by Fiona Patton
Brax’s words took form, blazoning across the sky like a beacon.
“Save us, God of Battles, and I will pledge you my life, my worship, AND MY LAST DROP OF BLOOD, FOREVER!”
And the God of Battles responded as She had a year ago.
Swinging Her great swords in the air, Estavia leaped forward and dealt the Godling a blow that would have decapitated It had it been anything other than immortal. It went spinning off into the air, only to turn and hurl Itself back at them, misty claws outstretched like an enraged eagle’s.
Spent now, Brax crumpled, his sword ringing against the stone, and Spar pushed himself up on one hand and flung his net toward their attacker. The black tendrils wrapped about the Godling like strands of sticky sea grass, but almost fully manifested, It shredded them with a single gesture, then streaked toward the two boys once again. But, standing guard over Her Champion’s prone body, Estavia met It with an explosion of power that burst outward to impact against the armory tower. As bricks and stone rained down upon the courtyard below, Spar began to frantically rebuild his net of darkness into a heavy bow and arrow, strand by strand, working as quickly as his split focus would allow.
But Graize was also scrabbling to come to the Godling’s aid. Leaping to the top of the battlement wall, he flung his mind outward.
“Swallow!” he screamed.
Below, Danjel’s body snapped into a masculine form, his eyes rolling back in his head, as the power of his wild-land blood was suddenly absorbed into Graize’s own.
“Nightingale and fox!”
Ozan began a screaming, discordant song of power, while Kursk sliced through his knots with his kinjal, sending a hurtling mass of spirits racing up the wall to merge with the Godling Itself.
“Marten!”
Claws and teeth and eyes glowing with a savage intelligence began to form on the Godling’s features as Rayne sent her own budding power into the fray. The Godling rose up, blood-red eyes filled with strength and madness and, in a snarl of rage, Estavia called for Her own support.
In the Cyan Company shrine Kemal’s head snapped back as the God of Battles sucked up the offered power of Her warriors in one breath and spewed it toward Her enemy in a gout of destructive power.
The Godling fell back before the onslaught, battered and frantic. It turned to flee, but Incasa brought His own people into the fray with a snap of His fingers. With the power of every seer behind Him, the God of Prophecy rose a thousand feet into the air, dwarfing temple, city, and Gods. Bending down, He caught up the Godling almost gently and then turned, and slammed It into Graize without warning. With one last unformed moment left before true manifestation, It caught him up in a smothering embrace for Its final imprinting and, his head tipped back in a parody of passion, Graize whispered one word.
“Mouse.”
Caleb gave one piercing whistle that cut through the storm to dance across the sky and life flowed into the Godling’s nearly physical form. But before It could rise, Spar stood, his eyes pooling with a mass of black flames, and shot a single shaft of darkness into the very center of Its forehead.
The impact sent Graize careening into Brax’s arms as shards of power hurtled in every direction like a thousand wicked little knives. They shredded every remaining spirit for a hundred miles and scored across the Gods, causing Ystazia and Usara to flee back into the cold depths of Gol-Beyaz. Havo exploded into the air, tearing through roofs and uprooting trees, and Estavia pursued the maddened God of the Seasons, taking Them both down into the water as fires broke out across the city, heedless of the driving rain.
Meanwhile the Godling spun out of control, ricocheting from Graize’s mind, to Danjel‘s, to Ozan’s, Rayne‘s, and then to Caleb’s. For a heartbeat the youngest of the kazakin was outlined in a blaze of burning glory until a piercing whistle jerked the Godling free and It was sucked into Kursk, tearing a savage hole through his mind. As blood sprayed from his kardos’ mouth, Ozan screamed a single note of power into the air and the older man toppled into his arms, crushing his kopuz beneath him.
The Godling spun away to slam into Graize and Brax once more and Prophet, Champion, and Deity plunged into the water below. Incasa went spinning after them, but suddenly a break in the clouds caused a shaft of moonlight to fall upon Spar, standing on the wall, one hand raised high in the air to reveal Yashar’s dice held almost negligently in his palm. As Incasa turned His snow-white gaze upon him, the boy stared back, the black tower in the dark place waiting behind his eyes.
