Age of Myth

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Help us how?” Konniger’s tone was more than skeptical but shy of sarcastic, a low smoldering growl of reluctant tolerance.

  Konniger and Tressa sat in the First and Second Chairs, wearing stone faces. Maeve and Krier stood to either side as was proper for the chieftain’s Shield and the Keeper of Ways. The formality was grating. She was being received like a stranger. Worse even, Persephone smelled cooked meat and baked bread, but the food had been cleared before she entered. Even a stranger would have been invited to dine with them.

  Persephone refused to look at Hegner, who stood in the back. She also avoided Maeve’s and Tressa’s eyes and kept her focus on Konniger. “If other Fhrey come, come to destroy Dahl Rhen, they’ll speak for us. They believe it’s possible to prevent what happened in Dureya and Nadak from occurring here.”

  There were others in the hall, including Riggles, who farmed the fertile southern fields, and Devon, the huntsman who had been Sackett’s close friend. All of them had something in common—she didn’t know them well, and some, like Krier and The Stump, she didn’t like. There were others, too, new faces that clustered in the shadows behind the First Chair.

  Not one of them greeted this news with a smile.

  “Why would they do such a thing?” Konniger asked.

  “Because these Fhrey oppose what the other Fhrey are doing. They disobeyed their leaders and refused to burn Nadak and Dureya, and—”

  “And yet Nadak was burned,” said one of the strangers who stood behind the chairs, a man with a grizzled face and an accusing stare. She didn’t understand where all the hostility came from until she noticed the hammer broach pinned to his shoulder. He was from Nadak.

  “True, but they didn’t do it,” she explained. “They tried to stop it. These nine are renegades. They don’t want to hurt us. They can’t return to Alon Rhist, so they’re looking for a place to shelter. But if the others do come, these Fhrey will speak on our behalf, convince their kind to spare us. Don’t you see that if—”

  “If the Galantians are outlaws, why would anyone listen to them?” Konniger asked. “And since they are criminals, won’t their presence put us in greater danger? Harboring fugitives will prove to Alon Rhist that we’re troublemakers. Allowing these renegades to stay will make matters worse.”

  Persephone clapped her hands against her sides. “If the Fhrey do intend to burn Dahl Rhen to the ground and kill every last man, woman, and child, how could matters get worse? Don’t we stand a better chance with these Galantians as allies?”

  “If is the important word in what you said. What if the Fhrey have already enacted the full extent of their retribution? If they have no plans on attacking us, we’ll give them a reason to change their minds,” Konniger said, a stern look on his face.

  “Our best option is to appease them,” Tressa said. “Maybe if we handed over these outlaws. Could we do that? Could we send word to Alon Rhist and tell them they’re here? Wouldn’t that prove we’re not like Dureya?” Tressa’s eyes widened with excitement. “We could hand over the God Killer, too! I’m sure it would impress them. They would see we aren’t a problem. They might even reward us.”

  “According to Nyphron, the Galantians’ leader, the Fhrey of Alon Rhist have been ordered to eliminate all Rhunes. This goes beyond retribution for one Fhrey’s death. They are bent on killing all of us.”

  “Nyphron?” Konniger stopped her. “So you’re on a first-name basis with this Fhrey?”

  “He told us his name, yes.”

  “He told you is what you mean,” Tressa said. “Why hasn’t this Nyphron presented himself to Konniger? Why hasn’t he come before the chieftain?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re expecting someone from the lodge to come out to speak with them.”

  “And I’m wondering why these outlaws are so willing to help us. Why would they go against their own kind?” Tressa asked. “What’s in it for them?”

  “I’m not sure. Which is why you should go talk to them.” Persephone was getting frustrated now. “I would think you would want to find out such things.”

  “And I think you can’t help butting in. You can’t accept it’s me, and not you, sitting in the Second Chair. You forget who rules Dahl Rhen now.” Tressa’s face had turned red.

