David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“Ashhur hasn’t abandoned you,” Ki-Nan insisted, eyes widening at the rising sword. “You-you’re strong as ever!”

Bardiya shook his head. “Ashhur robbed me of my youth. I am but an old thing now, my outside rotting as quickly as my faith.”

At that, Ki-Nan cocked his head. “Old?” he asked, his voice still shaking. “How so?”

“Look at me. Look at the wrinkles in my face. Look at the whiteness of my hair. My body aches as it decays. The only act that stifles it now. . is violence.”

“You aren’t making sense,” said Ki-Nan. “You look the same now as you ever have.”

Bardiya started to argue, then realized he saw no lie in the words. He bent over, peering at the darkly shimmering puddle of water that had gathered between his feet. A moment later came another flash of lightning, and for the briefest moment he saw his face. It was old, wrinkled, and ugly.

But in his gut, he felt that knot of certainty.

The image was a lie.

Come the next flash of light, he held his eyes wide open, and there he saw himself, flesh dark and smooth, his hair curly and black as it had ever been. There were no creases around his eyes, no deep grooves in his brow.

The demon. . it showed me what it wanted me to see.

Bardiya looked on the cowering Ki-Nan, and his own words echoed in his mind. Unforgivable . . How many times had he insisted to his people no action went beyond forgiveness? No action could prevent them grace? But here he was, sword high, denying those very words. And still Ashhur was with him. Ashhur was there. . as was the certainty in his gut. The revelation of the lies. Wardens had that power, given to them by Ashhur. Did he now have it as well? But the weight of the blood he’d spilled hung about his neck. The vision he’d seen, the image of himself old and breaking, he’d felt every bit of it. Taking the lives of so many, it wasn’t Ki-Nan he’d seen as unforgivable. It was himself. He’d seethed and raged and declared himself abandoned. . all while Ashhur remained.

He dropped to his knees, releasing the sword in the process and allowing it to clatter away from him. Ki-Nan backed toward the edge of the chasm, the water trickling over the side dripping on his head. Bardiya thought of how hard he’d struggled to be perfect, to stand tall above his people. First Family of his god, wiser than his parents, wiser than Ashhur himself. . he’d thought himself crushed by his own fall from grace, but he was a fool. He was only human. Even with his great height, he’d barely had any distance at all to fall.

Another bolt of lightning struck, and his bones and joints ceased to ache.

“Ki-Nan, my friend, will you forgive me?” he asked.

The frightened man’s eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe him. “Why?”

“Because our ability to forgive, to see the faults in our brothers and sisters and still love them, is all that separates us from the animals that roam the wilds. That was the lesson Ashhur meant to teach, because he knew we would eventually experience the strife we now face. That is the reason he created Paradise-to nurture those aspects of ourselves, to give them a chance to grow before we must rely on them.”

“Even if that’s true,” Ki-Nan said, “you’ve done nothing for me to forgive.”

Bardiya shook his head.

“I declared you my brother no longer, as if my love for you has limits. As if I were a cowardly, bitter, selfish man. Some things cannot be undone, but at least with this, let me try.”

Ki-Nan looked speechless. He took a step forward, and he swallowed down a lump in his throat.

“Even after the lies?” he asked.

To that, Bardiya laughed.

“I have spent the past years lying to myself,” he said. “I certainly won’t condemn you for yours.”

The man paused a moment; then he smiled and wrapped his arms around Bardiya’s neck.

“You’re still a bloody fool,” he said. “But damn it, I’m tired of all the lies and secrecy, and even with all their fat combined, the Conningtons are half the man you are.”

Bardiya rose to his feet, and he felt lighter than air. To think he’d put the weight of Ashhur’s teachings on his shoulders, to think he’d believed himself the only one capable of giving wisdom to his people. But when presented with the need to forgive, forgive others, forgive himself, he’d failed so thoroughly that for the first time in ages he felt he had so much more to learn. Years ago, such a revelation would have horrified him. Not anymore.

“So what should I do?” Ki-Nan asked, stirring Bardiya from his thoughts.

Bardiya put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“This woman you love, these children of yours, you should go to them,” he said. “But only after you do whatever you can to ensure their safety. I think you owe them, and Ashhur, at least that much.”

Ki-Nan hesitated a moment.

“And if I die before seeing them again?”

“Every breath may be our last, be it in war or in the most peaceful of days. Make each breath matter. Give each one meaning. Who are you, Ki-Nan? Who is the man beneath it all? Are you one who would flee to his family and pray from afar you’ll be safe? Or are you a man who will fight to make it come to be?”

There was no question, not when put that way. Ki-Nan struck his chest with a fist, a gleam entering his eye.

“I’m a man who will fight.”

By the time they exited the basin, the drizzle had stopped, and dawn began to stretch its crimson fingers across the cloud-filled sky. The warriors of Ker were already awake, shuffling about their temporary camp, stretching their sore backs and moaning. Small cookfires were flaring, and the smoke from the damp wood filled the air. Bardiya gathered them all together, nearly four hundred warriors who had never known conflict until less than a week ago.

“Brothers!” the giant proclaimed, and his voice carried over the rocky cliffs. He pointed north. “Beyond those hills lies a scourge that wishes to rip from us the very love that each of us has felt for all our lives. We must not allow that to happen! Karak is out there, brothers, and he is running. Ashhur has already proven to be his better. It is now for us to finish the task our creator started.”

The crowd before him began to murmur.

“Will we face them alone?” someone asked. It sounded like Tuan Littlefoot.

“Alone?” Bardiya shouted. “We will stand between the eastern god and passage into his kingdom, but not alone. We will face his forces to preserve our way of life, but not alone. We will ensure none of our loved ones will ever suffer such blight again, and when we do, we will not be alone. We may die. Every last one of us. But we will not die alone. We have truth on our side. We have love ! And should our pure hearts cease beating, we will find splendor in the Golden Forever. This is what Ashhur has promised you. This is what he has guaranteed!”

The murmuring grew in volume, but the people seemed hesitant. Ki-Nan then stepped to the foreground and faced his brethren.

“Come now, my brothers!” he bellowed. “You have tasted battle before, and you won ! Onward we march! For glory! For freedom! For Ashhur !”

“For Ashhur!” the throng shouted in reply, and though it was slightly less than enthusiastic, Bardiya knew that was the most he could hope for given the certain death they faced. They’d march needing a miracle, but it seemed they walked in an age of miracles, and for once Bardiya felt free from the doubts that had dug their claws into his heart so deeply.

The morning was warm and filled with lingering smoke as Velixar watched the soldiers dismantle their tents and don their armor. These brave souls, who had fought so valiantly not seven days before, were beaten and weary, nearly to a man. Their movements were laborious, their expressions dour, and their lips sagged with disgust as they tore into their meager tack-all that was left of their provisions after the supply wagons had been set to the torch. Wolves had taken the rest. The tall trees surrounding them made them appear small, like squirrels desperately foraging for nuts before winter’s wrath fell upon them. All the while, the animals of the forest chattered and scurried all around. Flocks of birds soared overhead, heading back north.