Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One

by Justan Henner

  “Are you implying that I’ve done something inappropriate?”

  “No, Queen, of course not.”

  “Well, I probably have,” the queen smiled. “I have always been like this, you know.” She frowned. “When my father died, I became very close with my younger sister, and when she died, I befriended a man named Lock, who was Mayor of this city. When King Rickard died, I spent some days in Vigil, convinced that I would die while tearing apart the perverted cult that had defiled my father’s name. Instead, I met a young priest named Mycah, who I later brought home to serve as your tutor. I don’t know if my mind seeks distraction, or if it seeks a new presence to fill the emotional void, but grief has always made me chatty.”

  “Forgive me for saying, Queen, but you were more than chatty with that man.”

  “Can you blame me? Since Rickard died I have spent most my time alone in a city of Atheists, it is a relief to finally meet a man who uses his brain.”

  “But Mycah…”

  The queen barked a single laugh that quickly turned to a look of what might have been shame. “He and I never had eyes for one another.” Her voice trailed into a whisper. She seemed to be speaking to herself, but Null could hear her every word. “Oh, that poor man, he will not take it well when he learns of Erin’s death. It should be me who tells him…” The queen fell silent.

  For several minutes, Null watched her without comment. Today had felt the same as if she had been reading the library’s most scientific tomes; there was so much new information, and in such outlandish language, that she simply couldn’t process it all.

  “Queen?”

  The queen glanced up from her silent reverie. “Yes, Null?”

  “If we can walk out of here at any time, then why do we remain? Why cooperate with the Trellish?”

  “Because…” the queen said, her thumb tapping her lips. “Because I can do more for Dekahn without them undermining me.”

  “But that man… Do you really believe that you can trust him?”

  “Just? No, and to be frank, I am not certain that he didn’t lie about his innocence in relation to Erin’s death.”

  “Then why not do something?”

  “Do something?”

  “Yes,” Null said. “Why not stop him? I saw the way you fought that madwoman who killed Erin. You are not helpless.”

  “Ah,” Tepa drew a heavy breath. “There is a good reason for that, Null. Unfortunately, while I wish I could stop Just, doing nothing is the best of bad choices. If he truly controls Settin, which I believe he does, then provocation could turn into a war on two fronts, a war I might add, that we have probably lost already. I’m afraid that without Dekahn’s economic might, it will be near impossible to supply the Old Guard as it is, let alone if we are forced to muster the levies. If we must fight on two fronts, we will crumble, and that will only bring more suffering for everyone.

  “Now,” the queen continued, “I would strike against Just personally if there were something to be done, but alas, he is much stronger than I, and I suspect that nothing less than his death would suffice for long, and that would not be a victory.”

  “But if it could end this conflict…”

  “Then it would not be an end. If I killed him, then I would most certainly lose myself.”

  “Lose yourself?”

  “Yes, do you recall Mycah’s warning to you? To never kill?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, he gives that warning with good reason. That warning is due to an illness known as the Blood Call.”

  “I…” Null thought back to the passages in the spellbook. With the events of the last few days, the book made far more sense. “I have heard of it, in some ways. It was mentioned briefly in Mycah’s spellbook… I… based on the description, I had feared that it would make any mage a killer.”

  Rin Tepa rose from her chair and paced to the fireplace. It was unlit, but the queen stared into it regardless. “No, not all of us. You see, Null, this illness occurs only in a mage who has killed, usually when they kill another mage, and especially when that mage comes into contact with the blood of their victim. The illness causes madness, an experience that is said to be euphoric, but it is one that takes great difficulty or long years of abstinence to overcome.”

  “Abstinence?”

  “Yes, you see that euphoria is addictive. It creates an urge to kill, more so, it convinces you that you must kill. Usually, that addiction drives the mage mad, and eventually they give in, which causes the euphoria, which makes them want to kill again, until the end result is what you saw last night. Tabetha, the woman who killed Erin, is a woman under the Call’s sway.

  “For those of us still sane, the Call creates a kind of stalemate between us. I cannot kill Just because it will drive me mad, and he cannot kill me or else he will go mad.”

  “So, we can do nothing?”

  “Well, that’s not completely true. If for some reason a mage wishes to kill another, it can be done, but it must be done indirectly. A drop of poison, a hired blade, such things would keep one safe, I assume… It is the contact with the blood that is usually the cause, or the mixing of birthright.”

  “Will he try to kill us, then?” Null asked.

  “With all the mortals under his command, I suspect he would have done so already if that was what he desired.” The queen shrugged. “But who knows what he wants. He could be biding his time for the right moment.”

  The blood drained from Null’s face as her breathing became shallow. Closing her eyes, Null forced a rhythm into her breaths. The queen’s words had made her tense, but this was not yet a full-on attack. She need only force herself to relax, and the panic would subside before her lungs felt like lead.

  A knock at the door pulled the queen’s gaze from the fireplace. A young woman waited outside, holding what looked like a large bundle of hair.

  “Yes?” the queen demanded.

  “The Grand has sent this,” the young soldier said.

  “What is it?”

