by Neil Beynon
Anya watched as the goddess’s gaze passed from her to Vedic and her expression changed. Danu took on a strange look: hunger, fear, rapture, all rolled into one, and it reminded her of her grandfather on receiving his first drink of the day. Anya looked away, shamed, as if witnessing a private exchange.
‘Laos,’ said Cernubus.
‘Cernubus,’ said Vedic, nodding.
Cernubus dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. The god’s eyes tracked them into the centre of the glade; the pair moved slowly. Anya looked for signs of the wolves or Kurah, but there appeared to be no one else on the island who she could see. She wasn’t sure where the fawn was.
‘You’ll find no one else,’ said Cernubus, amusement skirting his face. ‘The Morrigan did not leave many of the pack alive, not that I need them.’
Anya ignored him.
‘I want Danu,’ said Vedic, rolling his neck to loosen the muscles.
‘Ah, now,’ said Cernubus, circling them. ‘I saw her first, long before your ancestors even picked up a rock and cast a word to it.’
‘You’re going to let her go,’ said Vedic, shrugging. ‘One way or another.’
‘Bold words, old man,’ said Cernubus. A smile ghosted his lips but did not touch his eyes. ‘Still, I’m surprised, and impressed. Loyalty from someone she’s kept in a cage for fifty years, Kurah king after Kurah king, undoing all your work, and you – who commanded millions – reduced to chopping dead wood. I found your bastard god much reduced and easy to crush.’
Anya’s eyes flicked uncertainly between Vedic and Cernubus. Her memory was stirring. The woodsman ignored her glances, though his knuckles were now gripping his sword tight enough to turn his skin luminescent white.
Why aren’t we attacking? What’s Cernubus talking about? This was not going as Anya expected.
‘It needed undoing,’ said Vedic, his voice cracked. ‘I was misguided.’
‘I see the rumours are true,’ said Cernubus, his laugh soft. ‘Danu did unman you.’
Vedic smiled. ‘I’m a little old for that barb.’
Cernubus shrugged. ‘You may have been mistaken; who’s to say? But I promise you, coming here was an error. You should have run long and hard. Lived your life away from here. Instead, you’ll help fuel my fire.’
‘I know,’ he said, letting his sword drop lower.
Anya moved, seeking to flank the god before Vedic killed himself by lowering his guard or worse. She couldn’t understand what he was doing.
‘Then you’re finally ready?’ the god asked, surprised but ready to execute the woodsman with his spear. ‘You no longer fear the other side?’
‘I am prepared,’ said Vedic, eyes not moving from the god. ‘Why? Are you scared of the dark?’
‘Vedic?’ asked Anya, her eyes flicking round to get a look at him.
Cernubus examined the woodsman, stepped in closer. ‘You give up so easily?’
Vedic brought his head forward in a sharp crack, slamming his forehead into Cernubus’s nose.
The god staggered back, more surprised than hurt.
Vedic’s sword followed his headbutt in close succession, though Cernubus blocked it.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Vedic, swinging round for another strike.
Hogarth stared out of the window of his throne room across the forest, his jaw knotting and smoothing as if he were chewing his problems.
The king’s small entourage watched silently, waiting for him to speak. Weeks had passed since Akyar had left, and no word had been received from his vizier. The men he had sent to watch over them had been found dead near the borderlands with the gods. Now his own wife, Jiana, was preparing to go looking for his lost son, and he was practically under house arrest from the elders.
Jiana entered the room. Hogarth threw a quick glance at her before returning to the window. She had come to say goodbye. She nodded at the king’s bodyguard as she walked over to Hogarth and slipped her hand onto her husband’s shoulder. The king turned slightly, his cheeks wet.
‘You still mean to go?’
Jiana nodded.
‘I wish I could leave as well, come with you.’
The guards stepped forward, ready to restrain him if they had to, ready to enforce the elders’ ruling themselves and protect the king from himself.
