Blood of the Goddess Book I: The Locust King
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Locusts at the Gate Chapter 2: A New Name Chapter 3: The Capital Prepares Chapter 4: The Princess is Dead, Long Live the Princess Chapter 5: Outside the Gates Chapter 6: Inside the Black Tent Chapter 7: Surrender at the Temple Chapter 8: The Cult of the Locust Chapter 9: The Locust's Tenets of Faith Chapter 10: Mourners on the Cliff Chapter 11: The Eye of Betrayal Chapter 12: The Dead King's Bedchamber Chapter 13: The Arms of the Goddess Chapter 14: Zayaan of the Narim Chapter 15: The Eyes of the Priestess Chapter 16: A More Permanent Disguise Chapter 17: Tribute Chapter 18: Sacrifice of the New Moon Chapter 19: The Lost Bird Chapter 20: Manah and the Priestess Chapter 21: Desert Creatures Chapter 22: Become the Swarm Chapter 23 The Price of Betrayal Chapter 24: Life Under the Locust Chapter 25: Wild Rose Chapter 26: The Lady Wren Chapter 27: Thought and Desire Chapter 28: The Lady's Captivity Chapter 29: The Wine Maiden Chapter 30: End of Childhood Chapter 31: The Children of Aisha Chapter 32: The Forest Runner Chapter 33: Three Sisters Chapter 34: The Hunt Chapter 35: Bones in the Forest Chapter 36: Lullaby Chapter 37: The Hunter's Horn Chapter 38: Ways Between Ways Chapter 39: Morning Star Chapter 40: A Prophecy for Baraz Chapter 41: Equinox Fires Chapter 42: The Lord Prince Takri Chapter 43: Evening Star Sets Chapter 44: Chaos in the Courtyard Chapter 45: Dasha Chapter 46: Memories Chapter 47: The Body Slave Chapter 48: Caged Beasts Chapter 49: Message from the Capital Chapter 50: Heresiarch Chapter 51: The Color of Blood Chapter 52: Winter Winds Chapter 53: The Bookmaker's Closet Chapter 54: Wrapped in Dignity and Beauty Chapter 55: Vessel of the Goddess Chapter 56: Cracks in the Walls Chapter 57: Two Brothers Chapter 58: The Court of Women Chapter 59: Favored of the King Chapter 60: The Sweetest Fruit Chapter 61: Daughter of the Temple Chapter 62: A Nation of Bastards Chapter 63: The Lute Player Chapter 64: Aisha's Prayer Chapter 65: Promises Chapter 66: Lives Lost Chapter 67: The Tea Maker Chapter 68: Object of Desire Chapter 69: Empty Shelves Chapter 70: Darkness and Light Chapter 71: The Love of Men Chapter 72: The Cursed Ones Chapter 73: Hiding Places Chapter 74: Old Men's Tales Chapter 75: False Prophecies Chapter 76: The Lord Prince Radu Chapter 77: Love Becomes Life Chapter 78: Mistress and Mother Chapter 79: A Test of Strength Chapter 80: The Strigoi-Viu Cometh Chapter 81: Scraps from the Table Chapter 82: A Fool's Errand Chapter 83: The Little Ghost Chapter 84: Stolen Honeycakes Chapter 85: Breathe Chapter 86: Beneath the Palace Chapter 87: Red Pebbles Chapter 88: Common Men Chapter 89: Love and Duty Chapter 90: Nightmares Chapter 91: Earth and Sun Chapter 92: Love and Creation Chapter 93: Until My Last Breath Chapter 94: Fruit and FlowerChapter 37: The Hunter's Horn
Curfew and no men of the Swarm had entered the brothel all day. Nasreen tarried behind the other prostitutes to see if her desert prince would appear, but he did not.
By the time she returned to the dormitory, Aisha was already in the baths. Her back and lower abdomen had been achy all day, but the flow of blood had slowed. The hotter pools soothed her. Nasreen immediately headed for the same pool. The smell of sulfur surrounded them in the steam.
“Are you feeling alright? Did you have pain today?” Nasreen asked. “Some women have pain with their courses. The hot water will help.”
“It does,” said Aisha. “I didn’t feel very well all day. I slept most of the time.”
“Good. The blood is a renewal of your womb so that it may bring forth life one day when you are ready and if you wish it,” said Nasreen. “Usually, the pain will only last for one or two days, and then you will be fine.”
