Fate dismissed Just’s threat with a gentle wave of the hand resting on her cane. “Oh, you’ve had that chance before, Just,” she said, her gaze staring into Just. “And you didn’t take it. A bad, bad decision, though we both know that you could not have helped it.”
Loy glanced to the body hanging immobile against the wall. Just’s… servant seemed a puppet in truth, dangling from strings which did not exist, save for the birthright which held him to the wall. Loy’s emotions were mixed. Clearly this thing was mad. Was it Just? Loy could not say. Surely it could not be, not considering the way he was behaving. After all, this thing wanted to kill both Loy and Fate… but it had to be, did it not? Fate had called him Just… Yet, if Just had ever been a reasoned man, as Loy’s father had ever attested, why would Just have wanted to kill the Scryer Fate?
Just’s gaze drifted down to Loy. An anger simmered in those eyes, but so too did something else. Sadness or despair, or maybe pity. Loy’s hackles told him that it was pity.
“Do not side with her,” Just said. “Silt, do not side with her.” The voice sounded more sane and serious than it had since Loy’s arrival. Yet, what did that matter? Only a moment before, this man had been screaming in pain, begging for mercy as Just had seemingly tortured him. And the god had done it as if to warn Loy away. Well he’d succeeded; Loy did not feel any desire to heed any of Just’s requests.
Fate laughed. She had left the doorway of her cottage and come to stand beside him. “Don’t listen to him, Loy. He’s mad as they come. Mad enough that he doesn’t realize what he is. That he’s being played by someone wiser. Who is it, Just? Answer the boy’s question. Who is in your shadow?”
Just stared at her, tight lipped. Loy looked at her, aghast. She was… helping him? He had thought his task his own. He did not think she would try to help him. Could she have wanted this confrontation all along?
A smile broke upon Just’s lips as he gave a rigid nod toward Loy. “Ask him. The creature who taunts me wears Silt’s flesh and speaks in tongues. That one probably knows better than I.”
Fate gave Loy an observing look which as much as said, “I very much doubt it.” When she turned back to Just, she leaned forward on her cane as though to get a better look.
“Who’s this one then?” she said, motioning to the body Just inhabited.
Just’s tone was cocky. “A friend,” he said. “He goes by Wilt, but I think he is really more of a Twil.”
Fate lifted a hand and adjusted her spectacles. “There’s something interesting there…” she mumbled. “An opportunity for something… something grand.”
Just scowled, yet Fate continued before he could respond.
“Too bad you’re going to ruin it.”
The body of Just’s servant glared down at her. “What do you want?” Just asked.
“A good question. The same question I had for you. What did you want with Indaht Trask?”
“Indaht Trask? The deacon? The deacon is dead.”
Fate shook her head. “Do not play dumb. Was it Taehrn or Godahn who helped you? How did you convince them?”
Just seemed lost, silent for several seconds, his servant’s mouth hanging as far as the birthright would allow. “Must I come there in person to ruin you both?” Just asked.
Fate sighed. “I will be gone long before you arrive,” she said. She nodded to Loy. “Him, too.”
Just glowered at her. “What scheme have you two conspired? What is it that you want?”
“I only want to speak,” Fate said. “And your nephew here, only wants what is rightfully his. An aspect.”
Just glared at Loy. “My aspect?”
Loy’s cheeks flushed. “No! No, certainly not!”
“It would not be your first attempt,” Just said. “This time I will make certain that you die.”
Loy took a step back, yet Fate stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Tell us what we want to know.”
“And why would I do that?” Just asked.
“If you do not, I will kill your servant.”
The body released a half-mad cackle. “And?” Just asked.
Fate frowned. “I have tolerated you for much longer than I should have. Answer my questions.”
“Clarissa, if that is a declaration of war, then you are too late.”
Fate pursed her lips. “So, you march on Vigil, then. Dydal spoke the truth. All of this… your armies here in Lock, it is all preparation to march on Vigil.”
