Living God

by Dave Duncan

  Maya slept on, undisturbed by that ear-splitting bellow.

  Where was Ylo? Why was he taking so long?

  “My wife’ll be here shortly. You do remember me, don’t you? Rap from Krasnegar?”

  Eshiala’s court training came to her rescue. “Of course I remember you. It has been a long time, hasn’t it? Have you been keeping well?” Where? He did look vaguely familiar. Count Rap? Senator Rap? An innkeeper, perhaps.

  Maya opened her eyes. “Mommy, I’m hungry.” Then she looked up doubtfully at the big, bare-chested man holding her on his lap.

  He grinned a faun’s wide grin at her. “Don’t suppose you remember me. Princess. I was on the ship. Do you remember the ship? My, but you’ve grown! I’m Rap.” He smiled again.

  She returned his smile trustingly. “I’m hungry!”

  “What would you like to eat?”

  “Chocolate cake.”

  He sat her down on the moss at his side and gave her a plate of chocolate cake — several slices — and a glass of milk.

  “That should keep you happy,” he said. Then he turned big gray eyes on Eshiala.

  Winds began to move the mists in her head. Things cleared. Ylo! Armed men on horses! She tried to rise and the man laid a large, powerful hand on her shoulder.

  She yielded unwillingly. “I must go back and look for someone. He should have been here by —”

  “Just wait a minute, your Majesty. I haven’t quite finished. I wish Thaïle had been able to do this. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

  Terror and horrors lurked behind the mist. She did not want to see. “We must hide!” she said, scanning the far bank over the silver glare of water. Panic! “Hide my daughter. The soldiers —”

  “They’ve gone away,” he said. “Now do you remember me? Rap, from Krasnegar.”

  “The king! Sorcerer?” The ferry on Cenmere… “How did you get here?”

  “That’s a very long story.” His big faun mouth was smiling, his eyes were not. “And you’ve had quite a journey yourself, your Majesty.”

  “You’re mistaking me for someone else,” she said automatically. Ylo! Where was Ylo? Gods, how was she going to manage in the forest without Ylo?

  “You are Impress Eshiala. I’m a friend, remember?”

  She nodded. Oh, yes, she remembered. He was a friend of Shandie’s. Another one who might try to steal Maya away and take her to the palace, just like Hardgraa and Ionfeu. She clenched her fists.

  “You are quite safe here.” He shook his head. “No one is going to take the child from you. The soldiers won’t come. You’ll be looked after.”

  She shivered and stared longingly at the meadow across the river, willing Ylo to appear, riding over the grass. There had been two girls…

  “Your horse fell after you cleared the last gate,” the man said. “I don’t suppose you even remember the jump. But you made it to safety. You’re all right Your child will be all right.”

  Startled, she looked at him. Which child did he mean? She wasn’t showing her condition yet, but he was a sorcerer.

  Ylo! There was still no sign of Ylo.

  “Where is my husband?” she demanded.

  The big man winced. He glanced behind him, at the trees. “My wife will be along in a moment Kadie! This way! Over here!”

  “They caught Ylo? Is that what you’re hinting? No!”

  He shook his head. “He stopped them from catching you. He felled three armored men single-handed. He defended the woman he… He defended his impress, I mean. To the death.”

  No! “You can’t possibly know that!” she said angrily. “You were here, he was over there.” No, she would not believe it! “You’re making that up.” It was all lies!

  Again he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I won’t believe it. He’s my husband!”

  King Rap gritted his teeth. “When were you married? How long ago?”

  “Some weeks ago,” she said evasively. She had started the baby before that.

  “Your Majesty, Ylo did not lie to you, but he was mistaken if he said that the goblins killed the imperor. Shandie was rescued. As far as I know he’s still alive, and well. I admit I have no recent news of him, but if your wedding was more than nine or ten days ago… well, you weren’t married. It wasn’t valid. And it probably couldn’t have been valid at any time, unless something has happened to Shandie very recently.”

  She shook her head, dumb with honor. Shandie alive? What had she done? Betrayed her husband, her imperor? That would be treason! Oh, Ylo! What would Ylo say?

