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 BreathChapter 22: Become the Swarm
The shuffle of many feet, like the sound of locust wings, brought Zayaan out of his reverie.
Residents of the camp formed a silent circle around the recruits, like jackals surrounding injured animals. Officers began to walk among the boys. If one cowered, they knocked him to the ground and kicked him, all the while hurling insults at them.
“Look at how soft they are… Like women!”
“Weak, little turds.”
“We should kill them now. Kill them and fuck their corpses!”
Zayaan pushed into place next to his captain who was grinning from ear to ear. He did his best to imitate his captain's expression, the grin causing his scar to tighten painfully. His captain raised his fist into the air and the crowd withdrew, standing at attention in ranks at the sides of the field.
He began the familiar call-and-response of the camp:
“One!”
“God!”
“One!”
“Man!”
“One!”
“Lord!”
“One!”
“King!”
“One!”
“Swarm!”
“One!”
“LOCUST!”
At the far end of the training ground, the commander exited his tent and walked among the boys from Adyll as if inspecting them. He finally selected one from the group, a thin boy of about thirteen summers, neither the wealthiest nor the poorest of the group.
“Get up, boy,” he said gently.
The boy struggled to his feet, careful to keep his eyes downcast. The commander brought him to the front of the tent and gestured to his retainers.
“Bring water for our guests. We shall slake their thirst and cleanse them of the dust of their travels.” The commander put his hands on the boy’s shoulders in a paternal manner and addressed the other boys. “Who you were before no longer matters. Rich, poor, caste… none of that matters now. All that matters is service to the Locust. Service in the Swarm. We have functions, but we all serve the same purpose. Serve well, and you will be served well. Obey, and you will enjoy great wealth and honor… and your families will enjoy life. Disobey, and you will be punished. Turn away from the cause of the Locust, and your family will be devoured as you watch. Listen well, boys. Treachery and idolatry are the greatest sins against God, and His wrath will be delivered to every generation of a family tainted by it. Loyalty, strength, honor, obedience – these are His virtues. He will heap blessings upon the virtuous among us. Women, wine, food, riches – all these belong to the blessed of the God-Who-Walks-Among-Men.”
The retainers returned carrying two copper cisterns. One cistern was placed next to the commander in front of the banner of the Locust. The other was put on the roaring fire. The water it contained was already steaming.
“Those of you who become pure in His sight, you shall return to your city to serve Him,” said the commander.
The boys began to relax. They had been given the smallest spark of hope. They could return to their families. They could go home. All they had to do was obey.
The cistern began to boil.
Zayaan’s stomach churned. He swallowed the acid rising in the back of his throat. Do not feel. Do not feel. Look. See. Watch the animals of the desert as your father taught you, as your grandfather taught you, as the ancestors taught them. Learn from these animals. They show you how to survive when you are lost. These men are animals. This whole world is now a desert.
Zayaan looked around him at the blank eyes of his fellow soldiers. They watched these newest conscripts not with sympathy, but with the hunger of jackals. He could hear himself chanting.
“One!”
“God!”
“One!”
“Man!”
“One!”
“Lord!”
“One!”
“King!”
“One!”
“Swarm!”
“One!”
“LOCUST!”
The commander smiled benevolently at the boy in front of him. “What are you called, boy?”
“Niko,” the boy answered, his voice cracking from the dust of the road.
“Niko,” said the commander, “do you thirst?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may drink, bathe, eat, and sleep tonight, if you will show me who among your fellows is the weakest. This way we can begin to cleanse the stain of idolatry from your ranks,” said the commander.
Niko wavered on his feet in hesitation, almost falling to the ground.
“Don’t be afraid. We cannot help the weak among you if we don’t know who they are,” urged the commander.
Niko pointed to one of the boys who had collapsed and been beaten by the officers. The boy was about twelve years old and small for his age. The officers picked him up from where he lay in a pool of his own vomit and dragged him before the commander.
“Good, Niko. You chose well. You may drink,” said the commander, filling a silver cup from the cool cistern.
