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Brina found him in the Thraya, waking him at sunset, her soft voice penetrating the dark, thankfully dreamless sleep he'd finally found.
"Delan?"
Delan opened his eyes and looked up, blinking. "Brina?"
"I thought I'd find you here. I told the Sisters to let you be, but I thought you might want to see this."
Delan sat up. "See what?"
"Come and see."
Confused and curious, Delan followed Brina out of the Thraya and down the halls toward the courtyard. Outside everything still dripped with water.
"How long did it rain?" Delan asked.
"Most of today. I sent a party up to the ruins, and it rained enough that the fires are out. And I checked our records before I came to find you. It hasn't rained like this since before I was born," Brina answered. "But that's not what I wanted you to see." She nodded. "They are."
Delan turned, and his jaw dropped when he saw the young men, sitting on the long marble benches that ringed the courtyard. There were a dozen of them at least.
"Who are they?" he asked.
"The first of your priests... Your Holiness. They started arriving about midday, and the last got here only about an hour ago," Brina answered. "Go talk to them."
Delan stared at her for a moment, then swallowed. "Brina, I..."
"For him, Delan."
Delan shuddered. Turning, he walked over to the first of the young men. Closer now, Delan could see that this young man couldn’t have been more than sixteen."What's your name, son?" he asked.
The boy rose, looking nervous. "I'm Barnar, sir."
"And what brings you here?" Delan asked.
Barnar looked at the other young men and drew himself up. "The rain, sir. I... I was out in the rain last night. The light, it filled me. And I heard a voice calling me. Calling my name. Telling me to come. To serve the Sorcerer. It told me to speak to the High Priest. But I've never heard of a High Priest before." He stopped, gnawing his lip, then asked almost timidly, "Is that you?"
Delan paused just a moment, then nodded. "That's me. My name is Del... Markedelan. I’m Lyas' Priest. All of you saw the light and heard the voice?" He looked down the line, seeing the men nodding. "Well, then, come on inside. We'll find a place for all of you."
The young men entered the temple in a tight knot, almost as if they expected to be attacked. Brina fell in next to Delan as he followed them.
"Clean out the Thraya?" she murmured.
"No," Delan answered, his voice firm. "No, we're changing the world here. No more men locked away like slaves and prisoners. Lyas' Priests will serve next to the Warrior's Daughters, equally. They'll get the same education, the same training." Delan glanced to the side. "Is that a problem, Holy Mother?"
Brina smiled, taking his hand. "Not at all, High Priest."
***
EVERY MORNING, THERE were new young men in the courtyard, men who reported hearing the voice in the rain of light. Every morning, Delan welcomed them into the temple, forcing a smile, acting the father figure while feeling as if he were dying inside. Finally, at the end of his first year as High Priest, he could bear it no more.
"Let me go," he said to Brina. "I... this is killing me."
"I know. I've been watching you. You're like a wolf in a trap," she answered. She looked at him, her dark eyes thoughtful. "What of the boys? What will you tell them?"
"That I've gone looking for others. The ones who can't find their way," Delan answered. "They can follow me, once they're ready. Once they're more proficient in magic and weapons, and know the lore. Lyas' Priests should walk the world. They have to, if they're going to change it." He felt his face grow warm and looked down. "I've given this a lot of thought."
"I can see that," Brina said wryly. "All right. We'll tell them at sunset."
The next morning Delan set out on foot, carrying only a pack and his sword, hearing the Temple voices, mingled male and female, bidding him farewell. He didn't care where he went, picking his roads at random. At every turn he found them, boys with their voices still breaking, men old enough to be his father, all of them saying they'd heard the voice on the night of the golden rain. He directed each of them toward the Temple, told them to tell the Holy Mother that Markedelan had sent them. Then he moved on. And as he walked, he found one burned out Light temple after another. In each town and village, the story was the same: on the night of the golden rain, the Light temples burned with a fire that gave no heat, and that could not be quenched by any means.
After the fifth such discovery, while sitting at his lonely campfire – one that he conjured by magic alone, something that never ceased to amaze him – Delan looked up at the darkening sky. "You have a truly evil sense of justice, don't you?" he called. "I like it."
As he fell asleep, he thought he heard laughter.
***
DELAN LOST TRACK OF the days, lost track of the number of young men he'd met and sent on their way. Lost track of the number of lost and bewildered former priestesses he met, and the number of times he was challenged by them. He lost track of the weeks, as he traveled roads he'd never walked before, and visited towns whose names were on no map he'd ever read. He camped in forests and fields, and shared meals with beggars and with great ladies. He spoke to all of them, telling them of Lyas the Sorcerer, of Fersina's betrayal, and the God's rebirth. He showed them his hard-won skills at men's magic, healing the sick and injured. Some of them scoffed, some of them laughed, some of them turned on him in scorn. All of them listened. And some of their sons took the road to the Temple. He lost track of time completely, until finally, Delan decided he, too, must take the road back to the Temple.
It was just after dawn, on the morning of midsummer. Delan was already up and moving along roads he remembered too well. The day was hot already, and promised to be hotter still by midday. Best to travel early, find shelter from the heat, then go on when the evening coolness gathered, before the late sunset. With luck, he'd reach the Temple after dawn tomorrow. As he came over the crest of the hill, he saw fields that had been barren the last time he'd come this way, and were now heavy with grain. And he saw a young man sitting in the shadows near the side of the road. He rose as Delan came closer.
"Markedelan," he called. His voice was familiar. Impossibly familiar, and Delan stopped in his tracks.
"Do I know you?" he called, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. There had been one too many attacks that had started just like this. Then the young man stepped into the light, and Delan felt his heart stutter to a stop.
