CHAPTER EIGHTEEN◄CHAPTER NINETEEN►CHAPTER TWENTY

Phaziah Ishigar felt a chill upon the air and a shriek of rushing wind as he watched Veth Kaia’s an Pakta’s decapitated bodies dangling by their footpaws between the statues that lined the Gallery of Zaket Scions. That sudden rush of coldness seemed fitting for an execution such as this, but it was an unusual sensation as the warmth of Zaket the Watcher and Zaket the Kindler began to peer over the horizon in sunrise. For some reason, it haunted him where it shouldn’t.

He couldn’t feel that way. Not now, especially when thousands upon thousands of his loyal subjects had flocked to witness the execution, reveled in its brutality, and anticipated the speech from their god king at its conclusion. Men, women, and children alike—all blindly loyal citizens of the royal capital—threw stones at the corpses of the two assassins as they awaited their High King to give his speech. Each throw felt to the mobs like they were doing an act of service to the Crown of Siva, demonstrating their vehement fanaticism for the Ishigars and those before them. They wanted to be noticed by him, to be blessed, and to be recognized.

The brutish nature of the gathered crowd seemed to calm somewhat as they took notice of Phaziah Ishigar, many beginning to chant his name and prostrate themselves before his image. It was all they could do to garner his gaze when the yellow armored lifeguards formed a barrier of bodies before the palace steps, making sure that none could come forward to touch him. Clearly, in Shaleth and so many other of the Crown controlled provinces and colonies, the divine image of the High King had not been broken or questioned like how it had been in the poles or the allies of the Confederacy. The lengths they would go to in order to serve him knew no bounds—noble, upper and middle classes, and even commoners and slaves who were too fearful of acting in opposition or were blindly led that they were doing their civic and societal duty by remaining compliant.

Yet even as General Josavak and the queen consort stood alongside him as he stood at the head of the steps leading to the palace gateway, deep down he felt shaken. Even after he’d healed and could now stand on his own two footpaws, appearing as firm as ever, he knew that there was a weakness and fear brewing within him that his followers could not sense. The voices upon the desert wind, cold as it was, only stoked that terror within his heart even further, and he could not deny where it had come from.

It was Talitha. What doubts could there be? His bastard daughter was calling out in vengeance towards him, wherever she was. He tried to take consolation in the fact that his wife—who’d been in discussions with the intelligence company of the lifeguards during his recuperation—had an update regarding spy reports from the southern poles. That she’d promised good news at all in that regard had been one of the only things that had spurred him on to make this speech today. He needed to get the people fervent for total war after the assault he had suffered.

Narrowing his eyes before the faceplate of the twin pronged crown atop his head, he dug his claws into the podium before which he stood. Though he took solace in watching his subjects—his children—abuse Veth Kaia and Pakta, he knew that his promise of doubling down on his divine image should any word about Talitha get out to the public would easily sway them the other way at the drop of a hat. All the worshipping and shouting of his praises would stop if word got out about what he had done with Shiphra and how he’d handled the situation. The nobles loyal to him and that had been present during her sentencing wouldn’t question him, naturally—if only because they didn’t want to lose their titles and power.

The rest of his subjects might not be so forgiving. That was why he had to strike a chord with them here and now. Half the job had seemingly been done by making examples of Veth Kaia and Pakta, and the High King looked up to the skies as he could already see the Necroptera Vultures circling overhead. They were only waiting for the crowds to clear so that they could peck and feed upon their bodies. Phaziah’s way with words would have to do the other half, and on top of that, he knew he had to act on whatever he promised.

The hushes over the crowd continued to grow and their rambunctious behavior began to lessen as the people sensed his looming address. Very soon, after their echoes had died, only the creaking of rope from where the corpses had been strung up, the cawing of the massive vultures, and the blowing of desert winds were audible. That, and only the breathing of the High King could be heard as he looked out over his people, for the very architecture of the Gallery of Zaket Scions had been made to amplify sound from the top of the stairs, so that all could bear witness to the divine voices of kings and queens and be blessed with their words.

