Beelzebub

“The wishes of the Plaguebringer are clear.” Beelzebub says, her mouth drawn into a taut frown. “The Religious Council unanimously agree that we have to stop hunting and start-”

“Thank you for your time.” Skywall casually waves an arm to dismiss her, briefly lifting his claws from his pearl.

She does not leave. “The wishes of the Plaguemother will be respected. You forget yourself, Arcanist.”

“No, you forget yourself, granddaughter.”

The spiral dragon glares at him, body undulating. She has mastered her natural flightiness, becoming sombre and still through sheer force of will. As a young adult she tattooed her entire body with deep red skeletal marks, calling it a blessing from the Plaguemother. When the clan finally moved to the Wyrmwound she had started hearing the Goddess’s voice. Or so she said. Half of the clan recognize her as a prophet, the other half as High Priestess. Few dispute her religious authority. She bears a staff and grimoire of spells, guarded by her rattle snake and red-tailed boa. Apart from that, she’s dressed in bones and rags: traditional plague regalia.

“You would do well to listen to me, Skywall.” She hisses, serpentine, her snakes winding around her horns. “I speak for Her Highness.”

“I take your counsel, but religious leaders do not belong in this meeting of strategy. You forget how many illnesses ‘Her Highness’ inflicts on our non-plague members. We are not hers to command.”

“Treason!”

“He’s right.” Lisbeth speaks. “We do not answer to the Plaguebringer and we never have. We worship her but she does not totally rule us. We will convene with the council in due course, and until that time it is Westward who is tasked with informing us of any emergencies. You have no place here, Beelzebub.”

Beelzebub hisses but slinks off. No one disobeys Lisbeth, the unofficial head of the council. Her bones rattling as she leaves the cave’s antechamber.

Alyosha looks solemn. “We have to be more careful with her. The clan trust her.”

“She’s just a con artist!” Skywall huffs. “We all know the Plaguemother doesn’t speak with her and I saw her at birth – she was as blue and crystalline as I am.” He pauses for a moment, grief-stricken, remembering everyone who fell in the Great Migration. Once, his family had been vast, until all were slain in brutal conflict but Beelzebub. “Making her High Priestess was a mistake – we should have given the position to Plagia. She was blessed with the Plaguemother’s image at birth, she’s the daughter of one of our strongest warriors, and she’s easier to control.”

“But we didn’t give the position to Plagia.” Naphi the Lych Queen observes coolly. “We gave it to your kin, on your command.”

Skywall reddens at the insinuation. “Are you doubting my commitment?” Naphi looks away. They all remember how much Skywall has lost. “How about your hatchling, Arial, the one we call Contagrigousa? We’ve all seen her eyes – that’s an indisputable gift from the Plaguemother herself.”

“I’ve ordered Westward to take her under his wing.” Arial says, pride deep in his voice. “I am her grandsire and I will see that she is put on the religious council. It won’t be easy, though. Beelzebub says her eyes are an accident of birth, a random mutation. People listen to her.”

“I see it like this.” Everyone turn to Lisbeth, the tiny unfaelike fae, and listens in deep respect. “Soon, she’ll have to pick between the explicit, actual, wishes of the Plaguemother, and her own agenda. When she goes against our Goddess, then the religious council will unanimously vote to remove her. No one will be happy about it, but they’ll accept the ruling. Maybe then she’ll leave the Clan, maybe she’ll even take some of them with her, and that’ll be that. Until then, we wait and we tread carefully. And, most importantly of all: we do not concede any power to her.”

“Have you heard,” Alyosha whispers to his closest confidant, “What she’s saying about you?”

Lisbeth chuckles. “Yes, she says that I’m unplaguelike, that my recent eye change from the mutation shows that I’m a secret agent for the Nature Flight. It does more to discredit her than me. I laid the bedrock in this clan – the dragons here know me – and she forgets how many of our clan members were not born here. Westward, our own priest, defected from the Nature Flight. She does not scare me.”

“Be careful.” Naphi warns, gaze unreadable. “Many of your allies have moved on. Exalted, felled in battle, killed by disease. The younger ones listen to Beelzebub more than you think.”

“I am not afraid.”