Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One

by Justan Henner

  “I have to,” she said. “Look at my life. It’s just one thing after another, and all of it points to the same thing. We’ve got to do something, Bell. And fast.”

  Bell nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “And maybe… maybe Trin, it’s time we considered the option you’ve been avoiding.”

  Trin swallowed. “You mean… do as the page says?”

  “Gods no.” Bell spoke the words so quick they were almost a shout. “No, Trin. Not that. Never that.” He blushed and looked away. “No, Trin… I mean, maybe we should consider the option that none of this is real.”

  Trin’s temper flared. “Don’t you dare, Bell. I know what’s happened. I’ve seen the proof all throughout my life.”

  Bell shook his head. “Only because you’re looking for it. You’re only seeing it this way because that old woman put the idea in your head.”

  “Stop. She was not an ‘old woman.’ She is Fate. And she’s out there somewhere, right now, pushing me toward becoming Death.”

  “No, Trin. It’s time you face the truth. All this, it’s just a superstition you’ve built up in your head.”

  “You promised to help me, Bell.”

  “And I’m trying, Trin. Gods, I am, but we’ve tried everything else. You’ve traveled half the damned peninsula searching for her, and then traveled half it again looking for a way to spite her. It’s time to just accept the truth the priesthood gave us when we were children. The woman was old, and she died. She wasn’t a god, and she’s not out there pulling your strings.”

  “You’re wrong, Bell, and even if you’re right, it doesn’t make me feel any better about what I did. Can we drop it please?”

  “No, Trin. We can’t. At some point, we have to discuss this.”

  “And we can,” Trin said. “But right now… I did what was needed… I killed a man to protect myself… but I don’t feel good about it. So please, just leave it be.”

  The nod Bell offered was begrudging. A voice called Bell’s name from behind her, and she noted it was Acklin’s, but instead of turning to greet him, she took the moment to slip away. Work was an easy way to avoid thinking, so she went to help Jem. Amazingly, the tent was already set up when she arrived, and he was inside, sweeping out the twigs and pebbles.

  “How the Butcher did you do that so quick?” she asked.

  “Practice,” Jem shrugged.

  She gave him a dubious look. He offered no further explanation. “Well, I’m glad you’re done. Ready to eat?”

  “Sure,” Jem said, he set down his broom and started rolling out a large rug.

  “Where’d you get that?” Trin asked.

  “Marl brought it. A gift from the Grand Legionnaire.”

  “Huh,” Trin grunted. “She’s more observant than I thought.”

  “She brought that, too,” Jem said, pointing to a small chest sitting in front of the tent. Trin leaned over to open it. The top of the box was carved into the pattern of an eye with a round emerald inset for the iris. She didn’t know its significance, but it was stunning. When she opened the lid, it held a bottle of scotch with a short note: Thank you for your honesty. Sorry I have to take Bell with me.

  Trin ripped the note from the bottle and tossed it aside before running to find Bell. When she reached the fire, Marl had already come and taken Bell to meet with the Grand. It was just like always. Fate’s meddling had the same pattern. Trin’s words with the Grand had set a horrific event into motion. Bell would go with the legionnaire and he wouldn’t come back. He would die, storming some damned city so the Grand wouldn’t have to deal with Taehrn. Bell would die, and it would be Trin’s fault, because it was her curse to bring Death into the world, and everything she touched, turned to shit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Trin crumpled the note and hurried away. Without reading it, Jem kneeled and stuffed it into his coat pocket. The note was Trin’s business, and while Jem wanted Taehrn to believe he could be trusted, Jem wasn’t going to invade Trin’s privacy.

  For now, he needed to appear neutral in the feud between Taehrn and Trin, but it felt as if he were standing between a falling tree and a lumberjack; the woodsman frantically chopping and the tree desperate to pin him. Jem had already chosen Trin, and it had been an easy choice – after all, he had every intention of killing Taehrn – but for now, he needed Taehrn to believe otherwise.

