by Brom
“How much?” Chet asked.
Veles smiled. “Three copper rings.”
Yevabog laughed. “It was a crude soul-shift, not a Horkos horse. If you are going to rob him, just do it and stop pretending otherwise.”
Veles looked pained. “Fine, two copper rings then.”
“No,” Chet said.
Martin let out a gasp and everyone looked at Chet with wide eyes, even Yevabog.
“What?” Veles asked, his voice low, dangerous.
“Not unless the girl is part of the deal.”
“Girl?”
“He means the woman who arrived with him, my Lord,” Martin quickly put in.
Chet opened the pouch, and pulled out five copper rings.
Now it was Veles’s eyes that widened.
“Two for the horse, three for Ana. Is it enough?”
Yevabog coughed. “It is too much, Chet. You could buy a hundred slaves with that.”
“It is a very fair offer,” Veles said, reaching for the rings.
Chet held them back. “I need passage for Ana and me to Lethe. And my property. I must have my property returned.”
“Property?”
“My knife. It’s special to me, and Seet has it.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Your property and passage. You and your slave will be my guests.” Veles took the rings.
“You are a thief, Veles,” Yevabog said.
“And you are an annoying insect. You two there.” Veles beckoned over two servants. “Take her. Put her somewhere where I do not have to hear her incessant chirping.”
The servants carried Yevabog away and Veles returned his attention to Chet. “You are a most curious soul, Chet Moran.” He studied Chet for a moment longer, then called to Martin. “Fetch him this slave and any property that he lost that you can find. Also, some new garments.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Martin said and bowed.
“And,” Veles said, “when you have found his servant woman, return them both to me. We have matters to discuss.”
The man bowed again and led Chet away.
CHAPTER 46
Here,” Martin said, sitting his hand on a cart. He pulled back a tarp, revealing a pile of clothes. “Choose whatever you’d like.”
“Later,” Chet said, looking for the golem. He spotted Pricilla’s head towering above the wagons and started away.
Martin grabbed his arm, pulled him to a stop. “You will wait here,” he ordered. “I’ll fetch the slave girl.”
Chet looked at the man’s hand on his arm, then set hard eyes on him. Martin released him and Chet resumed, the thin man trailing him.
“It’s best if you wait here,” Martin said.
“Best for who?” Chet replied without slowing. He rounded a row of wagons and saw they’d already hooked up the slaves. He spotted her right away, chained on the outside row near the golem, her skin, like his, still streaked with the grimy red paint. “Ana.”
She didn’t look up at first.
“Ana,” he called, putting a hand on her forearm.
She flinched, shrank back, her eyes wide, terrified.
“Hey, Ana,” he said softly. “It’s okay. It’s me.”
“Chet?”
“Yeah, time to—” He saw the wounds. No one had bothered to give her any clothes and all down her back, her buttocks and thighs, dozens of deep lash marks. “Oh, good god . . . Ana.”
She managed a weak smile. “Chet. You made it? You’re free? Tell me you’re free.”
Chet found himself unable to answer, his rage welling up, threatening to overwhelm him. He snatched hold of the locking pin, yanking it back and forth, trying to rip her chain from the post with his bare hands.
“Chet, no,” she said, horrified.
“Get away!” came a cry. Chet spun and saw Seet walking rapidly toward him, snapping his whip.
Martin stepped forward, putting out a hand to Seet. “Hold on. Veles has given—”
Chet charged past Martin, rushing the goblin man. Seet caught sight of Chet’s face and stumbled back. Chet drove into him, smashing a knee into Seet’s stomach, an elbow into his face, knocking him backward, slamming him to the ground. He tore the whip from the goblin man’s hand and began thrashing the creature.
Seet snarled, fighting to ward off the blows.
“Stop!” Martin cried.
Chet didn’t. Over and over he brought the lash down with all his rage behind it, ripping into Seet’s upraised arms, his face, stomach, so intent on flaying the skin from the creature, he didn’t even hear the drum of boots as the guards ran up.