  “Tressa,” Persephone said in a quiet voice. “People who lead don’t need to remind others who the leader is. All I want is for you to do your duty.”

  “All you want from me! How dare you stand there and demand—”

  Konniger patted his wife’s hand, apparently trying to calm her. “I think there is a bigger point being overlooked.” He gazed sternly at Persephone. “Up until a few days ago, everything was fine. Now two of the dahl’s most capable hunters are dead and we have been overrun by not only the famed God Killer but a contingent of Fhrey warriors whom you invited in against my orders. The whole thing seems a bit too convenient for my taste.”

  The others in the lodge were nodding and exchanging knowing looks. Something was going on—had been going on—since before she had entered. While she talked, the men scowled. Persephone had expected to find relief or appreciation; although she could have understood finding concern, worry, or fear. Instead, she saw agreement on the faces of the men gathered in the Great Hall.

  What has Hegner been saying about me?

  “You don’t think I see what you’re doing?” Konniger accused. “If you wanted to rule, you should have made a proper challenge like Holliman did. Oh, but you couldn’t, could you? You didn’t have anyone here strong enough to act as your champion. So you had to plot and wait while you maneuvered outsiders. Now you have your own personal army of Fhrey.”

  “Konniger, you’ve known me since you were a boy and protected me and my family for a decade. You know me. You can’t possibly believe I’d kill or arrange for others to kill Adler and Sackett. You’re jumping to conclusions. I know you’re in a difficult position, and it’s Hegner’s word against mine. But look at the sources. I’m a respected chieftain’s widow who helped lead this clan through the Great Famine and the Long Winter, whereas Hegner’s claim to fame was when he stole Wedon’s prized calf. Who deserves your trust?”

  “I didn’t steal no calf!” Hegner shouted.

  “You’ve also said you didn’t take a jug of Bergin’s beer, but you were caught with it.”

  “Yeah, well, okay. I took the beer, but I didn’t steal no calf.”

  “There,” Persephone said. “This is who you are listening to? Do you really think I’ve been having secret meetings in the forest? You know damn well I haven’t set foot in the forest in all the years you’ve guarded me and my family. And except that one time, I haven’t left Sarah’s house since Reglan’s death. I was gone for one day…just one. As for the Fhrey, they aren’t my personal anything. But if they were, why would I come here and try to convince you to step up and go see them? The only reason I’ve talked to Nyphron at all is because no one else was.”

  “So what did you tell this Nyphron?” Konniger asked, folding his arms over his chest.

  “I told him he had permission to speak on behalf of Dahl Rhen if more Fhrey arrive.”

  This brought a wide smile to Tressa’s face and made Konniger’s head nod along with the rest. They all seemed pleased, with the exception of Hegner, who slunk back into the shadows.

  “You didn’t think you should ask your chieftain before making alliances?” Krier asked. Until then he had leaned against a winter post, but at that moment he took a step toward her.

  Krier was an ugly man who’d first come to Persephone’s attention for beating Gifford. The bully often taunted and threw rotten vegetables at the potter. The matter had come before Reglan, and Krier defended himself by saying the cripple had attacked him with his crutch, but witnesses said Gifford had simply fallen on Krier after tripping. Gifford is cursed by the gods. Having him around invites bad luck, Krier often said. Although no one was ever accused, someone had tried to set fire to Gifford’s house, and it was no s
ecret whom most suspected.

  Tope, who was no friend of Krier, straightened up and spit in his direction.

  “You have a problem, Tope?” Krier asked.

  “Yeah,” Tope replied. “You’re too far away.”

  Persephone put a hand on the farmer’s sleeve, trying to calm him. Then said to Konniger, “Would you have said differently? Would you have refused their help and tried to keep them out of Dahl Rhen?”

  “That’s not the point,” Tressa nearly shouted, and slammed her hand down on the arm of the chair. “You had no right! Reglan is dead, dead and buried. You aren’t in charge anymore!”

