“Eight hundred years...” she said quietly, more to herself than any of them. “Was I forgotten then?”
“Your husband swept the field, after your sons fell,” Sperrin said. “He inflicted a defeat so dire that the gods agreed to settle the war. Your body was never found, and your husband always thought you were held prisoner, but the gods swore it was not so.”
“They swore falsely then,” said Juila. “On what terms did they settle?”
Briefly I outlined the treaty’s terms. For the first time, Juila looked amused.
“Really? Senne agreed to give her magic to Ananya as part of the settlement? She always did have a love for the dramatic.”
“You knew her?” I asked. It was probably a stupid question, but I had no idea how well gods knew each other. They lived forever, or nearly so, but there were a lot of them, some of whom had apparently fought on the human side in the Holy War. I wondered how many other assumptions I’d been making my whole life were so utterly wrong.
Don’t think that way. I pushed the doubts down. I am the one who knows the treaty. With my father dead, what I know is our only chance of saving Ananya. Focus on what you know.
Juila smiled wryly. “Knew her? I grew up with her. Senne is my sister. She was the only one who didn’t stop talking to me when Keir and I fell in love. I wondered why she didn’t make sure I was freed—but if her magic was being drained she would be able to do little more than sleep.”
“Her magic was being drained,” Sperrin pointed out. “Things...changed a few weeks ago.”
Again, I explained, this time about my father’s betrayal and Kedessen’s attack on Ananya. I had thought I would never be able to talk about the things my father had done, the things he had finally admitted to—but when I spoke to Juila the words flowed easily.
Juila immediately grasped the point I had been struggling to see. Even with just a brief knowledge of the treaty she saw what had been eluding me. “So your mother was never actually returned to your father?” she asked. “That would mean the bargain was never consummated. Kedessen took something he didn’t pay for.”
“That was my thinking,” I said, a bit hesitantly. “He can claim that he intended to pay once my father left Ananya, but intent isn’t enough. Either he paid or he didn’t.” Things started falling into place in my head. “Keeping you a prisoner violates the treaty as well, in at least two clauses. We can ask for redress. Whether we’ll get the magic back or not, I don’t know.”
“Who were you trying to get redress from?” Juila asked.
“My father had said he would help us find Kedessen. That the one who took the magic away might be convinced to return it. If not, we could appeal formally to the king and queen of the gods, I think. But we need to talk to Kedessen first or under the treaty he could claim we didn’t try to make him aware of the violation.”
Juila snorted. “Good luck getting Kedessen to return anything once he gets his hands on it. Part of me wonders of Senne didn’t agree to let her magic flow to Ananya just to get away from him.”
“They didn’t get along?” I thought of all the romantic ballads about the doomed love between Senne and Kedessen. Half the girls at the Academy had written bad poetry about them in composition classes.
“Oh, sweet sorrow, they got along beautifully for a dozen lifetimes. After that, not so much. And Kedessen wasn’t one to let go. It would have been worse, but the war distracted him.”
“It’s odd,” Sperrin said. “I’ve read so many histories of the war, but none of them say anything about gods fighting on our side. I knew your name as a sorceress, but none of the accounts mentioned your heritage.”
“In...my time...” Juila shook her head. “That will take some getting used to. Relationships between gods and people were uncommon, but not unknown. The war must have put an end to it with the gods leaving the human lands, but gods and humans intermingled for a long time before the war. When the war for independence came, I wasn’t the only god who chose to fight on the human side. And there were humans who fought for the gods as well.”
Sperrin nodded, unsurprised. “Wars are always neater in the accounts afterward. I did have another question, though.”
“Ask it.”
“You were known as a sorceress. Why use the old magic if you were a god?”
“The old magic?” She looked puzzled for a moment before she caught his meaning. “You mean human magic. It wasn’t old or rare when I learned it. I’m not surprised the treaty banned it. When I joined the human side, the Court—our king and queen and their attendants—took away most of my powers as a god. So I learned to use the human magic instead. It’s not as powerful as the magic of the gods in some ways—for instance, it can’t be shared in the way Senne shared her magic with Ananya. And it only works right in human lands, not here in the land of the gods. But it’s potent enough in battle on human ground.”
“Wait,” I interjected. “what do you mean, ‘it only works right on human lands?’” I looked tellingly at the Snake Slayer armor I wore.
“Passive magic like your armor will still work. But nothing active, nothing that sends power or moves things.”
“Or counters something moving at us?”
“Exactly,” said Juila.
“I wonder...” I said, trailing off. “Someone expected something like this to happen, at least when the treaty was being negotiated. I didn’t think it would matter, since the old magic was forgotten, but clause 119 where the magic is banned is pretty clear on treaty violations.
If any god shall violate the treaty in a material way
then this clause shall be held in abeyance
even though the remainder of this treaty remain in force.
“So I don’t think they will be able to keep you from using your magic. Assuming we live to get back to the surface.”
