When he entered the hold, he found that his things were no longer there. His spare clothing, his few keepsakes from Lendal, even his cot was missing. The defiling savage. I leave for a few days and he has stolen my possessions. What would he even do with them? Sell them for beads? Loy dropped to his knees. The savage might try to dispossess him with foul words and petty theft, but Loy was stronger than his insults.
And yet, he had thought that Quill had changed for the better. Quill had, after all, offered to help him once they reached Dekahn, and if not for Loy’s distrust, the man might have been an asset, but that single kindness had done nothing to change the man’s disposition. The man was too much his wife and her insults, even with her gone. But was that not my fault? Loy wondered. My fault, that I left him behind?
Loy was tired of this land; the people, the places, the gods. They are all barbarians, each and every one. Even the great ones, like Just, are nothing but pathetic wretches, who replace common decency and everyday decorum with violence and insults. It is no wonder that Father left, and yet, it seems that he may have been the greatest savage of them all. This is no great homeland, and the stories he tells of the First are only that; stories.
Even the mortals he had saved were disrespectful. Aside from the two that had followed him to the ship, he had helped three others before his strength had given way. Two of them had spat in his face, decrying him as a witch, and the third had become a frenetic loon, so distraught that she had tried to tear off the ‘tainted mage-flesh’ that were her freshly healed burns.
He had tapped himself dry to heal those five mortals, and to make it all worse, the birthright had been slow to recover. It no longer came with the ease of water through a sluice; it was thicker. Slower. It strained his will to summon forth even a trickle of birthright, and the difficulty grew exponentially with the slightest distance; a phenomenon that usually required about a sixth of a league before tiring him.
The fact worried him. He had heard that emotion could hamper mysticism, but even alchemical techniques were difficult for him now. Even the skill which came easiest to him, perquisition, had become difficult. The birthright was an innate capacity, there should be no reason for it to falter.
He heard the click of metal as the hatch opened. The voice of Rise drifted from down the hall. “You are married to Sailor? I grew up along the Wharfs, can you tell me why it is that she does not return?”
Quill’s voice sounded kind, but the kindness shrouded a hint of sadness. “While I am a man of the winds, my wife is of the tides. She can weather a storm if it is to precede a calm, but she does not like change. Her home has changed too much, and she does not like to see it so.”
“So yer do not come from the heavens?”
“No. I believe that is something Dydal made up to ease the burden on mortals. He has always been a caring soul, and he expects a kind of gentleness from those around him, perhaps more than is realistic.”
“He thinks we’re dumb?”
“In a word, yes, but by his standards, most of us probably are.”
Wood scraped behind Loy. With a glance over his shoulder, he saw them standing in the hall behind him, looking into the room opposite.
“I have just repaired these quarters,” Quill said. “They will suit you well, but there is a lack of bedding. If those packs you carry do not have sufficient supplies, I can search Baylin while you settle in.”
“That is very kind,” Rise said, “But we should have everything we need.”
With his back rigid, Quill offered her a stiff bow of his neck. Loy started. In Lendal, that bow signified a meeting of equals. It was the same bow that had led him to believe that Scryer Fate was a Second. Quill had never offered him such a bow, and that he would offer it to a mortal appalled him.
Rise mimicked the bow, and after an elbow in the ribs, so did Skibs. Quill held the bow until they had closed the door to their new quarters behind them. As he turned to face the hold in which Loy sat, Loy turned away his gaze. The approaching footsteps were soft on the floorboards.
“Your guests are polite.”
Loy said nothing, but he could feel Quill’s eyes on his back.
“I have repaired the other bedchambers and moved your things into the captain’s quarters on the main deck. Without my wife, they are too large for me.”
Again, Loy refused to offer him words, though the courtesy surprised him. He did not know how to deal with this man. Niece Kindrel had been unerringly hostile, and Quill seemed little more than an extension of her person, but the man had not abandoned him as Kindrel had. His insults seemed a contradiction to his kind actions.
“There are words and there are meanings,” Quill stated. “And four ears hear different from two.” The savage grunted an awkward cough. His feet shifted on the paneled floor. “Your guests have told me of their words and your actions. They have found the same trait as myself and my wife. You have too much pride for your own good and it is your weakness.”
“I have no weakness, defiler,” Loy spat.
“We all have weakness,” Quill continued patiently. “Whether we choose to admit it or not. You have stirred loyalty in those mortals. They care for you, and so they pick at your pride. Where you see insult and mockery, we see a chance to help you grow.”
Loy turned to Quill so the man could see him roll his eyes. “You imply that mockery is love. That is nonsense, savage.”
Quill shrugged. “Perhaps so, but would you not be happier if our insults did not sting?”
“I would be happier if they were not spoken.”
Quill’s lips flattened to a line. “Then another shall not pass my lips, but I must ask something in return.”
Loy arched a brow, but said nothing.
