Act 4 - Zane
Out of all the alcoves in the Parthenon, Mingan's was the smallest. It was actually closer to the literal sense of an alcove. It wasn't an addition to the Parthenon, though; when it was first built, he was among the first gods that it was in honor of, mostly due to his being the brother of Shin. For reasons which any sane person could completely understand, his faith had never really caught on that much, but we had our small rooms. Lesser priests nodded as I entered, and slowly cleared out of the Room of Reverence so as to give me my privacy without my so much as speaking.
As the door ground shut, I procured my needles. Not all of the Aspect of Blood carried blood needles, but I had a full set. Cold iron, steel, jade, copper, silver, and gold, to be precise - if any being had a material weakness, I had a blood needle that would kill it. Presumably. I hadn't yet had the chance to kill many things less human than I was, but a well-guided needle through the heart or head would kill anything. Hopefully. Either way, I had an offering to make, and I used each needle to pierce assorted veins I could see through my skin. It didn't really matter where I did it, so I preferred to use my thigh. I needed my wrists and fingers to hold my weapons and shields, and blood did not help with grip. I kept myself busy by narrating my thoughts to myself as each needle slid in place, then threaded the needles with a small metal cord that worked fairly decently as a garrote.
In one smooth motion, I ripped the needles from my leg and watched as blood began to well up and flow. It burned - not with pain, but with power. My power, my blood; Mingan's power, Mingan's blood. They were one and the same - or at least, I bore his blood with mine. Hence my surname, Deustrages - God's Blood. Yes, I know it's pretentious. No, I didn't choose it myself. Wordlessly, I drew my short, rune-inscribed ritual ivory dagger from its sheath around my neck, put the edge to the skin, and waited for the blood to flow onto it. When it had, I scraped the edge against my naked thigh, pooling my blood across the flat of the weapon. As usual for the ritual, the blood flowed towards the point, vanishing into the blade until only a single drop of crimson gleamed maliciously on the tip in a start contrast to the color of the blade.
I never did like the next part of the ritual. Fourteen years ago, Mingan gave me the dubious honor of a visit. With a single motion, he changed everything, broke everything. Everything but me - well, no. I simply put myself back together. Maybe it was a test, or maybe Mingan felt like doing what he did that day. I was stalling, and I knew it. In war, I didn't fear. Well, that's a lie. I do fear, but I control my fear. To fall in war is, was, and would always be an honor for anyone who worshiped Potraikos. Shin. Death. But here, alone in the were-light of the Room, I knew fear - not of death, but of an eternity of solitude, the fear of nothing.
I took a deep breath, then put both hands around the hilt of the dagger. I held my hands out, with the dagger pointed towards me, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and with the experience of years of practice, stabbed myself directly where my heart would be. There was no pain. No body, nothing but an nothingness solid enough to be perceivable, my mind shifting into my meditation.
I remembered Mingan's voice as a child, blue fire rippling across their bodies, telling me this was my nigredo, with his face like a raven. He told me he was giving me a wish in return for each of them he took, but that they were gone. Power, love, and family. It wasn't worth the cost. I remembered seeing that my eyes had turned from... whatever it was they were before they became every color. I remembered the years of training in the Campus Martia, my induction and oaths to the Army of the Republic under the silver eagle, when I had a cause to live for again - my albedo. I remembered my first summer bacchanal, and the blonde girl who my faerie godmother had found for my first time...
And then, suddenly, I was choking on beer. With a cough and a splutter, I opened my eyes to find the room halfway filled with beer, with me laying flat on my back, staring up at Mingan, who appeared to be drinking from a stein as he sat cross-legged on the surface, looking like a human for a change. There were times when I enjoyed being a follower - willing or not - of the chaos god. This was not one of those times, and I swam up to the surface and began to tread... beer.
"Hi, Zane. We need to talk."
I shivered. The last time I'd heard that tone, I'd been sitting in the Baths. Or at least, I had been until I suddenly found myself in the middle of a battle at our southern border, naked, in the middle of a tile bathtub, armed only with a scrubber on a stick and a bar of lavender-scented soap. I really hoped that this wouldn't be like that time, but unlike then, I was armed. I had not stopped carrying at least three weapons since that day, in fact, since failure to do so had ended with an involuntary sword in the lung and a nice big scar in front and back. Funny story, really.
