Ruthless Gods

by Emily A Duncan

  The goddess did not answer right away. Nadya got up from her seat and almost fell over before she made it to the altar and lit another stick of incense. And will the other gods ever speak to me again?

  “They cannot,” Marzenya said simply, not deigning to answer her other questions.

  Nadya’s heart faltered. Oh. But the veil?

  “Another veil, a different magic,” Marzenya said. “Different in creation, a similar end. More focused, more defined. Stronger. The Tranavians have crafted something that will crack Kalyazin in half if they are given the opportunity. That is why you must change their minds.”

  Change their minds? Nadya questioned. The war had gone on for nearly a century. Tranavians like Malachiasz and Serefin wanted the war to end. But Tranavia itself? Kalyazin? Did they want the war to end? Serefin had mentioned how lucrative it was for the Tranavian nobles and Nadya wondered if it was the same for Kalyazin.

  It made her so tired.

  “We will change their minds,” Marzenya repeated. “Permanently. There is a well from which you must drink. We will fix this. We will bring balance back. We will bring Tranavia back into our graces.”

  Nadya swallowed. This was a very different song than Marzenya usually sang for her.

  Do you know why the Church has lied to me? About old gods, the ones that have fallen away? About what this power of mine is?

  There was a long pause. “It is not the time for questions. It is the time for action. Go.”

  Nadya should be grateful all-consuming destruction was no longer on the table. She should be grateful to end this without destroying the country that the boy she cared for loved so much even if she had to tear him apart to do it.

  Malachiasz’s strange behavior still bewildering and present, she buried her doubts, lit another stick of incense, and left the sanctuary.

  interlude v

  PARIJAHAN SIROOSI

  The letter was folded into a tiny square and pushed as far into the bottom of her pack as she could get it. She didn’t know how the messenger had even found her. Her family’s reach clearly went farther than she thought.

  His Most High Majesty, King of Kings, Ruler of the Travash of House Siroosi, In Whose Hands Rests the Bond of the Five Countries Under the Great Sun, Daryoush Siroosi, is dying. He will soon walk amidst the sands.

  Come home, Your Highness.

  She stared into the fire. They had left the monastery a few days earlier. Going to the opposite end of Kalyazin simply because Nadya wanted to had been reason enough for Parijahan; it meant being far, far away from Akola.

  Rashid was asleep, his head in her lap, her fingers woven through his dark hair. Nadya was by turns morose and strangely focused on something she and Malachiasz spent hours each day discussing. Parijahan had long since stopped hearing the soft sounds of Malachiasz’s and Nadya’s voices as they bickered in the odd back and forth of Tranavian and Kalyazi they had a tendency to drop into when they were talking. Parijahan didn’t think either of them noticed they were doing it. They would talk in one language until one of them hit a wall that the other’s language didn’t allow them to pass and they would switch to their own and continue.

  Her father was dying.

  Come home.

  She was supposed to feel sad, but mostly she was terrified at what that meant with her so far from Akola.

  She startled when Malachiasz sat down next to her.

  “Is Nadya asleep?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Have you told Rashid?”

  “I can’t tell Rashid.”

  Malachiasz lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yanzin Zadar has been waiting for Paalmidesh to show weakness for decades. They’ve been trying to topple the Paalmideshi Travash for as long as I can remember. I cannot trust him with this.”

  “Oh.” He set his chin in his hands. “I love hearing that another country’s politics are as messed up as Tranavia’s.”

  “I have a hard time believing anything can be worse than Tranavia.”

  “How’s that whole five-kingdom-unification thing going?”

  Parijahan was quiet.

  “See, I knew that would be a bad idea. At least two kings are manageable.”

  “If only the Five Fathers had asked you centuries ago, you could have given them your stunning political advice.”

  “It is a shame that I was not consulted.”

  Parijahan rolled her eyes. “You’re good at politics, at least.”

  “What an accusation.”

  “Not a baseless one.”

  “I’m merely good at being patient. And it’s a game.” He was quiet, then allowed, “And I am good at the game.”

