Wine of the Gods 29: God of the Sun

by Pam Uphoff

  The graduates were still required to live in the school, so Warric grabbed a moment to talk seriously to Marius and Trace. Marius first. "Listen. Your letters are all about philosophy and such, do you know meditations?"

  "Oh sure." Marius's deep brown eyes shown curiously. "Why?"

  "Well, you know those reaching out exercises? Where you try to feel the whole World?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Do the opposite, pull all in and close up and don't let the World touch you when you are presented. I mean it, Marius. At the faintest hint of magic they'll take you."

  "War! I'm not magic! This is just a formality."

  "Close up and that's what it will be. Open up and the Priests will take you. Trust me on this." Warric grabbed his shoulders and gave him a little shake. "You've got a week to practice. Use it."

  Then he grabbed Trace's shoulder. "Trace. Stay home. Do. Not. Go. Near. A. God."

  Trace didn't have to be convinced. "Sounds like we need to talk about some odd stuff that's been happening."

  "We'll have years, but we're all going to have to be discreet." To his relief they both nodded. He got permission to visit twice, and coached Marius, and Trace. Marius was able to close up pretty quickly and completely. Trace just sat and glowed.

  A week later, Trace dropped by the school and was admitted. "Marius is back home hiding under his bed. He said to thank you for your training. Something really nasty gave him a big sniff over, he says he nearly fainted, but it went away and sniffed on other kids then."

  Warric let out a relieved breath. "Good. Now we just need to all get to Lundun."

  Trace dropped his voice. "Is this really magic?"

  "I can't think what else to call it. Now, no more talking about it."

  Chapter Two

  University of Lundun

  Lundun was a quarter the size of Paree, and the University was located on the east side of the bulk of the city. The townhouse his father had bought for Little Fredarik's residency here had been rented out, fixed up for Phippe, and then stood vacant since.

  "Lord Menchuro's letter of instruction was to keep it available for you, Scholar, so I had it cleaned and it is ready for you." The real estate agent babbled as he fumbled with the lock, then threw open the door and stood back.

  The ground floor had a large parlor, and a dining room, the furniture in both showing a lot of wear. The second floor had two rooms, the third floor was more of a finished attic, with sloping eaves. But it had triangular windows facing east and west and skylights. Warric claimed it instantly.

  Downstairs, the basement contained a good-sized kitchen, and a room with high windows looking out over the downslope of the small yard.

  "Mine." Trill nodded in satisfaction. "Lady Menchuro sent money to furnish the house properly, as well as setting up an account so I can buy food and fuel."

  Warric thanked the agent, took the keys and started humping his tiny accumulation of worldly goods, mostly books, up two flights of stairs.

  Astronomy and Cosmology differed from the House of Wisdom forms, and kept him scrambling for the first month. The other students, also in black robes, but eyeing his shaved head askance, seemed to be scrambling as well. Professor Folley was not given to coddling his students, but they all survived and were earning his grudging approval by midterms.

  At home, he'd made all his copies of various books available, and Trill and Trace read insatiably and they talked as they cooked and ate, and explored the city. Warric felt positively sinful the first time he dressed in regular clothing, and with Trill's giggling help, positioned wig and cap. It was nice to not be getting any of those looks, and the four of them re-cemented the bonds of friendship Warric's absence had loosened.

  Warric was used to wearing robes all the time. His new blacks he took in stride. Marius had to wear the green robes of an underclassman, but like many students shucked his when not actually in class. Trace and Trill became regular visitors to the University library. So long as they didn't attempt to check out books, no one bothered them, even without robes of any color in evidence.

  And at home the three men practiced magic. There was too little known about it, or at any rate written and available to them.

  Warric's Current Research Topics class continuously filtered the rumors of the gates and the use of magic in opening them. "Professor Haskle? This is frustratingly opaque to me. Is it possible for an untalented person to learn about magic so as to better understand these reports?"

