“You must be Zuetal, the god of grain and fertility,” said Reuben. He had forgotten to shout to be heard but it did not matter; as soon as he had spoken the man smiled. “Have you seen my friends?” Reuben asked.
The giant form shook his head slowly, still smiling. Where he was standing the grain was already visibly taller. The strong winds had subsided for the return of the zephyr which caressed the grasses and fields both. Zuetal made no other move, just observing Reuben with a unwavering stare.
Reuben was struggling with how to handle the situation. Confronted with this living embodiment of the divine, he felt he ought to be respectful. He should feel awe and wonder, and was astounded that he did not. He just felt confused, he did not know what to do, what to say. Various feelings and memories stirred for him, of childhood in Braldoan, of prayers in the spring. He remembered the harvest in autumn, with the smells of roasted grains. He recalled the cheer in Braldoan as the cycle of the seasons had turned without err. Reuben shoved these memories aside; those days were gone now, Braldoan was gone. The smiling face was still watching him, but why? He just felt silly, standing there with what was surely a daft expression.
A sudden urge to be understood overwhelmed him, “Do you know what’s happened to all those fields, back at my home?” He had meant to broach the subject with tact, but he found himself shouting instead. “Do you know what’s happening all over our world? Do you even care?” It all came out without really any conscious thought, a rapid stream of cursing and berating. The smiling face didn’t help either, it just listened without comment as the sudden tirade sprang unbidden straight from Reuben’s heart.
He was shouting and stamping, until he came to his senses and quieted down. Would the god strike him down? The wind was gone, and he felt hot now in the absence of the breeze and the fire that burned within him. He didn’t care. If his anger is what it took for the gods to respond and help then it would be worth it. He waited for the smiling man to say something, to do something. Fear and anger twisted inside of him, gradually replaced with bafflement and frustration. “Say something, damn you!” he shouted. He thought he might be going mad.
Almost at his wits’ end, Reuben watched as Zuetal finally stopped smiling. He bowed, slowly, majestically. A more regal show Reuben could not imagine. If Zuetal had taken any offense there was no evidence of it. Then the man pointed to something behind Reuben. He turned, a shining orb of light was there, on the other side of which looked like a cobbled courtyard. He turned back, but the figure was gone. Not knowing what else to do, he stormed off into the portal.
* * *
The smoke curled in the entrance of the cave. Pim guessed that the curious smoke was emanating from a fire within. She crouched in the tall bushes nearby, letting the branches cover her. If there was someone living here, deity or not, she wanted to be careful. For some minutes now she had been guardedly watching the coiling tendrils that snaked out of the dark opening in the rock wall. The whole place was strange, a jungle of plants, and within, a single prominent ridge of land that rose up like a tooth. Exploring the base of the ridge, she had smelled the burning first, then followed it here. Another tendril floated by; it was different from any smoke she had ever watched. The first tip that this place was under some magical influence came from the fact that most of the smoke stayed in the entrance, rebounding off some unseen barrier. The smoke was a dark, impenetrable curtain that made seeing within the cave impossible. Occasionally, a small thread would escape the barrier net and be set adrift in the passing breeze. These curls remained cohesive for a surprisingly long time, not torn apart but instead clinging together and slowly evaporating, dissipating into the atmosphere around it. Just now, a tight-knit cloud was drifting close by. Pim reached out to it, catching some of it in her hand. She gasped, it was icy cold. Pulling her hand to herself quickly she inspected her palm. For a moment she could see tiny crystals of ice that decorated her skin like fine lace. There was some type of pattern in the netted intricacy, but even as she squinted at the lines they were gone, succumbing to the heat of her hand. She sniffed; yes, there was the smell of smoke, nothing different there, except it smelled sweet and her hand was cool. She fancied that the scent was similar to some of the incense used by Gavin when he was the mood to relax.
