The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3)

by Deborah Davitt

  “Eh, the arthritis is improving these days. Better anti-inflammatories, I suppose. I don’t need to go there just for that.”

  A long, steady look from Trennus. “I’d really like to see you there. You’ve helped me fix this house up for decades. You should come see what I’ve been building in the Veil.”

  “Sig’s offered to take me into the Veil with Nith. I’m . . . curious . . . but . . .” Adam looked for an escape from this conversation. Trennus had just taken command of the discussion, and he didn’t like the direction it had taken.

  “You’re the one who wanted to go to the Moon. This is an alien world, too. You just need to rely on magic to open a wormhole to get there, instead of riding a rocket. If my door in the Woods was powered by nuclear fission and made of steel alloys, would you walk through it then?”

  Adam winced. “I’ve never been a howling anti-magic bigot, Tren. I used to be . . . uncomfortable with summoning, yes, but I’ve learned a bit since my twenties, I like to think.”

  “Yes, but you still pick the damnedest things to be uncomfortable about. You’ve walked into the interface room of the Odinhall. Twice. You got married there. That’s a part of the Veil, just a transition area, like my Woods. Come visit.” Trennus paused. “Or don’t you trust me?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with trusting you. It’s . . . . ” Adam hesitated.

  “What?”

  “The first time we went to the Odinhall, it was to defend Sig. The second time, yes, I got married there.” Adam shifted uncomfortably. “And to each of us, it looked . . . like our own version of heaven, didn’t it? Stars for me, clouds for Sig. Numbers and order for Kanmi. I remember you describing the Odinhall interface room as a place filled with spirits you could talk to and ally with, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it looked like a forest to you.”

  “It did.” Trennus frowned. “Huh. I never thought of it that way. But I suppose the room echoed my subconscious view of an ideal place. And I’ve spent decades building that ideal. But what’s your point?”

  “The Veil sounds both like Paradise and gehenna at the same time.”

  “Apt, yes. If you have enough will and power, you can make of it what you want it to be. At least, a small portion of it.” Trennus’ eyes narrowed. “I’m still not seeing the problem.”

  Adam swore internally. “My people were cast out of Eden. I know it’s probably a metaphor . . . .”

  “Yours is the only faith I know of that starts with humanity being punished, and certainly the only one I can think of that thinks that knowledge is a sin.” Trennus shook his head. “All right, my editorializing aside, I still don’t see the problem.”

  “If I’m going to break the rules, it should be for a damned good reason. I know that I’m on theologically shaky ground most of the time. And my god doesn’t make it easy to believe in him on the best of days, lately. But if I’m going to go eat the fruit from the tree of knowledge, or go tiptoe through the gates of what looks suspiciously like paradise . . . it should be for more than my mere curiosity.”

  Trennus sighed. “So you’ll cross over the line of your faith to go stand up for Sig. You’ll go to the Odinhall to be hand-fasted, to show everyone, including her, that you love her. But you won’t go for yourself.”

  Adam thought about that. It sounded like a fair assessment. “Yes.”

  “All right. I think you’re not seeing that this could help improve or lengthen the time you have left with her.”

  “Trennus, I can’t do that. Life-extension—”

  “Gods damn it, Adam, if you were handed a pill that cured arthritis and gave you another ten years, you’d take the damned pill. But even though you’ll accept magic put on your bullets, you’ll carry a god-touched weapon, and you’ll agree to contracts with house-spirits, you won’t accept a magic effect that would do the same thing as the pill?” Trennus was as irritated as Adam had ever seen him.

  Adam looked down. Put that way, it sounded hypocritical. “I can’t, Tren. Everyone draws the line somewhere. And I suppose, for me, it’s . . . personally profiting by it.”

  Trennus actually glowered at him. “Let me put it to you this way. I’m probably about to be made king of the Picts. You will be offending the ruler of a small nation if you do not visit me in my court.”

  Adam snorted. “You’re going to make people pay you state visits there?”

  “It’s there, my family’s villa, or this house. Which do you think will make more of an impression?” Tren’s grin snuck out.

  “All right,” Adam surrendered. “I’ll . . . come visit.”

  “Good. Clear your schedule sometime next week.”

  That very long conversation had been a week ago. Sigrun had been back that night, embarrassed to tell him that she’d been by the Matrugena house without stopping by to tell him hello. And Adam reflected, again, on the sense that he was now the last person to know what was going on, when he’d once been the leader. The heart of an organism with four heads. Now, Minori and Sigrun were Tren and Saraid’s first calls. I’m being left behind, he thought, and tried not to be short with Sig because of it. It wasn’t her fault. Time was a river, and he’d been left on its shore to walk, while the rest of them continued on in a canoe ahead of him.

  At breakfast this morning, Trennus had not seemed enthusiastic about being installed as king of the Picts. He’d told Adam that the process could take several weeks as the various clans all got themselves oriented and sent representatives to make their votes. “They won’t be pleased to see me already wearing these,” Tren had noted, lifting his hands to show wyrms around his wrists. “Saraid put them on me, though. I didn’t think she was going to take no for an answer.”

