PART ONE:
Early Winter: 552 BC
CHAPTER ONE
I whisper
into the brilliant afternoon sunlight, “Humata. Hukhta. Huvarshta.”
The city
built of mud and unbaked brick breathes life – the voices of the people rising.
I
stand out of sight, blending into the deep shadows cast from the columns as I repeat the phrase in self-assurance: Good thoughts. Good words. Good deeds.
Everything I’ve done, and will do, is for my people.
“Do you hear them crying out for your
death, Father?” I ask.
The half corpse lies on the bed and a soft
moan escapes his lips but I continue staring outside. A warm winter desert breeze sweeps through,
tousling strands of my long dark hair and blows them across my face.
I brush them away and wonder how many people have taken to the streets, eagerly
awaiting the news they’ve been praying for. It’s impossible to count the Medes
dotted with Persians that are the citizens of Issatis. They’re a blur of dingy
color washing over the streets.
I approach the bed draped in gold curtains.
If not for his paralytic state, one would assume he’s in perfect health – his waist
protrudes and the fat in his face fills wrinkles that would otherwise show in a
man of lower-class, but never the ruling Satrap. Playing the part of a loving daughter
although no one watches is laughable. Sitting beside him, I lay my hand on his
forearm. Where red hot life once thrived, it’s now chilled. Stagnant. What
little remains seeps into my hand and in moments I’ll have taken it all.
I gaze upon him, emotionless. “May you
have learned something in this life to carry to the next. Goodbye, Pedar,” I
say, keeping the interaction formal. As far as I can remember, I’ve never
called him, Bâbâ. This man may as well be
a stranger. His dark brown eyes meet mine. He knows, but he’s too weak to speak.
Too weak to call out for the guards, too weak to save himself. I knew it would
come to this one day. Yet, I tried to change it – I wish I’d succeeded. The
failure makes me hate him more. I want to ask him why power and riches were
more important, but I know the answer wouldn’t give me closure. His eyes
flutter closed and his last breath is soft upon his parted lips beneath his
greying beard.
My eyes drift closed as searing heat
spreads through me and threatens to burst. The world is anew when I open them.
I stand, smooth my dress and walk to the heavy wooden door and swing it wide.
The two guards outside the door jerk to
attention and look to me, expectant.
“He has passed,” I announce. “Notify the
counsel.”
They rush to do as commanded and I return
to the room, lean against the column nearest the balcony and wait.
Cheers burst when the first blow of the
horn bursts and resounds in the square. The people chant over and over, “The
Satrap is dead!”
I revel in their joyous proclamation of
his death.
Footsteps echo behind me and the owner
clears his throat.
“It is not a blessed day?” I ask,
continuing to observe the people.
“Āmitis, the General requires your
presence.”
I whirl and narrow my eyes on one of his
men, scowling. The soldier takes a hurried step back.
“Satrap
Āmitis – I am the ruling governor
here now and you will address me as such. As for the General, he may demand my
presence, but I am not his to command. He knows where to find me.”
I whip around, stride outside, and across
the balcony to its edge. Beyond the high outer walls surrounding Issatis, the
land changes quickly to the barren landscape of the surrounding deserts and the
mountains rising in the far distance. We’re isolated from the growing turmoil
between the Medes and Persians, the sun and sand keeping us safe. But it will
soon end – the dark hand of death approaches. Some of the people cheer at the
sight of me. Other’s boo. A slow new chant begins, half of the people joining
in. “Long live the Satrap! Long live the Satrap!”
The
people have expectations. Am I my father’s daughter or am I something else? I
am both.
Smoke and saffron sting my nose as it drifts
toward me, accompanied by the heavy fall of rapid steps. A hush falls over the
crowd. “I believe they’re eager to see what will happen next. Shall I amaze
them?”
The General grunts and comes to stand
beside me. Sweat
drips from the side of his face and into his graying beard. He must have run to
my side, eager to control the situation. His polished golden scaled armor and
red cloak distinguish him as General to everyone watching. “And what does the
young Satrap plan on doing to ‘entertain’
her people?” A rueful chuckle rumbles in his chest.
“I will show them change.” I smile, sweet
and devious.
Heat rises in his face and his brows
furrow at my mockery. I am all that remains standing in his way of all he
desires.
