“And so, I wonder: what happens when a god meets their believers? One of the great scholarly debates of our time centers not on whether Elevated and their worshippers should remain apart, but whether they were ever meant to be separated at all. Should we view them as useful tools or as gods? Could the tragedy of Dethos have been prevented by creating communities of belief? Yet this leads us to an even darker question: in such a world, who would remain in control?”
– Orhan Malenk, On Faith and Power, Year 311 of the Age of the Tetrarchy
Tap, tap, tap.
Step, after step, after step, each movement echoing off the rough sandstone.
Lithas ascended the steep stairs of Sariz palace. Every few dozen steps, she passed another pair of guards, their linen armor soaked in a native resin, shimmering under the sun’s harsh gaze. Sweating, she cursed the Seeress for living on a mountain of pompousness. Her palace was perched on the sandstone pyramid like an eagle’s nest, its grueling ascent a test of endurance that felt more like a deliberate deterrent for the faint-hearted. Or for pesky audience-seekers, arriving with petitions from far and wide.
Gasping slightly from exertion, Lithas finally reached the palace’s uppermost terrace. She took a moment to regain her breath. It would not do to rush into her audience like a maniac, heaving and wheezing. So, she turned and the city sprawled beneath her, forming a rough carpet of shades of beige that reached all the way to the distant sparkling ocean. Despite all the inconvenience to get here, she had to admit that she rather liked the view.
As an Elevated, she did have living quarters here, at the top of the sandstone pyramid. Some did live here. Licentious Terben, with his famed orgies, or mercurial Mellarda, with her vast art collections. Lithas preferred her city mansion. She thrived on the energy and flow of daily life in Sariz, not isolated from it like a bird in a gilded cage. No, she preferred to be among the common people. Okay, maybe above them, but visibly so, not detached, so near to the clouds.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned away from the panoramic view over Sariz and entered the Seeress’ grand chamber. The room was as imposing as the palace itself, with high ceilings and walls adorned with murals tracing the Seeresses of Sariz. The leader of her city sat at a massive round table, rising from the center of the room, facing the entrance. Despite the heat, the room was lit by torches, and the flickering light made the woman look even more otherworldly than she usually did. As Lithas approached, the Seeress traced an elaborate symbol in the air, her eyes never leaving Lithas.
“Welcome, Lithas ak’Var,” the Seeress intoned, her voice melodic and low, almost husky. The common story was that she had no name, that her parents simply had never given her one, the title itself serving as her singular identity. Lithas found that plausible. She nodded in response, the words she had so carefully prepared for this conversation now seemingly caught in her throat.
It had all seemed so simple when she had made the plan, on her way back from the docks. Go to her employer, ask for a leave of absence to travel to Demis, on request of Prince Cerax. Simple, she thought. People do that all the time. Only that ‘employment’ was a very generous term for their relationship. Only that her employer was the absolute ruler of the city-state of Sariz. Only that this woman was strange.
But before Lithas could utter a single word, the Seeress spoke again, “I’ve glimpsed your thoughts, but I wish to hear your words now. Why have you come?” her voice a low and soothing presence amid the intimidating setting. She folded her hands on the table’s smooth surface.
Taken aback, Lithas was at a loss for words when the Seeress only smiled and continued. “Let’s make this easier. You wish to travel to Demis and meet with Prince Cerax,” she stated matter-of-factly, as if Lithas had asked for permission for an afternoon stroll. Lithas could never figure out whether the woman simply had an extensive spy network or genuine abilities.
Barely managing to conceal her surprise, she finally nodded, “That is correct, my lady,” she croaked and immediately cursed herself for her breaking voice. Damn the sands, she thought, next time clear your throat before an audience, instead of sounding like you’d just crossed the desert.
The Seeress’ inscrutable half-shadowed face beneath her cowl made it difficult for Lithas to guess her thoughts. The woman leaned back in her high-backed chair and studied Lithas for a few moments, as if trying to read her thoughts in turn. Which she probably could, come to think about it. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Lithas, she spoke again. “You ask much, Lithas ak’Var. Remember, even as you tip the scales, fate may be tipping you. You’re needed in a great many places.” Her words echoed in the chamber, her eyes seeming to bore into Lithas’, searching for something.
