As the color fled from Putrescence’s face, Wilt moved his gaze to the guardsmen in rank. He did not think she was an assassin, simply a spy, but he hoped his words would give her and Commander Stills something to think about.
“But why do they hate us? We are Lockish, the same as them.”
As Lockish as this horse, Wilt mocked. For birth, not similarity. “Because, child, they have forgotten the gods.”
“But… but so had we.”
“No, child. That is where you are wrong. We Vandu have never forgotten our gods, and except for the Farmer, we have not turned from them. Unlike the Dekahnians, we have never claimed the gods do not exist. We have simply stopped trusting them. And that is what makes the Dekahnians scorn us. They are jealous of our knowledge. They are envious of our place.”
“Our place?”
“Yes. To turn away from the gods is not enough to earn their ire. Distrust is not enough, for in our actions, we still pay homage to our gods. Each time we craft a leather harness, we worship the Craftsman. Each time we break camp, and travel for another day, we worship Wanderer. Each time we curse Nikom’s life, each time we promise his death for the rot, we worship Just. It is only those who have forgotten, those who claim the gods do not exist, that the gods deny privilege. And soon it will be time, my child. Soon the gods will return, and when they do, they will reward our service and punish the Dekahnians for their betrayal. That is why the Dekahnians hate us. For even in their ignorance, their souls can feel the gods’ wrath, and though they do not recognize the feeling, they know that it is coming.”
Wither and the others fell silent, contemplating his words. Even Putrescence looked thoughtful. Gods, the fools will believe anything. Even the damned spy. Seeing the dust brim in the west, Wilt slowed his horse. The Legion’s banners crested the rise and then halted, waiting, their eyes surely upon him alone. If he waited until last before entering the city, he could spare the Vandu from the winnowing that would follow.
Shall I destroy my people or redeem them? Wilt wondered.
Kicking in his heels, he drove the horse into a gallop, heading for the gates. “Come, children, we must allow the New Guard the room they will require.”
A tragedy like this would make his followers easier to control, and a winnowing would do them good. After all, the horsewarriors were his strongest holdouts. And if he was meant to be his people’s god of Death, where else would he begin?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Null was ragged. It had taken three days to overtake the Legion and another two to reach Dekahn. The Trellish army held to their heels for two days, always slowing before nightfall, as if allowing the Dekahnians to rest. She knew that sounded crazy, but it had kept her awake the last few nights. She had a sinking feeling in her chest, like something terrible was going to happen. Three days ago, a Vandu hunter had tripped over his hide cloak and misfired an arrow that had almost killed her. Since then, her flesh crawled.
For some reason, she felt that arrow was a sign of horrors to come. She knew that was irrational, that it was superstitious drivel, but it did not settle her. It was the Legion, she knew. War was the Butcher’s gift, and none in Lock welcomed it. But none of it had seemed real, not until her near death. And that was not the enemy’s doing, just a careless Vandu who hadn’t minded his feet. It’s almost over, Null repeated. The safety of Dekahn’s walls was within sight, and the brunt of the Vandu horde had already reached the gates.
Null glanced to the hills behind her. As the banners rose over the last ridge, she feared not everyone would make it into the city before the Legion descended.
“Do not look back,” Beda said. She rode alongside Null, looking calm except for the sweat in her hair and on her forehead.
“We will not make it,” Null said.
“That is my concern,” Beda snapped. “Ride to the head of the column. Get into the city and alert the king.”
“What about you?”
Beda glanced at her with wide eyes. “I must mount a defense.”
By Lock, I’m losing it. Null blushed. Of course, Beda would stay, that was her job.
“Do not worry, Null. I only need delay them, not hold them back. If we are lucky, they will decide it is not worth the risk. Get to King Erin.”
Beda’s eyes darted from Null to a passing guardsman.
“Shim! Get into the city, archers on the walls and catapults loaded. They’re not here to talk. Do what you can to deter them.”
Shim nodded and set his horse to a trot, the nearby soldiers parting to let him pass. Null followed him toward the gates.
