Touched by the Gods

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Oh?”

  “Certainly. Thirty-six men, if that's the number, make a fair company; someone's going to have to be the captain of this company of champions, and that's not a job I'd ordinarily wish on anyone, dealing with a bunch of braggarts and lunatics – but I'm wishing it on you, sir. Congratulations!”

  Duzon considered that for a moment, nodded, and bowed deeply.

  “I am honored, my lord,” he said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the triads after the volunteers left for Biekedau news of the war in the east trickled in steadily, relayed by the temple magicians. Most of it was then carried to Grozerodz by villagers who had gone to the temple and asked for word of their friends, sons, or brothers among the nine volunteers. The war quickly became the dominant topic of all conversation in Grozerodz, supplanting the weather, the crops, and the gods.

  Most of the news was unsatisfactory, in Malledd's opinion. He never said so, but as he sat in Bardetta's tavern, listening to the gossip and taking an entire evening to drink a pint of beer, he became more and more convinced of its inadequacies.

  There were reports of how the mightiest army the world had seen in several centuries was forming at Seidabar, being trained and equipped at the Empire's expense. There were reports of how the Imperial College of the New Magic was sending its finest students out to slow the enemy's advance until the army could arrive, and how priests throughout the world were studying old, almost-forgotten military magic, as well. There were reports of skirmishes, and always, in these reports, the Imperial forces were victorious.

  But always, it was reluctantly admitted, the enemy continued to advance, west through the Govya Mountains and out onto the central plain.

  And there was never any word about individuals; the priests, Malledd was told, were far too busy to relay personal messages for all the hundreds of anxious relatives back home. The recruits from Grozerodz were all now part of the Third Company of the Biekedau Regiment, but that was all the word anyone in the village had of them.

  A call for more volunteers went out about half a dozen triads after the recruits had left – a less-urgent call, as no recruiters came through and no speeches were made. It was simply announced by the priests in Biekedau that the Empire would welcome anyone who wished to join the war effort.

  Not just eager young soldiers, this time – the army wanted tailors and seamstresses to make uniforms and tents, cobblers to make boots, cooks and scribes and administrators. They wanted glassblowers and artisans, though no one seemed to know why.

  And they wanted smiths, to train as armorers, to equip the Empire's fighting men.

  When Malledd heard that he felt his stomach sink within him; his lips tightened. The Empire had not called for the gods' champion, the champion he might or might not be, but the call had come for smiths, and he was very definitely a smith.

  But then he glanced across the table at Anva, who had accompanied him on the evening that particular announcement arrived in Grozerodz, and he saw the stricken expression on her face. He could see the fear that he would leave her, and he could not bear to see it realized. He closed his hand reassuringly over hers. The Empire would have to find their smiths elsewhere, he resolved grimly – at least for now.

  Perhaps if the priests admitted the Empire's losses, he thought, he would go, but as long as they continued to give only these cheerful reports of small victories and the glorious gathering of an unbeatable army, why should he bother? The world was full of smiths.

  Still, a certain nagging uneasiness remained, and grew over the next few triads.

  It was the first of Vedal's Triad, about fifteen triads after the volunteers had left and just two days after Malledd's twenty-sixth birthday, when word arrived that the Biekedau Regiment had finally left Seidabar.

  It was evening, the sun an hour gone. Malledd was sitting in front of his house, leaning against the wall and looking up at the moons – there were at least forty in the sky, several of them in a cluster in the southwest, over where Malledd imagined Yildau to be, gleaming in a dozen shades from bone-white to breadcrust brown. Anva was inside the house, feeding little Arshui; Neyil and Poria were already in bed.

  If Malledd lowered his gaze, he would be able to see his parents' house on the left, the smithy on the right, both plainly visible in the light of so many moons, but his attention was on the sky – until he heard footsteps. Even then, he didn't lower his gaze until he heard his uncle Sparrak's voice call, “Ho, Malledd!”