  The woman shrugged. “All she said was that ‘a queen can’t rule her kingdom without her crown.’”

  Rin Tepa glanced at the bundle and lifted the strands of hair. It was another wig of gray coloring, similar to the one Tepa had always worn. Beneath it were jars of makeup and an unusual material Null didn’t recognize. “Ah,” the queen said, accepting the bundle. “Tell her thank you.” Closing the door without thanking the woman herself, Tepa turned to Null and continued. “Looks like we have our answer, Null. He needs me to end this war.”

  The queen went to her stool and set the Grand’s gift on the drafting table. Null rose from her chair to get a closer look.

  “I don’t understand. What is it for?”

  “They are supplies for another mask. Just is quite right. I can’t convince the Hegemon of anything if I look like this. Lock’s queen is an old woman.” Setting aside the wig, the queen lifted the strange material and pressed it to her face, drawing it taught until Null could see the imprint of her nose and mouth. “Null dear, can you do me a favor and mark the eyes with a pen? Just a dot on each end of each eye will do.”

  Null nodded as she uncorked the jar of ink on Tepa’s desk. Selecting a quill, she dipped the point into the bottle then marked the imprint of Tepa’s eyes. On closer inspection, the material looked like some sort of Northland’s rubber, but not a kind that Null was familiar with. “Why go to such trouble?” Null asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Well, if you have magic, why go to such trouble?” Sketching the last line, Null set aside the quill. “Finished,” she said.

  The queen lowered the fabric and turned it around to inspect Null’s work. “Perfect,” she said, nodding. “I use the mask because it is easier. I could use illusions like those you used last night, but that requires too much energy. I do not have the stamina, nor the will, to maintain that sort of ruse for as long as I need.”

  “But why not change your face, there are methods in my spellbook that i
ntimate that such things are possible.”

  “Body manipulation?” the queen frowned. With a small utility knife, the queen cut a slit between Null’s lines. “That is gruesome and dangerous stuff. Even if I knew how, I wouldn’t dare change my face. The only person I’ve ever known that could do such things with any skill was my aunt Sybil. Most others I’ve known that dabble in such arts have either maimed themselves or worse. I have a nephew, for example, who wanted to be a woman, and tried desperately to make himself into one, but he didn’t fully understand the underlying chemical processes of our physiology, and the result was not quite as he’d hoped. It was a very sad affair. Although… it has been five or six hundred years since then, so he may have figured it out by now.”

  “Six hundred years? He would still be alive?”

  “Yes, I believe so. I have heard rumors that he is near the Horn somewhere, but I have not looked into them.”

  “But six hundred years? That is a long time to live.”

  “Not so long, I myself am about seven hundred years.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Gods do not age as mortals do.”

  “Gods?”

  Rin Tepa set down the material and turned to face her. “Yes, Null, was that not obvious? No… no, how could it be with all we’ve taught you… I suppose I should start at the beginning. The Atheists of this land have lied to you, Null. I have lied to you. The Trellish gods are not only real, but they are people that I once knew, many of whom I loved and cherished.” The queen motioned to the door. “Legionnaire Bell was correct in his guess. I am a god, and not only that, I am the Butcher’s daughter, or rather was, but do not fret my dear, he was not such the monster the Atheists make him out to be.”

  “The gods are real?”

  “Of course. What do you think magic is? It is not a mortal thing.”

  “Does that mean that I am a god?”

  “Well, no. You might be a godling, though, or you might be a priest. I don’t really know your lineage, but you are godkind; every mage is.”

  “What is the difference?”

  “Hmm, well, a priest is a mortal who has been anointed. They have the power of a godling, but they are not born into that power. A godling has magic by right of birth, passed down through the family line. Through the blood, they say. As for what we call mages today, most are priests or the descendants of a priest, but the lines have been so muddied, and people have forgotten so much of history, that any of them could be real godkind. Though, from a practical standpoint, as in, if you compare their relative abilities, there is no difference at all between a godling – that is to say, a young godkind who has not attained an aspect – and a priest. Both can use magic, both can attain an aspect and achieve godhood… They are essentially the same thing, although priests can age differently if they come into the birthright late in life.”

  “The birthright?”

  “Yes, that is what we godkind call our magic.”

  “So, if they are the same thing, why the distinction in title?”

  Rin Tepa shrugged. “Because, at the time, priests were a new thing. Until a man named Rift, we did not think it possible that a mortal could become a godling. To this day, I still do not understand the specifics of how it’s done. Mystic – the god that Mycah worships – kept the knowledge largely to herself. Others have discovered the secret since, but I am not one of them.”

  “So, Mystic is real too?” That news excited her. For some reason, she had the overwhelming urge to tell Mycah what she had learned.

  “Yes, in fact, she’s another aunt – though she is not the font of love and benevolence that Mycah believes her to be. In reality, she’s rather monstrous and sadistic. Or at least, she came to be.”

  “But he speaks of her with such reverence.”

  The queen shrugged before she set her mask on the table and began flattening it on the hard stone surface. “Because he does not know her. At one time, she might have been a god to envy, but she too, has succumbed to the Call. She and her husband Rift.”

