Numair smiled twistedly. “I am informed that passage between the realms has an adverse effect on mortals.” He clung to the door frame.
Silver fire glimmered on the floor, and a large badger appeared. Daine smiled as her mentor waddled over. He looked up at her with black eyes that were bright in his vividly-marked face. “Hullo,” she told him. “So we’ve you to thank for handling those Skinners?”
“You wouldn’t rest until you knew they were dealt with.” Balancing on his hindquarters, the god rose to plant his forepaws on her covers. Her nose filled with his musky, heavy scent.
Gently she scratched him behind the ears. Since she had left her Gallan home, the badger had visited her, teaching her the use of her wild magic, and warning of danger to come. The claw she wore around her neck was his; he could always trace it to find her.
Sarra frowned at Numair. “You are supposed to sit, and stay sat.” She made a tugging gesture at the wall beside the mage. That part of the room began to move; the floor buckled and rose. The wall stretched to meet it, then sagged to create a chair. “Down, Master Salmalín!” ordered Sarra. Meekly, he did as ordered.
Daine’s jaw dropped. “But—Ma, you can’t—you never—”
“Things are different here,” the badger said. “In the Divine Realms, we gods can shape our surroundings to suit ourselves.”
“Sometimes,” added Weiryn.
“Wonderful,” the girl said weakly. She was not sure that she liked to see unliving things move about under their own power. “Tell me—how did we come here? The last thing I remember is the Skinners.”
Weiryn and Sarra traded glances. “You were in danger of your life, against a foe you could not fight,” the god said. “We had meant to bring you only, but this— man—” he glared at the mage— “refused to let go of you. We were forced to bring him as well.”
“I just thank the Goddess that you met the Skinners on one of the great holidays, when we could pull you through to us,” added Daine’s mother. “Otherwise you would have been killed. It fair troubles me that no one we’ve asked has ever heard of those creatures.”
Light bloomed through the curtains on a window that filled one of the walls, growing steadily brighter, then fading. Just as it was nearly gone, another slow flash came. “Oh, dear,” remarked Sarra as Weiryn opened the drapes. “They’re still at it.”
“What’s going on?” Numair asked, lurching to his feet.
“Will you sit?” cried Daine’s mother. “Men! You’re so stubborn!” Numair quickly sat, this time on the bed. Sulkily, the chair that Sarra had made for him sank into the wall.
Daine stared at the view. The ground here dropped away to meet a busy stream. There were no trees between stream and house, although the forest grew thickly on the far side of the water. In the oval of open sky overhead, waves of rippling pea green, orange, yellow, and gray fire shimmered and coursed.
“What is it?” she whispered. Numair took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I feel that it means something bad, but it’s so beautiful . . .”
“It means that Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, is fighting the Great Gods,” said the badger. That light is her magic and her soldiers, as they attack the barriers between our realm and hers.”
“She has been at it since Midwinter.” Weiryn put an arm around Sarra. “Normally the lights that burn in our sky reflect your mortal wars, but this is far more important.”
“Thanks ever so,” muttered Numair. Daine grinned at him.
Sarra looked at her daughter and said reproachfully, “Speaking of war, I never raised you to be always fighting and killing. That’s not woman’s work.”
“It’s needful, Ma. You taught me a woman has to know how to defend herself.”
“I never!” gasped Sarra, indignant.
“You taught me when you were murdered in your own house,” Daine said quietly.
Sarra turned back into Weiryn’s hold, leaning on his chest, but not before the girl saw tears in her mother’s eyes. A hand patted her ankle; a broad head thrust itself under her elbow. Against her mother’s hurt, she set Numair’s smile and the badger’s approval.
“Sarra, our war in Tortall may seem unimportant to the gods, but not to us,” Numair said. “Daine and I must return to it. They need every fighter, and every mage.”
Daine nodded, and closed her eyes. She felt dizzy. Her bones were aching again.
Sarra glanced over and saw what was wrong. “We’ll talk of that later,” she said crisply. “You both need to drink a posset, then sleep again. It will be a few days before the effects of your passage are over.” She went to the hearth and ladled something from a pot into a pair of cups. One she gave to Numair, the other to Daine. “Drink.”