Just smiled. “You must have known that I meant to end there.”
“You and I went our separate ways. You agreed not to interfere again.”
“We both agreed. And then you returned to Trel.”
“I returned to my home!” Fate said.
“And the minute that you did, it was an act of war. This is your home no longer. Not for millennia. You should have stayed away.”
Fate shook her head and smiled. “You cannot kill me. You cannot kill me and you know it. You have tried already, and twice now you have spared my life. You mean to kill me now, when every time before, you haven’t?”
“The first time I was ignorant. I saw your evils and thought they belonged only to Death. Now I know she acted in your name. That you were the one who pulled her strings. Who let her be a monster. The second time… the second time I believed that killing you would upset some force I did not understand. That it would upset a balance that was larger than you or I. I was foolish.”
“You were wise,” Fate snapped. “And you were right! Should I die, this world will end in chaos.”
“It is already chaos.”
“You think the Call is awful? You think that it has ruined you? Destroyed your family? It exists because of you! Because you killed a god who must exist! Well what of me? I was first. Death is but the process by which the world renews, but I am the blood which keeps it from stagnation! End my life and this world will shatter!”
A bitter silence followed, neither speaking, both gods staring hatred at the other. Loy was eager to shrink away… what was she saying? First? First of what? Could Fate be… older than Just?
“I do not think it was the Call.” Just’s words were calm.
Fate snarled at him. “What?”
“I do not think it was the Call that ruined my family. I think that it was you. I think that you did this. That you did the same thing you have ever done… you ordered events so that we would fall, for vengeance or control, I know not what, but you did this. And the moment we were gone, you stepped in to fill the vacuum.”
Fate broke into a deep and joyous laugh. “Oh, you poor, dear boy. I never left. Yes, I may have traveled to other lands, I may have removed my cottage from these shores, but I have been ever present. I am the woman who oversees it all. I am the woman into whose hands the world has been entrusted, and across the world entire is where these hands reach. You, Justice, if that is what you still wish to pretend to be, are nothing but a parasite. A foreign plague born into a land to which you are not welcome. A contradiction. Now, come for me, if that is what you wish. Try to end my life, and fail, as you ever have before. Come and get me, Justice, come and be excised as you were meant to be, all those centuries ago… but before you do, answer just this one question, and tell it true. Why meddle with your younger brother? Why upset a bargain which does not involve you? The boy is naught but blighted. An unfortunate sod with less luck than even you… why meddle in Jem’s life?”
“Jem?” The god looked utterly confused as he tasted the name. “Brother, huh? Well, it is good to hear that Mother is still a Whore, but I did not know I had another brother. Yet know this, whatever I have done, or will do, or seek to do, it will be for the sake of harming you. If that means meddling with a brother I do not know I have, so be it. If it meant that Death herself must once again walk this land so that you should die, I would make that bargain in a heartbeat. Because I know, that you are the greatest evil in this world, and even that, would mean little in comparison.” Just smiled. “Say, would you
care to make that bargain?”
Fate snarled then turned away. Her eyes met Loy’s and then she paused. “Complete your task,” she said. Her tone was cordial, her eyes looking weary yet sympathetic. The anger she’d shown toward Just faded from her features as she looked upon Loy. “I am sorry you had to see this, and I have tried to help you as best I could, but this is up to you. Complete your task.”
Her words ceased and then she and her cottage were gone. No flash of light or any other sign accompanied her departure, except her sudden absence.
Loy was left gaping… not knowing what to do or what to say. She hadn’t even seemed to care about Just’s shadow. She’d barely even asked of him, but she had also seemed kind, and compared to Just, much more sane. But if she had meant to be here when Loy confronted Just, if she had meant to speak to Just herself, why then, was Loy here? And why leave it up to him if she could not accomplish it herself? What was he to do? Torture Just? He would do nothing of the sort.
Loy glanced back to the god, or his servant, or whatever this miserable thing hanging before him was, and attempted to clear his thoughts. “I…” Loy tried.