He again took in the sight of his subjects as they stared at him in silence. From all walks of life, they had come to bear witness to his message of vengeance against the grave sin committed against him. Sivathi children stood low—commoner and upper class alike—grasping the handpaws of their parents, looking at him in awe like he were the hero out of some fable. Simple farmers dressed in rags stood alongside the wealthiest merchants of Shaleth who wore the finest silk and satin; shoulder to shoulder, and blindly obedient for having bought into a millenniums-old tradition of faith in the power of Zaket the Watcher and Zaket the Kindler having blessed the lineages of monarchs. These were all loyal subjects to him. They obeyed. Why did so many of his children revolt when so many accepted the way things were, and had always been?

They needed somebody to blame, and the two perfect subjects had now been strung up after their beheading and made to beg for their lives as their tongues were cut away. They now received the people’s anger upon the command of the High King, but even this was not enough. Action had to be taken on a grander scale, and Phaziah would make sure that their wishes came true.

“This!” Phaziah Ishigar suddenly shouted out as he pointed to the corpses of the two Sivathi who had conspired against the Crown of Siva. He paused for but a moment after before continuing, letting his exclamation echo and reverberate throughout the Gallery, the word thundering as if being spoken down from the tongues of the statues themselves. “This…” he said once more. “…is but the result of two Sivathi—of which there are millions more that must be brought back into the fold—who thought themselves above their station; above the roles that destiny and fate, decided by the Zaket suns from the beginnings of their lives.”

He pulled back his handpaw towards his chest, curling his fingers over the fine fabric folds of his robe before ripping it aside to show his chest, displaying front and center the scar that still lingered from the gunshot wound he had received. “And this,” he said, looking down at the marred fur and skin. “Is all that could be done to a god king by those who forgot their place in the order of Siva. It is the sum total of all the defiance they could muster against the natural order of our civilization. A scar. Zaket the Watcher and Zaket the Kindler are kind to their designated messengers, the High Kings and Queens of Siva, never letting such an untimely demise befall those who rule true to their favor, as I have. Never shall the suns betray me, just as they shall not betray you, my children, who remain steadfast in your loyalty.”

He released his grip on the fabric of his robe, snarling a bit as he leaned into the podium again as his hated thoughts of the Confederacy began to surface. “Veth Kaia and Pakta had once been faithful, as you all have,” he said. “And in the case of that jockey, he learned that even from the ranks of the common Sivathi he could propel himself into the fame that would otherwise never have been his. But their minds became poisoned by the heretical greed and sacrilege of the Confederacy’s preachings, who proclaim that by circumventing the order and structure that has been carefully crafted over generations, that a Sivathi—irrespective of their place—has a right to challenge the holy will of the Zaket suns.”

He held up a handpaw once more, stretching it forward down the Gallery of Zaket Scions and waving it to the city of Shaleth that lay beyond. “Look and bear witness to what obedience has earned our people,” he proclaimed. “Have we taken to the stars, colonized new worlds, filled our granaries, and made our cities into jewels of this planet by questioning those who are destined to rule by the suns? Do you think the Scions who gaze down upon us here wore this crown because they sought power and control? No! They were elevated because they bore the weight of rulership so that you would not have to, because someone had to decide when to wield the blade, and when to stay the paw. For only those crowned in the lineage of High Kings, Queens, and nobles, traced all the way back to the mightiest chieftains who unified our people under one banner—they are the ones tasked with guidance towards greatness. Questioning it leads to ruination!”