  “Ah!” the big man said, springing up. “At last! This is my wife. Queen Inosolan of Krasnegar. And my daughter Kadie.”

  Eshiala clambered to her feet as two women emerged from the undergrowth from opposite directions. The first was tall and striking, not quite a jotunn. Her eyes were a startling green, her hair the color of summer honey, but she lacked the fierce angularity of jotnar. Ignoring her husband’s attempt at formalities, she swept Eshiala into a comforting embrace and hugged her.

  “Oh, Kadie!” Rap said. “For Gods’ sake stop moping!”

  “Thaïle disappeared again!”

  Oh! So the girls had not been part of the nightmare. This was the one who had carried Maya across the stream. She seemed on the verge of tears. Her skirt was torn, her face scratched, and her long black hair had twigs in it.

  “What if she did?” King Rap said crossly. “She’s not your pet dog. The Keeper’s dead. Thaïle had to go away with the other archons. She has duties. She can’t spend every minute of her life with you, even if she wants to.”

  “More cake?” Uomaya said, holding up the plate. She was the only one still seated, and her face was chocolate from ear to ear.

  “Maya! That is not polite!” Eshiala said despairingly.

  “But it’s good sense,” the king said. “True impish practicality. How about some sherbet instead?”

  “Rap!” Queen Inosolan said in a voice of menace. “Where do we go from here? Do we spend the rest of the day digging bait in this jungle, or can we go somewhere civilized? And by the way, you look like a serf.”

  He shrugged and began buttoning up a shirt that he had not been wearing an instant before. “I don’t know what happens now. We’re in the real Thume, you see. I can’t move us back to the College — I nearly broke my neck coming down that hill.”

  “And I had to do it without sorcery!” the queen said icily. “You might have left me a good pair of boots.”

  He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. “The only way back to the College will be one of their Gates, and I have no idea how to find one.”

  “Sherbet is nice, thank you,” Maya remarked wistfully.

  “What color sherbet?”

  “I can’t leave yet,” Eshiala said, casting a yearning glance at the far bank.

  Inosolan put an arm around her again. “I am truly sorry about Ylo. He died very nobly.”

  “You saw, too?”

  “No. But if Rap says it happened, then it happened.”

  Ylo! Ylo! Ylo! She would not believe it. Lies! “I must go back. I should not have left him. I should have gone back as soon as I realized he was lagging.”

  “You did exactly right,” Inosolan said. “You did exactly what he would have told you to do if he could, what he wanted.”

  “Chocolate sherbet, please,” Maya said, “or strongberry.”

  The king said, “Ah! Archon Neem, her Imperial Majesty the Impress Eshiala.”

  The newcomer must have just stepped out from behind a tree, or somewhere. He had an odd face, with slanted yellow eyes and extraordinary pointed ears. His clothes were green, and more like city wear than peasant garments. Was his name all Archonneem or was some of that a title? He bore an air of authority. His expression was bleak. He nodded to her but did not bow.

  Everyone began talking at once. He raised a hand for silence. “The Keeper told me to come and fetch you.”

  “The Keeper?�
�� Inosolan and Rap and their daughter repeated the words in chorus.

  “The new Keeper, of course.”

  The Kadie girl screamed. “Thaïle? Not Thaïle!” She had turned white. Queen Inosolan put an arm around her.

  “Keeper of what, Archonneem?” Eshiala asked.

  Rap answered for him. “Keeper of Thume.”

  “Thume, the Accursed Land?”

  That was why she could not categorize the yellow-eyed man. East of Qoble, of course. He must be a pixie. “It’s true, then?”

  “It’s true,” Rap muttered.

  “I like strongberry and I like chocolate, too.”

  “Thaïle is the new Keeper?” the girl cried.

  Archonneem frowned. “That was her name before she became Keeper. Impress, her Holiness suggested you and your child might stay at the Baze Place. Goodman Baze is a former archon. He and Goodwife Prin are both elderly, but they have room for you, and will make you welcome. The location is pleasant.”

  “I think she should come back to the Rap Place first,” Inosolan said firmly. “She and I need to have a long talk.”

