"I don't notice the Three standing here offering thee a ride to the other shore. Dost thou?"
He had a point The Three were chained on the beaches of a fiery hell in the center of the earth. Until she got hold of the Theophone, they weren't likely to answer prayers. She'd been willing to marry a man she didn't even know to save the people she loved. She could risk heresy for them, too. "What would I have to do?" she asked.
"Bear lots of little ones, and teach them to revere the name Heinous. Thou couldst also wear something a bit more revealing. Thou hast the bosoms for such garb. I adore bosoms."
Karah winced and sighed. It could have been worse. "Well enough. I'll worship you. Where's my ride?"
"Oh, joy! Saved from anonymity once more." Heinous pointed to the carvings that lined the island "Choose a mighty steed that is to thy liking. Leap on his back, and cry the words, 'Ho, away!' I'll take care of all else."
Karah nodded After a single backward glance at the dead Windrush, she ran to the nearest beast It was a great emerald tusk-cat, fangs long as her forearm, with giant wings, the feet of a bird of prey, and a tail tipped by a viper's head "Will this one do?"
"A mighty war beast. He will be loyal to thee, and guard thy life with vigor."
Karah slipped in front of the beast's wings. The gem-flesh beneath her legs grew suddenly warm and soft, though it remained clear and vivid green. "Ho, away!" she shouted, and with a rattling flap of wings, the monster lifted into the air.
"My thanks, mighty Heinous," Karah shouted, remembering her manners at the last minute.
"Make me lots of babies," the god called after her.
That was the sort of duty she thought she wouldn't mind At least she hoped she wouldn't. The idea of bartering with gods didn't appeal to her.
She tried not to think about the flying, about the water far below. But the beast was far faster than any horse. In an instant, she and her monster were soaring over the battlefield. The dead and dying lay everywhere, while the smoke of gunpowder and the stink of blood filled the air. Faces turned up to her, and muskets and arrows began pointing in her direction. The flying tusk-cat screamed as an arrow struck it, and dove straight at the shooter. The huge bird talons ripped the woman's head off before she could move, and the giant wings lifted Karah back into the air again. Arrows rained at her, and she shrieked, "Up, beast, up, or we die!"
Thou art too near the sea, the voice of Heinous whispered in her head. Thou must go over the first rise, and look for a great upwelling of the earth's bones. Beyond those massive stones, thou wilt find Amigot Thidded, and thy key. But go swiftly, Akarakara, or all may yet be lost.
Karah located the boulders without difficulty, and noted a cluster of bodies in front of them. She and her monster angled, and as she got nearer, she saw that Eowlie crouched near one of the dead, keening.
Her stomach lurched. She could think of only one person for whom Eowlie would mourn. She brought the monster down a short distance from the beast-woman, and shouted, "Eowlie! What happened?" She told the monster to stay. He will guard thee, Heinous whispered in her mind. Karah nodded and ran to Eowlie's side.
"He's dead," the woman whispered. She lifted her chin and howled again.
Karah knelt beside Amourgin, who lay sprawled on his back. He had a massive hole in his chest—his clothes were blood-soaked and his skin was ghost-white. Karah took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and sent up a quick prayer to the Three to watch over his soul.
Then she turned to Eowlie. "I need to look for a key he had," she said.
Eowlie stopped howling, and looked directly at her for the first time. Karah saw tear streaks lining the dirt on her face, and the puffy redness of her eyes. "Do what you must I won't hurt you."
Karah rested a hand on Eowlie's shoulder for an instant. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"So am I."
Karah began digging through the dead man's pockets, finding nothing that remotely resembled a key. She heard her tusk-cat scream as she loosened his pouch from his waist and began digging through that She glanced up long enough to see him attacking several Tseldenes. "Eowlie, you have any ammunition left?"
"No."
"I was afraid of that" She dumped the contents of the pouch onto the ground and rummaged through it.
