Comet Fall (Wine of the Gods)

by Pam Uphoff

  "Ah!" she chirped brightly. "A volunteer. Drink this."

  She dribbled wine into his mouth, then threw a shield around him, and closed it down tight. Held it while he gasped for breath, until his eyes rolled up. She dissolved the shield, and carefully poured a few drips into his mouth, and as he stirred, a few more.

  Then she recorked the bottle and set it aside. "Hmm, you know, you're a bit grubby yourself."

  He rolled over and grabbed for her. She dodged, and jumped back into the fountain. He followed, grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She could feel his hard manhood through his clothes and chuckled. "First a bath, darling!" She started to unbutton his shirt, but he tore it off, and fumbled with his belt, ripped his pants in his haste. Through the hand on her arm she sucked power out of him, and he collapsed in the water, feebly raised his head so he could breath.

  "Much better." She soaped him all over, fed him a bit more wine and then a bit of power to get him out of the fountain. She set her feet on the pavement of the entry and felt the power flow into her, and when her reservoirs were full, channeled it into him. Hard and fast. She used him, and then she drained him. Hastily channeled a chaotic crunch of power as he died.

  She stood there and enjoyed the afterglow for a long while. Then she stretched and walked around the body. Turned her back on it and studied the door. She knew a few unlocking spells. Now that she was full of energy, she could try them. She'd need to meditate, maybe light some candles. And she had no idea what the phase of the Moon was. She touched the golden latch and it twisted under her fingers and the door swung open.

  She pushed it further open, then recoiled as something moved. Low down, an animal. A large animal. She backed away, pulled power and prepared her shield. A huge dog stalked out of the shadows, splotchy gray and black and mismatched blue and brown eyes. Teeth. Large teeth. It followed her, then its head jerked around toward the tall man. It leaped, sunk its teeth into the body, ripped chunks of meat off and swallowed them whole. It slowed down, and finally stopped eating. Half the body lay around in grisly dismembered piles.

  The gray dog burped, and sat down to scratch contentedly.

  Tromp swallowed to steady her voice. "Good dog."

  It wagged over to her, and leaned its bloody shoulder against her leg as she stroked it, then scratched it. "Good dog." She straightened and walked through the door.

  Wall paper in colors so rich it nearly glowed, silk couches, velvet swags around a huge window showed scenes that couldn't be there. A night view of a city. An impossibly big city stretched across a valley and up the hills beyond. Lights everywhere.

  She turned away from it, and approached the next door. Locked. Well, well. It just so happened that she had four more keys stuck in the rock out there, didn't she?

  ***

  She saved the redhead for last.

  The final door led to an altar. All ostentatiousness ended at the door, the slab of marble was beautiful in its simple curves and clean angles. It lay ten feet below her, stairs reached down to the floor, and then half as many back up to the smooth marble where the body lay

  At first she thought the statue was small, the man laid out in the center of the slab took up less than a tenth of the space.

  But when she'd climbed down the steps, and then back up to the smooth marble surface, she was awed by the size the perspective had hidden from her. The statue was a bit over life sized, erect it would have been a bit taller than the Auld Wulf, the tallest man she'd ever known, but less bulky, and certainly better looking. Naked, arms spread, feet a bit cocked, relaxed as if asleep, not dead. She knelt down and felt the cold stone. Pink marble, the veins in the rock mimicked the veins under a man's fair skin. She ran her hands over the muscles of the chest, and wished the sculptor had carved the penis erect as she stroked the massive genitals.

  She chuckled a bit, and looked back at the dogs—there'd been one behind each door. "I think I know where I'll take the last one. Are you guys still hungry?" She laughed. The beautiful building was strewn with body parts and blood. She would have to clean tomorrow, so her new palace didn't stink.

  The dogs followed her back outside, to where Red sat, stubbornly chipping away at the stone.

  "If you had cut your feet off, you could have crawled away and died slowly and painfully," she giggled. "Now, just march up to the fountain and get cleaned up. I'll come help you scrub."