“Shut up and get out of my sight!”
Loy shook his head, and did as he was told. This just wasn’t right.
Wilt could see that the young man seemed panicked. He stared ahead, his gaze erratic as it traced Wilt’s form. After a brief pause, he turned and ran. Wilt’s arms dropped to his sides and he fell to the ground. His legs buckled and he landed painfully on the paving stones. Surprisingly, the god made no move to attack the man, but instead, seemed calm and considering. Who is the shadow they speak of? No more lies, tell me the truth.
Wilt lay crumpled on the road, still recovering from the torture the god had enacted upon him. He had nothing to say.
Tell me, Wilt.
I… Wilt began, forming the lie as he went. I told you… I had another dream. The Mother again. She… she promised that I was close… that I need only bring the book to her, and that I would be a god.
And what does the shadow have to do with it? Why do you know him?
I do not know, Wilt said. He was in this now. He had to say something. The Mother promised that I would be a god, and that this shadow would be the one to help me. That if I got the book, that the shadow would help me get it to her. That is all I know, but I did not believe it. I thought it just another dream.
And did you get the book? Just asked.
Wilt said nothing.
Did you get the book, rapist?
It was stolen. If his thoughts could mumble, they would have in that moment. But he felt relief. The god was buying this, the fool was actually buying it.
Where? By who?
A man named Rift. Dydal is pursuing him. I did everything I could to gain your attention. You cannot blame me.
Dydal and Rift? Truly? That I did not expect… Oh, Wilt, you prized fool, the god cackled. I am wise enough not to blame you for something I could not have foreseen, and you could not have handled. Now, where were they headed?
Wilt thought about it. West. It was a fine thing for the god to say after he had already punished him.
The god nodded Wilt’s head. Yes… yes, that makes sense. You have done well, Wilt.
Then you will not punish me further?
For letting the book go? Of course not. However… The god’s control fled.
A shock of pain coursed from the Betrayer’s Mark.
I will punish you for failing to kill Silt.
Wilt writhed on the cobbled walk, screaming as he rolled perilously close to the edge of the pit. He clenched his robes and his hands lurched. The fabric caught his fingers and bent them. He heard a snap as his finger broke.
Do not fail me again, Wilt. My goals are more important than your life. And I will not hesitate to throw it away.
The pain halted, but his finger remained broken. Oil dripped from the lantern above him, but he barely noticed. The heat was nothing compared to the pain in the brand. The god would not keep his promises. Wilt could not hope to fight him. Realizing that he would never be free, Wilt wept into the paving stones.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Null thought of the throne hall. The king would be there, speaking with the Hegemon’s messenger. Queen Tepa would be there too, relaxed and calm, as if she hadn’t charged out of Mycah’s study. She and Beda would be sitting around one of the corner hearths, discussing how they planned to repair the library door, which had been kicked in by a horse, not by three madmen who threw fire and conjured ropes from nothing. Mycah would greet Null when she entered, and the two of them would share stories of their time apart. He would tell her how magic was a peaceful force, used to remove water stains from important books and to cure salted pork for the weekends. He would show her how balls of fire did not explode, nor devour paving stones, that instead, they changed color to make the book pyres prettier on Locksday.
Lying on her back, she took heavy breaths and released them slowly. The gasping and choking had ended, replaced by murky relief and serenity. There was a special calm to these moments after the panic, a feeling like anything was possible, like everything was okay, like nothing could be worse than what she had just endured. That relief was glorious, but it wasn’t worth the pain, or the panic, or the fear. The fear that she would die from the failure of her own spirit and her own body. A testament to Tyvan’s claims. Proof that she was worthless. Too worthless to keep her unimportant self alive, and too worthless to serve her king. To fail in such a way would be worse than being a mage. Worse than being nothing. Worse than being Null.
And she refused to be that. She refused to prove Tyvan right.