Jiana shook her head, placing her hand on his chest. Her meaning was clear even without her whispering in his mind. The impotence of his position and the stark reality that he might not see his son again brought more angry tears. His wife lifted her hand to her head, then her heart before resting it on Hogarth’s chest, the words echoing in his mind.
‘As you will be in mine. Be careful, and do not trust the woodsman,’ said Hogarth, resting his hand on hers. ‘He is more dangerous than he appears. He has done things … things to rival even the Morrigan. For such a short-lived species, they are capable of such extraordinary destruction.’
‘The woodsman isn’t evil.’
The voice came from the far side of the room, near the door. The pair froze – they didn’t believe what they were hearing.
‘Mother?’ said Meyr.
Jiana and Hogarth turned. The queen hesitated for a moment, uncertain if he was really standing in the doorway. Hesitation gave way to relief, and she ran to gather her son in her arms. She hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder. The muted sounds of her cries rebounded round the chamber. Hogarth sank slowly onto the step of the dais, his shoulders dropping. His cheeks were still wet, but this time the emotion was welcome.
The king’s gaze passed from his son to the figures that had walked with him into the room. Akyar looked a century older than he had when he left, leaning on his sword, covered in dust, his robe tattered, and he was accompanied by a shorter and hooded figure that was neither Vedic nor Anya. His eyes were only noticeable within his hood when they reflected the firelight of the torches.
‘Sire,’ said Akyar, bowing. ‘It is good to see you again.’
‘Thank you, old friend,’ said the king to Akyar. He turned to the stranger. ‘And to you, friend, but you do not look to be one of the party who I sent for my son.’
‘You are welcome, Lord Hogarth,’ said the stranger, leaving his hood up. ‘I come on behalf of the woodsman, and Anya, who must tend to their own business now.’
‘It is customary to call me by my correct title in my own hall,’ said Hogarth, rising to his feet. ‘Who are you, stranger?’
‘I’m afraid you will have to forgive me, lord. I am not permitted to call any person king, be they man, Tream or god,’ said Pan, drawing back his hood. ‘As to who I am, I have had many names, but you can call me Pan.’
Every Tream save Jiana and Hogarth drew their weapons. They surrounded the god and Akyar with steel. Akyar glared at Hogarth. Pan smirked.
‘Call your men off. You could not kill me even if you tried. I mean you no harm.’
Looking up from his mother’s arms, Meyr addressed the guards. ‘Please, put your swords away. This god helped me as much as anyone.’
‘He’d be fuel for Cernubus’s fire without Pan’s help,’ said Akyar, his anger barely contained.
‘Cernubus?’ asked Hogarth.
‘Once upon a time, your people called him the hunter,’ said Pan. ‘As the humans once did. He is an ancient god. He was responsible for your son’s kidnapping, not Danu.’
‘He used the Morrigan,’ said Akyar, ‘knowing she resembled Danu and how you would react.’
Hogarth glanced at his son, and at his vizier standing defiantly by the god and surrounded by guardsmen. The Tream guards looked uneasily at Akyar, uncertain what to do, turning as one to the king for his approval.
‘I believe my son and the heir to the Tream throne just issued an order. I would have the instruction obeyed as if it were my own.’
‘Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Hogarth,’ said Pan, stepping forward. ‘I come on an urgent errand from my sister Danu, the rightful leader of the Shaanti gods.’
‘What do you want, Pan?’ asked Hogarth, his gaze lingering on his wife. ‘I am not well disposed to gods, regardless of who they are.’
Pan smiled, though the grin did not reach his eyes.
‘I understand your wariness in dealing with my kind, and I abhor what my sister and Cernubus did to Meyr. However, the situation is far worse and more complex than you realise.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Hogarth. ‘For I care little about what happens to a goddess of the glade or human children. Where is this Cernubus?’
‘Will you listen, Hogarth?’ snapped Akyar.
Shock rolled round the chamber like a leaf on a breeze, carried first this way, then that. No one spoke to Hogarth in this way, not even Akyar in private. Should I put him back in his place? thought Hogarth. Perhaps that is the problem. I am not much given to listening to others. I only tolerated the elders’ decision not to let me go, because I knew the warriors would side with them.
