“Sir?” Paul said, but Dane shushed him to try to hear Bailus.
“Sir!” Paul said more emphatically.
“What?” Dane said.
“I think we should get back to the beach.”
Dane turned towards Paul and found the young man staring up at the sail. It bore the mark of the shriken.
***
“Burn it,” Bailus said. “That’ll send them a message. You’re stuck with us now, you bastards.”
“Anyone care to second that idea?” Dane asked.
They’d come straight back from the beach and called everyone together. They were sitting around the table in the dining area. The fire crackled in the hearth. Many of them had mugs before them but few of them had drunk from them yet. They were unanimously agreed the shriken had intended for them to find the ship. There was a general consensus the shriken wanted them to use it. The only question remaining was ‘Why?’.
A minority, Bailus included, maintained the shriken had been properly chastised by two days of honest combat and had meant the ship as a peace offering, a means of begging the men and women to leave the island.
The others thought there was more to it than that.
“There will be other fights back home,” Dane said to Bailus when no one moved to second his suggestion. “With better odds.”
Bailus, alone even in his minority, seemed to crave the chance to plague the shriken the way they had plagued them.
“With respect, sir,” Bailus said, “I’ve been fighting your father’s wars and his father’s wars all my life, regardless of the odds. Most of my enemies, most of the men I’ve killed, were just boys who hardly knew what they were dying for, much less what they were living for or why they’d ever been born. But this is something different. No slaves, no masters; just ordinary folk going toe to toe with the darkness to carve out a place in a new land. I think this is the fight I’ve been looking for all my life.”
“Speak for yourself,” Pratt said.
“I don’t know why you’re all so concerned about the ‘Why’ of them giving us the ship,” Paul said. “I don’t think there’s a need for us to look a gift horse in the mouth so long as we’re sure it won’t magically spring a leak or disappear out from under us when we’re halfway home.”
“You all can do whatever you want,” Josie said. “I for one am not willing to let them tell me when to stop fighting.”
“What bothers me,” Dane said, “Is where did the ship come from? Forsythe circled the island and saw nothing. My only guess is it was hidden somewhere on the backside of the island. There could be dozens of such ships hidden there.”
“To what end?” Rawl asked.
“Invasion,” Elias said. He was sitting beside the hearth and staring into the fire and had not said a word until now. Even now he did not turn his gaze from the flames.
“Not against the mainland,” Paul said. “There’s no way there’re enough of them on this dinky island to overrun the mainland.”
“The mainland is divided,” Dane said. “There could easily be more of them here than the armies of even the biggest houses. And besides, even if they couldn’t take the mainland, Tira, and a host of other islands, lie in their path.”
“I guess we’ve been wrong,” Rawl said. “This whole time we’ve been thinking they’re afraid of water. I guess now that’s not so, or at least they’re willing to cross it in boats. So I guess we can stay and fight and maybe life will be short, or we can run and spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders.”
“It’s worse than that,” Paul said. “It’s not just death we face in staying here. They could turn us into those deathwalkers and send us against our own families.”
“But I think Rawl’s right,” Mirela said, speaking for the first time. “I think that’s what they wanted to teach us in giving us the ship: We can leave the island, but we’ll never be free of them.”
“We’re all together now,” Dane said. “Why don’t you tell us what you know of them?”
“I don’t really know anything,” Mirela said. “But there are stories still told on my island, handed down out of years long past. For many generations now my people have lived on Alistar, but before that, all the refugees from the Great Exodus, and their descendants for many years after, lived on our mainland, on Dim. They say when our ancestors first came there from Draconia, the land was already inhabited. There were small tribes of Men, scattered across great tracts of wilderness, and in between them lived something neither fully man nor fully beast. The netherwights we call them, beings from below. In most of our stories they bear the form of giant wolves, but imbued with an intelligence that rivals Man’s and a cruelty that far exceeds his. And beyond that, they are said to have other powers, powers not natural to men or beasts. Stories tell of them freezing the blood of living things in their veins.”
“And you think these two are related?” Dane asked.
“I don’t know. But there is something in the old stories which reminds me of what I have seen here. The netherwights were wrought in the image of that which is lower; we, men and women, were made to resemble and know that which is higher. To Man is given choice. It is part of his high nature, to know and choose between good and evil. For anything to be truly good, it must have the choice of evil. Man can plant and harvest, heal and hope, burn and kill – he can do all these nearly at the same time. The netherwights know only death and destruction, and they delight in it. They would choose nothing else even if they could. And that is where I think they resemble the creatures here. They have no choice, no creativity. Maybe it’s the one weakness we can exploit. They can’t handle change; we’ve seen this. When we two entered the fort in the first battle, they fled before us like we were a company of cavalry. Crane’s fear had given them a foothold, but when he defied them, it kicked their footing out from under them. As individuals, maybe even as a whole, they lack the ability to adapt to sudden change – they don’t know how to handle man’s ability to surprise them – especially to choose good suddenly over evil – to choose sacrifice over safety and selfishness; to choose courage instead of cowardice. Both times they had to fall back and regroup. Doubtlessly, they’ll attack again. If we’re going to beat them, we’ll have to use their ship, but use it in a way they could never imagine.”
