God killer

The asking price

It took me months to find Goddess Kalika's son. Knowing what I know now, I'm surprised I never connected the dots. To understand what was at stake for me, you must understand my story.

Four months before the war ended, the Amaran royal council was desperate. We tried cutting Rakshan supply lines, calling on our allies, distracting enemy soldiers, ambushing troop reinforcements and every tactic in the war playbook. All it did was add to an endless list of Amaran failures. The Rakshans always won.

"We have been praying for the last nine years, Princess. What makes you think this Goddess will be any different?" a councilor laughed, his robes shaking with every heave.

"I just returned from the eastern battlefront. We have reports that the Rakshan's have seized our supply routes. Our food stocks are almost at an end, Amarans are lucky if they get millet," I replied. "We need to try something different!"

Amara was once a land that brimmed with God's blessings. They walked among us, helped those in despair, and defended the Amaran people. We owed our existence to them.

"The Gods aren't coming back. If they wanted to help us, they would have by now!" the councilor returned. "When they left us a hundred years ago, they left knowing we could take care of ourselves. We'll just try another battle plan."

"With all due respect, I could say the same. If the battle plans were working, they would have worked by now," my riding clothes swished as I stood, I had no patience for bureaucracy after being on horseback for two days straight. The councilor began sputtering before I held up my hand to stop him.

"Esteemed councilor, we can do both. Calling on Goddess Kali could be worth the few minutes I spend praying everyday."

"But why Goddess Kali? Her bloodthirst knows no bounds! She might kill us along with the Rakshans if she decides to enter a frenzy," another councilor piped up.

"As I see it, councilors, our options are death by Rakshans or death by a Goddess, what's your pick?" my Queen mother's voice cut through the room silencing our chatter. Her eyebrow remained cocked as her gaze swept the room looking for dissent.

My eyes widened imperceptibly, but I held a neutral expression. I had not expected her support, she usually called prayers a foolish endeavor. Letting the silence settle, the Queen turned to me.

"Let's give your idea a try, daughter. Talk to the priests about the rules of conversing with the Gods. Amara has already lost too much, don't disappoint them."

The queen's eyes communicated the rest: Don't disappoint me.

I gave her a tight nod and bowed out of the room. Nine years ago, I had marched with reinforcements from the Amaran capital to our northern border. Rakshans were mounting attacks against us and our northern houses needed a boost to their defenses. I was sixteen at the time, my siblings Akila and Aman accompanying me were even younger. It was the first time we experienced the unforgiving nature of battle. It wasn't our last.

That quick defense mission turned into a ten year war. By the end of it, Amara became desperate. I had become desperate. I had a fool's chance with Goddess Kalika, but it was a chance worth taking.

I visited her temple the morning after the council meeting. Her tower was shrouded in plant cover, her shrine a dim smudge behind bramble, and her prayer hall overrun with vines. It looked abandoned. No one had prayed here in decades. Despite the neglect, the temple proved largely intact upon inspection, there was still hope that the Goddess might visit.

With the overgrown vegetation cleared, I sat before her dais at 6am everyday, legs folded against the cool morning floor. I prayed with the words the priests had taught me, naming the Goddess's past forms, her strength, her victories and most of all her benediction. Words of power and summoning.

Nobody answered.

Weeks went by and my hope wavered. There was no reason these prayers should work for me over any other Amaran. Even the priests had given up. And yet I kept going. It was just past the one month mark when I heard her voice.

It had been a fairly unremarkable day during a prayer much like any other, when a rasping voice interrupted my chant:

Bring me my son built for war,

so peace may return once more,

Seek him where the lands run red,

He wields a golden spear aloft his head,

My eyes snapped open to scan the cavern her voice came from. The ornately carved frame around her shrine stirred, patterns formed and disappeared radiating energy like a pent up breath. I felt every hair on my skin stand at attention. Every story I had heard of being in a God's presence suddenly came to life.

The Goddess had answered the call, she was here.

"Consider it done," I whispered, bowing deeply. Frankly, I was shocked that my little worship had paid off. I found myself wanting to be thankful that a great being had blessed me with her time.

The Goddess chuckled, the sound like a death rattle traveled the length of the temple.

"I haven't finished," she said. I looked again, into the dimness where the dais lifted to form a dark room. A flash of white appeared, extending to a vicious grimace. From the edges of my vision, her effigies on the pillars by me smirked as dread began to wind across my chest.

He took my powers when he left,

His head I'll need to amend this theft.