  Sparrak was standing near the smithy, just outside the firebreak ditch – Malledd no longer liked to think of it as a moat. “Moat“ was a military term.

  “Ho, uncle,” Malledd called back.

  Sparrak waved and approached; Malledd got to his feet.

  “There's news from Seidabar,” Sparrak said. “I thought you'd want to know.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Biekedau Regiment has left the city and is marching east on the Gogror Highway. Helsia just brought the news from Biekedau.”

  Helsia was Bousian's sister. “Is Bousian with them?” Malledd asked.

  Sparrak shrugged. “I don't know.”

  “What about Onnell? Or Timuan?”

  Sparrak shook his head. “The priest wouldn't say. You know how they are, Malledd.”

  Malledd knew, all right – and he had had quite enough of it. It was time to get some straight answers about what was really happening in the east, and whether they really needed smiths in Seidabar.

  “Thank you, uncle,” he said. “Good night.” He turned and lifted the front-door latch.

  “You're going in?” Sparrak asked, startled by his nephew's rudeness – he had obviously expected to sit and discuss the news for awhile.

  Malledd nodded and opened the door, carefully doing and saying nothing that could be interpreted as an invitation. Sparrak stared after him for a moment, then shrugged and turned away, toward his brother's house.

  The boy had always been moody, a bit strange – but after all, Sparrak reminded himself, he was the chosen of the gods. He probably knew and saw things others did not. Undoubtedly there were reasons for his recent morose silence.

  Sparrak frowned. The connotations of that particular thought were not pleasant.

  He stepped up the pace, trying not to think about what Malledd's behavior might mean. By the time he rapped on Hmar's door he had convinced himself the lad was just tired.

  In the main room of the younger smith's little house Anva was seated in her iron-framed rocker – Malledd's handiwork – with Arshui asleep in her arms. She was humming quietly to herself, not rocking; she stopped and looked up as Malledd entered.

  She saw his expression and asked, “What is it?”

  He hesitated, then said, “I'm going to Biekedau tomorrow.” Until the words left his mouth, he himself had not been certain of his intentions.

  She blinked up at him in unhappy surprise. “But it's summer! The feast of Dremeger isn't for triads – for almost half a year!”

  “This isn't for Dremeger,” he said. “I have business at the temple, all right, but it's personal, not anything to do with the forge. I need to see a priest there.”

  Anva glanced up at the loft where Neyil slept, and Poria's little room at the back. Her expression was worried. “Why?” she asked. “What priest?”

  “A man named Vadeviya,” Malledd replied, answering only her second question.

  “Who?” she asked. Confusion added to her worry. Malledd had never told her about the priest's visit years before. He hated himself when he saw her face growing pale. She had never liked surprises, never cared for anything that disrupted the calm routine of their lives.

  “Vadeviya,” he repeated.

  Anva hesitated, then asked, “Is that the one who came here when you were born?”

  She had never before mentioned the notorious incident to him, not in all the years they had been married, or the years before. She knew he didn't want it mentioned, and she had obliged – until n
ow. But she had grown up in Grozerodz, and she had heard the story, of course, and she naturally couldn't help wondering if it had some connection with this sudden mysterious errand in Biekedau. She had been following the war reports as well, and had never heard of anyone named Vadeviya in connection with them.

  “No, that was Mezizar,” he said, “or so I'm told. Vadeviya came to talk to me a few years ago, when trouble first started in the east.”

  “Talk to you about what?” she demanded unhappily.

  Malledd struggled, but couldn't think of any way to avoid saying it.

  “About being the gods' champion,” he told her.

  Anva stared at him for a moment, then looked down at Arshui, still asleep in her arms. “I need to put the baby to bed,” she said. Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping child, she arose and walked into the big bedroom she and Malledd shared, and where Arshui still slept in a cradle in the corner.

