The Shattered Goddess

by Darrell Schweitzer

  Someone bumped into him.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  He turned to face a man he did not know, but whose manner showed him to be no prisoner. Even in the state he was in, and loathing the act of speaking, the boy knew what words were required of him if he were to survive.

  “How... fortunate we all are that these traitors were caught. Before they could do any more harm, I mean.”

  The man smiled. “By the way, who is the lady of the grove?”

  Ginna gaped at him, speechless.

  The other chuckled and went away, not waiting for an answer.

  The stakes were placed in the holes and the earth around the base of each made firm. The victims hung there, bleeding slowly, upside down. It must have taken an hour to get them all in place.

  The Guardian spoke again.

  “See what happens to those who hate their lord!”

  Now the soldiers began dipping hides and sheets into a pot of pitch some of them had fetched. These they wrapped around the legs of their victims. They moved from stake to stake with ladders. This also took about an hour.

  It was definitely well into the evening now. The sun was setting somewhere beyond the clouds, where the world was still unsullied. The sky overhead was black.

  Torches were lit, but not just for illumination. As he realized what was about to take place, there was a sense of dissociation, as if he had fallen into utter madness and none of this were happening in the real world at all. The Goddess herself, even in death, would not allow it.

  And yet a soldier ran from stake to stake with a torch, igniting the pitch. The silence of the condemned was broken. They screamed like mindless, agonized animals. They writhed and tore at their bonds. Some yanked their extremities off the nails in great gouts of blood, but the chains held them. Columns of black, dirty smoke rose into the night sky. The air was thick with the smell of burning pitch and flesh. There was nothing to be heard but the screaming. All the trumpet blasts, all the drums, all the earthquakes in the world’s history could not have drowned it out.

  The ultimate horror was that the victims would not die quickly. The flames burned upward, away from their vital parts. They would suffer for hours or even days before death came to them.

  It was like Kaemen’s feast, only worse. People fell to their knees and covered their eyes. They reeled back. They raved at the impossibility of it all. Screams from the spectators joined the others.

  Something in the minds of Ginna and Amaedig snapped simultaneously. Holding one another by the hand, they pushed their way through the dazed crowd and ran to one of the yard’s two gates. Soldiers stood before it, spears crossed. Their minds working as one, they turned to the right, to where a tree grew against a wall. Without hesitation they let go of one another and made for it. They began to climb, heedless of anyone else. If a thousand archers had drawn bow against them, they would have climbed on. They stumbled onto the top of the wall, ignoring the glass and iron points which tore at their feet. Half jumping, half tripping, completely unaware of what was below, they went over.

  The ghost of Tharanodeth, the magic of Hadel, or some other benevolence must have been looking out for them. There were countless places where one could fall to certain death, but here, ten feet below, was a slanting tile roof of a building of the lower city, leaning against the wall of the upper for support

  Sliding and tumbling, the boy and girl slid to the edge in an avalanche of tiles and fell again. Something ripped the right leg of Ginna’s trousers all the way up the thigh. There was a sharp pain. He was caught and flipped over head downward. Thus delayed for half a second, he was not the first one to plunge through the thin wooden roof below. It was Amaedig, buttocks first. He followed her, arms outstretched to break his fall.

  * * * *

  He came up spitting out wheat. They were in a granary. For a moment, neither seemed able to move. Then they fumbled about for a door. Amaedig found it and the two of them tumbled out in a shower of grain onto a threshing floor.

  “Well,” said Ginna. “I guess we have decided to leave. We can’t get back into the palace now.”

  “They’d kill us for sure. Your leg—are you hurt?”

  He was bleeding, but slowly, from a slash which ran from his knee almost to his waist. Near the hip the wound seemed deeper, so he tore a strip from his ruined trousers and tied it over that spot. When he stood up, the leg was reluctant to support him. It was painful to put weight on it.

