by Curtis, Greg
They wanted their babies to see him? Harl didn't understand that. But then lately there was a lot he didn't understand. Like the fact that the furies could speak. When had that happened? And could other chimera speak?
“To see me? Why?”
“Harl serve Nemesis. Have Lyssa inside. Free Artemis' servant and craft her bow. Kill Circle wizards. And kill demon king too. Harl great man.”
Had he done all those things? Harl wasn't so sure he had. It all seemed like a dream somehow. And those things he had done, they hadn't really been him. They had been the actions of those who were using him. He had been nothing more than a vessel for them. Not that he was complaining. Not if Nyma and the baby were alive. Besides, how did the fury know any of that?
“I don't really feel that great.”
“You don't look it either!” Maynard wasn't about to let a chance for a slight like that to pass him by. He never did.
“You Maynard?” One of the furies turned to the cat.
“I am.”
“Then Nemesis says tell you it all work. Wizard now carry first child. Baby called Gorgon.”
“Yes!”
Maynard almost yelled it to the world as if it was some sort of victory. But Harl couldn't work out what sort of victory it might be. Nor what wizard they were even talking about. Nor why Nemesis would be sending him messages. He asked the cat.
“Later boy. I'll tell you later over a good evening meal. For now these good ladies have come I think to beg a favour of you. They would like for their babies to be blessed.”
“Blessed? But I'm not a priest!”
Nor if he had been one would he surely have wanted to bless fury babies. Who would? Even though they seemed peaceful and the babies were strange.
“They don't want a priest. They follow Nemesis. They want you to bless their babies, in your name. Now be quick about it boy. They have homes to go to and the babies need warmth and rest. They can't wait around all day for you.”
“Um, all right?”
Harl wasn't at all sure it was really. In fact it seemed stupid and at the same time a little improper. Still, he didn't want to upset three furies when he had no armour and only a soldier's sword he'd picked up off the ground. So he stepped forward a little bit until he was close enough to see the three babies in their proud mothers' arms, and then tried to think of some words.
“I Harl of the Elder Fire Forge wish you three babies good lives, and good homes in your mothers' arms. I wish you to have lives of happiness, love and pride. And for you all to be blessed in life as you deserve.” It sounded stupid as the words came out of his mouth, and he felt like a fool for saying them. But it seemed to satisfy the furies and they all thanked him profusely.
And then they left them, walking off slowly and somewhat awkwardly into the heart of the city, while he stood there and watched them go. And all the time as he watched them go all he could only think that life seemed to be becoming stranger by the day.
“Come on boy! The wagon's packed and we have a long way to go. And I'd like to leave this city of ghosts before they start to come calling!”
The cat was right he thought, and Harl swiftly joined him on the wagon. But even as he was flicking the reins to start the pony moving, Maynard was falling asleep again. And just when he had questions for him too!. Maynard might be a wizard, but it seemed he was a cat too. Still, Harl thought, at least it would make for a quiet journey.
Chapter Seventy One
Inel Ison. Another realm to start a new life in. Harl was tired of starting new lives. He was tired of moving. Of running and hiding. And while this land didn't seem any different to the Regency which they'd just passed through, he supposed it was at least a realm where he could finally settle in. If the dryads allowed him to. He wasn't completely sure that they would. But he figured that he had a chance. He was an arcane smith. He had skills to offer. And he had helped with the war. Even if they didn't know everything he'd done and he could never tell them, they would still know something of him. That he had crafted weapons and armour for the High Priestess. Surely that should count a little in his favour?
And then there was Nyma. She would speak for him. Wherever she was. All he knew was what Maynard had told him, which in turn he claimed was what the gods had told him. That they would meet her along the way.
“You know the tree mothers are going to sing at us constantly. And then there'll be the endless history lessons. Negotiations about where you can set up your new smithy. Discussions about the wares you can make. And there'll be no coin to speak of. No respect. No titles. I keep telling you we should have gone west. The satyrs are much more fun.”
Maynard didn't seem to think much of the realm or the dryads. But then the cat wizard didn't seem to think much of anywhere or anything. And as he lay curled up on a pile of clothing in the back and continued to grumble, Harl kept thinking it would be good to leave him behind. But how did you leave a wizard of dimension behind when he could simply cast himself back in the wagon? Or through a locked door so he could eat your dinner?
“But at least here I can set up a new smithy. One I won't have to leave again.”
“Better than the last one I hope.”
Maynard hadn't thought much of Harl's old smithy in Lion's Crest. But then there hadn't been a lot left of it. The wares had all been taken long ago. The building had been broken down, and a lot of it burnt out. But at least the tools he had worked with and most of the casts had been intact and were now sitting safely in the back of the cart along with piles of clothing and anything else he thought might be useful. They would make it easier to start up a new smithy. If he was permitted to.
