Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One

by Justan Henner

  “Ivan!”

  The steward’s rocking faltered, annoyance and an odd look of hopelessness melding in his features.

  “Ivan, you will rue the day I enter your bedroom!”

  The steward’s face twitched, his unhappy grin parting to down the contents of his glass. “Do not go anywhere, Miss Cavahl,” the steward warned, and then he stood and shuffled out by the steepled alcove through which the voice echoed. He left the door open behind him.

  The moment the priest’s robes vanished from sight, Bell turned his glare on the merchant, accosting her with a hurried whisper. “What are you doing here, Trin?”

  “Drunk,” Miss Cavahl said. She looked both defiant and ashamed, her hands knotted in her lap, her back straight, but her gaze averted.

  “In the Cleric’s library?” Bell demanded.

  “Yup.”

  “Why?”

  “Got lost.”

  “Bullshit, Trin. What are you doing here?”

  Her gaze turned on him, the defiance which upturned her chin, burning in her eyes. “Proving you wrong.”

  “About what?” Bell asked, his mouth gaping.

  For a moment, it did not seem the merchant would answer, she simply glared at him, and then she unfolded her hands and held out a crumpled parchment.

  “What is this?” Bell asked.

  Just had the same question. The handwriting was foreign, the text but a copy of the original book, but Just knew the words on the page. They belonged to Dydal.

  “Proof,” the merchant said.

  “Proof of what?”

  “Would you just read it and shut up?”

  The legionnaire’s gaze dropped to the page. As he read, Just followed along with him:

  But before the girl is alone, there are others. And there are enemies. Fate and Death. Death and Fate. Two sisters of a sordid sort, linked not by blood, but still invariably. From creation to extinction. The fools had it wrong. It was not Life and Death that must be forever wed. It was Fate and Death. From the moment Fate met Death as a child, she and Death were two forces opposed and intertwined, one dependent upon the other, each the other’s foil: Only Death can end one’s fate, and only Fate can combat Death.

  And Death’s story is so close to the girl’s. It is Thought who finds her, Life that chose her, but Fate that binds her. Death is young, too young to know what she is, but the Reader has read the girl’s fate, and knows her future. She is to bring Death into the world.

  And so she does.

  Had Thought been wiser, he would have stopped it, for Fate is to design as the divination of stars is to science. He sees the path the Fatereader has set her on, sees the type of Death Fate has devised. And he does nothing. He knows that Death must be tempered, that Death must be compassionate, that Death must be humble, but the woman Fate shepherds is none of those things. She has created a plague. A force that kills not for stability, but for its own sake.

  And yet, despite the similarities between them, it is with Death the girl must contend…

  The page ended there. As the legionnaire looked up, glaring at Merchant Cavahl with the confused, condescending smirk that comes only with ignorance, Just’s body tensed.

  “Oh, Trin,” Bell said. “Not this again.”

  “What do you mean, not this again?” She yanked the page from his hand and pointed at it. “You agreed to help me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but I told you about that book so that you could read it, not so you could destroy it. Besides, if you really wanted that passage, you could have just had me make a copy.”

  “I had to see it myself,” the merchant said. “And I’m glad I did. Look, it says it right here… ‘From the moment Fate met Death as a child’… and here again, ‘She is to bring Death into the world,’ that’s exactly what the old witch told me. Don’t you get it, Bell? This proves everything.”

  “It proves nothing.”

  “It proves there is a god Fate. It proves that I met her.”

  “The first maybe… but-”

  “I showed you the tale from Just’s Fables. It’s the same names and the same situation. It calls her Fatereader, Bell. Don’t you get it? I’m this little girl. It means that she was Fate and that I’m… that I’m Death.”

  The legionnaire was quiet for a long moment as his eyes studied her. “That’s nonsense, Trin… Teachings of a Whore is archaic. Most of the gods mentioned aren’t even gods. It is metaphorical. There is no Fate and there is no Death.”

  “Of course not, you damned idiot, because Teachings of a Whore isn’t a history, it is a prophecy. It’s talking about me, about my childhood. And there is a Fate. Just’s own records attest to that.”

  “Simply because the Settish claim the Fables were written by Just doesn’t mean they were. And Teachings of a Whore… it’s just an old book, you’re reading too much into it.”

  “‘She is to bring Death into the world,’” the merchant quoted. “‘And so she does.’ That witch – the god – is using me, Bell. It proves everything I’ve told you. About my meeting with the Tyrant of Ternobahl, and all that happened afterward, about-”

  “Miss Cavahl.”

  The merchant fell silent. The steward had returned, swaying in the doorway as if he could barely stand, a cowed look on his face.

  “The Cleric will see you now.”

  The merchant didn’t waste a second. She sped out of the room, not meeting the glare that followed her.

  “Bell.”

  The legionnaire’s gaze fell on the steward.

  “You can go now, Legionnaire. The Cleric has decided on a light penance, and that penance does not include you.”

  The rest of the memory was uninteresting. The legionnaire left, he went home, he fell asleep, and the next morning, Miss Cavahl had been sent on her way to Lock to retrieve the original text.

