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 Flower Chapter 95: Two Days Chapter 96: Small Comforts Chapter 97: Heroes Chapter 98: Fire, Water, and Wax Chapter 99: Beneath the Temple Chapter 100: the Way of EaglesChapter 100: the Way of Eagles
The Way of Eagles in winter was as deceptive and dangerous as Zayaan remembered it from his childhood. While other things seemed to have shrunk in the last two years, the walls of the plateau still loomed large against the sky, leaving the narrow canyon mostly in shadow even at noon. The path itself still felt strange and mysterious as it wound its way through the jagged grey rock jutting up from the walls of the pass like deserted towers from a long dead city built by giants.
Above, raptors crisscrossed the sky while far below the waters of a river turned white as they tumbled over limestone boulders. Snow and ice melted where the sun touched the ground, but froze again once he hid his face behind the canyon walls, but the fast-moving river water never fully froze this early in winter. When the path came close to the river, its cacophony drowned out all sound from the slow-moving supply caravan behind him.
But it did not drown out the sound of Radu’s grumbling.
“I do believe I was given the slowest supply caravan the southern empire could offer!” Radu pulled up close beside Zayaan, leaning back in his saddle as if he were made of rags. “Riding alongside them is tiresome at best. I say you and I go ahead and find the next safe place to camp, and then I will take a nap while we wait for the livestock to catch up with us. What do you say, tea maker?”
Zayaan grinned at his mentor and took off at a gallop up the narrow mountain path, Radu just a hair’s breadth behind. Zayaan breathed in the mountain air, smelling the pines and snow up ahead. A few miles ride up the pass lay a flat area sheltered from the wind where the caravan could stop for the night just as the Narim had done when they made their pilgrimages to the capital.
Zayaan pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, allowing the reins to trail in the dust while the animal nibbled at the grass along the side of the path. Radu did the same. He quickly found a flat rock still warm in the fading sunlight upon which to lie. He covered himself with a saddle blanket and laid his head on his saddle bag.
“You may do what you like, Tea Maker,” he said. “I plan on sleeping until the mess behind us gets here.”
Zayaan surveyed the camp site, a tree lined mountain meadow dotted with flat topped boulders. To the west towering limestone pillars sprouted from the canyon walls. To the east behind the trees, the river flowed narrow and deep. If they were lucky, he and Radu could have trout for their evening meal along with whatever the camp cook made for the rest of the men. Zayaan strung his bow and took a length of thin rope from his saddlebags then headed to the river, leaving the Lord Prince dozing atop his boulder.
His feet still knew the path from the campsite. He could almost hear Lilua’s laughter from the riverside, and his older cousin Takri following them, charged with keeping the two younger children from drowning under the rocks even though he was the worst swimmer of the three. A few steps further and the path was different. Charred trunks replaced the green pine trees on the opposite bank as far as Zayaan could see, leaving a black swath cut into the fabric of the mountain, dotted with snow where the sun did not reach. This was not wildfires, but the desolation left from the Adyllian fight against the Swarm as it climbed up their sacred Way of Eagles.
The stories were true. King Petr had rained fire upon the invaders from the cliff walls.
Zayaan sat down on the riverbank and perched upon his favorite fishing spot, careful to keep his shadow from touching the water below. He fastened his rope to an arrow and took aim towards the darkest area of water where he knew the largest fish preferred to hide. And he waited. A moment later, a flash of silver and red broke the surface of the water and he let his arrow fly. An hour later, he was cleaning four fat trout with his knife as the sun’s disk dimmed behind passing clouds.
The deep call of an owl and a flash of silver grey among the snow and black trees across the river caught his attention. He put down the fish he was cleaning and washed his knife clean in the river, keeping his eye on the opposite shore.
Another silvery flash moved between the trees and was gone as quickly as his mind registered it. His eyes searched the blackened mountainside again but saw only clouds dipping low over the mountain’s edge slowly encasing the burned forest with white mist.
“It is only a cloud,” he mumbled to himself after one more look. He returned to his task as the mist continued to roll down the mountainside.
When he had finished, he looked up across the river to see a white mountain cat, crouched low on the opposite bank. Zayaan stood up quickly, reaching for his knife as he did. But as soon as he brough himself upright, the cat was gone. The canyon went suddenly silent, no raptor scream, no sound of rushing wind, no creak from the pines behind him. He felt the hair on his arms begin to rise along with his heartbeat.
Zayaan!
He wheeled about to find the source of the voice, but there was nothing. The voice came once more, close and loud enough to make his ears ring.
Zayaan!
He turned again, this time catching his heel in the offal from his recent catch. He slipped backwards, hitting his head on the rock. For a moment, a woman’s face swam before his eyes, the same color as the mist. And then nothing but cold and blackness as the water took him.
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