“You think it’s that easy? It takes longer
than sixteen years to learn to lead a great city such as Issatis. You may be
Satrap, Āmitis, but you don’t know the people. That is why you need a strong
general such as me.”
I meet his glare. The General towers over
me by at least a foot, but I haven’t any fear. “We had a strong and fair general. Do you not remember General Shari?
My mother.”
“It’s a shame she became ill and had to
step down.”
My muscles tighten. I doubt that very
much, his advancement is proof enough he’s to blame for me. If I could only
figure out how he poisoned her…
“We aren’t the only ones on verge of
rebellion. Word arrived this morning that another of the High King’s Satraps
turned supporter of that rebel, half Persian, grandson of his,” he spits in
disgust. “Mark my words, you won’t be able to handle the responsibilities of
Satrap. If Astyages lets you keep the
position, you’re going to lose the power you just attained.”
“Because of rebellion or because you’re
planning on seizing power?”
He smirks. “Revolution is upon you,
regardless of Astyages and Cyrus’… issues.
Do you even have the soldiers outside of your personal army under your control?”
Arrogant bastard. I clench my jaw, take a
deep breath and release it slowly. He braces himself on the ledge and leans.
His eyes graze the city below, hungrily taking it in. “There’s only one way
stop an uprising: Destroy it.”
“No,” I breathe as my lips slide into a
sly smile. “The people will die for me and love me for allowing them to do it.”
He lets out a snort of derision but he
can’t stop himself from asking, “How?”
“I will give them exactly what they want,”
I announce, and place my hand on top of his. “I will lead their revolution.”
The General’s eyes widen. He gasps,
struggling to breathe. Jerking wildly, he tries to pull his hand from mine but
it doesn’t free. I tighten my grasp and dig my nails into his hand as I drain
his life while thinking of choking him. He claws at his throat with his free
hand and I wonder if he will tear it open in desperation. I’d like to see that.
This is an end befitting the things he’s done in his time as General. He falls
to his knees and his two guards rush forward.
I hold out my hand, palm out. They stop.
I’m surprised they follow my order. But in the end they know whose word is law,
especially when one of us is on our knees. Leaning, my lips brushing his ear, I
whisper tenderly, “I’m more than my father’s daughter. I am my mother’s
daughter, and her Magian blood flows through my veins. You will die knowing her
power flows through me and that my father’s line no longer lies dormant. Both
lines of power sing though my blood and together, they have created something
new.”
Straightening my back, I stare at the
disposed General. He wheezes and gurgles one last time and falls on his side.
Dead, bulging eyes stare at me, mouth agape, and his face is a bright purplish-red.
But the color fades now that the beating of his heart has stopped.
I pulse with his and my father’s life. Everything
is brighter and clearer. Sharp like never before. A desert lark lands on the
edge of the balcony rail and chirps a song. I stare at the little bird and take
it as a good omen. It flutters its wings and leaps, taking to the sky. I could
soar away with the energy coursing through my veins.
But that isn’t to be, nor will I be keeping
the life I’ve taken. I pull the sheathed sword from his belt. It is polished
and sharp. The razor’s edge gleams in the sunlight. It’s beautiful. I raise it
high and bring it down with all my might. Crimson sprays against my dress and
leaks, the blood pooling at my feet. Satisfied, I grab hold of his hair and
pickup his head.
Turning to the guards, I instruct, “Put
his body on the ledge.”
They stand unmoving. This was their general:
There is no greater dishonor than to not die in battle or to not have a proper
funeral. But he doesn’t deserve one. For too long he encouraged my father to
amass wealth and ignore the people unless it was law to benefit their and the
High King’s gain. Both were puppets of Astyages, and it wouldn’t be long before
they followed in his footsteps and enslaved anyone they wished – including
their own people. My people.
I hiss at them, “Are you refusing a
command from your Satrap?”
The soldiers shake their heads vigorously
and lurch to do as commanded. They heave the body onto the edge. They hesitate,
looking at me one last time in hope I rescind the order. They know what I
intend.
Returning my attention to my people, I
ascend the stairs to the top of the wide ledge and thrust the head high into
the air for all to see. Warm blood runs down, twisting and encircling a trail
around my arm, and splatters against my white dress embroidered with gold and
jewels. I want… no… I need them to
see red against the stark white. Visuals are as important as words during
precarious times such as this. I announce clear and strong, “My people: The
Satrap’s reign has ended, I give you his General.” I nod, commanding the
soldiers to proceed. They roll the body over the edge and it falls to disappear
from sight. My eyes flicker down, making sure his horrid body didn’t hit anyone
beneath. I wonder what they will do with the useless corpse.