  Uncapping the Well, Jem moved his and Trin’s luggage into the tent then unfolded the legs and set up the cots. As she was oddly particular about where she slept, Jem didn’t bother putting bedding on Trin’s cot, but he did set up his own. Once finished, he set his bag and Lu’s staff near his bed, then untied the tent flaps and let them close. He didn’t know what to do with the chest Marl had brought, so he left it outside the tent.

  When he reached the campfire, Trin was telling the story of the old witch that she had met as a girl. Acklin sat next to her in the dirt, sipping from Trin’s bottle of scotch. There was an empty seat on Trin’s left, so Jem sat there. Across the fire, Tel glanced at him before her eyes darted back to Trin. The look Tel gave him was unreadable, but when she turned back to Trin, she looked almost hateful. Jem had no idea what Trin had done to anger the soldier.

  Perval sat on Tel’s left, whispering to Kenneth with a bowl in his lap. The two old veterans bothered Jem, more so than most of the Legion soldiers. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had met them before. He wasn’t sure when, but he did his best to avoid conversation with them. They might have served his father in years past, or maybe Taehrn, or maybe they had simply visited the garrison once upon a time, but they set him on edge.

  Skibs and Rise leaned over the kettle above the fire, ladling slop into bowls. With a smile, Rise handed one to Jem and he passed it on to Trin. She handed it to Acklin, trading him for the bottle of scotch. Trin waved the bottle in Jem’s face and he declined with a shake of his head. She shrugged then took a sip before leaning over Acklin to pass it to Bern.

  “Where’s Bell?” Jem asked.

  “Summoned by Miss ‘look at me, my horse is so special with its fancy blanket,’” Trin slurred. It wasn’t possible that she was drunk already, so she must be faking. Jem didn’t question it; she was Trin and that was enough of an excuse for her oddities.

  “Marl,” Tel clarified, flashing Trin a reproachful glare.

  “Oh,” Jem said.

  “Marl’s not so bad,” Rise argued, handing Jem the next bowl. “She’s just not comfortable in her command yet.”

  “Well maybe I’d forgive her if she weren’t the Grand’s daughter,” Trin said.

  “Awh,” Skibs said. “That’s just tradition. An officer’s messenger is always their whelp. Yer can’t blame her fer that.”

  Jem knew what Skibs meant. He had been a deacon’s herald once. It wasn’t the glamorous position Trin’s mockery made it out to be.

  Jem passed the bowl on to Trin, who dismissed Skibs’ words with a shrug. She took a spoonful, but the food didn’t slow her from launching back into her story.

  “So anyway, Bell and Taehrn, bein’ the cowards they still are, wouldn’t come up to the door, so it’s just me standin’ there by myself outside the cottage, these idiots waitin’ at the end of the walk, the both of ‘em holding sticks like they’re gonna rush in and save me if the worst happens. So then, the door flies open and the both of ‘em just start running, and here I am staring right up into the witch’s eyes. But of course, it wasn’t no witch, just an old scryer that…”

  Jem let the story wash away. She had told it once before, and right now, he had more pressing concerns on his mind. Letting his eyes wander to the banner outside Bell’s tent, he felt the accusing eyes he often saw in the banner’s circles. He ran a hand through his hair and then took it away faster than if he’d touched a thorn bush.

  He wished he hadn’t cut his hair. He had only done it to convince Taehrn of his loyalty and now he felt a traitor for it. He wasn’t about to be an accomplice to Taehrn’s scheme, indeed he hadn’t
even been tempted by the promise of a deaconship, but part of him felt that the only appropriate response to meeting Taehrn again, should have been to kill the man on the spot. Jem had been tempted, in fact, if the candle hadn’t stopped the Well, Jem might’ve done it, except… He was glad he’d been unable. If he was going to protect Trin and keep himself from a grisly execution, he had to be smart about opposing Taehrn. He had every intention of opposing the man, but he had to be smart about it.

  “Hold on,” Acklin said. “What about the prayer?”

  Trin stopped mid-sentence and glared at the man.

  “Yer mind, Trin?” Skibs asked.

  Trin pursed her lips, but in spite of her disapproval, she held up her hand as if to say ‘be my guest.’