  Pretty soon, Malledd thought, it would be time for Arshui to move up to the loft with Neyil, or perhaps to take Poria's room – Poria had slept in the loft for a few triads, but the constant squabbling that had resulted had driven Malledd to add the back room. The children were older now, though, and might do a better job of sharing.

  He stood waiting by the front door, and a moment later Anva emerged from the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. Then she turned to him and said, “Malledd, I know you don't like to talk about it, but we must. Do you really think you're some kind of favorite of the gods?”

  “No,” he said. “Not a favorite. The greatest blessing I have is you, and I don't think the gods sent you to me. But the priests at Biekedau say I'm the chosen defender of the Empire, like Urzuan or Rubrekir or Faial. My mother has a letter Mezizar brought, from the old high priest Dolkout, that says I am.”

  “But you don't believe it?”

  Malledd turned a hand. “I'm just a man,” he said. “A smith. If I were more than that, wouldn't Baranmel have danced at our wedding feast? I didn't see him there.” He smiled. “But then, I didn't see anyone but you that day.”

  “Then why...” Anva began, her voice suddenly loud and unsteady. She realized she was almost shouting, and started again, more quietly. “Then why are you going to see this Vadeviya, if you don't believe it?”

  “To find out what's really happening in the east,” Malledd explained. “To get some news of our townsmen. I think they've been lying to us, Anva – shouldn't the war be over by now?”

  “I don't know,” Anva said sharply, “and neither do you. Neither of us knows anything about wars.”

  “Well, I want to find out what's going on,” Malledd insisted.

  “And why should the priests tell you any more than they've told Helsia or Komorrin or any of the others?”

  “Because I have a letter from the high priest Dolkout ordering them to.”

  Anva stared at him, her face white. This was new. This was the first she had heard of any solid physical evidence that the priests of Biekedau genuinely thought her husband to be something more than an ordinary man. “You do?” she asked.

  Malledd nodded. “The one my mother gave me. The one Mezizar brought.”

  “You never told me that,” she said accusingly.

  “I never had any reason to.”

  “You shouldn't keep secrets from me, Malledd,” Anva said. The words were chiding, but her face and the tone of her voice were utterly woebegone.

  “I didn't keep it secret,” Malledd protested, his throat tightening at the sight of his beloved's hurt. “It simply never came up.”

  “This letter really says the priests must answer your questions?”

  Malledd nodded. “It says...” He frowned, trying to remember the exact words. “It says, 'every priest in the Empire, including most particularly the oracles, is required to render you whatever aid you might need.'“

  “But there aren't any more oracles,” Anva pointed out, puzzled.

  “I know that! But there are still all the others. It says every priest.”

  Anva struggled to understand. “And you think because of that letter, the priests in Biekedau will tell you whatever you want to know?”

  “I think it's worth a trip to Biekedau to find out.”

  “Just to Biekedau?”

  Malledd hesitated. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You aren't going to go on to Seidabar, or to wherever it is they're fighting?”

  “Just to Biekedau.”

  “You're sure?”

  Malledd couldn't lie to her. “I think so,” he said. “I'm not sure.”

  Anva frowned, and her hands, which had been held in front of her, below her breasts, dropped to her hips. A trace of color returned to her face as her temper flared. “Suppose they tell you what's happening in Olnamia, or wherever it is, and suppose it's bad, Malledd. Suppose they need every smith they can get, to forge their weapons and armor. I heard the call, just as you did, and I thought you might go then, and when you didn't I thought that was the end of it. I prayed that was the end of it!”

  “It probably was,” Malledd said. “There are plenty of smiths in the world.”

  “But suppose they tell you the divine champion is needed. Is that still the end of it? I don't want you to leave me, Malledd; I don't want you to go. I'm sure you intend to go no farther than Biekedau, but suppose they beg you to go save the Empire. Will you just say, 'oh, I'm sorry,' and come back home to me?”

  “I don't know,” Malledd admitted miserably. “It depends.”