  That got him sent to the Priests. Closed up tight. He was allowed to sit in the back and keep his mouth shut through a single, basic class for Priest Initiates. It was amazingly useful.

  "There are different fields of magical talent. Some have physical effects, pushing, pulling , shield, cutting." Marius and Trace nodded as he rambled, after the first class, trying to write down everything. "Then perception. Seeing, hearing, sensing in unusual ways. That's apparently related to being able to speak mentally, to read minds. And then there's control, things that affect the mind only. Like controlling other people, but it also includes sleep spells, stun, love, loyalty, hatred, absent-mindedness, unnoticeable and charisma."

  Trill looked over his shoulder and sniffed. "Just don't get carried away and do something where they'll see it."

  "Not to worry. Being around those priests is like trying to walk in mud. Something nasty just sucking at you no matter what. I have a constant reminder of why I'm hiding." Warric scowled at his loose pages. "The multi-dimensional stuff must be a matter of perception. I wonder . . . "

  Trace and Marius swapped grins. "What? How to sneak off and get a look at the Arrival gate?"

  Warric grinned. "Yeah, something like that. Now, how about algebra? All three of you." They moaned.

  Trill tugged at his shirt. "Another growth spurt! I should sew you a new shirt, first."

  Puberty. Finally! Even if I do have to shave my face along with my scalp. And whose idea was it that Prince Primuses should keep on shaving their scalps?

  The Priestly Professor, Jerold Sutter by name, was so impressed by his clearly organized 'Basic Magic' that he passed it upward with the suggestion that it could be useful as a text. And approved Warric sitting in on the Perceptions class the following semester. The class included practice, and a little god, a dwarf, was brought in to be used as the power source for the students attempting various sorts of distance and microscopic vision, looking through walls, hearing distant conversations, judging weights of commodities, smelling and tracking, like a hound.

  Warric was able to apply a few things learned to his telescope observations, understanding why timed pictures turned out so much better than any eyeball observation ever did. They all worked to build a better photographic set up for the small telescope on the sciences building.

  Trill took up photography, and started developing his astronomy plates in the kitchen. "Completely separately from the cooking, so don't give me any ugly looks, Trace."

  Warric and his crew developed an excellent reputation, and spent the summer at the Dwello Mountains Observatory.

  One more winter of classes, and Warric was wholly consumed in his doctoral thesis. The preliminary work was done early and in the City, then he headed back to the Observatory for the pass of the Comets. He spent the winter taking measurements of the density and position of the comets' tails, and measuring the attenuation of sunlight for four freezing months. Once the heavens were back to normal, he packed his pictures and returned to campus to write up his results.

  With pictorial proof to back up his numbers he made a solid case for the comets as the cause of the four year famines. The Church loved him, except for the older conservatives who preferred the comets as a warning not a cause.

  ***

  With graduation came the job hunt. Trace insisted on coming with him, leaving Trill to keep Marius in line. He'd been conferring with several observatories . . .

  "South. I have to get further south. That new observatory at Mount Olympus would be ideal. I've be
en writing to them, and got an invitation to come down."

  He stopped in Lundun, and found himself press-ganged into a lecture on astronomy at the House of Wisdom. And dinner after, sitting between the Senior Solon and Hannesse and talking about his plans.

  And after dinner, his old buddies, graduated now, all three of them, in their city suits, pounced and hauled him away.

  "Doctor Warric Menchuro! Oooo! We're just so impressed!"

  "Actually we're all stuck in offices." Cactus jumped into a pause in Farester's and Jack's kidding. They sat up late, chattering about their jobs, and their hopes and dreams.

  They found beds for both Warric and Trace, and saw them off in the morning.

  "This is the last stage. I hope we don't have a problem buying horses in Rum." Warric peered around the fat merchant he was crowded against. His wife sat across from him, and poor Trace, officially a servant, had been relegated to riding on the roof with the luggage and the merchant's servant.

  On Warric's other side, two skinny oldsters, across from them, a woman with two whining children.

