Age of Myth

by Michael J. Sullivan

  On the left side of the path leading to the lodge, two braziers flanked a stone statue of a god. The sculpture stood only three feet tall and had vaguely human features dominated by large breasts and wide hips. Dureyans had their own gods, the Mynogan, who were actually three gods—the gods of war. Dahl Rhen’s god looked friendlier.

  There were more people there than Raithe had ever seen gathered in one place. As many as a hundred walked the pathways, worked the well, or tended gardens. Most were women and children. One of the few men he saw was a potter, a cripple who sat huddled over an odd spinning table, shaping wet clay.

  A cripple? Raithe pondered this. How wealthy is this place that it can afford to feed a cripple?

  His answer was visible in the healthy faces of those around him. In Dureya, those who survived the winter looked like skeletons. These men and women were downright pudgy. Well dressed, too. Done up in neatly tailored tunics, thick woolen leigh mors, and breckon mors large enough for double folds. Most of the clothes were dyed or patterned in one fashion or another, and Raithe felt embarrassed for his crude leather and thin checkered cloth. His shame was compounded by all the stares greeting them.

  Raithe had expected looks. Everywhere he and Malcolm went there had been stares, but these were more pronounced. The people of Dahl Rhen dropped gourds filled with water and bundles of wood. One stared so hard that he walked into a fence post and nearly fell. Those working on roofs climbed down, and those swinging mattocks in the garden stopped. Everyone watched in shock as if the members of his group each had three heads and a tail. What surprised Raithe was that they weren’t restricting their attention to Malcolm and himself. As Persephone led them up the gravel path toward the lodge, people stared at her most of all. And there were whispers, lots of whispers, her name muttered more than once.

  They were nearly to the lodge’s steps when a woman called from a roundhouse’s doorway. “Seph!” She frantically motioned them closer. “Where have you been?”

  Persephone gestured toward the woman. “Raithe, Malcolm, Suri, this is Sarah. The one I told you about. She’s one of Rhen’s best weavers. Her husband, Delwin, is—”

  Sarah grabbed hold of Persephone’s wrist and pulled her inside. The men and Suri followed. The roundhouse’s wall was covered in paintings, and the room was filled with rich wool. A spinning wheel and a large loom dominated the space. Inside were two more people: a young woman working a spinning wheel and a girl beside her, carding wool. Both stopped their work the moment the group entered.

  “What really happened? I don’t believe it, any of it, not for a second.” Sarah wrung her hands as if strangling an invisible chicken.

  “What are you talking about?” Persephone asked. “Sarah, what’s wrong?”

  Sarah, whose braided hair framed a kind but troubled face, glanced nervously at Raithe and Malcolm. She took hold of Persephone’s hands. “Hegner has accused you of murdering Sackett and Adler.”

  “What?” Persephone’s voice registered somewhere between a yell and a scream. “Hegner? Hegner is here! I thought he had run off.”

  “He said you tried to kill him, too,” Sarah said. With another glance at Raithe and Malcolm she added, “And that you had help.”

  Persephone seemed too dumbfounded to speak. She stared at each of them in shock.

  “Why in the name of the Grand Mother of All couldn’t you have killed The Stump, too?” the woman working the spinning wheel asked.

  Long, black hair wreathed a face of high cheeks, a sensual mouth, and a delicate nose, all of which paled in comparison with her eyes—big, dark, deep, and intense. To look into them was to peer over the edge of a sheer drop. The woman wore a simple, thin dress, but draped over her curves, it came alive. Dureyan women were valued for strong backs rather than their looks, and even the most beautiful of them never looked this way. In legends, women like her would either lure men into disaster or raise them to fame. The dilemma for the would-be hero was determining which.

  “Konniger is making me marry that cretin,” she announced, and scowled.

  “Moya, please!” Sarah snapped.

  Outside the open doorway, people gathered. They spoke quietly to one another and pointed to the group inside Sarah’s roundhouse.

  Persephone finally regained her composure. “I didn’t kill anyone. Hegner attacked me! All three of them did.”