"Well, I need to talk, you need to listen, and then ask questions if you don't understand anything. You, my darling little pawn, are going to the end of the world and cease to exist as such."
He waited. I waited. That could mean anything from "I'm going to turn you into a were-woman" to "I'm going to kill you" to "I'm going to give you an island paradise to live on in indolent luxury for the rest of your life." For some entirely inconcievable reason, I suspected that it was closer to the second definition than to the third.
"Narissara is a lovely woman, by the way, and far, far more than she seems. You like her, don't you?"
"...no. I can't stand her. Arrogant, thinks that just because she was smart enough to become a Bodyweaver that she can use those... flashing eyes... and, and her smile that shows all of her teeth... and those wonderful- AUGH. This is your fault, isn't it?"
The god laughed at me. I hated being laughed at.
"I'm not the one in love with her, Zane, you are. Now, be quiet, I have exposition to deliver. Four hundred-odd years ago, my brother, my daughter and I used Chelan God-King's newly-appointed Defender of the Faith, Archduke Vernal, to kill Caribia, Lisse, and Oraith. Or, as you might know it, the War of the Gods."
I ground my teeth together. Every child had heard the story. You learned it in school, or picked it up from storytellers. I had a few first editions from the era, in fact. I had no idea why he was wasting my time with this little history lesson.
"Patience, Deustrages. What you don't know is that the Archduke has no loyalty to Chelan, and, in fact, hates him."
Well, then!
My jaw dropped, eyes going wide. I couldn't conceive of a situation when any god would elevate a person who hated him to be the official head of his cult, especially given that the Defender of the Faith embodied the Faith as the god's avatar. Well, maybe Mingan himself would, but to know that the King of the fucking Gods had done this was an utter shock. I struggled to articulate words, and after a few spluttering attempts, I shut my mouth and looked at him.
"Fascinating, isn't it? Anyway, I have need of his services again. You, my child, are going to go find him and recruit him. Or kill him. Or get killed by him. It's up to you."
He had no right to call me his child. Renn did, Mingan didn't. I would take "child" over "pawn" any day. The former was just slightly less accurate and added to my reputation, while the latter was, unfortunately for me, the truth. Or perhaps fortunately - it was rather hard to tell, following a god like Mingan.
"Anything else?"
"Is there anything more you want, Zane?"
His tone was mocking. He knew the answer, but asked anyway, and knew that I'd reply like I always had.
"Family."
"I have better things to do than cater to your every whim, or to provide information to the many."
"...the many? Who are the many?"
"Who are you?"
He was gone. The beer wasn't. Short of drinking the entire room, there really wasn't a whole lot I could do about that without causing one hell of a mess. Well, looked like I was bound to get chewed out fairly soon. Which was okay - I had been chewed out before. One of the highest guiding principles of being a high priest of the Chaos god was the unofficial rule of "Obey whatever laws and orders help you, ignore whatever laws and orders hinder you." As would be expected, this did not endear me to the command. I'd seen my file, and had noted the word "insubordinate" written about eighty times. On the other hand, though, I commanded a Praetorian Century, I was still alive, and the men and women up top were not in a hurry to argue with success. Especially when I made sure to give them full, glowing credit for their valuable support in that anti-corruption scheme that had (likely) gotten me into this mess in the first place. There was more than one reason why I hated politics.
"...this is good beer," I commented wryly to nobody, then submerged myself, swam down, and opened the door. Beer rushed forth from the room to flood the rest of the alcove until it was knee deep. I sighed, turned around, and had my sword halfway drawn before I recognized Allen standing behind me.
"Stop doing that!"
"Zane, I've heard of drowning your sorrows, but this is ridiculous."
I had no idea how he did it. He was taller than Narissara was, and had a neck the size of my entire thigh, putting him heads and shoulders over most Roaken men. He was more like a midget fire giant than a human, stood out like a sore thumb, and you would never see him coming until he was right there. Seeing as how I was in a room with one door that had beer flowing out of it, which I was watching, I had no clue how he'd done it. I gave him a glare.
"Oh, you're no fun. Orders, sir?"
