“She… mentioned that, at first, she had thought Uncle Just insane. That she had felt madness veined through his aspect, but instead, had discovered another god hiding in his presence.”
Kindrel frowned and looked to Quill. “Dydal perhaps? Do you think the two might be speaking again?”
Quill shook his head. “No. Dydal would have told me. And, if he chose to show it, Fate would know his aura.”
“I don’t like this, Quill.”
“Nor I… We know what Fate wants. What could this man have to do with creating Death?”
Kindrel sighed. “Loy, you poor, ignorant fool. Why did your father have to keep you so ignorant?”
“You mean like you have done, Niece?”
Kindrel blushed as her gaze darted away. “I know… but gods, why didn’t I say anything?”
“You could not have known that Fate would be here,” Quill said.
Loy took the opportunity to strike. “That does not justify your willful petulance,” he said. “Had you only shared your knowledge as I asked-”
“Gods, Loy, let us move on! This is not about placing blame. Do you not understand what has happened? Do you not understand what you have stumbled into? You are now the unknowing and bonded servant of an evil god, bound by the deal you have made, now stuck in a war that has raged since before the Mother claimed herself to be the god of gods.”
Again, she makes that absurd notion. “What are you saying? What do you mean, ‘claimed herself to be?’ She is the god of gods.”
“No, Loy. There were others before her, and there were others after her. The Mother created nothing but a city in Trel, and a family of godkind. She did not design the universe, did not bring us all into being, or birth the heavens… She was but a lowly whore who became a god. Before her, there were others. Other gods who brought her into their realm. Who made her into a god.”
Now he knew that Kindrel lied. The Mother was not a whore, though many called her so. She had created all, and there was no reason to question otherwise – or to claim it as a truth, for that matter! It simply was. Why rewrite history? There was no reason for it.
“Do you think I will believe this?” Loy asked
Kindrel laughed and shook her head. “Gods, of course I don’t. Why would you start to see reason now? You haven’t any other time we’ve spoken. It doesn’t matter if you believe me. The facts are facts. Before the Mother, there was Fate and Death, and a slew of others. The war you enter, is a war between them, a war between three gods. The Mother. Her son. And Fate.”
“What are you talking about? Which son is it now? The Butcher? Has he come back from the grave in this storybook tale? Does he walk about, giving little children candy? Come, Niece. I do not believe it. Stop before you make of yourself a fool.”
Kindrel sighed as she looked at her husband. “Is he really worth helping?”
Quill shrugged. “My aspect is what it is.”
“No, Loy,” Kindrel said. “It is her son Just, who once upon a time, killed the god of Death.”
Quill perked up. “Could that be it, wife? If Just is here, then he will surely be opposed to Fate. Maybe she just wants someone keeping tabs on him?”
“But this man in his shadow… the only reason she’d be interested in some unknown person, is because it has something to do with getting what she wants.”
“Maybe… maybe this creature is Death?”
“How could it be?” Kindrel asked. “Wouldn’t we know? Wouldn’t the Call have ended?”
“Yes, you are probably right. Perhaps this creature is simply close to creating it? After all, why else would Fate oppose this shadow? Why would she be so interested?”
“Perhaps simply because it has to do with Just. Perhaps simply because it is a weakness she might exploit in order to take him down.”
“Yes… it could be.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Clarissa finds ways to overthrow her enemies, and she does so cautiously. It makes sense for her to use someone else to learn more about a potential threat… but she has others who would do it gladly. Why pick Loy? He looks too much like Silt. He will only evoke hostility the moment that Just sees him.”
“Will you defilers quit acting as though I am not here!” Loy shouted.
“Well, which is it?” Kindrel snapped. “Do you wish to know all, or do you wish to brush our words aside as though we lie to you?”
Loy’s teeth clicked shut.
“Good,” Kindrel said. “Now stay silent. Yes, you’re right, Quill. But you know how she works. She doesn’t always have a say in who she uses.”
“Yes, that is true, but…”
“But?”
“But I think this is about Death. Fate cares for nothing else. She wants too strongly to have her sister back. It’s all she ever thinks about. No… if this thing which follows Just is attempting to create Death, then she will want to stop it. If it is Death, she will want to kill it. There must be room again for Putrescence.”
Loy sniffed. “This is not helping, Niece, you two are being as cryptic as Fate.”
For what must have been the millionth time, Kindrel released that arrogant, belittling sigh. “I am sorry, Loy. We do not mean to speak over your head, it is simply that this news is dire. Fate seeks to restore her sister: that same god of Death which Just once slew. It is all she has ever sought, since I met her as a young woman, since Quill was her servant at the age of five, she has ever sought the return of Death.”
“But what does that have to do with me?”
“Well, obviously, you’re no god of Death, but she will use you as she can. It is the pattern she has ever spun: Find a victim, offer to them a bargain, and then use them until there is nothing left but a willing slave. Loy… you are now a soldier in a three-pronged war… Between Just, between the Mother, between Fate… There is no telling how Fate will spend your life.”
“But why? Why would she seek to oppose the Mother? Why would Just not be on his mother’s side?”
