“Dove, my precious one, you must awaken.”
She woke immediately, feeling more than hearing that it was Dead Eye who woke beside her and not the God. She had been sleeping with her back to him, curled in a tight fetal ball, but upon his call Dove turned eagerly, opening her arms.
“Beloved! It is you!” Joyously she clung to him, trembling with relief.
He smoothed her hair and held her close, cradling her in the crook of his arm as she rested her head on his massive chest.
“We don’t have long, precious one. The God sleeps, but He will return soon.”
Dove couldn’t repress her shudder. “My Champion, my love, can you fight Him? Can you remain yourself?”
Instantly she felt the change in Dead Eye. His body stiffened and his hand, which had been caressing her hair, fell to his side.
“Dove, I do not wish to remain myself. I have accepted the God. It won’t be long before He and I will be fully joined.”
A small gasp escaped her and she pressed herself more closely against him. “No! I cannot bear to lose you.”
“You will never lose me!” His arms went around her. “Precious one, the God and I are one. Though I will eventually only speak with the God’s voice, I will still be here, within this body that grows ever stronger, ever more able to lead our People.”
“But He hurt me,” she said. Dove could not cry—she had no eyes and therefore was not capable of tears—but her body shook with the force of her despair.
“Precious one, you must soften yourself to Him. Remember that He and I are one now.”
“He told me His name is Death,” Dove said.
She felt Dead Eye nod. “Yes, He is the Death God awakened. It seems you and I were wrong. Our God wasn’t dead; He was sleeping.”
“Beloved, I don’t understand what is happening,” Dove said.
“It is really quite simple. Our path has not changed. We are going to lead the People from this poisoned City and claim the City in the Trees for ourselves. Now we don’t have to wait to groom an army. Now the People are being led by the God of Death Himself. Our victory is assured,” Dead Eye said.
Dove said nothing. She felt as if she was losing everything—her lover, her People, her world.
“Precious one?”
“I cannot be the Consort of Death!” Dove heard herself blurt. Immediately she regretted speaking her thoughts aloud and she pressed her lips together, readying herself for Death to return and wreak vengeance upon her.
Instead, she felt Dead Eye hold her closer, stroking her back gently, intimately, lovingly, as he had done so many times before. She had begun to relax into his embrace when he spoke and shattered Dove’s brief illusion of safety.
“I know you cannot, my precious one, and that is why you must merge with the Great Mother, the Goddess of Life. She is the only Consort worthy of Death.”
Dove didn’t want to ask. She wanted to cover her ears and curl back into a ball and pretend her Champion still belonged to her and not to a dark, dangerous God.
But she had to ask. She had to know Death’s plan for her. She had learned one lesson very well in her short, difficult life—knowledge was a weapon sharper than a trident and more dangerous than an army of ignorance.
“And how am I to do that, my Champion?” she asked in a voice deceptively calm.
“As I did.” While he explained it to her, his fingers traced a path over her flawless skin, stopping to caress the delicate places at the creases of her elbows and wrists, knees, and waist. “You must be infected with the skin sloughing sickness. Once you become ill and your skin blisters and cracks, the God and I will sacrifice a doe—a magnificent, beautiful queen of the forest. We will flay her alive and join her flesh with yours, as I joined with the mighty forest stag. As the doe awakens within you, so will the Goddess. Think of it, precious one! You and I will be immortal—Consorts for eternity! Life and Death will reign over the forest, enslaving all who oppose us and living in the clouds as is our divine right.”
At first, Dove could not speak. She pressed her face into her beloved’s chest, struggling to contain the panic that boiled within her. When she was sure she could form words and not screams, she said, “Dead Eye, my Champion, my love, what if I do not want to become a Goddess? May I not remain as I am—your lover? May I not serve in truth the role I have been pretending for years, and be a true Oracle to the God?”
Dead Eye took her face between his hands and spoke clearly and carefully. “Listen well and heed me. Do not ever repeat those words. You are precious to me, and the God acknowledges that. But a human cannot be the Consort of a God, and a living God does not need an Oracle. You must choose. If you want to remain by my side, you must become the vessel for the Great Mother, the Goddess of Life. If you do not, He will replace you with someone who is more willing.”
A terrible shudder of fear skittered through Dove’s body. “You would let Him do that?”
“I would have no choice,” Dead Eye said in a voice as devoid of emotion as death.