Several moments passed in silence before Quill spoke. “I ask that you set aside your assumptions. And your pride. By now, you must have learned that Trel is not Lendal, and I cannot help you if you refuse to ask, or are too foolish to realize that questions are needed. You left me behind, Loy, when all I sought was to help you combat Fate. I am glad that you have returned alive, but I hope that you have seen your error.”
“I have no questions,” Loy said. It was a lie. He had plenty, but he was too stubborn to ask them.
“Then I have one for you. What did you do to make these mortals come here? What loyalty do they owe you?”
“That is two,” Loy mocked. He turned his head back to his knees as he mulled the question. To be truthful, the scenario tickled him. They did seem loyal to him, they had followed him all that night, then protected him as he slept a deep and exhausted sleep. They had insisted on accompanying him the next morning, and had even made him wait as they collected their possessions and returned the two children to their mother. Their determination that he should not leave without them had astounded him enough that he had acquiesced. He was willing to admit that his despondency over his meeting with Just and Fate, and the feeling that he had reason to fear both, had heightened the indulgence.
“They are like a starving bitch that I have fed,” Loy finally answered. He had intended the words as a cruel jest, but surprisingly, they came without mockery. The honor he felt at their gratitude had stolen his bitterness. “I healed them in Dekahn, saved their lives, and since then, they have followed at my heels. It is… an honor that they would set aside their lives to follow in my wake, but to be truthful, it is somewhat embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?”
“Yes,” Loy said, frowning as Quill came to sit across from him. “You see, I am flattered, but it is only proper that I return them to their master, but as of yet, I have been unable to discern who it is they belong to.”
Burying his face in his shoulder, Quill laughed, the sound deep and joyous. The smile he gave was genuine, and for once it seemed that his humor was not at Loy’s expense. The defiler wiped a tear from his eye. “Yes, that is because the mortals of this land are not always sworn into service.”
“So, they belong to me, then?”
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Quill laughed harder. “No, they belong to no one.”
“They do not swear to a godling?” The idea seemed fascinating.
“Some do, but here it is a choice, and a faith. It is not like Lendal where your father assigns them to a godling and a profession. They are free to choose their own gods and their own callings, and in their own time.”
“Truly?” Loy gasped. “Then what keeps them going? What motivates them to continue living if they do not have a sturdy hand to guide their lives?”
“Perhaps you should ask them,” Quill suggested.
“But look at the male, he seems incapable of basic logic, let alone metaphysical substance. I find it hard to believe it able to feed itself without a god to steward it.”
“I think perhaps that you underestimate them. You forget that I was once a mortal. Intelligence and drive does not come from godhood. It is innate in all of us. Mortals are just as complex as you and I.”
“You, perhaps,” Loy drawled.
Quill glared at him a moment, his face serious. That coy smile that so often accompanied the man suddenly bubbled to his lips. “Watch them and you will see.” The god rose to his feet and headed for the door.
“Quill?” Loy asked as he rose to his feet.
The man stopped and turned, leaning on the doorframe, his expression expectant. “You wish something?” He had the decency not to comment on the desperation in Loy’s voice.
Licking his lips, Loy let his fear overcome his pride. It was difficult, but it seemed necessary. “I failed in Dekahn. I met Just, but… he was not what I expected. As you said he would, he tried to kill me.”
“That is not surprising,” Quill stated simply. “The Fatereader’s tasks are rarely what they seem.”
“She was there, too,” Loy said. “She appeared while I was speaking to Just… She couldn’t get him to reveal his secret either.”
“That is a surprise. Usually she leaves the fated to act in her stead. It isn’t good.”
“But she helped me.”
“Yes, she may have done… but it means that this must be important to her. Did she ask you for anything more?”
“She told me to complete my task, but I could not. Just had already refused her, and I didn’t know what else to do… I fled. What… what will happen now?”
“I do not know. We will see what happens, but I would not worry. Just because you fled, does not mean that you have failed.”
Loy breathed heavily. Quill could say that, but did he really know? What would Fate do when she realized that Loy had run?
Quill cleared his throat, drawing Loy’s attention. “I…” Quill began. “I am sorry that you were present during their conversation. I am sorry that I allowed you to be in that position on your own… I have been there in the past.”
“You mean…” Loy said. “You mean between Fate and Just?”
Quill nodded.
“What happened between them?”
“I do not know all the details. There was a time that Fate’s power was uncontested. She ruled everything, the entire world, claiming that it was her right. Claiming that she had been given this burden by an immortal being who exists beneath our natural world.”
“Beneath our natural world?”
“Yes,” Quill said. “You know that place you feel, that place where the aspects live, where auras live, where your mind goes that it can sense, or smell, or feel the aura of another god? That realm where the birthright lives, that place that is just out of reach, but that place you know in your heart and in your blood exists?”
“Of course, every godling feels it.”
“That is the place where Fate’s master lives, or so she told me. She claims there is a being there, who gave her the world to steward. She claims to work for it, to be its agent in the living world. In this being’s name, she once ruled the world entire.”
“How is that possible?”
