Chapter Text
It was Yahjith Warleader who collected Castiel on the day they were set to ride to Mijak’s Heart. She towered over him as they walked, just as she stood tall in the world. Though they had not yet left the Palace Grounds, Yahjith was fully armored. And though a quiver choking with arrows was strapped to her back, she wore no bow. Though Castiel did feel the length of her snakeblade sheath bumping against his skirts as she led him to the carriages. Yahjith had been at his side anytime he was not in his rooms ever since Idan had managed to slip by Vindi and Cyntra. He shuddered. Not since his mother was alive had he heard a woman roar her fury the way El-Ahn had all but attacked them. The stone walls of the Palace had all but shaken with her rage. And she had even gone so far as to bloody her knuckles on Cyntra’s jaw when the guard had attempted to explain.
In the end it had been the witch Agathe who had tried to calm El-Ahn’s fury, assuring her that they had different magics in the South. A holdover from the forgotten dark times before Mijak had brought the light to them. Castiel had agreed, pointing to Agathe and recounting the times he had seen the Reverend Mother Ravenna Duaiv Mac-Leire clothe herself in shadow and appear all but invisible to the eye. It hadn’t been enough. El-Ahn had ordered Cyntra and Vindi to present themselves to the Godhouse and make sacrifice, and ordered a Palace Godspeaker to bring her the evidence of their penitent blood on a handkerchief embroidered with her sigil. She had also handed Castiel’s protection over to Yahjith Warleader as a personal request.
Tasked and smarting from the Warlord’s fury, Cyntra and Vindi – who walked a few paces behind Castiel and Yahjith – had ceased speaking to him or practically to anyone at all, choosing instead to be always looking for attack. But he could feel their resentment seething behind their eyes. He sighed. There was nothing to say. So he said nothing.
It was a surprise to see Veuka in the courtyard, flanked by a fist of her own Et-Maranhor Warriors when they approached. Like everyone else, she was fully armored. Though unlike Yahjith’s chipped and battle worn armor, hers seemed to him to be almost ceremonial. Finely molded to her slender frame, and meticulously hammered with beautiful scrollwork around the White Frangipani blossom of Et-Marahnor, cunningly fitted into her chestplate with mother of pearl for the petals. She swept into as neat a bow as her longsword and plate armor would allow when he drew near.
“My Lord.” She greeted him straightening up.
“My Lady.” Castiel answered falling into a deep curtsy. “I did not think to see you here. Come to…see me off?”
She nodded. “I confess I begged the Warlord’s indulgence and requested to form part of your escort to Mijak’s Heart. She graciously agreed.”
“Of course.” Castiel nodded. He didn’t think she could see much of his face through the veil, but he schooled his features nonetheless. It would be many days hard riding to Mijak’s Heart. A perfect opportunity to get to know her. And he could only assume from this brash and – slightly inappropriate – action on her part that she was curious about him as well. He accepted her outstretched hand and allowed her to assist him into his carriage. He was surprised to find El-Ahn waiting inside. She had a carriage of her own, but he assumed this meant she wanted to talk to him about something. He waited for the carriage door to close, then felt the shift as Cyntra and Vindi took up their positions on the outside of the carriage as well, before throwing back the veil. The curtains of the carriage were tightly drawn, so no one would see him.
Castiel expected El-Ahn to knock on the roof of the carriage and for them to set off, but instead they lingered in silence. Reading the confusion on his face, El-Ahn breathed. “We are still waiting for more arrivals.”
“Our party is not full enough?” he looked at her from under his lashes.
“How could I refuse her Sprout? Was a perfectly adequate request, made with respect. She wants to make sure yer safe. No less’n I would’ve done in her shoes.” El-Ahn raised her hand and shrugged her shoulders. Castiel sighed through his nose.
“We ride to the Heart to change the face of Mijak forever. I don’t have time for petty distractions or women’s egos.” He huffed.
“You’ll have to get to know her sooner or later.” She put in. “Why delay?”
Castiel bit back what he wanted to say. El-Ahn herself had not spoken more than three words with his own husband before the day of the ceremony. And as far as he knew, never spoke more than a few hundred words to him until he died a few years later. Their entire marriage had been a reward for El-Ahn’s saving of the Queen’s life. She had chosen for her Blood sister a beautiful courtier from a noble enough house and that had been that. El-Ahn’s husband, whose name Castiel could not even remember had been little more than a breeding stud. A fleshy means to an end. He scoffed soundlessly. If this Veuka expected the same from Castiel he thought she was in for a bit of a surprise.
“Will Bobarak join us?” he asked, wanting to divert the conversation away from his betrothal.
“Bobarak rides in a Godspeaker Caravan. They will meet us at the city gate.” El-Ahn explained.
