The Second God

by Pauline M. Ross

  “Arran? We are digging for you.”

  But there was no reply.

  Then a limp hand, freed from the rubble. “Here he is!” Ly yelled. Within moments we had the rest of the stones away from him, and there he was, his face dusty but unblemished, his eyes closed, as if he were sleeping.

  “Arran? Darling?” I pushed the hair away from his face, the hair that was far longer than he liked. Still the beat in my mind told me that he was alive, but slipping into unconsciousness.

  “Arran? Speak to me. Come back to me, my love.” I knelt in the rubble, heedless of the discomfort, and cradled his head in my lap. “Darling, I’m here. Wake up.”

  A sudden gasp of breath, and his eyes opened, eyes of a much brighter blue now. I laughed out loud. “There you are! You’re safe now. I have you safe.”

  He gave me a tiny smile. “Drina… I feel…”

  “What is it? Are you in pain?”

  “No. No pain. Cannot feel anything. I am not dead, am I? But something is not right. Am I still buried?”

  “One leg, just a little. We will free you in a moment. Your arms are free.”

  “I… not working. I want to touch you, but nothing is working. Something got broken inside, I think.”

  “But you’re alive, you’re with me, we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

  “Yes.” Another smile. “Will you kiss me, my love?”

  So I lifted his head a little higher and bent down to kiss him, long and slow. He tasted of dust and wood and sweat and stone, but it was the finest kiss I’d ever had.

  At the end of it, he lifted those bright blue eyes to mine, and smiled again. “Now Ly. I want a kiss from Ly.”

  Ly laughed in delight, and scrambled over the rubble to kiss him too.

  “There,” Arran said contentedly. “Now we are together.”

  ~~~~~

  Someone fashioned a stretcher, and willing hands gently lifted Arran and carried him, slowly and carefully, through the largest hole in the wall. The golden army was gone, marching away to the north in orderly formation, six abreast. Ly ordered the war-beasts to let them pass. We’d all seen enough devastation recently not to want any more. If they went back to the Karningplain and we never saw them again, that would suit us very well.

  The armies of Bennamore and the Port Holdings held all the land between the town and the river. Almost the first person we saw as our little group of stretcher-bearers emerged was Axandor, riding slowly through the carnage of the Icthari army, every brave warrior slaughtered. His face was grave, but he didn’t turn away from the horror. When he looked up and recognised us, he spurred his horse to meet us.

  “This is the happiest news after so much death!” he said, picking up Arran’s hand where it lay limply by his side, and holding it in both his own. “We were all certain the fall must have killed you. I am delighted to be mistaken. Sister, you must take him to the mages’ tent. They will look after him. There will be a feast tonight. Be sure to come, Drina, and Ly too.”

  He galloped off, his mind instantly busy with the next thing.

  “A feast?” Ly said. “I have no mind for it.”

  “Nor I. As if we would leave Arran alone.”

  “I am not alone,” he said with a smile. “I shall never be alone, no matter where you two are.”

  We carried Arran across the trampled and churned grass to the Bennamorian camp, and found the mages’ tent. Mother was there, of course, bustling about, helping where she could.

  “But it’s mostly dealing with the pain,” she said, pulling a face. “So many limbs lost, and grievous injuries from arrows and spears. But Arran, what ails you? I am not used to seeing you laid low. May I see?”

  He nodded, and she held his hand, eyes closed, for a long time. When she surfaced, she sighed and shook her head. “Your neck is broken, dear,” she said gently. “No wonder you can’t move. But I can’t heal it. The injury is too extensive. I can rejoin broken bones, but the connections that operate arms and legs are too delicate for me to do anything with. I’m so sorry.”

  “It is all right,” Arran said. “I am alive, and I have Drina and Ly, and they are all I need.”

  “You are very brave,” Mother said, blowing her nose fiercely. “I will find a private corner for you, and someone will come to clean up all that dust and dirt, and put you into fresh clothes, and watch over you.”

  “I will watch over him,” Ly and I said in unison.

  Mother smiled. “Of course you will. But none of that mist stuff in my tent, Drina, all right? And no lightning, Ly.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Yes, Kyra.”

  Arran was taken to an alcove screened by a curtain, and gently tended, while I sat at his head and Ly at his feet. We were filthy from our frantic dig through the rubble but neither of us wanted to leave Arran for a moment, even if we’d had clean clothes and hot water available. So I held Arran’s hand, and helped Ly feed him soup, and we talked over that sun’s events, just like any family would, as if they hadn’t been earth-shattering and war-ending and almost life-ending, too. And none of us talked about how Arran was going to manage in the future. We would deal with that when we got him back to Kingswell.

  Ly had taken over all the control of the war-beasts, so I was free of responsibility for the first time in an age. I lay down beside Arran, his hand still in mine, and with Ly’s instructions to the war-beasts murmuring in my head, I slept.

  ~~~~~

  It was mid-morning when I woke. Arran was lying on his side gazing at me. He smiled when he saw that I was awake. “Good morning, sleepy.”