  “Were all the gods so bloodthirsty? So violent?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then how is it that so many of them became ill?”

  The queen’s hand stopped. “That is not a time I enjoy speaking of,” she sighed. “But for you, Null, I will.”

  Standing from the stool, the queen took Null’s hand and led her to the couch before the fireplace.

  “It is hard to know where to begin, so I shall begin with myself. As you probably know from legend, my father was once the patron of Vigil, he ruled over the city and its surrounding lands in much the same way as the Farmer ruled over Dekahn and the Fields to the west. My father was not an evil man, but a man who inspired loyalty and love. He lived simply, spending most of his time at work in his forge, with his children and apprentices.

  “That is how I remember him, working quietly, his face stern, his brow sweating, surrounded by people he loved and people who loved him. My sister Eve would work the bellows, my brother Kalec would smelt the steel, something which he was very good at – the metal you see Bell wearing is his creation, that is why I was so interested in knowing how the Legion came by it.”

  “You mean your brother still lives?”

  “I hope so, dear. I have feared for him for many years, but that armor is a good sign of his health.”

  “You and he are close?”

  “Yes, very, though in those days I was jealous of Kalec. While I loved my father, and loved to watch all of them work, I never loved the forge.” The queen’s gaze seemed to drift past Null. For a moment, the queen seemed more herself than she had in a long while. A smile spread across her lips. “It was hot,” she explained. “Hot and humid. There was always smoke everywhere, as well as the smells of sulfur and other disgusting sources of fuel and treatment. They called themselves smiths, but Kalec and my father were both very creative, and their interests rambled through every craft under the sun. When they weren’t experimenting with new ways to temper bronze, they were trying new chemicals for tanning hides or fashioning strange devices.

  “But I wanted none of that. I loved what they did, but I did not want to spend my time in that smithy. In a way, I felt alone, excluded, but at the time, I didn’t realize that I was imposing that exclusion upon myself. I was miserable, and to show my displeasure, I made life miserable for them. I pouted, I sulked, and did everything I could to guilt them, until one day, my father took me aside and handed me a roll of parchment. All he said to me was, ‘get it done.’ Not another word. It was a list of tasks and supplies needed for their work. He didn’t tell me how I was to get it done, he didn’t tell me what money to use, or where to buy what he needed, and I was too proud to ask him for guidance when he’d offered none, so I set to the task alone.

  “I found my passion then, and what it meant to be a god, with an aspect. You would think with gods like Mystic, or Alchemist, or Just, that to be a god requires some valiant goal, that it is some magnificent, world-changing undertaking, something to be accomplished for the betterment of all, as if each of us must be the world’s savior. It doesn’t. It requires only passion for what you do, and an acceptance of yourself. For me, that passion was the puzzle my father gave me. How do I acquire thirty tons of iron by year’s end when the local mines only produce a combined six? How do you attain sulfur, when the nearest sulfur mine is the Pit in Settin?

  “My work required me not only to know the land, but to know my family and peers. I spent many hours learning from my father and Kalec on what mixture of water to salt was best for tempering. Kalec preferred sea salt, my father wanted the stuff from the ground. I was never certain there was a difference between the two, and could never see it in their work, but the two swore by such differences. I came to know Eve, also – though our true friendship started many years later – as I asked her questions about the best fuels. Did you know that the type of tree can change the quality of the charcoal?

  “I learned a bit
of everything, and each new thing I learned allowed me to better serve their needs, which made me happy. Eventually, it became my life. My passion. And it still is. I do not sit all day at that desk because it is work that must be done, I sit at that desk because it is work that I love. One day, everyone stopped calling me Atep Rin, and instead, they called me Planner. I had earned my title. In their eyes, I was a god, with an aspect. I barely even remembered that sulky little girl who felt alone, because I had found my purpose in life.

  “Now, you may wonder why I tell all of this to you. It may seem like the nostalgic prattling of an old woman, but to understand what happened to the gods, you must first understand what it means to be a god. I had attained godhood because of my passion, just as all the others before me, but for many of my age group and those that came after, they never outgrew that phase of the petulant, sulky child. Their jealousies for that older brother, who could have been their best friend if only they gave him the chance, or that cousin or aunt who held the title they wished for themselves, did not go away as mine did for Kalec. The young coveted the power of the old, thinking their predecessors cruel and oppressive.

  “The line went like this, ‘I wish to be a healer, but the Whore is already the master of that role, and she has held that place since the beginning of time itself. But what of me? That is not fair to me, who has not existed so long. Can I not have a chance because she will never die? Can I not have my passion because she has already stolen it?’ And that is a genuine quote. In fact, it was Tabetha who said such things to me, but I am getting ahead of myself.

  “Though it was a thing that had already been proven, they did not understand that success could be shared. Look at Mystic and Alchemist, two different aspects to explain the same thing, two ideas on how the birthright worked: one based on need and the other based on knowledge. Though both explained the same thing, they need not be mutually exclusive. Both can exist, and even more besides, because there are so many different variations of the same idea, and if you truly love what it is you desire to do, then it should not matter that you hold a title.