Null opened her eyes. She stared at the surface of a dying moon. And she didn’t care. The moon was far away, and her king needed her. With the panic contained, and her breathing normal, she rose to her knees. She didn’t bother to brush away the soot coating her skirt and blouse. Tyvan could mock her appearance all he liked, but she was a servant of the king and a few stains wouldn’t change that. She knew where the king would be and she knew that he needed her. That was the sum of her existence, and she was fine with that.
The barracks door flung open as a guardsman charged into the courtyard. He gave Null a questioning look, which quickly turned to a scowl. Null did nothing to acknowledge his presence, except to stare at him. He shook his head and returned to the barracks, shouting an alarm. Null shrugged and decided it was time she found King Erin.
Despite her regained composure, it was a struggle to rise to her feet. The paving stones had loosened from the missing setts, and as she stood, the remaining stones shifted. On the first attempt, she lost her balance and fell back to her knees. The failure did not bother her and she did not hesitate to try again. She heard the voices around her, but barely listened.
“What is wrong with her?” one asked.
“I do not know. She was like this when I found her.”
Null glanced at them and their confused stares before she headed for the palace; the broken gate and messy courtyard would be their problem to fix. When the walls closed in around her, she realized that her ears were ringing. She thought that strange, for she hadn’t noticed it beneath the red moon. It had seemed so natural that it had gone beneath her notice. Now it buzzed, like a gnat, or Tyvan; droning and continuously annoying, but easy to ignore.
The entry hall was surprisingly quiet. The smooth sandstone walls were welcoming in a way they never had been before. They did not feel like a prison, as they usually did, but a guidepost to her king. The walls were solid stone, to keep her vigilant in her duties, and that vigilance was her only desire. Men and women slept in the alcoves, some resting beneath tapestries and others leaning on the marble benches. She marked it as odd, but could not explain why.
Someone had trailed red paint along the walls leading to the throne hall. The paint was splotchy and the pattern looked broken, the four equidistant lines starting and stopping in short bursts. The same pattern, repeated over
and over. Here the brushstrokes were thick and bold, but at their ends the lines were broken and striated, as if all the paint had been dragged off the brush. In one alcove, some fool had dipped their whole hand in paint and then touched the wall. The hand was small and surely belonged to the woman asleep beneath the print. Null feared for that woman, for Queen Tepa did not approve of an unkempt house. That made Null sad, for she knew that when the servant woke, the woman would be punished.
Null decided to help her. She let her hand hover over the print and the paint vanished. She smiled at the servant, but the woman didn’t move. Null let the woman rest, and continued on. The door to the antechamber was open when Null entered, but the door to the throne hall was not.
Only one person slept in this room, in the very center, beside a broken spear and blackened buckler. Null stepped past the woman without paying her any special attention. It seemed rude to show any attention to this woman, when clearly, she had come here to be alone.
An outstretched hand grabbed Null’s ankle. Null stopped and frowned. She looked at her foot.
“Kahla,” the woman said. “Kahla, it is you.”
But Null was not Kahla, she was Null. “I am not Kahla,” Null said.
The woman, half curled on her stomach, coughed, spraying more red paint onto the floor. Her chest was covered in it and a snake curled on the floor beneath her stomach. “Kahla,” the woman said. “I need you to know that I love you.”
Null blinked. “I am not Kahla,” she repeated. “And I have never been loved.”
The woman cried out a terrifying racket, a cry that echoed through the chamber. The coiled snake quivered as the woman’s body was wracked by sobs.
The sound upset Null. It felt too sad. Too hopeless. She decided she would help this woman, too. Bending, she placed her hands on the woman’s face. The blood tickled her fingers, but Null didn’t mind. Somehow, she knew the blood could not hurt her; not like it had all the others.
The pain faded from the woman’s features. There were deeper scars there, beneath her hollow cheeks, but Null could not fix them. They had been there far too long and had become a part of the woman’s spirit. They could not be healed, not without changing the woman’s character, and Null would not do that, for in this moment, she knew that she liked this woman, and that she could always trust her.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 65