by Aerie (lit)
He did not wait for them to answer.
"The gods war to put back what should never have been released," he continued, shouting over the howl of the wind and the crashing and booming of strike and counterstrike.
Huras seized their captor's hand. "Is that Thing a goddess?" he shouted.
"Not yet, you mortal children of the Two Kingdoms. Not yet," the being shouted back, with a bitter laugh. "Foolish, foolish mortals—the Heyksin being fools, and not you—as below so above, the wretched Heyksin wanted a God of Vengeance, and so they strove to create one in their own image. Look at it!" he continued, flinging out an arm, and the power behind his words forced Peri to look back up at the raging battle, and at the dreadful Thing that was the center of it. "Look at it! Do you think for one moment that something like that is going to go quietly away when this battle is over?"
Numbly, Peri shook her head, sheltering her eyes with one hand from the wind.
"Wiser than they, you are. Of course, it won't. If we lose here, it will not be content with that! It will remain manifest and demand blood and blood and still more blood, and it won't be the blood of bulls it calls for." The Being let them go. "The blood of men made it, and the blood of men is what it feeds upon. And one must fall to bind it again."
But he gave Huras a push. "You! There is another battle being fought, and it is mortal against mortal. Gather your Jousters, Huras of Alta! Strike now, while the enemy is as befuddled as you! It will serve you ill if the Gods win their battle, only for the mortals they serve to lose theirs!"
Huras did not hesitate for a moment. He turned and ran for the edge of the cliff, leaving Peri standing before—
—before a god.
Kaleth and Marit were chanting, lost deep inside ritual and magic. Essentially, Peri was alone with this god. Seft. Seft the Dark, Seft the Liar, Seft the Betrayer.
She turned her eyes back toward the four who hung in the midst of Light and Darkness. "Kiron—" she whispered, without thinking. What were her dreams in the face of something like this?
What had her dreams ever been—when he could become—a god?
"He does not love you," the Being said flatly, without emotion. "Here and now, in this place and time where will can become manifest, there must be Truth. And he does not love you. He was being kind to you, nothing more."
She felt tears spring up in her eyes, and turned to the Being angrily. "You cannot know that! "
"Oh, I can, and I do. If he had loved you, it would be you up there beside him, wearing the diadem of Hattar, and not Aket-ten.
Her eyes stung, and her cheeks burned. But she could not deny what she saw. With a little mew of despair, she turned away. The Being seized her shoulders and shook her.
"Fool!" he snapped. "Look higher than the mud at your feet! Look at the Truth in you! You do not love him either. You love a dream of what you thought he was! The lies you hold give That thing power! You blundered into the place of power, and you can overset Us or aid Us by what you are! Now give over the pretty lie, and give Us your strength! Be strong, as strong as the one who survived the loss of all! Be strong as you do not yet realize you are! That thing came to life on the will of her worshippers—she is everything that they are writ large across the sky—now you are in this place of power—serve the same purpose for us!"
Shocked into silence, she looked, since she could not look into his eyes, at his mouth.
Why me? Was her first thought. But he had answered that. She had stumbled inside a place of magic. He had said that "will became manifest" here. If she persisted in her illusions—
—would that weaken the bond between the Haras and Hattar that battled above her head?
She knew the answer before the question finished forming. Yes.
And if that happened—
"Any weakness, that Thing can exploit!" the Being said ruthlessly, giving her another shake. "Any doubt feeds her, any despair aids her. Face the Truth! Give Us your strength! Be strong, and become their channel to help us!"
He does not love you. That was hard, hard to face. But… you do not love him—that was…
Truth.
She felt something turn inside her, as she faced her innermost self and saw—the Truth. She… she had wanted, not love but… protection. She had wanted to be dependant on someone else. For all that she had joined the Queen's Wing, for all that she had taken on responsibilities there—she had wanted, in her heart of hearts, to be told what to do. To be taken care of Had wanted her story to end in some vision of unrealistic harmony, where nothing ever went wrong, where she and—this vague man-shaped image—never quarreled, never differed, never experienced the least little bump in their unending contentment. A storyteller's ending… and they lived happily until the end of their days.