Another boy was chosen by the commander from the ranks and offered water in exchange for choosing a weaker boy. On it went until the boys had been divided into two groups, those whose thirst had been slaked, and those who had been identified as weak.
“Our God is Strength. Our God is Might. Our God is Just. Our God is Truth,” said the commander. “He separates the strong from what makes us weak – male from female, good from evil. He has given you wisdom to discern the cancer from within your ranks that causes weakness. And now that weakness can be purified by fire and water.”
The boys who had been identified as weak huddled together, cowering before the commander.
“Give them their water.”
Officers came forward and took their places next to the now boiling cistern. They held metal tankards and leather gloves.
The commander called out to the assembled soldiers, “Lod! Jacu! Oretu! Zayaan! Pelon! Takri! Come forward and take your places. You have been granted the honor of assisting your leaders in driving out the evil from the camp!”
A cheer went up from the crowd.
Zayaan walked to the fire along with the other soldiers. His palms sweat. Vomit rose in his mouth. Across the fire, he could see his cousin Takri. He was expressionless, just as he was when they arrived at the camp. The officers handed each of the selected soldiers leather gloves and metal tankards.
We are jackals. We follow the pack leader. I obey. I am part of the Swarm. I serve the Locust. I will live, thought Zayaan.
The commander took a step forward, looking out at the crowd of soldiers. His eyes met Zayaan’s.
He knows, thought Zayaan, he knows I am not a carrion eater. Jackals live. Carrion is consumed. I must live.
Zayaan felt his mouth form the words before he made the conscious decision to speak. “Weak mountain dwellers! Your whore goddess enjoyed being fucked by the Locust!” He smiled. The commander nodded and looked away. I will hide among the jackals, among the locusts just as my people knew to hide in the desert and in the caves. I will survive. And then I will fight.
The commander held up his hands and the jeering crowd quieted, leaving only the sound of the wind and the sobbing of some of the new conscripts. The officers left the circle and returned to the throng of soldiers. Some of the recruits that had been badly beaten lay in the dust before the banner of the Locust. The commander paced through the boys marked as weak with his hands behind his back. The rest of the throng stood at attention.
“Worthless. Weak. It might be easier for me if the Locust King had sent me the women of your country to train instead of you!” said the commander. “That must be why you worshipped a demoness, a female!” He spat on the ground. “You were still suckling at your whore mothers’ teats, weren’t you, boys? Things change now. You no longer belong to your demoness. You no longer belong to your country. You no longer belong to your fathers, and you most certainly do not belong to your mothers. You belong only to one person. One God. One Man. One Lord. One King. One Swarm. One Locust!”
The officers began the chant, the soldiers responding:
“One!”
“God!”
“One!”
“Man!”
“One!”
“Lord!”
“One!”
“King!”
“One!”
“Swarm!”
“One!”
“LOCUST!”
…I will survive. I am the Swarm. Lilua, forgive me.
Zayaan and the other soldiers who were selected as water bearers approached the cowering boys from Adyll. Each one grabbed a boy by the arm and pulled him towards the boiling cistern. Zayaan's chosen conscript barely struggled, stumbling along next to him. When they reached the cistern, Zayaan pulled the boy up as if to intimidate him and whispered, "Close your eyes and mouth. It is better that way."
He dunked the tankard into the cistern with the ceremonial words, "May the fire and the water cleanse you of your weakness and idolatry!" The boy began to squirm, but Zayaan held him fast. He poured the water onto the boy's closed mouth, causing the skin to instantly blister. The water ran down the side of his face, and the blisters followed. Zayaan steadied himself as the boy screamed. Pain shot across his own scar in sympathy.
He dragged the boy to the cool cistern and handed him to the waiting attendants. He grabbed his next victim, pulling him back to the fire. Through the steam, his eyes met Takri's. For a moment, he could see emotion in his older cousin's eyes - guilt and horror. A year previous Takri marked Zayaan as weak during their own initiation, an initiation for the only two surviving males of the Narim. Zayaan quickly looked away, steeling himself to complete the rest of his task.
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