The Scarred God

by Neil Beynon

‘Are they using magic now?’

  Wobyn shook her head. ‘Mercifully, no.’

  ‘There is no mercy in the Kurah,’ said the thain. ‘If they are not using spells, then they have used up their magic. Our first piece of luck.’

  ‘The Kurah from the north are more tired than those at the south,’ said Wobyn. ‘The line there is holding better than the north. We wanted to move our forces south and defend the line.’

  The thain nodded. This made sense. The threat was from the south – a fresh force was a real danger, whereas the northern force, even though they might have more men, were overextended and tired from the coast. But then what? The coast was gone. Even if they held the southern force, they could not defeat the northern.

  ‘They have us trapped,’ said the speaker. ‘It is time to parley.’

  The thain raised her sword and placed the point at the throat of the speaker. ‘Utter another word, and I will end you. I cannot be certain all of Golan and Vort’s treachery was accomplished alone.’

  Think. What would the witch-warrior have done? There was only one option. The Kurah do not take captives. If there was no escape to the north and no retreat back to Vikrain, there was only one option that would give the civilians a chance to survive. If the civilians headed south-west, up into the hills, they might find unoccupied ports that they could sail from.

  ‘Commanders, Generals,’ said the thain. ‘Our choices are limited. I feared this betrayal was imminent, hence the measures I took with those who cannot fight – but for them to escape, we must now do the unthinkable. We must take the portal from the Kurah.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Wobyn.

  ‘Because then we are going to attack the Kurah at the forest’s edge, and we’re going to string that Kurah king up by his guts.’

  The council went pale. The warriors didn’t look much better.

  ‘How are we going to do that?’ asked Wobyn. ‘We can’t even hold the southern force back.’

  ‘We will smash the northern army,’ said the thain, ‘making it look like we are making a retreat. We will fall away into the catacombs – no one will reveal what they see there on pain of death. We’ll loop back and attack the Kurah from their flank, where they will be weakest because they do not know this land. They will not expect it.’

  ‘It might work,’ conceded Wobyn. ‘But we will not last long against the Kurah at the edge of the forest. Danu cannot help us.’

  ‘We might do better than you think with the element of surprise and the squad I sent under General Bene. They will arrive before us.’

  ‘Any dissenters?’

  Some of the council looked ready to speak up, but a quick glance at Vort’s body dissuaded them.

  ‘Good. Tell your warriors, when the horn sounds, they are to attack north with everything they have and only defend against the south. When the horn sounds a second time, they are to make for the catacombs.’

  The thain dismissed them with a wave of her hand and turned back to review the battle. The battle was not going well, and she wished she could be in any of dozens of places, fighting.

  You know this is a trap, came the shadow’s voice in her head. They just want an excuse to bring you to the forest. Montu is not foolish enough for such a basic error.

  Yes, I know. She answered the voice with her own. I am counting on it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  There was a man looking down at Anya.

  The Shaanti’s hand floundered for her dagger before she remembered he was not a man at all but a god, Pan, and no threat. The concern and relief that was etched on his face left her guilty. The memories of the fight slammed into the front of her skull and rolled right over that emotion, taking her out the other side to angry. Pan should have told her. Breathing hurt.

  ‘Cernubus?’ Anya asked, her voice cold.

  ‘Danu … she … he’s gone,’ said Pan, eyeing her with concern. ‘Don’t move. You’re wounded.’

  The god placed his hand on the top of her breastbone and closed his eyes. Anya felt the heat from the magic form under his fingers like a pool of warm water; the spell seeped into her chest and sought out the tributaries of her pain. Where the magic passed, the pain eased. Pan removed his hand.

  Anya sat up.

  The scars of Danu’s attack on Cernubus were obvious: a large person-sized welt in the tangled mess of burnt detritus, scars built upon scars. The goddess stood in the clearing. The fight was almost over.

  How long have I been unconscious? Anya thought.

  Danu turned to look at Anya. Anya felt her heart pound in her chest as the goddess’s eyes passed over her, cheeks flushing with another’s memories. Danu’s gaze lingered only a moment, seeing all, before moving on over Pan and towards the woodsman.