  “We have to get out of here,” she said. “We can’t stay.” They opened a door into the street outside. First looking up to see if anyone was looking down over the wall, they hurried away as fast as they could, glancing from side to side in breathless dread. Ginna leaned on Amaedig’s shoulder and hobbled along. His injured leg was bare. Both of them wore the brightly dyed clothing of the palace, which alone was enough to make them conspicuous. She had lost a slipper.

  Fortunately what few streets they passed through were deserted or nearly so. No one challenged them. Those few folk they passed huddled in dark comers and doorways and paid them no heed. Either because of the emergency, or simply out of fear at being in such proximity to the inner city and the death-gluttonous beast within, the common people shunned this district.

  But they could not go far. Once they were sure there was no immediate pursuit, shelter was the obvious goal. The houses leaned over the unlit streets until the roofs almost touched overhead. Ginna and Amaedig could scarcely see where they stepped.

  Pain and fatigue were taking their toll of him. For the last few yards, she was almost dragging him.

  She pushed aside a board and slipped into an opening, pulling him in after her.

  “In here.”

  “A powerful, foul stench rushed over him.

  “What is this place? It smells.”

  “Shut up. If it smells that bad, maybe no one will look for us here.”

  They lay there that night, quietly, in the close, filthy air.

  CHAPTER 7

  Journeys

  Hours passed slowly. Ginna and Amaedig slept fitfully. Every time he dozed off, Ginna would see the burning victims and remember, or perhaps slightly imagine the face of The Guardian as he leaned in his lofty chair, watching the spectacle with intense delight The screams would rise and rise like a storm in the desert, like an endless deluge, like the thunder of a never ending avalanche, and the boy would awaken into the foul, stuffy room. He hoped he hadn’t cried aloud in his sleep. Sometimes, when he woke, Amaedig was awake. Sometimes not. Once he put his hand in hers and held her tightly.

  After a long period of wakefulness there came a new terror. There was a stirring farther inside the building. Someone was coming. He heard footsteps, a mumbling voice, a latch being lifted. There was no time, no chance to escape. He lay there breathless, eyes wide in the darkness.

  Suddenly light shone through cracks between boards. A door opened, swinging inward. A fat man with a curled beard entered, lantern in hand. The light reflected off his balding head. He put the lantern down on the floor, pulled up his nightgown above his waist, and began to urinate into a pit dug in the dirt floor. Now Ginna knew what gave the place its distinctive character.

  When he was done he picked up the lantern, turned, and stopped. Ginna froze, hoping against all reason that he hadn’t been spotted.

  “You have to be crazy to sleep in the shit house.”

  Ginna stumbled to his feet “Please sir, you must help us...”

  Amaedig was standing beside him. She elbowed him in the ribs. He lost his balance and fell against the outer wall.

  “What he means to say is that you must help us if you know what’s good for you.” She spoke as authoritatively as she could. “We are on a secret mission for The Guardian himself.”

  Ginna could see the man’s face only dimly, but he was sure there was a flash of hatred on it, which gave way, also only for an instant, to fear before becoming an expressionless mask.

  “Surely,” the man sai
d, “the Holy Lord Kaemen, all blessings be upon him, provides better quarters for his agents than—”

  “Idiot,” said Amaedig, “there are only two things you must understand. First, the mission is a secret. Second, certain traitors have made it difficult for us. If you are not one of them, you will do what we ask.”

  Ginna limped forward and held out his right hand, on which he wore Tharanodeth’s ring.

  “It has The Guardian’s seal on it. Look.”

  The men held his lantern close and squinted.

  “So it is. A thousand pardons for my rudeness, Lord and Lady, but I didn’t know—”

  “Never mind that,” snapped Amaedig. “Show us out of here.”

  They were led through a creaking, unlit corridor, into a wide room. Ginna’s feet hurt so badly he was afraid he’d faint. It was only then that he remembered the glass on the top of the wall.

  They were motioned to be seated on a bench. The man disappeared up a flight of stairs, taking the lantern with him.

  Amaedig let out a deep sigh. “I hope he believed me.”

  Her voice cracked with fear. “What else could I do?”

