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

Chapter Fifty-Seven

After Ratu leaves, I press one of my hands flat against my abdomen, the other toying with the hilt of my scimitar.

"Kane!" The name rips from my throat, the sound echoing off these lonely, gold-gilded walls like a voice lost in the wilderness, calling for an end.

A figure materializes in the air behind me. "Ouch," Kane rubs the side of his head. "You don't have to shout so loudly. Your yelling almost woke the dead."

I instinctively check my mirror to see if my ghūls got out, but then Kane's dark-hued, gleaming face breaks into a devil-may-care smile.

"I said almost."

"Damn you, this isn't a time for games." I walk up to him, having to crane my neck up to see his face properly. Again, he towers above my puny mortal frame, but the exaggerated domed ceiling allows him to stand at his full, terrifying stature without slouching. "Your brothers are inhabiting the bodies of my friends, treating them like puppets at a stage show!"

Kane's expression doesn't waver.

"What?" I take a few steps back. "Would you have done the same thing to me, turned me into an empty shell to hit the others with my blades until I died from my injuries?"

"Nonsense," he waves his hand, dismissing the conversation as though we were discussing something as trivial as the weather, "I've never inhabited any of my Champions before." A pall falls over his face, bringing out the striking quality of his eyes, seeing nothing yet everything all at once, the scars that make him look interesting where the other two brothers look flawless. The Blind God, beautiful yet almost mortal. "And for that, refusing to play the human-puppet game, every single one of my Champions has died. No human Champion, however great, can win against a warrior imbued with the powers of the gods."

My voice goes quiet then, hardly a rumble past my lips. "Including me?"

Kane places his scarred palms over my shoulder, his fingers arching through the dove-gray cloth. "Never," he speaks it with such vehemence that the shadows darken beneath the crevices of his eyes, the ancient quality of immortality returning to his grave tone. "This will be the last battle of the Divine War. I'm tired, Ode. I was dethroned long ago."

"Dethroned?"

"Right, I'm the traitor in your mythology." He laughs, the sound humorless, his arm slips off my shoulder like a dead weight. "No, I ruled over Rahasia first, Ode. Why do you think I love mortals so much? I created them."

"You're not the god of fear?"

"Cato's lies. Tell them for a couple centuries, and soon they become doctrine." He sighs, the sound as brittle as the wind rushing through dried-up reeds at the edge of a riverbank. "Let me show you the truth."

Kane waves his hand in the air and a dark cloud mists from his fingertips. Glittering images, like light through crystals, glow atop the smoke, revealing familiar faces. I take in a breath, captivated, as I see the snarling face of Cato, slouching on a lower throne. His throne is decorated with scenes of battle, of severed heads and patchwork skulls. Aziz sits nonchalant, humming a gentle tune to themselves, their throne covered in images of meeting lovers, dripping fruit, and golden instruments. Kane, his eyes restored, brilliant and silver like his gleaming, moonlit hair, sits on the highest throne, the throne decorated with images of mortals with their heads thrown back in laughter. Mortals begging in the street. Mortals praying at temple.

Humanity. His throne is decorated with moving, thrumming rhythms of humanity.

Then Cato gets to his feet, his hand on his wickedly curved dagger. He raps on Kane's shoulder, and Kane turns around with a gentle, dazed smile. So naïve, so trusting. Kane's robes are brilliant, white with gold trim. But soon, they're stained red as Cato blinds his own brother, laughing as he strips off his own black robes and switches them with Kane's stained-white, the bloodied signs of royalty snatched from his hands, curled in pain. Aziz cowers behind their throne, their eyes wide in horror, unable to fight out of fear.

Half-naked and shivering, Kane weeps on the floor, unable to retaliate without his sight.

Broken.

Defeated.

Almost human in his imperfection.

Kane waves his hand again, his lips pressed into a firm line. The images dissipate. "I love humanity, Ode. But Cato, as soon as he sat on my throne, painted me as the Evil One who ruled over fear, the weakling Blind God. The universe was supposed to give him everything! He was the Elder, after all. But he did not love humanity like I did. Cato loved their violence. He did not see their hearts. Aziz saw only their beautiful ones, the perfect. But I loved how flawed humanity was." He grins, the teeth glinting like fangs, bitter. He holds his hands self-consciously against his face, covering his eyes in shame. "And now I've become what I loved. Flawed."

I reach up and remove his hands, gently cradling his fingers in my own. "If we're to defeat the gods then, we shouldn't keep using mortals like pawns. If we're going to defeat Cato and Aziz, then we should take the battle to them, but I'm going to need your help." I look down at my hands, willing them to stop trembling. The shaking abates somewhat, and I crack a nervous grin. Damn. Why can't I be one of those fearless heroes? "You said you wanted a final battle, didn't you? Well, let's end it here. All or nothing."

"No, I can't win this." Kane shivers. "I'm Blind. I'm worthless. I'm..."

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him softly, pressing my lips against his, feeling how his cold skin flushes beneath me, feeling how his hands tighten over mine. Drowning, drowning, and I'm the first to pull back. I can't read Kane's expression. That pall has lifted somewhat though, replaced by something else. Something almost too cherished to be given voice.

Hope.

***

Champions,

I think one of the ships just sailed...

:)

-Sophia