  Anya stood.

  Vedic seemed to sense Danu’s gaze approaching and raised a bloody head to meet her eyes, the look on his face not dissimilar from those in the crowd Anya had dreamt of in her nightmares. Anya held her breath without realising it. She could kill him. But instead, a little bit of Anya died as she watched the goddess and the Priest, their gaze entwined.

  ‘Come here, Master Priest, so I may tend thy wounds,’ Danu said. The look on her face was that of a thirsty woman who had been given water.

  Vedic smiled. A tired grin, but unlike others Anya had seen, the smile met his eyes, and there he was, struggling to his feet … and bowing. Vedic had given everything he had against Cernubus; Anya knew what it meant for him to stand there with the goddess again. Still, she couldn’t square the man she saw before her with the leaking nightmares that had invaded her skull for weeks. The toll his deeds had wrought on her family and kin were unforgivable.

  ‘Should I say my line?’ he said, spitting a stream of blood to the ground. ‘For I cannot regret anything I have done here today.’

  He’s making a joke. He’s joking about the things he did. I will kill him. Anya went to step forward, but Pan put a hand gently on her arm.

  ‘No,’ Danu replied, her head dipping in acknowledgement. ‘You cannot.’

  Vedic’s legs buckled.

  Anya felt herself flinch towards him in spite of herself. She wanted to catch him, and she only stopped because Danu got there first. What do I do? There was no answer from either version of her mother’s voice in her mind now. This was just her.

  Vedic dropped to the ground, and in the same instant, Danu caught him. She held him up with a strength belying her size and hugged him so tight her hands looked luminescent.

  ‘I did not think to see you again,’ whispered Vedic.

  ‘I told you that you would,’ answered Danu, the magic flowing from her into him.

  Anya blinked. The goddess was staring at her again.

  Anya struggled to look at Danu – it hurt Anya’s chest to gaze at her too long. There was an energy behind Danu’s eyes probing Anya, testing her, demanding something of her, and she wasn’t sure what. She was met with the desire not to anger this being who seemed so much older, and more powerful, than any of the strange creatures she had encountered since she ran from the camp. She could not bring herself to look at Vedic at all.

  ‘Now Cernubus is dead,’ Anya said, ‘time is short – we must get to the camp and free the children before the Kurah realise …’

  Pan was staring at her in shock.

  ‘What?’

  Vedic’s head was bowed in sorrow. He spoke. ‘Cernubus is not dead.’

  Danu tilted her head, her gaze not moving from Anya. ‘I am afraid he escaped.’

  Anya faltered. Cernubus is still alive. Suddenly the words she wanted to say to Danu, the plea she wanted to make, foundered amongst the profound sense that she was about to take a step she could not undo, that events would move beyond her control. Pan’s hand was on her back. Her body ached. The children seemed a very long way away, and exhaustion so very close. She sat down on a log, unsure what to do or say.

  Danu set Vedic on his feet like he weighed less than a toddler. She placed a hand to his face,
looking for reassurance that he was now able to stand, and it made Anya want to throw her sword at the Kurah scum. Danu turned to her. She looked half-amused and half-worried, as if she could hear what Anya was thinking. Anya realised she almost certainly could. This made her flush again, and in turn it made her angry.

  ‘Time is short,’ said Danu, stepping to Anya. She knelt by the girl. She kissed Anya’s forehead. ‘What would you ask of me?’

  ‘Will you help me stop him? He’s going to kill them all,’ asked Anya, her voice hard.

  Danu was silent for a moment. ‘I cannot interfere directly now he is gone from here: the damage would be worse than if he manages his sacrifice.’

  ‘How is saving the Butcher of Vremin not interfering directly?’

  Vedic flushed. Pan flinched.

  Danu laughed. ‘Oh, you’re brave, little one.’

  Anya’s head dropped, her hands clenched. ‘What aid do you offer?’