And in that storyteller's tale of a life, she would tend to this image's every want, serving as a faithful priestess, and in turn, being protected and told exactly what to be, what to do, what to think, in return for this fat, stupid, sheeplike contentment.
That was what she had been in love with. Not a man. Not even a dream of a man. And not a woman's dream, but the dream of a child, lost and bereft, wanting only someone who would make her safe.
False and hollow, all of it. She was no longer that child, and safety was always an illusion.
She felt the fragments of falsehood falling away from her, like bits of a dragon's shed skin as she slowly straightened her back.
There was no safety in the world. This Thing howling and fighting above her head should tell her that. Contentment was for cattle and sheep—who were used, herded, and then slaughtered, never knowing the reason why.
Freedom was not safe. Love, if and when it did come, was not safe. Life was not safe, it was full of brawling and strife and terror and pain—and love and joy and bravery and passion.
She could choose to be a sheep, or a dragon. A child, or a responsible adult.
Without even being aware of starting to move, she found herself joining the priest Kaleth and his consort.
If the gods needed her will, her strength, then by all that was holy, they would have it. And it was more than time to grow up.
TWENTY
« ^
THE Jousters of Alta and Tia rained down jars of Akkadian Fire on the heads of the Heyksin.
That was a kind of strength that poured into those who wore the mortal shells of Jousters themselves. The Jousters believed that their Gods would overcome this abomination that the Heyksin had created and that bolstered the battle going on above their heads. As below, so above. Belief.
That, at least, was what Marit told Peri, as she paused for a precious drop of water to moisten a throat gone hoarse with chanting.
Peri could not watch the battle above; not because she was afraid—though she was—but because she couldn't see anything of what was going on, amid a maelstrom of fire and lightning and glare. And even if she could have seen it—it was all too big for her to grasp. The battle below, however—she could tell how that was going.
And at the moment, it was stalemate. The Jousters were able to keep the front lines of the enemy in a state of chaos, as flames blossomed among them, and men and horses screamed and tried without success to extinguish the Akkadian fire. As she watched, little eddies in the chaos emerged. Three chariots tangled together, dragging their drivers. The sickening stench of burning flesh, the sharp smell of Akkadian fire, the stink of flamed hair. The sting of sand whipped into her face and bare skin by the wind. The chill of the wind and the chill in her gut.
More bits emerged from the smoke below. Jewel-bright dragons swooping, kiting, diving and arcing back up again, clawing desperately for height to get out of the way of arrows. A red blossom of fire below.
A knot of archers taking a brave stand and sending volley after volley into the dragons, until someone, by plan or chance, dropped a jar onto the rim of a chariot, splashing driver and horses with liquid fire—and the horses bolted, screaming, straight into the archers, while the driv
er lurched out of the back, arms flailing, head a ball of flame.
But there, a long line of archers, keeping the dragons off the chariots they protected. A dragon suddenly stiffening, then lurching sideways, and floundering its way back to the safety of the cliffs, one wing web torn and shedding drops of blood.
A lucky arrow hitting a Jouster in Oset-re's colors…
And the battle in the sky was having its effect on those fighting below as well. Some were staring, doing nothing, paralyzed.
But it seemed plenty of them were encouraged by the appearance of their goddess. And there were still far more of them than there were of the people of the Two Kingdoms.
As below, so above. This was belief. And it was power.
The Avatars of Haras and Hattar, Siris and Iris, supported by Seft, flung their weapons of fire and fury at the unchained creature Tamat. Haras sent javelins of sunfire at the hideous creatures heads, while his father called down lightning from the stars themselves. Hattar shot silver arrow after arrow from the curved moon bow that was her own special weapon, while Iris rained down the Blood of the Earth upon it, white-hot molten stone that sizzled when it struck flesh. The transformed dragons they rode, though not god-ridden, were still possessed of their own vast courage and even greater loyalty. They dared as close as their riders would let them go, darting in and out, dodging Tamat's lightnings and the dreadful black sky-metal death swords in her hands, and trying to score her with teeth and talon.