Praises once again began to emerge from inside the crowd as Phaziah Ishigar paused for a moment, his piercing golden eyes darting downward into the crowd that had gathered as he looked at them all with suspicion. To them, they suspected nothing of the sort, and rather felt blessed to even be looked upon by the High King for the first time in their lives. “Questioning—worse yet, rebelling—against what has brought us this far will no longer be tolerated. These two traitors,” he said, pointing again to the dangling corpses. “Would have you believe that the blood of slaves and the blood of nobility is no different. They would have you believe that you are to look upon the gifts of life and your service to our people by her roles granted to you and dare to wish, ‘I deserve more.’ Look at what such beliefs got them: A scratch upon a god king and the loss of their very lives! Blasphemous thoughts! Blasphemous against the suns and the Crown of Siva!”

The crowd answered him instinctively, cries of outrage breaking out in pockets—“Blasphemy!”—until the word spread like a contagion, shouted by hundreds, then thousands. The chants continued on and on, amplified by the construction of the Gallery that carried their cries up into the heavens and across the streets of Shaleth, as if it were a pushback against the cold wind and ghostly voices that had dared drift towards the High King only moments ago as if to frighten him.

“Look and see your loyalty here and now, my children!” Phaziah Ishigar cried out, holding his handpaws on high as if returning the praises directed towards him. “You know that your instincts serve you better than what traitors and cutthroats could ever hope to promise you! You know blasphemy when you see it, and you know when a grievous sin has been committed against the suns and their deity!”

“What is to be done, your Majesty?” shouted one woman deep down in the crowd.

“We must strike them down while the wrath of the suns is at its greatest!” shouted another man at the edge of the perimeter of lifeguards. “The Confederacy of Liberation lies and poisons the minds of our children with each passing day!”

“They no longer shall!” Phaziah decreed, lifting his arms upward higher towards the heavens, as if holding the two Zaket suns in either handpaw. The rays from both suns flickered off the prongs of his crown, flashing downward as if baptizing the crowd in solar light. “Our armies and navies are forged of steel and iron that our foes can never hope to match! The counteroffensive against us shall be but a breeze in contrast to the unyielding storm that shall answer it. A sea of holy fire awaits them on both ground and heaven, mark my words! Our people will answer the call; they shall be its thunder!”

Like the thunder of which he spoke, the cries of the people began to shake the ground like an earthquake as heads pressed against stone, prayer sigils to Phaziah Ishigar and the Zaket suns fluttered in the wind, and fists were raised in defiance for the order they craved to preserve. The High King himself continued to stand as he closed his eyes, a smile upon his face as he took in the worship of people. Behind the façade of resoluteness he had constructed, the chill that had befallen him still ensnared his heart, though the people could not see. The signs of Talitha and the specter of Shiphra still hung large in the air, but it was his secret alone to bear. He had to crush this rebellion before word of that ever made it out, and he had to kill his daughter where he had failed to do so long ago.

“Flock to the recruitment stations and swear your fealty to our forces, so that you may serve with distinction and honor in the trials ahead,” he commanded his people, still singing his praises and oblivious to the conflict within him. “Punish slaves who dare raise a paw against their master or mistress. Report those who erode our faith and say that the Zaket suns are ordained to all the Sivathi, and not to be kept sacred by the Crown of Siva. Any who seek to turn child against parent, slave against owner, and citizen against monarch—they will be rooted out like a weed. From Shaleth, to all the provinces of Siva, and to the colonies in the Zaket system and beyond, they will be rooted out!

“I implore you, children of the Zaket suns,” Phaziah said exultantly as he began to close, masking well the conflict that still simmered inside him. “To stay the course and pursue the continued triumphs that have brought our race so far. Loyalty shall be answered with shared victories. Obedience shall be answered with prosperity. Faith shall be answered with survival!”

The chill in the air returned as soon as he uttered that final word, seemingly affecting only Phaziah and no others. Survival. While he turned away from the podium and outwardly basked in the joyous cries of his subjects, inside the cold grip clawed at his heart. Survival was exactly what he had granted his one and only daughter. What had that gotten him? Who was he to promise that to all of the citizens under his rule when any one of them could turn and cause the problems that Talitha potentially posed?