“When must I become the vessel for the Goddess?” she whispered.
“Oh, precious one!” He laughed, hugging her close. “You sound as if it is a terrible thing that is going to happen to you and not a miracle. But you shall see; you shall see. You will understand when the Goddess begins to stir within you.”
“Forgive me. I am just a girl. I—I cannot imagine being divine.”
“Start imagining it! It is your destiny. There is no one I want by my side for eternity except you.”
“When?” she repeated in a small, frightened voice.
“The God will not awaken His Consort here in this poisoned place, but will wait until after we take the City in the Trees from the Others. Then I will infect you and begin hunting for the queen doe. High above the forest floor you will become a Goddess, Consort for eternity to a God!” he finished joyfully as he bent to claim her lips.
Dove responded to his kiss. She would always respond to Dead Eye’s touch. She knew she would love him for as long as she drew breath. But her Champion was fading away. She had already witnessed the possession of the Death God. No matter what her Dead Eye had been led to believe by the God, when Death was present he was absent. And she knew that one day very soon her Champion would be gone for good and in his place would be only the dreadful God of Death.
Dove loathed Death. She’d spent her short life fighting Him—fighting to survive despite being born sightless, surrounded by danger and disease. To accept Death—to become His Consort—went against the very core of her being.
She would never allow herself to be used as a vessel for anyone—be He God or Goddess, Death or Life. I have already lost my love. I will not lose myself.
“Have you no words of gratitude for what the God offers you?” Dead Eye asked, and though his voice was his own, Dove could hear an edge to it that had not been there before—an annoyance barely concealed just below the surface of his words. She knew she must be very, very careful.
“I’m sorry, beloved. I’m overwhelmed. I—I hardly know what to say.”
His body relaxed against her and his chest rumbled with his deep chuckle. “I forget that you have not yet felt the power and the glory that the touch of a God brings. Do not fear, precious one. Soon enough you will understand.”
“Soon? I thought you said the Goddess would not be awakened until you conquer the City in the Trees. We have already spoken about the army it will take to defeat them—that the People must be made ready, that there are too few Harvesters and Hunters to attack even a weakened Tribe successfully.” She spoke slowly, carefully, focusing on logic and keeping the dread and panic from her voice.
“There will be no more Harvesters and Hunters. There will only be Reapers—those chosen by the Death God to follow Him, to do His will.”
“Surely that will take some time. You only have nine Reapers. They cannot take a city filled with the Others,” she said.
“They could not take a city filled with the Others. That was in the past. Now a God leads our People. What chance does a wounded city have against Death Himself, especially when they created the fire that called Death to walk among them?”
“None,” Dove heard herself say as she repressed a shudder of revulsion. “None at all.”
“You do understand, my precious one!” He bent and kissed her again, this time lingering on her lips, deepening the kiss.
Dove began to soften to him. He was still her Champion, her emancipator, her hero—the only person she had ever loved. She clung to him, silently willing Dead Eye to stay with her—to fight the possession of the God.
But as his caresses became more urgent, more filled with desire, Dove felt him change. It was a subtle shifting—much like the change that happens when one goes from being awake to falling into the world of dreams. And then Dead Eye was gone. She knew it before He spoke. She felt it in the texture of His touch and in the quality of His presence. Even His scent changed from Dead Eye’s familiar smell of earth and pine and clean, honest sweat to something darker, more pungent and base.
“Ah, little bird, you are an attractive mortal. I do appreciate Dead Eye’s choice in a mate. You will make a delectable vessel for my Goddess.” Death spoke with His lips against her ear as He penetrated her.
She said nothing. She did nothing except remain still beneath Him, allowing the God to use her.
“So soft … so young … so alive,” He murmured as He thrust roughly into her.
She said nothing, which seemed to please Him. With a roar He quickly spent Himself.
Dove was grateful that He didn’t remain with her as Dead Eye would have, cuddling her close afterward while they talked of their future. Instead, the God stood, stretching mightily before He pulled on His breeches.
“Ah, it is good to be awake! Make ready! When I return we feast on the rest of the boar meat,” Death said to her. “The Reapers and I will be ravenous.” He bent and cupped her breast, squeezing it painfully. “For more than just food, but that will come after we eat.”
Dove was careful not to cringe from Him, careful not to let any hint of disgust be heard in her voice. “My Lord, may I ask where you are going?”
“To the City in the Trees, of course.”