  “That’s not the story he’s telling.”

  “What possible reason would I have to—? I need to get this cleared up.” Persephone turned and walked out.

  Raithe followed the others out even though he was as uncomfortable in crowds as he had been in the forest. Too many people were like too many trees. In Dureya, villages consisted of only a few families. But here, nearly two hundred people now gathered in front of the steps and more were spilling out of roundhouses.

  All of them had the same rosy-cheeked, well-fed faces. Faces without pockmarks or the deep lines cut by blistering winds. Also missing were the scars, broken teeth, and severed fingers that a life of warfare bestowed. And not one carried a weapon. Instead, they held hollow gourds, chisels, and mallets. One fellow carried a basket of eggs.

  Raithe expected Persephone to confront those just outside Sarah’s house, but instead she pushed through them and marched down the broad pathway past the well and on up the steps of the lodge. At the top, she stopped, pivoted, and faced the people of the dahl.

  She waited for a moment while the crowd gathered. Then in a loud voice she said, “Yesterday, Sackett, Adler, and Hegner tried to kill me in the forest.” She paused, probably for the full weight of the statement to settle in. “They chased me up a cascade, and Sackett and Adler both died when they slipped and fell on rocks. I don’t know why they attacked me. They didn’t—”

  “That’s not how Hegner tells it.” A stocky man stepped through the lodge’s doorway behind Persephone. He wore the silver torc of leadership.

  Raithe’s first thought was that the man’s beard was short for a leader, and he disliked the chieftain’s eyes. They didn’t seem even, the left one being slightly higher than the right. The only visible scar was a recent one, still pink and healing—hardly the mark of an experienced warrior. Walon, Dureya’s chieftain, had a beard down to his chest, few teeth, and a face like beaten copper. That was the mark of experience, the sign of a survivor. The Rhen chieftain did have one thing no one in Dureya had. He carried an ax.

  At the sight of it, Raithe pushed to the foot of the steps. This wasn’t his clan, and this man wasn’t his chieftain. Raithe didn’t have a stake, other than a promised meal, in whatever dispute was about to start, but he had come to like Persephone. Undecided only a day before, he knew if there was a fight he’d back her.

  Persephone turned to face her chieftain. “Then Hegner’s a liar, Konniger.”

  “Is he? If Sackett, Adler, and Hegner sought to kill you, why aren’t you dead?” Konniger folded his arms and glared. “Do you expect anyone to believe two experienced hunters slipped and fell? Are you saying you had nothing to do with their deaths?”

  Persephone opened her mouth to speak.

  “Hegner!” Konniger called to the darkened interior of the lodge. “You were there—you’re the one she’s accusing—tell everyone what you witnessed.”

  The one-handed man appeared from the shadows and stepped onto the porch. “We were out hunting and found her on the cascades with those two fellas there.” He pointed with his good hand at Raithe and Malcolm.

  Eyes shifted toward them, and those closest inched away, which was fine by Raithe.

  “We thought Persephone needed help. Him being Dureyan and all. Could have been in trouble. She must not have seen us yet because she kissed the big one.”

  A woman sporting a circlet of flowers over braided hair also emerged from the lodge. She stood to the side and slightly behind Konniger. Hearing Hegner’s words, she began shaking her head while looking at Persephone. “Reglan isn’t dead a month and you’re already carrying on with another m
an. Or were you seeing this lover before our chieftain died? Were you stealing away into the forest while your husband was out avenging your son?”

  “You lousy, lying cul!” Moya burst out, and pushed forward. She might have reached the steps if Sarah and a few others hadn’t caught her.

  “Watch your mouth,” Konniger snapped.

  “Outbursts like that are why we ordered your marriage,” said the woman with the circlet, whom Raithe concluded was the Second Chair, Konniger’s wife. “You’re a wild animal, Moya. Hegner will beat some respect into you.”

  Moya thrashed but was held back.

  “Go on, Hegner,” Konniger said.