The queen consort and General Josavak were close enough to sense that in spite of the outstanding speech he had given to the people of Shaleth, something still gnawed at him. The lifeguards escorting him back towards the now parted holo-gates of the palace quickly formed a perimeter around him, practically like an extra layer of protection on top of the still assembled line of troops at the stairs that kept anybody from getting in close, anyway.

The decrescendo of the people’s cries ebbed away as they saw their god king soon disappear behind the holo-gates after they shut, before then turning their attention back towards the corpses of Veth Kaia and Pakta and continuing to stone them in disgrace. The Necroptera Vultures would have to keep circling and waiting for the crowd to clear before they got their chance at picking apart the bodies of the two who’d dared defy the High King.

Even after having done that to the jockey and his friend, and even after delivering the speech, the shiver did not relent. He threw his robe tighter about his body as if to ward off the imaginary coldness, and before his wife could interject with her concern, Phaziah had already downplayed the severity of what tormented him by devolving back into immediate talk of military matters with General Josavak. “Have you been in talks with the admiralty, General?” he demanded to know.

Gavrioth Josavak had half a mind to ask what the matter was, but he knew better than to speak on it. Instead, he simply answered his master’s question. “I have, your Highness,” the general replied to him. “And they’ve strongly advised that we begin making preparations to do battle with the docked fleet at Rovoth and then proceed with invasion there. After we’ve taken the southern pole, of course.”

“We’ll make those plans,” Phaziah answered, quickly turning to one of the slaves of the palace that was striding by with a tray full of wine. He hurriedly grabbed a goblet from atop it, then gulped the thing down, more in an effort to dull the fear in his nerves that had suddenly arisen with a quick buzz rather than actually being thirsty. “But the bulk of our navy stays where it is, blockading the planet so that nothing gets in or out. I don’t want further incidents like that troop transport that crashed, and I especially don’t want anything leaving to go and garner support from sympathizers on other worlds.”

The queen consort knew exactly what he was alluding to with such a command. He was putting a cap on any leak of information of Talitha, not daring to even imagine her status getting out into the stars. If her identity ever made it beyond the boundaries of Siva, then the Ishigars would be finished for good when her legend began spreading across other systems. That, and she couldn’t physically be allowed to depart from the planet. A strict blockade would ensure that.

At least, that’s what Phaziah hoped for. There were occasional blockade runners that gambled everything on getting off Siva and into the space beyond. Ninety-nine out of a hundred times they were usually blown to smithereens before even leaving the perimeter of Siva, Gefo, or Magofa. But the boldest of the bold did make it through from time to time, and what wasn’t to say that the Confederacy wouldn’t hire some headstrong pilot to whisk Talitha away to a place where the High King could not reach her?

He could still reach her now. He had to. Talitha crept somewhere upon the planet and he was eagerly awaiting the reports of his spies in the southern polar provinces. He anxiously wanted to dismiss General Josavak, for in fact he had a shuttle to catch to the front lines of Yerusa Province to coordinate the offensive there. The sooner he left, the better, so that Phaziah could hear the reports from the queen consort regarding what information had been gathered on Talitha. Though, for how much longer Phaziah could keep this a secret from everybody but the nobles and his personal troops, he did not know. He knew what effect her revealed identity would have upon the Confederacy, but upon his own people? He could not be sure. With how they’d sung his praises today, part of him wished that they would forgive him when his sin became public knowledge and that they’d cry out for the bastard spawn to be destroyed. Yet even he knew that within the ranks of his own people, people would sympathize with her.

“I believe everything is in order for your departure to the front, General Josavak?” the High King said, hinting at his dismissal from the premises as he didn’t even bother looking back at him, absentmindedly dropping the goblet back onto the tray of the slave standing at the ready. He blankly looked into the corridors of the palace, like it was some ravenous beast threatening to swallow him whole while he waited for the wine to do its work and steady his nerves.