Dove folded her hands together so that He would not see that they trembled. “Are You conquering the city today, my Lord?”
“It is good you are so eager to become divine. That pleases me, little bird. The City in the Trees was conquered the moment I awoke, though they do not yet know it. I have some small things I must do before I take possession of their city and make it my own, but do not fret; it will be soon, very soon.”
Then, without another word to her, He left their bed. Striding through the God’s chamber, he began shouting for Dove’s Attendants to bring drink and food and to command Iron Fist to join him on the God’s balcony.
Forgotten, Dove made her way to the far corner of the chamber where the Attendants always kept troughs of freshwater for drinking and bathing. Dove washed herself, over and over, wiping away every vestige of Death’s loathsome touch.
“Mistress, may I help you?” Lily’s voice was filled with concern and Dove could feel the God’s attention shifting in her direction. She shook her head, waving away her Attendant.
“No, I do not need your help, but your Champion does. Did I not hear him call for food and drink?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lily said, sounding contrite.
Dove hated speaking harshly to the girl. She was young and kind and wished only to serve her, but Dove steeled herself. The time for weakness and sentiment was gone. The God of Death had banished it.
“Then do as he commands.”
“Yes, Mistress!” Lily hurried away, and as she did Dove felt the God’s attention turn from her.
Moments after His food and drink were brought to the balcony, she heard Iron Fist race into the chamber, going directly to the God’s balcony to join Death. Moving with the graceful silence that had kept her invisible to the loathsome Watchers, Dove took a basket of hemp rope that needed to be knotted into fishing nets and went to a shadowy spot near enough to the balcony that her sharp ears could hear while she remained hidden. Her hands worked as she listened with growing dread.
“Who do you see when you look at me, Iron Fist?” Death asked His Reaper.
The man did not hesitate. “My leader. My Champion. My God.”
Cloaked by shadow, Dove’s hands stilled. She had thought the Death God was still masquerading as Dead Eye, the God’s Champion. But she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised. The obvious changes in His body, coupled with the arrogance of the God, should have prepared her. For once Dove was glad she had been born eyeless. Had she eyes, Dove would not have been able to keep from dissolving into tears—and those tears would definitely have been noticed by the God. Instead, she tucked her heartache deep inside her. She would bring it out later and mourn Dead Eye’s loss properly, but only after she found a way to escape the touch of Death.
“Which of the Hunters and Harvesters I have not yet changed to Reapers is the sickest?”
Death’s question to Iron Fist broke the morose spell that had settled over Dove, and she mentally shook herself, listening intently once again.
“That would be Lizard. His skin is very bad,” Iron Fist said.
“Is he strong enough to join us on a very important mission near the City in the Trees?” the God asked.
“He has not yet lost all of his strength, but his appearance is loathsome—his skin cracks and sloughs, and he is covered in oozing blisters.”
“Excellent! Get Lizard. Bring him here to my chamber. We will paint our skin to camouflage us, and then you and he will join your God on a mission of the utmost import. After you call for Lizard, command all of the People to gather in the courtyard below. I have a question to put to them.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Dove heard the reverence in Iron Fist’s words. Before he could hurry from the chamber Dove moved soundlessly from her shadowy corner, taking her weaving supplies and making her way to the warmth of a firepot. There she sat, appearing busy with her net making, and waited for what terrible thing would happen next.
“Dove! Come to me!”
Smoothing her face into the benign listening expression that had helped her survive the sixteen winters of her life before Dead Eye had freed her from the abuse of the Watchers, Dove walked the familiar path to join Death on the God’s balcony.
“I am here, my Lord.”
“Excellent. I need you to command your Attendants to ready the body paint. None of the white paint, though. Tell them to mix forest colors—greens, browns, and blacks. And tell them to hurry!”
“Yes, my Lord. Where shall I have them bring the paints?”
“Here, to my balcony. Iron Fist and Lizard will be joining us. The People will be gathering below. It is my desire to speak to them before Iron Fist, Lizard, and I go to the forest.”
“It will be as You command, my Lord.” Dove bowed low and backed quickly from the balcony. “Lily! Your Champion has orders for you.”
The girl was by her side in an instant. “Yes, Mistress?”
“Mix the tubs of body paint for three of our men. Your Champion commands you only use forest colors. Quickly! The People will be gathering to watch.”
“Yes, Mistress!” Her bare feet padded against the tile floor as she rushed from the chamber.