“NOT BRAX,” he grated.
For a heartbeat God and seer stared into each other’s eyes, then Incasa raised His own pair of dice.
“FOR YOUR WORSHIP,” He demanded.
Spar spat a curse back at Him. “GET STIFFED!”
“HE WILL DIE WITHOUT MY HELP.”
“THE GODLING WON’T LIVE WITHOUT MINE.”
Incasa’s white eyes blazed, but then He tipped His great head in a veiled nod.
“YOU WILL NOT PUT MY CITY IN DANGER.”
Spar’s own eyes narrowed. “AND YOU WILL NOT PUT MY FAMILY IN DANGER.”
“DONE.”
Together they dropped their dice. They spun about like snowflakes in the wind. Then, just before they hit the churning waves below, Incasa’s touched Oristo and the God who’d danced with Him across the vision-streets of Anavatan a year ago dove into the water. Spar’s became a swirling vortex which sucked the Godling down into the dark place. The creature that exploded from the other side was like nothing the Gods of Gol-Beyaz had ever seen before.
“The best anyone can hope for is to die well.”
As the shock waves tore through the streams, destroying and re-forming as many as they touched, Spar shook his head.
“No, the best anyone can hope for is to control death itself,” he said quietly as the new God of Creation and Destruction rose above him like a dark tower wrapped in mist and shadow, then shot into the air and disappeared over the western plains. As Incasa streaked after It, Spar turned back to Gol-Beyaz.
“Nothing comes without a price, does it, Delon?”
Tanay’s words flitted across his mind, and he smiled. “Not this time.”
Jerking the bead from his hair, Spar dropped it over the wall, allowing himself a single hiss of indrawn breath as the power of his mind sent Jaq after it. As the dog hit the water, he swung his legs over the side and began his own swift but more controlled descent.
A thousand stars exploded through Brax’s mind as he hit the water, his armor dragging him down like a stone. As his breath froze in his lungs and his vision blurred, he suddenly smelled roses and lilies and saw a field of flowers the color of blood and gold strewn across a sunlit floor. Peering into the shining depths of Gol-Beyaz, he saw Estavia open Her ebony arms to him and felt the same peace and stillness he’d experienced during his first Morning Invocation. He reached out, but as he did so, his hand caught hold of Graize’s sleeve and their future swept over him like the tide.
Once again he saw the enemies of Anavatan rise up. He saw himself a man, armed and armored, taking the field against them. He saw a figure on a white pony raise his hand in battle and knew it to be Graize, but Graize as he’d never seen him before, clear-eyed and armed with steel and stone. Together, they stood on a snow-capped mountain ridge overlooking a fleet of unfamiliar ships while a man in a red tower moved marble figurines on a board of mahogany and mist and a golden-haired woman danced in the surf.
Then the vision winked out, the cold of Gol-Beyaz rushed in, and the dark place rose up, promising the warmth and peace of Estavia’s arms once more. But as he reached for Her again, a pulsing brown speck of power barred his way. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Spar, white-faced and angry, then both the bead about his neck and the four-legged stick figure ward upon his chest began to burn as a great, red body slammed into him. It drove the dark place away and he was struggling in the frigid waters of Gol-Beyaz once more.
This time, however, he was being propelled upward and, as hi
s head broke the surface of the water, Spar’s hand flew out to catch him by the hair and drag him up onto the rocky ground below the battlements. As Jaq scrambled up to lie exhausted beside them, Brax opened his eyes, staring past Spar’s shoulder to the rising sun of Havo’s First Morning.
Brown eyes flashing in satisfaction, Oristo vanished into the waves.
Brax coughed weakly as the younger boy gathered him up in his arms almost gently.
“Is it over?” he asked.
Spar nodded.
“Did we do whatever it was you wanted us to?”
“Are you alive?”
“I think so.”
“Then we did it.”
“I ... hurt everywhere.”