“So, basically,” Paul said, “We need a miracle. Some divine inspiration. That’s Elias’s department.”
“Don’t look to me,” the priest said, without taking his eyes from the fire.
“But you’re the Rain-Maker,” Rawl said. “The Man of the Mountain.”
“Would you like to know what happened on the mountain, Rawl?” Elias asked.
“We know what happened on the mountain,” Paul said. “We were in the worst drought the land had ever known. Crops had failed, animals were dying, people were starting to go, too. Then you went up on the mountain, the Seat of Kran, and you prayed, and before you came down the next morning, the skies broke and our land’s been green ever since.”
“Those are only the events that happened around the time I climbed the mountain,” Elias said. “I asked if you wanted to know what happened on the mountain.”
There was something in his voice that made Rawl and Paul lose theirs. For a moment, no one spoke. Dane found he was staring at his hands, which rested on the table before him. He realized, too, that this was the whole reason he had asked Elias to risk such danger in coming, because he believed he held some special favor with the gods – that he knew something Dane and the others never would or could. Now that it came to it, he was afraid to ask what that thing was.
“Tell us then,” Mirela said gently. “What happened?”
Elias turned from the fire to look her in the eyes. There was a sunken, glazed expression about his face. “Nothing happened,” he said. “Absolutely nothing.” He sighed and turned back to the fire. He was silent for so long they all thought he would never speak again but no one dared speak in his silence. Finally, he said, “
I went up the mountain for my own reasons. Perhaps selfish ones. Yes, I was worried about the people and the drought, and it was my job as priest to stand between them and disaster, but I had my own reasons for going. I wanted to meet Kran. To see him face to face. Or at least to hear his voice. Everyone was crying out to him in those days, making pacts, offering sacrifices, and I thought I could ride that wave of anguish and devotion right into his presence. I thought if there ever were a time to truly know him, it was then. But I sat there all night, sometimes praying, sometimes begging, sometimes in silence, and I never heard him speak. I’ve often thought many men want nothing more to do with the gods than what it takes to keep them happy. Now I know the gods feel the same way about us. In the morning the rains came. But, at best, it was only a weary master tossing a bone to a barking dog. Not from affection, but from wanting him to shut up. At worst, well, I’ve never been sure the whole thing wasn’t just a coincidence.” He sighed again. “Do what you think best. But don’t bother trying to trouble the gods about it. They won’t be troubling themselves.”
Rawl felt miserable. He realized now he had been hoping all along Elias would know how to get them out of this. Maybe that was why he had been so concerned about saving his life. But it seemed now that even if Elias did know, he did not have the heart to try it. Rawl felt they were utterly alone, that they had only themselves to depend on. And he had never realized how terribly inadequate that was. But in the midst of his doubt, a thought occurred to him. “But what about Her?” he said to Elias. “What about this Woman you spoke of from your slumber?”
Elias looked back into the fire as he spoke, as though he’d lost interest in the conversation. “When I sank down, the darkness clung to me. It was not solid darkness or a single thing, but many shapes, like shadows, that held me, and they held me in a place that was neither life nor death. I lay there for what seemed like years, lifetimes. And then She came. The most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She was like a woman, but somehow more; more than human, but not less. But to look at Her was like looking at the sun. It hurt my eyes; it hurt clear back to the back of my skull. My whole body ached with the sight of Her. I turned away from Her. When I did, my body cast a shadow, and the darkness clung to that shadow. I forced myself to look at Her again and when I did Her light passed through me and I made no shadow. The ache did not go away, but the longer I looked the more pleasurable it became. And the darkness departed. It screamed in my ears and pulled at my hair and shoulders, pleading with me to turn around. But the longer I looked upon Her, the fainter their voices became, until the last of them blew away like smoke. Then She disappeared as well.”
“That’s beautiful,” Rawl said.
“But She is gone now,” Elias said. “And I do not think She will return even in my dreams.”
“But the creatures are afraid of Mirela,” Josie said, for she had told them all her true name now. “Paul says so and I think so, too. That’s got to be worth something.”
Everyone turned to Mirela.
“I do not know if this is true,” she said. “And even if it is, I cannot tell you why they fear me.”
People sighed and shifted in their seats. Some dropped their gaze.
“But I can tell you why I do not fear them.”
Everyone turned to her once more.
“Because I commune with an Energy that is far greater than the one that drives them. I am buried in a Love that is beyond their ability to even guess at understanding. I had hoped to wait till morning for this, but I fear now morning will be too late. If you will trust me, I will take you to that of which I speak.”
“You’re going to call up your god?” Dane said.
“No,” said Mirela. “She is already here.”
Behind him, Dane sensed Elias shift in his chair.
“Spirit,” said Mirela in a calm, clear voice, “Speak.”
