An Unexpected Deity (Book 7)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Kestrel stood with his neck craned, looking upward, when he suddenly heard an infant’s cry, a squalling sound, coming from the house where Greta laid in her labors. He smiled in relief; the child was born, and with the healing water available, Kestrel was sure that mother and child would be fine.

  Other gnomes came out into the street, a few women, drawn by the sound of the newborn, and they gathered together near the door of the cabin, awaiting news that they could cheer on such a frightening day.

  “Kestrel friend,” Hansen approached him. “Do you know what this is that has happened to the sun?”

  “I do not,” Kestrel answered.

  “My regrets, Kestrel companion, but because of this, we have not prepared the meal we wanted to for you and your friends,” Hansen apologized.

  “”Do not worry about such things now, my friend,” Kestrel reassured the gnome. “You have more important things to worry about. You should go see your wife and baby now – your family is more important than a meal for us.”

  “Thank you for understanding, Kestrel. I’ll talk to you soon,” Hansen said, and then he walked rapidly away.

  Kestrel looked up, and saw a small blue dot above, an indication that Stillwater was returning.

  There was another soft cry from the newborn baby, but Kestrel paid no attention as he focused his eyes on tracing the path of Stillwater’s flight back to the village, and seconds later the imp came to a stop in the air in front of Kestrel. He was panting heavily, and once again a pale blue color.

  “It appears to be as I feared,” Stillwater told Kestrel. “It is Rishiare Estelle, the blood sun, a change in the sun that occurs once every one hundred years. My grandfather saw the last one, and told me about it.”

  “What makes it happen? What does it do?” Kestrel asked.

  “It just happens; no one knows why. That’s like asking why spring follows winter. But it does many things,” Stillwater answered. “It is like the sun troubles we had last year. It makes our travels difficult. More than difficult, actually – it is impossible for us to go the way we want to. And we cannot communicate with one another either. Everything is cut off.”

  Kestrel felt a sinking sensation of fear. His stomach churned, and his throat tightened. Putienne was in Oaktown, impossibly far away.

  “How long will it last?” he asked, fearing to hear the answer.

  “It lasts for a year,” Stillwater said quietly.

  “You said ‘a year’?” Kestrel choked on his answer. “But Putienne is in Oaktown.”

  “And all the other imps for our squad are back home,” Stillwater added. “It changes everything.”

  “Kestrel,” Wren’s voice called from Greta’s home, “come see!”

  Ashen and concerned, Kestrel turned. “There’s nothing we can do to change it?” he asked.

  “The gods themselves cannot change this, Kestrel friend,” Stillwater replied.

  Shocked, Kestrel strolled over to the door of the cabin, where a small crowd of gnome women were also waiting. Hansen stepped in front of Wren, and displayed two rotund babies, one held in each of his arms.

  “Twins!” Wren declared. “A boy and a girl, and Greta is doing fine.”

  The women at the door crowded close, oohing and ahhing as they examined the children.

  After minutes of exhibiting the babies, Hansen took the babies back into see Greta, as the midwife and her assistant came out. Wren came over to join Kestrel and Stillwater.

  “It’s good to see you up, my friend,” she immediately said to the imp. “Are you recovered?”

  “I will be better after I rest, but am better already,” Stillwater replied.

  “Wren, Stillwater knows what happened. He said it happens once every hundred years. No imps can come here now, and he can’t leave. He cannot communicate with the others. Putty can’t come back,” Kestrel felt his eyes grow moist as he described the consequences.

  “But we presume they all are safe, don’t we?” Wren asked.

  “Yes, certainly. They left here much earlier than the arrival of the Rishiare Estelle,” Stillwater agreed. “So I am sure that the elf-girl-yeti is safely at Kestrel’s home. And the imps who were with her – Killcen, Odare, Acanthus – they are all good friends. If they are still with her, they will protect her.”