A mix of cold and fatigue had numbed Null’s face. She was glad to be returning to the city. It might not be the best place, but she thought it better to be hated in Dekahn than feared in New Luddahn. At least here, people would meet her eyes, even if it was to glare.
And besides, it was far preferable to know someone disapproved because they said so, than because they avoided her presence. The Atheists, at least, had the decency to yell at her so she had an excuse to hate them back. With the New Luddahners, she always had to wonder whether they were deferent, fearful, or just shy.
Shyness was something she could understand. With Beda’s recent strangeness, she was thinking that maybe Beda was shy herself. It was as good an explanation for how tolerable she’d been of late as any.
It was strange. Beda almost treated her like a person now, which was heartening, but it wasn’t like Beda had ever been mean-spirited, simply cold and dispassionate; there had been plenty of moments when Beda had stared at the ceiling after an insult by the spymaster. The commander was still rude on occasion, in a way that made Null wonder if Beda were capable of reading social cues, but she seemed almost… supportive lately. She couldn’t figure out Beda’s change of heart. Even if Lock’s worship of the Whore had shaken Beda’s faith, that would only explain a shift to tolerance, not to kindness. Maybe the spellbook scared her? Null wondered. It would certainly explain the change.
But maybe Null was wrong. Perhaps Beda’s previous demeanor had been tolerance, which had become kindness. Though she had often been present, Beda had never joined in the spymaster’s sniping commentary. The few comments she had made often implied Null’s guilt in the given situation – like with the rioters in the palace courtyard – as if she could stop being a mage if she’d wanted.
Now that’s a thought… Null mused. Perhaps if she were more inclined toward Alchemy she could give up the magic, but her ‘gift’ was too spontaneous. Mycah said that was the sign of a mystic, like the god he worshipped, but that was absurd. She couldn’t argue with the truth, her magic often seemed random, and her most noteworthy achievements had occurred in the spur of the moment, but she felt a stronger connection to the magic which required experience, for it made her feel better about herself. Even so, it was difficult to learn without Mycah.
In her hands, the spellbook had proved almost worthless, and so far, she had only been able to perform one feat from the book – though, being fair, there were more things in that book she would never try than there were things she wanted to. The one she’d mastered had been a simple thing, a spell that allowed her to see farther, but she was afraid the only reason she had been able to master the spell was due to her previous knowledge. Regardless, she was proud of her accomplishment. It felt good to learn a thing on her own, even something tied to what she already knew, and did she not deserve to enjoy her victories? Even the small ones? She had too few of them already, and enough critics that she didn’t need to undermine herself as well.
Shim’s horse slowed, and as the crowd thickened, Null was forced to do the same. The New Guard escorted the few returning New Luddahners to the gates before stopping to hold a perimeter. A few guardsmen ushered Vandu into the city, but most looked to be awaiting further instruction. Barely thirty Luddahners had decided to return to Dekahn, surprising considering the decrepit state of their settlement. She wished that-
Null’s head wrenched as the force knoc
ked her from the saddle. A cut bled just below her ear; the knife had barely missed her neck. Null struck the ground as a ball of leather and flesh bounced off her, the dagger falling to the road. Her leg sore, Null struggled to rise, but the Vandu horsewarrior was not so slow. Panicking, she grabbed the dagger from the road and threw it at him. He dodged the knife, rushing to tackle her. The warrior jumped and kicked her in the chest, dropping on top of her.
“Die, whorespawn!” he shrieked, pinning her arms.
Her mind scrambled for a way to defend herself. Vanish? Null thought. No. Illusions wouldn’t work, he would still feel her. Freeze him? No, too close. Her thoughts flashed to a spell from the book designed to sever a man’s spine. No, not that! She refused to do that!
The Vandu tossed his head and pulled back his arm. Null moved her head in time to divert the brunt of the first punch, but it still hurt as it struck her just to the left of her eye. Screaming, she slammed her arms into the earth.
