C23 Chapter 23

Krastos remained silent beside his brother. Although Lakaeus had raised him as his own, Krastos was not blood and therefore not permitted to speak unless spoken to. Only the High Priestess and Tarlos were allowed that privilege.

”Our trials are today,” Tarlos said. ”We become men. We ask for your blessing before we begin.”

”Ah-h-h...” Lakaeus lifted a thin clawed hand to Tarlos's head and rested it in his hair. ”And so you have it. May the gods bless you as I do. May you be a greater king than I, and a greater father.”

Tarlos took his father's hand from his head and held it in his own. ”No one could be a better king or father than Lakaeus the Great.”

The king did not respond, and he took his hand back. He gestured to Krastos. ”Come.”

Krastos lowered his head to the king and allowed the feather-light hand to rest in his hair.

”I am not your father,” said the king, ”but I have raised you and loved you as my son. And as surely as your father, the great god Moleg, blesses you, so shall I bless you as your foster father. May your life be fruitful. May men and women sing of your life forever.”

Tarlos saw the beginnings of tears in Krastos's eyes, and Krastos wiped them away before they could fall down his face. He was thankful for the blessing, and he had not hoped for a better one, nor had he expected it—not from a man who had never asked for him to be born but had raised him as his own son nonetheless, even after his wife and mother of his only son was taken from him.

Krastos took Lakaeus's hand and kissed it. ”Thank you, my king. May you live forever.”

At this, the king laughed once more, and it was an awful wheezing sound. Krastos drew back in confusion.

”No, dear boy,” he said. ”To live forever in my state would be a curse. I have lived a full life, and I am at peace with my death, which is soon to come. Only gods and Ageless live forever.”

The king pointed to a small dresser on the other end of the room. ”Tarlos. The first drawer. Bring me the little box.”

Tarlos did as his father said and found a small black wooden box in the drawer, and he set it down on the bed next to the king. Lakaeus opened it and pulled out two little talismans. They were identical, made of bronze and stamped with the seals of Moresh and Shar, half colored blue and half colored red. They were on silver chains, and Lakaeus gestured for the twins to put them on.

”A gift from a dying father to his boys,” said the king.

They put the necklaces over their heads. Tarlos let his drop to his chest, keeping his eyes on his sick and dying father. Krastos inspected his for several moments, running his fingers over the stamp and feeling the weight of the bronze. He wore the talisman on the outside of his tunic while Tarlos placed it underneath against his skin.

Lakaeus took a hand from each brother and smiled. ”Good luck with your trials. Gods, has it been twenty years already? I will forever think it the greatest shame that life lingers so slowly when we suffer, but the time we spend with those we love is more fleeting than sunshine in a storm.”

Before anything else could be said, the High Priestess swept in and placed her hands on the twins' shoulders.

”Your majesty, the princes must now prepare for their trials.”

Lakaeus gave the smallest of nods and waved the princes away. ”Don't worry about me. I've still got a few decans left, I'm sure of it.” He gave them one last smile, then fell asleep.

The High Priestess led them through the king's apartment and outside the palace, through the courtyard and gardens. The yard was filled with palms and Joshua trees, conifers, lilies, and roses. The gardens buzzed with hummingbirds and honeybees.

She led the princes to the temple on the other side of the gardens. Unlike most structures in Kesh, the temple was stone. Each block weighed over a ton, dragged from a quarry fifteen miles away on the border of the Fertile Valley. It was in the temple that the gods spoke to the priestesses and gave them commandments to convey to the people of Kesh.

When they were young, Tarlos and Krastos thought the temple reached to the heavens, to the throne of Shar. They had to crane their necks back to see the top-most block scrape the sky. Now that they were older and bigger, the temple was not large at all. In fact, their own palace was taller.

A few slaves worked in the gardens in the courtyard and in the smaller gardens surrounding the stone temple. Some worked on the structure itself, sealing cracks in the old rock with mortar. They all paused their work and touched their foreheads to the ground as the princes walked by with the High Priestess.

Krastos spoke to one of the slaves. ”Good morning, Namgan. How is your family?”

The slave did not lift his bald head from the ground but answered just the same. ”Healthy, with full bellies. Thank you for asking, prince.”

”For as long as I shall live,” said the High Priestess, ”I will never understand your friendliness toward slaves.”

”It's not their fault they were born slaves,” said Krastos. ”They're only people. Like us.”

Tarlos nudged his brother with his elbow. ”Says the man whose father is a god.”

Krastos continued, ”If I were king, I'd give them wages. The royal family has enough possessions. We can afford to pay them.”

They climbed the stone stairway to the matching door above.

”You will not be king,” said the High Priestess. ”Your brother will.” Tarlos thought this last bit was spoken with a hint of resentfulness.

Tarlos said, ”Maybe we will rule together. A Holder and a demigod. Co-rulers of Kesh.”