  “Enough!” Konniger raised his hands. “I’m the chieftain of this clan, and I need time to figure this out. One thing I do know, the Galantians represent a threat. Maybe they are in league with Persephone, or maybe their kind will attack us because we are providing shelter. Either way, we would be safer if they weren’t here. So this is my decree…” He looked directly at her. “Persephone, you’ll go out there and tell the Fhrey you had no authority to speak on behalf of Clan Rhen. Then, you’ll inform them we don’t want their help and tell them to leave. As for this matter between you and Hegner, I’ll decide that later when I can address it properly.”

  Persephone looked at Delwin and Tope. The two stood rigid, their eyes shifting nervously.

  “You have a problem with that?” Konniger asked.

  Persephone nodded. “Yes, yes, I do. I did what I thought was best to save this dahl. It was not my intention to challenge your authority but rather to encourage you to exercise it. You’re the great chieftain—so act like it. If you want the Fhrey to leave, you go out there and tell them yourself, and I’ll go back to living off the kindness of friends. Maybe I’ll start knitting a shawl. I think I’ll need one come winter…if you haven’t killed us all before then, that is.”

  Persephone turned and walked away so abruptly that Delwin and Tope were momentarily left behind.

  As she left, she heard Tressa say, “See, what did I tell you?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Bones

  Suri had a wolf named Minna. They were the best of friends and roamed the forest together. She had tattoos, was always filthy, afraid of nothing, and could do magic. From the first time I met her, I wanted to be Suri…I still do.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  The bones were excellent…for a chicken.

  Suri would have preferred a crow or, better yet, a raven. Gods frequently chose them to be messengers and spirits often inhabited their bodies. Not that Suri would dare kill one to get at its bones. The divine rarely appreciated the murder of a faithful servant. And of course there was always the risk of actually wringing the neck of a spirit in bird form, and that was just a bad day for everyone involved. The chicken bones would work even if the connection through the veil was hazy and intermittent. At least she wouldn’t fear offending anyone. No god, goddess, or spirit would ever inhabit or employ a chicken.

  Suri planned to call on Mari. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but Mari, the goddess of wisdom, was the patron of Persephone’s home, and so Suri figured Mari would be the best overall choice. Suri was outside the palisade on the western side of the dahl, the highest point she could find. Minna lay quietly on the hill a few feet away, giving her space. The wolf was considerate that way. The mystic built her little fire and waited for the sun to descend. It was best to begin a reading at dusk, when the doors between the worlds were open the widest. They wouldn’t remain open long. While waiting, she divided the bones into groups. Those taken from the right side of the chicken referred to the “us,” the ones on whose behalf she performed the reading. Bones from the left represented the “others,” those in opposition.

  As the sun dipped behind the distant trees, Suri dropped the two sets of bones into the flames. She waited as the black line of forest trees swallowed up the giant orange ball. She didn’t count or use any physical measurements. Suri was an instinctive augur. She performed her rituals by feel. Tura had taught Suri everything the old mystic had known, but she admitted no one could teach interpretation. You were either born with the talent or not.

  Suri had the gift.

  Tura had spotted it right away. The old mystic told Suri how she had called songbirds as a toddler. After placing the child in a clearing of daisies, violets, and bluebells, Tura would hide in the nearby forest eaves. Before long, Suri would be surrounded by a flock of birds—a multicolored gathering of unrelated songsters: goldfinches, red-winged blackbirds, blue jays, magpies, yellow- and black-throated warblers, bay wrens, robins, mockingbirds, and song sparrows. Suri would sit among them, delighting in their symphony. Gathering birds wasn’t her only talent; she also talked to fire spirits, knew when it would rain, and could predict the arrival of the first hard frost. Suri had the gift, but Tura gave her the tools to use it.

  As the sky shifted hue from orange to purple, Suri felt the moment and doused the fire. Fire spirits hated water. All the children of the fire god, Outha, did. This one was no different, and it hissed at her.

