Dromak had casually mentioned that Uzadaan had one weeks ago, though I didn’t know much else about him, like where he hailed from in the Demon Realm or how long he’d been in the army.
“She is tired, having to take care of our son all by herself. She moved to the coast with her family in an attempt to escape the oncoming Angels.” The way his shoulders sagged said more than his words did.
“Are the Angels that close?” I questioned, heart giving a powerful thud against my ribs. If they were that close to Uzadaan’s family, I understood why he was terrified. If the Angels caught them, none would be left alive.
“Aye, she said she could see fires in the distance, up on the plateau. The Angels burn everything in their wake,” Uzadaan sighed. “At least with our mental connection, we can still speak to one another and I know she is safe. I couldn’t bear the silence like the others have to.” Mates could speak mind-to-mind, no matter the distance, and I assumed, much like Uzadaan, that the males among us wished for the same level of contact with the loved ones they left behind.
Remembering who I was supposed to be, I hastily added, “I think about my wife every day and take comfort in her safety in the south. The Angels have a long way to go to reach it.”
“You are the lucky ones, for it will be because of their sacrifice that you never have to worry about your family.” Uzadaan glanced over his shoulder at the squads following us.
All the more reason for me to figure out how the fuck to cross this river, so we could reunite with the rest of the army. Hooves pounded behind us, along with the footsteps of a thousand males, and I lost myself to the repetitive sound of the march, hoping that a path across the water would reveal itself to me.
As the sun crept to its zenith, I still had not found a spot that looked low enough to cross. Between the plants that clung to the riverbank and the large boulders that broke up the rush of the water, it was difficult to gauge how deep the river truly was from one side to the other. My fingers twisted over the leather reins, growing sweatier with each passing hour. Eventually, I dug my heels into Blaeze’s side, riding ahead of Jaku and Uzadaan. I couldn’t take another judgmental look from Jaku, not when I’d revealed too much with Izgath earlier that day. Thankfully, his eyes hadn’t bored into my backside, increasing my already anxious state.
“We should stop to pray soon,” Jaku called out from behind me. I tore my attention from the deep blue hue of the water to glance again at the sun. Sure enough, it waited there, stealing all the shadows with its climb.
“Aye,” I shouted back, pulling back and slowing Blaeze. “This spot looks safe enough for the horses to drink at least.” Through a break in the brush, soft earth waited alongside the shore, and the water moved just slow enough that the horses could drink their fill without getting swept away.
Jaku whistled again, shouting instructions to slow behind him. The message was repeated until the end of the procession, likely Izgath and Dromak since I was at the front today. Bringing a group this large to a halt was like stopping a boulder rolling down a gentle slope—it took effort and was not immediate.
The ground was soft beneath my feet as I landed on it, and I approached the embankment, leading Blaeze to drink. The stallion walked forward without much encouragement and dipped his muzzle to the cool water. While he was occupied, I rummaged through my bags and pulled out the ceremonial knife. One by one, other soldiers brought their mounts to the water, rotating in and out quickly to allow everyone space.
Hitching Blaeze to a tree, I strode toward the open field and waited for the males to gather for our daily worship. I twisted the knife through my fingers as I waited, mind whirling over every possible outcome of failing at finding a crossing. My true identity was sure to be revealed if I failed to do so; it was inevitable at this point. They’d discover I was impersonating Vagach, and then I’d be killed for my crime. I still had so much life ahead of me; I wasn’t ready to die yet. I’d never had the chance to be free.
The realization slammed into my gut like one of Vagach’s severe blows.
Please, Weaver, give me a sign.
For years, I’d struggled with my faith. Especially after my husband’s abuse and watching my family die such horrific deaths over the winter. Why would the Fates cause so much suffering if they wanted the Demons to conquer Keleti? If they wanted the Kral and the Halálhívó to wage a holy war in their name and win? The Reaper especially wasn’t a benevolent figure in our religion, and when her eye fell upon someone, their lives irrevocably changed for the worse. But why? What was the point of it all?
These questions had plagued me every time I was forced to my knees at the temple. I hid them well behind my veil, brows pinched in confusion while it appeared to others the line between them was borne of focus on my devotion.
The Fates were woven so deeply in our lives, it was impossible to escape them. For there was no doubt of their existence; they’d shown themselves often in signs and symbols to the faithful. The Goddess, too, though she appeared only to the Angels.
All I ever wanted to know was why. The lack of answer only served to stoke this soul-deep rage at the injustice of our world.
So out of habit or out of desperation to save myself, I continued to pray for a signal that this time, one of them was watching, waiting to help me.
As the males arranged themselves in neat lines, much like the ones we practiced in the evenings, I stopped twirling the blade and straightened. Jaku and the other Vezető joined me in facing the squad, each kneeling in turn as they arrived. Finally, when all were settled, I spoke.
Tipping my head toward the sun, I exhaled long and slow, recalling the words to the army-specific prayer Jaku had given me on our first day together. Then, I lifted the knife. “Weaver, who spins the threads of our fates, lay down the path for us to tread, unyielding and unbroken. We walk at your command, our feet bound by the threads you have woven. Guide us to glory as we march beneath the banner of war. For the Kral, for the Halálhívó, we bleed. Bind our fates to theirs, that we may rise victorious.”
I dragged the blade across my palm as the soldiers volleyed back, “We bleed for the Kral, for the Halálhívó.”
We allowed our life to feed the earth one splatter at a time. “Giver, bless us with abundant wells of magic so we wield in your name during battle. Let the blood we spill slake your thirst, and let us slaughter those who defy your design. Gift us with the power we need to bring majesty to your name. By our blood, we honor you.”
“By our blood, we honor you,” they echoed, prostrating themselves.
I sank to my knees, then spoke the veneration to the final Fate. “Reaper, whose curse falls upon those who stray from the path, let us not taste your wrath. We offer this blood as a pledge of our loyalty. Let your eye wander elsewhere and damn those who question your mighty power. Should we sin, may your curse be swift and unrelenting.”
Flattening my palms and forehead against the ground, I sucked in a deep breath and added my own silent prayer.
Help me find a place to cross the fucking river so I don’t die.
Straightening, I yelled a phrase that had become all too familiar. “Let the Halálhívó’s victory be swift and the Kral’s reign eternal. Our lives, our magic, our essence, are theirs to command.”
“Glory to the Demons. We are theirs to command.” The males’ voices resounded hauntingly in the field. They rose, similarly dusting themselves off before returning to the supply wagons in search of food. Numbly, I followed behind Jaku, Dromak, Uzadaan, and Izgath, only returning to consciousness when Izgath handed me a brown roll. We were running low on bread, so I accepted it readily, knowing that it might be my last until we reached a larger town past the Vago River and back on the main road that led to Uzhhorod.
