1 - Moira
In some twisted way, Moira felt like a goddess herself. Powerful enough to have brought down a deity.
But mostly, she felt dread.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Moira bent down to the unrecognizably deformed face, breathing hard. She still had the large rock tightly clutched in her hands, knuckles stiff. The deity Callios lay motionless where she had struck him several times. A mixture of blood, tissue, bones, and other indefinable masses - she refused to think about what the pinkish-white matter that oozed here and there was - now formed what had once been the deity’s taurus-like face. Icy coldness spread through Moira’s center. She let the rock slip from her hands and straightened on shaky legs.
He can’t be... He’s not...
Only the few unbloodied hairs on the beast’s face swayed gently in the breeze. Callios himself lay unnaturally still before her. The deity’s chest no longer rose and sank. It was abundantly clear: She had killed the deity meant to save her people from the spreading magical illness that was taking over order after order.
She almost wanted to laugh at the unexpected turn of events, but the laughter died in her throat. Fuck. What had she done? The deity meant to save her home, Dun, was dead. She had killed it!
In her role as the God awakener, Moira had, in a way, represented the last hope of her people; the last chance to stop whatever magic was causing all eastern orders to attack each other, breaking centuries of peace and united loyalty against the Lush Kingdoms.
What a pathetic last hope she represented.
Moira looked about the desolate desert. It hadn’t been by coincidence that Callios’ lair, whose existence had been the most closely guarded secret of her order, was located in the Sabirian desert. The desert that separated the Dunian Orders from the Lush Kingdoms was renowned for its harsh environment.
It wasn’t dangerous predators or poisonous plants that made survival in the Sabirian desert so difficult. It was quite the opposite, in fact. The peculiarity of the Sabirian desert was that it consisted solely of hot, white sand. It was completely devoid of life. No resources, no fauna, and no flora - except for the Divine Tree, home to Callios.
The strange heaviness coating the Sabirian desert only added to the desert’s inhospitality. The desert felt off to Moira. She’d never liked the peculiar sensation she’d experience whenever she neared the desert. It had been no different throughout her journey to the Divine Tree.
And now she was stuck here. She screamed her desperation into the silent desert, pouring all of her frustration into her tightening lungs.
As Dunians, Moira and her kapu had been used to the aridity. They’d managed to cope with the rough conditions – but only barely. Moira imagined that Lushians would have already succumbed to the desert. Every now and then, Moira and her kapu would pass human bones, half-sunken in the sand and beckoning to them. They were bleached by the sun, probably buried and unearthed countless times by the wind in the shifting dunes. How was she supposed to survive the desert even longer?
She’d been bursting with joy when she’d spied the breathtakingly large tree in the distance - truly worthy of a deity - after such a lonesome and exhausting journey. The torturous binding rituals had been worth it, she’d thought. The magical rage would finally end. She would see her parents soon, she’d believed. She’d already vividly imagined her father’s firm hug, felt her mother’s soft kiss on her forehead and smelled the familiar aroma of the herbs drying in their kitchen. She’d also daydreamed – a lot – about finally wrapping her arms around Ifan’s neck and continuing what they had started so awkwardly.
But everything had transpired very differently than expected. Obviously.
To say that the tales of Callios, which had been passed down generation after generation from order leader to order leader, had not in the slightest corresponded to reality was an absolute understatement. Moira couldn’t exactly say what she’d believe a deity to look like. After all, deities were incredibly rare. Until Callios, she had never even seen one, apart from the vague depictions in their small temples. However, Moira was certain that she would never have referred to such a heinous creature as a god.
The beast by the name of Callios had looked – and still did, even beaten and bloody – like a strange mixture of man and bull. While the head and legs were bull-like and covered in dark fur, both the sickly pale torso and the arms appeared to belong to an oversized man. Where there had presumably been two horns, only uneven, blunt protrusions could be seen. The creature’s huge hands had not ended with fingers, but with dirty claws that could have rivaled the horns of a young kapu antelope in length and strength. Yet, despite the fact that the creature had in no shape or form resembled Moira’s vision of divinity, she’d been flooded with the terrifying certainty that the creature before her was indeed Callios.