Aisha nodded, letting the heat of the water seep into her joints.
“Did you finish reading the scroll?” asked Nasreen.
“Yes. It was strange,” said Aisha. “The story was full of people I had never heard of before – did you know that the Moon is the Lady’s mother?”
“That makes sense,” said Nasreen. “The Moon governs our courses, after all. We have cycles, and she has cycles. But I have never heard it said that the Moon is the mother of the Goddess!”
“And the man named Thought is supposedly the father of all of us in Adyll!” exclaimed Aisha. “At least according to this story, he is. He has a half-brother named Desire, who is like the devil we hear about in the scary stories they tell of the Lady’s captivity. That is what the scroll was about – her captivity in the desert. But in this story, she turned her children – seven girls and seven boys – into golden eagles so that they could escape him. Then they came back to feed her in her cage. She was pregnant with the first Queen Mila while she was in captivity.”
The words came out in a torrent, and louder than she intended. Nasreen looked around the baths, hoping no one had heard them. If a woman, or anyone for that matter, was caught speaking of the Lady, it was cause for public torture, and possibly death. No one was close enough to overhear, and their words were muffled in the steam.
“Shhh…” said Nasreen. “We must quiet. Start from the beginning.”
Aisha lowered her voice. “Alright. In the beginning there were two brothers, whose mother was the Earth. One was fathered by the Day, and the other by the Night. Their names were Thought and Desire…”
“Which was the son of the Day, and which was Night’s?” interrupted Nasreen.
“It doesn’t say which one is which… just that they were half-brothers,” said Aisha.
“Huh… maybe they didn’t know?” asked Nasreen. “Never mind… keep telling the story – I haven’t heard a good story in a long time. Is it a love story? I love those.”
“It is a love story,” said Aisha. “It is all about love. But it is also sad.”
Takri awoke in the forest to the smell of smoke. He found himself lying against a tree trunk next to Jacu. Both of them were covered in rough woolen blankets. A fire crackled a few feet away, at its heart the burning skull he saw bobbing through the woods ahead of the witch's lullaby. Next to the fire Lod lay sleeping. His leg was wrapped in clean bandages as were his hands.
"I know you're awake, young Narim." said a grey figure across the fire. "Come, make yourself useful and fetch some water from the stream to the north."
Takri rose and took the waterskin offered to him by the old Oracle. It is better to be polite than to be among the dead was a saying among his people. This was a good example of that teaching - the oracles were half-mad with visions. It would be best to treat the old woman with respect than burn like the skull in the fire.
"Of course, grandmother," he said and headed off into the woods.
"You do know where north is, don't you?"
He stopped and turned back to the old woman. She pointed in the opposite direction. "The stream is that way, about 200 paces. You will hear it before you see it."
Takri changed direction and headed into the forest to look for water.
"Don't veer from the path!" he heard the old woman call from behind him. "Her veil covers the forest to confuse the Locusts."
Ten steps from the campfire the fog closed upon him along with silence. He could see the path ahead of him, but to either side only grey darkness, not even a glow from the campfire where he left his friends. He kept moving forward, keeping his eyes on the path ahead.
The howling wail of a hunting horn split the silence. For a moment, he hesitated.
Do I follow the call of the Swarm? There is safety there among those murderous bastards. And then I will see Nasreen. If I return without the others, what will they say? If I tell them we were separated in the fog, they would believe me.
He kept walking, hearing the stream before the call of the horn broke through the fog again.
I can't leave them. And to choose to run from an oracle is a fool's choice.
Finding the stream, he dipped the skin into the cold water. When he pulled it out, for a brief moment, he saw a reflection in the water of a golden-haired maiden smiling back at him.
"Takri," giggled a familiar voice. Once again, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. Whirling around, he saw her grinning at him mischievously.
Zarinya, the youngest of the three oracles. He recognized her instantly from the equinox at the temple years before. Her face had grown thinner since that day, and she carried herself with more confidence than when she uttered the last line of the prophecy, The strigoi-viu comes. Now it seemed she could see inside Takri's heart, and she found him wanting.
"They are coming, Takri. Take them to her. There is a prophecy to be delivered."
The hunter's horn sounded again, followed by the sound of hooves splashing through the brook. When Takri turned back to the oracle, she was gone.
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