Several rebels had been captured in a raid on a farm north of Testra and had unaccountably been released within hours. When they returned to the vineyard this morning, they carried a message addressed to Tarja in Joyhinia Tenragan’s own hand. The note was short and to the point.
This has gone on long enough, the letter said. Be at the Rivers Rest Tavern in Testra at noon on Fourthday next. Draco has full authority to negotiate on my behalf.
The note reeked of duplicity. Had Joyhinia sent Jenga, Tarja argued, he may have been less concerned, but Draco was the First Sister’s tool. He had served three of them and never given one of them a moment’s pause.
The rebels were ecstatic at the news. This was the proof they needed that their resistance was having an effect. Tarja argued against believing anything that came from Joyhinia until his throat was raw, and R’shiel agreed with him, for her own reasons. The rebellion had been a coherent force for less than a year. They were not yet strong or numerous enough to make a real impression. A few slogans splashed on walls and a handful of lucky skirmishes did not constitute a significant threat to the Sisterhood, Tarja tried to explain. The rebels argued otherwise. They listed their victories. They insisted that Joyhinia was under pressure from the Quorum to end the Purge.
Tarja had finally won a minor victory by insisting he be allowed to attend the meeting alone, although Ghari and several of his companions planned to enter Testra a day early to ensure the way was clear. Brak had volunteered to accompany him and bear witness to the negotiations, out of curiosity more than anything else. Tarja was not given a choice in the matter.
Since making the decision, the rebels had been in a buoyant mood. Some were talking about going home. Others dreamed of seeing lost family sentenced to the Grimfield. Their confidence was premature, and nothing Tarja said made an impression on them. They were not fighters at heart. They could not see that their optimism was misplaced. All most of them wanted was to be left in peace to worship their gods and reminisce about the old days, when the Harshini roamed the land with their demons and their sorcerer-bred horses. Brak sympathized with the rebels, but he could see Tarja’s point.
The meeting was still in progress in the vast cellars beneath the rundown farmhouse. Brak had excused himself, pleading the need for fresh air. In truth, he escaped to avoid listening to R’shiel speak. Tarja advised caution for sound tactical reasons, but R’shiel wanted this conflict to continue. Her anger still had a lot of fuel to burn, and she was not ready to quit the fight. The girl had a gift for saying exactly what the rebels wanted to hear, particularly the young, belligerent ones. Brak wondered if there would ever be an end to it. She seemed to have enough hostility to last a lifetime.
Brak walked away from the darkened farmhouse, between long lines of withered vines, pondering the problem. The note from Joyhinia was a trap, perhaps, but the real danger to these rebels came from within. Tarja was smart enough to see the problem; Brak did not worry about him. In fact, despite Tarja’s obvious distrust, he quite liked the man. R’shiel, however, could best help the rebels by getting herself killed in the next available skirmish.
“Why so miserable, Brakandaran?”
He started at the voice and looked around. The night was dark, the air still and cool. He felt the presence of the goddess but could not see her.
“Kalianah?”
“You do remember me!” The figure of a small child appeared between the wilted vines. She had a cloud of fair hair and wore a pale flimsy shift that rippled in the still air with every move she made. Her feet were bare and hovering just above the ground. “I told the others that just because you hadn’t spoken to us for so long, it didn’t mean you’d forgotten us.”
“How could I forget you, Kalianah?” he asked. As the Goddess of Love glided toward him, he could feel her power radiating from her like a cheery fire on a cold night. She was hard to resist in this form.
“That’s what I told Zegarnald,” she agreed, settling on the ground in front of him. She looked up with wide eyes and frowned. “You are too tall, Brakandaran. Come down here.”
“Why don’t you just make yourself taller?” he suggested. Kalianah could chose any form she liked, but she often appeared as a child. Everybody loved children.
“Because I’m a god and you’re a mortal,” she told him. “I get to make the rules.”
He squatted down to face her, resisting her efforts to overwhelm him with her essence. “What do you want, Kalianah?”
“I want to know what’s taking you so long,” she said. “Well, no, that’s not true. I just want you to love me. It’s Zegarnald who wants to know. You’ve found the demon child. It’s time you took her home.”
“Since when have you been Zegamald’s messenger?” he asked. Twice now, a goddess had appeared at the War God’s behest. Such cooperation among the immortals was unusual. Zegarnald might be able to order the weaker River Goddess around, but Kalianah did no one’s bidding.
“I am not his messenger,” she protested. “I just happen to agree with him. Besides, I wanted to see you. You’ve been gone from Sanctuary so long. And you never talk to me anymore.”
“I’ve been gone twenty years, Kalianah. You’ve probably only just noticed I was missing.”
“That’s not true! Pick me up!”
Brak did as she bade him, and she wrapped her thin arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. “Do you love me, Brakandaran?”
“Everybody loves you, Kali. They can’t help it.”
“Does the demon child love me, too?”
“She worships you,” Brak assured her.
“I want to see her!” Kalianah announced. She wiggled out of his grasp and landed on the soft earth without making a mark. “Show her to me!”