  Like all the others, he tried to fight the dogs, but they just nipped and rammed and dragged him by his clothing. They seemed to know that the sacrifices weren't theirs until she'd killed them.

  "I didn, I didn't . . ." he faltered. "I didn't want to," he tried desperately to scrambled for an excuse that might save his life.

  "Of course not," she crooned. "And you didn't think up betting games either, did you, Ace?"

  A gulp of wine got him in a bit more co-operative mood, and at the thought of the mess on the path to the marble room, she surrounded him in a dark shield and steered him through the palace. The dogs bumped him along when he tried to get stubborn.

  He gasped at the sight of the prone statue, and took another gulp of wine without protest. She pulled power in and, hardly necessary now, fed it into him. She teased him, danced around and around the statue, making him chase her, and when he finally took her down, maneuvered him onto the statue.

  She rolled over and wiggled on the statue. The stone was surprisingly warm, and she imagined she could feel a stone heart beating. She was drunk on power and the room seemed to be moving around her.

  She channeled power down through the stone and turned back to Red. He needed a bit of power channeled into him before he could dance to her tune, and finally satisfied, she leaned back on the statue.

  The room was spinning or tilting and she slid off the statue to the cold marble slab. She looked dizzily at the statue as it moved. The pink marble pulsed with life. The eyes were open, gleaming alabaster and deepest lapis.

  Tromp scooted back just far enough to grab the bottle of wine. She rather thought that she was going to need all the healing magic she could find.

  The statue, or rather the man, tossed Red's body aside, and advanced on her. There was a world of hunger in his gaze, hunger for power, and she pulled it from the Earth and channeled it to the living statue as it reached down and lifted her. Her feet came free of the floor and the power flow slowed. It shoved her angrily and she got a foot down and channeled more.

  A frown crept slowly across the stone face and he lifted her again. She slowed the channeling until he put her down again. She pulled all she could, sinking down to get more skin in contact with the marble slab. The frown deepened, and it shoved her all the way down, flat on her back. She grabbed at him, to increase the amount of power she could send to him, and lay there, pulling and channeling. Under her hands, the hard stone statue was softening, and suddenly it yielded, sinking down on top of her.

  One knee came down between her legs and a shaft as hard as stone stabbed her thigh. She jerked frantically, and got her thigh out of the way, brought it back in contact with the huge chilly phallus. Her breath was forced out in a wheeze as the torso dropped on her.

  The thing shifted, assuming a more normal position. Were stone brains turning back to flesh? She was gasping in shallow breaths, her vision tunneling when it lifted off of her. She took a huge gulp and saw that it had gotten its—his—elbows underneath him, taking most of his weight.

  She filled herself with power and channeled, pouring power though every inch of skin contact she had with him, working her arms out so she could splay her hands against the sides of his head.

  She could feel it breathing, she suddenly realized. The muscles of chest and belly pressed on her, and withdrew. Thighs and hips jerked, twitched and the phallus warmed, pushed against her thigh.

  A sharp jolt of pain shot through her, and somehow became pleasure. She climaxed, a huge jolt of power rocketing from her to the stone creature and back. She pulled power, and as the stone breathed, sent anoth
er flood of power out to it.

  She felt giddy, drunk on power, pulling and hoarding, channeling and suddenly she realized that she could compact power, squeeze it down until it was no longer Earth, but Fire, and then send it out. She was laughing hysterically and she sent little fireballs of power all over the stone creature. She channeled until her vision tunneled and the darkness engulfed her.

  ***

  Tromp woke shivering in the chill. She was alone on the marble slab, and she hitched around painfully to look over the edge for the source of that crackling noise.

  Oh. Her last victim. Two of the big dogs were finishing the cleanup. She spotted her wine bottle, unbroken on the floor behind the dogs, and scooted that way cautiously. She remembered something in her hips giving way, the weight of the statue . . . but while she was horribly sore she seemed to be unbroken.

  Had the statue abandoned her when she stopped channeling power to it? Him? She sat on the stairs and scooted down one at a time until she could reach the bottle. Maybe a mouthful left. She whimpered, and holding it carefully, stood shakily and wobbled to the steps out. Halfway up, she turned around and sat. After a moment, she started scooting up, one step at a time. At the top she scooted to the doorway. And gripped it to help her stand.