  “The Keeper will be obeyed!”

  “You’ve told her a fifth word?” Kadie wailed. “It will kill her! It will torture her!”

  Eshiala’s head was spinning. Pixies?

  “Shut up, Kadie!” Rap said. “Archon, what news of the Covin?”

  Neem fixed him with a forbidding stare. “Nothing here.”

  “Then where?”

  Reluctantly the old man said, “The djinn army has halted but is not pitching camp. There is activity in Dragon Reach.”

  “He’s raising the dragons?”

  “Not yet, but perhaps soon.”

  “Chocolate sherbet, please,” Maya said. “Or more cake.”

  “How long would it take dragons to fly to Thume?” Inosolan demanded, looking from the pixie to her husband and back again.

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “Two days maybe,” the king said.

  “They haven’t risen yet.”

  “So they can be here by Midsummer?”

  “Unlikely. But Longday may be only the beginning.”

  “And the caliph, also?”

  Eshiala could not keep track of all this. Her mind would not stop shouting for Ylo, wanting to know what he would say about pixies, about Shandie being still alive. Where had the soldiers gone? And dragons? She must have gone crazy. She was in a home for the insane.

  “Mommy?” Maya said. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Where Ylo?”

  2

  “Three ravens,” Gath said. “A head with an ax in it. A bloody hand. A woman with… Yuck! Two sea dragons and —”

  Blood Wave II had arrived at Nintor and was sailing just offshore, skirting the gray beach where the longships lay. Although they were drawn up on the shingle, clear of the water, they had their sails spread. Normally raiders’ sails bore only the orca symbol of a thane, but for the Longday Moot they had been decorated with their owners’ personal emblems, and Gath was reading them off before they came in sight. Drakkor had chosen to approach upwind, probably because that was tricky with a single square sail and let him show off his seamanship. Sounds of cheering followed his progress along the shore — he was the thane who had spoken for war at the last two moots, and now all of Nordland was behind him.

  “Next three all show a white bear with red paws,” Gath added. “I’ll show up if I look farther.”

  “Try it,” said Thewsome.

  Gath stretched his prescience another few moments. “Two ships with a red shark. Three with raiders holding axes. Oh, Gods! A bloody phallus!”

  “Yes, you’re showing! Well done! You’ve got it now.”

  Like all the rest of the crew, the two of them were leaning on the gunwale and waving obscene gestures at the shorebound audience — the lanky boy and the enormous Thewsome. He was the largest man aboard, bigger even than Red. His arms and shoulders bulged like pillows, his fists were the size of horses’ hooves, misshapen from innumerable fights. Not even another jotunn raider would ever pick a quarrel with Thewsome — which was why he looked that way.

  “About five minutes is safe, then?” Gath said.

  The giant nodded, and smiled. His eyes were a pale foggy gray, surprisingly gentle. He turned back to studying the passing shore, spray shining like diamonds on his flaxen hair and beard.

  To Gath’s great relief, the wind had held for the journey from Gark. The crew had not been required to row. After Afgirk and Kragthong’s departure. Thane Drakkor had been remarkably merciful in administering punishment to the upstart atheling — a single punch that had laid him flat on the floor and left a purple bruise that still showed in the middle of his chest. When Gath had somehow wobbled to his feet and managed to raise his fists again, Drakkor had roared with laughter, thumped him on the shoulder, and told him to go board Blood Wave. Furthermore, that embarrassing rebuke had been delivered in the privacy of the thane’s own quarters, with no bystanders present to mock. All in all, Gath had been let off amazingly lightly.

  His relief had turned to alarm when the longship had sailed without the skald aboard. A few cable lengths from shore, his prescience had inexplicably returned. Even then, he had not guessed.

  For an island so famed in legend, Nintor was a dismal sight. It was low and grassy, and so small that few charts would show it. Thewsome had explained that it had no water, so nobody lived there. He meant that no one would bother to fight over a place so worthless and thus it could safely be decreed sacred, but even he would not go so far as to put that cynical thought into words. It was a barren strip of dark green under the milk-blue arctic sky, backed by the ragged peaks of Hvark beyond it to the north. Longships flanked the shore like a row of teeth. Gath had not realized that there were so many jotnar raiders in the world. Fifty men to a keel; he had lost count at eighty-some, and still they kept coming into view.