“You want me to take you into a cellar full of mortals just so I can point her out? You’re a god Can’t you find her yourself?”
“Of course I can! But I want you to do it. And because I’m a goddess, you have to do as I say!”
Brak sighed. “Very well. But not until you change into something more grown up. I can’t take you in there looking like that.”
Instantly the child before him vanished, and a plain young woman, dressed in a simple homespun dress, took her place. “Is that better?”
“I suppose.” Somewhat reluctantly, he headed back toward the farmhouse with the goddess at his side. When he glanced down, he discovered her gliding over the ground. “Walk, dammit! Unless you want to cause a riot by announcing who you are!”
“There’s no need to be rude, Brakandaran. I forget sometimes, that’s all.”
As they neared the small stone wall that enclosed the yard, Brak held out his hand to halt her. A spill of yellow light appeared as the door opened and two figures appeared. It was Tarja leading R’shiel by the hand, none too gently. He pulled her around to the side of the house, turning on her as she pulled free of him.
“Just what in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
Brak’s eyes darkened as he drew on enough power to conceal his presence. He didn’t try to include Kalianah. No mortal ever saw her when she did not want them to.
“I’m helping them fight for their beliefs!” R’shiel retorted.
“You don’t give a damn about what these people believe in! You’re doing this to get revenge on Joyhinia!”
“Now there’s a mortal who needs my help,” Kalianah sighed. Brak put a finger to his lips, urging her to silence. He wanted to hear the rest of this.
“So what if I do?” R’shiel declared. “What do you care? You just want to pretend you’re still in the Defenders by turning this rabble into your own private little army. Next you’ll be asking them to swear an oath!”
Ouch! thought Brak. R’shiel knew better than anyone what breaking his oath to the Defenders had cost Tarja.
“That girl needs someone to love her,” Kalianah said. “Shall I make them fall in love, do you think?”
“Sshh!”
“At least they’d be swearing to something they believe in, R’shiel,”
Tarja replied, his voice so low, Brak could barely make it out. “You don’t believe in anything.”
“And you do?” she asked. “You don’t hold with these pagan gods anymore than I. Perhaps Mandah’s kisses have so addled your brain that you’re starting to believe in them?”
“She’s jealous, that’s a good sign.”
“Kali, shut up!”
“Leave Mandah out of this, R’shiel,” Tarja warned.
“Oh! Did I say something to offend your insipid little girlfriend? Founders, I am so sick of that girl! She only has to look in your direction and you go running! You accuse me of using these people to get revenge on Joyhinia. Well, Captain, if you want my opinion, you’re here because you enjoy being worshipped like one of her damned gods! Have you slept with her yet?”
“He’s going to have to kiss her,” Kalianah announced with a frown. “We can’t have her like this.” The goddess waved her hand and Tarja, who Brak had feared was on the brink of slapping R’shiel, suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders, pushed her against the wall and kissed her with bruising force. Although taken by surprise, R’shiel did not appear to mind in the least.
“Kalianah! Stop it! They’re brother and sister!”
“Don’t be silly, Brakandaran. How could they be brother and sister? Lorandranek only had one child.”
“But that’s not—”
“The demon child?” the goddess asked, with a puzzled look. “Of course, it is. Who did you think it was?”
Brak glanced at the couple, who appeared so lost in the power of Kalianah’s spell that they might see it through to it’s inevitable conclusion, right there in the yard. “Enough, Kalianah. Let them up for air, at least.”
She sighed and waved her arm. The gesture was an affectation. Her will was imposed by thought alone. They broke apart and stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, before R’shiel fled into the darkness. Tarja watched her leave then sagged against the wall, as if he could not understand what had come over him. Hardly surprising, under the circumstances, Brak thought.
“It’s done now, you know,” Kalianah warned. “He’ll only ever be able to love her. Do you think Zegarnald will be mad when I tell him what I did?”
Right then, Brak could not have cared less what the War God thought. He looked at the goddess in despair. “R’shiel is Lorandranek’s child?”
“I thought we’d settled that.”
“It can’t be. Not R’shiel. Anyone but her.”
chapter 21
It was just on dawn when Tarja finally admitted to himself that he would get no more sleep this night. He rose from his makeshift bed and made his way quietly through the sleeping bodies in the cellar, climbed the narrow stairs, and let himself outside. The sun was yet to show itself over the horizon, but it had sent out ribbons of scarlet light to herald its imminent arrival, making the scattered clouds appear as if they had been dipped in blood. He glanced around the silent farmyard, noting almost unconsciously the position of the sentries.
Despite the optimism among the rebels, Tarja was well aware that the rebellion was nothing more than an irritation to the Sisterhood. They had no serious chance of overthrowing the Sisters of the Blade. It angered Tarja when he heard the young, foolish men making plans about what they would do when they took the Citadel. They had no real concept of what they faced. They had skirmished with the Defenders and been lucky, more often than not. They had never been attacked in force, never faced a cavalry charge, never felt the paralyzing fear of a pitched battle. They skirmished and retreated and thought they were heroes.