XXVI
Pillars of Smoke, Pillars of Fire
Elias Wick found himself in a clearing of sorts. On all sides of him, trees rose thickly, forming a circular wall of brown, green, gray, and black. Their tips seemed to reach to the very sky. The sky itself was leaden and cold-looking. A little ways in front of him grew a tiny, leafless tree, hardly more than a twig. All about him flakes of ash, white, gray, and black, floated down silently like snow. That was when he noticed how utterly silent all was. The snow-like ash drifted around his feet and covered the ground until only the tips of the grass-blades protruded.
There was a flutter of wings and a little bird alighted on the scrawny, bent tree before him. The creature tilted its head at him. It opened its mouth and made a noise and Elias realized it was speaking to him. “Oh, She’s going to destroy you,” it said in a sing-song voice. Then it flew away with a little titter.
Elias felt the presence of someone, or something, behind him. He turned around to see the Woman from his dream standing there. Her light was softer now, more subdued. Her face was full of feeling but Elias could not discern it; She wore neither a smile nor a frown. As he studied Her face, Her brows knitted as though She was thinking hard or wanted to ask a question. “Shall I destroy you?” She said.
Elias had given his life to seek the gods. It had never occurred to him they might seek him. He did not know what Her words meant or if it would hurt, but he feared if he said ‘no’, or if he gave no answer, She might never ask him another thing again.
She repeated her question.
“Do what you will,” he said.
The clearing was transformed. The falling flakes of ash turned white, then clear, then blazed with inner fire like so many diamonds. The wall of trees became as a giant mirror. It was not like looking at the sun. It was like being inside it. The Being before him blazed with a radiance he could never describe. He knew She could sweep Kran and Shammath aside with her mere smile, but he, Elias Wick, doubter and blasphemer that he was, could stand before Her and feel Her fire blaze about him. A fire that burned him without consuming him. Or perhaps it consumed him without burning him. For the short hours that remained to his life he never could find a way to fit it into words. But soon there would be no need to describe it, only to enjoy these fire-kisses of his Goddess for time without dimension.
“Lover,” the burning Being said, and Her voice was like the trumpet that calls men to battle and like the laughter of children and like the roar of a waterfall in spring, when it is swollen with snowmelt.
And he knew this Woman had sought him in ways that made his yearning for the gods only a pale, flaccid thing by comparison. But somehow this did not make him feel ashamed; it only filled him with a kind of joy he had never known.
***
Mirela stood before the same Woman as Elias. But She was not the fire-being who wrapped Elias in flame. She was in human form, in a white dress with a golden girdle. She was holding a ram’s horn filled with amber liquid. She was seated beside a waterfall which tumbled down into a foaming pool. She spoke softly, but Mirela had no trouble hearing her words over the rush of the falls.
“Come, Child,” She said. “Come and drink of the Cup of Mirth.”
Mirela drank. The liquid was sharp and refreshing and, as it slid down her throat, laughter bubbled forth. The Woman laughed as well. When Mirela had drained the horn to the dregs, she handed it back to the Woman.
“Do you know what the best part of this place is?” She asked. She held the cup under the roar of the falls and the clear water of the stream turned golden-amber in the horn. She handed the brimming horn back to Mirela and smiled. “You never get cut off.”
Mirela drank and laughed and the more she laughed the more she drank and the more she drank the more she laughed until she was leaning forward with her hands on her knees and then rolling on the ground and then she had rolled clean into the pool and she was swimming in liquid joy, every pore drinking it in, and she felt so light and free she was sure she could swim straight up the stream of the falls.
***
At first, Bailus Conley thought he was
seeing the future. In truth, at the very first, he had no idea what he was seeing. Colossal forms of glass and steel jutted beneath him, shining in the sunlight like so many swords. At their bases, tiny figures moved in long files like marching ants. As his eyes grew adjusted to this strange vision, he realized the moving dots were people and these things which reared and sparkled above them like upside-down icicles were their homes. Or if not their homes, buildings they inhabited. There were other wonders. Screaming terrors that streaked by like huge, metallic birds who never needed to beat their wings.
Bailus had never seen such tributes to the strength and purpose of Men, but he sensed all was not well in this brilliant utopia. He heard distant noises like an army of woodpeckers working over a forest and he knew somehow this sound was a herald of death. Without warning, there blossomed over this city of gods a tree of flame, and their glass and steel melted away before it. On the far side of the city, which stretched nearly beyond his vision, another such tree arose, far taller than the tallest buildings, its flame-form constantly morphing so that sinister shapes could be guessed in its flickering black and red. More of these sprang up, pillars of smoke and fire that reared skyward until they mingled with the clouds of heaven and their branches of flame spread until they filled his vision and covered all below them in shadow.
The earth was laid in embers, the seas swelled and rose, and the face of the world was forever changed.
But not all the humans had perished. Small bands of men and women gathered under the banners of their ruined kingdoms, and there, amidst the smoldering slagheaps of their cities and in the wastes between, they waged war with one another, killing each other with cruder weapons than Bailus had seen even among the Tirans. Until, at last, the survivors were so few they spread out in limping tribes, strung out through a vast wilderness – swearing a peace kept by distance and bitter necessity.
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