“You know, Ivan,” Sybil said offhand. “You are the most learned man I have met since returning home, and while you seem to know much, it all seems to be about your priesthood or my own kind, and yet, much of that knowledge is flawed. I do not mean that as an insult. Please do not take it for one, but I am deeply troubled. For what I now imagine must have been decades, I fantasized about returning here, to my home on that hilltop, and each time, after showing my daughters the city and introducing them to my family, my first pleasure was to be that I would take myself to the auditorium and listen to the newest revolutions in science and mathematics, yet now, the idea terrifies me.”
The steward listened quietly, his gaze on the street ahead of them. When it seemed he would say nothing, she went on.
“I had some hope, you know. When we first entered the city, and I saw that symbolized version of my gasket on all the banners and heraldry, I had some hope. I thought perhaps, maybe that soldier who knew nothing of the world was an anomaly, for look here, they have made this object of recursion and geometry their national symbol, so surely, they must value knowledge over all else… but each man and woman and child that we have met today… they have all discussed but one subject of interest… and it was me. It was their gods. It is the only thing they have spoken of in passion, the only thing they have spoken of as though they truly and wholeheartedly understood it… What happened, Ivan? What happened to your kind?”
Their footsteps continued in silence, the narrow road left open before them as the crowds bustled aside to look and stare. At first, their servility had surprised her – such courtesies had always been common, but it was the look they gave her which troubled her so, that look of wonder and fear. Now, she paid it no mind.
“If doctrine can be believed,” Ivan said, “it is… because you left. Because one morning we woke up to the world, and there were no more gods.”
“But what of the institutions we left behind? What of the university, and the Legion, and the Magistrate? What of the courtesan’s and crafter’s guilds, and all the places of wellness and art and culture?”
Ivan shrugged. “Many still exist, and I do not know, perhaps if you sought them out they would be as you remembered… but think of who it was that led all those institutions? Was it men like me, or gods like you?”
Sybil pursed her lips. It was a valid point. Each of those organizations had been populated by both their kind, but it was godkind who headed them. Just had the Legion and the Magistrate. Mother had the courtesans. Galina had the Mystic’s guild. Walter, Mason, and many of the others headed the crafting guilds. But it was all so… different. There had always been a level of reverence shown to the gods, but it was almost like Galina’s mysticism – like her faith in magical objects and her teachings of need and birthright, had morphed into an oligarchical worship of their kind, and that this worship had bled into and strangled every other facet of life.
She had been avoiding this question, but now it was time to ask. “How long, Ivan?”
He turned to her. “Hmm?”
“How long? How long have the gods been away?”
“Well…” Ivan hummed, “the priesthood was founded roughly four and a half centuries ago, so most scholars estimate about five, perhaps six hundred years since the gods were last seen… I mean, there are some passages which speak of Just ruling Settin for another hundred years after the Fall, but many would consider me rare for believing them to be true.”
The math made little sense, but it didn’t shock her. She had seen Dydal, a mortal man, in the flesh, five hundred years after he should be dead – and that did not make sense at all – but the timeframe fit for all the rest. Could she really have built a functioning ecosystem in less time? Sure, it had been a small one, but she didn’t think it possible to create such intricacy in anything less than two or three hundred years of near daily work, at least not with her capabilities. Mother could perhaps have done more and better, but not Sybil.
“Do you know how?” Sybil asked. “How it all happened, I mean?”
Ivan shook his head. “Doctrine is vague about it. It mentions some minor conflicts between certain gods, such as Butcher, Slayer, and Just, but ultimately, it says only that one day the gods simply returned to the heavens.”
Returned to? Sybil wondered. The conflict between Just and Silt could likely be that night in Mother’s temple, which meant that Silt’s revolution may have spiraled out of control. “But you say that Just ruled in Settin for another hundred years?” Sybil asked.
“Yes,” Ivan nodded. “In fact… I would go as far to say that he still might.”
“Oh?” Sybil’s heart quickened its pulse. “You mean he might still be there?”
“Although most spurn me for believing it, I have always thought so, yes. There are… certain things in the world, and in the priesthood, which do not make sense otherwise. Like the current war in Lock.”
“War?”
“Yes, our Trellish Legion is currently engaged in the East. In Dekahn.”
“And you think Just has something to do with it?”
“And perhaps some others… I had a very strange encounter a few weeks past, with a young woman who demanded to know why the Cleric had sent troops into ‘her’ country. I’m not so interested in world affairs, but there is a… sort of peace treaty in doctrine. It’s a very old thing which many regard as false, but it outlines borders between your brother’s lands in Settin, Dydal’s here in Trellahn, and those of the god Planner.”
“You mean, I might have family in other cities?”
“Yes, it is very possible, though they do not make their existence obvious.”
“I am torn then, Ivan… Having seen the state of things, can I go looking for family when I know I’m needed here in Trel?”
Ivan shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Trel’s been about the same for all my lifetime, and it’s not been so bad. And you are immortal, are you not? Should you leave, the city will still be here when you return.”
Staring ahead, Ivan suddenly stopped. With a wave of his hand, Ivan gestured to the harbor. “On another note, I think we’ve found your daughter.”