  Maybe at the next stop I'll move to the roof as well . . .

  "It won't be. Rum's the third largest city in Arbolia proper. Those conquered states like Meridian don't count, after all. Hovels. But Rum's got plenty of horses."

  He'd worn his scholar's robe for the respect it would get. Working well so far.

  The coach jolted and he jerked forward, so intent on not landing in the mother's lap that it was a second before the possible reasons for a public stage to stop suddenly, back and try to turn on a road much too narrow . . .

  He threw himself at the nearest window. The boulders rolled across the road . . . the men with bandannas concealing their faces . . . running toward them . . . "Bandits!"

  Chapter Three

  Bandits and Magic

  Warric hit the door latch and threw himself out. "Trace! We have to move the boulders!"

  Half the bandits had swords, the other half threw up crossbows and fired. He threw himself flat, pain scoring across his skull. Rolled to his feet, faced an onrushing swordsman . . .

  Even as he thought, too long since Dad's lessons, his pretty little gentleman's knife was in his right hand and diverted the point, prevented a slash as he stepped in and punched left-handed. Dropped under a slash from another bandit, kicked out, wrestled with the first man for possession of the sword, disengaged the knife and stabbed. Took the sword. The second man was down, Trace standing over him with a club, lunged at another . . .

  Someone was yelling for someone to wait . . . the bowmen were mostly ready, brought up the crossbows . . . "Now!"

  Warric swiped his hand across as if he could . . . the volley of arrows clattered together and fell, as if a giant hand had caught them and thrown them down.

  "C'mon!" he yelled to Trace and ran forward, crammed his sword under a two foot cobble and heaved. It rolled. He spun back to engage another bandit. A hacker, no finesse. He ran him through. Jammed the sword. No matter he'd take this one.

  Hot sun, sweat drying, glaring sunlight. He gathered it in his left hand and threw it at the nearest bandit. Screaming, burning. He ran at them, gathering more sunshine to throw at them. Laughing manically.

  Somewhere behind he was aware of Trace heaving at rocks. Heard the crack of the whip as the driver drove the horses through the gap . . .

  No more bandits . . .

  Pain. Something just out of his field of view . . . moving as he moved his head. He reached . . .

  "Don't touch it Warric! You've got an arrow in your head . . . Well." He could hear Trace swallow. "I think it's just in your scalp, I mean, the point's sticking out. Hold still."

  A flash of pain with a snapping noise, then more pain.

  "Here Warric, there's a little tree, get in the shade . . . "

  "Trace . . . Trace? What did I just do?" Warric blinked and looked around. Bodies. Lots of bodies. Lots of them burned."

  "Magic fireballs. Warric . . . You have to run. Everyone on the stage saw."

  "Yeah . . . And you have to run the opposite direction."

  "What!"

  "Are there horses? The bandits must have horses. You have to get back to Lundun and warn Marius. He must must must stay shielded when they ask him about me. He has to act like he barely cares. Like it clears up the inheritance, so it's not all bad, right?"

  "Warric! He'd never do that!"

  "He has to. And you were never here. I hired a new man and left you with my brother. Go look for horses." Warric sat perfectly still. Head pounding, odd lights coming and going, whether his eyes were open or closed.

  There were a dozen horses. Trace took the two fastest looking. Warric took the two toughest and turned the rest loose.

  Trace gave him a last agonized look and headed north. Warric mounted. Waved as he spotted Trace looking back and reined his mount around toward the hills to the east.

  Made it a few yards before he found himself clutching mane and swaying, falling . . . Go Trace. Don't look back again.

  Hands raising his head, something wet against his lips. Warric drank thirstily, blinked, tried to focus. "What?"

  "Heat stroke, on top of a blow to the head. Drink more, we'll get you to a doctor." A man's voice.

  No one I know. He tried to focus . . . red, was the man wearing red or was it just the sun? No, it was too gray, everything was gray.

  An odd taste in his mouth, an odd numbness. He tried to pull in, to hide, but the gray was everywhere.

