The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Episodes 1-3 of 7)

THE TEMPLE - RAEDALUS

Raedalus watched as the man died. As a Pashist priest, he had sworn vows to cherish and protect all life as sacred. He abstained from the meat of animals except when necessary and even said prayers when unable to avoid killing insects. He shunned violence in all forms at all times. And now he had killed a man. He thought he should feel something tragic, a great remorse. He looked from the dead militiaman and into the lifeless eyes of the woman in the bloody grass. Raedalus did not experience remorse. Nor shame. Nor anger. Nor even satisfaction.

He felt fear.

Fear that if pious rage turned to violence could so swiftly snuff out a life, at a future time, the taking of lives might prove all too easy and acceptable. What would this mean? What might this change in him?

He shook these thoughts and concerns from his head and returned his eyes to scanning the campsite for signs of Junari. If they had killed her, what then? How could the pilgrims fulfill the promise of the new goddess's dream?

White flashed between running pilgrims and the flickering reflection of steel blades. Junari's nightclothes. Raedalus ran toward the Mother Shepherd, dodging pilgrims, exhorting them to flee to the forest and hide, and knocking aside the sword thrust of a passing militiaman. Junari also ran. Her bare feet pounded across the matted meadow toward a clump of ten pilgrims huddled together as four militiamen taunted them, poking them with the tips of their swords.

"Squeal, heathen!" a militiaman shouted.

"Cry for yer false god to protect ya!" another yelled.

"Stop!"

Junari's voice carried above the cacophony of the campsite, drawing the militiamen's eyes to her as she slid to a halt in the blood-slicked grass. She stood between the pilgrims and militiamen, her arms outstretched in petition.

Raedalus yelled out, meaning to call attention away from his mistress, to launch himself in attack at the men she confronted. One of his feet caught in the crook of the arm of a fallen and motionless pilgrim, sending him sprawling to the ground, the hilt of his sword jamming into his gut, the air rushing from his lungs. He looked up, trying to catch his wind and pull himself to his feet, watching as Junari faced the militiamen, open handed and defenseless.

"We mean no harm," Junari shouted in broken Shen at the blood-splattered men. "We are pilgrims. We walk in peace."

"That's her," one of the men sneered. "That's the filthy bitch herself."

"Kill her and the vermin'll stop comin' to our lands," another man said as he raised his sword above his head.

Raedalus called out as he struggled to stand. His arms moved like damp cloths as he hefted the sword to his shoulder. He stared as Junari, arms still outstretched, watched the sword blade swinging toward her head. He heard her speak, her voice ringing clear, seeming to whisper in his ear even as it boomed above the chaotic din around them.

"Protect us, Goddess Moaratana!"

Blue-white brilliance filled the night, searing the eyes of all around as the air exploded and the earth trembled. Lightning flowed from the clouded night sky — a rivulet of liquid light reaching down to strike the sword of the militiaman in mid-swing, sending him hurtling backward, where he collided with one of his companions.

Raedalus had no time to wonder at Junari's naming of the previously nameless goddess, nor the import of the translation from the ancient Mumtiba language giving her name the meaning of Dragon Star — these things came to him later — he could only stare in wonder as Junari shouted again.

"Protect us, Goddess Moaratana!"

Brilliant, jagged strings of light descended in an instant to strike at the swords in the hands of the militiamen attacking the pilgrims throughout the campsite. The men screamed and smoked and crumpled to the ground as they died.

Raedalus stood, dizzy from the lightning, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, gaping in amazement at Junari. She lowered her arms and apprised the dead men spread around her, shaking her head, whether in anger or sorrow, Raedalus could not tell.

"A miracle," a woman in the group of pilgrims behind Junari said aloud. "A miracle of the Goddess."

Junari turned to the pilgrims, a weary yet compassionate smile across her lips.

"Yes. A miracle."

"You called down lightning," one of the men said.

"No, I called on the Goddess," Junari corrected the man. "As we all must call on her now." She turned around and raised her voice again, shouting to the entire camp. "Help our people. Tend to the wounded. We must bury our dead. We leave at sunrise."

The pilgrims dispersed under Junari's patient gaze. When she seemed satisfied the pilgrims were in motion, she turned and walked to Raedalus.

"It is fortunate our goddess knows you from our enemies." Junari glanced at the sword still in Raedalus's hand.

"I..." Raedalus looked at the sword as well, amazed still by what he had done with it and by the fact that it had been the only blade untouched by the lightning.

"Keep it. Learn to use it. We will have need of it again, I fear." Junari sighed as she surveyed the wreckage of lives scattered across the once peaceful camp.

"Yes, Mother Shepherd." He nodded his head and gripped the sword tighter.

Raedalus followed her eyes and looked over the dead and wounded. So much change in such a short span of time. So much death. One life ended by his own hands.

"Come." Junari started walking toward an injured woman still holding her young daughter. "We have much to do before dawn."