“Beats the alternative.”
“Does it?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Brax sighed. “Can we go back inside now?” he asked plaintively.
“We have to wait for Kemal and Yashar.”
“Why?”
“ ‘Cause we can’t fly,” Spar answered, indicating Estavia-Sarayi’s huge eastern wall behind them.
“Oh. Are they coming for us?”
His eyes the color of snow on the distant mountains of Brax’s vision, Spar nodded. “‘They are now.”
“What about Graize?”
The younger boy’s eyes darkened again almost imperceptibly. “What about him?” he demanded.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t care.” He tipped his head to one side. “Why? Do you?”
Shivering with a sudden chill, Brax nodded. “I didn’t think I would ...” He trailed off. “But I think ... he’s important.”
With an explosive snort, Spar allowed a dark mist to pass across his eyes for an instant. “He’s alive,” he said tersely.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, he’s not dead, so that only leaves one other possibility, doesn’t it?”
“Says you.”
“Yeah, says me. I’m the wise seer, you’re the idiot champion, remember.”
“Point.”
“Right, point, so shut up and try to sleep. It’ll take our abayon a little while to find a boat.”
“All right.” Brax closed his eyes, then opened them again with a start. “Spar?”
“What?”
“I lost my sword.”
“Good.”
“Spar...”
“It’ll turn up.”
“Promise?”
“Sure.”
“I need it.”
“I know.” As the twin images of a golden sun and a tall red tower wavered before his eyes, Spar leaned his back against Jaq’s wet flank with a frown. “We all do.”
Across the strait, hidden by the dawn mist and the strength of her prophecy, Panos of Amatus held Graize in her arms while Hares rowed past Anavatan’s great watchtowers. Graize lay unconscious under a thick woolen blanket, his broken mind staring out at a deep, dark place where Spar smiled out at him, daring him to enter. The ruins of all he’d struggled to rebuild since the spirits of the Berbat-Dunya had stolen his life away lay stretched out before him in a sea of ash and blood and emptiness, while behind the younger seer a woman who might have been his long dead abia beckoned him, promising peace and warmth. He almost gave in to it, but then the featherlight touch of his Godling stroked across his mind and he sank back with an almost painful sigh of relief. He wasn’t alone. He could still win the game. Closing his eyes, he reached out for his own prophecy.
A hundred ships made their way north from the Deniz-Hadi and a hundred more south from the Deniz-Siyah. A dark-haired man stood beside him, while another stood against him, and a great black tower battled the Gods of Gol-Beyaz in a shower of blood and gold.
“Blood and gold feed the people,” he whispered.
Making their way up the Halic-Salmanak, the kazakin paused as the voice of their young wyrdin whispered through their minds.
“Have faith, stay strong, and look for me when five new lambing seasons have come and gone. Together we will ride the storm that finally destroys the power of Anavatan forever. ”
Glancing over the heads of Rayne and Caleb holding the body of their aba, Danjel caught Ozan’s eye. For a moment the two, of them considered the possibility of refusal, then; nodded. The Yuruk had fought the Gods for centuries, five more years made little difference.
At Incasa-Sarayi, Freyiz wiped the blood from her First Oracle’s face with an unreadable expression as she, too, felt the streams rejoin for a five-year span. She sent the image to Her God and Incasa agreed. Five years would be just enough time to plan.
Rising from the depths, the God of Chance hovered above the western docks, watching a small white cat playing in the water, a featherlight creature of dark power dancing just out of the reach of its swatting paw. Incasa showed His teeth at the comparison. The God of Creation and Destruction had been born, and although It was not yet under control, It soon would be.
Breathing in a trickle of power, Incasa reached into the future and drew out a single form, then spoke one word.
“HISAR.”
On the surface of the water, a God named for a tower turned Its icy, black eyes on Its most powerful abayos before shooting up into the air to rejoin Its kindred above the Berbat-Dunya. Incasa and the white cat shared a glance. Then, as the God of Prophecy returned to the depths, the cat returned its attention to a sand crab hiding in the surf.