth blurred and smudged against the cylindrical air pocket’s wall, and the entire tube reverberated, shimmering with waves of light reflected from the prophet’s branch.
Araine sucked in another breath and knelt before her knees gave way. In her arms the sacred verses gleamed golden as they sang within her thoughts. “‘In Your great and faithful love, answer me with your salvation....’”
As she bit down another hiccough, a second dreki charged the crystalline wall, its snout sending ripples through the wall and through her. Araine huddled down, pressing the glowing branch into the silt beneath her. She gazed upward into the dark funnel of air, not seeing its apex. Save me from the mud. Don’t let me drown. Let me be saved from those who hate me, and from these watery depths. Don’t let the pit close its mouth over me!
As the verses sang, she closed her eyes, listening with all her heart as her soul pleaded to her Creator.
Let Your great mercy save me. Be my redeemer, and I will forever praise you with song.
Around her the tube shivered and thrummed, ringed with her flesh-starved adversaries.
***
HIS KNEES AND SHOULDERS aching, Nikaros lifted his face from his ink-stained hands. Across the golden bedchamber Bel-Tygeon sat at his desk, one hand in his hair as he leaned an elbow on his desk, supporting his head while he wrote amid the golden flare of spice-scented oil lamps.
He’d been writing half the night. Without speaking. Without looking at Nikaros, nor moving from his desk. Again and again he tapped a gilded writing stylus into a crystal vial of ink and scratched more notes onto parchment.
At last he ended with a fierce flourish, its scuffing sound cutting through the chamber. Bel-Tygeon flung down the stylus, which rang against his desk, then he fanned, scrolled, and sealed the collection of parchments amid wild spatterings of dark blue wax. Finished he stared at Nikaros, a cool, calculating stare that set Nik’s skin crawling. His tone as chill and conniving as his gaze, Bel-Tygeon said, “Do not fail me.”
But you failed her! Nik longed to snarl the words at the so-called Prized of the Heavens. Nothing would please him more this instant—apart from seeing Araine alive—than beating Bel-Tygeon into an ugly bloodied mess.
Lije and Josias would be slaughtered. Then the Eosyths would be massacred within a month, beginning with Tsir Andris and Clan Darom. Calm. Be calm. Reveal nothing.
Belaal’s god-king stood, shoved back his chair, tossed the scrolled parchments into a box on his desk, and shut it. Without extinguishing the lamps, he crossed the chamber and cast himself onto his huge bed, staring up into its trailing golden curtains, obviously not seeing them at all.
Undoubtedly thinking of Araine.
Nik’s stomach twisted hard.
Infinite, I trust You to save her. I have no other wish for myself; only let her be safe!
Everything around Nikaros faded. Rage and the world vanished as he prayed.
***
THE LEAD DREKI CIRCLED, brushing Araine’s crystalline shield with its long, sinuous body, its dark blue iridescence catching the light as the creature stirred the sludge yet again with its snout.
Odious, conniving beast!
Seeming to comprehend her thoughts, its eyes gleamed at her, liquid-dark and soulless, silently informing Araine that it would not give up its quest to gulp her down, snake-fashion, head first.
Truly the thought would turn her into a gibbering fool...and bring on another bout of hiccoughs. “Except for You, my Creator.” She pulled her thoughts back to the scrolls and began to quote them within her prayers. “‘Save me, Infinite, Lord of all eternal forces. Let those who trust in You not be dismayed by my failure. Let those who contemplate You be amazed by Your work today.’”
Almost as one, the whole slithering swarm of crested beasts circled Araine’s liquid-crystal shelter, tightening their individual courses until they were as one seething, blue-black coil, striving to close the waters tight about her like some massive reptilian drawstring closing a purse—to cinch her in and devour her.
She drew in a deep breath and held it, muting a hiccough. In her thoughts she recited, Let everything in the heavens and here below, and all the beasts of the oceans praise You.
In particular, a certain very determined mess of prophet-hungry dreki.
Fighting her fears, swallowing threats of hiccoughs, Araine leaned against the glowing, steadfast branch, hugged the Books of the Infinite close, and prayed for dawn’s swift arrival.
***
NIKAROS SHIFTED QUIETLY, easing his shoulders then his legs. Pin-sticks of numbness tingled throughout both feet. As he watched, the array of gilded lamps guttered near Bel-Tygeon’s desk. One by one the flames vanished, leaving only a grayish, pre-dawn dimness at the high, sheltered and ornate lattice-screened windows above the royal chamber.
The king stirred and exhaled, an impatient, agitated sound. Clearly he was awake and had been.
Gradually the dimness brightened. At the first true rays of golden dawn, Bel-Tygeon flung himself from the bed and snatched his mantle. “Son of Levos, quietly, follow me.”
To see if Araine lived? Even as Nik’s heartbeat quickened, his stomach knotted. Infinite, let her be alive! Let Your Name be acclaimed today.
Slave-like, outwardly at least, Nikaros bowed and followed as bidden, keeping his steps hushed as if stalking prey. Outside they crossed the deserted audience chamber then exited to the gilded, barred, cage-like doorway. There the female guard stood, statue-still, her armor-clad back resting against the door. At Bel-Tygeon’s abrupt nod, Nik rattled the gate and she jumped. Turning she blinked at Nikaros, bleary-eyed. Had she been asleep on her feet? He raised an eyebrow at her. “Summon the king’s guards to attend him. He departs at once.”
Suddenly wide-awake she bowed and fled. Bel-Tygeon muttered, “My guards wonder why I banish them to lesser duties! Forget them. I haven’t the time to wait on formalities.”
