The Black Gods War

his cloak to cover Caio’s wounds. The warpriests were running in from behind.
    “Stay back, Ilario. These men are dead because of me,” Caio said.
    “You did this so fewer will have to die.”
    “What about this one? Does he deserve to die?”
    Caio put his palms on the dead Pawelon’s chest. His hands and arms glowed red and black, projecting dark swirling colors into the daylight. The colors transformed slowly into pure white. The light spread over and around the soldier, sheathing him like a cocoon. The boy rose into the air.
    A gust of breath punched its way into the Pawelon’s chest, and his body rippled with an aftershock. The lights lifted higher, and he with them, turning him until his feet dangled just above the ground. The coat of light sank into his chest and disappeared. The young Pawelon landed upright.
    We’ll never see this miracle again . Ilario realized he’d been one of only a dozen to witness the single resurrection by the Haizzem of his era. The greatest miracle Caio could grant in this life was given and done.
    “You resurrected a gods-damned Pawelon!” Lucia’s voice bellowed from well behind Ilario. She flung down Ysa’s helm and stormed forward.
    Ilario envisioned two scenarios in which he might need to intervene, one involving an angry Lucia and the other involving a violent Pawelon. He took another step toward Caio and the pig. Caio bent over, hiding his face and breathing hard. The Pawelon’s face revealed his enchanted state of mind.
    Ilario said in stilted Pawelon, “Sit down. We’ll not hurt you.”
    Caio raised his head off the ground, and the boy sat as commanded.
    Lucia raced forward, pointing Ysa’s white blade at Caio. “You raised a gods-damned Pawelon from the dead?”
    “He will have seven children,” Caio said. “He will be a peaceful man, a good man. I couldn’t—”
    “Lucia, please put your sword away,” Ilario said as he raised his free hand.
    “You could have saved one of ours some day.” She sheathed the blade with a resounding slam. “This is an outrage, an insult to our entire history.”
    Caio pressed his lips together, restraining his words. His eyes were locked with Lucia’s, asking for understanding.
    “Damn, Caio! How could you do this? How could you be so irresponsible?”
    “I could not let this boy die! You don’t understand how much he has to live for.”
    “Just one time, Caio. Just once. You’ve gone and used your power. How could you!”
    Caio pushed himself up, revealing a long, bleeding gash on one side of his chest.
    Ilario rushed to him and covered him with his cloak. “Lay down, Caio. You’re losing a lot blood.”
    Lucia came forward and knelt beside her brother. Her red face turned pale. “I am sorry. I didn’t know.”
    “We’re going to take care of you.” Ilario held the cloth to Caio’s chest and watched the blood run down his hands. “Don’t worry.”
    Lord Sansone, let him be all right.
    Ilario glanced at the Pawelon. The boy stared at the ground with his mouth open, looking too stunned to move.
    Caio’s eyes opened wider in a defenseless, humble expression. “If anything happens to me, remember what I said to you. You should be happy together.”
    “Caio, don’t talk like that.” A sickening taste forced its way up Ilario’s throat and into his mouth. “Stay with us, Caio. We need you.”
    What the hell have you gods done to him? All he’s ever done is worship you.
    Caio opened his eyes. “I feel Mya’s healing presence.”
    Lucia’s breathing was out of control. “Tell her you want to live.”
    “I couldn’t let him die. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”
    Lucia’s eyes softened.
    “Stay with me, here and now,” Ilario said. “Focus on your healing.”
    The warpriests had encircled them. They sat up from their prostrations and one of them began chanting a hypnotic prayer. The others joined in, uttering the specific, harsh sounds of the old tongue. Lucia placed her hands beside Ilario’s on Caio’s chest.
    Ilario prayed in silent anguish to the backdrop of chanting, watching Caio smile despite his suffering. He looked down again and fought the churning nausea in his stomach as he watched the Haizzem’s dark red blood stain his hands.

Chapter Fifteen: The Quieting of the Gods

    HEARING THE WARPRIESTS’ resonant intoning gave Caio tranquil distraction from the guilt and doubts thumping inside his breast. He felt Mya’s invisible hands over his wound, soothing the bloody