Lithas clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she absorbed the Seeress’ words. Difficulties, she had braced for; she could handle those. But to be outright rejected? This time she did think to clear her throat before speaking. “What do you mean, my lady? What kind of scales?” she asked, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.
“Mercantile, political, cosmic,” the Seeress said, eyes narrowing. “Every ripple causes a wave, Lithas ak’Var. Even the most insignificant action can trigger a catastrophic chain of events, like a lone grain of sand provoking an avalanche. Would you endanger this city of yours on a whim?”
The realization tasted bitter. Despite all the time that had passed—all the power she now wielded—she was still that same child, inadequate in the presence of that woman. Lithas noticed that her hands were still balled into fists at her side. “I understand,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “But I’ve been summoned by the prince. I cannot refuse.”
The Seeress tilted her head, a silent challenge blazing in her eyes. “Cannot or will not? Know that I’ve often indulged your requests. Who of the other Elevated has left Sariz so frequently or has grown so rich so quickly? What I cannot indulge, however, is dishonesty.”
Lithas hesitated, knowing full well the delicate nature of the situation. Lhasa had sold her to that woman, had made her subject to Sariz’ every command. Yet the ruler of Sariz had never given her the impression that she saw Lithas as a slave. The Seeress’ words could be sharp, even stern, but never unkind.
“I will not,” Lithas admitted, voice resolute, “But I’m aware of the stakes. I’ll return to Sariz as soon as possible.”
The Seeress rose, purple robes flowing around her like a river at dusk. Lithas swore she could sense a swirl around her figure as she did so. “Go then.” The woman nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on Lithas. “But remember, Lithas ak’Var, every step you take echoes. Despite your stature, you’re still young. And this world of ours… this world is an ancient beast that devours its young.” Her words echoed in the chamber as she retreated, leaving Lithas alone amidst her thoughts.
Alone in the expansive chamber, an undercurrent of unease washed over her. Chills crawled up her spine, as if the Seeress’ words were alive, whispering caution into the dark corners of her mind. Lithas somehow knew that whatever decision she now made, it would reverberate beyond her own life.
The thought felt heavy. Yet, ironically, it was also an undeniable testament of the Seeress’ trust in her. Lithas was no stranger to risk—it was a familiar companion in her line of work. So, she took a deep breath, clearing her mind, and focused on the task at hand.
Descending the palace’s sandstone steps, she felt a liberating cool breeze replace the pitiless sun. She hoped her choice would be the right one, though only time would hold that answer. For now, she at least had a path carved out in front of her. She was determined to make the most of this opportunity and squeeze profit out of Prince Cerax, no matter what the Seeress had warned her about.
Immersed in the vibrant streets of Sariz, she was greeted by a city buzzing with life. The air thrummed with a cocktail of scents—cloying spices battling the savory aroma of roasted meat. On the ground, street dogs chased each other and the occasional discarded morsel, while high above white and black birds circled the city, their paths leading toward the harbor. Lithas had loved the energy of Sariz since she was a child and felt herself recharge amongst the bustle as she made her way to the grand bazaar.
She had already made up her mind about what she would bring with her to Demis. She was quick in these things. Vexaria may have emptied her warehouse, but Lithas still had some private reserves of valuable items she could present to the prince. Like an exquisite dust-steel helmet, its blue tint contrasting with intricate feather patterns etched in silver. Worth a fortune. Worthy of a prince.
Navigating the swarming crowds in the bazaar, Lithas noticed a woman, clad in garments that clearly marked her as a foreigner, observing her from a distance. She had an eye for this sort of thing. The woman nonchalantly leaned against a fig vendor’s stall, laden with fruits from the coast. Amidst the multitude of faces, this one drew her gaze like a lodestone for some reason. There was a moment of eye contact, lingering perhaps a fraction longer than it should, before the woman dissolved into the masses.
A shudder passed through Lithas as she made her way toward the market’s animal section. If I’m going to do this right, she thought, I’ll need the fastest transport to Demis. The Seeress may have granted her blessing, but Lithas had no intention of overtaxing her goodwill.
