The word giant was passed around in hushed whispers.
“I stand before you this day to confirm that war with my kin is upon you. I am forbidden by my god, Ferrol, to slay another Fhrey, so I cannot fight this war for you. This is a battle you must win for yourselves, but you do not have to do so alone.”
“Men can’t fight gods,” Lipit said, looking horrified at the very suggestion.
“Why not?” Nyphron asked.
“They’ll strike us dead.”
“If you don’t fight, they’ll kill you anyway.”
“But…” Lipit couldn’t hold Nyphron’s stare, and he faltered. “Men can’t kill gods.”
“This man here”—Nyphron pointed at Raithe—“is the God Killer. He has killed two of my people, one of whom was so powerful he called lightning from the sky and rent the earth with powerful magic. That Fhrey, Gryndal, was one of the most powerful Miralyith of our kind. To you he would truly seem godlike…and yet a Rhune…this one…ended him.”
Once again, Nyphron rotated, rocking from foot to foot, and this time he lifted his gaze to include those who were gathered behind the chairs, and his voice rose to address the whole courtyard. “You will fight. There is no choice in that regard. Your only other option is death…the death of Rhunes everywhere. You can fight separately and die alone, or join together and use your vast numbers. You can become the very thing the fane fears. I will teach you how to win against my people—I will show you how to prevail.
“You need to appoint a single leader,” he went on. “I know your custom is to choose the largest and strongest, the warrior most capable to command your people in battle. But don’t limit your thinking so foolishly. This war will not be won by virtue of one man’s ax, spear, or courage on the field. What if he falls in battle? The clans could break, the alliance falter…and you can’t afford to lose this war. There will be no second chance, no truce possible, no peace. You must select a person capable of leadership, a person who isn’t mired in the petty bickering that might divide you through past grievances. This person does not need to take the field with you, nor do they need to be capable of fighting your enemy with blows. The person you should appoint should be a symbol of unity who can lead with intelligence, wisdom, and strategy. Look for someone above the squabbles. Someone you can put your faith in. Someone you won’t doubt. Someone who can win this war for you.”
Nyphron stopped rotating and stood before them, waiting.
No one spoke.
He glanced at each of them. When he looked at Persephone, she saw impatience in his eyes.
Overhead, gulls cried. Near the lodge a door creaked on a weak hinge.
The Fhrey sighed, and disappointment replaced impatience. Nyphron clapped his hands against his sides. “May all the gods that be, lend you wisdom in your decision.”
With that, Nyphron walked away.
—
The first clan meeting in several hundred years had adjourned for the day after Nyphron’s speech, in order for the chieftains to confer with their advisers and reflect on what had been said.
The next morning, they met again, each sitting in the same chair. Tegan started things off with his own speech. His tone was less pompous, less arrogant. This time he spoke about the necessity of fighting the enemy. Reglan had always thought Tegan was the smartest of the chieftains, and Persephone saw evidence of this in how he avoided the words Fhrey and god.
After him, Harkon spoke, saying much the same, but adding that uniting the clans was essential. Krugen repeated the others’ words and included the suggestion of creating a list of candidates for the position of keenig. This was agreed upon, and the second clan meeting ended to allow the chieftains to confer with their advisers as to the names that would be offered.
Persephone considered going to Raithe. He and Malcolm had made their camp with Bergin, his daughter, Myrtis, and Filson the Lamp. Except for the meetings, she hadn’t seen him since that evening on the beach, probably a good thing. It was easy for her to forget just how young he was. She’d been unfair. Persephone had spent decades immersed in leadership. She was used to looking out for her clan. But Raithe didn’t yet know what it was like to feel responsibility for others. He hadn’t even been a father.