  ‘I will get you into the camp,’ said Danu, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. ‘I will do my best to ensure you have the support of the Shaanti and Tream army. Already the Tream have attacked the encampment at the behest of Pan, due in no small part to the way you fought for Meyr.’

  Anya blinked. ‘There aren’t enough of them.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Pan, sitting down next to Anya. ‘It will take more than just the Tream. The thain is too far away to reach them in time.’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Anya, taking Danu’s hand without thinking. ‘Help me save them. You won’t corrupt us. You are good.’

  Danu closed her eyes as if Anya’s words were blows. ‘Oh, child. If I could, I would, but your kind has forgotten what the old times were like. Your ancestors sacrificed to me, to Pan, to the others back when we crawled out of the dark time. You should see how life is in the lands beyond the sea, where our cousins still walk amongst their believers, from carpenter to the laughing man. They are not as close to the source as we are, but their power is enough for the humans to slaughter themselves in ever-larger numbers.’

  ‘We’re not like that here,’ implored Anya, meaning it. The goddess looked torn, as if she might change her mind.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Pan, his eyelids drooping at the memory. ‘The blood from the sacrifice … we were addicted to the belief that flows from spilt blood.’

  Anya looked at the trickster. There was no sign of duplicity on his face. The gods had held so much promise, so much hope. Now they were bowing out from confronting their own kind. How did you kill a god? She looked at Vedic, who was still staring at Danu as if he were lost in a dream. How did you kill a forestal? If there was nothing else she could do, there would be revenge on this man. She drew her sword and pointed the blade at the woodsman.

  ‘What about you?’

  Vedic looked at her, confused. He thought Anya meant to fight him there, with the gods present to witness his destruction. The thought had crossed her mind, but she had concluded that there was no way she could get to him without Danu stopping her.

  ‘Will you help save the Shaanti children from your so-called king?’

  Vedic looked stunned. ‘You would trust me?’

  Anya laughed. ‘No. I just want to show Danu what you are really like.’

  Vedic flinched as if struck.

  ‘Will you help?’

  ‘Why does it have to be me?’ he asked.

  ‘It doesn’t. I might be able to free them on my own.’

  Vedic looked at Pan, who shook his head. The forestal looked up at the black above, the pale moonlight and the two visible sentinels moving into vertical alignment in their slow millennia-long dance above. By dawn, they would be there like a chain of light across the sky, meeting the suns as they rose over the horizon, and the alignment would give Cernubus the power he needed.

  ‘I saved your life more than once, did I not?’ asked Anya.

  Vedic nodded.

  ‘You owe me a juren,’ said Anya, using the Kurah word for ‘blood debt’.

  Vedic held her gaze now. ‘I am no longer Kurah.’

  ‘I saw you with that,’ said Anya, nodding at his sword, the Eagle’s Claw. ‘There’s plenty of Laos left.’

  Vedic looked down. Danu put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I will help you,’ said Pan.

  Danu glared. ‘You will not.’

  Vedic shook his head, rubbing his left arm as if in pain. ‘No.’

  They were all looking at him now.

  ‘It has to be me,’ said Vedic.

  Anya did not know what to say. She had expected him to refuse, to embark on his mantra that he was not a nice man, and for Danu to see him for what he was, a lying butcher. Instead, she saw a gnarled warrior, weary and bloody, lifting himself to offer service to her. She didn’t know who disgusted her more – Laos or herself.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Pan of Vedic. The trickster was cross.

  Vedic looked at the two gods for the first time without any semblance of shame. ‘Because I have seen the coming battle before.’

  Anya could feel her sword wavering. Could she trust him? Could she trust any of them?

  ‘I am responsible for my own actions, and you have every right to hate me for what I did to your people … to your grandfather … to your grandmother for that matter. Thrace was like many of the warriors on both sides, a brave man in impossible times.’

  Anya felt the world spin. She wanted to strike at him; she wanted to ask him about her grandfather; she wanted to ask for his help enlisting Danu – she wanted to run away.

  Vedic continued. ‘You have no reason to trust me, but if you do, I will help you save those children.’