While her Attendants did the God’s bidding, Dove went to the private space she had shared with Dead Eye. She dressed carefully. She did not know what the God was planning, but she was certain He would somehow put her on display, and her survival depended upon whether or not her appearance and her actions pleased Him. By the time she’d donned her most decorated skirt and brushed her long hair free of tangles, Iron Fist had returned to the God’s balcony. Dove knew the badly infected Lizard was with him—she could smell the stench of his rotting flesh and she heard the wheeze in his breath that foretold his end was not far away, that soon he would drown in his own blood and puss and be free of the misery of his diseased body.
“You may join me on my balcony,” the Death God called when Iron Fist and Lizard hesitated, waiting for permission to enter the presence of the massive statue that most of the People still believed was their Reaper God. “Dove! Bring your Attendants here when they return with the body paint.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Dove called.
She was inside the chamber, but Dove could hear the sounds of the gathered People lifting from the courtyard below. She could smell the gamey scent of boar stew that wafted through the open balcony and she knew that the aroma of food and the promise of a full stomach would draw even those of the People who might not come quickly at the command of a Champion they were not certain they needed.
He is wily, this Death God, Dove acknowledged silently. I must always remember that.
“Mistress, we have the body paints ready,” Lily said.
“Very good. Follow me to the God’s balcony.”
Inside the Temple, Dove needed no guide. She knew every step of the chamber and the God’s balcony, so she lifted her chin and walked gracefully, with the pride her extinct title of Oracle afforded her. She didn’t need to be guided to the Death God, either. She could feel Him, just as she had been able to feel Dead Eye’s presence—except Dead Eye had drawn her to him with love. Death drew her with loathing.
Dove strode directly to the shell of the man she used to adore. “My Lord, the Attendants have done as You commanded.”
“Very good, little bird.” He stroked her cheek intimately. Dove forced herself not to flinch away. Then He turned His attention to her Attendants. “You women, I would have you paint my Reaper, Iron Fist, and my Hunter, Lizard, completely with camouflage.” The God spoke to the two men. “Stand near the lip of the balcony so that the People below may see you being anointed for our mission.”
Then Death surprised Dove. He turned His back to the People and faced her as He spoke in a voice filled with power and authority.
“My People! You have gathered today to witness a miracle and to answer a question. One is no less important than the other. But first, I must be anointed along with my men. Dove! Come, anoint me!”
Dove didn’t know what the God was planning. She only knew she was trapped in His waking dream and she must play her part or perish. Lily pressed three pots of sticky dye mixture into her hands. Dove could not hesitate, so she moved with feigned confidence forward until her outstretched hand met with His skin. He was standing near the lip of the balcony, facing Dove. She knew that from below the People could see some of His body but not all of it. Dead Eye had insisted that they address their People from atop the balcony ledge, where they could easily be seen from below. She had no idea why the God chose to hide part of Himself from the People. She didn’t care. And Dove didn’t allow confusion to slow her hands. The quicker she worked, the sooner she’d be able to stop touching Him. She scooped the muddy paint with her fingers and began slathering it on the God’s enormous body. He’s grown so much bigger! The thought helped her by giving the being before her yet another degree of separation from the man she had loved with all of her heart.
Dove worked quickly. The God had a deerskin cloak hanging from His wide shoulders, but except for that and breeches He was naked. Her hands felt the changes in His body. Dead Eye had been a big man—muscular and powerful—but in the short time the God had possessed him he had grown. His shoulders were wider. His muscles were thicker. He was undeniably taller. When she tried to reach around and spread the dye mixture across His back, Death waved away her hands, but not before she felt the deer pelt that had spread to cover His entire back.
“Just the front of my body, little bird.”
Her hands did not tremble, though her spirit did. Dove concentrated on her duty, covering the God quickly and efficiently with the thick paint. He did not allow her to touch His hair, though she did paint His face, and as she did Dove felt that He had fashioned a hood for the cloak, which He kept pulled up over His head.
He hides the horns, she thought. And His hiding of them made her wonder how much they, too, had grown.
“It is finished, my Lord,” she finally said, taking a small step away from Him.
“Excellent.” Then He ignored her.
First, He spoke to the two men. “Mark me. These next moments will change our People for an eternity.”