A ship would be fastest, of course. But, with the mounting tension between Loratha and Demis, the last thing she wanted was to be trapped in the bay, subjected to the whims of the Lorathan navy. No, the old caravan route by the sea was the only viable choice here. Though most of her horses and wagons were already tied-up in various mercantile endeavors. An unfortunate, but unavoidable, side effect of profit maximization. A new purchase seemed to be the most logical course here.
As she neared Div, the stablemaster, Lithas spotted horses, donkeys, and even camels for sale—more shades of brown than she could possibly name. But what drew her attention, nestled into a corner, was a gigantic cage. Curious, she approached, the crunching of her boots on the sandy ground echoing too loudly in her ears.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The cage bottom was layered with sand and atop lay a creature unlike any she had ever seen—tall and serpentine, adorned with scales in shades of midnight blue and deep crimson. The creature bared its teeth, snarling at passersby, barely contained by its gargantuan prison, its scales glistening in the harsh sunlight.
“Easy, big fella,” Lithas cooed gently. “Seems like somebody missed breakfast today.” Unexpectedly, the creature turned its attention to her, rows of formidable fangs bared behind an iron muzzle. Yet its eyes—it was the eyes that mesmerized Lithas. They burned with a strange mix of anger, intelligence, and curiosity.
Unable to resist, she found herself taking a cautious step forward. Now just inches away from the creature’s snout, she saw it extending toward her with an inquisitive gaze, the bars proving too tight for any closer contact.
“Hey, you!” An irate voice suddenly shattered their intense moment. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Startled, Lithas jumped back as a burly man emerged from a nearby stall. Behind her, the creature growled. Marching toward her with a furious expression, the man barked, “This sandwyrm is my property, destined for the arena. If you want to touch it, you’ll have to pay!”
“Easy, calm down,” Lithas began, recollecting her composure, when recognition flashed in the man’s eyes. His tirade halted abruptly, as if his tongue had met hot iron. His fists remained clenched, yet he paled, eyes darting between her and the sandwyrm. Evidently afraid that he would be incinerated on the spot by either of them, he slowly backed away, leaving her alone with the wyrm.
Although Lithas wore no official insignia or uniform, the local populace invariably recognized their Elevated. As invariably as their typical response was either adulation or terror. She sighed, her mood slightly soured, and turned away from the sandwyrm.
She sauntered past the cage and started to appraise the rest of the merchant’s wares. Rumor had it that Div recently received a consignment of horses from the plains of Tibara. There they were. Her eyes lit up at the sight of a group of stunning stallions, their coats shimmering in the sunlight, corralled at the paddock’s edge.
Turning back to the stall, Lithas haggled fiercely with Div, debating the worth of each horse as if her life depended on it, inspecting wagons, and even scrutinizing the smaller livestock before finally sealing the deal for three stallions, two wagons, and some additional provisions. Satisfied and seeing to her new assets, she dispatched a messenger to her estate to arrange for their collection and prepare for her expedition.
Lithas stretched. Another task completed. Idly, she spotted a loose strap on one of her new wagons and set out to tighten it. Approaching the wagon, she suddenly heard a strange rustling sound from behind, like metal scraping against metal. She glanced around cautiously, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her khopesh.
That was when a shiver ran down her spine. She noticed a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. Lithas spun around to find that same foreign woman from earlier, silently observing her again. This time, she managed to get a better look at her. The woman was tall and slender, with piercing gray eyes, her cropped blonde hair contrasting with a jagged scar that cut across her forehead. Clad in black leather garments and a matching cloak, despite the heat, she exuded an aura that immediately set Lithas on edge. She noticed a big rusty key in one of her hands.
“What’s your game?” Lithas questioned, voice laced with suspicion.
The woman’s lips curled into a sly grin. “Merely appreciating your choices,” she replied.
“Impressive creatures, don’t you think?” Lithas said, gesturing vaguely to her newly purchased stallions, trying to keep the conversation light. She subtly sought out a more stable foothold, in case the stranger attacked her.
The woman drew nearer, her intense gaze locked onto Lithas. “Your wares aren’t what I’m interested in,” she said in a low voice, a cutting edge just below that smooth surface.