“They?” Castiel asked confused.
“He brings with him ten Godspeakers. Not to mention all the sacrificial beasts, ravens and all manner of tools for them to ply their craft.” She shook her head. Godhouse workings were kept secret from the rest of them. “And in a day’s time we’ll be joined by a procession from Arad Doman as well.”
Castiel cringed but didn’t say anything. Of course the Witches would be represented as well.
“They have to be there.” El-Ahn interrupted his thoughts. Her tone was conciliatory, almost apologetic.
“Of course. They’d hate to miss the spectacle.” Castiel all but spat. He had not made a secret of his hatred for those black robed bitches. He did not bother to hide it now.
El-Ahn sighed almost maternally. “They have to be there, because the Sisters of Arad Doman are the protectors of Mijak’s cultural heritage. They have been tasked with the sacred duty since the time of Uma herself, to record our history and help to guide those of us raised to the position of Warlord, through the lens of history; that we might build a better future for all of Mijak.
“It’s a pretty speech El-Ahn” Castiel fiddled with a bit of velvet fringe along the seam of the cushion he as sitting on. “But that is not the whole of it. All I know is that spider was involved in the plot that robbed me of my family. And I mean to–”
“You’ve got the wrong of it Sprout.” El-Ahn interjected, her voice on the brink of annoyance. “You’ve told me what you think you know before. But I am telling you. The Sisters simply don’t have the power to overthrow anyone. Like the Godspeakers, they hold no political power.”
Castiel gritted his teeth at that. They had had this argument before. And in the way of women, El-Ahn had refused to listen. Or even budge by a single inch. She seemed intent on believing that the Godspeakers, like the Bitches from Arad Doman were some benevolent force in the world.
“I heard it with my own ears.” Castiel said. “The Reverend Mother sent Godspeaker Kufu – a High Godspeaker no less – to seduce my mother in order to control her. And they–”
“Enough.” El-Ahn ordered. “Enough of this now.” Her eyes blazed, and Castiel realized his mistake too late. El-Ahn had loved his mother like no other. She would hear no words of dissent or disrespect. “I will go to check our progress. You must put these thoughts out of your mind and out of your mouth Sprout. This is no easy task you mean to accomplish here. You’ll need the full unwavering support of not only Arad Doman, but of Bobarak as well. Or have you already forgotten how instrumental they have been since you walked out of the wasteland? Spreading word of your legitimate claim, and creating decoys to help keep you alive?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Castiel admitted. She had him there.
“If you succeed, Bobarak will be the voice of the Living God in this world. He will play a crucial part in convincing the other warlords to bend their knees to a boy who is not even twenty. But make no mistake. You ride into the mouth of the Beast. Every hoofbeat that brings us closer to the Heart puts you in more danger.”
Something in her voice chilled him. “I have been in danger since the moment my family was slaughtered.”
“That may be,” El-Ahn breathed. “But this is the first time since that night, that Li-Illitur knows exactly where you’ll be, and when.”
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Mijak’s heart was neutral ground, owned not by one Warlord but by them all. It was a sacred place, commonly held to be the place where Uma had first filled her Godstone with the God’s power. Since that moment of revelation, it had become a place where the Warlords could gather, and thrash out matters of such importance that they were all required to attend; without the risk oof bloodshed. It was not visited often. Women liked their skirmishing ways. What use were warriors who never drew blood? To Castiel they seemed like trained sandcats. Beasts, easily distracted into mischief and strife if not regularly satisfied with a hunt or a kill.
It had been twenty six highsuns of constant, unrelenting travel. They did not travel by the Trader’s Route, or the Queen’s road. That was the most peaceful route between provinces, but also the most predictable and therefore the most vulnerable. Instead, the entire procession had been forced along smaller country roads and lesser known passages. Where there were no roads, they passed through pastures and fields, through starved orchards and towns and villages, whose inhabitants exalted and cheered to get even this close to a Warlord and to Castiel. He drew back the curtains of his carriage and waved at them. They waved back. Some threw flowers, others shouted blessings and prayers. It was only when Yahjith Warleader cautioned that he not expose himself so to the peasants that Castiel withdrew back inside his carriage.
Castiel did not think he could ever have imagined the procession he rode in. Beyond the carriages – which number a total of fifteen – there were shells and shells of Et-Haravelli warriors who rode in perfect formation. They must have numbered close to a thousand. There was archers on horseback, charioteers leading teams of three or four strong, infantrywomen who marched holding their spears and snakeblades. As promised, they had been met at the gate by a the Godspeaker caravan, which in addition to teams of sacrificial beasts – cows and bull calves and sheep and goats and camels – was made up of wagons filled with so many cages of cockerels and chickens and pigeons and the like that their wheel groaned. The night black carriages that held the witches of Arad Doman kept to themselves, though they added another grim presence to the procession. And at the back of it all were the wagons of pots and pans, and caravans of meat and spices and vegetables and fruit and casks of wine and water. And hundreds and hundreds of slaves and body servants and poets and bards and whores. The former who were here to ensure that all these people were properly fed and armored and bathed. The latter who had elected to come for the promise of coin and the chance to witness history.