His golden robes flaring with his swift pace, he marched through the golden cage after the errant guard. Nikaros followed, watching as the servants and guards spied Bel-Tygeon’s approach and fled, hissing to others, “He’s awake! Hurry! Tell everyone...!”
Bel-Tygeon stormed ahead, leaving terrified slaves in his wake, though his guards scrambled to catch up. Door after door opened partially, feebly, each manned by only one or two sleep-dazed slaves. By the time the god-king had stomped into the seventh blue and gold corridor, Nik’s prison-idled leg muscles were burning in protest of their haste.
Ahead of them another golden door, boasting carved, writhing crested monsters remained obdurately closed. Bel-Tygeon pounded on the gilded wood panels with his fists, yelling, “Open this door now or pay with your lives!”
Muted voices protested, “Prized of the Heavens, we are here. Forgive us!” The door groaned open, and a handful of disheveled blue-robed priests blinked at them.
Bel-Tygeon snarled, “Open the pit! At once!”
The priests scattered, four running ahead, one dashing into a side room, beckoning, low-voiced, “Master, he is here! He wishes us to open the pit.”
An icy voice answered, “Open it then. Why are you talking to me instead? Go!”
While the errant priest fled, another priest emerged from the side chamber, tall, coolly composed, his heavy and wrinkled blue and gold robes not marring his dignity in the least. He bowed to Bel-Tygeon. “Wisdom, may you find what is most advantageous to your kingdom and your sacred self. Our souls follow you.”
Bel-Tygeon said nothing, but Nikaros saw his hands knot into pale-knuckled fists.
As if seeing something frightful, the dignified man retreated several steps and bowed again, though he slid a questioning glance at Nikaros. Did the priests know who he was?
They walked through a stone archway and out into a dawn-lit stone courtyard. Already priests were hauling at the iron rings embedded in a huge stone, dragging it open.
Revealing the impossible: a seething cauldron of dark water, with an open whirlpool in its center. A dark iridescent blue reptilian tail flicked at the water’s surface and vanished. Two more beasts crested, blue spines arching into the air before submerging, their arcs conforming to the whirlpool’s rim, which curved and shifted, repelling the beasts.
One of the priests tending the pit’s stone lid looked up, glaring as if to rebuke Bel-Tygeon.
A tremor from the pool below startled the priest, toppling him into the pool. The priest shrieked and vanished beneath the pool’s surface as a living knot of reptiles converged where he’d fallen. Bel-Tygeon didn’t retreat, though he sounded unnerved as he yelled, “Araine! Servant of the Infinite, has your Creator saved you?”
***
LIGHT FUNNELED FROM above, halting Araine’s prayers. She looked up through the crystalline tunnel and spied the distant morning sky—and a sudden wild convergence of drekar off to one side. As the beasts thrashed and fought among themselves, crimson stained the waters above, making her gasp. “Infinite, has someone died?”
One who rejoiced over your death. One who sought another’s life.
Before she could quiz Him anew, a far-away voice cried, “Araine! Servant of the Infinite, has your Creator saved you?”
Infinite? Will he hear me?
Prompted by His agreement, she stood and called up, her voice echoing within the watery chamber, “O king, may you live forever! The Infinite, through His own might, shielded me from the beasts because He declares I’ve done nothing wrong—nor have I ever plotted against you, Sire.”
She heard Bel-Tygeon’s voice. “Lift her out! Hurry, or you’re drekar food!”
After a long pause a rope was lowered, with a loop knotted at its end. Would it hold? Clutching the branch, checking the Books of the Infinite, Araine slipped one foot into the loop then held on. “I have it. Thank you!” The lead dreki followed her progress all the way up, clearly hoping to catch her at last.
Instead the whirlpool collapsed as Bel-Tygeon’s priests reluctantly hauled her up to the stone slab, and the beast was sucked down from the surface.
By the priests’ sour looks, they wished to cast Araine in again and close off the pool forever.
She kicked free of the rope and stepped off the slab, away from the priests. Bel-Tygeon met her, seizing her hand, his dark eyes gleaming despite their ghastly circles, his never-seen whiskers and unkempt hair. “Sire.” She knelt before him, partly to prevent him from embracing her before the priests. “Please allow me to be the first person ever to say that you look awful.”
He laughed, suddenly dazzling and very young. “I’ll permit you to say so—only once. Come away. Let’s celebrate!”
As he spoke the stones beneath their feet shuddered violently, agitated by the swarm of starved drekar thudding along the walls as they worked toward the surface once more. A rim of stonework fell into the pool, followed by several of the priests, who shrieked as the drekar lunged and snapped at them like prime bait.
Araine gasped and looked away...toward a familiar face. Nikaros, son of Lord Levos, reached for her even as she turned. Trying yet again to save her—the love. To him she mourned, “Those poor men!”
Bel-Tygeon, still looking at the pit, replied, “Yet they condemned you.” As Nikaros lowered his hand, the king pulled Araine to her feet. “Let’s hide you safely away.”
She saw his wisdom as they re-entered the palace. High Priest Ro’ghez watched her from beside the door. Clearly he regarded her as a threat to all worship of his god-king.
Beyond the high priest Belaal’s lord-general stared, his wide mouth pressed into a tight crimp in his scarred, blunt face. The look of a man whose trap has failed to snare prey.
She would yet die if either man had anything to say regarding her life—particularly as Bel-Tygeon held her at his side, triumphantly leading her from the pit, sealing her future death warrant and his with open tenderness and favor.
Unless she could persuade him to relent and change.
Yet what woman had ever truly changed such a stubborn man, much less a god-king?
Infinite...Infinite...
She prayed and avoided Nik’s gaze as Belaal’s king entwined her hand with his own.