She liked Raithe, respected him, but he wanted more from her than she could give. In her heart, she was still married to Reglan. The memory of her husband had been tarnished by his betrayal and cowardice, but he was still a part of her. She continued to meet him in her dreams, and she was reminded of his devotion each time she fastened her bracken mor with the copper brooch he’d given her. Persephone could still recall the sound of his voice, the smell of his hair. In some small way he was still alive—just away somewhere—and she couldn’t imagine being with another man. The very idea was ridiculous, but Raithe didn’t see it that way. Men viewed the world differently, especially young men. Perhaps it was better that she kept her distance, for his sake as well as hers. What she had to say could be said in the next council meeting.
—
The third meeting began in the same chairs, and Persephone wondered if the servants put them in the same places each day, or just left them in the courtyard all night.
The gathering began with Tegan again. “I would like to open this meeting by nominating the obvious person for the task: myself.” He said this while arching his back and placing his palms on his chest in a noble, yet humble, gesture.
Persephone expected reactions of disapproval, but no one so much as coughed. The other chieftains sat patiently, listening.
“I am Tegan, chieftain of Clan Warric, son of Egan the Stone, son of Hagen, son of Gan. My bloodline traces back to Bran of Pines, Shield of Gath of Odeon, who slew Orr the one-eyed dragon on the Banks of Wailing. I have the blood of heroes in my veins. My lineage is undisputed. Warric is a great and fierce clan with hundreds of experienced spearmen.” He held out his own spear, a fine seasoned shaft with a beautiful jade point. “We mine the stone for these tips in our mountains, and my people are never wanting for meat.”
Tegan went on discussing the virtues of Clan Warric, and his own personal prowess in battle, bringing up a fight he’d won seven years earlier against a challenger in which he’d outsmarted the younger man, who was also bigger and faster. He talked for a long time before finally sitting down. He did so with a grin on his face, as if they would all cheer and agree that he should be the keenig.
They didn’t.
Instead, Harkon stood up and said, “Well said, Tegan. Your lineage and abilities are formidable indeed, and I think you might make a fine Shield when I am appointed keenig.” Harkon then went on to explain why he should be made leader of the clans and pointed out that he was descended from Melen himself, the founder of his clan, who was said to have been a giant who slew an army of goblins with the trunk of an oak tree.
Persephone wasn’t at all surprised when Krugen stood up next and also nominated himself. This was why no one had complained about Tegan. They each planned on doing the same, and they did. Next came Alward, who, oddly enough, given his recent appointment to chieftain, managed to trace his lineage back to a demigod hero who helped Rasra, the patron god of Clan Nadak, defeat the West Wind.
They took their turns while going around the circle, and when it was Lipit’s time, he took advantage of his role as council host to impress the others with a demonstration. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a cohort of several hundred men who entered the courtyard and surrounded the chairs. Each was tall and naked to the waist, lean muscles on display. They carried large wooden shields and fine spears. Their faces were painted with fierce streaks of white and red that made them look ferocious. Lipit raised his hand and the crowd of men clamored spears against shields and shouted, roaring at the sky. They stopped when he lowered his hand.
Then it was Persephone’s turn, but the eyes of the chieftains skipped over her and turned instead to Raithe.
Persephone stood up.
This incited strange looks. Fo
r an instant, she considered nominating herself just to watch their faces, and to see if they would extend her the same courtesy they had provided one another. But unlike the rest, Persephone wasn’t there for political gain. She didn’t want to be keenig. She wanted to win the war.
“I nominate for keenig…Raithe of Dureya.” She said it simply, without drama, and didn’t bother to explain who his father or grandfather was, or what great ancestor he might have had. She merely pointed at him. “He knows how to kill them. He’s the only one who has proven he can. No one else can claim that. And that’s what we really need. His clan is gone, and he doesn’t have any existing treaties or alliances that would incite jealousy. As such, he can be fair and impartial. But most important, while each of you might be descendants of heroes and legends, he is one.”
She sat back down, folding her hands on her lap and waited.
They all looked at Raithe again. Unlike with the other nominations, she saw surprise and even a degree of affirmation in their eyes. Krugen and Alward—whether they knew it or not—were nodding.
“While I appreciate Persephone’s vote of confidence, there’s only one problem,” Raithe told them. “I refuse to be keenig.”