  “You think you might really be the gods' champion?”

  “I...” He stopped.

  “If you love me, Malledd, tell me the truth.”

  “I always do!”

  “Then tell me – do you think you're the divine champion?”

  Malledd stood silently for a long moment, then said, “I don't know. I don't think I am, really – but I don't know I'm not. Who understands the gods?”

  “Not you, that's certain!” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away, skirts swirling; Malledd thought he glimpsed a tear in her eye as she did.

  He came up behind her and put his arms around her, almost resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “Anva, I love you,” he said. “I'm just going to Biekedau to find out what's happening, that's all. Please don't be angry with me.”

  To his surprise, she didn't yell at him; instead she sniffled, as if fighting back more tears.

  “Don't worry,” she said, “I'm not going to ruin what might be our last night together, ever.”

  That shocked him. For a moment he was silent. Then he said, “It won't be. I'll come back. You'll see. Even if the gods appear in the temple and order me to go, I'll come back to you in time.”

  She sniffled again, then turned around and flung herself against him. His arms closed tight, pressing her to him, and he kissed her forehead as she began sobbing.

  “You might die,” she managed to say, minutes later. “Then you won't come back.”

  “I won't die,” he told her reassuringly. “The champions have always lived to come home, haven't they? And surely none of them ever had anyone like you to come home to.”

  She pressed herself against him. He picked her up, kissed her, and carried her to the bedroom.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Malledd slept late the next morning, and by the time he had packed a few things and stepped out the door the sun was halfway up the sky, brushing between a thinly-crescent Ba'el and two small, dark moons Malledd couldn't name.

  Someday, he thought as he looked up, he ought to learn the names of all the gods, and all the moons, and which went with which. He knew there weren't really exactly a hundred, there were more than that, but he wasn't sure of the exact number, and he didn't know all the names, by any means.

  Ba'el's moon, though, was unmistakable, even when faded by daylight – it was the largest of the moons by a narrow margin, and by far the reddest, with distinctive markings. He wondered if its pr
esence overhead on this particular occasion was an omen of some sort.

  He certainly hoped not. Ba'el might be the most powerful of the gods, but as god of war and conflict he was hardly the best-loved or most propitious.

  He turned back in the doorway and gave an unsmiling but dry-eyed Anva a final embrace and kiss. Then he hoisted his pack onto his shoulder, waved a final farewell to Anva and the children, and headed out.

  He had no concerns about the route; he had been to Biekedau often enough that the road was familiar, and besides, the road did not fork or branch anywhere. The only possible turns were a few grassy farm roads, and no one could mistake any of those for the highway. That allowed him not to worry about where he was headed, but simply to enjoy the day, and to think his own thoughts as he walked.

  By the time he'd covered half the distance he almost wished he'd gotten an earlier start, so as to have reached Biekedau before the full heat of the day – but that would have meant missing sleep, or else missing his last hours with Anva, and he didn't think he'd have cared to have given up either of those. Walking in the dry heat of midsummer was the price he paid, and it was worth it.

  The fields on either side of the highway were green with grain and other crops – not the rich, lush green of the spring shoots, but a paler shade that would soon be turning to yellow, ready to harvest. This road would be far busier then, Malledd thought – farmers would be bringing their crops to market, and merchants would be roaming back and forth, Yildau to Biekedau and back, trading with the farmers.

  Not yet, though; the road was empty save for Malledd and an occasional snake sunning itself on the hard-packed earth, or a bird foraging along the verge. He could hear insects buzzing in the fields, and he hoped that he mostly heard bees and the like, rather than anything that would eat the crops. Occasionally he would hear a voice calling in the distance or someone whistling as the farmers worked their land, but he could never make out any words or see more than a distant glimpse of a bent back or a broad-brimmed summer-straw hat. There were no faces in the doors or windows of the houses he passed; it was almost as if he had the entire world to himself, as if the gods had swept away everyone else.