  “Oof. I was worn out. How are you?”

  “Fine.” He grinned. “Look.” And he raised his hand to my face to cup my cheek.

  I scrambled upright, holding his hand firmly. Ly was sitting cross-legged on the floor, laughing.

  “What…? But how…? I don’t understand. Mother said…”

  “Kyra does not know everything, Drina,” Ly said.

  “If your healing power can regrow a finger, why not a broken neck?” Arran added.

  “You mean I healed you? But I didn’t even know I was doing anything.”

  “Have you learned nothing about your power – our power?” Ly said. “It is the will to do something that makes it happen. We do not need spellpages or arm-waving or anything of the sort. Physical contact helps. The amber pendant helps. The three of us combining our power helps. But ultimately Arran was healed because you wanted him healed.”

  “You told me once that it would be very bad for me to be a healer.”

  Ly chewed his lip. “I thought it would be. The only healers we have ever had were female byan shar and if you were a healer… I was afraid you would gain too much power, and not be able to control it, because you were not Blood Clan. But I think the blood-bonding helped to stabilise your power. I truly believe you are byan shar, Drina. You could not have healed Arran otherwise. He is not fully recovered yet, but a few more sun-crossings will see him back to normal. By then Diamond will be here, and we can go back to Kingswell.”

  “Poor Diamond! You left him behind.”

  “Just as well I did. Kalmander came to get me, and he is far, far faster than any normal eagle. He flew all the way without stopping. I could not have got here in time without him.”

  Cal popped his head through the curtain. “Here, I’ve brought brew for you all. But why are you talking about my namesake?”

  “We were talking about Arran’s eagle, not your namesake.”

  “Well, no, I wasn’t named after an eagle. Nothing so mundane for me. The original Kalmander was a very famous mage from before the Catastrophe, perhaps the most powerful of all of them. When it was agreed that the mages had to die to save the world from disaster, he swore that he’d found a way to survive with his power intact. No one believed him, of course, and nothing was heard of him after, so…” He shrugged. “You can draw your own conclusions.”

  “Are you listening to this, Kalmand
er, you old rogue? So are you really a mage who lived through the Catastrophe?”

  But all I got was his usual burble of amusement.

  ~~~~~

  Before we left Greenstone Ford, Hethryn, Ly and I went to talk to the Vahsi, to thank them for coming to our aid.

  “Do you know the language?” Hethryn said dubiously. “We have never had dealings with them, so we have no interpreters.”

  “I know the language,” Ly said with a smile. “The Clanfolk were Vahsi once, so our language is much the same as theirs.”

  We rode lions to reach the Vahsi, for they were camped some distance out on the open plains. Most of their number had already left, melting away into the grasses, leaving little trace of their passage, but a few remained. They greeted us courteously, although I would not have said they were friendly, exactly, and they eyed the lions warily.

  Ly gave the speech we had prepared, prompted by Hethryn, and one of the Vahsi responded politely enough, although their reserve was palpable. They were not at all used to dealing with others.

  With the formalities out of the way, Hethryn said, “Ask them why. They have always kept to themselves, and not interfered with our affairs, so what is different about this war?”

  When Ly translated this, their spokesman became voluble. “The golden warriors upset the balance of the sacred lands,” he said, eyes flashing. “For thousands of years we have followed the great herds, and moved across the grasslands, and between them they have provided all our needs. The world is in balance. Where there is imbalance, then we fight. When the farmers come and take from our herds, we take from theirs in return and that restores the balance. When they leave us alone, we leave them alone, too. But the golden warriors do not respect the sacred lands. They go where they will and take what they want, they offer nothing in return, and they kill wantonly. There was a summer camp about two sun-crossings to the east of here lying directly in the golden warriors’ path as they marched south. They could easily have deviated, but instead they marched through that camp, destroying and killing everything in their way. That cannot be allowed. We will have our revenge.”

  “Will have your revenge?” Ly said. “They are defeated, is that not enough?”

  “Too many of them still live,” the Vahsi said coldly. “We will follow, and kill as many as we can while they are out in the open.”

  I shivered at the hard edge to his voice. An implacable people, indeed.

  ~~~~~

  We were all heroes when we returned to Kingswell. Yannassia ordered an entire moon of celebrations, and there were feasts and entertainments and a whole array of dull festivities involving uncomfortable clothes and inedible food and immense boredom. Axandor and Hethryn were trailed around by adoring young women of the minor nobility, who sighed whenever they deigned to look their way. Ly and I were a bit more problematic for everyone to deal with. There was overwhelming gratitude towards Ly for ending the war almost single-handed, and to me for my small part in that, but there was also the not insignificant fact that Ly could produce lightning from his fingers. Naturally people tiptoed round him somewhat.

  Sho was treated as a hero, too, and rightly so, for his help had been essential. Whatever power of gods or ancestors had brought about a second byan shar, we could never have defeated the Dragon God without him.