Pim continued to watch from her hiding spot. A tingling on the back of her neck warned her that this was not a place to wander into without caution. She considered her options. It was hard to remember how she had got here. Concentrating, she could remember running into the portal, then darkness. It all felt like a dream, but when she opened her eyes she had been in this jungle. It was warm and humid. Greens and bright colors were all around, in countless varieties of fern, nettle, vine, and underbrush. She had picked herself up from the pile of dirt and bruised leaves that she had landed in and started casting about, looking for her friends. She had headed out at random, but doubled back before the song she kept in her had finished, so as to not be too far away. It was an old trick she’d learned, usually to keep time for doing chores, though it sufficed in this instance as well. The first two attempts were rather fruitless, only a myriad of branches and leaves and a constant dripping of water. On the third try, somehow along the way she had stopped being certain of her path. It happened gradually, the song in her head muddled. So she had started again, reasoning that it would not put her much further out than the first forays. Yet again, the song faltered in her memory and she was left standing in the greenery with a puzzled expression on her face. She berated herself for it but it did no good. She ought to have headed back immediately, but something compelled her to keep going. She was determined to do things her way; and step-by-step, knowing it in the back of her mind but unable to correct it, she had become lost.
Pim suspected someone was trying to lead her around. Although she had started out curious, now she guessed a malevolent force at work. Her own idle curiosity and stubbornness had got her lost, been manipulated to bring her to this spot, but for what purpose? It seemed an awful lot of effort to show her some weird cave that she had absolutely no intention of exploring. She didn’t care if it was full of cuddly animals, gold, or the finest of food and drink. She’d rather be lost forever than take any path that led into that thick roiling smoke or whatever it was. She tried to remember her way back but it would be a blind guess, probably hopeless. Frustration swirled in her mind, she had no map. This might be an island, a deep forest, anything. She didn’t know where she was, not to mention where Reuben or Lucius were. Whatever she was going to do, she needed to decide soon. The light was beginning to fade in the sky. Since her luck so far had not led anywhere useful, she reasoned that she ought to either try to set up a camp here or just pick a direction and go. She eyed again the wheezing cave. “I’d probably feel better just being away from that,” she thought. That meant heading out. But which way? Directly away from the cave mouth seemed the best option, she decided.
There was a sense of purpose, having chosen, raising her confidence and her shoulders. Each step feeling more bold than the last. Why, not even out of sight of the cave, she was feeling very bold indeed. No weird smoke this far out, all she sensed was what felt like the drawing close of a cool summer day. She narrowed her eyes, she’d not let herself be led around like a child faltering after a toy. She’d get out of this jungle, find her friends, and figure out how to complete their mission. She was careful not to allow her determination to cause her to stamp forward, keeping her wits about her to stalk forward with caution. Whatever had happened to her lack of sense before was gone now. This was going to be easy.
* * *
Lucius was getting tired. How long had he trudged along the shoreline, cold spray soaking his coat through? Surely he had only been a little while, he would reason, yet his waterskin was dry. Gone, too, was his supply of rations, carefully packaged and stowed away. Yet he could not remember ever stopping to rest, to sit down and enjoy the act of eating and drinking. It was odd, he felt compelled to continue on. At
this point, part of him insisted this was nonsense, he was chasing after a bird he’d seen fly overhead, for goodness knows how long, and for what? Then memory would flutter, the shapely bird and its striking contrast of living white in this barren and dreary place. It stirred him deep within, like a poet discovering their muse for the very first time. Although it was only a bird, it became to him the most lovely thing he had ever seen. He had to find it again. And besides, his reason was telling him, he was out of food and water now. No choice but to trust his instincts that the animal must surely be near. Maybe around that next bend in the coastline he would find its nest. Birds liked to nest near fresh water, didn’t they? He couldn’t recall.
