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 16: A More Permanent Disguise
Aisha stumbled back to an expectant Nasreen, trying to hide her tears. Her meeting with the Holy Mother left her shaken.
“What did she say?” asked Nasreen
“That I am to serve as her eyes.”
“And this upsets you, Aisha? This is a great honor for you. You will be able to learn so much from being with such a holy woman,” said Nasreen. “Come, you need to eat something. I saved some of my food from the rations they gave us while you were sleeping.”
She pulled out a hunk of dry bread wrapped in a cloth from under her pillow. Aisha began to eat slowly, taking sips of water from the jug of water Nasreen had offered her earlier.
"I was chosen to be her eyes because I am too weak for anything else, and she does not believe I could be trusted with another job,” said Aisha. “Holy Mother is right. I put everyone in danger. If you hadn’t begged the Locust King for our lives…”
“I only said what needed to be said, little sister. We were all weak from fasting and fear. Many of the girls stumbled and supported each other during the funeral procession for the same reason. It was only that you collapsed in front of the strigoi-viu that caused us danger, not your personal weakness.”
“It was my personal weakness, Nasreen.”
“You are also younger than the rest of us. How old are you, Aisha? You look no more than eleven years old. How did you end up here so young? You must be at least sixteen before they accept your service at the temple” said Nasreen.
“I am twelve years old. My parents were goatherds for the temple, assisting with the care of the sacred flock. They both died at the beginning of the war from disease. Because of their service to the Lady, I was sent here to be raised at the temple instead of being turned into the streets. I did not choose a noble life of service as you did, Nasreen. I was sent here as a burden,” answered Aisha.
“None of that matters, little sister. None of us are here for noble service anymore. We are here because we have nowhere else to go. Even the highest of us has been brought low.” She nodded to where the High Priestess lay on her straw pallet at the other end of the room.
“Nasreen, why did you volunteer to prostitute yourself? Aren’t you afraid?” asked Aisha.
“Yes, I am afraid. But I am afraid for you and the others." explained Nasreen. "I could not bear to see you hurt. The act of joining with another person is a sacred act. It is an act to be done for pleasure and to show love. Perhaps in doing this I can show love to our captors and teach them that we are more than a ‘warm hole’ as Holy Mother so crudely put it. The joining is a pleasurable thing for me. I hope it will continue to be so, even with these barbarians. You will understand when you are older,” explained Nasreen.
Aisha sat quietly, chewing her bread and wondering at the words of her friend. She had never had anyone to call a friend before. There had been children of nobility that she had played with when she was little, but it had been obvious that she was of a different rank than they were. Her nurses did not hesitate to refuse to believe the children when they had tattled on her. Nasreen was different. She was her elder by at least five years, and in this place, she was her equal. What she had said about the High Priestess was correct. They had all been brought low. They were all equal now. In Nasreen's eyes Aisha was the orphan daughter of goatherds. Nasreen was a daughter of a temple prostitute. By the standards of Adyll, she would have been of higher social status than Aisha, the daughter of goatherds.
“Thank you, Nasreen,” said Aisha.
“For what?”
“For being my friend. I would have died if you hadn’t been there for me. You took care of me when no one else cared.” Aisha gestured towards the battered side of Nasreen’s face. “Does it hurt?”
Nasreen laughed. “Not nearly as much as the burn did. It took my mind right off my face. Does it look terrible?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean…” stuttered Aisha, “I mean it will look better. It does look terrible now.”
“Well, at least we have some rest and time to heal before they put us to work. I won’t have much opportunity to serve looking like this! And I will need to allow my hair to grow again,” joked the older girl, rubbing her hand across her scalp where a small amount of dark stubble could be seen.
Aisha immediately ran her hand across her own scalp, but there was not much to feel at all. What would she do when her own hair started to grow back? Any woman in the barracks would be able to recognize her instantly. She was safe in public where she would have to be veiled, but in private?
“With the veils we will have to wear, they won’t be able to see our faces anyway,” said Aisha, picking up one of the veils and looking through it. It was a translucent linen gauze, allowing the wearer to see through the material over the eyes without obstructing the most of their sight. It was like looking out through a red-tinged haze. The rest of the veil was of more solid material and could not be seen through. It would hide her hair, and her face, but she couldn’t wear it constantly in the company of the women. She would need to talk with the Holy Mother before her hair began to grow back.
The Holy Mother had a solution for Aisha's hair, but it was not a pleasant one.
After three days in the women’s quarters to allow their wounds to close, Baraz sent the temple women to work, demanding a precise counting of the temple’s properties and assets. Aisha and the old priestess were assigned to complete a thorough inventory of the temple’s library and bookmaking tools.
Baraz declared the library a “house of demonic knowledge” and sealed it off to all but himself and the scribes of the Locust. He made an exception for the former high priestess and her eyes, muttering that the old crone was already so contaminated by her idolatry that she was beyond redemption. Baraz needed the old woman’s knowledge of the library, specifically Adyll’s bookmaking secrets. The scribes of the Locust mostly recorded their writings on clay tablets which were either reused or fired if the writing was to remain permanent. Adyll’s methods relied on treated animal skins and ink which were then stitched together to form codices, which weighed less and required less room to store. The Swarm did not create new things, they simply stole what others created.
Inside the library, Aisha and the old woman counted and cataloged the contents of the library shelves as well as the contents of the bookmaking room. Aisha walked with the old woman’s bony hand on her shoulder, guiding her among the shelves, writing down the quantity of each of the items on a wax tablet. In the silent library, Aisha finally asked the old woman how she was to keep herself hidden.
“It is convenient for you that we are required to assist Baraz in erasing our sacred history and rewriting it into a form that glorifies the 'God Who Walks Among Men.'" The Holy Mother scoffed at the title. "From now on you will be preparing the ink and the parchment. No one will notice if some of the ink is spilt on your hair.”
She motioned to the shelves of the storeroom that held bottles of ink, feathers used to make quills, piles of parchment and hides, pottery jars filled with unknown substances, and baskets of nut casings.
“Take down a bottle, daughter, and uncork it,” instructed the old woman.
Aisha followed her instructions. It smelled of dirt and vinegar and deep forest. She handed it to the old woman.
“The ink is made from dried leeches that grow fat on the legs of our sheep,” explained the old woman. “The shepherds pick them from their legs and save them for us. During the rainy season when the streams overflow their banks, the leeches are everywhere. After they are dried and brought to us, we soak them in vinegar for two months, then dry them and crush them into powder. The powder is mixed with the crushed nut casings and boiled, then strained and put into these bottles. The ink is durable and stains the parchment as well as anything else it touches.” The old woman dropped her voice to a whisper, “It also stains hair.”
Suddenly, Aisha felt the old woman pushing her to her knees, and then felt the contents of the bottle soaking through her veil. The ink ran down inside the gauze material, across her face, and down her arms. She tried to stand up, but the old woman was strong.
“We can blame the stain on your scalp and face on your clumsiness, daughter. I find it appropriate that your life depends on a concoction made from a parasite,” the old priestess hissed in her ear.
Aisha felt the pressure of the old woman’s hand release and stood up, wiping the ink from her eyes.
“The High Priest Baraz will not be pleased that you have wasted his resources by your clumsiness, daughter. I pray he is merciful when we give him the accounting,” sneered the high priestess. “Let us continue.”
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