“I only await your authorization, High King,” General Josavak said. “I’d planned to request it later this evening, but—”
“You have it now,” the High King said, beckoning his wife to come along and make their way to his study to continue discussions in private. “Go forth and remind the southern pole the dangers of treason and dare call it liberation. Turn back this counterstrike against us before hitting back. The regulars await your command, and the nobles shall keep order with their levies here on the home front. Now go!”

“Y-yes, your Highness,” General Josavak stammered, his usually stoic nature faltering into the likes of Teth Grisha for a brief moment as the High King caught him off guard, clearly anxious to be rid of him. With a hasty salute, he turned away from the High King and his spouse to depart for the docks of Shaleth, where a shuttle would take him straight to the front lines to take personal command.

“You really think the levied troops will be enough to keep people pacified here, husband?” Zoba asked him. “I know you had proposed possibly arming the slave population should worst come to worst, if only it means keeping order, and even I thought that was a ridiculous notion—”

“It is a ridiculous notion. Did you see the citizenry out there only moments ago, Zoba?” Phaziah Ishigar snarled as he threw aside the doors to the study— the only traditional pair of entryways in the entirety of the palace practically swinging off their hinges from the force. “I know that idea was thrown around amongst my nobles. After the attempt on my life, I’ll entertain no such thoughts. I will not shake the loyalty of my people by confusing their moral compass in arming the slave class. Never. On top of that, did I not say that the slaver guilds would not even dream of having their investments slain like cannon fodder?”

“You did say that, your Majesty,” Zoba said, holding her one good paw that wasn’t still in a sling over her husband’s shoulder as he dropped into the seat of his grand desk inside the study. She owed it to him as his spouse to try and be some sort of comfort when he was raging like this. “But never mind it, Phaziah. Perhaps I can soothe you with the reports I received from the intelligence company?”

“Finally, you went out of your way to act as befitting of a High King’s wife and rule in his stead for once,” he said insultingly and in mock thanks, digging his claws into the cedar wood of the desk. “Let’s hear it. What word is there of my daughter?”

“Nothing has come out of our spies in the Confederate Congress, which likely means that there is no news of her identity having reached their government or the general populace,” the queen consort said, hoping that Phaziah’s fears in this regard would be put at ease. She did her best to try and not take offense to the personal jab her husband had made, but she mildly grimaced in response behind his back. “But the monk on our payroll that’s in charge of —what’s his name again?”

“Brother Rehu,” Phaziah said, only remembering the Sivathi’s name out of the sheer importance of his task. Were it any other monk from the temples, he wouldn’t have known, but the intelligence company had personally sought out holy men and women sympathetic to the Crown cause that could be planted within the heart of the enemy’s territory to feed them secrets and confirm Talitha’s identity, since he was one of several tasked with processing arrivals into the Temple of Rays. “What did he say?”

“He confirmed that she did in fact come through and enter the Temple,” she said with a smile, knowing that this information would be welcome for her husband. “Though he doesn’t have direct access to her now that she’s been processed into Sarat proper, she is certainly in the city—maybe still even within the Temple of Rays. He also told us that one of the delegates from the Confederate Congress and a member of their quadrumvirate had come seeking her out. A Sivathi named Yanat Atagar and another named Doctor Ekta Daloh, to be precise.”

Phaziah rested his elbow against the desk and propped up his fist, setting his chin upon it in thought as he gazed out the window where the Zaket suns were continuing to rise into the air. Yanat Atagar. That was a name he had not heard for many years. A former captain of the lifeguards that had shamefully resigned his post after having guilty thoughts over his involvement with Shiphra, and now he was running amongst the Confederate Congress as a delegate, and if he was threatening to link up with Talitha, there was no telling how he would weaponize her identity in order to get back the Crown and pacify his guilt. “That’s another pathetic excuse for a Sivathi that I shouldn’t have let off the hook. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson after sparing Talitha, but evidently not,” he said with regret.