The liquid in the cup smelled vile, but Daine knew better than to argue. She gulped it down when Numair did, praying that her stomach wouldn’t reject it.
“Back to bed, sir mage,” ordered Sarra.
“Good night, Daine,” Numair said. The badger echoed him.
“G’night,” she murmured, eyes closing already. She sank back among pillows that smelled of sun-dried cotton. “Oh—I forgot. G’night—Da.”
She heard a deep chuckle; a hand smoothed her curls. “I am glad that you are here and safe, little one.”
Daine smiled, and slept.
Waking slowly, she heard familiar voices, and thought she dreamed them.
The speaker was a mage, Harailt of Aili. “—from Fiefs Seabeth and Seajen.” He panted, as if he’d been running. “A Yamani fleet’s been sighted to the west. The bad news is, somehow the Scanrans knew they were coming. They fled overnight.”
“Father Storm’s curses!” That voice was Queen Thayet’s. “How does the enemy get his information? I’d swear on my children’s lives that there’s no way for a spy to report our plans—and yet the enemy continues to stay one step ahead!”
“I’ll ask the mages to start using truthspells and the Sight, and see if we can identify an enemy agent.” Harailt sounded worn out.
“Please do,” replied the queen. “And when we find him—or her—I hope that person is good with his gods.”
Daine opened her eyes. The little room was silent, and bathed in sunlight.
What a strange dream, she thought, and sat up.
There was an even stranger animal on her bed.
At first she thought that someone had played a very bad joke on a young beaver; her visitor had that same dense brown fur. No beaver, though, had ever sported a duck’s bill. The tail was wrong, too. It was the proper shape, but it was covered with hair. As the creature, a little over two feet in length, toddled up the length of her bed, she saw that it had webbed feet. Reaching her belly, it cocked its head first one way, then the other, examining her with eyes deeply set into the skull, near that preposterous bill.
“G’day, Weiryn’s daughter,” the animal greeted her. “Glad to see you awake.”
Daine had stopped breathing—she made herself inhale. “Are you a—a god?”
“We’re all gods here, except for the immortals,” replied her visitor.
She sat up carefully. “Excuse me for asking, but—what are you, exactly?”
“I am Broad Foot, the male god of the duckmoles.”
“Duckmoles? I never heard of them.” His fleshy bill was the same shape as a duck’s, but with comblike ridges inside the bottom half. “May I pick you up?”
He nodded. “Mind the spurs on my hind feet, though. I’ve poison in them.”
She lifted him gently. The fur under her fingers was springy and thick. Examining broad, webbed feet armed with heavy claws, she handled the rear ones—and their venomous spurs—with care. “What on earth do you eat?” she asked, putting him down.
“My people eat shrimp, insects, snails—frogs and small fish if we can get any. I usually eat the same things as my people, though gods are more venturesome. Sarra cooks the best fish stew in the Divine Realms. I spend warm seasons here, just for that.”
“You
come here for Ma’s cooking?”
His eyes twinkled. “That’s right. She sent me to tell you that she has food ready for you, if you care to dress and come out.”
Daine eased out from under the blankets, careful not to dislodge her guest, and saw that she wore a cotton nightgown. “How long have we been here?” she asked Broad Foot.
“Four days. See you in the garden.” Silver fire bloomed; the duckmole vanished.
Four days was too long. What were Kitten, Tkaa, and King Jonathan doing now? Did they know that Numair and Daine weren’t dead? Frowning, she washed her face and cleaned her teeth; all that she needed to do those chores lay on a table.
Looking about, she saw a simple red cotton dress at the foot of the bed. Under it lay a pink shift, under-clothes, and red slippers. She wished they were a shirt and breeches, but knew she might as well put them on. There was no sign of her old clothes, but even if she could find them, she doubted that they would be in very good condition.
Once dressed, she had to sit briefly to catch her breath. The weakness and ache weren’t as bad as they had been, but she was still shaky. Tidying her bed required another rest before she could leave the room. She did not see the pocket of shadow that separated from the gloom under her bed and followed her.