  Danu’s eyes closed, and to Anya it looked as if someone had slipped a blade in between her vertebrae. Pan held out his arm for her to steady herself. When Danu looked again, her eyes were wet.

  Anya felt her anger flash.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Danu asked.

  ‘I am,’ said Vedic, turning to Anya. ‘If Anya will have me.’

  Anya did not answer. She wasn’t sure what to think. In her head, she wanted to say no, to say she didn’t trust him and would be safer going into the camp on her own than with the likes of him. In her heart, she felt like, for the first time, there was hope of success. Had they not gone into Golgotha together and returned? They made a good team, and she hated herself for it.

  ‘What about Cernubus? We can’t kill a god.’

  ‘All things can be killed,’ said Pan, picking up the woodsman’s sword. ‘All things can be defeated, even the hunter. If he can be weakened, he can be destroyed.’

  Anya recalled the discussion in the Cordon on how to kill a god. Did the legend of the Priest and the sword have enough belief behind it to counter the hunter’s dark magic?

  Anya looked at Vedic, staring back at her. ‘This doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.’

  Vedic smiled. ‘Good. You’ll be my conscience and able to stop me, should I go too far.’

  Danu spoke. ‘It is decided.’

  Anya looked at the sentinels above, swimming into the silver light of dawn. ‘It is nearly time.’

  ‘Grab the rest of your weapons,’ said Vedic. ‘We need to move. Do you have armour for her?’

  Danu nodded.

  Anya frowned as Vedic went to leave the clearing. ‘Where are you going?’

  Vedic looked back at Anya and then flashed a look at Pan. ‘To change. Time for the Priest to return to his flock. I have one last sermon to deliver.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dawn picked at the horizon.

  Anya tightened the jerkin that Danu had given her. The clothes were Shaanti warrior uniform, scuffed and worn, but a close enough fit that she only had to use a strip of her old, torn clothes to pull the jerkin in at the waist. The thick leather and light plating on the arms would make it hard for anything other than a direct strike to get through. She checked her movement to ensure no fatal restriction, stretching her arms and legs in a series of
slow-motion strikes and kicks. Anya didn’t want to know where the armour had come from. Enough of her people had died under the boughs of these trees. Perhaps if her mother had not left, Anya could have worn her grandmother’s armour, but her mother had taken that on her one-way quest.

  Slowly Anya stretched out, attempting to keep her muscles loose despite the tension that was creeping up from her gut. The smell of burnt wood and recent death undercut everything, but over the top of the stench, there was a faint scent of pine, ready to push away the damage, promising the forest was stronger. Anya tested the edge of her blade. It felt sharp, but still she took the stone she had been using and continued working the edge.

  ‘Careful,’ said Vedic. He must have been standing in the treeline, watching. ‘You’ll blunt it.’

  Anya stopped. She did not look back at him. She could not bring herself to.

  ‘Are you ready?’ she asked, her voice flat.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, adding, ‘Danu is waiting to send us.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, still not turning. ‘Are you trying to atone for your wrongs?’

  He didn’t answer right away.

  ‘I’m not sure that is possible,’ he said. He sounded tired. ‘I’m fairly certain it isn’t. No, I’m not trying to atone for anything.’

  It had not escaped Anya’s notice that she had the chance to kill the woodsman in the coming battle, if she wanted to, and there would be nothing anyone else could do. All such thoughts vanished at her first glimpse of Vedic. She very nearly dropped her sword. Her heart beat so loud in her ears she thought she was going to pass out. She wanted to run, but her legs had ceased to work.

  Vedic was standing in a robe that might once have been white but was now a dull shade of pinkish brown, flecked with yellow age spots. His hood was down, and his face looked cold and stern now he was back in his old uniform. The certain knowledge that the robe was stained with the blood of Shaanti didn’t help her uneasiness. He was the figure straight out of her childhood nightmares – the Butcher of Vremin, the Kurah king’s right hand.

  ‘The Priest once more,’ said Anya, her voice cracked, fear giving way to anger.