Dove heard Him whirl around, His cloak making the sound of a bird’s wings. She imagined that He must be facing the People who were gathered below, gazing up at Him. She took another step back. Reaching with her hand, seeking, and finding Lily’s wrist, Dove pulled the girl another step back with her and whispered, “Describe to me what I cannot see, but quietly so that we do not test His patience.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lily said, pitching her voice low for Dove’s ears alone. “Your Dead Eye is moving to the edge of the balcony.”
Dove’s grip on Lily’s wrist tightened. “Do not ever call Him my Dead Eye again.”
“Y-yes, Mistress. What shall I call him?” Lily whispered.
“My Lord, or whatever He commands. Just not Dead Eye. Never again my Dead Eye. What is He doing now?”
“He has leaped up on the lip of the balcony.”
“My People, today is the first day of your new lives!” The God’s voice was swollen with power. In the silence between His words, Dove could hear the susurrus of those gathered below as their attention turned upward to the man they had first called Dead Eye and then Champion.
“Is His head still covered?” Dove whispered.
“Yes, Mistress,” Lily said quietly. Then, in a puzzled voice, she added, “Mistress, he is turning around, so that his back is to the people.”
“Behold your awakened God!” Death spoke, and then a monstrous bellow filled the world around them, more powerful than a stag—more horrible than an army of men. His roar was that of a God, newly awakened after eons of slumber.
“Oh! Oh, Mistress! He has flung off his cloak and … and … He is so very changed!” Through their joined hands, Dove could feel Lily tremble, even though she gripped her Mistress’s hand as a lifeline.
“I know, Lily. Speak quickly and quietly. Describe Him to me.”
But as Lily’s tremulous voice told her everything, Dove realized she already knew—her hands had already informed her mind of what the rest of the People were just now being called to witness.
She already knew what was under the cloak He’d thrown off. She heard the shocked murmurs rise from below as the People saw that the pelt of the stag had merged with the man.
As He bellowed His inhuman roar to the sky, Dove heard the People’s murmurs change to gasps. She didn’t need Lily to tell her that He had turned to face the watching crowd and revealed the horns growing from the thick fall of mane that had usurped what had once been her beloved’s hair.
“Oh, Mistress! The People can see all of him now. His head—there are horns growing there! And … and his hair has changed as well. It is—It is—” Her words were broken by her frightened sob.
Dove squeezed her Attendant’s hand. “S-s-sh, I know. Control yourself or you will draw His attention.” Dove felt Lily’s head nod in acknowledgment and her other hand lift to press against her mouth, stifling her terrified sobs.
And then, in a voice amplified by dark, divine forces, the Death God spoke.
“My People! Mark my words, for I shall not repeat them. You worshipped me in one form as the Reaper God, and you were so faithful, so true, that I awoke and claimed the body of my Champion! Now, witness my true form! I am the God of Death, risen from the realm of dreams to the mortal realm to lead you, my chosen People, from this vile, poisoned City to a new life, a new world, a new day! Which of you will be true? Which of you will swear your lives to me?”
There was a terrible, stretching silence. Dove knew she must hesitate no longer. Her will to survive propelled her forward on legs that were so numb she feared they would crumble beneath her. When she reached the lip of the balcony, she raised her arm up and up to touch Him.
In a strong, clear voice, Dove proclaimed, “I will be true, my Lord!” She bowed deeply, gracefully, to Him as the voices of the People below buzzed like frightened flies.
The God touched her chin, lifting Dove from her bow. She stood very still, her sightless face turned up to Him, her back straight and proud, her expression as open and as guileless as it had been when she had fabricated visions to placate the old Watchers who used to hold her life in their hands.
“Ah, faithful Dove. You please me, little bird. I give you my oath that when my Consort awakens within you, you will be able to see my glory through the eyes of a Goddess. Would that make you happy?”
“Yes, my Lord,” she lied.
“In return I will be true to you throughout eternity.” Instead of helping her up to the lip of the balcony to stand beside Him, as Dead Eye would have, the Death God turned His back to her, once more addressing the People. “Dove is the first to worship me. Who will be next?”
Dove was shoved out of the way as Iron Fist rushed to take her place. She stumbled and would have fallen had Lily not caught her elbow and righted her, pulling her to the side as the Reaper exclaimed, “I will worship and be true to You, my Lord! Always!”
“Iron Fist, I accept you and name you The Blade of the God. Henceforth, let the People know that The Blade speaks with his God’s voice.”