Lithas frowned. “So, what exactly is your interest then? A friendly cup of tea, perhaps?” she retorted, her feigned nonchalance thinly veiling her close monitoring of the woman’s every move.
“No, you’ve had your chance.” The stranger remained expressionless, halting a few paces from Lithas, considering her. “In fact, some of us think you’ve been given more chances than you deserve. Our patience has worn thin. Mine certainly has.”
Lithas’ brows knitted in bewilderment. “What...” Lithas ak’Var’s next words were swallowed by chaos. For, at that precise moment, a deep, throbbing sound filled the air.
Risking a quick glance behind her, she spotted the towering sandwyrm, no longer caged, no longer behind an iron muzzle, but very much free, casting a shadow over the stalls as it rose high above its former confinement. Its massive bulk even rivaled nearby buildings in height. The beast reveled in its newfound freedom, its rumbling intensifying as it lashed its scaly tail across market stalls, splintering wood and bone alike.
High-pitched animal shrieks joined the throbbing sounds of the sandwyrm. Before Lithas could so much as react, the wyrm darted forward and snapped its jaws shut on Div. Their earlier haggling and laughter, still so fresh in Lithas’ ears, was replaced by the horrific sound of crunching bones, followed by a gory spray of blood. Then, the sandwyrm shifted its gaze to Lithas.
With a swift, fluid motion, she unsheathed her khopesh, adopting a defensive stance. Pure chaos around her, as people frantically scrambled to flee the area. The freed sandwyrm left a trail of devastation in its slithering path toward her. Amongst the turmoil, Lithas risked a glance at the blonde woman, standing unscathed, a malevolent grin playing on her lips.
In her single moment of inattention, Lithas almost missed the great burst of flames that extruded from the sandwyrm, barreling toward her.
Simultaneously, Lithas dove toward her wagon and thrust out a hand to siphon the heat. She immediately felt the surrounding temperature plummet and a dent formed in the fire wall. A split second later, her other arm suddenly went numb, khopesh clattering to the ground, as she collided with the wagon’s edge. The wyrm shook the earth beneath her with a frustrated roar, flicking the wagon aside with a powerful swipe of its tail. With Lithas exposed, it fixed her in its menacing gaze, growling.
As the sandwyrm slithered toward her, its scales shimmered like a mirage wavering on the horizon. Heat radiated from its gaze, washing over Lithas like the desert wind. Instinctively, she grabbed a pitchfork from a nearby haystack, gripping it tightly in her off-hand as a makeshift weapon against the approaching beast.
The sandwyrm paused momentarily, sizing up its rather miniscule opponent with an almost amused expression, before resuming its unhurried advance toward Lithas. It opened its maw, showing its dense rows of fangs, as it hissed. With her free hand, Lithas made a gathering motion, causing the pitchfork’s tines to glow in a bright yellow light. The air flickered around the glowing weapon as she held it steadfastly before her. Her grip firm, her breaths measured. Undeterred by the pitchfork, the sandwyrm continued its inexorable advance, seemingly savoring the end of its hunt.
Suddenly, the creature lunged, its snarling maw tearing through the air mere inches from Lithas. She sidestepped the attack and, with a swift spin, thrust the glowing pitchfork toward the beast, plunging it deep into its chest. Slicing through scales and piercing its heart. As it emerged on the other side, her makeshift weapon landed on the ground with a sizzling thud, quivering from the impact.
The smell of charred scales was almost overpowering. Black smoke erupted from the wyrm, accompanied by a violent outburst of sound and motion. Yet it did not fall. Lithas scrambled to her feet, narrowly evading the creature’s wildly flailing tail, but not before its tip lacerated her clothing and skin. Blood flowed, making her tunic stick to her torn skin. Right, she thought, two hearts, I forgot.
In a frenzied rage, the creature thrashed about, toppling nearby stalls and sending debris flying. Then it spotted Lithas again, its glowing eyes focusing on her as it began to gather heat within its maw. There would be fire. But this time Lithas was prepared. She strained her thoughts, drawing the growing heat. Preventing the conflagration. If the sandwyrm had been capable of frowning, a no more appropriate reaction could have been imagined.