From below, Seft's dark powers lashed out, and connected. They wrapped about the eyes of her three heads, blinding her as much as possible; his magic put fetters and weights on her arms, binding her for moments, making her clumsy, causing her to miss them when she could strike at them. She shook them off but he sent them again and again and again, and while they lasted, they hampered her.
So far, none of them had taken any serious injury that a moment's attention from Iris could not heal.
As above, so below. This battle, too, was at a stalemate. Their weapons were marking her. But not fast enough.
They were able to distract her from the mortals below, and keep her from supporting her army, but Tamat's blood-fueled magic was healing her as fast as they wounded her.
And Tamat remained as strong as ever, and they, bound by mortality and their mortal vessels, were tiring. Their Light hammered her Darkness, but her Darkness could swallow it up.
From mind to mind, the thoughts flashed.
Her priests are feeding her. Iris lashed the unholy creature with the flail of earth-focused power she held in Her hand, as her dragon dove in beneath Tamat's blade to get the goddess in near enough to strike. The corn-gold chains of the flail struck home across the dark-blinded eyes of the third head, and the dragon writhed out of the way of a lashing claw to fling herself and her rider out of harm's way.
There is pain and death in abundance below Us. That feeds her… Siris fended off a volley of lightning with a shield made out of His own Being, and sent His dragon kiting sideways as the shield failed. If we can stop her from being fed—if we can remove that source of her strength—
No. It was the Avatar of Seft.
… no? One thought from four minds jolted by the response.
It is not that she is being fed. It is that she is not bound by flesh, except the flesh of her own creation. We are tiring. She is not. We are anchored by mortality. She is not. There was conviction in that. But more than that. There was Truth.
But surely one of Us can—The thought went unfinished. Yes, any one of them could, indeed, manifest enough power to equal, even to rival, Tamat.
And to do that, their mortal vessel would have to die, both because no mortal could encompass that much power and live, and because it would be the manifestation itself that destroyed Tamat.
One must fall. The answer was flat, implacable, inescapable.
No! Protest from three of the four.
Yes. Resignation from Siris, as he reached within himself found the consent of his mortal vessel and prepared to make of himself a sacrifice—spurred by her own anguish and that of her vessel, Iris reached for him—
No! she cried, all the heartbreak of goddess and mortal together bound in that word. And as Haras hung his head in anguish, Kiron tried to think frantically if there was some other way—
Yes. Siris and Ari together shut them out.
Kashet hung in the sky, hovered, blinding blue against the churning dark. The dragon understood, too—and Kiron felt it, felt the dragon's assent. He and his beloved Jouster would take this together if that was what it would take to save all.
Together, they faced Tamat, and—
Not this time, my brother.
A blast of dark energies struck Siris in the back, knocking him from his dragon. With a cry of anger and despair, Haras dove Avatre down in the maneuver that Kiron had practiced so often. Traitor! Betrayer! You show your true self at—
A laugh. Not this time, my nephew. I am the god of difficult choices. Remember that in the future.
Just as Avatre got under the plummeting body, arced herself with grace and power, and caught him across the saddlebow something dark bloomed on the cliff below them.
Across the face of Aerie, across the battlefield, a voice louder than the thunder and sharp as the kiss of a blade rang out.
"Tamat! Corruptor! Destroyer! I dare you to face Me! I am Seft, Lord of the Darkness and Despair, and I am your Master!"
A second pillar of darkness rose from the top of the cliff in the heart of Aerie. A second Being spread shadow wings against the sunlight, blotting it out. Unable to resist the challenge, Tamat roared her answer, and the two surged together—
—and in that moment of meeting, Seft snapped the bonds of His vessel's mortality, sending a wave of force across the battlefield that flattened everything in its path.