His face shifted, all trace of humor and personality gone as he stared down at me. I sighed and shook my head. He meant well, and it wasn't fair to take my frustrations out on him.
"...don't worry, Allen. It's just been a weird day."
The life restored itself to his eyes, and he slouched back, losing maybe an inch from his height as I ran my palm down my face and sighed, shaking my head from side to side as I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"Mingan tends to do that. Listen, I've arranged a schedule for tonight's entertainment, since you know absolutely nothing about it - there's chariot races, and you're sitting in the same section as the Consuls - though only Verginius Caeliomontanus is expected to show, as his favored aedile is putting on a show. You'll have ten minutes to reach the theater near your apartments - a highly under-rated foreign group is coming through for two nights only. You'll be a little late to my dinner party, but I'm sure I could convince the philosophers to debate until you show up to escort the lovely lady. And you had better change - dress uniform. No armor."
I blinked, then remembered that for some odd reason, people actually cared about how others chose to dress, and actually spent their money on owning several different items of clothing to wear. Which struck me as plain silly, but there you have it. I didn't have time for anything other than reading, training, magic, whores, sleeping, and drinking - the only things that mattered, as far as I was concerned. Fortunately for me, I'd been blessed by a thoroughly competent subordinate in Allen, and even though I admired his efficiency, it was a little disconcerting that my chosen one was a much, much better administrator than I was. Allen was a merchant's son who had my eye for details about people, only for politics and numbers. He saw patterns in everything and always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. At the moment, though, I was just glad that he preferred the company of men to women, and I felt a little stab of jealousy even thinking about him possibly becoming more than casually interested in women when he saw Narissara. What spell had the woman cast on me? Ye gods.
"Mmmh."
"It has been a weird day, huh? Look, don't worry about it - whatever trouble comes up, you have Renn, you have me, and you have ninety-seven men willing to die for you at a moment's notice. You'll be fine - now, with all due respect, sir, move your ass. Your uniform is being brought to the barracks by one of our new recruits, and if you're fast, you'll have time to rinse, change, and make it back here in time to catch the conclusion of Narissara's lecture."
"Don't call me sir, I work for a living. Dismi- gods dammit, how does he keep doing that!?"
Gone again. Either way, he had a point, and I hustled. The crowd held me up, but I had time to get rid of the scent of beer and dress like a proper citizen-soldier instead of a drunken mercenary legionnaire.
Technically, I am a drunken mercenary legionnaire... eh.
Taking up a position against the curved wall, I made my way through the packed room with a minimal amount of jostling and minor pain hexes until I was to Narissara's left, just in front of the stage. After idly removing some hair and what appeared to be a peanut shell from my shoulder, I looked up at Narissara, admiring her profile as she spoke, not hearing a single word she spoke, with a damn goofy grin on my face that I couldn't hide no matter how hard I tried to look serious.
While it was certainly fascinating to watch the tip of Narissara's tongue caress the back of her bottom lip whenever she took a break from speaking, and no matter how many sparks I felt coming off of her, something nagged at me. Maybe it was what few memories I had before Mingan had claimed my life for his, or the stark impossibility of what he'd asked me to do. Or maybe I was just grumpy from hunger or had a vague sense that I was violating some obscure point of eittiquite. Either way, I eventually turned away from her and looked over the crowd, face serious as I thought about the past and the future, tapping my finger and thumb together again out of habit.
I barely remembered my mother's face. Her voice... that I remembered. She was a gifted singer, and she always used to sing lullabies to my older sister and I at night, no matter how much we protested. She always knew how much we appreciated it - come to think of it, I didn't remember much about my sister at all, aside from that I had one who was younger than me. And my father, I remembered his hands - big, thick, calloused, horny-knuckled, as suited to the plow as it was to affectionately tousle my hair - or smack my backside, depending. We were freemen and landowners - not much to brag about for a Denca, where every soldier was given a plot of land to keep with others of his squad, but I had always wished that I'd never grow up to be a farmer.