The chieftains looked puzzled.
“What do you mean?” Lipit asked.
Harkon said, “Being keenig is the greatest honor a man could have. It comes with absolute power. Your word will be law in all the clans.”
“Don’t want that,” Raithe said.
“I thought you desired to build something,” Persephone said. “Here’s your chance to build a nation.”
“Wars don’t build anything.”
“You know you’re the only one for this task,” she said. “You are the God Killer, and that doesn’t just mean that you killed a Fhrey. You killed the very idea that they are gods. You’ve already won that first great battle all by yourself. Just by existing, you give the rest of us hope. Hope that we can survive, that we really can win this war. Who else can claim that?”
“That’s why I won’t do it.” Raithe ran a hand over his face. His sight focused on the dirty patch at the center of the ring. “I refuse to give false hope. I won’t be the one everyone blames when we fail.”
“Fail?” Tegan stared. “Are you saying you don’t think we can win?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He looked squarely at him. “At Dahl Rhen, if it hadn’t been giants, if it had been Fhrey, Nyphron and his Galantians wouldn’t have stopped them. They don’t fight their own kind.”
“But Nyphron can teach us to—” Persephone began.
“Teach us what?” Raithe pulled the broken copper and held it up. “This was my father’s sword. A metal weapon, envied by every Dureyan warrior. Yet when I fought Shegon, he cut through it as if I held a dead twig. Yes, I killed Shegon. I killed a Fhrey, but I did so while he lay unconscious, knocked out by Malcolm, who’d hit him from behind with a rock.” He paused to let this sink in. “You’re right. I’m the only one to kill a god, and I only managed it while he was lying unconscious on the ground.”
“And Gryndal?” she challenged. “He was a Miralyith, master of the Art. And you killed him as well. He wasn’t unconscious.”
“And do you think I could have defeated him if I didn’t have Shegon’s sword? Or Arion’s help? When the Fhrey didn’t consider us a threat, we could get close, but that advantage is gone. They will be on their guard and won’t underestimate us now.”
Persephone’s eyes shifted while she thought. “You also battled Nyphron at Dahl Rhen’s gate. You fought him sword-to-sword and won. So I think you are understating your abilities.”
He nodded his agreement. “Yes, we did fight, sword-to-sword. I used Shegon’s and would have died without it. What weapons will the men in our army wield? Will stone spears prevail against the Fhrey’s bronze swords?” Raithe got up. He drew Shegon’s blade and advanced toward Lipit. Two of the soldiers stepped forward to intercept. Raithe sliced the heads off both spears.
The men fell back. Others rushed forward, but Raithe turned and strode to the middle of the courtyard, to the thick wooden post that held up the courtyard’s central brazier. He swung down, cleaving into the grain so that the blade wedged deep. He left the sword and turned back to the circle of chairs.
“You’ll face better swords than this when they come,” he said. “Maybe Nyphron can teach men to fight, but what good is training when we have sticks and stones and they have this? So, yes, we’ve seen Fhrey die, but only two. That proves they aren’t gods, but they might as well be. We’ve already lost this war. Don’t you see that? This war isn’t winnable. That’s why I can’t be your keenig. You would need someone crazier than yourselves, and I am not that much of a fool.”
Raithe walked out of the courtyard, leaving all of them to stare at the sword he’d left behind.
—
Persephone looked for Raithe after the meeting, but he wasn’t under the wool, and she couldn’t find him around the wall. She went down to the village, thinking he might have gone there, but no such luck. She needed to speak to him, had to change his mind, though she didn’t know how. Everything he said was true. They might have overwhelming numbers, but for how long? If their weapons snapped as easily as the spears held by Lipit’s men, they would need a miracle to prevail.
She stopped looking as night fell, realizing she was glad she hadn’t found him. What would I say? What could I say?
The next day brought rain again, so the fourth chieftain meeting was postponed. When the council reconvened the following morning, they moved inside the lodge due to continued showers. Raithe wasn’t there. At first Persephone was fearful he might have left, but Malcolm explained that he was still in Tirre and training a young boy to fight.