"We've met," Lyander said. He was exactly as Delan wanted to remember him, smiling, beautiful, unchained and unhurt, wearing only the silken loincloth that Delan remembered so well. His dark eyes alight with mischief, and it took Delan several minutes just to remember how to breathe.
"You... you took your damned time." It was the first thing he could think of to say, and Lyander laughed.
"It's taken me a while to learn to do this," he admitted. "I've forgotten a great deal, living as a mortal. I came as soon as I could." He came closer, growing serious. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
"It wasn't you that did," Delan said. "I never blamed you."
"I know. But still, I hurt you by leaving, and I am sorry. I... I can hold you now," he offered tentatively, and opened his arms.
Delan stared. He wasn't sure for how long, but long enough that the smile started to fade from Lyander's face. Long enough that Delan felt the sob welling up, the one that he'd been holding back for—how long had it been? Months? Years? He staggered forward and fell into Lyander's arms, pulling the other man close, burying his face in Lyander's hair.
"I missed you," he whispered. "I missed you so much." He pulled back, but only so far as it took to be able to catch Lyander's mouth and kiss him. The feel of Lyander's hands on his back, of that beloved body against his, was almost too much to bear. When he finally broke the kiss, he was panting, his cock achingly erect. "I'm going to shoot just from holding you," he murmured into Lyander's ear.
Lyander laughed, resting his head on Delan's shoulder.
"I've missed this. I've missed you," he whispered. "And holding you is as good as I'd hoped it would be. Oh, Delan, there are so many things I want to tell you."
"After."
"After?"
"After I take you off into the bushes and show you how much I've missed you," Delan growled.
Lyander's arms tightened, and he laughed again.
"You don't want a bed?" he teased. "There are thorns back there. And biting ants."
"Thorns and ants be damned. I don't want to wait until we can find a bed." Delan grinned and scooped Lyander up in his arms. "You fixed me, didn't you? The last thing you did for me was to fix my leg."
"And open you to your magic, yes," Lyander answered, twining his arms around Delan's neck. "And I have something to ask you, Delan."
"I told you. After." Delan started toward the side of the road. There was a thick stand of bushes not far away. It would be enough cover. Anyone within a mile would hear them, though. No matter...
"No. Now." Lyander ran his fingers over Delan's stubbled jaw. "I like this. Will you come back with me, my Delan?"
Delan stopped, suddenly confused. "Come back where? The Temple? That's where I was going."
"No. Not the Temple. Come back with me to the Heart." Lyander met Delan's eyes. "Where the gods live. You've served us truly and well, and the Mother of All has said I can have this boon if you agree—"
"Wait. Wait. Stop. Stop there. I need to put you down," Delan interrupted. He set Lyander on his feet and stepped back. "Explain. Mother of All?"
"Creator of the Gods. My real mother, if you will," Lyander answered. "No one worships her any more. At least, not around here. Her Temples were taken over by Fersina's followers a long time ago. Before she turned on me. Fersina wanted to be the only Power, and she was going to turn on the Warrior next. Until you helped break her power."
"Her Temples all burned," Delan murmured.
"That was me being petty," Lyander said wryly. "Not my best moment. But I like that you approved. That High Priestess? She was acting as a vessel for Fersina for that ritual. She had to. Nothing else would’ve killed me."
"So killing her killed Fersina?" Delan asked.
Lyander nodded. "For a time. She'll be reborn somewhere, at some point. And hopefully, she'll learn some manners when she does."
"Maybe she'll be born male," Delan said dryly.
Lyander giggled.
"Now that would be justice. I'll have to mention it to Mother."
"So you want me to come back with you?"
Lyander nodded. "Yes. Please. As... as my mate. My consort. My love. They already think you are, you know. That's what gave me the idea."
Delan frowned. "Who thinks what?"
"The people. Everyone you've talked to over the past ten years."
"Ten years?"
"You didn't realize? Yes, it's been ten mortal years," Lyander said. "I am sorry it took me so long."
Delan shook his head. "You said that already. Keep explaining. People think I'm what?"
"My Consort, walking the world on my behalf. They already think you're a God, Delan," Lyander answered. "They call you Markedelan, Beloved of Lyas. You didn't know?"
"No. No, I didn't," Delan answered. "And... if I do, what then?"
Lyander shrugged. "I don't know. It's never been done before. Wonderful things, I hope. You've already done wonderful things, Delan. Do you even know how many priests there are now?"
"I lost track a long time ago."
Lyander grinned. "I have, as of their last ritual, three hundred and seventy-three priests in various stages of training. The first twelve took Markedelan's road the spring after you did. And there are over seven hundred Sisters now, between new devotees and converts from the Light. You've done so much good. Mother says it's time you were rewarded."
Delan looked at him, at the smile he'd never stopped seeing in his mind, and laughed. He held his hand out, and pulled Lyander to him. "You're my reward. The rest... I don't care."
"You're going to become a magnificent god."
Delan grinned, nodded, leaned down, and kissed Lyander quickly. "After," he murmured.
"After?"
"After I make a magnificent god come."
###
ELIZABETH SCHECHTER has been called one of the top erotica and alternative sexuality writers in the world. Her writing credits include the award-winning steampunk erotic romance House of Sable Locks, the Celtic fantasy Princes of Air, and the ongoing Heir to the Firstborn serial, her first foray into New Adult fantasy.
She was born in New York at some point in the past. She is officially old enough to know better, but refuses to grow up. She lives in Central Florida with her husband and son.
Elizabeth can be found online at http://elizabethschechterwrites.com, or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/Elizabeth.A.Schechter. You can also find her on Patreon, at https://www.patreon.com/EASchechter.
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