  “Thank yer.” Skibs glanced expectantly to Acklin, but the tallow merchant had already closed his eyes and lifted his face to the heavens. “Guess I’ll do it then,” Skibs said. He paused a moment, grimacing as his gaze fell on his wife. She returned the sad smile, returned the ladle to its kettle, and closed her eyes. Skibs, Bern, and the others followed her gesture.

  Trin was polite enough to set aside her bowl and the scotch, but she didn’t raise her gaze or close her eyes. She watched in silence. Jem smirked at that. At home, he had never seen anyone refuse the prayer like that; it was like asking for a whooping, and at a god’s hand no less. The smile still on his lips, Jem closed his eyes.

  “With the comin’ months,” Skibs began. “I think now’s the time ter ask fer ther aid of our gods, more than ever. So, thank yer Nikom fer the food we got, please keep it comin’ as we prepare ter step in-ter yer blight, so that yer holy warriors can… er…”

  “Repel the Vandu savage,” Acklin said.

  “Er… yawh… So that we can do… that. Thank yer ter the Mother fer watching over her children. Let’s hope she keeps us safe. We ask that the Smith keep our arms sharp and our armor pristine.” Skibs choked on a laugh. “But not so pristine that I’m dead ‘cause there’s a damned arrow through the slit of me visor. Rather that shit saves me ass than it stays nice and polished.”

  “You forgot Rift,” Acklin insisted.

  “Now why in the Mother’s name would I pray ter ther Assassin?”

  “So we don’t get no knives in our backs.”

  Skibs grunted. “Fine. Please, dear Rift, keep yer loons off us.”

  “And what about Just?” Tel asked.

  “Damnit. When yer make the food, yer can give the butchering prayer.”

  Tel’s voice rose. “Well, we’re here in his name.”

  “We’re here in the Grand’s name,” Perval said. “Don’t be mistakin’ the two.”

  “She’s his will.”

  “And his Sovereign,” Bern said. “Or so it’s said.”

  “Exactly,” Perval said. “And the Sovereign’s exactly that: sovereign. She’s making her own damned decisions and bugger to Just. And this time she’s overstepped her duty.”

  “And who are you to say that?” Acklin demanded. “Don’t you got no faith?”

  “I have plenty, but that woman’s a lost soul, and she’s going to drag us down with her.”

  Something brushed his hand and Jem opened his eyes to find that Rise had thrust the final bowl at him. The two men surged to their feet, still standing at some distance apart, but glaring at one another as if waiting for the other to make the first move.

  “A brawl’s worth three days digging latrines,” Rise warned.

  “If not worse,” Skibs said.

  The two men glared at one another, but neither moved. Everyone else watched, Trin with a wide grin, Tel with the pallid cheeks of shock, and Kenneth with a violent scowl. Bern chewed his food open-mouthed, his gaze straight ahead as if he lacked concern for anything aside from his bowl of mush.

  The two men glared at one another a moment longer before Perval sat with a sneer. “Tallow sucking wretch,” he muttered.

  Acklin’s jaw muscles knotted, his cheeks a glowing red. “Heathen,” he spat.

  Turning to Rise, Jem managed a thank you for the mush, but with another glance at the two men, he realized he wasn’t very hungry. Standing from his place at the fire, he decided to eat alone in Trin’s wagon where he could wait for Bell to return. The two men’s petty squabbling was entertaining enough, but Jem had other concerns on his mind; mainly what to do about Taehrn and the Legion. He had a good idea about what was necessary, but… he’d been thinking a lot about the things Trin had said. Jem needed to know if Bell was really a good person or not, or if he was just a better liar than Taehrn.

  Setting his bowl on the wagon, Jem climbed up and sat on the bench. He took a mouthful of the grain, but it wasn’t satisfying. He felt ill whenever he looked upon the Legion’s banners, and they were everywhere. The itch he had felt the past two weeks had receded, but was still present behind his eyes. Living here, in Taehrn’s service – even serving with the intent of undermining the man – Jem felt a traitor.

  From where he sat, he could see a corner of the campfire. As he ate, Tel watched him suspiciously. He couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing. These people should be his enemies – they had been his enemies – but now that anger was hard to muster. Each time he thought poorly of the Legion, his own failings rose to the surface. He had murdered two people, plus doomed his uncle, and allowed his father an undeserved second chance. If Jem could fall so far, so too could anyone, but that was what made Trin right. Some of these people were bound to be good, and Jem couldn’t act against all of them for the pain that Taehrn and his lackeys had caused him.