Jewels sparkled up at her. The key! She slipped it into the torque, and turned it, as the tusk-cat finished off the Tseldenes and let out another terrifying scream.
She felt the world hush. The sounds of battle on the other side of the hill fell silent The wind stilled, the slashing rain became a drizzle and then stopped altogether, and it seemed to Karah the whole of the world waited with indrawn breath. She pressed fingers to the tattoos on her cheeks and forehead—quiet reverence—and whispered, "I call upon the Three, Father, Mother, and Wolf-Child, to attend me in this, my hour of need."
The tension grew greater. Nothing moved. Eowlie, next to her, sat unblinking, wide-eyed, and only the near-imperceptible rise and fall of her chest proved her not frozen.
Then the earth beneath Karah's feet heaved, and an anguished voice filled the very world. "WE—CANNOT—BREAK—OUR—CHAINS."
The sounds of battle began again in a clash and a scream, and Karah gripped fistfuls of the earth on which she knelt and screamed with rage. "For NOTHING?!" she shouted. "All I've done has been for NOTHING?!"
Thou art too hasty, little one, the voice said in her ear. Thou hast not called upon me—but even so, perhaps I can help thee. I shall go down into their fiery prison and free them as a favor to thee.
"My thanks, Heinous," Karah whispered. And then she thought of the grinning little god, and thought to wonder about the price he would ask for his favor.
My price? She heard him chuckle, though the sound in her mind grew fainter, as if he were receding into the distance. We shall decide that between us at some later date, thee and me.
Whatever his price, she knew, she would have to pay it.
The sounds of battle grew fiercer—and Karah prayed that Heinous would be successful in freeing the Three, no matter what he asked in return. The tusk-cat guarded her and Eowlie, and the two women knelt next to the bodies of Amourgin and the men and women he and Eowlie had killed.
They waited.
"When?" Eowlie asked.
Karah clenched her hands and stared downward "Soon, I pray."
Willek felt the enemy power build and build—and then she felt the spell go amiss. Elation flooded through her—they had the Theophone, and even with it, they couldn't win! The gods weren't coming. She whooped, and urged her troops onward. That bastard Morkaarin scion and his people were trapped against the sea. Darkist had rallied his Tseldenes.
Shemro was breathing her last, all of this was about to be over—
She recalled, briefly, the vision of her head falling to Morkaarin's headsman.
"So much for inescapable visions of the future," she snarled. It would be nothing more than simple justice, she decided, to play out that scene, but with his head instead of hers on the block. She would see to it.
Darkist ran a group of his spears to the front. The upstarts who'd gotten first to the Theophone were out of ammunition and left with nothing but pikes and swords. Their wizards were holding a good line, but wouldn't for much longer. The victory that had seemed to elude him was finally within reach.
Then a delicious tingle of power surged along the back of his neck—a spell sent out and finally about to home in on its victim. He closed his eyes momentarily, listening only dimly to the surge and crash of battle. He was focusing on his weakened magical senses. The spell…
He recognized it at last—grown massive and horrible in the time since he'd sent it off, still aimed for the target he'd chosen.
He smiled slowly. He would get to watch the lovely Willek die, devoured by his incomparable water-devil, and would see the second of his obstacles topple at the same instant as the first Death, despair, and destruction—and out of it, the new god Darkist-Colchob, who would find the Theoph
one and graft it to himself, so that none would ever dare question his power again. He would not rule by divine right, but as Divine Right.
Bren saw his outer line fall, decimated by the enemy's rallied forces. "If only"—those are the words in a fool's world, he thought .But they would not leave him alone. He thought of Karah, of the future they could have had, of days that stretched in front of them. If only the Theophone had done what it was supposed to do.
All was lost—hope, his life, the world as he had known it. There was no more time.
He raised his sword forward, and led his troops in their last charge, roaring, "We'll take 'em to hell when we go!" And his soldiers, who loved the man who might have been king, charged willingly toward hell with him.
