Blood of the Goddess Book I: The Locust King
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Locusts at the Gate Chapter 2: A New Name Chapter 3: The Capital Prepares Chapter 4: The Princess is Dead, Long Live the Princess Chapter 5: Outside the Gates Chapter 6: Inside the Black Tent Chapter 7: Surrender at the Temple Chapter 8: The Cult of the Locust Chapter 9: The Locust's Tenets of Faith Chapter 10: Mourners on the Cliff Chapter 11: The Eye of Betrayal Chapter 12: The Dead King's Bedchamber Chapter 13: The Arms of the Goddess Chapter 14: Zayaan of the Narim Chapter 15: The Eyes of the Priestess Chapter 16: A More Permanent Disguise Chapter 17: Tribute Chapter 18: Sacrifice of the New Moon Chapter 19: The Lost Bird Chapter 20: Manah and the Priestess Chapter 21: Desert Creatures Chapter 22: Become the Swarm Chapter 23 The Price of Betrayal Chapter 24: Life Under the Locust Chapter 25: Wild Rose Chapter 26: The Lady Wren Chapter 27: Thought and Desire Chapter 28: The Lady's Captivity Chapter 29: The Wine Maiden Chapter 30: End of Childhood Chapter 31: The Children of Aisha Chapter 32: The Forest Runner Chapter 33: Three Sisters Chapter 34: The Hunt Chapter 35: Bones in the Forest Chapter 36: Lullaby Chapter 37: The Hunter's Horn Chapter 38: Ways Between Ways Chapter 39: Morning Star Chapter 40: A Prophecy for Baraz Chapter 41: Equinox Fires Chapter 42: The Lord Prince Takri Chapter 43: Evening Star Sets Chapter 44: Chaos in the Courtyard Chapter 45: Dasha Chapter 46: Memories Chapter 47: The Body Slave Chapter 48: Caged Beasts Chapter 49: Message from the Capital Chapter 50: Heresiarch Chapter 51: The Color of Blood Chapter 52: Winter Winds Chapter 53: The Bookmaker's Closet Chapter 54: Wrapped in Dignity and Beauty Chapter 55: Vessel of the Goddess Chapter 56: Cracks in the Walls Chapter 57: Two Brothers Chapter 58: The Court of Women Chapter 59: Favored of the King Chapter 60: The Sweetest Fruit Chapter 61: Daughter of the Temple Chapter 62: A Nation of Bastards Chapter 63: The Lute Player Chapter 64: Aisha's Prayer Chapter 65: Promises Chapter 66: Lives Lost Chapter 67: The Tea Maker Chapter 68: Object of DesireChapter 14: Zayaan of the Narim
Lilua...
Zayaan awoke in the tent he shared with three other recruits of the Swarm. Something had changed. He could feel a tingle of unease at the back of his neck. The tent cloths lay slack, no longer billowing inward and outward with every heaving breath of the wind. The western desert winds blew constantly this time of year. Zayaan sat up quickly, his ears searching for the sound of the summer wind, but heard nothing. He dressed quickly, pulling his black hair into a topknot and wrapping himself from head to foot in preparation for what he knew was coming – a fight between the winds from the east and the winds from the west.
The last storm took the lives of three conscripts sent as tribute to the Locust King from a far eastern city. The commander blamed the deaths on the victims’ weakness of body and mind. Those dead were barely twelve summers old, the age of conscription of all noble born males within the empire of the Locust. At fifteen, Zayaan has seen many storms cross the desert. He and his people knew how to survive if caught in the open desert when the winds decided to battle. They also knew how to avoid most of the storms. At this time of year when the days were long, the Narim lived in stone shelters carved by their ancestors into the base of the Adyllian cliffs. The Narim would graze their flocks in the scrub covered foothills, spending the hottest part of the day in the shade of the mountains.
The Swarm’s training camp was pitched two days’ hard ride from the mountains. Here, the mountains did not offer their shade this far into the desert. Originally, a base of operations and provisioning before the Narim’s destruction, the year old camp had weathered sandstorms, whirlwinds, heat, and cold. There was no comfort to be found at the camp for any conscript. And there was no way to escape across the red sands, even for a son of the desert like Zayaan. Nonetheless, Zayaan was determined he and his tentmates would survive the coming storm.
Zayaan rubbed the scar which covered one side of his face as he looked around the tent for the small shovel used for burying excrement. Once he found the tool, he rushed outside to check the horizon for signs of the oncoming storm. To the west he could clearly see the mountains of Adyll, but to the east the normally clear delineation between sky and sand had become a blur. He had enough time to prepare before the storm hit. He began digging, throwing sand against the eastern side of the tent to at least block some of the oncoming barrage of flesh-tearing grit, protecting himself and his tent mates from harm.
“Soldier, what are you doing?” barked a voice from behind him.
Zayaan recognized the voice as that of his captain. He straightened and turned to face the short man. Even at fifteen, Zayaan was a foot taller than his commanding officer.
“Sir, another sandstorm is coming. I was trying to prepare.” Zayaan stood at attention, eyes on the horizon as he was trained. No eye contact with a superior officer. He did his best to speak respectfully and without emotion.
“There is no storm coming,” said the officer. “If there was a storm, I would have told you. And if there were preparations to be made, I would have told you what those preparations were.”