  “Of course,” Kestrel agreed. “But I will miss her,” he felt the power of the friendship energy with the yeti girl, which he had created himself, the energy that bonded the two of them together, overcoming the hostility that the yeti Putienne might have felt towards him.

  “What are our plans now, Kestrel-friend?” Stillwater asked.

  Kestrel opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He felt an urge to go back to Oaktown to see Putienne, but he knew that was not the course he had to follow. He had to go on with the mission to disrupt the return of the Viathins, and then attempt to rescue the captive gods. But he would have to do it without the formidable fighting power of a yeti, and without the many advantages that could be delivered by a squad of imps.

  He did still have Wren, who was as fine a warrior as he knew, and he had Stillwater, still a reliable, competent, capable imp.

  “We will go on. We will ask for a guide from the gnomes, and we will find our way to the lake where the Viathins are returning to our land,” Kestrel answered. “We will still do what we are supposed to do. And when we are done, we’ll all go about our lives.

  “Does that sound right?” he asked the other two.

  “Absolutely,” Wren said.

  “There can be no other way,” Stillwater agreed. “I just want to know that we will be back before the mushroom season begins, so that I can be at Oaktown with you when the gray plates are served!”

  Kestrel smiled.

  “That’s what I want to see!” Wren said. “Well done Stillwater.

  “What should we do for some food for dinner?” she asked Kestrel. “I suppose the big feast is no longer an option?”

  “It is not,” he affirmed. He looked over at where the last of the women outside Hansen’s home were leaving. “Let’s go bother the new father and hear his advice.”

  “Oh heavens, there’s still plenty of food; it’s down at the other end of town. They had already started roasting a goat, so go eat to your heart’s content,” Hansen said, a foolish grin on his face as he held one tiny baby while Greta lay in bed holding the other.

  “We just can’t arrange the music and dancing and stories we wanted to share with you to celebrate your presence,” he said. “Go get the rest of your friends and go eat some food. I’ll be down later to fetch some for Greta,” he added.

  “We no longer have any others,” Kestrel told him, making the smile disappear. “They had all traveled the way that imps do and they were away when the sun went bright. Now they cannot come back – the sun has disrupted their ways of traveling,” he summarized.

  After giving assurances that they believed everyone was fine, the three visitors left the cabin of the young family. The sun was low on the horizon, red in color naturally, beyond the stains that marred its face, and the whole village was cast in a lurid color as Kestrel and company went in search of the roast meat for their dinner.

  “What kind of plan do you have now? None?” Wren asked minutes later, when they sat on a bench and ate greasy chunks of goat meat cut from the large, roasting carcass.

  “We will talk to the village leaders in the morning, and ask for them to appoint a guide,” he said simply. “And then we will go on our way.”

  He thought of Putienne, alone in Oaktown without him. By that time she was surely aware that she could not return. She either was with imps who told her, or none had appeared to carry her back to the gnome village. She was probably as upset by the separation as he was, he suspected.

  “Let’s go back to our cabin,” he told the others. He wiped his hands on the bench as he stood, then led the way back to the cabin. They set no watch, and eventually, each of them quietly mulling their turbulent thoughts,
they fell asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Kestrel was the second to awaken in the morning.

  “Get up lazy head,” Wren prodded his shoulder. “Let’s go see if there’s any meat left on that goat carcass for breakfast.”

  Kestrel sat up, and called for Stillwater, who was floating up at the peak of the ceiling.

  The three companions strolled through the morning streets, as gnomes passed them on their ways about their duties, under the red tint of the rising sun.

  The coals of the fire beneath the goat were cold, but Wren and the others casually plucked bits of meat to start their day, then sat and talked.

  “We need to wait until it’s an appropriate time to find the village elders,” Kestrel said.

  “We should go see Greta and Hansen,” Wren advised.

  Her suggestion seemed agreeable to them all, so they walked back through the village and knocked on the door. A cheerful-looking Hansen opened it and invited them in.