Karah felt the hot tears start down her face. Help didn't come, and it didn't come—all she'd done had been for nothing, and the battle was lost She rested her head against Eowlie's shoulder and whispered, "We tried, Eowlie. By the Three, we tried."
"Vetter we die with them than fall on our swords," Eowlie said.
Karah rose. "Then let's go die."
Then a fierce, jubilant shriek erupted from the depths of the earth, and stopped the thunder of guns and the clash of metal. The earth rose as it had before, but this time it ripped apart, and out of the seam rose a giant figure, the figure of the Father, his falcon beak open, his lion paws spread with his claws raking the earth. An instant later fanged Mother leapt from the belly of the earth, and charged after her lover. And last, Wolf-Child chased out of the hells after them, and galloped into the battle, howling.
A ragged cheer rose from the remains of the XIXth and the surviving natives. The Tseldenes screamed and those who could break away from the fighting fled; the Tykissians among Willek's following threw down their weapons and knelt, raising their arms in adoration.
Karah and Eowlie stood where they were, frozen, stunned by the violence of the gods. From the heart of the fight, bodies flew threw the air and crashed to the earth like broken toys thrown by an angry child. The fury of her gods seemed to Karah greater than her plea for help could have caused.
Their jury has nothing to do with thee, littlest, the by-then-familiar voice whispered in her mind The One of the Thousand Faces tricked the Three down into that prison it created for them, and compelled them to stay there in silence until a mortal thought to rescue them. The Three have been trapped down there for a very long time. Mortals very rarely set off to rescue their gods, you see.
Karah saw.
Something inexplicable happened. Those Tseldenes who had been racing wildly away from the sea abruptly reversed direction, and screaming, headed back toward the Three and the combined forces of the XIXth and the Shemro loyalists.
Eowlie growled suddenly. "You smell that?" she asked.
Karah shook her head.
"Strange—smells like jungle water—coming up from the cliffs."
Karah sniffed, but didn't have Eowlie's nose. "I smell nothing but blood and shit and gunpowder."
"Wait, then. Whatever it is, it's coming."
A small company of prisoners marched past them, surrounded by soldiers of the XIXth. The Three stood guard over the captives, who, Karah could see, made no attempt to escape. Then the Wolf-Child turned to face the cliff, and his hackles rose. He bared his teeth and growled so that the earth trembled again.
Over the crest of a distant hill stalked a thing of mud and water, its form uncertain in the long light of late afternoon.
"What is it?" Karah asked.
Eowlie shrugged. "Another god? A demon? I don't know."
Karah looked about for a weapon. Eowlie watched her with apathetic eyes. "Get something to protect yourself with, Eowlie."
"Why? I finally had a life again, and now I don't." Eowlie stood and began to walk toward the water-fiend "Why should I care whether I live or die?"
"Because I care." Karah grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. "There are always reasons for living."
* * *
The water-demon came across the rolling plains, and Darkist, captured by Morkaarins troops in the sudden turning of the battle, watched with pleasure as it tread with slow, heavy steps toward Willek. The magic that he'd put into it was greater than anything he could raise in his new body—but it was enough that he could take pleasure in its making, and in the devastation it wrought. His stupid sheep, who had abandoned him to the enemy, were first to be sucked into its ever-expanding maw.
My creature, he thought proudly, and conceived a plan by which his creature could free him. It would devour Willek, of course—he doubted even the gods could stop it from carrying out the reason for its existence. But first, it could come and rescue him.
With what magic he could muster, he called to it. At first he thought his call was too weak, but after a moment he noted a slight but perceptible change in the direction it travelled. That miserable beast-god Father stood in front of it as if to bar its progress, while all the Tykissian fools cheered—and it flowed around both sides of him, not even slowing down. Darkist smiled. The men and women guarding him looked at each other, the priests stared at them and made their futile warding spells, and then all of them looked at Darkist.
"It is my creature, come to save me," Darkist-Colchob said, and grinned. He flexed the muscles of his massive arms and legs and added, "Even your gods are powerless to stop it."