Kiron picked himself up off the ground. Beside him, Ari stirred and moaned a little. Both had been flung from Avatre's back when Seft and Tamat had met and—
Avatre! He turned at the sound of a whine, to see the red-and-gold dragon, rather the worse for wear, climbing up over the edge of the cliff with Kashet right behind her. They both flopped down next to their respective Jousters, stretched out their long necks and sighed with exhaustion.
The air stank. Burned flesh, burned hair, burned stone. A lingering taint of decay.
And the silence.
Gingerly, he removed the diadem of Haras from his head, and looked it over. It was in better shape than he was, for all its apparent fragility. But it no longer glowed with magic, and he was just as glad. Haras was gone, to wherever it was that the gods dwelled, and Kiron could quite do without the "honor" of serving as His vessel again. With careful deliberation, he removed Ari's diadem, too.
'Ari!" The-on flapped heavily down onto the cliff top, and Nofret tumbled from her back to cradle Ari in her arms. Her hair was half-scorched on the left side of her face, and there were burns on her hands. Ari, of course, was going to be black and blue from head to toe. He groaned once, then opened his eyes and smiled, and she burst into tears.
"If—if you ever—do that again—" Whatever she was going to say vanished in incoherent sobs and kisses. A little embarrassed, Kiron looked away—
And saw, with a shock of recognition, the crumpled body of Rakaten-te, Chosen of Seft.
And a shadow-enshrouded form that held that body in His arms.
Kiron, who had been struggling to his feet, instinctively bent the knee.
The shadow gently laid Rakaten-te down, and passed a hand over his face. The bandages that had always covered his eyes melted away and Lord Seft flowed to his—feet? It wasn't possible to tell, but Kiron got the impression of someone standing, someone with furled wings, or a cloak like wings, brooding down on him.
I am the god of difficult choices, said a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. Never forget that. He knew that, my Chosen did, and he knew that we must share that choice. And now—
He turned toward the pl
ace where Tamat's army had been. Kiron stood, slowly and looked in that direction.
The army was fleeing, in disorder, in panic. No one pursued them; most of the defenders on the cliffs had been flattened when Seft and Tamat collided. As for the Jousters—like Kiron, Nofret, and An, they and their dragons were picking themselves up from whatever place they had been flung.
It matters not. They cannot cross the Anvil of the Sun twice unprovisioned and live. Oh, a handful will survive. And they will carry back the tale—the tale of how their goddess was immolated, how Tia and Alta are one now… and how that land is defended.
A kind of fierce, dark exaltation infused those last words. And Kiron shivered to hear them.
My remaining time is short. Kiron saw as the shadowed god turned, that He had His diadem in his hands. My Chosen has crossed the Bridge of Stars, and I am in need of a new avatar.
For one moment of unbearable horror, Kiron feared that Seft was going to—
No! No! Never again! Never—
But the god turned away from him, and toward the trio that stood a little ways away, the first to have gotten to their feet.
I am in need of a Chosen One, Kaleth, Mouth of the Gods. I am the god of difficult choices. Will you make the choice to serve Me?
"You are a difficult master," Kaleth replied, regarding the form of shadow gravely.
And yet you have served Me already, as you have served all the gods. Will you serve Me alone? A pause. The choice that Rakaten-te assented to is not one that is asked often of My Chosen. But it is one that they must be ready to make. Could you make it?
Kaleth took a slow, deep breath and looked the God fearlessly in the face. "Aye," he said, as, to Kiron's wide-eyed astonishment, Marit nodded gravely in agreement. "For the sake of the Two Kingdoms, aye. And for their sake, I will be your Chosen," said Kaleth, the Mouth of the Gods.
Then this is yours. The diadem of Seft floated across the space between them, and down into Kaleth's waiting hands. Keep it safe, against need, my Chosen.
But then the shadow turned toward Marit. The gods will need another Speaker, faithful one. And Prophecy, and standing between Life and Death, Light and Shadow, has ever been the providence of Nebt. Will you take your mate's place as the Mouth of the Gods?