  “Yeah, well, like I was saying, they were kissing, but we still wanted to check things out. She certainly looked willing, had her arms around him and stuff, but you never know. He might have been forcing himself on her. We climbed the cascade, and when Persephone saw us, she told them we couldn’t be allowed back to the dahl. She said it would ruin everything if people found out. That’s when these two attacked. The big one has a sword, two in fact. And we didn’t stand a chance. He killed Sackett and Adler. Woulda killed me, too, if I hadn’t run.”

  “Why are you saying these things?” Persephone asked Hegner. She didn’t seem angry. If anything she sounded hurt, but most of all her tone and the shake of her head expressed bewilderment. “You know none of that is true.”

  The crowd had expanded out beyond the well and the stone god. Most of Clan Rhen filled the broad pathway leading from the lodge steps to the front gate, where they stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the crushed gravel. A few kids were out near the closest roundhouses, standing up on roughly cut benches near fire pits to try to see over the heads of their parents. The crowd murmured as people talked among themselves.

  Konniger raised his hands to quiet them. “It’s your turn, Persephone. What motive do you put forth, for I can see no reason why three of our most distinguished men would attack you without provocation.”

  Persephone shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that out since it happened. But these three were with me, and they can testify as witnesses on my behalf.”

  It was Konniger’s turn to shake his head. “It’s reasonable to assume they’ll take your side. We would need someone impartial. Was there anyone else?”

  Persephone clenched her fists. “No. But can’t the same be said of Hegner? Who are his impartial witnesses?”

  The chieftain stroked his beard. “You make a good point. But two men are dead; that fact isn’t in dispute. I find it difficult to accept that two experienced hunters would merely fall to their deaths.” He focused on Raithe. “And Dureyans are well known for their murderous ways.”

  Raithe shoved the two people in front of him aside and climbed the steps to stand before Hegner. “He called me a murderer.” The words rolled out in a growl. “In Dureya, an accuser will defend their claims in battle. I imagine this custom holds true in all dahls.” He glanced at Konniger. “I demand that he take it back, and his lies against this woman, or we’ll let the gods decide the truth. We can settle this matter right now.” He let his hand rest on the handle of the sword.

  “You challenge a one-handed man?” the wife said. “How like a Dureyan.”

  “What does that matter?” He pointed at Hegner. “If he tells the truth, the gods will award him victory even if he had no hands and just his vile mouth. Or don’t you believe in the gods?” With a disdainful shake of his head, he added, “So like a southerner.”

  “You are violent, disrespectful, and no doubt a liar,” the wife declared, shaking her head. “Don’t you see how you’re proving Hegner’s point? You don’t think we can see what is really going on?” She lifted her voice to the crowd. “What more proof is needed? The killer who helped Persephone is a Dureyan!”

  “The gods will tell the truth of it,” Raithe barked, and moved toward Hegner.

  Konniger stepped between Raithe and the one-handed man. The angry murmur of the crowd rose.

  Raithe had hoped to get a meal, a decent night’s sleep, and maybe some food for the road. Instead, he found himself accused of murder and facing off with a dahl chieftain on the steps of their lodge in front of a herd of pampered villagers. Perhaps Shegon wasn’t a god, but he sure must have been favored by them. Since he had killed the Fhrey, Raithe’s life had been cursed. His only consolation was that it couldn’t get any worse.

  Then the horn sounded. It blew once, twice, then three times.

  Everyone’s attention turned toward the far end of the broad pathway, as men scrambled to seal the gate with a thick wooden beam.

  From the wall came the shout, “The gods are here!”

  —

  Persephone watched as fear ripped through those gathered. All eyes turned to their chieftain, but Konniger didn’t inspire confidence. He stared at the gate and swallowed hard.

  “Turning at the crossroad!” Cobb shouted from his perch on the wall beside the gate. “Definitely coming this way.”

  “What do we do?” Bergin the Brewer asked. He twisted the dirty towel in his hands.

  Even Tressa looked to her husband expectantly, but Konniger didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  “How many are there?” Persephone shouted across the dahl.

  “Nine,” Cobb yelled back. “Well, there’s seven gods and two…other things.”