“Because, while Fate seeks to bring back her sister, the Mother seeks only to end the disease which has ruined her family… The Mother too, wishes to create a god of Death, but only to end the Blood Call. The disease we mentioned.”
“And what of Just?”
“He seeks what he has ever sought. Justice. He does not believe there should be a god of Death. He killed the first one because of the atrocities she committed. He hopes to prevent the same evils from repeating.”
Loy could no longer take it. He laughed. He laughed right into her smug, defiler’s face. “Gods, Niece, I do not believe this. A woman offers me the chance to become a god, and of course, the first thing you do is try to pull it all down. Now, not only is it Father that lies, now it is the Mother, and Just, and only Order knows who else. I am sorry, but it is so much simpler to just take this for what it is: that you are the only liar here, and the only liar in my life.”
Kindrel threw up her arms as she turned to glare at her husband. “All right, I am done here. I tried to help, I tried, Quill, but I no longer care. Fine, Loy. Enjoy your slavery. Enjoy your meeting with Just. I promise you, it will be very enjoyable for you when the two of you meet. It will be very enjoyable for you, when Justice looks you in the eye, and smells that vile touch of Fate upon you. How do you think that will go, Quill?”
“With the boy also looking like Silt? I do not doubt that he will be dead before they officially meet.”
The words sounded a joke, but Kindrel did not laugh. Instead, her face lost all its color.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Quill? Must you take upon yourself the weight of the world? Can we not just turn back to Trel…”
Quill shook his head. “No, my wife. I am sorry. When she raised me, Fate knew what I would become. That I would be her Navigator. It is both a mercy and a curse that she did not realize that it would mean my destiny was to oppose her.”
Kindrel looked deeply into her husband’s eyes. “You take too much
upon yourself. It is not your fault that Fate exists. It is not your destiny to fight her at every turn.” She swallowed as tears welled in her eyes.
“I know, wife.”
Kindrel sighed and shook her head. “Be safe, Quill.”
“And you,” Quill answered.
With his words, and a flash of light, Kindrel was gone. Loy opened his mouth to speak, but halted to a snap of Quill’s fingers. They stared at one another for several moments, Quill regarding him like Sister Spade would a horse. Finally, he spoke.
“You had better be worth this, boy.”
Insulted by the designation, Loy opened his mouth to argue his age, but again, halted; Quill’s look was damning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“It cannot be done, Miss Null.”
As Null met his glance it shifted back to the floor. Sylvas Durahl was from the Eastern Province, where mages were feared rather than hated. This man had seen magic firsthand when the city of Luddahn had been sacked by a single Atherahnian cultist. He had lost a wife and two children before the Old Guard had arrived to take down the mage. Listening to stories like this one, Null could almost sympathize with the Atheist view of mages; some people should not use magic, but she was not one of those people. Mycah had taught her better and she was glad for that.
“If you do not, your people will face the Legion alone.” The Old Guard had been too slow in mobilizing. It would not reach the Fields in time to protect the settlers here and the New Guard was not strong enough to face the Trellish host alone. The only protectors these people had left were the Vandu, and despite their boasts, they would not be enough either. Their only hope was to return to Dekahn and hold out behind its walls until the Old Guard arrived. Null had explained this half a dozen times, but these refugees were stubborn. They’d lost their homes once already and did not want this new one taken. It broke her heart.
“It simply cannot be done. Everything we have is here, Miss Null.”
“And you will lose it if you do not listen to me. At the least, send word to all the farms. Let your people decide for themselves what they are willing to face.”
“Life is difficult in this province. It has taken three years, but the crops are finally taking root. If the farmers leave, that will hinder our progress.”
“That is not your decision, it is theirs.”
“It is my decision, I am governor here.” Though his eyes sought the floor, she could see the outrage in them.
“No, you are not. The consul is governor and he agrees with me.” Null couldn’t hide the anger in her own voice. She understood the sentiment. She had also lost her home and family because of magic, but this was foolishness. Throwing away their lives for principle?
“The Vanduman does not represent us and his opinions do not matter.” Sylvas twisted his head and spat.
Null’s mouth twitched. “He has taken you in and given you his land,” she grated. King Erin had offered her similar sanctuary to what the Vandu had offered these refugees. She could not imagine spitting at the king’s kindness. “They have offered their protection and food. Have you forgotten the shelter they gave you? The meats in winter?”
Sylvas scowled. “Those things were given by the king. The Vandu provide nothing but what they’ve stolen from the Trellish. They are no better than the Atherahnians.”
That was a difficult point to argue. The Vandu supported themselves primarily through hunting, fishing, and herding, but a large part came from theft. They saw stealing from Trellahn as stealing from the gods and therefore just retribution for the death of the land.
“Be that as it may,” Null said, “the wisdom is sound. You must come with us to Dekahn. The land will still be here when you return.” In a fit of anger, she added, “The Vandu have been kind enough to allow that.”
Sylvas ignored the barb. “The land might be here, but our possessions and our homes may not. We will not let them be taken by cultists. Not again.”
