Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One

by Justan Henner

  “Now, obviously I ain’t had any clue what she was talking about, or even if she was actually speaking to me, but I didn’t see no one else besides her and the baby, so I says to her, ‘What in the shit you talking about?’

  “‘I speak of the past,’ she said to me, ‘and of the future.’

  “‘Well that’s some bullshit,’ I says to her. ‘Shut your damned mouth and cover that baby, before it ain’t got a future. It’s freezing out here.’”

  “You said that to a courtesan?” Gin asked.

  “Of course I did. It was about to snow and that baby was naked.”

  “But to a courtesan? That is very brave, miss.”

  “Brave? That wasn’t brave. It was honest. I sure as shit wasn’t going to cater to her selfish blabbering ‘cause she got in her head that she’s some kind of poet. Especially not while some kid’s freezing in the woods.”

  “And then what happened, miss?”

  “Well, my words didn’t seem to affect her none. She just kept staring at that baby, then finally, with a foot, she starts fiddling with the ropes beneath the altar, and says, ‘Already you remind me to never deal with Fate. I should have killed her, for everything she has done, and everything she is, but instead, I accepted her deal, and here you are. Are you one of her slaves, or just another stupid fool like myself? She said you would come, and told me what I must do, but I do not know what it means. Who are you, that can accomplish that in which I have failed for centuries?

  “‘I would not have let her free, but again, Dydal has convinced me to be better than I am. He is right. I cannot bring myself to do to this boy what I have done to the others. The others had choices. They were old enough to make their way in life. All I did was present the opportunities. But not this boy. He is too young. He is innocent. I know that to be fated is a future too cruel to wish on any, but if I anointed him, and then raised him to be precisely what I desired, is that not the same? Is he not, then, still a prisoner of fate, even if he is free of the scryer’s grip?’”

  “What does that mean?” Gin asked.

  “Shit if I know,” Trin said. “By this time I was certain the woman must be delusional, like maybe she’d spent too much time in the cold herself. Like a few decades too much. And a few of them years with some rabid forest animals besides. Well finally she stops talking, but all she does is stare down at the baby like it’s some kind of puzzle she don’t know how to solve. Meanwhile the poor thing’s whole body is turning red from the cold, so I grabbed a blanket from my cart, pushed past her, and wrapped that baby up myself.”

  “And what did the courtesan do?”

  “All she did was shake her head. Didn’t make any move to stop me, just watched me from behind that mask, all calm like. I handed her the baby, which she took without complainin’, then set to building a fire. For all her words, she didn’t show that baby much emotion. She held him close, as a mother should, but as I went about fixing us something to eat, all her attention was for me instead of that kid. We didn’t speak after that. Each time I spoke, she’d answer in some vague way, like she’d done before, and the next morning she was gone. She’d left the baby swaddled in my arms, with two envelopes; one marked for me, and the other with the initials D.I.T.”

  “She just left?” Gin asked. “Without the child?”

  “Yep, just left me the damned baby. I woulda argued if she’d still been there, but I suspect it would’ve gone the same way regardless. I knew that wasn’t my damned baby, but you know how it is; when a courtesan gives you a child, you take the damned thing and you don’t ask questions. Luckily, she didn’t want me to raise it. The letter asked me to take the boy to his father in Riften. Course, I didn’t know how she expected me to do that. All she left me was the two letters and the kid. I mean, how in the Mother’s name did she expect me to feed that damned thing?

  “Well, I did the best I could. I traveled that whole next day and night to get to Lane. Couldn’t find a wet nurse that would travel all the way to Riften, so I considered leaving the little fella with someone that could care for ‘im. I couldn’t do it though. For some reason, I just knew that I had to take that baby to its father. You could say I was more religious then, but frankly, I did it ‘cause there was no way I was going to get on the wrong side of the Whore. So, I ended up trading in my horses for a pair of oxen, one of them Old Nance here. I’d heard that cow’s milk wasn’t a good enough substitute for a woman’s, but the baby seemed no worse for it.