Moira had earnestly tried not to let her disgust and fear show, had even dared take a tentative step in his direction. She hadn’t known if or how she should address him. Hells, she hadn’t even known if this bull-headed creature was capable of speech. All her expectations for this first divine encounter had been thrown overboard the moment she had laid eyes on him. Nevertheless, Moira had forced herself to bow her head in feigned reverence.
Moira still couldn’t understand what had happened then that had prompted Callios to attack her. He had simply charged at her with wild eyes - without provocation and for no apparent reason. She had had no choice but to act. So she had.
The grotesquely improbable result of the attack now lay at her feet.
Moira spat out the foreign blood that still coated her tongue. In the heat of the moment and not shying away from any means of defense, she had instinctively bitten Callios. She had swallowed some – far too much – of his blood. Worse than that, however, was the fact that the blood had been, well, divine. It had tasted like the scent of monsoon rain on hot sand, like the first warm rays of sunshine after a cold desert night, like Ifan’s warm embrace. Before she had known it, the bloodlust had seized her, downright enveloped her, and she had begun to drink from the beast like a crazed woman.
Moira’s stomach cramped painfully. She leaned over to the side and retched, but the contents of her stomach refused to leave. Her eyes then fell on her kapu.
Not far from Callios, her kapu lay motionless where it had slumped after Callios had effortlessly slashed it with a single swipe of his monstrous claw. With weak legs, Moira walked towards her mount, feeling a foolish spark of hope. But the antelope’s lifeless eyes stared into nothingness. Her throat tightened and she slumped down beside the animal. Without quite thinking, Moira lifted Kapu’s heavy head and placed it on her lap. She suddenly felt tired, so very tired, and infinitely lost. She was so far away from home. By the gods, what was she supposed to do now?
Her whole body felt numb and raw. And although eating was the last thing on her mind, she couldn’t help but notice her empty stomach and parched throat. Moira suddenly realized with icy horror that she was going to die regardless. She’d fought back and survived Calios’ attack, and yet, it would all have been for nothing. She’d not only lost her kapu, but had also used up all of her rations. In this heat, she would probably soon die of thirst or starvation.
Moira had been under the impression that Callios would port them back to the region of Dun. She had been told that her rations only had to last as far as the Divine Tree. After all, once awakened and bound to her, Callios should have instantly ported them back to Dun. Or so the Council of Orders had told her.
She looked over at Callios’ disfigured corpse. I can forget about that, she thought grimly.
Soon, she would be lying dead here, too. A shiver ran down her spine.
She couldn’t go back. Without any rations and without a mount, it was simply impossible. The trek back to Dun would be too arduous; it would be easier to keep going north. Besides, she couldn’t return without Callios. What would her order say? She had brutally killed the only remaining asset they had left in this bizarre fight for survival. Her order would certainly not welcome her with open arms after jeopardizing the survival of her people.
Moira sighed, her chest tight. She could positively see her father’s pitying look, and hear her mother’s gentle ‘we told you so’. No, this wouldn’t do. She had to find a way out of this mess.
Gods. She had blown her only chance to prove to the members of her order that she was worthy, that she belonged.
She buried her face in her hands and breathed deeply a few times. Yes, she would most likely die without rations. But she would not wait idly for death. She had to try and sort out the situation, for the sake of her people. But should she continue towards the Lush Kingdoms or stay put? Surely her parents would soon realize that she wasn’t coming back. Someone would certainly come looking for her, right?
Or they’ll just assume that you didn’t survive the difficult journey. And even if they came, you’d be dead by then.
She had to take action. Dun needed divine support. The thought of her defenseless parents in their homestead away from Lubri choked her. Even the thought of abandoning Ifan was unbearable. Without a god by their side, none of them stood a chance. Even Ifan, as a warrior and order leader, had no weapons against magic of that scope.
The wheels began to turn in Moira’s head. An idea began crystallizing in her delirious mind. Maybe she had a solution, after all – the first part of which consisted in surviving the Sabirian desert and reaching the Lush Kingdoms. And the second part… Well, she would have to find another god who would be willing to help her.