The faint smell of burning incense reached him on the still air, and he turned curiously in the direction of the aroma. He followed it around the side of the ramshackle farmhouse to the stables. No doubt hoping his presence heralded breakfast, several of the dozen or so horses stabled there nickered softly as he looked inside. When he found nobody there, he walked back around the side of the building, stepping over the low stone wall that circled the yard. His footfalls made no sound on the soft earth as he followed the sweet smell to a small clearing amid the wilting vines some hundred paces from the house.
Mandah was kneeling on the damp ground, her back to him, as she tended a small stone altar. He watched silently as she placed a small bunch of wildflowers on the altar and sat back on her heels, her head bowed in prayer. Tarja studied her curiously for a moment, wondering which of the Primal Gods she was praying to, then deciding against disturbing her, he turned to leave. Without giving any indication that she was aware of his presence, she suddenly spoke to him.
“You’re up early this morning, Captain.”
“So are you,” he replied, as she stood up and dusted off her mud-stained skirt.
“I always get up this early. It’s said that the gods listen better in the mornings.”
“And do they?”
“I don’t really know. But it doesn’t hurt to try.”
“Which god were you praying to?”
“Patanan, the God of Good Fortune,” she said. “I was praying that he would be with you today.”
“Do you have a God of Damned Fools?” Tarja asked, a little bitterly. “He’s more likely to be with me than Good Fortune.”
Mandah smiled. “No, but I’m sure if you believe in one long enough he will come into being.”
Tarja frowned, her statement made no sense. “If I believe in him?”
Mandah fell into step beside him as they headed back toward the house.
“There are two sorts of gods, Captain,” she explained. “The Primal Gods, who exist because life exists. Love, Hate, War, Fertility, the Oceans, the Mountains – every one of them has a god. The Incidental Gods come into being when enough people believe in them.” She smiled at Tarja’s blank expression. “Let me explain it another way. You’ve heard of Kalianah, the Goddess of Love?”
Tarja nodded.
“Well, she is a Primal God,” Mandah continued. “Now Xaphista, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of, is an Incidental God. That’s what they call a demon who gathers enough power to become a god. Once they achieve the status of a god, the bulk of their power comes from their believers, so the more they have, the stronger they are. If their believers lose faith, they whither and die. Primal Gods will exist as long as life does.”
She laughed at his uncomprehending expression.
“You’ve heard of the Harshini, I suppose?”
“Of course, I have.”
“Well, the Harshini are sort of a bridge between humans and the gods. The Harshini and the demons are bonded.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “And you actually believe this?”
“That’s the nature of faith, Tarja,” she replied.
“So what do these demons do, besides running around all day trying to become... what did you call them... Incidental Gods?”
“I’ve no idea. You would have to ask the Harshini.”
“I see,” Tarja said. “So how did Xaphista get to be a god, if he was just a demon?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Demons acquire learning by shape shifting and merging with other demons. I think that every time they merge, each demon acquires some of the knowledge of every other demon in the link. That’s how the Harshini could fly on dragons. Hundreds of demons would merge to create the dragon, and each one learned from the others while they were in that form. I suppose Xaphista eventually acquired enough knowledge and power to gather human worshipers. He left Sanctuary, taking his Harshini clan with him. It’s rumored the Karien priests are descended from those Harshini who broke away from Sanctuary.”
“And he moved north to Karien,” Tarja added. “So he needs all those Karien worshipers to maintain power?”
“That’s the nature of an Incidental God,” Mandah agreed, looking rather pleased with him. “Without people to believe in them, they are just harmless demons.”
Tarja looked down at Mandah.
“Then wouldn’t you be better off praying to an Incidental God? He’d have more of a vested interest in answering your prayers than a god who doesn’t care whether you believe in him or not.”
Mandah shook her head. “You have the most infuriating way of twisting everything I say, Captain. Perhaps the gods have sent you here to test my patience.”
“They’ve definitely sent me here to test mine,” Tarja added, a smile taking the sting from his words.
She stopped walking and looked up at him. “You’re starting to feel sorry you joined us, aren’t you?” she asked intuitively.
He shrugged. “This rebellion can’t hope to win, Mandah. All we are is a burr in the Sisterhood’s saddle blanket. Sooner or later they’ll turn on us in full force, and this pitiful attempt at resistance will be annihilated.”
“You should have more faith, Captain. You have brought hope to our people. You have saved hundreds of lives, heathen and atheist.”
“Much good that will be if those lives I’m supposed to have saved are killed later in retaliation,” Tarja pointed out. “Can’t you see how useless this is? You have a handful of heathens and even fewer atheists on your side. The vast majority of Medalonians don’t want war. They want peace. They want to go about their lives and not be bothered by anything more serious than whether or not their crops will thrive.”
“That might have been the case a year ago, Captain,” Mandah replied. “But the Purge has changed that. I agree that most Medalonians could not have cared less about what the Sisterhood was doing, but things have changed. Innocent people are being hurt. People who never broke a law in their lives are being thrown off their land. Every time that happens they look at us and wonder if perhaps we’re not the threat the Sisterhood claims we are. And now, even the Sisterhood has been forced to recognize us.”
Medalon dct-1 Page 20