As they drew nearer, the terrain became too perilous for carriages. The cultivated country had given way to marshes and foggy bogs. And this far from human intervention, it was clear that they had reached the end of Mijak’s hot season. Snow was beginning to gather in patches on the ground that never melted throughout the day. Beyond the soft marshes and stinking bogs, the land became a harsher, dry landscape pocked with rocks and caves and crevices and shrieking wind that woke such echoes they frightened the horses and chilled the blood.
The Heart itself was situated in the center of an enormous salt flat, surrounded by sandy dunes and perilous rock crevices. Even though they still had close to a hundred miles until they reached the Heart itself, the vegetation was growing sparse, and they would have to continue on horseback. According to popular legend, it hadn’t rained in the Heart since the time of Ursa the Mad, nor would it ever again.
They came to a set of three Godposts, set into the baked earth. They were painted black, but the scorpions and snakes and ravens and spiders carved along their lengths were painted bright gold and red and green and blue. The bright colors seemed almost lurid against the backdrop of white and grey and brown of the landscape around them. At their base were some of the largest Godbowls Castiel had ever seen. A lump of craggy blue rock had also been placed at the base of the center Godpost. El-Ahn dismounted and approached the stone, flanked by Bobarak and Yahjith Warleader.
Castiel rode a red stallion, while next to him El-Ahn rode a blue striped mare. At her left side, Bobarak rode a black mare. His face was set in grim determination and even from here, Castiel could see he was drunk on the God’s grim presence. Her reminded Castiel of a vulture, shadowing a dying beast. The black stone of his Scorpion pectoral glinted in the light. And seeing him approach the Godposts, Castiel was reminded why he was feared and respected above all other Godspeakers, perhaps even more than any Godspeaker had ever been. Whatever else he thought of the man, Bobarak lived and breathed the God in a way even……in a way no one he had ever seen could match.
Bobarak made sacrifice on the Godpost altar, and Castiel could not but remember that cursed Godpost they’d come to when they had fled Et-Novakar. He did not think the sight of those dead slaves would ever leave his eyes. Thankfully, Bobarak slaked the God’s hunger for blood with chickens and one enormous Cow.
Next it was El-Ahn who approached the hail grey border stone, carved with sacred symbols and set by some forgotten Godspeaker in the time of antiquity, to announce the arrival of any Warlord who wished to enter these lands. Even from his mount, Castiel could sense a presence here. A power that would not allow anyone to pass if the stone was not properly appeased. He jutted out his chin. So much of the God’s power remained a mystery. And it galled him to know that he could so easily learn all those secrets if he could but ask….but he drove his mind away. He needed to keep his wits.
Bobarak handed Yahjith Warleader a sacred black lamb, and a Godhouse blade which he handed to El-Ahn. Before she accepted the lamb, El-Ahn reached into her armor and retrieved a solid gold Godstone, which she dropped into the Godbowl. With her one good arm, she raised the blade high and sacrificed the lamb, and bathed the border stone in its blood. Yahjith Warleader dropped the carcass into the Godbowl, and it burned away into smoke. The border stone drank the blood, and turned bright red as it glowed under the sun.
El-Ahn dropped the blade and placed her hand upon the shining crystal. As a Warlord wishing to enter the Heart, she had to break the crystal and enforce her will upon the land. Resistance poured against her like a waterfall of air. And Castiel could feel the marrow in his bones shivering with power. El-Ahn shouted in what was obviously blazing pain! Behind her, Yahjith and the entire warhost shouted with her! And Castiel willed her to triumph. Willed her to go on.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the border stone was emptied of power. Shivering and shaking, El-Ahn accepted the abandoned Godhouse Blade from Yahjith, and turning to face her warriors, she raised the blade triumphantly as they cheered.
“Behold! We ride on to the Heart of Mijak! By the God’s Will!” she bellowed.
What follows was a very slow and lengthy procession, as every, single person, in the entire courtege delivered a personal sacrifice into the waiting Godbowls. Castiel had deposited a ring El-Ahn had given him, and could not help but remember the night he had retrieved a hideous scorpion amulet from a Godbowl not unlike these in the Palace of Et-Novakar…
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
It was well after lowsun when they finally made camp. It had been three days since they had breached the neutral lands of the Heart, and Castiel was exhausted and sore from riding. He muscled ached and his legs cramped as he sat in the small bath his Body Servants had prepared for him. The water had gone tepid, but he didn’t have the energy to re-heat it. So, sloshing perfumed bubbles and suds, he stepped from the bath and dried himself with coarse towels. He’d dismissed everyone from his tent that he might have a few moments to himself. They would reach the Heart tomorrow morning.