  He was understating his capabilities. “Ugh. You handle this, then.”

  “Absolutely not. I was under the impression that you and Rashid were not too concerned with your country of origin’s particular squabbles,” Malachiasz said.

  “I mean, I don’t know. Yanzin Zadar has the right to be upset at Paalmidesh; we haven’t exactly been kind to them. And Rashid … he’s said it doesn’t bother him.”

  “Ah, he says that.”

  “Don’t you dare, Malachiasz Czechowicz, you horrible boy.”

  Malachiasz laughed softly.

  “He’ll tell me to go back,” she said. “He’ll tell me to do the right thing because he’s so damn noble.”

  Malachiasz drew one knee up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it.

  “I can’t do it, Malachiasz. I thought they would disown me for leaving. I was prepared for that reality, not this one.”

  He rested his head on his knee, thinking. Every so often, a part of him would shiver, like he wasn’t totally in the same realm of existence as everyone else. She had known from the beginning what he was; he had done a terrifically bad job of hiding that he was a Vulture when he was desperate and alone in an enemy kingdom. That aspect of him never bothered her; frankly it was the lovely, gentle Tranavian boy that always made her more wary.

  But it was the lovely, gentle Tranavian boy who always listened when she complained and gave such devastatingly good advice.

  He glanced pointedly at Rashid, but Parijahan waved him off. “He’s not going to wake up.”

  “You’re going to have to tell him. You’re going to have to tell them both, honestly.”

  That was exactly what she didn’t want to do.

  “What would happen if you stayed here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m the heir to a Travash. The other two high Travash will put forward their bids for the throne. A council comprised of nobles from all the houses in Akola will decide who will be the next ruler. Yanzin Zadar will likely try to topple the system. Siroosi has held Akola for a very long time. It would be … dishonorable of me to abandon it and let it fall into the hands of a different house.”

  “But you,” Malachiasz said, his words careful, “are not exactly honorable.”

  She shot him a wry look. “Well, you know that.”

  He grinned at her.

  “You should be cautious,” she said. “I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

  “Surely my involvement is due cause for said bad feeling,” he remarked.

  Yes and no. What he had done in Tranavia had been a betrayal, but she wouldn’t have been so angry if he had told her from the beginning what he was planning. Grand schemes for divinity to topple gods were all well and good; Parijahan hated being lied to. It was part of what made her an absolutely terrible prasīt.

  “You and Nadya are a dangerous combination,” she said.

  He gave a soft smile, minus his usual sharp bitterness. The feral animal that he let settle under his skin absent.

  Blessed mother, he’s in love with her. She knew this boy well enough to know that could only spell disaster.

  “There was a lot of magic in the sanctuary that night and I’m not so sure we all realize what we’ve done.”

  Parijahan scoffed. He smiled ruefully.

  “My own plans inc
luded.”

  An eye opened at his temple as if to confirm it.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “Yep,” he said blithely. “Pretty much always! I am in constant pain.”

  She groaned, a laugh escaping. She rested her free hand over his. As terrible as he was, he was her friend and she didn’t want to see him so damaged.

  “I miscalculated,” he said, shrugging. “It happens.”

  Parijahan didn’t believe him. Though she did wish he had a more obvious tell to his lying. He hadn’t miscalculated at all. The magic that he and Nadya worked with was unfathomable to Parijahan, and she didn’t particularly care to know it. Akola had its own mages who only stayed out of the conflict between Kalyazin and Tranavia because few people even knew of them. They lived in the deep deserts and only rarely came into the cities to trade.

  “Did you really think you would be able to kill a god and topple a divine empire just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

  “I was thinking too simply, you’re right. I have the power, but I don’t know how to use it. I’m worried if I do that will be the end of me.”

  “But if you had to use that power to save Tranavia?”

  He was quiet for a very long time, picking absently at the skin around his thumbnail. “Then that would be the end of Malachiasz Czechowicz,” he finally said.

  Parijahan let out a soft breath.

