The air was thick with the pungent mix of sweat, leather, and, shit—human and not. Though the smell mattered little to the people who stood before Eres, nor did it matter much to her. It was yet another footnote of the day’s events. Eres’ concerns lay with the advancing soldiers.
Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat a relentless drum against her ribs. Her trembling hands tightened, one around a rondel pointed toward the soldiers, its blade wavering with each shake of her white-knuckled fist.
They hurled commands at her but their language was foreign. Regardless, their drawn weapons made their intent quite clear. One figure among them stood out, a tall man with a gold-trimmed helmet whose words cut through the din. He lead the small group, barking orders at his subordinates as they surrounded the platform and climbed its short, latticed walls.
She could feel the sweat dripping down her neck, turning cold as a knot formed in her stomach. It made her dizzy and she swayed. Every instinct told her to flee, to never look back and curse the damned fools who led her to this moment, but there was no where to run. In the end, she was the fool who thought so highly of herself, that she could commit treason and escape with her life. A life she convinced herself had no value, no meaning, unless she made today her only purpose. She could run, but she would be killed regardless and her sacrifices would be for naught.
Her breathing quickened as she scanned the crowd, a pulsing mass of bodies shoving each other in the chaos. Groups of nobles shielded themselves from peasants, and soldiers created a buffer between them. Wagons belonging to the procession of nobility from her homeland had already been pried open and looted. Some had been dismantled by those taking advantage of the chaos.
A soldier, the one with the golden helmet, reached the edge of the platform—freeing Eres from her nonsensical thoughts—and pulled his sword from its sheath. Several others followed. He met her eyes. It lasted only a moment but time seemed to stand still and her facade cracked.
She wavered and her eyes filled with tears at the realization there was no escape. It struck her deep and so immediately she wondered how it could even come as a surprise. Had she really thought she’d live another day?
Eres closed her eyes and lowered her dagger, breathing in deep. As she began to sob, a crushing pressure enveloped her body. A sound slammed into her like the final splintering throes of a ship caught in a storm. The hairs on her arms and neck rose and chill ran down her spine. Every labored breath shot aching pains through her body. Her skin felt as though it was set ablaze and the air smelled like the taste of copper coins. Just as quickly as the sensations came, they had passed and it was silent.
She opened her eyes and the world had stopped. The charging soldier hung in the air, mid-stride, frozen in place. The crowd beyond was just as still and a haze hung in the air as if something unseen held the world in place. Ripples began to form in a space between her and the soldier, as if the scene before her lie on the surface of a pond, its calm broken by the waves of a skipping rock.
Ripples turned to waves, deepening, growing ever more frequent until a void sprouted from their source, streams of impenetrable black that snaked out as cracks in the fabric of reality. They grew larger, cutting the world into pieces that fell away into the abyss hidden within. Though no sound came from them, Eres could feel their cracked shockwaves as each of the pieces shattered. And from that void came a woman, trails of black smoke falling from her veil as she stepped from the abyss beyond. The cracks in the world collapsed in a cloud of smoke as the last of her drifted through the opening.
Eres, frozen in place not by whatever sorceries gripped the world but simply by fear, felt her heart throbbing. The woman stepped toward her and she raised the rondel, shaking nearly enough for it to drop from her hand as she took a step back.
The trail of smoke wrapped itself around the woman, snaking itself between her legs, up her body, and into her veil where it seemed to dissipate until freeing itself from the black cloth and running down her arms into her palms. The woman took another step toward Eres, her movements unnaturally fluid and as precise as any cat’s. She reached out and pressed the tips of her fingers to the flat of the Eres’ blade, pushing it aside gently. Eres didn’t resist.
“I am no threat to you, my child,” the woman said.
Her voice was light—pleasant—motherly in a way that Eres’ own had never been. The woman came closer and embraced her, placing one hand on Eres’ shoulder and the other wrapped around her back, pulling Eres into her. The smoke that clung to the woman now wound its way around them both.
Eres took a deep breath, bringing with it the smoke that enveloped her. She relaxed and let her arm fall to her side. A wave of warmth flushed through her and clarity returned to the still frozen world. She scanned the crowd. What seemed a wall of anger and outrage directed at her turned into something more complex, a mix of fear, anger, excitement, and celebration for what they knew was to come.
Her focus shifted back to the woman, “who are you?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The woman released Eres and took a step back. “I am a goddess—of death, of war—of which that begins and ends.” The goddess slowly walked around Eres, her fingers trailing along Eres’ chest, shoulders, and then nape as she moved.
The goddess’ face was soft. A face one would expect of a beautiful maiden in tales told by minstrels. Her skin was pale, unnaturally so, yet it still held a beauty woman would envy and men would die for. Her veil draped over a face that held no scars and down a body that could not have known battle. She was small, but not frail nor unassuming. Her presence was of one beyond regal authority.
Eres focused on the goddess’ touch. It was of a mother’s love for a newborn child—a love she had not know since her father was murdered in a war which lasted since her earliest memories. Memories that led her here. Eres’ faced twisted in confusion—how could a woman whose touch is so comforting and whose visage is of divine beauty be a god of war, she thought.
The goddess stopped before Eres. “Because who better to be a ruler over war and death than one who knows nurture”—she paused for a moment, then smiling, she continued—“Men are brutish. They are driven by power and greed and lust. They can only destroy… But you know this. You have lived a life of abuse as a result of the King’s desires of conquest.”
Eres scrunched her face in remembrance.
“But I am like a snake. I am silent. I am deadly. I do not yell out from the tallest towers commanding my will be done. I strike when it is time and I do so justly without leaving destruction in my wake… Does that not suit you?”
Eres nodded and the goddess pulled her hand away. “But my Lady, I—”
“Hush now, child. Do not question yourself. You have come far and endured much. It is for that I have revealed myself to you. Know that your choices too are just.”
The panic Eres felt had gone, that unease replaced with resolve.
“Good.” The goddess reached for Eres’ hand, wrapping her fingers around her fist and the rondel within.
The world snapped back into focus and the goddess was gone. The roar of the crowd returned. The stench of sweat. In her other hand, she held the king by his hair. Even on his knees, slouched over and propped up by his hands, he still came to Eres’ hip. She pulled his head back and looked into his eyes.
She was strong. She could right all his wrongs. She was a snake and with one strike she could cut away the strife that started the war which stole the life she should have had.
She drove the dagger into his neck.