A Priestess for the Blind God (Legends of Rahasia Book 1)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"Ari!" In my haste, I fall to the earth, rolling off the horse in an ungraceful manner and skinning my palms. I scream, my throat raw. I throw my hood back. Let them see me and my blood-moon eyes. Let them call me witch if they have hurt my father. "Yaga!"

I will kill them.

I'll kill them all.

"Who are you calling for?" Arno tightens his Diviner weapon, the shield re-fashioned into bracers. Half his face turns to clay, his eyes jet-black. "Who should I fight?" His voice deepens, rustling with the echo of sand and cliff.

"Let me kill them," I push him back, my power even managing to move his larger golem body. I smear my bloody palms against my mirror. The ghouls lick happily at the surface. "I'll kill them all." I barely notice it, but my voice has changed too. Older. Crueler.

"Ode?" Arno turns to me, wide eyes. Fear, so much fear.

When I gaze into the mirror, I see Kane's eyes shift over my own, blood-moon mixing with night's darkest horrors. Even Arno flinches at my touch.

Ode the Cursed, my Champion, do you feel it?

Do you see what rage has given you?

Just like your father...

"No," I stop, running my hands shamefully over my eyes. I sheathe the mirror. The ghouls hiss angrily at me for being dismissed. "I shouldn't just go mindlessly killing. The place appears empty anyways." I swallow, a knot in my dry throat, "there's no sign of my cousins or my father. We should search the area first." I attempt a weak smile, "like actual soldiers."

Arno rotates his shoulders back, reverting to human form. "Yeah," he rubs his wounded arm, fidgeting with the bandages, avoiding my gaze by scanning the area for footprints. "Lead the way for us, ziba."

My father's house was built outside the walls of Rahasia. It was built for a rich merchant many years ago, but when the walls of the city were built, the merchant's home was left just outside the protective gates. Fearing invaders, the merchant relocated to a better, costlier home within the lioness city walls, and he gave the house back up to the Empire. A home free for invaders to plunder, only a warrior could live inside it. My father chose it just for that reason, so he could escape the stifling noble gossip within the walls. He only ever known the other noblemen when they fought together on a battlefield. He'd never had to break bread with any of them. And he never wanted to after one of those imbeciles shot my mother as a "witch".

"No matter how many men I've killed, badges of honor I've won, or fields I own, I am still a foreign peasant's son. That's how they see me." My father's eyes have scars and wrinkles cut into them, a warrior figure weathered down to dust by time. A hero decaying. "In turn, when I look at the nobles, I see ruthless landlords and merciless politicians who kill each other for power. I see them as conquerors who take young foreign boys as tribute, ripping them from their mothers' arms to train them to rip other men apart." My father lifts his palm up, having my tiny body punch it as hard as I could, until my knuckles bleed. "Escape them, Ode." He hardly moves as I throw myself into every punch, bruising and bleeding to appease him. He shoves me back when I don't dodge quickly enough. I don't cry. Tears won't spare me. "Escape this hell."

The merchant built a nice home, blending together imported white marble from the north and the typical architectural styles of Rahasia, namely high arches and square-cut, staircase tile roofs. The surrounding fields yield little more than sparse herbs and medicinal spices, but the sun has choked the plants to dust. I run the stalks through my fingers, cutting myself on the sharp edges. "Ari and Yaga haven't tended these fields." I bite my lower lip, chewing on it as I see that a bucket's been overturned next to the well. When I touch the sand, it's still damp. "Somebody just recently fetched this water."

"One of your cousins?"

"Only if they're alive." I shake my head, closing my eyes and imagining our poor maid, blood dribbling from her graceful neck. "Check the house for my father's maid while you're at it. Her name is Ratu, a little older than me."

Arno nods and disappears inside the house. I peer through the servant's window. Nothing in the house has been touched. Things have been rifled through, of course, but aside from some loose sheets of papyrus, all the valuables are in order. Those soldiers didn't come for my father's wealth. They must have only wanted him, but for what?

There's a crash. Arno cries out from within the house.

"Arno!" I move to help him, but cannot.

Suddenly, a very sharp knife presses against my neck, another hand against the back of my head, keeping me in a half-choke-hold. My lungs constrict, the weight crushing my neck as the blade bites down into my flesh, rending it with a vengeance. "Kamu siapa?" The voice asks me, the language not Rahasian, but something else entirely. Not northern, but somewhere across the desert, perhaps even the sea. I pull at the arms, but the stranger's grip only tightens. I hear something pop. "Speak, thief. Or I'll make you cry for mercy."

***

Happy Saturday, Champions! :)

Wow, over 500 likes! 

I love reading all your comments. It makes my day knowing people are actually interested in what I have to write. Like, wow, you care. I'm not all alone in this tiny corner of the internet. Yay, non-solitude!

As for the story, uh-oh. Ode's gaining a blood-thirst, and now she's been captured by someone. What happened to her father? To Arno? To her?

Best,

Sophia Whittemore