  “It’s a mess. I may be idealistic, but I’m not so delusional as to think that whatever Nadya has planned is going to bring a peaceful end to this conflict.” He smiled, but it was sad.

  “Then why are you helping her?”

  “Because I want to help. Because I am too damn idealistic and I have to let myself hope that one of us can fix this mess of a world or I’m going to drag myself under the weight of my own desperate pessimism.” He shrugged. “Because I’m worried about her.”

  “If you hurt her like you did before, I’ll kill you before she gets the chance,” Parijahan said.

  “You, I am truly terrified of,” he replied.

  “You should be just as scared of her.”

  “It’s not fear,” he murmured. “That’s not the right word for it. But maybe it should be? She told me some disturbing things her church has said about her.”

  “Which you’re going to use in an argument on theological morality, I’m sure,” Parijahan said dryly.

  “The fighting is half the fun. And you’re only changing the subject because you don’t want to address that letter.”

  She scowled. “I don’t know what to do,” she said.

  “So, you’re going to ignore it, and hope it goes away?”

  “It’s been working well thus far.”

  “Parj…”

  She didn’t want him to use that tone with her. He had no right to judge. She smoothed Rashid’s hair, stalling. Her leg was asleep.

  “I’m doing nothing because Nadya needs my help. I’m not leaving her with you.”

  “Fair,” he acknowledged. “But … he’s your father.”

  The wounded confusion in his voice was distressingly genuine. Parijahan shot him a desperate look.

  “Some of us don’t have those,” he continued quietly.

  He was right. But it was so much more complicated than he knew. She had said things that could never be unsaid, had done things that would never be forgiven.

  She had thought her Travash would send people to kill her, not quietly beg her to return.

  She closed her eyes. Malachiasz rested his head against her shoulder.

  “Some of us make our own families,” Parijahan said. “Not sure where I went wrong that mine has a monster boy in it, but there it is.”

  Malachiasz snorted.

  A long silence fell over them. Malachiasz eventually got up, but only to stoke the fire and gently gather Nadya up and take her into the tent so she wouldn’t freeze. She looked small in his arms, his long black hair mingling with her white-blond strands as he dipped his face down close to hers. Parijahan heard the soft muffle of their voices. He came back outside and sat down next to her.

  “Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

  “I don’t want to rule Akola,” she said blankly, staring into the fire. “If I stay here, I don’t have to.” She buried her face against his shoulder.

  He wrapped an arm around her. Her terrible, powerful friend. She never would have guessed when she’d fled her home that she would meet the Black Vulture of Tranavia in a tiny Kalyazi village, an anxious mess of a boy with Kalyazi soldiers on his heels. She didn’t want to go back. She couldn’t.

  interlude vi

  TSAREVNA YEKATERINA VODYANOVA

  Magic drawn from the saints was so terribly imperfect, and that was what the Tranavians just could not understand. With their heretical magic that made things so easy, they couldn’t comprehend magic that took work. Serefin had watched with growing confusion on his face as Katya dumped out most of her pack and began riffling through it.

  “Are those—” He picked up a handful of mushrooms. “—blood and bone, why do you have czaczepki towcim?”

  “Only clerics have true magic,” Katya said, taking out a small ceramic bowl and crushing some diviner’s sage into it. “Be a dear and use your blasphemous power to light this, please?”

  He frowned. There was a beat of silence.

  “Sorry, have I not made it clear? The gods and I don’t always get on. I don’t give a rat’s ass how you lot get your magic, but my opinion doesn’t matter, only that of my father and the church.”

  They had moved into one of the burned-out shells of a home. Katya’s heart ached to see such destruction, especially by something that hadn’t bothered Kalyazi villagers in decades. Kalyazin had always had its monsters. They lurked in the corners, the domovoi kept their homes, the bannik kept the bathhouses, and the dvorovoi the stables. But the monsters that did true harm—the zhir’oten, the kashyvhes, the drekavac—those had not been seen in a very long time. And they had risen.