The main room of the cottage was empty of people. Looking around, she saw the things that she would expect in her mother’s house, as well as three heavy perches—as if very large birds often visited. She guessed that other bedrooms lay behind closed doors. Two doors, however, stood open. Outside one, a path led downhill into a forest. Going to the other, she looked into a walled kitchen garden. A small well, a table, benches, and an outdoor hearth were placed on the open grass. Her mother sat at the table, peeling apples. The duckmole sat on the table beside her, pushing a bit of peel with his bill.
Sarra beamed as Daine sat opposite her. “It’s long past breakfast, but I thought you might still want porridge.” She filled a bowl from a pot on the hearth. Pitchers of honey and cream were on the table; Daine used both. The porridge was rich, with a deep, nutty taste that shocked her. It was stuffed with bits of dried fruit, each tasting fresh picked. The cream and honey also were intensely flavorful. She ate only half of the bowl, and put it aside. Her mother drew a mug of water from the well. That was easier to swallow, although it was as powerful as if it came from an icy mountain stream.
Sarra frowned. “You should be hungrier, after all that sleep and the pain from crossing over.”
“You forget how things tasted when you first came here.” A fluffy orange-and-white–marbled cat leaped onto the table to sit in front of Daine. She stared at the girl with large, amber eyes, pink nose twitching. “In the Divine Realms, you eat the essence of things, not the shadow. I am Queenclaw, goddess of house cats.”
Respectfully, the girl bowed. Queenclaw was an impressive creature. “It’s a very great honor, meeting you.”
“Of course it is.” The cat began to wash.
“How’d you come to be here, Ma?” Daine asked. “I thought the mortal dead go to the Black God’s realm.”
Sarra cut up her apples. “So I did,” she replied. “Your father came for me there. He petitioned the Great Gods to allow me to live with him. They decided it was well enough.” She eyed Daine warily. “You blame me for not telling you about him?”
Daine looked at the cat, who was still washing, and at the duckmole, who was grinding apple bits in his bill. She’d forgotten her ma’s way of discussing private things before others. “It might’ve helped later, is all. Ma, we can’t stay, you know. We’re—”
Queenclaw hissed, and leaped off the table. Briefly Daine suspected her of creating a diversion, until she saw that a black shape, almost like a living ink blot, was tangled in the cat’s teeth and claws. It wriggled and shifted like water, trying to escape. Only when the duckmole jumped down to stand on one of the thing’s tendrils did it quiet.
“What is that?” the girl wanted to know.
“I’ve no notion,” replied Sarra, frowning. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Unless it’s one of Gainel’s—the Dream King’s. It could be one of his nightmares.”
“No,” Queenclaw said, looking up. “He’s strict with his creatures. They lose their power over mortals if they’re allowed to wander, so he keeps them close.”
“We’ll hold it for Weiryn to look at when he returns.” Sarra reached down, white light spilling from her fingers. When it touched the shadowy thing, Queenclaw and Broad Foot moved away from it. Kneeling, Sarra picked the creature up, using the white fire as a kind of scoop. “What manner of beastie are you?” she asked, frowning.
The creature rolled itself into a small, tight ball.
“I command you, give me your name!” ordered Sarra. There was a crack, and a smell of blood. “Darking?” She looked at the animal gods. “Have you heard of it?”
“Never,” Queenclaw said, washing a forepaw.
Broad Foot shook his head. Vanishing in a wave of silver fire, he reappeared on the table next to the girl. “Easier than climbing for a little fellow like me,” he explained.
Daine’s mother shrugged, dropping the creature into her apron pocket. “That will hold you for now.” She drew a line of white fire across the pocket’s opening. Seeing it, Daine was uneasy: Sarra’s magical Gift had always shown as rose-pink fire, not white.
“Don’t fuss,” the woman told her pocket as the darking began to thrash inside. “You’ll just—” She fell silent abruptly and cocked her head, as if she listened to someone.
When Daine opened her mouth, the cat placed a paw over it, silencing her. “Hush,” Queenclaw whispered. “Someone needs her.” Fur tickled Daine’s nose; she sneezed.