That seemed uncertain. He knew little about dryads, mostly gossip and speculation. But he gathered they were opposed to the idea of private businesses. Everything was based around the village, and so the village assembly decided who set up what shops and where and what they produced. And there would be meetings about everything. As the sages said, nothing was easy among the dryads, and nothing was quick. Still, it didn't matter.
“A good smithy and a good home. Nyma's here after all. Somewhere.”
“I know, but that doesn't mean you have to stay here. You can move on and bring the Tree Mother with you. She's with your child after all, and I'm sure she'll be happy to go with you. There are other lands. You're a wizard boy. Your craft is your life. And you need to grow it. It's your duty. I mean, maybe there are some things you can't craft any more, but what you can craft is surely going to be beyond that which any other arcane smith in the world could. To just stay here and make horse shoes and such would be a waste.”
“Not if I have a family.”
And that was the one thing he understood. The one thing that Maynard didn't. It was probably also part of the reason why the gods had decided he should remain a cat. Being a wizard had to be about more than just your craft. Maybe that was also why Terellion had had such an easy time of turning the Circle against the people. The Circle wizards hadn't understood the importance of family. They'd turned their backs on their families long before for the most part. Community hadn't even been a thought. So it hadn't been difficult for the wizard to twist them to the point where the only thing that had mattered in their lives was their magic.
“Oh by the gods! It's like talking to a child.” Maynard sounded unimpressed. “You could have chosen so much more, and yet instead you choose a woman.”
“I know,” Harl told the cat as they travelled a little further into Inel Ison. “I could have chosen a more glorious path. With the knowledge given me, the gods surely feared that I had learned at least a couple of the six great answers. And that as a simple wizard. Maybe I could even have ascended in time.”
It had taken him a while to realise that. To understand that the magic now flowing through his veins and the knowledge flowing through his thoughts was beyond what any mere arcane smith should have. But in time he had figured it out. Just as he had figured out that it was a poor path to choose. It was a
round the time he had finally found the family home in Lion's Crest, and started to search for his family's bodies. There were none of course. Sometime in the past five years they had been cleared away. No doubt the stench of rotting flesh from the tens of thousands of corpses would have upset the wizards.
It was a terrible thing, having no one to bury. But not finding his family's bodies had also taught him something. Something far more important than magic or power, or even godhood. Because in not finding them he had finally realised that they were gone, far beyond his ever having hope of finding out what had happened to them. That he would never see them again. And that loss was enough to tell him that they had been far more important than any magic could ever be. It was just a pity that so few others among his kind had learned that lesson.
“You know? Then why didn't you?” Maynard stared at him from the seat beside him, looking almost confused. If a cat could ever really look that.
“Because I had already chosen the greatest path.”
“Apollo save me!” The cat raised his head to the sky as he beseeched the God of Knowledge. “Now the boy thinks he's a sage!”
Harl would have responded but as they took a bend around a small copse of trees he suddenly saw a woman standing there on the trail in front of them. A woman he instantly recognised.
“Nyma!” Harl pulled the pony to a halt, jumped down and ran to her, overwhelmed with emotion. So many emotions. And yet when he held her in his arms, there was only one. Love. Nothing of the rest of the world mattered. Only her, and their baby. The gods had said she would be waiting for him and finally she was.
After that the words came tumbling out. All his pain and fear as he'd thought he'd lost her. And of course her confusion as she tried to make sense of what had happened. After all, as far as she knew one moment she had been in a battle with some harpies, then some time later she was standing on a road as he drew up in a wagon, and feeling as though she'd been asleep and just woken up. Maybe that was a good description of what had actually happened? He didn't know. And he wasn't sure if he was allowed to tell her anyway. What he was allowed to tell her though was that the war was over, the Circle was gone, many weeks had passed, and that he was moving to Inel Ison.
But then came the awkward questions.
“Where's your hair? Your armour? Your sword?”
Of course she asked. For her the war was still on despite what he'd told her, and he was wearing the simple clothes of a smith. Leggings and a vest and long jacket. The things he'd managed to pull out of the remains of his old smithy. The clothes he'd worn many years before while working the pit. And strangely clothes that were actually clean. That was unusual for him.
“The armour's probably back in Whitebrook. Maybe someone can bring it to me in time, though I think the smithy might have burnt down. And my hair will grow back.”
“And your precious sword?”
She wasn't going to be distracted by half an answer and he should never have imagined she would be. So he took a deep breath and decided to tell her the truth. After all, she already knew some of it. And surely the gods hadn't meant him to hide the truth from her?
“Rusting away in Tartarus with the remains of Xin's putrid heart wrapped around it.”
She stared at him for a bit after that, trying to work out if he was jesting or if he was crazed, and found no answer he guessed. And while she stood there he just held her tightly and promised her that it was all going to be all right. In time he even managed to walk her back to the wagon and persuaded her to take a seat. She would have done that too, until she spotted Maynard curled up on a pile of clothing behind the bench.