‘Tread carefully, old friend,’ said Hogarth, sitting.
‘The god is in league with the Kurah,’ said Pan. ‘The young king has led his forces onwards, fresh from success with the Delgasians, and used Cernubus’s power to shore up his supply lines. As we speak, he controls all of the Shaanti coast and lands between here and Mortone, and he has used his spies and Cernubus to entice the thain from Vikrain in the hope of her people escaping to the ocean – but they will have to fight the Kurah either way.’
‘Why?’
Akyar answered. ‘Montu wants to control the continent. He believes the Tinaric will invade if he cannot demonstrate his might. Cernubus wants the forest. The wood is the seat of the gods’ power, and with that power, he can control all human life.’
‘Montu wants to be ruled by a god? I thought the Kurah deposed their priests and abandoned their gods.’
Pan smiled sadly. ‘Yes, the stone god is dead. Montu believes he can control Cernubus. He is mistaken.’
‘His grandfather managed to control the Priest.’
‘Did he?’ asked Pan.
Hogarth shrugged. ‘What did he want with my son?’
‘Blood,’ said Pan, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘Blood is the most powerful binding agent for the magic we use. The blood of the heir, in the hands of a god and obtained during the most mystical day in front of the largest army in human history … The fount of belief would be unprecedented.’
‘Power enough to attack us?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Pan, opening his eyes. ‘More than enough.’
‘That would mean war,’ said Hogarth.
‘If you lived – except you wouldn’t,’ said Pan, shrugging. ‘Cernubus is too strong, and while he does not seek the genocide of the Tream, he desires a world ruled by humanity, and humanity ruled by him.’
‘You gods,’ hissed Hogarth.
‘The gods have not done this,’ said Akyar. ‘Cernubus is a renegade. He has taken dark magic from around the world, and he has cut the words into himself. He is no longer just a god.’
‘Cernubus wasn’t just after me,’ said Meyr, his mother clutching him tight. ‘They have captured every child they encountered. All Shaanti children for miles around the forest are to be burned at noon on the day of the alignment.’
‘Tomorrow,’ added Akyar.
‘I know,’ said Hogarth, his voice more even than he felt. ‘Scouts brought back word the day before yesterday.’
‘Do you know that humans believe in a place that you go to after you die?’ asked Akyar.
‘I am familiar with the concept,’ said Hogarth, unable to meet his vizier’s stare. ‘It is a story told by children unable to face up to reality.’
‘Maybe,’ said Akyar, shrugging. ‘But the underworld exists. It is called Golgotha, where the dead walk on their final journey. That place is worse than the stone of the Kurah and more bereft of hope than the desert where no trees grow. A tree-forsaken hell on our doorstep.’
‘You talk as if you have been there,’ said Hogarth, his gut churning.
Akyar’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘We have.’
No, thought Hogarth. Oh, my son. Oh, my friend. What have I done?
‘Not for long,’ said Akyar. ‘But Golgotha is where the Morrigan was holding Meyr – and do you know who I met there?’
Hogarth shook his head.
‘I met a ferryman,’ said Akyar. ‘A dead god with blonde hair who was once a god of laughter and tricks like the one standing next to me, and who the Morrigan loved. Do you know who killed him?’
Hogarth did not reply.
‘We killed him,’ said Akyar. ‘I no longer know who started the trouble between the gods and us … It doesn’t matter … What is at hand is whether we want to sit by and be destroyed by our indifference, or help another species that laugh and cry and care for each other as we do.’
Hogarth closed his eyes. He let the information seep into his brain. When he opened them again, he looked not at his son but at Pan. The god was holding Akyar’s hand.
‘What do you want, Pan?’ asked Hogarth.
At last, thought Pan. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to Danu that Meyr had performed his part so well, placing Hogarth in a position where he would listen to the god.