  Was the statue out here somewhere? What would it be doing? She decided to start by finding her pack. She'd brought it into the first room . . .

  There was a door that hadn't been there before. It was open a crack and she wavered over to it, pushed it slightly. Stairs going up and down. Bread. The smell of fresh bread drew her upward, swallowing as her mouth watered.

  A hallway, lights. The smell pulled her. Bread. Fresh bread.

  She jerked to a halt. It was there. Standing and looking out a window that covered a whole wall. It, he, turned and watched her. She tried to look around the room without letting him out of her sight. The bread was on a table to her left and she crabbed that direction, setting down the wine bottle to fumble for the loaf. She ripped off a piece without looking, and stuffed it in her mouth, reached for another.

  The statue man stood there unmoving. The pink of the marble had tanned a bit, and almost looked like skin. The hair had paled, now a blonde so pale it was nearly white. The eyes were still the deepest lapis blue.

  Her mouth went dry and she nearly choked on the third bite.

  He moved then, to a cupboard for a cup, to a faucet without any sign of a pump handle to fill it with water. He put the cup on the end of the table and retreated to the window again. She snatched and drained the cup. Took a deep breath. Whatever this . . . man was, he was trying to not scare her.

  "I'm Tromp Ideasdaut from Ash, a Sister of the Half Moon of the Pyramid of Mount Frost."

  The smooth brow wrinkled, "Whoohaat?"

  All right, keep it simple. She pointed to herself. "Tromp."

  "Ahh." The man repeated the gesture. "My Kay Hell."

  "My Kay Hell," she started, uncertain what to do now. Clothes. She staggered a bit uncertainly to the door and gripped the rail as she limped down a flight. She wound back through the various rooms, glad to see that nothing but a few smears of blood remained of the Oners. Her pack was where she had left it, and she dragged it back out to the fountains. She was definitely in need of another bath.

  She scrubbed a lot faster than the day before . . . or two days. Whatever. And dressed.

  Then she sat on the steps and looked out over the ruins of the ancient city. What should she do now?

  "Trrrumph?"

  She leaped to her feet, and winced as sore muscles protested.

  My Kay Hell stood in the doorway, not moving. When he saw that she wasn't going to bolt, he gave a summoning motion. "Coooomb." He mimicked putting something in his mouth. "Ehat."

  She shivered. The words were odd, drawn out oddly, but she understood the man. "Cooomb. Come. Ehat. Eat."

  He blinked, then nodded. "Comb. Et." He retreated and she followed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  1373 Late Spring

  Cadent, Verona

  Xen was memorizing the little charms, the words and songs that twisted the brain just the right way to produce the effect wanted. And added together built the major spells. "There's no magic." He kicked the rungs of the chair. The Valasiks' kitchen table had become an impromptu school. Fermi was a champion scribbler. Xen seemed to prefer tiny loops and zigzags.

  The Valasik's were getting rich, by their standards. And respectably well off by any other. But they were still Travelers, and ready to abandon everything and hit the road at a moment's notice. Rustle tried to keep to the same mindset, and not accumulate "stuff."

  "There is nothing magic in the words," Rustle told him. "But what your brain does when you say the words or envision the picture, shapes the power as you release it, in certain specific ways. Specific for you. As you practice these little spells, your mind grows to understand intuitively what twist of the mind will cause what effect. But you won't be old enough to gather power and give it that twist for several years."

  Xen looked down at the paper Rustle was writing on. "That's silly."

  "That's right. But by charming the paper with a name, you learn to consciously differentiate magically between individual people, or animals, or locations . . . Wait. Did you just read this?"

  Xen gave her a smug grin, dimples and all.

  "Huh. Well. Because you are a wizard, you have subconsciously noticed things about the people you know. So, write out the names of your family, umm, the horses. See how many names you can remember."