Letting my lids drift closed, I lift my
face to the sky and pray, ‘Please, Ahura
Mazda, please let this be what they need to unite and follow where I lead.’ Opening
my eyes, I draw a deep breath and with all I have, shout, “A new era has begun!”
A roar overtakes the crowd and
reverberates off of the buildings. They may not know everything that happened
here or why, but they know nothing is the same. It’s all they need to know. I
toss the head to the ground below with the rest of the body. Satisfied, I
return inside, leaving them to chant, “Long live the Satrap!”
A figure stands at the foot of my father’s
bed. I wonder when he arrived and how much he saw. Before I have the chance to ask,
Astiak speaks as I stop a few feet away.
“That was an intriguing display.”
“I’m glad to have amused you, Uncle.”
Astiak abruptly inclines his head and half
bows. “I am yours to command, Satrap.”
The shadows of the guards glide across the
polished marble floor. I doubt he’d have done the same had they not come inside.
“Men,” I call their attention. “Astiak is
General.”
He doesn’t bother to fake surprise. Instead
he remains passive – an expression he wears as often and as well as old worn-in
shoes. We’d discussed the position when it was announced the Satrap was close
to death. I will keep the secret I taunted the General with minutes ago.
Astiak wastes no time in exercising his
new power. “Inform your comrades forthwith. I’ll address the troops in two
hours. Make sure they’re ready.”
Bowing, they make their exit.
We wait until their footsteps have long
since faded before moving, let alone speak. The palace is as dangerous as the
land beyond our own, the gentle green lands seem to breed hostility rather than
conquer it.
Astiak clears his throat. “The poison worked
quicker than I thought.”
“What of it?”
“Only an observation.” He strolls toward
the balcony and stops where I stood earlier. I wonder what he’s thinking as the
celebration continues throughout the city and fills the air. I hope they
remember this day as one that untied us and made us strong when the obscurity
of war descends.
“It’s also an indication one should be
diligent if worried for their health.”
A laugh bubbles and I press my fingertips
to my lips. I grin at his back. If only he had an idea of how true his words
are. It makes me wonder if he knows how precarious his own position is. The
support garnered by my mother must give him great comfort.
“You know, I’ve always been amazed at how
fortunate you are to be blessed with the gift of the Magi considering you’re
only half.”
“Indeed.” Waiting, I let him lead the
conversation.
He spins and strides toward me. “Zara’s
dream of the Satrap becoming ill… Remarkable.”
“Although fortunate, as my next in command,
I don’t find it remarkable – what happens to me affects her.” I wonder if he
suspects I interpreted my own dream – a gift even full blooded Magi lack the
ability to do.
He studies me, intent. “You travel a
precarious road, Āmitis.”
I
swallow the lump forming in my throat. I loathe the way he looks at me. There’s
a constant feeling of failure that accompanies it. It’s as if he’s expects
something more and believes I’ll never meet the secret expectations. It
shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
“Is there something else you’d like to add?”
In his hesitation to answer, I stride past
him, eager to be rid of confusion and self-doubt he instills. His hand is
suddenly on my arm and forcing me to stop and face him.
“Be careful, Āmitis. If not for your sake,
for your mother’s.”
Panic flashes. I cannot decipher if it was
a veiled threat or genuine concern. “What is that supposed to mean?”
The grasp on my arm falls away and for a
second, Astiak looks helpless, if not lost.
“It means: Don’t let your drive for power
change you into what you despise…” His eyes fall upon my father’s body.
Fury rises – I know what’s going to happen
and yet I can’t stop. “I didn’t usurp power and cover myself in that vile man’s
blood because I want power, I did it because I had to…” My arm snaps out and I point to the balcony. “For them!” Like thunder, my voice bounces
off of the columns and polished marble floor and fills my ears. I cut myself of
before I spill a secret.
“If you don’t have the forethought to watch out for yourself, someone else must.”
Dropping my voice low, I challenge him, “I don’t know why you’re always trying to cast yourself in the role as my father with these bits of advice and misplaced concern, but you can see it where it led the father I had. Keep to your position as General.”