David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

“I assumed you knew about everything that happened in our Paradise, Your Grace,” he said.

Ashhur shook his head. “I feel much, but the specifics of any situation are lost to me. It is part of the price we paid to descend, to walk the land, and to create with our hands instead of our thoughts.” He placed his hand over Bardiya’s bare chest. “Now my power lies within each of you. It was a sacrifice we chose to make.”

“I see. I did not know.”

Ashhur sighed. “Please, my child, I must know what transpired.”

Bardiya told him of Davishon’s unsuccessful attempt on his life in the forest and Ethir’s successful assassination in the mangold grove. The god gave him his rapt attention the entire time, nodding whenever Bardiya’s ramblings wandered into contemplation, and then waving his divine hand to get him back on track.

Ashhur was quiet for a while after he finished his story, fist gripping his chin in concentration.

“They lie,” he finally said, mouth drawn inward, making his lips pucker.

“They lie about what, Your Grace?” asked Bardiya.

“The gods had no part in this attack. Celestia would never allow it. She has instructed her children to stay out of the affairs of Humankind.”

Bardiya grunted, noticing the far-off look in his god’s eyes when he mentioned the goddess.

“Yes, but what of your brother?” he asked. “I ran across Patrick more than two months ago, while he was on his way to the delta. He spoke of Karak’s people threatening harm to the populace of Haven and that he had been sent there by Jacob Eveningstar to warn them to submit. Could the murder of my parents be part of a larger plot against our Paradise? In the absence of the eastern deity, could the people of Neldar be going against the wishes of their god and his pact with you?”

Ashhur shook his head.

“It is not possible. Karak has returned to them, I have felt it. Whatever happens in the delta, it has nothing to do with us. Jacob is a good man, honest and strong. Yet he is also empathetic, and you must remember that my brother and I created him together. He sent Patrick east because he is concerned about the well-being of the people there.”

“And where is the First Man now? Why did he not head to the delta himself if he was so worried?”

“Jacob had…other matters to attend to in the north.”

“Such as?”

“It does not concern you at the moment.”

“Your Grace, it is entirely my concern. My parents are dead. The first children of Paradise have perished before their time.”

Ashhur shook his head. “Not the first.”

Bardiya’s mouth snapped shut.

“Martin Harrow, the kingling,” Ashhur continued without any prodding. “ He was the first to perish. In Haven, at that accursed temple they constructed.”

Bowing his head, Bardiya said, “I apologize, Your Grace. I did not know.”

A great sigh escaped the god’s lips, like an agitated breeze gusting across the desert sand, rousing it. His golden eyes stared at the bright and cloudless sky above.

“There is much you do not know, my child,” he said. “Just as there is much I do not know. I do not know why the elves slaughtered my children.”

He paused, and the silence was frightening.

“And I do not know what my brother is thinking at this moment.”

He sounded so defeated when he said this that Bardiya’s panic overrode his god’s calming influence.

“What are we to do?” he asked, noting the quiver in his own voice.

“We move on,” replied Ashhur. “And we make preparations in the event that something is amiss. Jacob has long suggested that I send the remaining two kinglings to Mordeina, saying that we must finally choose a king.…Finally, I have listened.”

“Why?”

“Although I have created a paradise west of the Rigon, I fear that we will be woefully unprepared should another unexpected hardship come our way. If the elves truly wish us harm, for example. Like all children, my children require a leader, and there are some who feel I have been neglectful for waiting so long to give you one.”

“Do you mean the Wardens?”

“Yes.”

Bardiya shook his head. “Yet we have a ruler, Your Grace. We have you.”

Ashhur ran a hand through his hair, and his booming voice cracked.

“At one time I would have agreed with you. After all that has transpired since late summer, however, I am no longer certain.”

The doubt shown by an entity Bardiya had always believed infallible shook him to the core. He stumbled backward, his knees almost giving out. When another of his constant aches wracked his body, he leaned against the Black Spire to keep from falling. The surface, cool-almost cold-despite the day’s heat, fed his feelings of disorientation and disbelief.

“You are perfect,” he whispered.

Ashhur chuckled, and he sounded tired, so very tired.

“That, my child, I truly am not.”

Bardiya collapsed to his knees.

“Uncertainty is the way of the universe, Bardiya,” said Ashhur, concern showing in his eyes. “Nothing is forever, and none-not even I-can control the passage of time. Gods rise and fall, stars are born and die, life is given and taken away. Perfection is a concept, an ideal to be strived for that may never be achieved. That is what I have been trying to teach you, what I have been guiding you toward, so that when you reach Afram’s golden afterlife, you will be prepared for what lies beyond.”

Bardiya looked at first his god, then the Spire, and finally the desert sand into which his knees were sinking, beneath which his parents were now buried. He breathed in deeply, silencing the voice of his inner doubt, and willed his heart to slow its beat. He shut his senses off from the outside world and retreated inward, thinking of all the lessons he had been taught and hence taught to others, of the oneness he felt with the land, with his god, with nature itself. In that moment he understood that Ashhur was correct, that nothing was perfect. At least nothing physical was.

“But ideals,” he said, smiling, his panic receding. “In ideals we can find righteousness.”

“Yes, my child,” said Ashhur. “You are correct.”

Bardiya rose up, his knees cracking as he gradually stood.

“The ethics you have taught us-do you believe them?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Then all I ask of you is this, Your Grace: No matter what transpires, no matter what hardships may or may not befall Paradise, promise me that those ideals will not change . Promise me that violence will never permeate our hearts and minds, that love and forgiveness will always reign above all else, even if adherence to those ideals might be the end of all you’ve created.”

Ashhur grabbed his hand, and he noticed it was only slightly larger than his own. “I cannot promise that.”

Bardiya pulled away. “Why is that?”

“As I said, circumstances change. Should it come to a choice between watching my children die or fighting to save them, I will fight.”

“And will you do the same for those in Haven?”

“No. They are not my children.”

“But you would fight to save me? Or Patrick? Or Isabel?”

“Yes.”

“ All life is sacred. You told me that once.”

“And so it is.”

Bardiya felt his confidence grow. “You may believe things will change, but I never will, Your Grace. Your teachings are law to me and my people. Peace and harmony will never be ripped from the hearts and minds in this land, even if our blood is spilled across the prairie and desert both. If it comes to a choice between fighting and dying, we will choose dying.”

Ashhur smiled a sad smile and shook his head.