Up ahead the coast had a cut off look as it bent sharply inward and he could not yet see around the curve. At that point, the beach became exceedingly narrow, the columns of basalt lowering their proud capitols to the water’s heaving edge. Lucius approached timidly, realizing there would be no way to cross without becoming simply soaked. Sighing, he scrambled up the small ridge of rock, fingers finding easy holds on the rough and regular angles in the rock surface. As expected, the spray from the heaving waters fell in thick curtains, and Lucius gasped at the cold. Coughing and spluttering, he slithered over the ridge. Knocking legs haphazardly into the stone, his knee was subjected to several hard knocks. After yet another wave halted his progress momentarily, Lucius scrambled the rest of the way over the rock and onto the sand once more. He huffed and puffed his way quickly round the curve, until the beach widened sufficiently that he could flop onto the black grains of earth and catch his breath, unmolested by the sprays of water.
Lucius smiled, despite the water dripping off his chin and the ache in his shoulders from carrying his pack. Up ahead was a sight he had been longing for; there, in the cliff face, was an opening. And more than that, firelight glowed in the entrance, a promise to him that there would be a warm fire in his future very soon. He could almost feel the waves of heat now, in anticipation. His persistence had paid off, and a feeling of satisfaction pulsed within his tired frame. Catching his breath, he got up quickly and walked towards the cave. Abruptly, the sound of beating wings reached him. Lucius looked up, hoping to catch sight of the fowl he’d witnessed earlier. There was a bird, flying low overhead, though he could tell at once it was not the same. This one, while also of the same kind, was not all white. The body and wings were the same lustrous hue, but the neck and head were a sultry black. It, too, made no call or cry, flying straight to the ground before the cave. It landed and turned to look at Lucius before heading within. Thoroughly intrigued, Lucius trotted forward eagerly.
He dropped his pack at the entrance, and padded forward carefully, calling out, “Hello.” There was no response, so he continued inward, round a bend in the tunnel. He stopped short suddenly as he came into a chamber in the rock. It was decorated with lavish tapestries of patterned color, while the floor was covered with soft rugs of warm fabrics. A roaring fireplace was situated at the far end, yet the heat reached him were he stood, dripping at the doorway. All of these were noticed, in a far off fashion, because what captured his eyes at the moment was the table set with food. Mesmerized, he stepped forward.
The bounty that was before him was more than he could ever desire or hope for, even if he were given years to think of it. Every type of meat and game lay sizzling, whether roasted, braised, or turned on a spit, on pure silver and gold platters. Steam rose from fresh breads, wholesome loaves with hearty texture that were salted around the immense banquet table, arranged in a large pinwheel pattern. Greens, fresh and ripe, glistened to set the mouth watering with delight at their freshness. Cool and inviting, the bowls of cut fruit arranged in rainbow brilliance. The table could seat twenty, it was that broad and long, a work of art in and of itself; no mere flat top of rough hewn boards, instead intricately pattern carved edges, covered in fine linens. Set on a trestle, a newly tapped keg promised to quench thirst. Next to it was a smaller table, filled with bottles of amber liquid that almost crawled up their respective decanters. It would take the rest of a long and happy life to sate the appetite here. Lucius looked on in awe within the enchanted moment of discovery of this treasure house. In its extravagance, there was also a simple elegance, nothing was there except that which was perfect for the meal. The effect was a stunningly crafted moment, specially suited just for him. Surely this was a dream, Lucius thought, pinching himself. He squeezed so hard that he almost drew blood, just to make sure he knew he was awake.
