“I don’t care if it’s easy. I want to know if it’s possible.”
“In my experience anything is possible. But what you ask? That’ll take a great deal of work.”
“I’m not afraid to work for what I need.”
Darwa looked at him with her unremarkable eyes and reached out to grab his wrist. With surprising strength she turned his arm so that his palm and wrist faced the ceiling.
“You want what, exactly?”
“I want the gods to ignore us, to forget us. I want them to leave us alone.”
“That will not happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because they are gods, Brogan McTyre. Even the weakest of them can change the shape of the world. Have you not seen the rains? Have you not noticed the floods, or the way the earth splits and shakes where their great keep used to be? That is a warning, nothing more. That is the mildest of the powers that gods have.”
“Well then I want to make them go away, or at least spare my companions.”
“Not possible. For the same reason. They are gods. Their minds cannot be fooled; their senses will not accept lies. In the past one of the gods tricked the others. They killed him. That is what happened to your mountains.”
“Honestly? I thought that was a myth.”
“No. It happened. Probably not as we tell ourselves but there are still elements of the divine to find there if one looks.”
“Well then, what can be done to gods?”
“Some say they can be captured, but I suspect it’s harder than it sounds and it sounds nearly impossible. Gods have power. Before they can be captured that power must be used up. The gods have demanded sacrifices for thousands of years. They have their power. That is why they demanded the sacrifices. So that they would never go hungry again.”
Oh, how his rage swelled. Food for the gods and nothing more. A meal that the gods might not be peckish. All of his loved ones.
“What then? What else is there?”
Darwa leaned back in her seat but held onto his hand. She shook her head for a moment and then asked, “Do you truly want to know?”
“It’s why I’m here.”
“The four coins. I need them. I will not give them back.”
He stared hard at her and finally nodded. His free hand went to the satchel in his belt and slowly pulled them out. All that remained to hold them by. Brogan handed them over one by one and she accepted them.
Next she lifted a very large needle. “I need your blood.” She paused and looked at his expression. “Not all of it. A few drops will suffice.”
He nodded and the needle punched into the palm of his hand, near the wrist. The pain was brighter than the room and Brogan bit off a yelp.
A thin stream of his blood fell across the stone table and pooled. When the trickle faded, she let go of his hand and looked at the puddle of crimson. Her fingers deftly tapped a black powder into the blood and then several others besides. In short order, she had a blackish paste that she lifted between two fingers.
Darwa moved over to the fire, carrying her prize. The flames cast a long shadow of her that was distorted, and matched neither her actions nor her form. Brogan did not move, but he watched, observing every action she made – and every action her warped shadows made too.
She spoke and placed the paste into a small metal dish. The dish went over the flames and the Galean whispered words that he could not hear, but that made the air cold nonetheless. That doughy blob of blood and other things swelled and danced and hissed on the metal, as surely as a lump of cold lard will do in the same situation. Cooking fat, however, did not scream.
After almost a minute of watching the globule dance and simmer and shrink, it faded completely away, leaving not even a trace of powder that Brogan could see.
“There. We have your answers…” As she stepped away from the fire her shadows converged into one. It still made no sense with the rest of her body. Despite the unsettling aspects, he kept calm and looked at her face.
“Truly?” He leaned back in his seat. “How then, do I stop the gods from following through on their threats?”
“There’s only one way that I can see, and that’s to actually kill them.”
“Kill the gods?”
Brogan stared at the fire, the flames that flickered and rippled over the remaining wood. His lips felt oddly numb, but he thought that was the smoke in the air.
“Aye, Brogan McTyre. They must be killed if you are to be free of them.”
“How many gods are there?”
“Five.”
“Where do they live?”
“There is a great stone bridge called the Gateway. It is near their nameless keep, which now lies abandoned. One must pass through that place to find the gods in their home. Even then, one must know the proper way and the only people who know the way are far to the south in Kaer-ru.”
Brogan nodded, remembering seeing the place before. “The land near it is tainted.”
“No. The land near it is gone, shattered by the gods in their anger. The ancient keep is gone, too. There is no way to the Gateway by land.”
“Then how do I get near it?”
“Hire a boat. Hire several. Steal one if you must for I can’t imagine too many would help you. They risk death.”
“I’ve never been on a boat.”
“There are plenty. You will also need one of the Louron with you.”
“The Louron? What are the Louron?”
“A people who seldom speak to strangers. There are stories that they can navigate the waters between the worlds. They reside amongst the Kaer-ru islands.”
“You did get answers, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“So then, Darwa of the Galeans, how does one kill a god?” He looked from the fire to the Galean and stared at her face. Her features seemed to reshape for a moment, but when he blinked she was once again an average woman.
“That would be the challenging part.” She leaned closer in until her fingers touched his hands. “Listen carefully…”
* * *
An hour later he walked out of Darwa’s hut and strode carefully over the stepping stones.