And according to my father, I could learn to use it as well, Kedessen’s unwanted payment in return for my name. My father may have lied about many things, but the runes I’d been seeing since my arrival in the palace spoke to the truth of that at least.
For the first time, I started to think we might have a way to survive. Ananya might survive. Without magic people would starve—but perhaps the old magic could be used. Not that I knew much about how it worked or how one learned it, if one wasn’t already a god, despite the aptitude Kedessen had given me. But now at least I knew someone who did.
Something seemed to be gnawing at Sperrin. When the conversation went quiet, he finally asked it, in an apologetic tone.
“One last question. A painful one, I’m afraid. Your sons who died. They were demi-gods?”
A shadow passed over Juila’s features. “They were,” she said. “They fought bravely. My husband trusted them to hold the center at all costs, and they did. He would not have won without them.” She looked at Sperrin with sad eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“We have had a few encounters with a demi-god named Eury. Kedessen’s half-brother, I’m told. He seems to be under the impression that he cannot be killed, at least not by me.”
“If he thinks that, he has been misinformed. It would be difficult, but not impossible.”
Sperrin gave her a feral smile. “I am glad to hear it.”
For the first time Guthre entered the conversation. I hadn’t even seen her since Juila’s release. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Guthre said, “But is it safe to talk here? Don’t we need to keep moving?”
“Nowhere in this land is safe for you,” said Juila. “This spot is as safe as any. But I can take you toward Kedessen’s lands while we talk. After a hundred lifetimes spent in this land, I know the way well enough, even with no magic to guide me. Your friend is right; best not to linger.”
I winced a little at the word friend.
Sperrin
Once the initial shock wore off, I felt oddly liberated by Ketya’s father’s death. Until now, we had relied on whatever information we could get the cagy chancellor to reveal, and we could trust none
of it. Now, for better or worse, we would rely on our own strengths and knowledge: Ketya might know less than the chancellor, and trust herself less than she had trusted his every lie, but at least what she did know I could trust.
My daughter might have destroyed her friendship with Ketya when she killed the chancellor, but she had freed all of us from an unhealthy dependence.
Not that Ketya was likely to ever see it that way.
I saw a sadness in Guthre’s eyes that rivaled the sense of loss in Juila’s expression. She isn’t even mourning the loss of something real, like Juila is, I thought. She’s mourning the loss of possibility. Real things she expects to lose, and she armors herself to withstand that kind of loss and pain. It’s the loss of possibility that really hurts her.
I wished I knew my daughter well enough to be able to say something that would make her feel better. Somehow I didn’t think the things I’d said to eight-year-old Lynniene in her moments of pain would suffice now. My daughter looked on others to distract her from pain. She jumped into intense friendships that she pushed away from when they became painful as well. I recognized the look from my own youth. My father hadn’t known what to say, either.
The trees seemed to shift and part for Juila, forming paths where she wanted to go. We found ourselves walking through what looked like dense forest, though for all we knew the walls on either side might be only a few trees thick. Springy grass covered the path, interspersed with low-sitting wildflowers.
Here and there, openings on the sides of the path revealed tantalizing possibilities: a small pool with a brass mirror hanging above it; a herd of one-eyed sheep, apparently masterless; a castle whose walls shimmered like mother-of-pearl.
Juila ignored them all. She barely even glanced at the side paths.
“If you take us to Kedessen, won’t you be imprisoned again?” Ketya was asking her.
I walked behind, close enough to support them without interrupting their conversation. I sensed Guthre moving closer beside me.
“I don’t think so,” replied Juila. “He may have had nothing to do with imprisoning me in the first place. Even if he did, Kedessen would have trouble imprisoning me again without attracting the attention of the Court. And he doesn’t want the Court’s attention as long as his bargain is unfulfilled. He needs to either complete the trade or find a way to placate or eliminate you without the notice of the Court.”
“I don’t see how he could complete the trade now,” said Ketya. She glanced back reflexively as if checking on her father’s body, which we had left at the foot of the stairs.
“He can’t, unless he cheats. But he may try to find a way to evade the intent of the treaty,” said Juila. “I hope you know the language very well.”
“Well enough, I think. But I’m not good at spotting liars and cheats.”
“Leave that part to me,” said Juila. “To be a god is to be an expert on liars and cheats.”
* * * *
Guthre touched my hand, signaling me to hang back a few steps, so we could talk without being heard.
For a while she didn’t say anything. We walked together on the shifting path through the forest, watching for attacks or sudden movements.
“It’s a strange place, isn’t it?” Guthre finally said. “If I was a god, I don’t think I would want to live here.”
I shrugged. “Having magic makes the world different, I think. You want different things out of life.”
“Like Ketya?”
“She never really had magic. She tasted it, then lost it. Her mother had it, like my wife...your mother...” I trailed off, remembering Sefa’s angry reminder that our daughter could have been a powerful channeler in her own right.
“I don’t remember her with magic. I know she must have had it for a while even after you left. But I don’t remember ever seeing her use it.”