The High Priestess chuckled in her throat, sounding disgusted. ”Such has never been heard of.”

The door was open and dark before them. The High Priestess extended her slender arm, motioning for the princes to enter before her.

The inner room was lit with candles, and statues of the gods lined the walls. There were more than a dozen in all, though Tarlos cared for only a few. The dancing light from the candles gave the gods menacing stares and grimaces. They judged the twins with their stone eyes.

Priestesses, all young girls who had devoted their lives to the gods and had vowed never to marry or bear children, came to the princes to help them into ceremonial clothing: a sleeveless leather shirt, belt, sandals, and a copper headband.

At the end of the room were the statues of Moresh and her husband Shar, the moon and sun. The High Priestess motioned for the brothers to kneel, and they knelt before their gods.

Shar wore the sun as his crown, and he held the sun in his right hand, and he was the sun.

The moon was in Moresh's right eye, and she cradled the moon against her bosom, and she was the moon.

In the beginning, there was nothing, and then there was chaos, and from the chaos came Moresh and Shar, and they were the moon and sun, and together they formed the stars and the earth. They separated the stars from the ground, and they had children, who are the gods, and the gods came together to create mankind from clay and fire.

A brazier stood before Shar, and a brazier stood before Moresh. The High Priestess brought a torch and first lit Moresh's, and then Shar's. The flames on Moresh's brazier turned blue, and her husband's flames were red.

The High Priestess lifted her hands to the goddess of the moon. ”Moresh, two children come to you this day to receive your blessing, that they may become adults. As they use their skill and cunning during their trials, look upon them in favor.”

A young priestess, perhaps seventeen years old, held a bowl to the High Priestess. She dipped her fingers into it and smeared blue paint on the princes' cheeks.

The High Priestess lifted her hands to the god of the sun. ”Shar, two boys come to you this day to receive your blessing, that they may become men. As they use their strength and force of will during their trials, look upon them in favor.”

Another young priestess stepped forward with her bowl, and the High Priestess smeared red paint on the princes' foreheads and chins. Tarlos saw the young priestess give a tiny smile to Krastos, and Krastos gave her a wink. Tarlos glanced at the High Priestess, hoping she did not see the exchange, but it appeared that she had, and she shook her head.

”Gods save us from the future king and his brother,” she whispered under her breath.

She motioned for the twins to stand, and they bowed to the gods—first to Moresh, then to Shar, then to each god and goddess that lined the walls from right to left.

When Krastos came to Moleg, he stayed a bit longer. The statue depicted Moleg as grinning, with pointed teeth and huge round eyes. There was no emotion in the sculpture, and Krastos did not expect any. Krastos looked at Moleg with wonder and respect, and Tarlos knew that he was giving one final prayer to his father.

Tarlos had overheard him many nights leading up to this day, praying to his Moleg idol in the privacy of his bedroom: ”Give me strength. Show the king that I am Ninsun's son, and let him be proud.” Krastos always kept his pain hidden away within himself and behind a smile. Tarlos was the only one who knew how much Krastos wanted Lakaeus's love.

The day was dry, and the hot sun beat down on the princes as they walked through the streets of Kesh. All through the city, people lined the roads and cheered for them. They shouted the princes' names, threw lilies and palm leaves at their feet, and tossed red and blue chalk powder on them to bring favor from the gods.

Tarlos smiled, even as his heart beat madly in his chest. He had waited many years for this day, and now that it was here, it was surreal. He thought he would have been more excited than nervous, but he was wrong. The closer he and Krastos came to the arena, the more Tarlos's heart thumped. Sweat dripped from his forehead and armpits, making tiny trails in the chalk powder.

Krastos ignored the cheering crowds, and he ignored the blue and red chalk dust that clouded the streets and covered him from head to toe. Krastos was never one to be distracted by applause. He had always been focused when he needed to be, and he was focused now. His brow was down low over his dark eyes, and his jaw was set beneath his bushy beard. His strength had never failed him, and he knew it would not fail him in the arena. He was the son of Moleg. No beast could best him.

The arena lay on the outskirts of Kesh, without the city wall that encircled the city-state. It was a great bowl in the red and yellow rock of the desert, partly carved from the living stone, partially built from quarried granite and cedarwood. It was more oval than a circle, six hundred feet by five hundred in the arena itself. The walls reached more than two hundred feet upwards. Thousands of seats were already filled with citizens.

The guards who escorted the princes through the city led them through a small private gate in the city wall, and down a path kept off-limits to civilians.

Tarlos punched Krastos's shoulder. ”What do you think?”

”I think I'm ready.” Krastos did not look at his brother. He was focused.

”I mean, what do you think it'll be?”

Krastos shrugged. ”Doesn't much matter, does it? You'll fly above it, whatever it is, and throw it around with your Power. Maybe toss a boulder at it. I'll grab mine and wrestle it to the ground, choke it until it passes out.”