As it turned out, I got my wish. Late one night, I woke up to a cold, arcane blue flame dancing on the tightly-curled bodies of my family, slowly turning into a real fire as I watched, helpless. Mingan was there - in fact, he was the one who'd started the blaze. He had offered me a simple choice - whether he should take my life then, or if he would take my life in the form of service. Even then, I knew better than to argue with the god of unlife - it was better to be a living servant with at least the illusion of free will than an eternally unliving slave. I might not be the sharpest sword in the armory of human intelligence, but my mother didn't raise any fools, either.
He had seemed impressed by my rapid choice to serve him alive, and had offered me three wishes - one per life. As much as I wanted my family back, I wouldn't want them back how he would return them, so I told him what I wanted: love, power, and a family of my own. So far, I had been given - or possibly grown into - a love for books, an incredible amount of sheer magical power, and an unstoppable, ruthless, calculating and ice-cold battletrance that had not only saved me, but apparently spread to any man - or woman - who'd served under me. Oh, right, and he'd also ripped my heart out, then poured his blood into the giant, gaping hole in my chest, making my blood flow without the proper organ to do it. It was not quite what I had expected, but, then again, Chaos god. It had worked decently so far, as far as it went. Oh, and of course, I had men and women willing to die at my words. It was a giddy power, a sacred trust, to know I had the lives men and women in my hands, and that they trusted me - or the strength of the armies of the Republic - to actually be responsible for those lives.
I smiled at that one, hearing Narissara lecturing about the potential benefits of smaller, stronger, more frequent doses of potions and tinctures and assorted whatnot I understood on the most basic of levels. I'd love to have her on the most basic- son of a bitch! I shook my head and looked back at the audience, again. Apparently, her occasional fumbles in Roaken were amusing to them.
Allen was technically correct when he said I had ninety-seven men willing to die for me. Women were not actually allowed to serve in the Roaken army, so any woman who enlisted was legally and temporarily declared a man. As far as I had seen, men tended to be physically stronger and more warlike in general than women. On the other hand, women were better with magic than most men and fought just as well even without the chest-pounding. Actually, the former had been proven - most of the legendary magic-users of the world were women, and one of our Emperors before the Roak Republic was a republic had tested twins with boys and girls - the women, even those without so much as a day of magical training, were almost universally more powerful than their brothers.
Not that possession of power - or strength - meant that one knew how to use it, mind you. All other things being equal, it is the smarter who beats the stronger. Anyway, at the moment, I had a little under half of my force as women, with the battlemages spread throughout the ten divisions of my century. My personal division had six women and three men - as the commander, I spent more time in the back of the lines than at the vanguard, and having a fully dedicated squadron of battlemages - and me - to throw their power behind any squadrons at a moment's notice had proven to be quite decisive.
I found that I was woolgathering, thinking about things I already knew about while staring directly at Narissara, watching the way she held her weight on her right leg, pushing her hips and the curve of her ass in a perfect profile for me to admire. Again. She hadn't hit me with any love spells, so I was forced to conclude that Mingan had done something to me. But, gods, what a woman! The lecture was winding down. Narissara looked serious, sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and somehow or another managed to keep the place quiet save for her voice, the occasional laughter and a few shouted out linguistic tips when she did that cute little pout... mmh-hmm.
Eventually, I'd gotten over my hazy, dizzy feelings when I looked at her, and had taken the time to study the audience. I wasn't much of one for socializing - or social situations at all, given how little of them I understood, but this was a tactical assessment of a battlefield, not an awkwardly polite dinner with accompanying philosophers. Roak Val's four Bodyweavers were attending in the front row, occasionally taking down a line or two - the rest of the crowd seemed to be other healers who hadn't yet or would never qualify to be a full 'weaver, and a few alchemists and assorted lay priests. I could have sworn I had seen Allen sitting three rows back, dead center, but when I blinked, he was gone, his seat taken by someone with ridiculous-looking goggles and frizzy white hair. Interesting.
"-techniques and hints help you save at least one life. Thank you for your time... do questions have... er. If anyone has questions, I'll be near my escort."
I snapped back to reality as practically everyone there turned to look at me as she gestured towards me. I hadn't even known she had noticed me, but I guess she had seen me out of the corner of her big, pretty green eyes. Mindful of my reputation among the city, I touched my right index and middle finger to my forehead, just above my eyebrow, in a pseudo-salute and gave them my biggest, most charming "fuck you" grin. They started getting to their feet and otherwise not paying attention. It seemed my gesture was appropriate for the situation.