  Velyos had once been the god of the underworld and the forests and all the monsters that dwelled there. When he was set free, everything else woke up with him. Kalyazin had finally struggled out of its place of darkness and monsters and now they were being pulled back under. Katya had a terrible feeling that this horror was irreversible. Even if Serefin managed to break out of Velyos’ grip, the darkness was here to stay.

  Serefin cut his thumb on a razor in his sleeve and lit her bowl. She offered him a mushroom. “You can come with me.”

  He scowled. “I’ve had enough divine horrors for a lifetime, thank you.”

  “I have a hard time believing you would turn your nose up at some light hallucinogens.”

  “You don’t know me at all, dear.” He had a flask propped up against his thigh. He conceded, “If blood magic could be augmented with drugs, the Vultures would have figured out how long before now. Recreational is another matter entirely.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She held it out to Ostyia who hesitated before shaking her head.

  “Blood magic is enough for me,” Ostyia said quietly.

  “Bleed a little more on the sage,” Katya told Serefin. “I’ll use that to track the Black Vulture.”

  Serefin shifted nervously. Silly heretics, so uncertain when confronted with magic they do not understand, she thought. Whatever she was given from Svoyatovi Vladislav Batishchev would be enough to find the Black Vulture. But she would need to do other rituals to have enough power to kill a Vulture, especially one as powerful as him.

  Clerics could use power at any time. People like Katya, who called on saints, had to do lengthy, extensive rituals to gain a scrap of magic. They were good for hunting, good for single encounters, but bad for the battlefield. The magic took too much preparation with very little to speak of as a reward. Katya didn’t mind; she couldn’t fathom living with power like a cleric, constantly present and there.

  “First Pelageya, now her, what is with you Kalyazi?” Kacper muttered.
/>
  “You’ve met Pelageya?” Katya cried, incredulous.

  “She’s my mother’s advisor,” Serefin said with a frown.

  “If witches had an all-mother, she would be Pelageya,” Katya said. “I’ve met Pelageya. She’s one of the last witches left. Well, she’s mostly considered a myth, so the church doesn’t try too hard to root her out.” It made sense Pelageya would have been in Tranavia all this time; they would be much kinder to witches.

  Serefin eyed Katya warily. Or, at least, she thought he did. It was disconcerting, how she couldn’t tell what he was looking at through his ghostly eyes. He was disconcerting. She didn’t understand how a king had been dragged into what sounded like utterly Kalyazi business. How had he been taken by a banished god who had slumbered for a millennia? Was this the cleric’s fault? Or had Serefin been singled out for this long ago and there was no stopping it?

  Katya did so enjoy a good existential contemplation every now and again.

  “It sounds like you don’t have a high opinion of the church,” Serefin remarked.

  “I love the church, but I don’t like the church,” Katya said. “It’s complicated.”

  “Apparently.”

  “It sounds like you don’t have a very good relationship with your family,” Katya noted with an eyebrow lift.

  “I’ve killed my father and I’m planning to kill my brother,” Serefin replied. “I can’t imagine what you’re referring to.”

  She fanned some of the smoke into her face, inhaling deeply, before picking up one of the mushrooms. “I’ll be right back,” she said with a wry grin before popping it into her mouth.

  The effects were relatively sudden. And Katya fell.

  31

  NADEZHDA LAPTEVA

  Grigoriy Rogov was a monk who heard the voices of the fallen gods. He was poisoned by a brother at his monastery.

  —The Books of Innokentiy

  Malachiasz spent more and more time poring over his spell book. It would almost be a return to normalcy—he had always been bleeding over it before—but there was something in the way he curled over it, staying away from everyone in the evenings when they camped, that worried Nadya. But she couldn’t quite convince herself he was plotting to betray them all because he wouldn’t be so damn obvious about it. And whenever she went over and poked her chin against his shoulder, he would do his best to explain what he was doing—stringing together spells that would get them through the forest in one piece—not hide it away. Some nights he would ignore the book, sitting folded up at the edge of the fire, sewing the back of his jacket where his wings had torn through it. Rashid loudly judged his stitching.