There were three too many men outside waiting, and he recognized all of them.
Jon Lonson, Davers Hillway and Bump were among the men who’d helped him in the unholy place then made a fortune alongside him only a short time ago. Though he counted them as friends, none of them looked happy to see him.
Jon was from the southlands and wore their clothing, which meant baggy pants, baggy shirt and boots that ran to his calves. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes and sadly, his usual easy smile was missing. Most of that was hidden under a cloak as the weather here was colder than he’d ever liked. Davers was from Hollum, which meant he tended to leathers. Most Hollumites did, as you never knew when someone was going to try to steal from you assisted by a dagger in the side. A little leather armor went a long way. Bump? No one knew where Bump was from. Every time someone asked him, Bump had a different answer. Bump was thin, short and as bald as could be. He was also one of the fastest men Brogan had ever seen in combat.
It was Bump who spoke up, just as Brogan cleared the last of the stepping-stones. “What the fuck have you gotten us into, you bastard? There’s a bounty on each and every one of us!”
Brogan nodded and offered a weary smile. “Aye. I know that. I’m working on fixing that very matter.”
“Work faster! I had to run from a brothel with my pants and boots over my shoulder when the fucking soldiers came looking for me!” Bump was deadly serious, which only made Harper’s explosion of laughter more enjoyable. Bump’s eyes bulged with righteous indignation.
“The gods did not appreciate us ending their sacrifices.” Brogan’s voice was as serious as Bump’s. He liked the man, but he never much cared to have anyone yelling at him and he felt no remorse for the actions he’d taken. “They’ve decided we must be the replacement sacrifices, apparently. And so I intend to
discuss the matter with the gods.”
Bump’s jaw dropped open for a moment as he processed that concept. “You plan to have a little chat with the gods of all creation, is that it?”
“Aye. That’s the idea.”
“And where are you going to have this chat? Going to just yell at a scryer and hope the gods hear it?”
Brogan stared hard. “Do you suppose that might work, Bump?” He walked closer to the man while his blood sang in his ears and his vision tinged crimson. “I was thinking I might travel to see a Galean and ask her how it might be done, but if you happen to have a scryer around, I’m willing to have a go at your way.”
Jon leaned in and said, “Easy, Brogan. We just came to offer our services. Bump can be a bit on the mouthy side.”
“I’ve just been having a talk. Learning what I have to do in order to make this stop. I’m grateful to each and every one of you. You know that. I’ve been driven from my home, exiled from my country, and sent out to find a way to stop the gods because of what I did to save my family.”
Bump nodded his head. “Of course, mate. Of course. No harm us having a talk. Just saying my piece is all.”
Davers shook his head. “The others are coming, Brogan. We heard of the hunt for us and figured there could only be one reason. Can’t trust everyone, true enough, but you can find a few allies if you look in the right places. We started for your home. Just found you sooner than expected.”
Jon added, “Aye, especially you’ll find allies if you happen to have enough coin to pay more than any bounties offered.” He grinned as he said it, which helped a great deal.
Brogan nodded his head and felt his blood calm a bit. “Let’s talk then, lads. We’ve much to discuss.”
Eleven
The Night People
B’Rath leaned over the pale woman and wished he could do more for her. She moaned in her feverish sleep; he looked away from her and back to his mother.
“You feeling better?”
His mother nodded and smiled, but it was a lie. She was not feeling better and he knew it. She would be dead soon and there was nothing he or anyone could do for her unless the gods themselves intervened.
As a whole the caravan moved on at a decent clip. As decent as it could, considering that almost everyone in the group was on foot.
They did not speak to him and they barely tolerated his existence, but all seemed perfectly willing to wear his clothes and eat his food. There had been a great deal of food stored away. Most of it was gone now. The cowled thing said they would be provided for on the journey. He was not so certain. Still, the weather was calm enough around them, and the women did not actually throw rocks at him. One found small blessings where one could.
Uto approached, his mouth set in a frown of concentration. Uto, being not very smart, often had that frown in place. When he was younger, B’Rath thought his brother angry. In truth, he was merely confused.
“Where are we going?”
“With the Undying to their new home.”
“Why?”
“Because they could kill us with ease and we do not want to die. Once they are where they need to be we will move on.”
B’Rath looked past his brother to the pale women. Most of them now had clothing of some sort, provided by B’Rath’s family. They were lean and they looked lost, but they were healthier than they had been. That was something at least. He had been raised to help where he could, as long as helping did not cause his family harm. So far they had not been harmed. It would have to be enough.
“We should move on, B’Rath.”
“We cannot. They can’t be left on their own and the Undying would not permit it in any event.”
Even as he spoke, however, the shapes of the Undying rose into the air. All of them. A few had left at a time over the last few days but never all at once as they did now, rising into the air on a wind that came from nowhere to lift them as high as the clouds.