Narissara turned towards me, a confident little smile on her face, a spring to her step, and a sparkle to her eyes as she approached me. Mine? Not hardly. Maybe she was playing nice...
"Zane!"
I could practically taste the joy in her words, and it confused the ever-living hell out of me. This woman had basically taken my life and stood it on its head. First, she was cold, then she was nice, and now, from the way she spoke to me, apparently she... I was lost for words, and the rest of the world slipped away as we walked towards each other nice and slow, watching each others bodies move. At least, I could feel the heat in it, and my breath sped up as my blood raced through me. We stopped, inches from each other. She reached out and put her right hand on my chest, and looked down into my eyes as I looked up into hers, as we looked into each other. I didn't know how to describe what I saw, what I felt. Burning, vividly alive, thrilled, lustful, hopeful of having my wish come true and terrified of her even more. I felt alone, but alone with her. It was weak but strong... it confused me, intrigued me, and sent shivers through me. I'd never felt anything like this before, but whatever it was, I could see in her face, in her soul, that she felt it too.
"Zane...?"
"Narissara...?"
We stared at each other for a timeless moment, both of us stepping closer and our faces growing closer, her tongue running over her lips-
"Bodyweaver Dairana, your audience has questions for you."
Our moment shattered, and we took a few steps back from each other, a blush rising to her cheeks as I shifted my stance slightly. The Bodyweaver - I didn't recognize him, so he was probably the private Bodyweaver of our tribunes - took Narissara by the upper arm and gently steered her towards the eager crowd. Still, though, as she went, she turned to look at me, looking slightly regretful on top of her eyes promising that we'd continue what we had started later, when both of us were more... alone. He tugged at her arm a bit more, and she sighed, standing still. He kept trying to pull her, but when he realized that there was no way he could possibly move her, he turned around and opened his mouth, but before he could so much as get a word in edgewise, she'd already grabbed his arm with her left and squeezed. Judging by the smell of adrenaline and the look on his face, it hurt him to the point of scaring the pretentious little bastard.
"Stop. Touching. Me."
I blinked again. Her tone was cold steel, and she jerked away from him, letting me see exactly how pissed off she was. It was pretty intimidating - apparently, she'd spent a lot of time looking at herself in a full-length mirror and practicing. Everything about her - from the angle of her head slightly to the side and up to catch the flash of the green inferno of her eyes, the way she curled her upper lip, and-
"And you! Centurion Deustrages! Get out of here - you've already caused enough... bad, and I need you no - rrgh. I don't need you!" she growled at me, giving me a personalized glare that screamed blame, dislike, a sliver of pity, an ocean of emerald anger, but most of all, contempt. Eyes widening, I stepped back as I raised up my hands, trying my best not to let my shock show.
"...I'll wait outside, then."
What the actual fuck just happened?
"Shoo!"
She flicked her wrist at me and turned away, Mouth slightly open by the sudden, abrupt change from loving to bitch, I turned and walked out too, shaking my head.
Etiquette.
Women.
I didn't understand them at all. Well, no - my women. Men. Son of a bitch. After passing out from Eyilana's alcove, I moved to the side of the door and slowly, lightly hit my forehead against the wall a few time as I took one long breath and sigh. I got along well enough with my women. Of course, my women were either either soldiers I commanded, assorted widows with fortunes or daughters, and a few of the Tokee "priestesses" - or, as I preferred to refer to them as, "expensive whores." As I continued to vent my frustrations at impossible fucking women being fucking crazy and stupid rules of society like clothes, politeness, and lying, a sudden warm whisper came to my ears.
"My little one."
This wasn't quite the time I had expected my faerie godmother to show up, but now was a good of a time as any. The best woman in my life could help me with the craziest one. No, second craziest one. The fey had a different version of the word sanity than most people did, and the Duchess Vernal and I had many long nights discussing the finer points of magic, wanton slaughter, and how intriguing it was to watch two women have sex. Going to my Unseelie faerie godmother for relationship advice was probably not the strangest thing that was going to happen to me today.
I am so fucked.