“You brought the cat with you?” She sounded incredulous, but at least it seemed she'd forgotten the worst of her shock.
“It wasn't a choice for him or me. The gods it seem have a cruel sense of humour. But wherever the fool boy goes it seems I am destined to follow. Even to this primitive realm.”
“Oh sweet Mother, the cat talks!” Nyma seemed shocked. But more than that, annoyed. Harl was beginning to suspect she didn't like cats. She was going to like this one even less shortly he suspected.
“Of course I talk fool girl.” Maynard snapped at her. “What do you think I am – some sort of mute?!”
“Beautiful, may I introduce you to Maynard the Irrepressible.” Harl butted in and tried to make an introduction in the hope that it would make things easier. But there had never really been any hope of that.
“Maynard the wizard?” Her eyes suddenly widened until they were the size of eggs. “But he's dead!” Then she thought about what she'd just said and paled a little. Maynard wasn't the only one of them who'd died.
“Yes, and I'm afraid it gets worse. He saved my life and now he's coming to live with us.” It was probably best to get the bad news out of the way quickly Harl thought. Like ripping the bandage off a healing wound, quickly rather than slowly. Of course he had forgotten that other ears were listening.
“What do you mean worse boy? You mean better. Hello, Master of summoning and dimension here! Trained in all the arcane arts. Knowledgeable beyond nearly everyone else. And when that bump is born and will no doubt grow up to be some sort of wizard, who better could you hope for to teach him or her of his gift? You should be thanking me for offering to come and live with you!”
“Thanking you?” Nyma stared at the orange fur ball in disbelief.
“You're welcome. Just think of me as a kindly uncle with four legs and a fur coat. And of course a useful spell or two just in case.”
Somehow Harl didn't think that that was how Nyma was going to think of him. In fact he suspected she was already thinking of him as a form of target practice for her bow.
“The cat saved your life?” She looked up suddenly to stare doubtfully at Harl and he could understand that. There were days he still didn't quite believe it himself.
“And it wasn't easy either. The boy is as slow as a nymph. But simply put. You died, he went mad, made another deal – this time with Lyssa, donned the armour of the gods, killed the last six Circle wizards, then went to Tartarus and killed Xin and died. I pulled him out of there, brought him to the meadow and he made another deal with the gods to bring you back.”
Nyma stood there staring at the cat for a bit after that, her mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. Then she turned to him. “Is that true? Any of it?”
“I'm not allowed to talk about it.” Harl didn't want to say it because it sounded like the ravings of a mad man. But apparently Maynard was permitted. That didn't seem fair to him.
“Of course it's true girl! Would you call one of the most powerful wizards alive a liar? Would you dare? Or would you like to find out what it's like to live with nits for the rest of your life?”
“Harl?” She turned to him, a worried look in her eyes.
“I wouldn't worry too much love. His spells are a bit off. When we were leaving Lion's Crest he said he'd summon a horse.” Harl gestured at the pit pony to show her what he meant. It was a good, honest animal, but it wasn't a horse.
“You don't deserve a horse!” Maynard grumbled at him. He was good at grumbling.
“The flea trap? He really is Maynard?”
“I think so? Maybe?” Truthfully Harl didn't actually know for certain. The cat sounded genuine but he'd never actually met Maynard before, only seen him from a distance, and the tale he'd told him was incredible. But on the other hand so was everything else that had happened. And he was a talking cat who had pulled him out of the demon realm. “Dina would know.”
But that was another question to worry about in time. Dina, what could she be told? Or for that matter Nyma's own sister? Harl had no idea what either of them knew. But he was certain that he wasn't supposed to be adding to their knowledge.
But in any case he didn't really care about that just then. He cared only about the way Nyma felt in his arms. And about the way her beautiful round belly pressed into him. And about how much he wanted to just lay her d
own then and there and have his way with her. If only there hadn't been a cat watching!
“Come on beautiful. We have to get you home.” Harl helped her on to the wagon and then did his best to make her comfortable on the wooden bench, arranging the blankets and cushions. “Your family will be beside themselves with grief. After all, you've been dead for over a month. It would be best to spare them as much of that pain as we can.”
“Dead?” She stared at him, the word stirring up uncomfortable memories.
“As far as they know. As far as anyone knows. As I knew.”
“No, the cat said I was actually dead.” Nyma wasn't going to let the word pass unanswered. And truthfully he didn't really have an answer for her. Just a guess.
“Maybe not dead but not alive either. Somewhere in the middle, held there almost like sleeping.” But Harl didn't know. He didn't even know if he'd been dead. When it came down to it there was a lot he simply didn't understand. And that in truth he'd rather forget.