  “There!” Thewsome said, pointing an arm as thick as a flayed goat carcass. “See?”

  A few upright stones showed on the skyline. There were no other rocks in sight, and those were too regular to be natural.

  “The Place of Ravens?” Gath shivered. “Is that where the thanes meet?”

  The giant chuckled. “That is where thanes die! The Moot is held at the Moot Stow, which is being a hollow on the south side.”

  “There won’t be any Reckonings this year, though, will there?”

  The fog-pale eyes turned to stare at him disbelievingly. “You think that all thanes are accepting Drakkor as leader without argument?”

  Gath said, “Oh!” and nothing more. He tweaked his prescience again: another red fist, two crossed axes…

  Thewsome muttered, “Careful!”

  It had been several hours after Blood Wave set sail that Gath had realized Twist was aboard. He had not noticed the extra crewman — nobody had. The others knew him, of course, for he had sailed with them before. They had paid him no special heed. They seemed to have no realization that he only appeared once a year, on the Nintor jaunt, and was never seen around the thorp.

  Gath had been sitting in the bow, being inconspicuous, when the great tattooed giant had settled down beside him and smiled at him with Twist’s pearly eyes. Even then Gath would not have known him, had he not been allowed to.

  “Is being traditional,” he had explained. “I told you — not all of us are skalds. Some are women, some priests. So we are always coming in disguise. For Longday Moot, I am Thewsome. Is a good name, right?”

  Gath had wondered how it felt for a despised cripple to be a whole man for a few days each year. Thewsome claimed that his excessive size was designed to avert challenges. To brawl would require him to use sorcery, which a jotunn regarded as cheating. But he could have diverted a challenge with sorcery just as easily, so his fearsome appearance probably had another explanation — it must feel good, too.

  Having established his identity. Twist had set to work teaching Gath how to control his prescience. It
was not conspicuous, but it could be detected, he had said, and there would certainly be Covin spies at the moot. Lessons from a sorcerer were like no others, involving adjustments to the pupil’s brain, but now Gath was able to reduce his range all the way to zero if he wanted, as if he were turning off a spigot. He had even started to extend it, to two hours or more, and Twist-Thewsome said he might be able to raise it farther when he had more time to practice — but not to try that at Nintor.

  Still the shore curved away ahead. Still the longships lay like basking sharks on the shingle just above the weeds that draped the high tide mark. Here and there groups of half-naked jotnar sprawled on the grass beyond, apparently asleep in the unending summer sunshine. Others were tending kit and weapons, or clustered around fistfights, hooting and jeering. Cooking fires smoked, but as Blood Wave went floating by them, the crews abandoned all other pastimes to run down to the water and cheer Thane Drakkor.

  Drakkor himself held the steering oar and mostly ignored the applause. Once in a while he would raise a hand in salute to someone ashore, but he did not join in the vulgar gesturing. His babyish face was expressionless. As far as Gath was aware, he had not exchanged one word with his brother on the journey.

  Gath glanced to his right to make sure his neighbor there was engrossed in other matters, then turned back to Thewsome. “There is a sorcerer for every ship?”

  The skald spat over the side. “Oh, no. One for every thane, more like. But this year every thane is bringing all the ships he can muster. I have never seen so many.”

  War moot! Fire and slaughter. Gath tried to imagine all these men charging, brandishing swords and axes, howling in blood-lust. He couldn’t imagine it, but he could come closer than he wanted to. He had decided he was not as much a jotunn as he had thought. He wasn’t even enough of a jotunn to want to be that much of a jotunn.

  “And where is the Commonplace, where the secret moot is held?”

  Thewsome pointed a finger as thick as a dagger hilt. “North. You can’t see it from here.”

  The end of the line was near. It would come into sight in another few minutes. Then Drakkor could beach his ship. The cheering swelled as Blood Wave swept past some allies.