”And then you'll kill it.”

”Not if I can help it. Whatever it is, it's just an animal. I'll tell them to release it after.”

Tarlos shook his head and grinned. His fingers and hands vibrated with adrenaline, and there was a hop in his step.

A trial of manhood for a Holder happened once a generation. The firstborn of a Holder was also a Holder, and therefore heir to the throne. If the king and queen had multiple children, they were also expected to complete a trial. Holders faced a monster, such as a dragon or a gryphon. A Powerless prince or princess would only have to fight an animal—a gorilla or an adolescent elephant—and they were given weapons. Holders were not given anything.

Today there would be two trials, and both initiates were more than human. Tarlos was a Holder, able to move things at will with his mind; Krastos was the son of Moleg and had inherited his godlike strength. Today's trials would be such not seen in Kesh, or perhaps the world, ever before.

And, as it turned out, never again.

The path led behind the arena, into a small room in which initiates would prepare themselves and pray. Above them, Krastos and Tarlos heard the thundering of the crowd, their cheering, and shouting, the stomping of their feet. Small puffs of dust drifted from the stone and wood ceiling above the twins.

The guards stood at attention as Tarlos and Krastos each made one last silent prayer to Moresh and Shar. Tarlos was sure that Krastos included Moleg in his prayer. They finished their supplications and looked to the guards.

”Are you ready, princes?” asked the captain, who stood in front of the rest and held a spear that was taller than him.

Both princes nodded.

The captain said, ”I will let them know. Prince Tarlos will be first. Best of luck to both of you.” Before he turned away, he paused only for a moment to take one last look at Krastos. His eyes lingered, and then he and the other guards bowed, and he led them from the small room. The brothers were alone.

”Did he seem worried?” Krastos asked.

”I don't see why he should be.” Tarlos crossed the small room and leaned against the door that would open at any moment, open to the arena and to the cheering crowd and to the monsters that would try to kill them. ”We're the once facing possible death.”

Krastos took the talisman from beneath his shirt and looked at the image of the sun and moon. He ran his fingers over the outside edge.

”I forgot we had those,” said Tarlos, and he grabbed his own talisman. He took it off from around his neck and stuffed it in a pocket.

”Don't you like it?”

Tarlos shrugged. ”It's just a necklace. Nothing special.”

Krastos frowned a bit and squeezed the talisman in his fist. ”Don't laugh, but...since Mother died, this is the first time I've really felt like family. Lakaeus almost treated me like I was his son.” He hid the talisman back under his shirt and took in a shaky breath. ”So, you're first?”

”I'm older.”

Krastos nodded. ”Good luck.”

Tarlos returned the nod, hoping this would not be the last time he saw his twin. ”See you on the other side, then.”

Outside, great drums boom-boom-boom'd. The sound carried through the arena, and the crowd cheered even louder. Their stomping made more dirt fall on the princes' heads and shoulders. The sound of chains rattling made Tarlos's heart race as the door pulled open.

The roc was already there when Tarlos stepped through the door into the hot and sun-bright arena. The spectators filled every seat above and around him, and they called his name and applauded. The door shut behind him. There was no handle on this side.

The giant bird stood over an aurochs, tearing into it with its beak as sharp as obsidian. Its enormous talons helped the ripping of the flesh. Blood poured from the dead aurochs and puddled around the bull and bird in a thick red pool.

Tarlos swallowed and scanned the area. The roc had not yet seen him, and they were on separate ends of the arena. Tarlos had a few seconds before the roc smelled fresher prey. An aurochs was but a morsel to a roc, whose wingspan spread over two hundred feet. It was no doubt only meant to keep the roc occupied until Tarlos had formulated a method of attack.

He was not allowed a weapon. In the trial of manhood, a Holder could use only his or her hands and wits. He stepped lightly around the edge of the arena. There were many boulders littered around the place. He made a note of it but discarded them as a good first plan. Using his Power cost energy, and he knew he could not throw boulders for long. Besides, Krastos might have better use for them.

The only other object in the arena was a wooden scaffolding. It held a narrow ladder that connected the arena floor to the stands above. The ladder was used by guards in case someone was seriously injured and needed a quick escape. If Tarlos was injured, he would not need the ladder. He could fly.

But I won't be able to fly if I'm unconscious or exhausted. And what if Krastos needs a quick escape?

Stop worrying about your brother and worry about the roc.

The last of the aurochs went down the roc's long neck, and the giant bird stretched its wings and screeched. Everyone in the stands covered their ears and grimaced against the sound. Tarlos closed his eyes and put his arms over the sides of his head. The sound was like a copper knife being dragged over rough granite, and it made his teeth rattle.

The roc flapped its wings down, and a thunderclap shook the stadium, blowing dirt and small rocks outward in a circle. The shockwave knocked Tarlos off his feet and sent him flying into the stone wall behind him.