To calm herself, Null let the air sift out through her teeth. Sylvas was not stubborn, he was a fanatic. The fool wanted a stronghold against the Faith, not a home.
“Leaving New Luddahn is not surrender,” Null tried. “It is only strategy. We cannot face the Legion here, but we can face them in Dekahn. Your people will be safer if they leave with us. Do not sacrifice your lives for homes that can be rebuilt.”
“That is what they said when Luddahn was sacked. They said that we could rebuild and that we would be safe. And then they carted us here, to live with these Vandu savages.” Sylvas’ eyes darted to hers. They were hotter and angrier than a boiler. He spoke in a similar hiss. “Leave now, Miss Null, and tell your king to protect his people the way he should.”
Null gasped and dropped her own gaze to the floor. Turning, she tried to keep herself from skulking as she left the mayor’s one room home. She knew the words shouldn’t hurt, but they did. The king could not be blamed for the failings of fools, no more than she could be blamed for the cruelty of the Faithful. Erin was trying to protect his people, and it was only because of fools like Durahl that he might fail.
As Null stepped onto the road of padded dirt, she sneered at the rotted wooden sidewalk. Mycah had once said that Dekahn was nicknamed the Farmhold as it had once been home to the god of agriculture. According to him, this god had magically warded the wood of Dekahn against decay, damp, and flames, but until now she hadn’t believed Mycah; not about the god and not about the magic. She had not thought that a spell could be self-sustained, it had seemed too farfetched that an entire city could be warded – every building and every basement and every bridge? – and then she’d come to New Luddahn, and within the first hour, lit a wood-crafted oil lamp and burned down her tent.
Whatever magic protected Dekahn, the opposite had been done here in the rot. The trees were healthy, so were the grass and reeds and flowers, but food would not grow in the soil – the seeds often destroyed before taking root. When they did grow, grapes withered when pulled from the vine and corn from the stalk. Felled logs would rot in days, so lumber had been brought from afar to build this settlement, but even it wasn’t lasting. The homes of New Luddahn were falling apart, decaying in only three years. It almost made her doubt her beliefs. She was certain the gods were a myth, but she could feel the residue of whatever magic cursed this place. That kind of power seemed impossible, but here it was, staring her in the face. She couldn’t deny the proof in front of her. If she did, she might as well be an Atheist.
Still, she had her doubts. This kind of magic must have taken a thousand magi, all working for a hundred years, but that many madmen bent to the same cause? The rot was present as far south as Murahn and as far east as Baylin. If it were up to Null, she’d let the Trellish have this land. It wasn’t worth the trouble, let alone lives. Even the Vandu savagery sounded more appealing than scraping a living out of this place. But a home was a home; she understood why the refugees would cling to it. She’d do the same if someone tried to force her out of the palace, but it was a palace, and this was a wasteland.
Null rubbed her arms as she headed back to her tent. This place made her nervous and the situation made it worse. She knew there would be trouble if these people didn’t leave. Thankfully, the Vandu had already agreed to go back to Dekahn with them. The only thing that could make things worse would be the Vandu trying to pick a fight with the Trellish. Even still, she wasn’t certain Sylvas Durahl wouldn’t do something equally as foolish. She hoped the man was right, that the Trellish would march past without giving them a second glance, but there was no way to see the future. Better to be cautious than dead, in her opinion.
Null followed the main avenue until she reached the hide tents of the Vandu. Only the few huts were permanent structures, the Vandu preferring to wander during the year. Without the knowledge behind their constructs, the Vandu tents and huts would be unnerving. Within the rot, linen and cotton did not have the same durability as it did elsewhere, thus the Vandu homes were of hide, supported by pillars
of bone, and stitched with catgut. The sight was horrifying, made worse by the dyed pattern of skulls and burning fields imprinted on the hide. The Vandu reveled in death, and their only desire was to kill the gods that had scorned them.
Null entered her hut and then stopped, uncertain how she should spend her time. At some point, she would need to face Beda and tell the woman of her failure with Mayor Durahl, but she didn’t have the strength for it now. As her eyes wandered the hut, she found the spellbook Mycah had given her sitting on the little table beside her cot. With a sigh, she went to her cot and dragged the book into her lap.
For several days, she had avoided the spellbook, made uneasy by Mycah’s warnings and the thought, that perhaps, she would not be able to accomplish all the things within it.
She did not hate the book, but in some ways, it was wearying. She had not read as much of it as she felt she should have. Mycah’s warning that the book had been written by a man spurred by a lust for power, had kept her from reading too far. There was much inside that she did not understand, much that was far above what she could do with the birthright, all of which made her feel small and stupid.
And yet, that was not what made her avoid reading it. Interspersed between the spells were odd scraps of knowledge; brief histories of the world intermingled with lessons on how to gain power, how to humiliate one’s enemies, and… worse.
She did not read the more harrowing sections.
Closing her eyes, Null flipped to her marker and prepared herself for the worst. Glancing at the page, she frowned. The section was not like the others she had read… it was not a spell, nor a diatribe on the best way to poison a foe without notice. It was another message to Mycah:
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 39