“We can leave now.” Uto stared at the dwindling shapes of the He-Kisshi and smiled.
“You may leave. You may even take our families, but I will continue on this path because to do otherwise is to offend the gods.”
Uto scowled in thought again. It was less than an hour later that he took his family and their parents with him and headed directly south.
B’Rath did not stop them from going. He knew what he had to do, but that did not mean he expected the rest of his family to suffer with him.
The family went south, heading for Edinrun. He would follow when he could. In the meantime there was a very large collection of women who needed food and shelter and he would make certain that they had it whenever he could. The gods would expect no less from the faithful.
Once the others moved on, B’Rath climbed back into the wagon where the pale woman still moaned and fought in her sleep, and tended to her as best he could. There was so much that could be wrong, and he was not a healer. They would ride on soon, but first he needed to make certain his charges were still alive, even the weakest among them.
* * *
Lyraal said, “This is a mistake.”
“That is all you ever say, Lyraal.” Myridia shook her head, irritated.
“It bears repeating.”
“Look, we can’t go alone. We need to have as many as we can to make this work.”
“You are wrong.” Lyraal’s words held no malice. They were simply the opinion of a woman she respected and admired and believed would probably be a better leader than she was.
“This is why you should be leading.”
Lyraal shook her head. “No. You should be leading. But you should actually lead.” The other woman’s brow was knitted with stress. “He is a handsome man, this Garien, and I know you feel the same urges we all do, but he is not going to abandon his people to be your mate and even if he were, we do not have the time right now. We must move on, Myridia.”
Myridia flinched. The troupe was not far away. She did not want Garien hearing the conversation, and Lyraal didn’t care in the least if he heard every word.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“That’s exactly what this is about. You want him. Fine, want him. As far as I’m concerned, have him. But then move on. We need to reach the Sessanoh and we are not going fast enough.”
“You think we should take to the waters?”
“I know we should.”
Myridia had nothing to say to that. “We’ll discuss this later. The night comes.”
The sun set behind the mountains again and the darkness swept across the area almost as swiftly as the water overflowed the banks of the river.
Myridia clenched her sword a little tighter, careful not to cut herself on the scaled blade. Beside her, around her, the others did likewise.
The steel gave her comfort. When she looked back at how she killed the blacksmith she felt no guilt. She needed a weapon and he had it. She needed to get to where the gods wanted her, and for that reason whatever happened next was a requirement. If the troupe died she would accept that. She had no choice, no matter how much the notion might hurt.
The screaming noises of the night people had grown stronger and closer the last time the sun set, and Myridia suspected in her heart that they would be attacking soon. There was no choice in the matter: they could flee, or they could fight. Fleeing meant leaving with little or nothing. Fighting meant having the strength of the troupe with them when the night people came.
The rains were constant now. That worked to the advantage of the Grakhul. They had not manifested their other shapes around the humans. That would be a mistake and she knew it, but when the time came, if they had to eliminate the night people, they would do so with the blessings that the gods had provided.
Time was still running too quickly for her satisfaction and the night people would only slow them down.
Lyraal looked back the way they had come and frowned. “There is something back there. I can see it, but I cannot see it clearly.”
&nb
sp; Myridia looked. There was a darkness there, deeper than the night and darker than mere shadows. She did not like the way that odd stain moved or the way it made her feel. She did not like the off-kilter, distorted music she heard coming from that direction. It sounded to her like the music one might hear while drowning in the ocean. This was the time then. The night people were coming and, one way or the other, someone would be bled and stopped before the night was through.
“Tell Garien to move his people forward.” The command was for Lorae, who was nervous enough to nearly twitch at every noise.
The girl nodded and bolted toward the train of wagons.
They had prepared for this moment as best they could. According to Garien and his troupe the night people could not stand light. So they set a few surprises between the wagons and the coming darkness.
The wagons moved on into the gathering night and rain. Myridia and her sisters stayed behind and let the change come. Scales shivered through flesh, eyes bulged, teeth and claws grew and muscles became harder.
The darkness sounded of wagon wheels and light, cheerful music, but it radiated a cold as deep as the sea. There was an undertone, a barely heard clicking noise that made her feel uncomfortable. She had to focus to notice it, but once heard it would not go away.
“We are not here for you.” The voice came from the leading shapes in the darkness. They were not shadows, nor silhouettes, but seemed a bit of both. The voice itself was as distorted as the music, warbling and broken, but understandable despite that. The clicking sounds were actually amplified when the voice spoke.
“Yet you have followed us for days, and we are on a mission from the gods themselves.”
“You have merely traveled with our prey. Move aside and you will be unharmed.”
The darkness broke apart. In the center the shapes remained the same, like shadows of wagons cast into the air instead of across the ground, and just as distorted, but from those shapes humanoid forms moved, also as stretched and malformed as long shadows thrown by a light source that none could see.
The Last Sacrifice Page 21