‘I would like you to attack the Kurah,’ said Pan, refusing to look away from the king’s gaze. Akyar squeezed his hand. ‘Preferably as soon as possible. We have little time.’
‘This is a human affair. They made your kind; they should have to clean up after themselves,’ replied Hogarth, turning his back to Pan.
This was not what Pan wanted to hear.
‘No,’ said Akyar, letting go of Pan’s hand. ‘It is not. The Kurah will destroy the Shaanti. Then they will come for us.’
‘They will be busy turning on the hunter,’ replied Hogarth, without turning round.
‘No,’ replied Akyar. ‘The hunter will kill Montu, and the Kurah will follow him as they once followed the Priest. Can you imagine the horrors they will do to us under his command? To Meyr?’
Pan watched the king look at his son. He did not speak. His hands balled into fists and loosened in response to whatever internal battle was going on behind those dark eyes.
Jiana dropped her arms from Meyr and stepped forward. The king’s eyes switched to her scarred face, which was imploring her husband with her thoughts. The king’s eyes stopped her feet, and her look was cast aside, falling instead on Pan. The god was confused. He met her gaze, his eyes noting the ruined flesh for the first time. Oh, please say it isn’t so.
‘Why does the Lady Jiana not speak?’ asked Pan, his suspicion forming a wave of nausea.
‘I see the gods are not all-knowing,’ said Hogarth, sounding bitter again.
‘No. Neither are we all-powerful, as my lord knows full well.’
‘The Morrigan cut her tongue from her mouth as I looked on,’ whispered Meyr, his expression flat and his voice muted.
Pan’s hands – held together in front of him – dropped to his sides. His face slackened and lost colour as he stepped forward. He was exhausted from the spell that had folded space and brought them to the Tream city. More magic would be risky, he knew, but then the danger was already so large that he didn’t know how they would carry the day.
Pan’s eyes were wet as the god took the queen’s arm, the firelight of the torches flickering in the darkness of his pupils. The guards started forward, but Akyar shook his head, halting them. Hogarth’s hand drew his sword a few inches, but Meyr put his small hand on his father’s to stop him. The king did not remove it. The god was dimly aware of every person in the room watching him as he led Jiana over to the side of the throne room where saplings lined the wall, placed in a trough of soil.
Pan scooped some of the mud and smeared the dirt over the queen’s scars. There were murmurings from the Tream gathered in the room, mutterings of having tried this, but he ignored them. The Tream lore was not as strong as the gods’. They could not speak to the forest as he could. Chanting softly to h
imself, he embraced the queen, his hands lifting to her ruined cheeks. Keeping her calm with his open look, communicating his intent as he did when using his mind to talk to Akyar, he kissed her, gently. As she responded, the god bit down on his own tongue until he drew blood, the copper salt bitterness of the fluid swilling between Jiana and himself.
In the hushed silence, Pan could hear Hogarth finally draw his sword, but the god was lost now in the cant he was creating; the magic burned through him. The sound of more steel unsheathing was like distant rain as the queen and the god broke slightly apart, both mouths open, an ice–green stream of magic visible between the fingers of the god as he cupped her face. The two drew together again. When they broke apart, the queen was unsteady on her feet, and the god set her standing with a gentle kiss on the brow.
Behind her, the king fumed.
‘Go with peace,’ said Pan, not moving his focus from the queen. ‘It is freely given. There is no obligation to any Tream.’
‘You will explain yourself,’ said Hogarth, pointing his sword at the weary god. ‘You have already corrupted Akyar.’
‘Hush, Hogarth,’ said Jiana, her voice unsteady from lack of use. ‘Pan has corrupted no one. He has undone the Morrigan’s work.’
Hogarth turned back to his wife, and his sword dropped to the floor. Jiana smiled back at him from a face untouched by scar tissue. The king embraced her with a fierce hug that extended to enclose his son. The god smiled as he wearily sat himself down on the dais. Akyar made to move to his side, but Pan waved him off. The sensation of wrongness was coming from deep in the forest: he could feel power being drained out of these far distant parts towards the glade.