  Greta had moved from the bed to a chair, one that had blankets and pillows providing cushioning. She sat upright, her two infants each suckling at her bosom, and she smiled happily at the sight of her visitors.

  “They slept all the night through,” she reported happily.

  The visitors sat and listened to the young parents describe in exacting detail the events of their first evening with children.

  “So, tell us about what you’re up to,” Greta said at length.

  “We hope the village elders will appoint a guide today to lead us on the path back to the lake in the mountains, to shut off the Viathins,” Kestrel replied.

  “Let me take you to my father, to remind him of your request,” Hansen said.

  “You will not be the guide,” Greta said to her husband in a forceful tone. “If I can’t go, you can’t go, though I don’t think I ever want to see that place again. I’ll never forget how wonderful it was when the gods appeared, but it was so frightening before that, with the monsters all around and their god fighting Kestrel! It was a horrible time!” she exclaimed.

  Hansen stood. “It was frightening, but perhaps this time will not be such a trial for Kestrel and his companions, I hope. Let me lead them to the elders,” he said, and after a kiss for each member of his family, he took the travelers out into the village.

  The conversation with Hansen’s father Proetec was surprisingly short. He led them to another gnome’s home, and the two conversed briefly. “We know who should be your guide,” they told Kestrel.

  “One of our hunters is a restless youth, a gnome who wants to do more and go further than the others as we explore this quiet valley we have moved into. He left early yesterday morning to go hunting alone, and when he returns, we will appoint him to be your guide,” Proetec told them.

  “Will we be able to leave today?” Kestrel asked.

  “Woven will not want to waste any time,” Proetec replied humorously. “We’ll have to force him to take time to learn where you actually want to go. Hansen and Greta can recount the route you took from our old village, so that Woven will know where to go.”

  “Is he reliable?” Wren asked bluntly.

  “Yes, you’ll find him to be an effective guide. He will know how to find the best route, and will make it as quick as possible,” Proetec assured them. “Go relax and wait, and we will call you when he returns.”

  The two elves translated the conversation for Stillwater as they walked back to their cabin. “These gnomes in this village seem better than the race as a whole,” Stillwater said philosophically. “Perhaps this new guide will be adequate company. It doesn’t trouble me of course, since I don’t speak their language,” he dismissed any concerns about traveling with Woven. “I am going to fly about the valley to see what the terrain is like in the east,” he announced. “I’ll return at midday.” And then he floated away.

  “Is this going to work, Kestrel?” Wren asked, once Stillwater was gone. “There's just the two of us now, plus the imp.”

  “There must be a way to make it work,” Kestrel replied. “We'll have to make it work. This is important; I know better than I did last time that this will make all the difference in the lives of everyone around the Inner Seas. Creata, Margo, Putienne, everyone we know and care about is in danger if we don't stop the Viathins from returning.”

  “And what about rescuing the gods?" Wren asked. “Is that important too?"

  "One thing at a time,” Kestrel answered. He was less sure that his tiny group, reduced in size and ability, could carry out that fantastic goal. He believed they would get to the lake and be able to restore the waterskin that inoculated the waters against the Viathins, but the second task seemed a greater distance beyond.

  The two cousins had little to do while they waited, and so they talked about their friends.

  “Creata tells a story about the first time he met you. He said you seemed to be some kind of supernatural being the way you dropped out of a tree and killed a band of robbers!” Wren told Kestrel.

  “I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time,” Kestrel commented modestly. “They weren’t very good robbers.”

  “And you just happened to meet the next prince of Graylee, his beautiful sister, the future princess of Seafare, and her brother the Duke of the East Shoreline,” Wren spoke. “Doesn’t that seem like more than luck? Look at all that it led to! The gods make things happen for you Kestrel.”

  “Really, it’s the goddesses more than the gods,” he laughed, dismissing her comment, although he knew she was correct, that he had been maneuvered over and over again into situations where his actions had made a difference in some way.