The water-demon moved closer, and one of the priests said, "We can do nothing. Fall back!"
The Tykissians melted away, leaving Darkist standing alone on the sand. The soldiers shot their arrows at him, hoping to kill him before he could be rescued, but they wasted their ammunition. Only things of magic could kill a magician, and Darkist, even weak, had no equals. He reached up to embrace his monster, his savior, and it tenderly put down one ill-formed hand to lift him up.
He stepped onto the hand, confident, shouting, "I'll have you all yet."—smiling at them with purest joy at this last-minute triumph he'd engineered—
And realized his foot had stepped through the hand, not onto it He was knee-deep in swirling, sucking, deadly water, and his creature was still moving forward.
"Stop!" he shouted, putting his magic into it.
The water-demon was stupid, and its reactions were slow. It rolled forward while thinking about his command, and enveloped him as it did so. He struggled, but the current dragged him in.
NO! he thought. Not like this! He held his breath, and struggled to command the requisite magic to break apart the creature's will and to thus kill it, or to float himself away from the circling vortex in its center, but he was too weak, and his old self had built too well.
His chest felt as if it would burst He felt the cold, limp limbs of the already drowned tangling with his own—an intimacy he would never have permitted in life. He stared out at the light of days end that filtered through the watery body of his creature.
He swam—but the endless, mindless strength of the ever-circling current that held the demon together was more than his own weakening strength. And at last his arms and legs faltered, and at last his will gave out, and at last he gasped once, with lungs aching for air that filled only with water.
His final thought was, Anything for one more sunrise.
Solmin raised his head from his divining sticks, and said to Bren, "It seeks Willek's blood, and cannot be stopped until it has it."
"There is no other way?"
The priests lips were a thin line. "None. And others will keep dying until it has her."
"Then have the guard bring me Willek. Quickly."
Bren bellowed for a headsman, and one appeared, running.
"This will be quick," he told the man. "We cannot try her, we cannot give her either due process or priest's blessing. When she comes, take off her head, and then run. Don't miss on your first strike."
The headsman nodded. "Who is the woman?"
"The Grand Admiral."
The man paled, but nodded again. "I can do it," he said "Have the priest shrive me
for my sins when the deed is done."
Solmin came running, and the guards with him, dragging a screaming, cat-fighting Willek. Bren saw her up close for only the second time. She was a lovely woman, he thought. Then she saw him, and her glance darted from him to the headsman, and at once she stopped screaming. She straightened herself and walked proudly.
"I knew," she said directly to him. "I already knew."
Bren didn't understand.
She brushed away the hands of the guards, looked the headsman in the eye, and said, her voice cold and authoritative, "Do the job right, you." And then she knelt, and lay her head across the makeshift chopping block.
The headsman seemed for an instant stunned.
"Now," Bren snapped.
The axe flashed—red in the last rays of the setting sun, red as blood.
Willek's head rolled—Bren saw her eyes wide and surprised, her mouth slack, before he turned away.
"Run," he commanded his people.
They fled before the wall of living water that came at them. It swirled around Willek, and kept on coming.
Then, without warning, it roared with the sound of a wave breaking on a cliff, and rolled into the smooth, still waters of the Rose Sea.
Bren watched the sun set beyond the far horizon, over the Rose Sea, and thought, Tomorrow, the sun rises on a new world.
Karah and Eowlie were dragging Amourgin's body down to the beach, to be numbered with the rest of the dead, when the Three came to Karah and stopped her.
The Mother raised her hand and said softly, "Daughter, by your will and deeds we are free. We would give you a boon, in gratitude. Name anything within our powers, an it will be done."
Karah knew instantly what she wanted. "Can you make the war to have never happened?"
"We will not, for that is not one thing, but many—and there are things both good and bad that have resulted from the war. To undo it would be to set ourselves back in chains and the foul One back in his seat of power over us."
Karah nodded. "Could you then bring back to life all those from the XIXth who were killed?"
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