  He had brought back with him two lions whose riders had been killed, and was thrilled to have his own bonded beasts again. A byan shar can communicate with any bonded beast, but for most Clanfolk, a beast of their own was part of adulthood, and the loss of that bond would leave them a hollow shell, eternally grieving. Sho chose to stay in Kingswell so that I could help him to manage his magic, and when he came into his full powers he planned to return to the Clanlands to lead his people. But I wondered how much he would want to go back after fifteen years or so in Bennamore. Ly had become very settled in far less time.

  But it was Arran who was the favourite of the citizens of Kingswell. Yannassia and the nobles heaped honours on him, entertainments were held solely for his amusement, gifts were showered on him, and he could have married a hundred times over if he hadn’t already been committed. Yannassia insisted on giving him a new title, drusse-consort, with the same status as a husband, so that for the first time in his life he was entitled to walk alongside me and Ly, and not two paces behind.

  Perhaps the proudest moment of his life was when the statue of him, three times life-sized, was unveiled in Mellonan Square, with banners fluttering and women squealing with excitement and bands playing all his favourite tunes.

  “I daresay we shall have to pay to talk to you from now on,” I said, as we flopped in our apartment that evening. Ly had Arrynyor on his knee, and Arran and I were playing jumping stones with Callon and Amandissia.

  “I hope you will always kick me if I get too big-headed for my hat,” he said seriously. “All this excitement will die down, and in a few years, people will read the inscription on that statue and wonder who on earth Arran abre Teynia fen Hextor was.”

  “Nonsense,” said Ly. “The poems and books are already being written about your heroism.”

  “Yours, too,” Arran said. “And the paintings and engravings and songs. I like to think of people singing about us hundreds of years in the future, telling stirring tales of our heroism. It did not feel very heroic at the time, but perhaps history will add a little shine to it.”

  “It needs nothing added,” I said quietly. “What you did – what both of you did – will shine down the ages as clear as the sun. Everyone who hears the tale will understand your bravery, and the sacrifices you were prepared to make. No embellishment is needed.”

  “But they will never understand the full story,” Ly said. “No one can imagine what it is like to be blood-bonded, to be so close to someone that you are literally the same person. That was the greatest risk any of us took, but look how well it turned out. I used to resent you, Arran abre Teynia fen Hextor, because Drina loved you so much more than me.”

  “And I resented you because you were Drina’s husband, and I could never be more than a drusse. I was terrified of losing her to you.”

  “And I tiptoed round the pair of you, hoping it would all work out and I could somehow keep both of you happy,” I said, laughing. “Now I can. No more jealousy, or taking turns, or wondering if I was neglecting one or other of you. All that has gone for ever. I don’t have to ask if you’re happy, it’s right there in your heads.”

  “And we know how happy that makes you,” Ly said to both of us.

  “Yes. We’re together, always, the three of us. Isn’t that perfect?”

  The contentment radiating from both of them was all the answer I needed.

  THE END

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  About the Brightmoon Annals

  The Brightmoon Annals is a series of books all set in the same world, some five thousand years after it was reshaped by a magical catastrophe. The disaster almost destroyed magic – but not quite. The many different ways in which the pre-catastrophe mages tried to keep magic alive forms the theme of the series.

  There is one trilogy set in the Brightmoon world, and several stand-alone stories which can be read independently of all the others. However, some characters and artifacts from earlier books make an appearance in later books, so there are fun references to enjoy for those who read the series in order.

  See all the books and buy.

  Books published so far in the Brightmoon Annals:

  1: The Plains of Kallanash

  2: The Fire Mages (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 1)

  3: The Mages of Bennamore

  4: The Magic Mines of Asharim

  5: The Fire Mages’ Daughter (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 2)

  6: The Dragon’s Egg<
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  7: The Second God (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 3)

  Forthcoming books:

  8: Findo Gask’s Apprentice

  9: The Dragon Caller

  10: The Return of the Mages

  Any questions about the Brightmoon World? Email me – I’d love to hear from you!

  See all the books and buy.

  About the author

  I live in the beautiful Highlands of Scotland with my husband. I like chocolate, whisky, my Kindle, massed pipe bands, long leisurely lunches, chocolate, going places in my campervan, eating pizza in Italy, summer nights that never get dark, wood fires in winter, chocolate, the view from the study window looking out over the Moray Firth and the Black Isle to the mountains beyond. And chocolate. I dislike driving on motorways, cooking, shopping, hospitals.

  I also write Regency romances under the name Mary Kingswood.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks go to:

  Lin White of Coinlea Services for beta reading and proofreading.

  Glendon Haddix of Streetlight Graphics for the cover design.

  Colleen Sheehan of Write.Dream.Repeat Book Design for the map; map elements by Ignacio Portilla M. at DeviantArt.

  Additional beta readers: Axel Blackwell; Michael Omer; Kira Tregoning of Fantastical Reads.

  Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross.

  Table of Contents

  The Story So Far…

  Map

  1: Request

  2: Petition

  3: Greenstone Ford

  4: Healing

  5: Magic

  6: Family

  7: Assassin

  8: Lakeside