Something hard caught Chet against the side of the head and he found himself on the ground with five spears pointed at his face.
“Stop!” Martin cried. “By order of Veles. Stop!”
The guards didn’t drive their spears through Chet, but they kept their blades on him, their eyes daring him to try something.
“Are you done?” Martin asked Chet.
Chet sat up, glaring at Seet. “Will be as soon as that son of a bitch gives me back my knife.”
The goblin man lay on his back, holding his face, blood streaming through his fingers.
“Do you have his knife?” Martin asked Seet.
“Fuck you,” Seet spat.
“You must return it,” Martin said. “By order of Veles.”
“I cannot return what I do not have.”
“Where is it?”
Seet sat up, glaring at Chet. “Gone.”
Martin sighed. “Where is it, Seet?”
“Lost it.”
“Fucking liar,” Chet spat, getting to his feet.
The guards moved between them.
“Search him,” Martin ordered.
The guards looked at Martin surprised.
“You heard me.”
The guards shrugged, did as bid, searching Seet’s cloak, his satchel.
“No knife,” one of them said.
The goblin man wiped the blood from his nose, gave Chet that weird parody of a grin of his.
“What’s your name?” Martin asked one of the guards, a reasonable-looking man.
“Thomas.”
“Thomas, I want you to go search Seet’s cabin.”
Thomas looked dubiously at Seet.
“Look here,” Martin said. “Veles has ordered that Seet give back this man’s knife. You find any knives, you’re to bring them to me. Is that understood?”
The guard nodded.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?”
The guard left.
“If it’s here,” Martin said to Chet, “we’ll find it.”
One of the guards reached to help the goblin man up. Seet knocked his hand away, snatching his lash from the dirt and getting to his feet. The creature spat on the ground at Chet’s feet and started away.
“This isn’t over,” Chet called.
Seet glanced back, let out a low hiss. “No . . . it is not, horsekiller.” Then he headed away, up the line.
“Here,” Martin called to the guards. “Would one of you remove this woman’s collar?”
A guard pulled a ring of keys from his belt, stepped over to Ana, and unlatched her collar.
Chet came and took her arm to steady her.
The guard nodded after the goblin man. “Better keep your eyes open. Seet, he don’t forget a score.”
“Yeah, neither do I,” Chet said.
Ana took a step and grimaced, her ankle turning inward.
“Here, Ana,” Chet said. “Hold up a sec.” He dug two of the white coins out of his pouch, handed them to her. “Ka coins. Remember?”
“Ah, magic jelly beans.” She took them and placed them in her mouth, chewing slowly.
“Come,” Martin said.
Chet pulled Ana’s arm around his shoulder, helping her along as they followed Martin back into camp.
By the time they arrived at the clothing cart, Ana’s skin had already begun to heal, the gashes closing up, her limp all but gone.
A whistle blew.
“Come,” Martin said. “The caravan is heading out for Lethe.”
“Lethe,” Ana repeated, wistfully, little more than a whisper.
CHAPTER 47
The path was slick and the wagon—laden with muskets—sank into the mud, threatening to become stuck. Gavin hopped down and took hold of the bridle, guiding the horses around the deeper puddles.
Carlos eyed the back of Gavin’s head. Should put a bullet through him right now. Through the both of them. Tell the Colonel they were eaten by bears or some bullshit like that. Only Carlos felt that returning without the two men the Colonel sent along just might complicate things and he didn’t need things complicated, not right now, not with everything at stake. He drifted toward the back of the line, next to Hugo.
“I don’t like them,” Hugo said, nodding toward Gavin. “They think they’re better than us.”
“Yeah, like to pretend their hands aren’t dirty. Wonder where their Colonel would be without us? My guess is still hiding out in some cave, just another marauder preaching his nonsense to a handful of fanatics.”
“Want us to take care of those two?” Hugo asked.
“Yeah . . . as a matter a fact I do. Just not yet.”