  Red robe . . . a Priest.

  What did I just drink?

  The gray got darker and sucked him down.

  He awoke lying on cold stone. Head still pounding. Voices.

  "We should wait for a Senior Priest!"

  The sound of a slap.

  "There's no time. He's older than most breakthroughs. Dangerous. You saw what he did. I've already laid out the powders. I just need his inner identity . . . "

  A third voice. "We still can't find his servant."

  Snort. "Probably one of the burned bodies."

  Warric turned his head. "He made the sign of the demon at me. How dare he? I . . . what did I do? I'm not a demon . . . I'm an astronomer . . . "

  "Quickly!" A middle-aged man in a red robe hustled up, two bowls hugged to his chest, a scoop in his right hand. "An astronomer . . . the Sun. Yes the God of the Sun . . . "

  Warric tried to move . . . might have twitched.

  The red robe was chanting now as he poured a circle of yellow powder around them, then white in a smooth circle, around and around, circling and chanting filling in the white circle. All about control and gods. The God of the Sun.

  If his body wouldn't answer . . . He pulled inside, shut away that beautiful glow, that extra clear clean vision, that feel of the world . . .

  There are only three of them . . .

  He let out his inner protections and reached out mentally for the Priest. Who spun around and reached for him.

  I will lose this fight! Warric slammed back into his ball, tried to close up . . . but something of himself had to remain outside. Vulnerable to a hook, no matter how he flattened, squirmed to avoid it, tried to trap it in unimportant things like bladder and bowel control, not conscious thought, not curiosity, not wonder or joy . . . no, those he had to protect, even if he had to give up pain.

  And the priest was pleased with the pain and tested it. Laughing.

  Warric layered another ball, and hid his treasured self, pushed the pain away, and held until he sank back into blackness.

  "You miserable little . . . "

  "Senior Priest." That familiar voice, already hated. "Get used to it. He's mine!"

  "I was next in line. You were eighth! You had no right to bond with a new god. And don't give me any lip about 'finders keepers' you arrogant fool. How did you do this with nothing but a minor priest to assist?"

  "I paid attention in class, and worked on laying the symbols, not just analyzing their meaning." Familiar voice was s
mug now. "So . . . since you've so kindly brought a carriage, let's be on our way to Paris."

  Warric pried open his eyes. A horrible weight around his neck, holding him down.

  "Brekley . . . " A sharp angry voice. No one he knew.

  "Senior Priest Brekley, to you. Oh, and sweep up the powders. Carefully. Priest Shelby. You know how important it is to keep the colors clean and undiluted."

  Warric reached up and felt the chain . . . Tiny. A fine chain, or maybe a cord. Stuck to his skin, unmoving. He rolled to his side and pushed up off the ground to sit . . . circle of white, jagged border of yellow triangles . . . the symbol of the sun. Outer circles . . . links of black sand . . . The Chain Spell. I've heard about it. His hand went back to his neck. And now I have one all my own. I really hope the rumors are vast exaggerations. He started plotting how to get up on his feet and barely heard the order to stand up, as he struggled up and stood swaying.

  The stodgy smug fellow looked pleased.

  Oh. He thinks I obeyed him . . . and that just might be a damned good thing for him to keep thinking . . . while I figure out how to deal with . . . my new job . . . and how to resign from it. Brekley. His name is Brekley. I'll probably have to kill him.

  "Oh yeah? Brekley. The Exalted is going to have something to say about that!" The tall thin man shot a glance at Warric. "He's going to need to work the new God over . . . your weak bond with him won't be hard to snap. Then I'll have him for my own."

  Brekley eyed the other priest, a faint smile on his face. He looked back at Warric and . . . pulled . . . mentally. Warric stumbled forward.

  "God of the Sun . . . make a fireball."

  Warric cupped his hands. Inside, no sunlight . . . it was a weak and feeble fireball, but fireball it was.

  "Pathetic. Give him to me now."