Zayaan kept his eyes on the horizon, the blur of sand and sky was larger now. How could the captain not see the storm?
“But, to the east you can see...”
“You’ve been summoned to meet with the commander. Leave your shit shovel and follow me. No questions. Get out of those rags and make yourself presentable. You have five minutes.”
Five minutes. The commander. In five minutes, he could have made some shelter against the inevitable storm. But the commander... being summoned before him could mean only one thing. He had finally proved his ability and loyalty as a soldier in the Swarm. He would be released from the camp. He could join his sister in the cool mountain capital of Adyll, in the court of the Locust King.
Zayaan rushed back inside the tent and hastily unwrapped the strips of cloth from his body, leaving them in a tangled pile on top of his cot. He scrubbed his face and smoothed his hair back into place. He was as presentable as he could be for his visit with the commander.
He followed two steps behind his captain to the center of the camp where the commander’s tent sat in front of a large flat arena where the newer recruits were practicing hand to hand combat. The captain motioned to him to stand outside while he entered the tent. Across the training ground he could see the sandstorm growing larger and darker in the eastern sky, but the threat of the storm was less important than the chance at being released to join his sister.
Lilua, just a little longer.
The captain lifted the tent flap with a smirk on his face and motioned Zayaan to enter. Inside, the camp’s commander reclined on cushions surrounding a low table. He motioned to a servant standing beside him to fill his glass with wine.
“Do you know why I called you here?” asked the commander.
“Am I to receive orders to join the others in the court, sir?”
The commander laughed. “No. Had you not been willful when your captain came to retrieve you that might have been the case. But you squandered that chance.”
Zayaan could feel the scar on the side of his face twitch painfully as he tried to control his emotions. “But, sir, I have done everything you asked of me. I am loyal and obedient. And I have been here for over a year. Some recruits have been here for six months and have already left.”
“Those recruits were loyal and obedient. You are not. Your captain informed me that he found you burying your tent before the storm began. Is this so?” asked the commander.
“Yes, sir.”
“And who told you to bury your tent?”
“My people have lived in this desert for centuries. This is common knowledge to protect oneself…”
“I ask again, boy,” interrupted the commander, “who told you to bury the tent?”
“No one,” admitted Zayaan. “But, I…”
“No one told you to bury the tent. But you did so anyway. You are to do what you are told to do. That is obedience. Not doing what you think is best. If it were best, then we would do it – all of us, not just yourself. In doing so you are not only disobedient, but selfish. You did not share this plan with your captain so that he could decide if all should be buried.”
“But..”
“You question me?”
“No, sir. You are right. I should have spoken with the captain first,” Zayaan bowed his head in submission. Inside, his mind was reeling. If he had spoken with the captain about preparations for the storm, the captain would have called him arrogant. Zayaan had learned this lesson from previous encounters. They wanted nothing more than blind obedience without thought.
“Because I am benevolent and merciful, I will give you another chance. But your stay with us is extended until such time as you can prove yourself obedient in all things. Go.”
Zayaan nodded and bowed. As he left the tent he found his captain waiting for him.
“How dare you make a fool of me! ‘Common knowledge!’ you said,” fumed the captain, “Do you think I am a fool?”
“No, sir.”
“You will spend the next two watches on guard at the western checkpoint. And the next day you will be digging latrines, and every day after that until I have decided you have smelled enough shit to know that you are shit,” screamed the captain. “Now go!”
Zayaan ran back to his tent as fast as he could and began wrapping himself again in the strips of cloth that would be his only protection against what was to come. He also grabbed one of the rough blankets from his cot and threw it over his shoulders before heading out to relieve the soldier at the western checkpoint.
In the distance he could see the blue mountains of Adyll against the lighter blue of the sky. Over the last year at this same checkpoint, he watched the fires on the mountain as the Locust King’s Swarm advanced up the mountain. Two days ago, he saw the light of a funeral pyre. The following day messenger pigeons had brought the news that Adyll had been conquered. He learned that the Adyllian queen had surrendered and the princess was among the dead. The pyre had been for his betrothed. Zayaan did not mourn the pale-haired skinny girl he had met only twice in his life. She had been spared what his sister had not.
Zayaan had trained for the greater part of a year under the tutelage of his captors, ever since his people had been defeated by the King of Locusts. By the time the King of Adyll had come to their aid, it was too late. The Narim were a strong people, but their numbers were small and they had no army. His little sister Lilua was taken as wife for the Locust King, and Zayaan pressed into service along with his cousin Takri. Everyone else was slaughtered. Zayaan tried to fight, to fight for his sister, to fight for his own freedom, but it was useless. The scar on his face served as a reminder of what rebellion against the authority of the Locust King meant.
A mile outside of camp, he reached the outpost where he relieved the previous guard. Zayaan waited until his predecessor reached the edge of the camp in the distance. He then sat on the ground and watched as the wall of sand and dust enveloped the camp. He covered himself with the rough blanket, doing his best to anchor all edges under his body before he laid down and covered his head before the winds hit him as well. It was futile to even attempt to “stand guard” when you were blinded by winds that could strip flesh from bone.
He would have to learn blind obedience before he could leave the camp, but he would have to survive the storm first.
Lilua, just a little bit longer...
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