Moira gently pushed her loyal companion‘s head from her lap and rose unsteadily, her stiff muscles protesting. She limped to her kapu’s riding bag, which had been flung aside in the fight. She opened the bag and rummaged around. She found neither food nor water.
Something danced through her field of vision. As she looked up into the late afternoon sky, she noticed strange little sparks flitting around, increasingly blurring her vision.
What the…?
With furrowed brows, Moira tried to straighten up, but she suddenly felt… drunk.
Her movements faltered and she slipped. Had her head been subjected to too many blows after all? Her vision began to blur as a strange – but not unpleasant – tingling sensation spread throughout her body. Very soon, Moira almost felt as if she was floating, as light as a feather. All around her, the world undulated in an unnatural way. The dunes seemed close one second, distant the next. From the corner of her eye, she noticed movement - a colossal shadow moving towards her. She turned.
No one.
She blinked. Suddenly, a towering Callios stood directly in front of her, snarling, hisfurious black eyes fixed on her. Moira screamed and scrambled back, her feet slipping on the rocky underground. As quickly as he had appeared, however, Callios disappeared. Well, not exactly - not far from the Divine Tree lay her kapu and Callios, their shadowy outlines exactly where she had left them. She shook her head vicariously.
Great, I’m losing my mind.
She immediately thought of Callios’ midnight-blue blood that she had oh-so greedily drank. She must have poisoned herself. In the clouded waters of her consciousness, a single, sober thought floated to the surface: She had to get out of here and fast. She had to find a new God.
She was painfully aware of the near impossibility of her plan, but it was the only glimmer of a solution she could find, the only way she wouldn’t have utterly failed her mission. If she could find another god in time and bring them back to Dun... It wouldn’t make up for the fact that she had killed Callios, but it would at least prevent further deaths.
Moira forced herself back up, her eyes fixed on Callios’ corpse. She knew in her bones that he was dead - damn it, she had pummeled him with a rock so heavy that he was no longer recognizable. There was simply no chance that he was alive. When a few moments had passed and Callios still hadn’t moved, she clumsily reached for her travel bag. Once she felt the fabric under her hand, Moira stumbled off hastily.
As much as she would have given anything to return to the safety of her home, reaching the Lush Kingdoms was her only realistic chance of survival. Going back towards Dun meant certain death. From here on, the desert was somewhat easier to cross. It wasn’t a good plan – it was barely a plan at all – but it was better than waiting for death and letting her people succumb to magical madness.
A first hour passed, then a second, and a third. The landscape around her hardly changed as she struggled ahead, delirious, through the flat desert. Only the sun seemed to change, its position a compass and its heat Moira’s constant companion.
After what felt like a long while of limping, Moira could no longer see the remains or the Divine Tree. Even the towering sand dunes were now barely visible in the distance. Nothing but hard, cracked, dry ground surrounded her. Moira breathed a small sigh of relief. She was glad to be away from the Divine Tree. Away from the hallucinations and, above all, away from what remained of Callios.
She had survived the attack of a deity. It was inconceivable. Granted, Callios had seemed anything but healthy, but the fact remained that Moira had fought a god and still lived to tell the tale – not that she would be able to tell anyone of it. The pain from her wounds had transformed into one big, hot source of agony that radiated through the rest of her body. She had neither food nor water. Both she and her people, desperately waiting for the promised god that would never come, were living on borrowed time.
Moira decided to rest and lay carefully on her stinging back. Her thoughts fell silent. She decided to rest her eyes for a brief moment before continuing her journey.
When a jerk of her muscles woke her up, Moira realized that she had fallen asleep. She felt even weaker than before, her skin ablaze from fever. At least the sun had now fully set. The night breeze was releasing some pent-up heat. She stood up unsteadily, her knees weak. She felt like death. But she knew she had no other choice but to keep going. If she stayed lying down, she would soon truly be dead.
Moira remembered the white bones she had come across half-buried in the sand. She didn’t want to add hers to the grim collection. So, one laborious step after another, she forced herself to continue, the stars leading the way. She walked, feverish and delirious, gradually losing any sense of herself and her surroundings. She pushed forward, concentrating on her feet, accompanied by the strange feeling of being chased by the angry eyes of Callios.