Jimmy, the lead man, halted, raised a hand. Carlos trotted forward. Jimmy pointed far down the valley to a cluster of mud huts and caves along a wide, dry riverbed.
Carlos pulled a spyglass from his jacket and took a look. “More than I expected.”
“They’re mostly unoccupied,” Jimmy said. “Not many Edda left these days. And you see that?” He pointed to a structure built of white stones perched on a rise above the city. “That’s Veles’s temple. They put on their show just below. That hill there, behind the temple, that’s what I was telling you about.”
Carlos studied the terrain. “Yeah . . . see what you mean. We could slip the troops up behind the temple as soon as it gets dark.”
Jimmy nodded. “Veles puts on a real show, boss. Fireworks, dancing, music, drums. Perfect cover. We just wait for the fireworks.”
Carlos put away the scope. “Sure, open up on them with twenty muskets. Won’t be a man left standing.” Only he knew it wasn’t quite that simple. Giving the chance, Veles would set the Colonel’s whole army to fire. The key would be taking the god by surprise. “That’s Lethe road down there, right?”
“It is,” Jimmy said. “Three Stones is just over the rise. Best to stick to the canyons till we get around the village.”
“Three Stones, that’ll be a good place to meet the Colonel,” Carlos said. “We can see both roads from there.” He waved a rider forward. “Brent, take word to the Colonel. Tell him to meet us at Three Stones. Let him know we got twenty muskets waiting for him. That should light up his face.”
Carlos watched the rider disappear up the canyon trail. Fireworks, he mused. It’d been a long time since he’d seen a fireworks show. He was willing to wager that this grand finale was going to be one to remember.
CHAPTER 48
There came a loud blast, followed by a bright flash, then a cloud of smoke drifted back toward Chet and Ana. Chet flinched at the sound, feeling for the poor souls tied in the line. The massive golem started forward and the carts and those on foot fell in, all heading out of the gates and back down the mountain path.
Chet and Ana walked along behind Veles’s large wagon. Ana was no longer limping, the ka having done its work. Soon the clouds began to clear, revealing mountain peaks pushing upward, grinding into those pushing down from the rocky lands above them, leaving Chet with the feeling he might fall up at any moment. He got his first clear look at Mother Eye and saw she wasn’t an eye at all, but a ruddy glowing orb, with a handful of smaller orbs floating around her. Eventually the road widened, leveled out, and they began to move along at a steady pace.
“Chet,” someone called. Martin walked up to them. “There you are. Come. Veles desires your company.”
“Well, I for one couldn’t give a shit,” Ana said.
Martin gave her a stern look. “Be careful. You’ve seen what happens to those who insult him. Never forget . . . he’s a god.”
They boarded, climbing a ladder to the platform atop the wagon. Here the great stag lounged among plush pelts and silk pillows, smoking a long curved pipe while surveying the road ahead. Yevabog sat next to him in her cage, still weaving her silk doll—a little white-haired girl with a disturbingly real face. Chet clutched the railing, steadying himself as the cart rocked along the trail. Yevabog saw him and her eyes lit up, a mischievous smile pushing up the corners of her small mouth.
“My Lord,” Martin said, bowing. “I bring you, Chet Moran.”
Veles turned. “Ah, my Grand Victor.”
Martin nudged Chet. “Bow.”
Chet didn’t.
Veles looked Ana up and down. “And this is the slave you paid such a bounty for? Are you sure this is the one you wish? I have better stock.”
Ana let out a sound, something between a gasp and a growl.
“This is Ana. She’s not my slave. She’s nobody’s slave.”
Veles shrugged. “If you wish to free her, that is your business. Now, please sit.”
They took a seat upon the pillows next to Yevabog’s cage.
Yevabog reached through the bars and touched Chet, almost a caress, her eyes reaching deep into his. She seemed genuinely pleased to see him.
“Why’s she in a cage?” Chet asked.