“I do not know, but it is what she claims. When I was young, she lived in Kin’Ken. She lived on the island of Ingair, where I was born. From this place, and from within her cottage, she guided the world. I saw her do it. Many times, I saw her do it. I saw her make these same bargains as she made with you, with warlords, with kings, with gods, and peasants. Her touch is light, but if you believe her, she guides everything… When Just was young, she did this all from Vigil. Not from Kin’Ken, but here in Vigil. In the place she has since returned to.”
“But… but why Vigil?”
“Because Vigil was where it all started. Vigil was where Fate had been born. Where she… found her way into the birthright’s realm, and where she found the being she claims has given her the world. Vigil… Vigil is where Fate started everything. Where she built her pantheon, the one that preceded the Mother’s. The one which preceded Just.”
“That cannot be true.”
“Maybe not. I am only telling you what Fate told me. And what Dydal told me. You can choose to believe it, or you can choose to not believe, but this is what has been told to me.”
“So what… what happened, then, between Just and Fate?”
“Fate ruled the world… and Just did not like the way she ruled.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. Remotely, Fate ruled by force. She ruled through the threat of violence, through the brutal grip of a god named Death. Those who opposed her, were killed. Or so Just and Dydal say.”
“And Just broke her hold? He deposed Fate?”
“He killed Death, and banished Fate.”
“He killed Death? But not Fate?”
“Yes, he did.”
“But why?”
“The way Just tells it, Fate ruled here, but it was Death who seemed to be in charge. At the time, he believed that Fate was innocent. He did not know that Fate was pulling the strings, that Death was her puppet. All the crimes that Death committed, all the brutality, he never knew that it was Fate who spurred it all. And so Just united the peninsula against Death. He killed Death, and in his ignorance, let Fate go.”
“That all seems very difficult to believe.”
Quill nodded. “Yes, it does.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I believe that parts of it are true. I believe that Just tells the story differently than Fate. I believe that both of them see themselves as the righteous party. But, yes. I think the gist of it is true.”
Loy swallowed. If all of this was true, he contended with a god older than the Mother. He contended with a god who controlled the entire world. What would happen if he did not do as Fate had ordered?
“Quill… about Fate… about my fating… am I not destined to accomplish her task?”
“What?”
“I failed, but I am fated. How could I fail if I am destined to accomplish it?”
Leaving a hand to rest on the doorframe, Quill straightened. His lips folded inward as his eyes rolled up in thought. “Destiny…” he mulled, “is not a real thing. There is not a preordained future awaiting you, at least, not until you accept the Reader’s deal.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that fate and Scryer Fate are not one in the same. Fate is what might be, the scryer can simply read it. It is not until you accept Clarissa’s deal that she has power over you, but once you have, she decides what route your life shall take.”
“You mean that I can fail?”
“Yes. And that might have been her wish all along. You might succeed in her task, or you might die. Or you might spend the rest of your life struggling at a futile endeavor.”
“But if I succeed, will she grant me what she has promised?”
“Yes, her aspect requires it. She can break a bargain, but to do so costs her greatly. When I first met her, she looked much younger… Younger, even, than I look now. But then she broke a bargain, and in the span of moments, I saw her wither to the frail old thing you see today. The breaking of the bargain nearly killed her.”
“Defying her aspect made her age?”
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�Yes, so Dydal told us. He says that is the way for all of us, but I do not know the truth of it.”
Loy had never heard of such a thing, but it made sense. Father Order was young and hale, while others in the family looked much older. He’d never understood why that would be. He supposed this reason was as good as any other.
“But…” Loy asked. “But, then, if it nearly killed Fate to break a bargain once, she will not dare to do so with me.”
“Yes, she is not likely to break her deal, but the keeping of it might be worse than failure. When you are finally free of your fating, you may not be the same person that you were. Her tasks can shape you. Mold you. And usually, it is not to your benefit. Her goal is your service, and she will shape you to what she desires.”
“Then what do I do?”
“You complete her task, or you die. There is no in-between. If you lived forever, eventually you would accomplish what she asked, but until then, Fate controls the path your life will take. For me, that fact was maddening. You must spend every moment wondering what each event means, where each event leads.” Quill paused, his lips pursed as if he contemplated an action he feared to take. “Or what quality she wishes to evoke in you.”
“Can I get what she promised without completing her task?”
“I do not see how, she will surely try to keep you from it… but it is possible that she would make a mistake. She can guide you to certain events, but she cannot decide how you will respond.”
“But if my only options are success or death, then I must complete her task whether she wills it or not.”
“And that is why I ask you to set aside your assumptions and your pride. If she knows how you will behave, then she knows how to keep you in her grasp. You must not let her use that against you. That is how you navigate fate.”
“But… but she still seemed kind. Even in her anger toward Just, she still seemed kind to me.”
“Yes, she is convincing.”
“But, you do not believe her?”
Quill shrugged. “I believe that she has wronged me. That she gained my trust, and then abused it for her own purposes. She may be good, she may be evil, she may only want what is best for everyone, but she has done wrong, and I cannot forgive her. I suggest that you do not trust her either.”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 86