  Falling back into his own mind, and his own body, Just gaped at the heckler.

  “So now you know,” the heckler said. “Now you’ve seen the truth of it.”

  Just stared at Cyleste’s lifeless form.

  “The merchant knew all along,” Just said. “She destroyed the book on purpose… to cover her theft. It was never Mother that guided her steps…”

  “Yes,” the heckler agreed. “All along, Trin Cavahl has been guided by Fate and it is her fate to bring Death back into the world.”

  “But all her talk of prophecy… She is not correct. Teachings of a Whore speaks of my mother’s childhood. It speaks of the previous god of Death… of the woman I killed.”

  “Does that matter?” the heckler asked. “You know what it means to be fated… You know what that means for our future. We have reached the precipice… Soon it will happen, and despite all your efforts, there is nothing you can do to stop Death from returning.”

  A chill ran through Just’s flesh. “But… no, it cannot be. Is this… is this why you hound me? Is this the reason you have kept your liking for Trin Cavahl a secret?” He could not control his anger. “Because you knew what she was!”

  “I knew,” the creature admitted.

  “Is this the reason you pester me?” Just repeated. “To keep me from realizing what the merchant is? Is that why you ceased holding your tongue? Because you want a god of Death?”

  “In part, but mostly not. I do not want a god of Death, I but realize that it is needed… Yet, that is not the reason for my actions. I have distracted you to prevent you from making the mistake that I know you will. I have distracted you to prevent you from the realization you have likely already discerned…”

  Just paused and licked the roof of his mouth. “That to prevent Death from reentering the world, I must kill this merchant.”

  “Yes.”

  “But… if you do not want a god of Death, then why try to stop me?”

  “Because, my friend, it is already too late. You know as well as I what it means to be fated… Her destiny is to bring Death into the world, and so she will.”

  “That is not true. H
er death will stop her fate. If I kill her, we will be spared.”

  “No, Just. That is not guaranteed.”

  “But if she is meant to be Death-”

  “But what if she is not meant for it?” the heckler shouted. “Yes, you have seen it plain, she is fated to bring the god back into existence, but does that mean that it will be her? Does it mean that she will be Death, or does it mean that she has simply set the events into motion? Look at every life that she has touched… Wilt, Null, Bell and Taehrn… Trask and his boy, your brother. Even yourself! Every one of them has come into contact with the merchant. Every one of them has been influenced in some way by her mere presence. And most important, every one of them is someone you have already suspected as your mother’s pawn, someone you have already questioned as to whether they might be the one to become Death… Don’t you see it? No matter what you do, no matter what action you take now, there are a thousand lives this woman has touched, and any one of them might be the person she was meant to influence!”

  The heckler’s breathing slowed. Its words calmed. “Justice… my friend… you have already lost.”

  “No,” Just said. “No, that is not true. It is not too late until it is over.”

  “And how do you intend to make it ‘over?’ Will you kill every one of them?”

  “If I have to!”

  “But she has touched a thousand lives! You have seen the signs in these few… but what of those which have gone beneath your notice? What of the million lives which have come into the mere proximity of her? What words have passed from her lips, and eventually reached the ears of a million souls? This fating is vague. It is bleak. You cannot kill them all.”

  “But I have to try,” Just said. “I cannot allow Death to return.”

  “You will end a million lives? You will kill them all?” The heckler laughed. “Do you not see that this is the reason I am here? Do you not see what you will become if you do as you claim?”

  “Do not put such vile thoughts to my words. I will stop it at the source. I will stop it at the merchant.”

  “By killing her? Do you not see what will happen if you do that? Think, Just. What if that is the trigger which the fating has required all along? What will your aspect become if you kill this innocent woman? If you kill this woman who is nothing but a victim of her fate? Will you still be Justice? Or will your actions make you into the very thing you have spent millennia fighting against! I pity you!”

  “Pity?” Just bristled. “I don’t want your pity, villain! I do not want your advice. You may be right. I may be too late, but if there is any hope in stopping this, there is only one thing I can do, there is only one hope we have left, and I do not need you telling me that it is wrong, simply because it serves your needs!”

  The heckler shook his head, the cloud-like shadows swirling over the smooth face. “My needs? Oh, you dumb fool. It is nothing but your own false assumptions that leads you to see in me the villain you so desire. I wish to help you, and could you only see the reality instead of the delusion you so dearly cling to, you and I could be friends, aligned to a common goal and common purpose, as we once were! Can you not see anything beyond yourself?” And the way the creature said those words, it was pity.

  If not for Cyleste’s death, Just would be on his feet, trying his best to strangle the man though he had failed in every previous attempt. Tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for futile gestures. Instead, he fell back on his argument.

  “I can see that if I do not act, then Death will be reborn,” Just said. “I do not relish what I must do, fool, but if it means sparing this world from that… that creature, then I shall do so, and I shall do so gladly!”

  “And were you glad when you killed Entaras?” the heckler screamed. “Did you enjoy, that?”

  “I-” Just halted. Was the thing correct? Was he making the same mistake he had made then? Oh… Entaras, you poor, poor boy.