“You know him?” the queen consort asked, not having been privy to Yanat’s identity.

“He was the one who delivered Shiphra to the Pillars of Purification and left her there to die, and then took Talitha to be sold to Zeshom Noor,” he explained. “I should have had him court-martialed when he resigned his commission and fled to the Confederacy. It’s astounding to me that he’s kept that secret this entire time, maybe hoping that he would find the girl some day. Now that he has…”

“…we must move swiftly,” Zoba finished his sentence for him. “Especially before he or Doctor Daloh tries to present her to the Confederate Congress and use her as a rallying cry.”

“Having remembered his guilty nature, I’m sure he didn’t intend to thrust that mantle of responsibility upon Talitha’s shoulders without her having a say in the matter,” Phaziah surmised, drumming his fingers against the desk with his other handpaw. “Even so, I’m sure he’ll want her to take a path of vengeance against me and the entire Crown, even if he’s not the one directly pushing for it and simply leaving the choice up to her.”

Phaziah then remained silent for a long while, pondering the possibilities of what he should do next. Knowing that he was deep in thought, his wife said nothing, having no wish interfere with the schemes the High King was cooking up in his mind. Instead, she mulled over the hypocrisy of his commitment to honor and acting pious as a god king, yet having no reservations to resort to underhanded tactics such as spies planted within the holy order of the Confederacy. Even so, she wasn’t going to complain about it, especially if it ensured her continued position as queen consort and the survival of the monarchy.

“I still want her brought before me, to be slain my by own paws,” he said, standing up from the desk as he pushed the chair out behind him and strode over to the window of the study, clasping his handpaws behind his back. The dual suns glimmered against his golden eyes and twinkled atop his fur coat as he began to finally take solace in the simple fact that he was finally making headway in nabbing Talitha, especially where she had eluded his grasp once in the desert already and taken down a whole gunship in the process. “I want you to go and bring the captain of the household lifeguards to me in the throne room in three hours. We’ll have him handpick ten of our finest personal troops to be sent as a strike team deep into Sarat and abscond with Talitha before the city even knows they are there. It must be done before she’s brought before the Confederate Congress—that could be in a matter of days, if not sooner.”

“We’ll need to know her whereabouts for certain, your Majesty,” Zoba answered.

“Then tell Brother Rehu to find her,” he commanded irately, snapping out at her as he turned his head suddenly, his body still facing the window. “He has access to all the registries of who has been coming and going into the Temple of Rays. Have him follow her. Have him shadow her movements. Do whatever it takes, even if it means he has to camp outside and track her every move so that the lifeguards can whisk her away in a flash. I want you and the captain of the lifeguards in the throne room within the timeframe I gave you. Now be gone! The sooner we act, the better!”

Zoba opened her mouth as if to speak, but quickly caught herself and restrained her voice. She knew better than to question him at all, especially when he spoke in this tone. His decision was now hardened beyond persuasion. Humbly, she bowed before her husband, turning around to take her leave from the study and leaving Phaziah Ishigar to himself in the study to observe the ever climbing binary stars. Their light spilled across the city of Shaleth in gold and white, bathing spires, plazas, and obedient crowds alike in warmth and brilliance. To his people, it would feel like blessing. To him, it still offered no comfort.

The chill still lingered, even after the wine, the decisive action he had taken, and the speeches he had uttered. The ghostly echoes of Talitha and Shiphra still seemed to creep down his spine. With a clenching of his fist, he roughly smacked his handpaw against the glass of the window, causing it to crack where he had impacted it as he called out audibly in response to the specters that taunted him.

“My mercy still lives in you, girl,” he called out to Talitha, curling his lip in disgust at the very thought of her. “And I’ll be quick to crush it when we meet once more. You’ll join your mother soon enough, but not before you answer to me.”