  It was with these thoughts that Jem suffered the worst guilt. In the Legion’s banners he saw the accusing eyes glaring from the bottom of the Well. To forgive the Legion was heresy against all he had ever known. Simply by being here, he was letting down all those he had once fought for, abusing their memory. He had vowed to never forgive the Legion, but that promise haunted him. If the Legion was beyond forgiveness, what did that say of him? What did it say of how he had forgiven his father?

  Part of the problem was Trin’s words. She had been right. They were decent people and he couldn’t blame them for what had happened to him as a child. Taehrn was his main problem. Taehrn and the Magistrate and Lissahn. They had been the ones to put pressure on Indaht. They had been the ones who made Indaht feel as though failing at the mines would be failing his gods. If not for them, Jem’s father would not have become the monster he had. And yes, the men and women who had served under Jem’s father had done terrible things in Indaht’s name… but these soldiers here weren’t the same people. They were no more guilty of what Indaht and the others had done than anyone else, and certainly they had less guilt than Jem.

  In a weird way, living among the Legion was everything Jem had wanted since childhood. At odd times, old memories bubbled to the surface: nights spent in the mess listening to war stories, days spent riding horses or playing at swords in the yard, or those times when his uncle, the farrier, would let him drop scalding horseshoes into the water barrel. The pride he had once felt for the Legion was returning and he could not stop it. He wasn’t certain he wanted to stop it, which upset him worse. He was ashamed of himself, because he had lost the passion that he knew was just. The Legion should pay for its crimes, but was he the one to do it? Did it have to be his responsibility? Maybe he had done enough already.

  Which is why Jem had made a decision. He was going to do what Trin had suggested. He was going to make the Legion, and the priesthood, a better place by supporting those people who were trying to make the world better… and by weeding out those people who made the Legion worse.

  Taehrn deserved to die for the horrible things he had done. Taehrn deserved to die for forcing Jem to sign the testimony which had seen Jem’s uncle arrested in Indaht’s place. And once he was confident that he could do so without risking Trin or her family, Jem was going to kill Taehrn and anyone else who put their own personal gain before the lives of others. He only needed to know if Bell was t
he person she said… if he really was trying to make the Legion better, or if he was just a man that had hitched his success to Taehrn’s.

  Forcing himself to eat, Jem finished his mush. Bell arrived a few minutes later, his hundred shadows rising, circling, and then vanishing as he walked along the torch-lined path.

  “Bell,” Jem whispered.

  Bell jumped, his hand going to his sword before his eyes found Jem on the bench.

  Bell breathed a relieved sigh. “I didn’t see you there,” he laughed. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Can it wait, Jem, I have to-”

  “It’s about Trin.”

  Bell’s words stopped. Nodding, the soldier leaned on the wagon with his arms propped on the edge of the brace.

  “What’s wrong, Jem?” Bell’s face was drawn tight, his eyes worried.

  Jem realized he was sitting in a ball, his arms wrapped around his legs. Unwrapping them, he drew a deep breath. “How do you do it, Bell? How do you stay loyal to both?” And this was what Bell’s life would hinge upon. It seemed that only a snake could be loyal to two opposing parties, that only a man who wanted things from both could be so eager to call both Trin and Taehrn friends. It just seemed too hard to believe that Bell could be ignorant of all that Taehrn was, while Trin was there pointing to the truth.

  Bell’s eyes relaxed, but the strain in his neck and shoulders remained. “You mean Trin and Taehrn?” Bell’s voice was resigned, almost sad.

  His mouth dry, Jem nodded.

  Bell lifted himself onto the wagon and then sat on the edge with his feet in the bed. “I guess I’ve just known them for a long time. The two were my closest friends growing up, and I love them both. They’re family.” Bell yawned, lifting a hand to his mouth. The silence was brief, but felt forever.

  “Trin won’t admit it today,” Bell continued, “but all three of us were family.”