  “He and I made it to Riften just fine without the wet nurse, but I won’t say it was easy. Didn’t even know the little bugger’s name. Wasn’t in the letter, nor did she give me anything that might sound like one, except for maybe ‘Blighted,’ but I wasn’t going to call no baby something as sinister as that, so I just settled on ‘the boy.’

  “Well, me and the boy got on pretty well for that week and a half it took to get to Riften. Quietest baby I’ve ever seen, hardly ever cried, but that don’t make it easier. I was panicked enough not knowing what in the Butcher’s name I was doing, and here the baby’s not doing anything to help me out. Had to make do by guess and smell, mostly, but let me tell ya, people are real kind to a lone woman traveling the roads with a newborn. Some of the greatest friends I got today are those that offered me lodging or a warm meal on that trip.

  “Met a blacksmith in Vale, even, who shoed both oxen for free. Hey, maybe you know him, Jem?”

  Jem twisted his head to look at her. With Taehrn riding beside him, and Trin reluctant to acknowledge the man, these were always awkward moments. “Kalec?”

  “Aye, that’s him. Nice old fella, used to stop by and see ‘im anytime I got it in my head to trade up north. He always had a warm bed and a warm meal for me. He still doing all right up there?”

  Jem shrugged. “Last I saw he was much the same. Forge in the day, pipe in the evening.”

  “Miss,” Gin interrupted. “The baby?”

  “Oh right. Anyways, I guess there’s not much more to say. I took him to his father in Riften, can’t remember his name, just know that he owned a few of the foundries up there. I gave him the letter, he read it, and agreed to take the boy in. Didn’t seem all that surprised to learn he was a father, but he did seem disappointed to see me instead of the courtesan.

  “As a thank you, the man offered me a good deal on some iron, so I sold the last of my pocket watches and left for home with a cart full of ingots, iron castings, and some odds and ends, you know, mostly well pulleys, nails, metal sheeting, and the like. Didn’t see the kid after that, which is kind of a shame, ‘cause I’d grown fond of the little bugger, but that’s life. It don’t always work out how you want it to.” Her gaze trailed to Taehrn’s back. For once, her eyes didn’t look angry, only disappointed.

  Glancing at Taehrn, Jem noticed the man’s paling features. His face had become rigid, his cheeks looking hollow and grim. It seemed that Trin had finally struck a nerve with him. As he met Jem’s gaze, Taehrn’s features returned to normal, and then he offered Jem a half-hearted smile.

  Leaning in, he whispered in Jem’s ear. “There are some insults which can never be forgiven, Jem. Consider your every action with care, otherwise you might do something you’ll regret.”

  Jem stifled a laugh. Bit late for that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “One face. Two face. Three face. Four. Not Lu, Not Lu, Not Lu, Whore!”

  Lu was taken by an unquenchable giggle. None of the bricks were either of those things, but the game must continue. “Five face. Six face…” He recited as he ticked the staff against each brick of the Godswall. This new staff was yellow. Bee yellow, with black rubber straps and a thin wire frame that held the glass orb at the top. He liked the orb, it was some creation he’d never seen in this world, but that was the fun with magic. He could reach into other worlds and ruin the days of people he’d never even met, and creatures he couldn’t imagine but must have imagined because that was what he did. He was the creator of everything, the god of gods
, the glorious and wonderful being of grace and beauty. And even if he wasn’t those things, he knew he wasn’t, and that was good enough.

  He clicked the staff into another face of Lu. “Not Lu!” he shouted. The orb, with its little metal filament and the screw top, glowed and then faded. He clicked it again causing another moment of light. “Not Lu!” he repeated. He had forgotten that they were all him. No, not right. He knew they were all him. Wait? Yes. They were all him but also not him because right now he was Not Lu and the bricks were not Not Lu, making them, therefore, Not Lu, who was indeed not him. Lu scratched ferociously at his beard. That’s not right, he thought, but that was a good thing. If his brain didn’t understand, then neither did the ones that were watching his brain, and that was good. He wanted them confused, because that meant they didn’t know that he was not Not Lu, and thus, they couldn’t understand that he was, in fact, Lu, who was obviously their most feared and cunning foe.

  “Shut up down there!” a man shouted from the top of the wall.