The Vandu warrior rocketed into the air, like a giant animal had yanked him back by the scruff of his neck. Null stared down at her hands. The setts were cracked where her fists had struck, but the area was otherwise unaffected. She didn’t know what she had done, but she’d felt the surge of power spring from her hands and into her stomach before it shot upward into the horsewarrior. The man’s ascent continued, and as he went ever higher, he began to look like a child. No. No. No, Null worried. Mycah said not to kill.
An arrow shot from nowhere, driving into the man’s chest. Blood rained into the crowd before the corpse slammed onto the road, crunching bone. Null forced herself to look away.
Stunned, Null followed the arrow’s path to the semicircular band of Vandu. The consul sat at the center of his warriors, his smile satisfied, and his gaze admiring. Handing his bow to the rider beside him, the consul turned to Null.
“You should be careful, whorespawn. Not all of my warriors are so unskilled.” The warriors clapped hands to their bare legs, laughing and hooting.
“Consul.” The voice was quiet and threatening as Beda’s horse towered over Null. “Will your warriors defend the gates, or are they too busy picking fights with those more capable?”
The warriors’ laughter halted, and the consul was not alone in glaring at the commander.
“There are none more capable than I,” the consul hissed. Spit flew from the dark edges of his teeth.
“The Legion closes,” Beda said. “Your warriors will hold the front.”
“We will take this honored position.” The consul smiled, seeming to miss the implication.
“Better you than us,” Beda stated.
The consul’s eyes drew to slits, but the commander wheeled her horse, shouting orders for the New Guard to assemble. The consul huffed before following. Null rubbed her leg, trying to smooth the needles prickling her flesh. When she was confident the feeling had returned enough for her to stand, she rose to her feet. Null avoided the spot where the man had landed. She was mostly relieved, but felt a little guilty. Null did not want to blame herself for this, after all, the man had attacked her, but she had never hurt anyone before.
Hopefully, that did not break my promise to Mycah. She didn’t understand why Mycah had demanded the promise not to kill. The spellbook was filled with all sorts of nasty things, but killing wasn’t a thing that had ever crossed her mind, not as a topic of serious consideration. Did Mycah foresee this? He couldn’t have. Did he foresee it in them… or me? She swallowed as spit caught in her windpipe. She coughed, trying to clear her breathing.
As she rode to the gates, the Vandu shrunk away from her. She had never done anything like the spell which had thrust that man into the air… Her mind wandered to the disease mentioned in the spellbook, to the thing the author had referred to as the Blood Call, and wondered, perhaps, if it had influenced her. It is a slow, pernicious thing, that takes peaceful men and makes them into killers. If it was in the blood of every mage, was she already infected? Is that what the passage had meant? Mycah had said not to kill. Specifically, not to kill, that killing led to madness. Surely, that meant killing was the real danger, that perhaps it was what precipitated the disease, not the other way around.
But then… She wondered if that warrior’s death counted as killing. She hadn’t meant to throw him into the air, and it had been the consul who had struck the final blow. It hadn’t been Null who’d killed the man, she told herself, but the argument was not convincing. Except… the man might have lived if the consul hadn’t loosed his arrow. Null couldn’t take responsibility for the consul, could she?
The relief overpowered her guilt. Her attacker had called her whorespawn, so it was clear his actions had been taken out of bigotry. Bigots did not deserve to die, but she wasn’t so certain on that point when it came to violent bigots. She sometimes wished some of the Atheists were dead, and none of them – to her knowledge – had tried to kill her. There was no sense in feeling bad for a man who had actually tried.
Reaching the gate, the guardsmen motioned her through. When she came too close, one of the guards made a warding gesture as he backed away from her approach. For a moment, Null felt vindicated. She didn’t like being feared for the horrors of some Atherahnian cultist she’d never met, but for her own horrors… It felt kind of nice.
No, Null chided. What is wrong with you? Null questioned if she might be in shock. Delirious, she insisted. I must be delirious from fatigue. But her breathing remained calm and her throat free of constriction.
