A Wasteland of My God's Own Making by Bradley P. Beaulieu

Author:Bradley P. Beaulieu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quillings Literary

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Late that night, Nadín lay by Djaga’s side in the ship’s lone bunk. Nadín’s skin was warm against hers. They way she and Nadín had made love after, in such a mechanical way, had made her feel worse than when Hathahn had left. Afua and her machinations had ruined that as well.

Nadín raked her fingers over Djaga’s short hair. It was normally a thing that felt so good. Tonight it grated. She let Nadín do it anyway. She knew it was Hathahn’s doing. She’d already felt out of sorts before he’d come to the ship, but it had only been magnified by the strange way he’d spoken to her, as if he could browbeat her into fighting him.

Say what you will, she could hear Afua saying. He was only telling you the truth.

Somewhere out in the desert, the grunts of a black laugher were followed by the yip of a jackal. Nadín stilled her movements, then pulled Djaga’s jaw toward her until they were eye-to-eye in the moonlight spilling through the nearby porthole. “Why did you never tell me all of this?”

Djaga shrugged. “How could I?”

Nadín smiled a knowing smile. “One word at a time.”

“Each describing my shame more fully.”

Nadín shook her head. “There’s no shame in the truth. You were only trying to please your goddess. And there’s no shame in asking for help, either.”

A tear slipped from the corner of Djaga’s eye, a tear which Nadín wiped away. “I don’t know what to do, my love. I keep asking myself how I can please her. She’s insatiable. I feel her, always, gnawing at me from the inside. It’s already growing worse. She wants more and more.” She went on before Nadín could reply. “I know you think it will pass in time. And there’s a part of me that hopes it’s true, but I worry she will never let me go for what I’ve done. I worry my debt will never be paid. Not until I pass beyond these shores.”

Nadín was quiet for a long while. She licked her lips before speaking. “Could there be truth to it?”

Djaga knew exactly what she meant. “Of course there could.”

“But there’s no way to know.”

“No.”

Nadín used her fingers to rub away the tear in Djaga’s other eye. “Will Osman find a better fighter than Hathahn?”

Djaga weighed her words carefully before speaking. She thought she knew where Nadín was headed, but she didn’t want to influence her. “One never knows. But Hathahn is as vicious a fighter as Sharakhai has seen in decades. Those that have been watching the pit fights for generations all say it is so.”

“Then fight him,” Nadín said. “If you don’t, and Sjado continues to haunt you, you’ll always wonder if he might have freed you. And in him you can be freed of your guilt. He wants to die, Djaga. It’s like the goddess herself set this task before you. I don’t wish you to fight, but you’ve one last fight ahead, so do this. Fight him.

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