  “I was too afraid to do anything.”

  “Well, once I got going, I kept on. Like the way we fell. We couldn’t stop once we started.”

  “Are your feet cut?”

  “Yes. Quiet! Here he comes again.”

  The man returned, accompanied by a round-faced, middle-aged woman who also wore a nightgown. Both of them moved about the room, checking that the shutters were all tight, and then the man took two candles out of a drawer, lit them from his lantern, and set them on a table near the bench.

  “That’s a nasty cut you have there, young sir,” said the woman, once there was enough light to see by. “Here, let me get you something for it” She opened a cupboard and took out a jar. Ginna watched apprehensively as she smeared a sticky substance over his leg. But as she did, the pain in it subsided.

  “Please, my feet too.”

  She fetched a bowl of water, washed the mud off his feet, put salve on the wounds, and bandaged them. The man did the same for Amaedig.

  “We’ll do anything we can for you,” the man said, “us being loyal subjects and all.”

  “Bring us common clothing,” said Amaedig, “and bags to carry provisions, and provisions to carry in them. Everything we need for a long journey. Include a jar of that medicine. And a good knife for each of us.”

  Both the man and his wife paused.

  “Don’t worry! You’ll be amply paid when we’re done!”

  “Yes, good mistress and master,” the man said. “My name is Pandolay Marzad, by the way, and this is my wife Tuella. I am a metal smith by trade, and I—”

  “Never mind that. Get on with it.”

  So the two of them hurried off to gather what was needed.

  “Artisans,” whispered Amaedig when they were gone.

  “We’re in luck. If they’d been of a higher caste, they might not be in such awe of someone from the palace. If he’d been the captain of the lower city watch—”

  “Won’t they report us?”

  “Maybe later, when they think about it. But they’re too afraid now. We’ll be gone by then.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere. Out of the city.”

  Pandolay Marzad and Tuella returned.

  “Our son is away,” said the smith. “He is larger than either of you, but some of the clothes he has outgrown might fit.”

  So Ginna and Amaedig both dressed in male attire, which struck him as just as well, since any search party would be looking for a boy and a girl instead of two boys. They wore the brown, loose-fitting trousers of the common folk, a bit baggier than usual for being the wrong size, somewhat soiled grey tunics, white cloaks and hoods, and high leather boots. Each was given a sack which hung at the waist by a strap, in which were dried meats, fruit, and bread. Each received a full water bottle and a long, heavy knife in a sheath of reptile hide. Tuella gave Ginna the jar of salve.

  As he changed, Ginna tore another strip from his ruined trousers, replaced the bandage on his leg, and gave the garment to the woman.

  “Burn it when we’re gone,” he said. He handed it to her with his right hand, making sure she saw Tharanodeth’s ring, hoping that like her husband she would not be expert enough, or the light would not be good enough, for her to tell it was the token of the previous ruler, not the present one.

  By this time birds were singing under the eaves on the eastern side of the house, heralding dawn. Faint, grey light showed between the shutters. Far away, on the wall of the inner city, a soldier blew a blast on an immense bronze horn which hung suspended on a chain.

  Pandolay and Tuella served them a meager breakfast, then saw them to the door.

  “Thank you very much,” Ginna said. “We’re grateful for what you’ve—”

  Amaedig stepped on his foot very deliberately.

  “You have done your duty,” she said.

  “We hope we have, honored sir and madam,” said the smith. He looked at Ginna oddly, but when the girl’s eyes met his, his face was a mask again.

  “You have to act the part of their superior,” she said as soon as they were out of earshot.

  “But now—”

  “Yes, now we look like ordinary people, and must act ordinary. But then we were emissaries from The Guardian and had to be convincing. Ginna, I grew up inside too, but I think I know a little more about the world than you do, so just follow my example. All right?”

  “All right. What do we do now?”

  “Lose ourselves in the side streets. I’m not sure if those two really believed us. They may be running for the soldiers even now.”