“You are known to the Green Lady, Isa,” Sarra remarked, oddly formal. “You seek aid for a breach birth? Who is the mother?” She listened, then sighed. “Nonia. I see.”
Daine frowned. They had known an Isa and a Nonia in Snowsdale. Her mother had always claimed that Isa would be a good midwife, if she could ever stop having children of her own. Nonia was barely a year older than Daine herself.
“Harken, Isa. You must turn the babe before it comes. No—listen to me, and I will help.” Absently, Sarra walked into the cottage, looking at something very far away.
Daine was the only one who saw the darking—whatever it was—drop to the ground through a hole in its pocket prison. She thought, just like Ma to fix the opening with magic and forget there’s a hole in the bottom. She said nothing as the darking vanished into the shadows by the cottage wall. If Queenclaw and Broad Foot hadn’t seen its escape, she wasn’t going to tell them. After all, the darking hadn’t done any harm.
“She’s not the same as she was back home,” she whispered, more to herself than to the cat or the duckmole.
“Of course not.” Queenclaw stretched. “Only gods or immortals may dwell here.”
“You’re telling me that Ma—my Ma—is a god.”
“There was a need,” Broad Foot explained. “The northern forests had no one to watch over village gardens and childbearing—the Great Mother Goddess can’t be everywhere. It wouldn’t have worked if your mother hadn’t liked such things already. Since she does, she became the Green Lady.”
“Is she my Ma, then?” demanded the girl. “Is she who she was, Sarra Beneksri?”
“Are you who you were?” asked the cat.
About to say that of course she was, Daine stopped herself. Daine of Snowsdale could no more heal animals—or turn into one—than the sun could rise in the west. She got up, ignoring a slight dizziness that overtook her. “Please excuse me. I need a walk.”
“Be careful,” both gods chorused.
“Do you wish a guide?” added Broad Foot, concern in his voice. “Some mortals find the Divine Realms overwhelming—”
“No company, thank you,” Daine said, heading toward the gate.
Outside the wall lay a well-marked path. To her right it curved around the house. To her left it
crossed a log bridge over a stream and led into the forest. Near the trees a rocky bluff rose in tumbles of earth and stone until it breached the leafy canopy. Anyone who climbed it should have a view that would stretch for miles.
Crossing the bridge, she found that her head had cleared; strength was returning to her legs and arms. She left the path at the foot of the bluff, taking a track that wound through piles of stone, leading her gently upward. When she stopped for a breath after steady climbing, a nearby chuckling sound drew her to a spring hidden in the rocks. A couple of sips of water were all that she needed: Her veins seemed to fill with a green and sparkling energy that carried her on upward.
There was plenty to think about as she climbed. Her Ma, a god? She loved her mother, but there was no denying that Sarra needed looking after. Without it, she would seek plants on a cloudy day without taking a hat. Gods were dignified, all-knowing, all-powerful creatures, weren’t they?
She knew that lesser gods entered the mortal realms only on the equinoxes and solstices and her mother had said it was good they met the Skinners on Midsummer Day. There were degrees of strength among gods, then. If this was so, then perhaps lesser gods weren’t all-anything, and Sarra could now be a divine being.
“There would be worse goddesses than Ma, I guess,” she remarked, then sighed.
She left her thin, pretty slippers under a bush when they began to pinch. Thickening the soles of her feet by changing them to elephant hide, she climbed on in comfort. The way was rocky and steep. By the time she reached the rocky summit, she was gasping.
Below was the forest roof, an expanse of countless shades of green, pierced by clearings, streams, and ponds. Turning, she found mountains that stabbed into the sky, their heads wrapped in cloud, their shoulders white with snow.
“Oh, glory,” she whispered, and went to see what lay below on that side. Passing a dip in the rock, she halted. A pool of some eerie substance was cupped there. It shimmered with green, yellow, gray, and blue lights, much like the colors that she’d seen in the sky the night before. They moved over its surface in globes, waves, or strips. Watching the pool made her giddy. She swayed, and put out a hand.
The Realms of the Gods Page 3