The World Above the Sky by Kent Stetson

died perishes with us. Please.” She offered the dagger, handle forward, to Henry. “If I die, God wills it. The child must live. I’ve nowhere else to turn.”
    The figure in the trees stepped forward. Keswalqw took his arm and pulled him back.
    â€œDon’t ask this of me,” Henry said.
    â€œI’m not asking. As you became father to me, when my earthly father’s blood was spilled at Albi, so you’ll be earthly father of this reluctant child.”
    â€œMy Lady, please—”
    â€œWhom do you serve?”
    â€œThe Kingdom of The Holy Grail.”
    â€œJust so. Swear.”
    â€œMy Lady—”
    â€œSwear!”
    â€œIf your soul departs…and your child lives, I swear...”
    Henry’s chin fell to his chest. Eugainia took his hand. She laid the dagger handle in his open palm. She closed his fist around it.
    â€œHenry, whom do you serve?”
    â€œMadam. I serve Thee.”
    â€œAnd…?”
    â€œMy Lady, I swear: the Royal and Holy Blood will reign again.”
    â€œIt has been spoken.”
    â€œGod wills it.”
    Eugainia lay back. She prepared her soul’s ascent to her Heavenly Father.
    Mimk ɨ tawo’qu’sk emerged from the forest. He smiled to reassure. Vine tattoos rose from either side of his navel, spiralling outward to circle his ribs. A red sunburst circled his heart. A tattooed serpent climbed his arm, draped itself across his shoulders. A soft hide cache-sexe , held in place with a braided thong, gave a contradictory sense of virility and vulnerability. His right hand clasped an artfully wrought spear. Its stone head glistened black as the rock against which Eugainia in her agony reclined.
    Henry rose, dagger poised. His free hand found his sword hilt.
    Mimk ɨ tawo’qu’sk offered sprigs of willow. Eugainia nodded. Mimk ɨ tawo’qu’sk set the willow on the ground. He slipped quietly back into the woods where Keswalqw waited, aware the drama unfolding before them had not reached its climax, knowing soon she would be required to play a major role.
    â€œLord Henry?” Eugainia turned, seeking the young man in the shadowed forest beyond the fringe of birch. “Is he man or God?”
    â€œThe young man from the canoe.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œReal enough.”
    Morgase thrashed into the clearing. She grasped uprooted plants, her face, skirts and mantle smeared with earth. She rounded on Antonio, who followed closely behind.
    â€œVenetian viper! Clement’s evil clings to you like stink from barbarous death. Stand back!”
    â€œShe takes me for some scarlet Prince of Rome. I’m a humble merchant, m’am—”
    â€œYou want my death—he wants my death! Evil. Evil! I have seen it!”
    â€œThe old witch is mad.”
    â€œYou knew my weakened state and bewildered me, on purpose—”
    â€œShe dug the earth, chewed grass and bush, crawled about, sniffed the soil like a rooting sow, then fainted dead away.”
    â€œYes, I fell.”
    â€œI tried to raise her up. She turned on me—”
    â€œLiar! Viper!! Brute!!! You struck me to the ground—”
    â€œYou sunk your filthy teeth into my forearm!”
    â€œI couldn’t breathe. You stood by, amused by my agony. Amused! When I asked your help, you thundered reprimands, cursing me and all women to the lowest depths of your unchristian hell.”
    â€œI stand amazed—”
    â€œYou purposefully provoked this killing rage in me. Purposefully! We may worship but one God, you said. There are no other gods to worship, you said. One God made all the world? One God, one male God rules heaven and earth? My ancient Goddess? Her Druid priests? No longer living? Oh, My Lady....Can this be? How have I failed you? Why have you deserted me?”
    Antonio Zeno believed Christ’s blood had been spilled for him alone. He fingered the cross at his neck, finely wrought gold