His mouth was watering, threatening to spill down his chin. Even in this moment of tantalizing beauty, still more wonder found bloom; faint, hardly audible at first, the sound of bird song filtered through the perfumed air. He realized he was very thirsty, as thirsty as he had ever been. Reaching down his hand came into contact with a goblet, filled to the brim with dark, luscious looking wine. Had it been there a moment before? He did not know. It did not matter, he sipped carefully, dread overcoming him for one brief moment that nothing could possibly taste as beautiful as this place looked. As the liquid washed over his tongue he relaxed into a delighted bliss. His fears were unfounded, and the vintage was beyond the highest quality he had ever sampled. In the moment the wine flowed over his tongue, all worry was drowned in its refreshing coolness. Utter perfection, he thought. Even the glassware was perfect, cut crystal catching the candlelight from many pillared candelabra, not placed because the roaring fireplace required more luminescence for the room, but for the simple delight of their rays playing on the facets all around. He pulled at a chair, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Would it be rude to start then? He wondered but only briefly, he could not resist at least sampling some of the treats that were in front of him. Not even at the fanciest, snobbish parties that he had attended as a youth with his father had such easy elegance and opulence been displayed in such art. And it was art, not the shoddy in-your-face forced brilliance of a new and upcoming merchant here. Nor was it the slightly tarnished grace of the old lord’s table. It was all together different, vibrant and new, vintage and established. No one had ever been as rich as this, no could ever set a spread so absolutely arranged.
“Please, enjoy yourself.” Lucius looked up to see a woman nearby. She was dressed as a cook, apron and hat spotless. She smiled at Lucius, a lovely, warm greeting. He needed no more urging and sat down at the table.
“Where shall I start?” he would have asked, but as he sat down, a ravenous hunger overtook him. He grabbed for the nearest morsel, a whole roasted peasant, and sank his teeth into it like a wild animal. His benefactor grinned.
* * *
“What is this?!” Reuben shouted. He was fuming, seething inside, for he stood in a courtyard that looked to him for all the world like the plaza that had been at the center of Braldoan. The mixture of cobbles, rounded and well worn, the line of trees on each side, it looked exactly the same as he remembered it before the land changed. Over there was even the former line of shops and buildings. The light was soft, like that of early morning, but above he could see a black sky without stars.
A voice called out, nearby, “I thought a familiar place might help you.”
Reuben wheeled around, spotting someone sitting at a bench, just like one of those set for convenience of weary pedestrians. The speaker appeared to be a grey-bearded man with short hair, dressed in a deep green robe with blue trim, a belt of gold and purple rope about his waist. The hood was pushed back, revealing a much wearied face, old and lined with care.
“Who are you, then?” Reuben asked, his patience already thin.
In stages, as one rising painfully, the man stood up from his seat, “You should be able to recognize me, Reuben.” The man stopped to wince, one hand rubbing the small of his back, “But since you do not; I am Ibdal.”
Ibdal, the god of mercy. Reuben was angry, he knew that the place he stood was a facsimile only, and that made him miss his lost city even more. This proxy did nothing to sooth him; instead, it brought up all the em
otion that he had never processed about losing his home. It brought up the frustration of losing the world, one city, one life, at a time. The fields, the friends, the towns, his own mother, all were gone now. He did not want to remember all of the loss anymore. And here, standing where he ought not, fake though it may be, was someone he’d long ago cursed, tired of the unfulfilled petitions that his endless march of unnumbered hours might end. He hardened his resolve and walked over, shouting, “I sure as anything do not want to bandy words with you! You! You are a joke, you know that? So much for the gods.” Had the cobbles been more normal, there was a real chance the venom in his voice would have melted the stone from his flying spittle as he shouted.
Ibdal only shook his head sadly, then spoke in a quiet voice, “There was only so much that I could do. It was never enough, for although I am powerful, I am not all powerful. There are limits you know, and alone, each of us can only muster so much power.” He bowed his head, “And we have not been in one accord now for a long time. A very long time.”
Reuben had not really heard Ibdal’s response, he was too busy watching the pictures in his mind, of the terrible bloodshed. Something of Ibdal’s words managed to seep through the catalog of pain in Reuben’s mind, but they did nothing to ease Reuben’s heart, instead it brought up bile, a foul taste in his mouth as he raged, “Where were you when the soldiers fell, screaming your name? Where were you when the children wept? When the land beneath our feet turned to cinders? When homes and families and lives and everything was burned to ash? When we tried to stay, when people held on to hope, even when there was none left. Where were you?” He was walking closer and closer, shaking from head to foot in his wrath.
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