  They walked through a series of narrow alleys, passing beggars still asleep in doorways. People were stirring in some of the shops. A yawning boy crossed their path, two buckets of water hanging from a yoke on his shoulders.

  The city was awakening.

  Ginna looked up and saw the golden dome against the dull, slowly lightening sky. He remembered how it had looked that time he and Tharanodeth had gazed upon it from the outside just at dawn, and how different things had been in those days. The old man had talked of plots and factions and intrigues, but nothing touched Ginna. There was no immediate danger. Now enemies were everywhere. Peril lurked behind every closed door and shutter. It was as if he had drifted from a pleasant, secure dream of distant memory into a nightmare of shrieking terror, thence into the waking world which was scarcely better. Hadel had described breaking out of a trance as escaping from one prison inside another inside another. It was like that. Which one were they in now?

  In time, as the streets filled with traffic and the shopkeepers unfurled their canopies, Ginna realized that Amaedig did not know her way around as well as she thought she did. And she admitted it. She had, once or twice, been into the lower city on various errands in the company of serving women, but the corners and lanes were all alike to her.

  “It looks a lot easier when you’re up on the walls,” she said. “You think you can just walk straight to the Sunrise Gate because you can see it. But there’s a maze in between.”

  They dared not ask directions, lest they draw attention to themselves. Ginna noticed something he had not previously been aware of. The folk of the lower city had their own secret language. There were occasional words he did not understand, but he had listened to the common people from the walls before, so there were only a few. But he wasn’t prepared for the gestures. The various castes, merchants, artisans, news-criers, beggars, and the like had a whole vocabulary of signs they made between one another and among themselves, just like the nobility did, only the gestures were different. This was yet another reason for not approaching anyone. Although they had never been anywhere else, they were strangers in Ai Hanlo.

  Once they did confront a company of soldiers marching in strict formation, spears pointed upward, and they scrambled to get out of the way, both trying not to
betray themselves in their fear, but in this they were like everyone else. All the people were afraid of the soldiers and hid their faces from them, only to speak in contemptuous tones when they passed.

  “Butchers!” hissed an old woman, pointing to the ground, then crossing her fingers. “Unnatural sons of dogs!”

  “They had a feast in the palace yesterday,” said another. “A real roast.”

  “The Powers preserve us,” said the first, making another sign.

  “What good will that do? The Powers are on the side of the monster.”

  Ginna and Amaedig hurried away. Ginna had no doubt who “the monster” was. How had Kaemen shown his true nature in the lower city for all the world to see? He didn’t pause to find out.

  They wandered through the city for much of the day. They drank from a public fountain, conserving what water they had in their bottles. When they came to a street of food vendors, it occurred to them that the smith and his wife may have equipped them for a journey, but still they had no money. It was time they got on with their journey.

  At last they came to a large open area filled with people and booths. Beyond it was one of the four immense gates of the city, hanging open on its huge hinges, guarded by a dozen soldiers in unadorned helmets and breastplates and armed with spears. Most of them were leaning on their spears, looking bored. In the middle of the open space a hundred or more people were securing burdens on the backs of camels and pack horses, while three men in tall, conical hats raced back and forth on katas, shouting orders.

  Ginna watched them with fascination. It was the first time he had ever seen anyone riding one of the creatures, except for stable hands breaking them in. They almost danced with fluid grace. He noted how people kept well clear of the spiked tails.

  This is our chance,” whispered Amaedig. “We’ll join the caravan.”

  When the man in the red hat waved to the other two, who wore blue, and one of them clanged a pair of cymbals, the camels lurched to their feet and the caravan began moving through the gate. The leader leaned down from his kata and handed a small purse to one of the guards, who waved the company on. Ginna and Amaedig made their way to the edge of the crowd and joined the procession, walking on either side of a heavily loaded horse, steadying its cargo as many other attendants did. No one seemed to notice them. They stared straight ahead as they passed the guards, neither letting out a breath until they were through. Then they looked over the tied bundles and chests, exchanging reassuring glances.