The very thought of it sucked the air from his chest. He dressed himself in a woolen shift, and was just about half way through raking a tortoise shell comb through the length of his waterlogged hair when he felt it.
There was no sound.
No breath of air.
No whisper.
If anything it was the absence of everything else that called his attention.
Warmth permeated his skin, his muscles, his aching thighs and his hollow stomach.
His mind eased.
His skin erupted in goose flesh.
And he knew.
“Is it you?” he asked aloud. “Are you really here?”
He waited, too scared to breathe.
“Yes.”
Castiel released his breath with a shudder, turning and leaping from his stool wanting to rip the flap of the tent away.
“No don’t!” Dee-Ann ordered, softly but with fire and command, speaking through the tent. Castiel could just make out his shadow and he could see that he had raised his hand in protest. “The God hides me. But Bobarak watches my every movement. I think he suspects that the God conceals from him. I can’t stay long. He will grow suspicious. And…I think it would be best if we didn’t see each other.”
Castiel froze as if Dee-Ann had used Godsmite on him. But even so, he felt a sense of agony and joy and sadness and elation suffuse every part of him that he couldn’t describe. There was hesitation in Dee-Ann’s voice. And even without seeing him, he could well imagine the look on his face.
“How are you here?” he choked around a sudden lump in his throat, his eyes stinging suddenly.
“I was summoned. I was chosen to be one of the Godspeakers who observed the events of tomorrow.” Dee-Ann explained in an achingly soft and familiar voice. He might’ve imagined it, but Castiel could almost convince himself there was the slightest tremble in his tone. “I had to find you.”
Castiel stopped fighting it and allowed himself a sob. How was it possible to be so happy and so hurt in a single moment. “So…it’s true then. You’re a Godspeaker?”
The words tasted like acid in his mouth. That meant it was truly over. Any hope or secret longing would be utterly pointless. “Not yet.” Dee-Ann whispered reluctantly as if he could divine Castiel’s warring emotions. “But soon. I have been tested. I will be a Venerable before long. Castiel…”
He broke off. And the silence nearly speared him like a suckling pig. “There is much I need to tell you. When I was in the wilderness–”
“Please.” Castiel blurted out. “I can’t…..” he broke off to collect himself. “I can’t listen to this right now. I just need to be close to you.”
He pressed himself against the canvas of the tent, all but flattening himself against it. Then the miracle, as he felt Dee-Ann’s hands align with his; followed a moment later by more weight. They would have been kissing close if not for the offending fabric barrier between them.
“Castiel…” Dee-Ann whispered, his voice colored with protest.
“Tomorrow I must speak before the Warlords. And Li-Illitur. I have to face her.” Castiel stammered out. “I feel as if I have a worm in my stomach that dines on my fear. And it is growing fat. I battle on two fronts. On one hand I have the warlords, who I am asking to bow before me so I might place my bootheel on their necks.”
He gasped as he felt Dee-Ann’s forehead press against his through the canvas, feeling a little but of his heat touch his skin.
“And on the other, I have the woman who slaughtered my entire family and has already begun making allies from my Mother’s stolen throne.” Castiel breathed, pressing his palms harder through the tent, even as he spoke directly into Dee-Ann’s face. “If I have ever felt more alone I cannot remember that time.”
“You are not alone. You are never alone.” Dee-Ann said so softly he might’ve imagined it. “Even tomorrow. When you go before those women. Know that I am with you. I always am. Even if you don’t see me. I am there. I am right beside you.”
Tears streamed freely down Castiel’s face now, but he didn’t give them voice. He straightened from the tent wall and collapsed onto the ground. He allowed himself five breaths in that pitiful, sobbing position before spoke up, clawing at his forelocks and shoving them behind his ears. Outside, the shadow of Dee-Ann had sunk to the floor as well.
“How can you say you are with me?” Castiel sniffed. “We can’t even look at each other without arousing the suspicion of the High Godspeaker.” His head dropped forward, and his leaned his weight on his left hand while burying his face in his right. “We can’t even touch!”
Through closed eyes, he felt the blade of a finger reach under the fabric of his tent and stroke along the length of his own index finger. There then gone. As light as a morning cobweb. Almost as if he’d imagined it.
“We can feel.”
And then he was gone again. As if he’d been there. Castiel cried himself to sleep that night. It would have surprised him to know, so did Dee-Ann.