  He thought of the goddesses, and he wondered what they thought of the bloody sun, the Rishiare Estelle. They must not have planned for it, he suspected, and Stillwater had implied that even the divine beings would be inconvenienced by it.

  They sat in silence after that, each thinking about luck and fate. Kestrel began to pray silently, calling upon the goddesses.

  Kere, please tell me that we can do this, he prayed simply.

  Kai, do you know what we face? We are fewer in number – please help us when we need you, he fervently prayed a second prayer to the other goddess he knew so well, and he hoped that the prayers got through the effects of the bloody sun.

  A knock on the door of their cabin startled both of them out of their reverie. “Kestrel? You are summoned to meet your guide,” a voice called. Wren and Kestrel looked at one another, then stood up and went to the door.

  A gnome waited for them, a mature man, not the youthful guide they were expecting to travel with. “Come with me, please,” he said politely, then began to walk through the village.

  “Here I come,” a voice called from above, in the elvish language, not gnomish, and Stillwater swooped down in his return to the village. “It is a beautiful valley they occupy; there are pools and a waterfall that remind me a little of the healing spring,” he said with an air of wistfulness.

  “We’re going to meet our guide,” Kestrel told the imp as they walked along.

  Moments later, they reached the meeting hall.

  “I’ll wait outside, Kestrel friend,” Stillwater said. “I don’t like being trapped in these cramped buildings the gnomes make.”

  Kestrel and Wren murmured their understanding, then opened the door and entered the relatively large, public building, where they met Woven, their newly appointed guide.

  “I suppose you can keep up with me?” the brash gnome said as soon as they walked into the meeting room. “I hear elves have some speed, but you’ll be on unfamiliar terrain, while I know the mountains around here,” he boasted.

  Woven had a florid face. It was bright, bright red – too red to just be sunburn, and Kestrel averted his eyes to keep from staring at the gnome’s unusual appearance.

  “Have you spoken to Hansen and Greta about the route we need to take?” Kestrel asked.

  “I heard him talk about it once when he was trying to
make a big deal about some ceremony he was in with some elf,” Woven said dismissively. “I know the landmarks – if his story was true then there’s no problem finding the way.”

  “Of course his story was true,” Kestrel snapped.

  “Really? All that magical hocus pocus? Rocks are real. Mountains are real. Trees are real. But magic? Gods from monsters? I don’t believe in them any more than I believe in imps!” Woven’s assertions drew rolling eyes even from Proetec and the other elders.

  “Stillwater? Would you come in here please?” Kestrel called loudly. He felt compelled to puncture the inflated ego of the foolish young gnome.

  “What do you believe in?” Kestrel asked as Stillwater entered the room. Kestrel motioned for the imp to come settle into a spot between himself and Wren.

  He wanted to make a point. After the unnerving appearance and disastrous consequences of the Rishiare Estelle, Kestrel felt uneasy and fragile himself; he didn’t need to face the boorish behavior of his assigned guide.

  He focused inward, found the power, the power that he hadn’t used in what seemed like a long time, and he channeled it into the world. He made a glowing dome appear around himself and his friends – the simplest, most visible manifestation of energy he had learned to master.

  “Kestrel, you don’t have to do this,” Wren whispered.

  “What’s happening?” Stillwater asked. “Are we under attack?”

  “”What do you believe in, Woven?” Kestrel asked in gnomish. “Do you believe in imps? Do you believe in magic?

  “I hope you believe in Hansen’s honesty, because I do. He’s my friend, and I trust him,” Kestrel nearly barked the words out. “I trust him more than I do you.”

  And with that sudden verbal slap in the face delivered to Woven, Kestrel felt his built-up tension release. He closed his eyes, and let the power fade away, causing the blue dome to dissolve, and the glow in the room to dim away.

  “Holy Corrant!” someone in the room swore explosively.

  Woven’s bright red face was a ghastly, greenish pink color.