Because of the lodge’s tight quarters, few others besides the chieftains were present. Alward was alone, and so was Harkon. Tegan only had his Shield, whose name Persephone thought was Oz. No one joined Persephone except Brin.
“Awful way to treat such a fine sword,” Alward said as he stood at the door looking out at the rain. A wet breeze fluttered his linen shirt, revealing him to be thinner than Persephone had originally thought. Chieftains always ate well, but Alward had only recently become one. “Why has no one pulled it out?”
“Go ahead,” Tegan told him. “No one is stopping you.”
Alward returned to his chair and faced the others. “So what do we do?”
“Nyphron makes a good case,” Tegan said. “We have to fight.”
“Raithe also makes sense,” Krugen responded. “We’ve already lost.”
“Perhaps we could go back,” Alward said.
“Back?”
“Across the sea. Can’t we just get in boats and head off across the water and escape all this? Isn’t that where we came from? Can’t we just go home?” Alward looked at Brin. “You’re Rhen’s Keeper, right? What do the ways say about that?”
Everyone looked at the girl, who appeared shocked that she was expected to speak.
“Well?”
Brin looked at Persephone.
“Tell him,” she said. “Tell him what you know. This is why we have Keepers.”
“We did come across a sea,” Brin said. “No one really knows which. It might have been this one or another. But it wouldn’t matter. There’s no place to go back to. The old world sank. That’s why we had to leave. That’s why we sailed here. If you sail out there, you could fall off the world.”
“What about Caric?” Alward asked. “The Dherg city isn’t too far away, is it?”
Lipit shook his head. “We trade with the Dherg in Tirre, but they wouldn’t welcome us. They are not a trusting lot, and would assume we were invading. One war is more than enough.”
Alward’s face drooped. He folded his arms and slumped in his seat.
“It all just seems so hopeless,” Krugen said. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. “Maybe instead of deciding which man to make keeni
g, we should first decide which god to pray to. And I will be the first to say, it shouldn’t be Mehan. He’s not been kind to us as of late. He’s turned a deaf ear to his people, and this”—he swept his arm toward the doorway—“only confirms he’s abandoned us.”
“I can’t suggest Krun,” Harkon said. “He’s fine with wheat and helping the sick, but he’s no god of war.”
“I would have proclaimed the might of Eraphus,” Lipit told them, “but…” He looked at Persephone. “Her god is greater. We closed our gates to them, and Mari blew them off their hinges. Then she flew in, bearing gifts of food, drink, tools, and furs. Rhen’s goddess is a powerful and generous god.”
The chieftains looked to Persephone.
“Is that true?” Alward asked.
Persephone looked out through the open door at the stone figure still there, slick and dark with rain. “I’ve always felt she listened when we prayed to her.”
“Then perhaps we should do that,” Lipit said. “Pray to Mari for a way out of this. Pray for an answer.”
“I brought a prized pig with me,” Krugen said. “Tomorrow I’ll offer it in sacrifice.”
“We’ll all offer sacrifices,” Tegan said. “Offer her our best and pledge our loyalty in return for saving us. Maybe she can send someone who will draw that sword from the pillar. And then she’ll rain down thousands of swords. Tens of thousands. Enough to equip every able-bodied man. Then…with Nyphron’s training and Mari’s swords…we’ll have a chance.” To no one in particular he asked, “Do you think that would work?”
Lipit looked out the open door with a surprised, almost frightened, expression.
“What?” Tegan asked.
“She’s looking at it.” Lipit pointed at the statue of Mari. “She’s facing the sword in the post. It’s a sign. If we reject all other gods in favor of Mari, she will send us a worthy keenig and swords for our warriors.”
The sword belonged to Raithe. Everyone knew that. They also knew his reputation. He killed gods. That blade would remain in the post until Raithe himself retrieved it. Persephone suspected Lipit thought the same thing, but neither of them said anything.
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