Song of Ashes

58: The Death of Traitors

Kogoren, apparently satisfied for the moment, turned her attention to Sarka with vicious intent. "But you, girl...you will taste no mercy. You are to blame for all of this."

Sarka, still reeling at Konn's betrayal, tried to focus on the horror at hand instead of the pain of being left behind by the man who had called her his child. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, steeling her will and hoping she looked braver than she felt. Looking at Kogoren was like seeing her own death: she could see the ridges and valleys of the goddess's skull outlined beneath skin that was nearly translucent. The goddess's hands were what Sarka's would look like when decay had claimed her mortal form.

Trying to keep the quiver out of her voice, she said, "No."

"No?" echoed Kogoren, raising her brows.

"No, I am not to blame. I owed you nothing-neither loyalty nor love-for you have never done anything to deserve either from me."

Kogoren said, "I created the world you were born into. I created everything you saw, everything you touched, from the moment you left your whore mother's womb."

Sarka was pricked by the insult to Lerna, who had done everything in her power to give Sarka a fair chance at life. "You destroyed the world before I was even born into it. You gave me nothing. Do not speak of my mother." Her voice broke.

"I gave you your life." Kogoren stepped down from her dais, her gaze sharp and predatory. "I should have killed your mother when you still clung to her insides. She should have died at the end of the world-but she didn't. I suffered her to live, too distracted by the evil that was done to me when Artor fled his rightful place at my side. Your mother died peacefully, which was the last thing she deserved."

"My mother died sick and starving," Sarka cried. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ro move; he had taken a couple of steps closer to her. "You might not have killed her in the Cataclysm, but you killed her all the same. She deserved a long life. A peaceful, good life. You never gave her the chance!"

"Oh, child, she had it. She had every chance." Kogoren's smile was thin and sharp and wicked, all teeth. "But she coveted what was mine. The blame for what happened lies on the shoulders of all my wicked children, but most of it belongs to your mother-and to you. She turned Artor's head, and you are the result of their treachery."

Something was slowly clicking into place. An echo, a memory. "What..."

"You are the product of the traitors who destroyed the world."

Before she could respond, Sarka was brought to her knees by incredible pain; heat sliced down her face, an echo of the strike of the wildcat that had blinded her. She put a hand over her face, but to touch her skin was torture, so she just as quickly tore her hand away, shrieking. Through the tears that sprang unbidden to her eyes, Sarka saw Kogoren's face, twisted with hate.

The goddess said, "Your mother. Your mother took him from me. All of my priests and all of my people could not bring him back!"

Sarka could not shape any words. She was in too much pain. From somewhere behind her, she heard Ro shouting, "Stop this! Let her go!"

Kogoren ignored him. She gestured sharply, and the pain that had electrified half of Sarka's face ignited the rest of her body all at once. Every nerve ending flared. She crumpled to the floor, as weak and helpless as a babe in the womb. There was no way to endure this and live.

"Stand up," said Kogoren, but Sarka did not think she could even move her limbs, let alone force herself to stand.

"Let her go!" Ro bellowed.

"Get her up!" snarled the goddess. At once, Sarka felt the cold hands of the Beloved taking hold of her and lifting her to her feet. She swayed, looking up at the goddess through the curtain of her tangled black hair.

Kogoren said, "You will pay for every rebellious thought you had, and with every drop of blood, with every tear, you will renew the people's fear and devotion. I feel it now, girl. I am restored to my power. With a priesthood to serve me, and with the punishment for your treachery to serve as a warning for those who would betray me, I will win back the allegiance and the love of my people!"

Ro said, "You know nothing of love."

Sarka turned her head to see Ro strung between two of the Beloved. They held him fast, and he was breathing hard, as if he had been struggling to free himself. Suddenly afraid that Kogoren would turn the torture she had suffered onto Ro as well, Sarka screamed at him. "Ro, shut up! For once in your life, shut up!"

But Ro did not heed her. "Love is compassion and kindness and truth. It inspires you to do more than you think you can. Love begets fear only insofar as it makes you afraid-desperately afraid-to lose that which you love." Ro's gaze flickered, leaving Kogoren's face for an instant and falling on Sarka's. "Love does not seek to instill fear, and it is not born of fear. What you had, Kogoren, was never love. It was obedience."

Sarka swayed between the Beloved who held her. There had been something new in Ro's face-something soft, something tender, something real. But it had been there and gone in an instant, so quickly that she was not even certain she'd seen it.

A hoarse, desperate scream shattered the silence, breaking the atmosphere into slivers. Struggling against the Beloved who held her, Sarka turned, trying to see who had screamed. It hadn't been she, and it hadn't been Ro, so who-?

Konn. He was running toward Sarka, his face twisted and intense, his eyes crazed. In both hands, he brandished the rusted dagger he had wrenched out of the neck of the corpse in the dungeon.

Sarka stood for an instant in horror and confusion. Then, she lunged to the side, but she was held fast between the Beloved, and they, just as startled, did not release her. In the next instant, Sarka was staring down at a bloody hand-Konn's? Her own?-clutching the hilt of the dagger protruding from her heart.

Suddenly released as the Beloved surged forward to seize Konn, Sarka fell to her knees.

Someone was screaming. Maybe many people. Sarka heard her name somewhere in those screams. She looked up, her vision swimming, and saw the priest staring down at the blood on his hands.

"Konn?" she whispered.

She should have shouted, should have shrieked his name in the pain of her betrayal, but the strength had fled from her limbs.

Sarka slumped to the ground. She turned her head, trying to see where Ro was, but the last thing she saw before she died was Konn's once-gentle face, the face of the friend who had killed her.