  Lu had been clicking for four days and the guards were unhappy, but in all that time, they had not tried to stop him, nor had they spoken a word. The Gellin Observers were required to do only that; observe. But they could not resist his power, as it was uncontested in the world of men and gods, and not even the Whore could match his wit. It had taken him four days, but he’d broken their resolve. Two days shorter than last time. He was pleased.

  These Gelliners were foul, barbarian trash. Much like the Lockish, they were ants to crush beneath his heel. They were-

  “GAAAHH,” Lu yelled as the boot struck him in the back of the head. He toppled to the worn setts, the pain in his skull pounding and confusing. But not as confusing as Lu, who is smarter than this shoe! Lu paused. Crush them beneath my heel? Do I hate the Lockish…? And the Gelliners? Me? he wondered. Yes me, he answered.

  As he scrambled on hands and knees to retrieve the boot, Lu tried to remember why he hated these people. People? What people. Oh yes. The boots! Lu knew why he hated boots. They were dangerous creatures and this one had just tried to steal his mind. But luckily it had failed, because a boot couldn’t have a people mind, for that would be absurd. Lu’s mind flashed in brilliance; the orb atop the staff lit up in kind. He loved the absurd, so clearly, he should give people minds to shoes. The best part was that he could make Ivan clean it up. That would teach him! But Lu no longer remembered the lesson he was trying to teach Ivan, the games were scattering his brain, and too often he found himself forgetting his devious schemes, even the fun ones.

  In fact, he was supposed to be doing something devious right this moment, but the faces game had distracted him and he’d forgotten. Lu tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing, but couldn’t. He decided to retrace his steps:

  I sent the merchant to Lock, he thought and light flashed. Lu reappeared in the chapel, where Ivan was dropping a bowl of soup and screaming, a look of terror upon his face. “Eating in the chapel? NO IVAN! Bad Ivan!” Lu managed to shout before the scene vanished.

  I taunted the boy, Lu thought, and as the light of his skip subsided, he reappeared atop a rock at a crossroads, looking down at his own blood stains. Dying was fun, but not as fun as living. Also purple. He liked purple.

  I clicked all the bricks, this time Lu stood at the base of the Godswall. His staff lay on the dusty setts. Next time, he noted.

  I released the Assassin, now he stood in Galina’s tomb. It was dark, but he could feel her evil dreams seeping out from the walls of her prison. She had wanted to be free so that she could kill him. He considered releasing her, but decided it would be premature. Or too late… he could not remember which. Surely it must be the former, for it would be better to release her when she wanted to kill someone that was not Lu. Maybe Not Lu. Or Rift. I do hate Rift, he noted.

  Me? Lu asked. Yes me, he answered. He left the prison as it was.

  I clicked all the bricks again, and again Lu stood at the foot of the Godswall. When the bulb on the staff’s end lit up, he realized he must have remembered his scheme. And then he did remember. The boy! I was going to use the boy! But how? Oh yes, by not using him at all. Lu had forgotten his most fiendishly ingenious – but not at all evil so long as everyone ignored all the parts about people dying and being hurt and all the manipulation he’d be doing – plan of all. Straightening his hat and retrieving his staff, Lu took another step. When the light faded, he stood on a road at the edge of a forest.

  A small hamlet lay in the center of the clearing. Smoke rose from every chimney and, in one place, from the ground. In the fading sunlight, the city smelled of fire and anguish. Both good smells, but fire was better. No, anguish is better. Lu shook his head, unable to decide. Me, he realized. Yes. Me. Whichever I’ve caused is the better. He didn’t remember which he had caused. Both, he realized, and the memory of his father’s fiery death returned.

  Me? he asked. Another step and he stood before a picket fence and a sign that read ‘Scribe,’ the charred remains of a home that had not been rebuilt; the source of both the anguish and the flames. Yes me, he answered.

  The scent of ash and smoke rose from the clamp in the yard next, but this was not the scent he wanted. He closed his eyes to let the perquisition discover the boy’s secrets. It was his flavor, the aura Lu recognized from when the boy had killed him, but it was an odd one… Something like the Mother’s, but different. Earthier. Harsher. It was very familiar – a scent he might have known, if only he could remember past the days of his remembering.