“Do you know, Chet Moran, that it is not wise to go around questioning the will of gods?”
“I tend to learn everything the hard way.”
A wry smile touched Veles’s mouth. “Yevabog is in a cage to keep her from sucking souls. Yours, my servants . . . even my own. She is a devious creature. One you should never turn your back on.”
“Bah,” Yevabog said. “That is an egregious exaggeration, Chet. He is still sore because I burned one of his temples to the ground.”
“Two,” Veles said.
“See . . . still he holds a grudge . . . three thousand years later.”
“She is more demon than God,” Veles said to Chet. “And it is not good to have a demon lurking about one’s camp. It makes everyone nervous.”
“Demon? God?” Yevabog said. “Tell me the difference. They all want your soul.”
“There is a difference. A god, a true god, gives man meaning to their existence . . . they give something back.”
“Plenty of demons trade favors,” she said. “For blood, for a piece of your soul, sometimes even for a good game of dominos. They are just more honest about it.”
“It is not a cage I should keep you in, but a hole. One deep in the ground so none should have to bear your chatter.”
Yevabog laughed. “You my, darling, would dearly miss my chatter.”
Veles waved her away as though shooing a fly. “Enough of your nonsense. It is from Chet Moran that I wish to hear. Tell me, Chet, what manner of soul dares to steal a horse from a god, defeats all the gods’ best champions, and challenges Queen Hel herself? Who are you, Chet Moran?”
Chet shrugged.
“Come now, I would hear your tale.”
“You are asking the wrong question,” Yevabog said. “Ask him who his grandmother is.”
The curiosity on Veles’s face deepened. “Ah . . . that sounds intriguing. Tell me then, Chet, who is this grandmother of yours?”
“Lamia.”
“Lamia?” The god’s brow tightened as he pondered the name. “Not the lilith?”
Yevabog nodded. “The very one.”
“You have lilith blood?” Veles’s face clouded. “That is not possible . . . she would have to be—” He looked at Chet again. “Are you saying Lamia still prowls among the living?”
“It is the truth,
” Yevabog said. “I have tasted his blood. There is no mistaking her bloodline.”
“Chet, you are full of surprises.” Veles sounded excited; he leaned forward, his face eager. “Go on, Chet. Tell me. Tell me how this came to be.”
Chet did, told him what he knew of his history, of how Lamia killed him. Then he spoke of Senoy, of how he was trapped there with her, but said nothing of the key, the knife, or his quest to find Gavin.
Veles listened intently, nodding here and there. Once Chet had finished, Veles stared out toward the mountains, his face in deep concentration as he puffed on his pipe. Finally he spoke. “Do you think it is possible, Yevabog, that Lamia has trapped Senoy somehow?”
“I do. Not at first, but the more I considered the more it seemed feasible.”
“It would have been the angel’s duty to slay her,” Veles said. “To bring her here, to the nether regions. Like all the others.”
“Yes, but the fact that he did not, that they are still together . . . it makes one speculate that maybe she tricked him somehow, or perhaps wove her spell around him.”
“Are you suggesting Lamia could seduce an angel?”
“I am.”
“Not Senoy. No, he is one of Gabriel’s most stalwart soldiers. His heart . . . dead as stone.”
“If anyone could seduce stone, it would be Lamia,” Yevabog said. “Think about it. She and her ancient magic are older than the angels. She is a blood weaver. If she stole so much as a drop of Senoy’s blood—angel blood—think what she could do.”
Veles smiled, the face of a man who’d just heard a good dirty joke. “I could not concoct a better end for Senoy than to be trapped by the very creature he was sent to kill.” He laughed. “I can only hope that she is feeding on him even now. That he is suffering.” Veles’s eyes grew distant, as though savoring the thought; eventually he let out a great sigh. “It gives me heart to know that at least one of us still roams earth. Too many have perished upon the angels’ swords, too many have been driven below—the earthly spirits and gods, the ancient folk, the monsters and beasts, any that do not fit into their grand design.”