  For several moments, there was total silence, and then the heckler scoffed. “I almost wish you had answered me,” it said. “I almost wish you had been able to voice pleasure in the boy’s death… At least then, I would be justified in hating you.”

  Just had nothing to say to the creature. The statement baffled him.

  The shadows faltered. The silence stretched.

  “You see it, do you not?” the heckler finally said. “One day, we will still need you… But this creature here, this thing which uses violence and pain and the threat of force to see justice done, this thing willing to murder an innocent woman in order to slow the inevitable… he is not you, he is not Justice, and eventually you shall realize that.”

  The shadows crumpled, formless without the ghost to hold them. Like smoke, they drifted down and out, dispersing until they rejoined the objects which had cast them.

  Just’s mouth felt dry. Anger pooled in the sweat upon his palms. Rage swelled in his breast. If the thing had remained, Just would have found a way to kill it. He would have found a way to silence the thing forever. He knew that his heckler was right. Just knew that in condemning the merchant to die, that he was repeating a past mistake…

  And yet, that did not matter. More than all these other details, he knew what he had to do. He had to stop Death from returning. He had to stop Fate from regaining her despot.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  The rot couldn’t be beaten. Despite all Trin’s precautions, their tents had begun falling apart within a matter of days. They were a week into the Fields, and at their current pace not even halfway through their journey, but already they had lost fifty-odd tents. To make things worse, their grain wasn’t holding up. It spoiled faster than they could use it with their lone still and Acklin wasn’t here to make them another. She and Gin had met all their orders so far, but that wouldn’t last if they had to spend another two weeks here.

  Trin clicked her jaw as she ran the numbers. Two more weeks and they were like to lose one or two hundred more tents. Maybe more. Whatever damage the rot did, it wouldn’t fix itself once they left. Even if they weren’t reduced to a mushy fabric like some of the others, those tents which survived would leave the rot with splitting seams and tattered threads.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it. In her determination to beat the rot as quartermaster, she had overlooked the real threat… that it wasn’t her grain supply alone that was dwindling. Whatever magic held the Fields, was just as bad as a harsh winter in Gable. Rumor was their food was nearing depletion. Even if the tents lasted that long, their food supply wouldn’t make it the two weeks.

  Trin had asked about their supply trains, but no one seemed to know anything about how they would be resupplied other than statements like, “That’s the Grand’s business.”

  Trin’s curse was winning.

  “Trouble, Miss Cavahl?” Taehrn’s voice was as smarmy as ever. She wished she could slap the blooding bitch, but that was probably a jail-able offense, if not worse, and she didn’t have enough time as it was to spend it in the stocks.

  “Eat shit,” Trin said.

  And there’s the problem right there, Trin thought as her gaze wandered to the rising plume of dust on the horizon. We’ve got one hope for resupply and it all rests on this butchering bastard.

  Truly, she had no reason to worry. Taehrn was a born manipulator – Just look what he’s done to Jem. Most like, he’d have an easy time convincing the New Luddahner’s to spare some supplies, after all, the Legion had plenty to trade… except the Legion was a foreign army, and Luddahn part of Lock. This parley could go very badly and she feared what might happen if the Luddahners refused. Their town wasn’t large, or well defended, and it wouldn’t be outside the realm of her curse to damn them all.

  Speaking of Jem… Trin let her gaze wander to the boy. Something was different about him, about both him and Taehrn. Instead of being at the blooder’s side, Jem had spent most the week alone in their tent. Since they’d left Derlin, it was like Jem had regressed back to his old brooding self.

  Well…
to be fair, he never did give up the brooding completely, but at least you could talk to him. Now however, he had become quiet again, and that worried her. He didn’t seem happy, and she knew it was Taehrn’s fault. He and Jem were so damned awkward around each other that it was like one of them had professed his love and been rebuked.

  Trin chuckled. Now there’s a thought that would stick in Lila’s craw. Gods, even if it’s not true, I might write a letter that says so and send it to her anyway…

  Dear Sister, I’m writing to inform you that your beloved husband has decided to leave you. No, not for the beautiful Drennish legionnaire with rank, money, prestige, and a powerful family that has secretly loved him since childhood, but for a skinny young lad, barely more than an orphaned child really, who has nothing. No money. No priestly relations. Looks? Eh. Not so much. I mean, maybe if you’re into that sort of thing, but really, I’d rather have Bell myself, at least he’s got some charm to him. Don’t think of this as losing a husband, think of it as your little baby bastard gaining a second daddy. Lovingly yours – no. No. Gleefully yours, your loving sister Trin.

  But not even the humor of the imagined scenario could liven Trin’s mood. Jem was regressing… he was reverting back to his old, mopey self, and gods, it felt as though she were losing on every front. She couldn’t beat the rot, she couldn’t help Jem, couldn’t stop the Grand from taking Bell off to war… In every way, it felt as though Fate were winning and the solution on the page nagged at her.

  Trin’s attention was recalled by the clearing of a throat. “Miss Cavahl,” Taehrn said, “would you like to dismount now?”