  Lu could do everything and anything, but he couldn’t do that. If he could, then he’d be able to do everything, which was impossible and if it were impossible, then he’d be able to do it, but because he couldn’t, that meant it must be possible… But that didn’t help him, because he still didn’t know how to do it, but that was all right, because he wasn’t here to learn, he was here to lay a trap so that he could learn how to do all of the things he didn’t know how to do, but wanted to know how to do, but couldn’t because he didn’t know how to learn them without knowing how to learn them first.

  Lu sighed. The confusion game was the hardest of all, but so far it was working. The Fatereader believed he was Not Lu, but she thought he was a different Not Lu, because Not Lu would never behave or think this way, which was what made it so convincing that he must be Not Lu. Fortunately, the harder game than the hardest game of all, was knowing who he was when he was not Not Lu.

  Oh right… I am Lu. Lu chuckled deviously. Fate could read his mind if she so desired, but he’d make sure that the effort gained her nothing. Like the pawns in her attempted coup to take over the Legion and the priesthood, the bitch would inevitably fail. Hopefully, his thoughts were so entangled that the attempt would kill the scryer on the spot. Or whatever she calls herself now – like the faces of Lu, her names were always changing.

  Regardless, this was the place Lu had been seeking. From here, he would defy the Mother’s sacred laws and distract them all. Trin’s desecration of the book had put things into motion – the gods were still active in Trel, and just a trickle of the Whore’s power had sent them into a frenzy; Jem’s appearance had made things clear… Lu had to keep all of them busy, and more importantly, away from Jem and at one another’s throats; too focused on other things to pay Lu’s real goals any mind.

  This particular idea, like all of his ideas, had been a stroke of genius. How do you hide a god in plain sight? Lu had wondered, yet the answer had come quickly. There were some faults the Whore couldn’t ignore, some faults that Just could not ignore either, and this was one of them. Already, he had made Fate suspicious of Just… now he simply needed to make Just appear complicit, and the boy provided the perfect opportunity. In more ways than one. After all, Lu still had a Magistrate and a legionnaire to kill as well.

  One or Two? Lu wondered. “No, no,” he said. “Number One and Number Two, and the Magistrate besides.”

  Lu leaned his staff against the sign then stepped to the center o
f the ruins. He would need to do the impossible, but that was okay. His aspect was the balance of the world. It was part of logic and the end of logic, it was the force that turned reason on its head and let madness reign. Both yes and no: such was the nature of Lu, and as this task would be impossible, Lu would be able to accomplish it. That was how it worked.

  No, that is how it doesn’t work. Maybe. Lu couldn’t decide: such was also the nature of Lu.

  Scenting the flames to their source, he found the font of the residues and sat. The boy’s fire had begun here, where the floor was burned worst, but free from soot stains. This is where the bed had been; where the boy’s father had died. To do what must be done, Lu would coat his essence in these residues. His aura must feel like the boy’s so that his own presence would be hidden.

  Auras were easy, residues were harder. Few could see them as Lu could, it was not a thing of Lu’s role, but a possible thing; a thing of practice. It was his well-kept secret, a method that required strength, that allowed him to see the flows of the birthright, allowed him to see the places where the physical had been altered. Most gods knew not what they did, they only did. Lu knew, but ignored knowing, for knowing was often a flaw, and if not that, a side note to the action itself. Knowing, the feeling of certainty, was old Lu. New Lu was something else entirely. It did not begin ‘in fact,’ but contrary to it. To use the birthright, the honing required that he start at the impossible and work his way into reality.

  But that was simple. A god can be another, he thought, and the magic came to him, creeping from the pockets of his mind to reach the nodes within his veins. He opened himself to the flavors, let them take shape beyond feeling, and saw the heart of the residue sitting before him: a glowing hole of tangled string, knotted like a ball of twine hanging in light and dust. To shroud himself in this heart, he must know it first; he must understand the boy’s desires.

  A boy kills his father, with knowledge he could not have known without a teacher. Lu thrust the thought into the world, and the world responded, a plinking against the tendril of residue. Like water dripping against thin, sheeted metal, the tendril vibrated, once, twice.