“She was very good at it when I first met her. She was a lot less angry then. At least when I was around. Life got hard for her, I guess.”
“Life got hard for me, too,” said Guthre. “She could have handled it better.”
“I guess she could have. I’m sorry for what happened.”
Guthre waved off my concern. “Not your fault. I’d blame the Empress, but she’s dead.”
“Your mother’s dead, too,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but she was alive more recently.”
Only by a few weeks, I thought. But I said nothing.
The conversation hit a lull.
“That’s not really what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?” I asked.
Guthre shook her head. “No, not really. It’s just...” she trailed off, then seemed to gain resolve. “I really ruined things with Ketya, didn’t I? You know her pretty well. Do you think she’ll ever talk with me again?”
“You did just kill her father. Give her a little time to mourn. If you’re too visible now, she’ll blame you for it—”
“Of course she’ll blame me! I killed him.”
“Give her time to think about the ways he hurt her and who he really was. Right now she doesn’t see who he was, she sees who she wanted him to be.” The way you see Ketya, I thought. But I would never have said that out loud either.
“I like her a lot,” Guthre said.
“I know you do.”
“He needed to die.” The way she said it sounded almost like a pout.
“I know he did,” I said gently. “I think Ketya does too, or at least she will eventually. Try to give her some time. Let’s get through this crisis first.”
“I’m not good at giving things time. And we may not even live through this crisis!”
“I wish I could help more, Lynniene,” I said. “Some wounds take time to heal.”
She gave me a determined look. “I’ll figure something out. You’ll see.”
I rubbed her shoulder in support, then returned to scanning the woods for more immediate threats.
* * * *
When we stopped for a rest break, Juila gestured for me to walk with her, so we could talk in private. Ketya sat on a rock facing away from Guthre, trying not to acknowledge my daughter’s existence. While we walked Ketya held up well enough. But whenever we rested and she had time to think, she started shaking quietly.
“You asked about my sons, ’Captain,” Juila said. “Remember this: To you they may be just bones in a barrow, children who died centuries ago. But to me they are fresh and real. In my mind I held them a week ago, before we all took our places on the battlefield.”
“I understand.” And in a way I felt I did. I had lost my wife twice, a decade ago, and again in the battle at Whitmount. And I remembered the fresh pain of finding out a few weeks ago that I had lost my wife and daughter, even though they had both been gone a decade by then.
Evidentally, something in my eyes satisfied Juila, for she went on. “I saw them at the end. The battle went on afterward, but they fell holding the center on the first, desperate day, and I saw their bodies before I was taken.”
She paused, shuddering, holding in sobs of her own. After a moment she looked up at me, her eyes sad and empty, but dry.
“Their eyes, ’Captain. They took out my sons’ eyes. After my boys had fallen, they cut their eyes out.”
With that she turned and walked back toward where the others sat, facing away from each other.
Once she could no longer see my face, I found myself smiling. I had him now. Eury was mine.
Chapter 28
Ketya
I miss my father. Even now, after time to reflect, I miss him. Even knowing everything he did. Most people can’t get past his betrayal, and that’s as it should be: To save my mother, he basically sentenced thousands of people to death. But there are parts of myself, things I like about myself, that I know came from him. He was a traitor and a liar and I know now that if our positions were reversed he wouldn’t miss me. Part of me still doesn’t want to believe it, still wants to believe he always loved me, but even I’m not that blind to my fathe
r’s shortcomings. But I still miss him every day.
* * * *
I had no idea that gods fought on both sides in the Holy War. Now, not only had I met a god, I’d met one who could tell me about how to harness the old magic. Again the thought heartened me: With the old magic, Ananya might have a chance of surviving even if I didn’t succeed in convincing Kedessen to somehow undo what he had done.
We would need to live to return to Ananya before that would be possible, of course.
But the new possibilities excited me. For the moment, at least, I was able to let go of my father’s death and keep moving.
Juila had fallen quiet as she navigated us through the shifting maze of forest paths. The trees all looked alien to me, their leaves a lush dark green that I had never seen in Ananya. Sperrin and Guthre hung back a bit, probably so Guthre could avoid me. Which was just as well. I didn’t have anything to say to her right now; looking at Guthre just made me feel empty.
“It’s a good thing you know these lands,” I said to Juila. “We would have been completely lost without you.” The words sounded pointless and superficial, but I wanted to say something to restart the conversation.
Juila raised one eyebrow. “I should know how to navigate here. I lived here for hundreds of years, and visited family in this land many times before the war made that impossible. I confess that I do not think you will get what you want by speaking to Kedessen, but I can take you to him easily enough. If he does not find us first.”
“Kedessen is the god my father chose to deal with. I’m still not sure how to undo the damage, but I think we have to start where my father did if we want to have any chance of restoring the magic.” I didn’t know if the treaty was maddeningly ambiguous about reporting violations, or if I was just failing to fully understand some key passage.
“Maybe.” Juila sounded dubious. “I can see why you would want to start with him. Kedessen is not the most stable choice, though.”
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