Sybil let her gaze follow Ivan’s hand. In the berth ahead – the very first on the pier – was a ship she recognized. She had seen it on several occasions, including the day her youngest sister had left Trel with that woman, Harvest. There, docked at Sailor’s Wharf, was Sailor’s own ship. On deck, Tyrena’s young friend awaited their approach, Tin at her side.
Elated, Sybil rushed toward them, until the small hand she held in her left, tugged her back.
“What about Ivan?” Iri asked.
Sybil turned back, realizing that Ivan had not followed. He stood in the same spot, his arms crossed, and his gaze fixed on Sailor’s ship.
“Are you not coming?” Sybil asked.
Ivan shook his head. “No,” he said. “I think not. Me and that ship have a sordid past. It has ruined my life once already. You go ahead.”
Sybil frowned. She didn’t remember much of Sailor, but she had always seemed like a nice young woman. Many of the other gods, including Tyrena and Galina both, had held the woman in very high esteem. There were even rumors that her husband might be more than he seemed, some going as far as claiming that he was godkind from another family – as if there was such a thing. Either way, Sailor was a welcome sight; the first family Sybil had met after a very long time.
A familiar, though unusual visage, met Kindrel’s stare, but this was not Mystic, this was the other twin, the one Tyrena often described as two-faced and cold. Of course, Kindrel had learned at a very young age to take Mason’s opinions with a grain of salt, but it was a reputation which had built among the entire pantheon, so much so that many had taken to calling Alchemist a spinster. And yet, here she was, with two daughters, both of them named after Galina’s own deceased children, and for a surprise, she seemed sane.
“Thank you,” Sybil said, “for looking after Tin.”
They had left the children on deck and retired to Kindrel’s cabin. Sybil stood by the shelf, examining the keepsakes from Kindrel’s world travels with a cursory eye.
“It is no trouble at all,” Kindrel said. “She is a sweet child.” And it was true. Despite her strange features, the child had been a welcome relief from her worries. Kindrel’s own children and grandchildren were long past that age, and it was welcome to have another young one among them, especially one as excited about being aboard as Tin had been.
Her mother was another matter. It was difficult to know what the woman was like. Five hundred years was a long time, and most of those who had been present at the Fall were different than they had been before it. In the months after Sybil’s disappearance, there had been strange rumors about where she had gone. Some ranging so far as to claim the woman had joined with Silt and his revolutionaries.
Sybil’s gaze turned from the shelf. “I think…” Sybil began, “that perhaps the obvious questions are the best place to start. I realize this is an awkward moment, I imagine you must be skeptical of my sudden return, so I think perhaps we should ask the questions on our minds.”
Kindrel arched a brow. “And what questions are those?” Kindrel asked.
Sybil pursed her lips, stared at the floor, and then paced to the chair across from Kindrel. She did not sit, but placed her hands on the chair’s backrest. Her hands knotted and relaxed against the chair’s padding in a steady rhythm.
“What happened to the world?” Sybil asked. “I am only three days returned… and this world I have returned to is not the one I left. The man I arrived with… he says it has been five hundred years or more, but I have seen Dydal and the math-”
With wide eyes, Kindrel held up her hand. “Wait,” she said. “You have seen Dydal? Are you sure?”
Sybil narrowed her gaze. “Yes, of course I am certain. He knew me by name. For a few minutes, we spoke.”
“Where was this?”
“At the university, where I arrived.”
“Was he wearing his mask?” Kindrel asked. “Please tell me he was.”
“What? No, but I know his face. He has never been so stringent as Mother.”
“That was not Dydal.”
Sybil blinked. “What? Of course it was.”
“No,” Kindrel said calmly. “Trust me, it is not. That madman is an imposter.”
Sybil stepped around the chair and sat. “How can that be?” she asked. “I saw his face.”
“Sybil… Dydal is in Kin’Ken. With your sister Tyrena. I met with them only recently, at Tenfall Island.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes, it was only a few months past, just before I came to Trel.”
Sybil breathed a heavy sigh, her eyes drifting into the distance. “There is that at least,” she said. “At least Tyrena is okay… but if it has been five hundred years… how is it that Dydal still lives? He is mortal.”
“He was mortal,” Kindrel explained. “At least, he was when I was a girl, but he has been godkind since before that night you vanished.”
“That is possible?” Sybil asked.
“Yes, in fact, my husband was mortal once too.”
“How?”
Kindrel paused. “I… think it would be inappropriate for me to share his personal knowledge.”
“Dydal’s or your husband’s?”
“Both, if you don’t mind.”
Again, Sybil blinked, this time with that pair of translucent lenses she and her daughters shared. “Yes, of course,” Sybil said. “How rude of me, it is just… an exciting revelation, and to think it was right under my nose all that time. However… if you say that Dydal is godkind, that quite changes things.”
Kindrel frowned. “Changes things how?”
“Well, then the man could very well be Dydal. You say he is not because you saw him recently, but in that time, he could have used the birthright to skip here.”
“Across an ocean?” Kindrel asked. “Not even you could manage that.”