“Thank You, my Lord!”
Dove knew who moved to speak his oath next. She could smell the rot that followed poor Lizard’s every breath.
“I will worship and be true to You, my Lord!” Lizard’s voice cracked and was thick with pain, but his shout was loud and traveled easily to the courtyard and the watching People.
“Lizard, I accept you and assure you that soon you will be free of your suffering.”
Dove gripped Lily’s wrist painfully, whispering urgently, “Pledge yourself to Him. Now! Call for the other Attendants to follow your lead.”
“But, Mistress, I—”
“Do you want to live?” Dove spoke quickly.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then do it! Now!” Dove freed her Attendant with a small push.
“Come, Attendants! Let us swear ourselves to our God!” Lily said.
Dove heard the soft padding of the bare feet of her Attendants hurrying to follow Lily’s lead. There was a rustling of their skirts, like fall leaves blown by winter wind, and Dove knew the Attendants were bowing before the God.
“Excellent! I happily accept the supplication of Dove’s Attendants. Stay close to your Mistress, women, and prepare to welcome a Goddess to join her God!”
“Yes, my Lord,” they intoned after Lily.
“And now, what of you? What of the rest of my People?” The God’s voice blasted from the balcony as Lily hurried back to Dove’s side.
“Motion for the rest of the Attendants to go inside the chamber.” Dove spoke softly and urgently to Lily.
The girl didn’t hesitate. Dove felt her make several small, fast gestures and then heard the sound of the Attendants’ bare feet moving past them as they scurried back to the relative safety of the Chamber.
“I will worship You!”
“I will follow You!”
“I will fight for You!”
The shouts began to lift from the courtyard as Lily described to her Mistress what was happening below. “The men He made Reapers—they are all moving forward and falling to their knees to swear allegiance to Him.”
“As will I!”
“And I!”
More shouts joined the voices of the Reapers. Dove tried to place each of them in her mind, but there were too many of them and their pledges devolved into a din of noise.
“Are all the People accepting Him?” she asked Lily.
“Not all, Mistress, but most. I can see a group of Hunters who are keeping to themselves and have not spoken.”
“Enough!” At the roar of the God, all of the People fell silent. “I am pleased that so many of my People have chosen to remain faithful to their God.”
One voice broke free from the silence below. It was strong and sure, and Dove recognized it at once as that of an old Hunter named Fist. “But your form is not that of our Reaper. The God we worship is a woman, and you, though powerful and obviously divine, are a man. So, my question is are you our God or simply a God?”
“That is easily answered. But first, tell me, are there others who would like to ask this question of me?”
A tremor of fear skittered through Dove’s body. The God’s voice seemed kind, as if He welcomed the question and would welcome more questions from the People. Dove knew better. She knew one surety beyond any other—Death would not abide being questioned.
“Yes, Champion,” another man called from below. “I am River. Like Fist, I would ask this question.”
“And I am Slayer. I would ask this question, too,” said another man.
“Excellent! And I shall answer your question. Move forward, Fist, River, and Slayer, so that I may see to whom I speak.”
Dove heard the crowd moving and murmuring.
“What is happening?” Dove asked Lily.
“The three Hunters have left the others and are standing before the central fire. The one over which the boar was roasted.”
Dove bowed her head and waited.
“My answer is thus—you were wrong. This statue is not a God. It is dead metal. It matters not at all whether it is an image of a man or a woman, because it was never a God. I am Death and I am your God. Not because of this statue. Not for any reason except that I have chosen you as my own. And I thank you for giving me this opportunity to show my divine power to those of my People who are truly faithful.”
Then there was a horrendous sound of screaming metal that was joined by the hysterical shouts of the People as Dove heard something heavy plummet to the courtyard below.
Lily gasped in horror, hiding her face in Dove’s shoulder as she sobbed.
“What is it? What has happened?” Dove shook the girl, forcing her to answer.
“H-he tore the trident from the statue of the God and hurled it into the courtyard. He has killed Fist, River, and Slayer!”
“NEVER QUESTION DEATH!” the God thundered.
“Are the People fleeing?” Dove asked.
“No, Mistress. The People are falling to their knees and bowing to Him.…” Lily paused while she sobbed, finally managing to whisper, “What are we to do?”
“We are going to survive.” She put her arm around her Attendant and let the girl weep into her shoulder as Dove’s sharp, resourceful mind began to make plans.…