  “Sorry,” she told it, and wished she knew its name. She wasn’t even certain all spirits had names. The most important ones did. Wogan, the spirit of the Crescent Forest, for example, and Fribble-bibble the spirit of the High Stream, whose name she loved saying. The little fire spirits were like the rock and breeze spirits, too many to keep track of. She wondered if Elan bothered to name them all.

  Gathering the bones, Suri laid them on a woven mat and began looking for the fire-born cracks and tiny holes. The way Tura had explained it, searching for truth in bones was a lot like guessing a person’s intent from the tone of his or her voice. In this case, it would be the voice of Mari, and the language was that of the divine. As such, much was left to interpretation. Still, Suri had a knack for divination that wasn’t restricted to just reading bones.

  Tura had marveled at Suri’s ability to find her way in the forest. Initially, the older mystic attributed this skill to an excellent memory, but tossed that idea aside when Suri demonstrated the ability to find places she hadn’t been to before. After more than fifty years in the Crescent, Tura had discovered two of the underground rooms—the ones Malcolm had called Dherg rols. Suri found the other three in a week.

  But communing with fire spirits is where Suri excelled the most. By the age of eight, her game of talking to fires and making the flames dance and change color had grown into something more. While watching Tura struggle to light kindling by spinning a stick with a bow, Suri ignited her own pile of wood with a few words.

  “How did you do that?” Tura had asked.

  Suri shrugged. “I asked a fire spirit to come, and it did. Isn’t that right?”

  Tura nodded, but Suri had seen the confusion in the old woman’s face along with apprehension and maybe even a little fear. Tura began talking about malkins after that and mentioned how Suri might have come from the land of crimbals.

  Suri stared at the bones, reading them as best she could in the fading light. That was always a problem with sunset readings. Such things needed the light of day to decipher, and it faded so fast. As the sun set and the night took hold of the world, Suri read a number of things. They weren’t the answers she was looking for, nothing about the men and why they had attacked, but what she saw was even more important.

  Suri finished studying the patterns on the right leg. The holes were close together and near the top, indicating the forecast would be impending rather than concerning some distant future. Looking at the cracks, she saw there were two lines, which suggested two separate tales.

  First and foremost, the chicken was flooded with bad omens in the same overwhelming manner that Suri had seen just before coming to Persephone. Little had changed on that score. Looking deeper, searching for specifics, she saw that all the bones agreed that the full moon would be the time of reckoning—the pivotal moment. The bones didn’t say how because the bones didn’t know, most likely because she was reading a
chicken. They only showed a convergence of powers that, depending on the outcome, would change the world. Three of the bones told of a terrible danger to both the “us” and the “them.” One of the bones fascinated Suri because it suggested that a great secret was hidden in the forest and guarded by a bear. That bone also said this secret would play a significant role in the conflict to come. But it was the last bone that shocked her more than any other. The largest and clearest, only its tip had been marred by the fire. This bone declared that a monster was coming to Dahl Rhen to kill them all.

  Suri cursed the fading light as she stared at the cracks and smudges. She would have guessed the monster referred to the Fhrey, but no. The marks indicated a single creature rather than a host of enemies. And the markings were so clear that Suri knew the monster’s name. More came after that but was lost to charring. It didn’t matter; Suri had all the hints she needed.

  “Grin,” she said aloud.

  A moment later, a bear roared in the distance, startling a flock of dark birds. They flew away toward the setting sun—toward the west.

  Minna’s head came up, her eyes peering at the forest.

  She whispered to Minna, “That’s not good.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Into the West

  So many of our words originally came from either the Dherg or the Fhrey. The Fhrey word for “primitive” being Rhune, it became their word for humans. Rhulyn then means “Land of Rhune.” Avrlyn means “Land of Green.” And dahl was the Fhrey word for “wall.” The suffix -ydd, in Fhrey, translates to “new.” Which is why on the map I have named this region Rhenydd.