  “What do we do?” Tressa whispered to her husband.

  The chieftain ran a hand over his mouth. He looked left and then right, breathing heavily.

  “Konniger, you need to go out there,” Persephone said. “Meet them on the road before they reach the dahl. Talk to them. I’ll come with you to translate.”

  Konniger looked at her then. She expected anger, a seething glare; maybe he would hit her now. Persephone would have preferred a slap to what he gave, a terrified bewildered expression.

  He thinks we’re already dead.

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Konniger shook his head. “That would be suicide. Our walls are thick and our gate strong. We’ll be safe here.”

  Persephone searched the crowd and found Malcolm. She came down from the steps and grabbed him by the arm. “Will the walls hold them?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “Your walls are made of wood. Even stone would only slow them down.”

  Persephone looked out at the faces. Mothers took the hands of children, their heads turning back and forth between the gate and Konniger. Husbands held their wives close, and tears formed in the eyes of many as hope faded. They all began to understand that their chieftain wouldn’t save them.

  There are things beyond the control of men, and the will of the gods is one of them.

  “They’re at the grazing line,” Cobb shouted, his voice starting to shake.

  Persephone turned away from Malcolm and focused on Raithe. He stood on the steps, one hand still on his sword. He was big, his shoulders broad, his face stern.

  God Killer.

  “Everyone!” she shouted, climbing back up the steps. “Listen to me. This is Raithe of Dureya. The God Killer!” She looked at him, trying to determine their chances in his expression. He was definitely angry, maybe even furious, but she saw no fear.

  “Cobb says there’s nine of them. How many did you fight last time?” Persephone asked Raithe.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Thirteen,” Brin said. “According to the stories, he faced Shegon and twelve of his men. After he defeated the leader, all the others fled.”

  “Fewer this time. Can you do it again?” Persephone asked.

  Raithe exchanged a hard look with Malcolm. “There’s a big difference between that story and what really happened.”

  “Perhaps, but if they plan on repeating what happened at Dureya, then you’ll die with us,” she said.

  “You’re sure the gate won’t hold them?” Raithe asked Malcolm.

  “No more than a garden fence.”

  “So there really isn’t a choice, is there?” Raithe sighe
d in resignation. “Tell them to open the gate.”

  “No!” Konniger came to life. “You can’t let them in!”

  “Didn’t you listen?” Gifford said, hopping forward and leaning on the crutch Roan had made. “They’ll smash the gate.” He looked at Malcolm with his squinted eye. “Maybe being gods they might just tell it to walk away and up it will go.”

  “We have the God Killer,” Brin said. A smile bloomed across her face. Hers was the only one. “They’ll probably run when they find out he’s here.”

  “Brin, for the love of Mari, be quiet,” Sarah pleaded with her daughter.

  Raithe started down the steps. The crowd parted to grant him a path.

  “Open the gate!” Persephone shouted, and then returned to Malcolm’s side. “He can do this, right?”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  “They’re gods!” Konniger shouted. “Men can’t fight gods!”

  Along with everyone else, Persephone watched the God Killer walk alone down the pathway. “You better hope you’re wrong.”

  —

  Raithe kept his eyes focused on the gate.

  The worst that can happen is you’ll die. A favorite saying of his father’s. He’d heard it countless times. During the Long Winter, when his mother became creative with their meals, even she had used it. Try it. The worst that can happen is you’ll die. For a Dureyan living on a plain of burning rock and freezing snow, death wasn’t feared. Might even be a step up, his father also used to say. Everyone died anyway, and in Dureya most died young.

  Raithe didn’t fear death, but he had hoped to marry someday and become a better parent than his father. He wouldn’t spend his life off fighting, leaving his family to fend for themselves.

  Coming so close to Dahl Rhen had been stupid. He could have veered around it and been miles away if only he’d stayed in the forest’s eaves and pushed south as planned. Staying with Malcolm had been an even bigger lapse of judgment. He could have, should have, abandoned him at the roadhouse. Traveling would have been faster with a child in tow. But getting involved with Persephone was his worst mistake of all.