To distract herself, Null forced her thoughts to the palace, but the piece of her wanting self-condemnation did not go away. She thought of King Erin, and how she was looking forward to speaking with him, but her doubts nagged at her.
That sounds horrible. Excited to speak with the king when the topic is war? I am a terrible person. Null shivered. The horse beneath her neighed softly, but did not slow. She was excited to see the king who had cared for her. That was all. Her excitement had nothing to do with the content; she wasn’t bloodthirsty and never had been. It is on your mind and now you’re pointing to every little thing that might support it. That’s all it is. She knew that to be true, but she had never killed before.
No. That wasn’t strong enough. She had never killed.
But Mycah’s warnings had been dire and she did not want to go mad. Could a single death lead to that? Even one she had only been an accomplice to?
She wished Mycah were here, she had many questions for him, and not all of them about the madness. There were many things in the spellbook that she needed to ask about. The book was disturbing. It was not only explanations of the more gruesome spells and wards that troubled her, but also the personal accounts, as well. She knew that Mycah was religious, so likely whoever had given him this book had been religious as well, but there were entries in the spellbook that mentioned the gods as if they were actual people. One particular passage was most unnerving, an excerpt that mentioned a meeting with a man named either Smith or Walter, who the book said was the Butcher. It spoke as if he had truly existed, and had interacted with others. Another account mentioned a wedding that had never come to be; a wedding between the author and the so-called ‘daughter of Mystic.’
And it bothered her, because she’d never thought of religion in those terms before… the idea that maybe the gods had been based on normal people. She had seen the way Priest Twil spoke of Lock, and the way the Vandu responded. It seemed so… possible, that a real person could be raised to the status of a god. The Atheists claimed the gods did not exist, and Null believed that, but did that mean they had never existed? The Trellish and Atherahnian myths had come from somewhere, that was for certain. It was possible that was all they were, literary figures and metaphorical beings, but why would the spellbook mention a god by name? And by a human name instead of a god’s title? King Erin had admitted that Lock worshipped the Whore. Maybe Lock had known her. Maybe she had been like an empress, an empress who Lock had served, as Mycah had implied.
Loo
k at me, Null mocked. Put a little fear in me and suddenly I’ll believe anything. The gods could have been real people, they could have even been mages, but they weren’t anything more. Immortality did not exist, some mystical Mother had not created the universe, and there was no god of justice sitting in the heavens weighing the souls of the condemned. At the most, they were metaphors. An Alchemist for magic based on knowledge and procedure, a Mystic for magic based in faith of will. It was silliness contrived from allegory, later used to excuse brutality, just as Tyvan Dahl exploited his Atheists.
Null reined in her horse behind the mob. The Vandu noncombatants were setting up their tents in the large plaza. This part of the city was new in relation to the rest. The outermost ring of Dekahn was designed at a time when the Atherahnians threatened the capital itself, and the buildings reflected that. Most were New Guard housing and muster halls, blocky due to thick walls and heavy fortification. Instead of the carved and dyed woods that made up most of the inner city, here, the buildings were of stone, as was the wall stretching from either end of the gate. The windows were many, but slatted and narrow and most entrances blocked by steel portcullis. The few wooden doors, like that on the Atheist Chapter House attached to the gate, were banded by iron every foot, with metal plates that protected the hinges from outside.
Lock’s bronze statue was centered in the square, a giant of a man burning a pile of books with a stone torch – cloth wrapped and oil soaked, no doubt. Without knowledge of the statue’s history, it seemed an odd thing to celebrate. The statue was a reenactment of the day Lock had burned the books of doctrine in protest of the Rightfuls’ seizure of Vigil’s ruling council. It was the same event that had made Lock a criminal, which had set him on the path to rebellion. Every solstice, on Locksday, men and women would gather in honor, and each would bring a book of the Faithful – always of papyrus with hide bindings, of course – and burn it in recognition of Lock’s enlightenment. This was part of the reason Teachings of a Whore was so important to Dekahn’s citizens. It was the only book of doctrine in Dekahn’s library that Lock hadn’t burned or otherwise destroyed.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 45