Sybil lowered her gaze to study her hands. “No, perhaps not… but there are other ways.”
“I’m sure there are,” Kindrel dismissed. “But even if Dydal knew of them, I am still certain that man is not him.”
“How can you be certain?”
Kindrel scoffed. “Well, Dydal is still sane for one.”
“The man did act very strangely…”
“Because that is not Dydal. Fifty years ago, Grandfather – erm – your brother Nikom asked of me a favor-”
Sybil’s face brightened. “Nikom? He still lives as well?”
“Yes, though he is… changed some.”
“Are there others as-” Sybil stopped mid-sentence and blushed, ducking her head in a sign of apology. “Sorry, I should not have interrupted your story. Please continue.”
“That is quite all right,” Kindrel said. “Yes. There are many gods still around. I can tell you of them if you’d like.”
“Please do, but after your story, please. I plan on heading back to my university, and if that man is as dangerous as you seem to believe, it would be nice to know something of him before he returns.” Sybil rolled her hand in a tight circle, motioning for Kindrel to continue. “Please, you were saying that Nikom summoned you.”
The overly polite expressions made Kindrel smile. Alchemist did not at all seem the monster Tyrena portrayed, but it was much like her old friend to exaggerate. She was beginning to miss Mason.
“Well,” Kindrel said, “I had not spoken to my grandfather in nearly double that time, we have somewhat of a strained relationship, but he begged for my aid, so I went to Lendal as he asked.”
“Lendal?” Sybil asked.
“Yes…” Kindrel held up a finger and stood. Crossing to her shelf, she retrieved one of Quill’s charts, returned to the table, and unrolled the parchment. “It is the name he has given the western continent,” Kindrel explained. She pointed to the western continent then moved her finger to the center of the map to highlight Kin’Ken. “This is Lendal here, where Nikom and most of his children reside… And over here is Kin’Ken, where Tyrena and her family reside.”
Sybil’s gaze soaked in the map’s features. “Fascinating,” she said. “I didn’t know there were so many landmasses… Is this a hobby of yours? The map is quite beautiful.”
“Of Quill’s,” Kindrel smiled. To Sybil’s perplexed frown she added, “My husband.”
“Of course. So back to fifty years ago…”
“Right. Your brother summoned me, begging a favor. He needed me to deliver a man from Lendal to Trel, but as I had just come from a visit with Dydal, you can imagine my surprise when I saw that man’s face.”
“The man I met?”
Kindrel nodded. “Now, he never claimed to be Dydal. Instead, the man called himself Lu, but he wore the same clothing, the same gasket medallion, the same ring, the same face. Everything about him was exactly like Dydal, except the name, the mask, and the personality. Had I not known Dydal so well from my travels with him and Harvest, I might have thought the man was him.”
“And you agreed to take him?”
“I did, and once to sea, I confronted him, but his only response was to say, ‘I am not Dydal and Dydal is Not Lu.’ But as we made our way across the ocean, he spent his time pouring over Dydal’s works. The Pantheon, Teachings of a Whore, even some texts I had never heard of. It was as though he were trying to learn everything he could of Dydal, and the why seemed obvious. The very day I left him ashore, here at this pier, he went to your university and became this nation’s ruler, the High Cleric of Trel.”
“But why would he need Dydal’s face to do such things?”
“Because it was Dydal who, in the wake of the pantheon’s fall, founded this nation and its priesthood.”
“But… the steward I arrived with, Ivan, he did not even recognize the man as Dydal. He was shocked when I told him.”
Kindrel shrugged. “Perhaps it was not for the mortals’ benefi
t… There are still other gods here, and in the wake of Silt’s rebellion, Dydal became much respected. He was one of the few who tried to maintain a sense of normalcy and stability after your mother left.”
Sybil’s face emptied. “Mother is gone?”
“Yes…” Kindrel said. “In fact, she left just after you did… When I saw you, I had hoped you were together. She has come back once before, but that visit was far too short.”
“But, she is alive then?”
“Somewhere, I suspect.”
“And what of Galina? And Just?”
“I don’t know,” Kindrel said.
Sybil scowled. “What you say is troubling…” Alchemist said. “But it also brings me hope. You say this man cannot be Dydal… however… would such a ruse truly be outside his character?”
“I think so, yes.”
“But… but he was always like that, was he not? He was ambitious. He turned Mother’s cult on its head to become her consort. Is it not possible he plays some game at our expense?”
Kindrel’s fingers tapped on the tabletop. “Dydal is not a villain,” Kindrel said.
“No,” Sybil said. “No, I’m not suggesting he is, but… he was ever Mother’s favorite suitor. The knowledge she could have given him… It is possible he seeks to do something he cannot explain.”
Kindrel laughed. “Well, you can believe as you like, but I would stay far away from that imposter.”
Sybil’s gaze wandered back to the table. “Yes, that’s probably wise.”
For several moments, they fell into silence. Sybil looked both sad and flustered, and how could she not be? Kindrel had had the misfortune of watching her family’s implosion from afar, but it seemed Sybil hadn’t had even that much.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 95