Amidst the scorched remains of the bazaar, amidst the bodies and wreckage, they—god and beast—were locked in an eerily silent contest of will.
She never had to handle this much. So much heat to dissipate. So bloody much. Just a little bit more, she pleaded with herself. Make it try a little bit harder. The sandwyrm’s thick neck muscles bulged, as the creature tried to break through her grip.
Now.
With complete focus, Lithas mentally turned. Instead of drawing heat, she pushed.
Like a pierced dam, the pent-up heat from the sandwyrm melded with her efforts. A spectrum of colors, from red to orange to blinding white, flashed before her eyes. Then, with a deafening roar, the head of the sandwyrm erupted. Flames billowed forth like a blooming flower, and a searing heatwave washed over Lithas, tingling her skin as if it had been lightly grazed by fire.
Momentarily blinded, she blinked furiously until her vision cleared enough to make out a massive, wavering form collapsing to the ground with a resounding thud.
Burning flesh rained down around her. She staggered back, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. Her eyes swept over the ruin—a tapestry of mangled flesh and twisted market stalls, Div’s lifeless eyes meeting hers as if accusing her from beyond. Lithas’ eyes darted around, searching for the enigmatic woman who had unleashed this chaos, but she had vanished like a desert mirage. Of course.
With a cry of disgust and a muttered curse, she slumped down against the overturned wagon. There was a reason why caravans kept to the edge of the desert. This was the reason. What an absolute lunacy, she thought, to keep one of these giants for the arena. How did they even catch it?
As the screams of terror died down, Lithas watched as the first horrified onlookers ventured near the carnage. That was no accidental escape. This had been her. But who would do such a thing, and why?
Around her, cries of agony gradually succumbed to sobs of grief. Friends, relatives, lovers—countless lives were shattered, seemingly as an afterthought, by the woman who had freed the sandwyrm. One life aimed for, too many destroyed. It always was like that. Leaning back, Lithas ak’Var, Elevated of Sariz, watched in silence as ash particles descended onto the devastated bazaar of her city.
A few hours later, a few streets away, dawn graced the horizon. Lithas continued her preparations for departure. She had spent the night considering her options. In the end, she remained resolute: her plans to leave Sariz would proceed. At this point, nothing seemed more certain than that she needed to get out of town, and fast.
Her eyes scanned her small caravan critically, examining each wagon and ensuring everything was packed securely and arranged properly. All while her thoughts were darkened by the knowledge that someone out there was determined to kill, in order to prevent her from reaching Demis.
Finally satisfied with her arrangements, she turned. Only to be met by the gaze of the stablemaster’s widow. Lithas knew her, had seen her often at Div’s stall, bringing food or helping out with the horses. The woman, garbed in a modest gray robe, was still visibly reeling from the previous day’s catastrophe, yet she nevertheless approached Lithas and bowed deeply.
“You ended its terror, Lady Elevated,” she began, pausing, “...thank you.” Her bloodshot eyes, utterly blank except for a trace of sorrow, locked onto Lithas. “I understand nothing can bring Div back, but at least he can rest peacefully now. He’s avenged. I only wish I could’ve been there in his final moments.”
Lithas could feel the woman’s pain and guilt, mirroring her own. She did not deserve this gratitude. If it had not been for her, that woman’s husband would not have needed revenge in the first place. But she could see that now was not the time. All she could muster was a feeble smile and a nod, which just seemed so inadequate.
Partially turning over her shoulder, Lithas raised her fist, signaling their departure. Surrounded by the noises of animals and people, she mounted her tall mahogany steed. Without another glance at the widow, she guided her horse forward. The caravan followed.
They slowly moved out of the compound, carrying their unusual freight, which included a particularly priceless helmet, and headed out of the eastern city gate, toward the long, lonely road ahead. The sunlight was still weak as they switched from following a river tributary to the aged caravan trail. Already, the burgeoning heat of the day was palpable.
Lithas took a deep breath, feeling the burning air enter her lungs, and savored the sensation. It felt like a cleansing. The day was no better or worse than any other—but those were the days she lived for. All the days. One day after another.