  "Do I have to use the 'Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy, what do you see? Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy, will you marry me?' charm on Junk? She's a mare." He whined at just the right pitch. Rustle eyed him and his dimples deepened. "I don't want to marry a horse. I want to marry Marisha. She's the best cook."

  "Ha. The boy's got good sense." Farli walked by, grinning. "And should you be giving away your magic secrets, teaching him where anyone can hear?"

  Rustle grinned. "If any of these work for anyone, then they ought to learn them. But for most people, it won't do a bit of good. And only you guys are hearing them, anyway." She dropped her gaze to Xen. "Yes, I'm afraid you do have to use that silly rhyme. Just remember, you're young, you haven't grasped power yet. So nothing is going to happen. But after you grasp power, if you already know the charms, everything else will come much faster."

  Xen gave the paper a baffled study. "No magic. And anyway, shouldn't I say 'Pretty girl?' since I'm a boy?"

  "It's the twist of the mind that matters. The 'Pretty Boy' stuff works for witches. I haven't the faintest idea if 'Pretty Girl' would work better or worse, for a boy wizard. When you're older, when you get it right, you'll see the paper glow. Eventually you won't need the words, you'll just twist the power that specific way."

  He wrinkled his nose and started reciting his version.

  Phantom was also three, and a dream to ride. He cheerfully co-operated, and loved exploring odd places in the city. Galloping in the park. Between herself and the horse, they attracted attention, some of the wrong kind. Not wanting to have to explain to the locals about a repeat of her Karista bloodbath, Rustle fixed up new clothes for her rides, severe and black to match the horse, and used illusions on herself to look masculine and shed attention. At any rate, both the local equivalent of the Young Bloods and the Young Ladies paid much more attention to the horse, without illusions, than the rider after that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  1373 Spring

  New Tokyo

  By the end of the month, Trump (she liked Hell's pronunciation, and had never corrected it) could understand everything he said. Until he started talking about ancient devices. Or philosophies. Really, some of the things he said were incredibly silly. First off, you didn't hunt tortoises with bow and arrow. Secondly, the arrow would not be going to the tortoise, but into it or a long ways further if you missed or it skipped off the shell. Thirdly it didn't go by halves. Fourthly halves didn't add like that. She'd m
entioned the concept of fourths and eighths, and he'd laughed for ages.

  Growing up in Ash, she'd been around more old gods than most of the other people in the whole World. She didn't expect them to make sense, or react like normal people. Some things he just didn't understand, like there was a huge blank in his head. Just like the other gods. She studied him, and kept her familiarity with gods to herself.

  But on a day-to-day basis, they got on very well.

  She had only one gripe with the world. "Damn that wine, anyway. I'm pregnant again."

  He looked up from a book, alarmed.

  "Oh, relax, I'm a witch. Witches don't get married, don't hang onto men." She snorted. "We sure do get stuck with the babies, though."

  "I'm sorry . . .I didn't . . . "

  "Didn't think while your brains were still half marble? I ought to have known those kids stories about sleeping beauty awakening with a kiss were toned down for the kiddies . . . What are you laughing at, this time?"

  He just wrapped his arms around her, and held her like she was all that kept him from reverting to marble.

  She quickly adapted to the odd printing in all of Hell's books. Not that she understood half of what was them . . . The labels and numbers on things in his kitchen needed explanations, but were very handy once she knew how to use them. The first thing she'd done when they started communicating, was get a new bottle of wine to transmute with the dregs of her old bottle.

  Hell had been impressed. And impressed with her magical abilities. She'd rendered them both invisible several times, so they could spy on the Westerners.

  They had a small army of laborers digging up the ruins, and studying everything. Trump got bored, but Hell seemed fascinated by their activities.

  And wary of the three sealed buildings they were concentrating on.

  "There are other gods asleep in them." Hell explained. "The city has changed so much and I have slept so long that I don't know which gods they are. Friends or enemies. Or maybe my friends have become my enemies. Maybe I never really had friends, just people who could tolerate me for short periods of time. I'll know if they figure out how to open them. Our homes have a way of . . . moving. I'm surprised four of us have stayed still for so long."