  In the here and now, the Roman governors of Damascus and Judea were both infuriated by what looked like nothing so much as an invasion, or at least, a highly unorthodox form of immigration. “You’re upset because the Picts didn’t fill out the appropriate travel papers?” Adam asked, mildly, and got lethal stares, which he returned calmly. Paulus didn’t have half the gravitas that Livorus had once had; the man could glare at Adam all day, and it wouldn’t concern him in the slightest. “I think it’s clearly evident that Master Matrugena couldn’t have done what he did without help, and that the help in question undoubtedly came from his gods. I would recommend that you have Rome’s gods take it up with whichever Gallic deities happened to provide the required assistance, and let them handle the politics.”

  That prompted uneasy laughter from the Pictish nobility in the room, and irate stares from the Temple elders. “This is not just Rome’s concern, Master ben Maor. Thousands of square miles of our land, and of our Carthaginian neighbors, have been effectively colonized. Stolen. And it’s all been orchestrated by someone who’s been living here as a subject of the Empire for decades.”

  Trennus, who was sitting in a chair at the front of the room, with Saraid beside him, shook his head. “I didn’t steal your land. Technically, about a hundred spirits and one god put part of Britannia over the top of it. But all Judean and Carthaginian cities have been left alone. We’re willing to offer Carthage and Judea very good prices on wool, mutton, and various other commodities. No import-export duties, since we’re all loyal member states of the Empire, after all.”

  “There’s the question of borders! There’s the question of taxes—these people are living in our lands now. They should be paying local taxes to us—”

  “I think that’s a matter of some debate,” Trennus said, firmly. “You see, we didn’t immigrate to your country. We brought our country with us. Pictish residents of Pictish cities will not be paying taxes to any outside jurisdictions, other than our Imperial taxes, of course.” He glanced over at the various Pictish nobles in the room. “Unless the clan-leaders are willing to give up our sovereign right to govern ourselves . . . ?”

  “Not in this life or any other.” That was a growl from a Pictish lord so heavily tattooed, the patterns had even encroached on his face. If Trennus loo
ked like a barbarian to someone unaccustomed to Pictish customs, this man looked like a wildman, in buckskins and a red-and-blue checked kilt.

  Trennus shrugged and directed a calm stare at the various governors and representatives of local government in the room. Adam had gotten used to, over the years, the fact that Trennus actually had a vast amount of will under that self-deprecating demeanor. He had to, in order to wrestle with spirits. And even without the flame-blue eyes, Adam could see the others in the room look away from his stare as Trennus said, mildly, “The clan-leaders have spoken. I’m sure there will be bargaining between us all, as we find ways to coexist. Fortunately, I’m something of an expert at bargains. So you know that whatever agreements we all come to, will be fair.”

  The arguments were wide-ranging after that, from the Judean anxiety at having their cultural identity wiped out, to strategic concerns, given the fact that the Wood seemed disinclined to allow itself to be bulldozed to make roads, airport runways, or anything else. “Look, you tell me what needs to be cleared, and we’ll go try to get the trees to move,” Trennus offered, wearily. “I can’t guarantee anything, but it might just be a matter of asking them politely.”

  Adam rather wished he had a camera for the expressions on everyone’s faces after that particular bombshell. And after they all left, Adam pointed out, “I notice that you didn’t drag them all into the Veil for this meeting.”

  “I decided to go easy on them this first time,” Trennus said, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly. “The next time a Temple administrator says anything about threatening the cultural integrity of the Judean nation, I will insist on them meeting us out in the Wood, and then march them into the Veil. Whoever it is, will be much the better for having had their minds dry-cleaned.”

  Saraid laughed quietly, a bubble of sound in Adam’s mind. You would never force that on anyone.

  “Well, no. But it would be tempting.” Trennus gave Adam a look. “You ready to go with us?”

  Adam grimaced. “Now?”

  “A promise is a promise.” Trennus looked up as Eisa entered the room, and whispered to him. His expression changed. “Alu-demons? Gods above and below. Give me a minute, Adam. Latirian has a summoning issue on the front lines, apparently.” He headed out of the room, and Adam could hear him rattling at his daughter on the telephone in precise, clipped Gallic.

  A half hour later, Adam allowed himself to be bundled into the Matrugena family’s single vehicle. Trennus wasn’t bringing the children along for the ride. The road out into the actual Wood was packed with cars, and Adam could even see a handful of Chaldean flying carpets in the air—a few with fenris aboard, of all things—accompanied by flights of harpies. “They’re not frightened of it,” Adam said, suddenly. That said something to him. “Something this strange, people should be avoiding it.”

  “Most people are,” Trennus said, dryly, weaving his way through traffic. “Well, correction. Most of the Judeans are staying out of it. But the nieten, the jotun, the fenris, the Goths who were displaced, or born here . . . the harpies, the dryads, the centaurs, the satyrs . . . none of them are afraid, no. They’ve all seen the strange. They’ve all become alien to the rest of humanity.” He paused. “The Wood is a little alien to the rest of reality. Like calls to like, I think.”

  Yes, but I’m not alien to humanity, Adam thought. I’m the only one of all my friends who can . . . still claim that. But I’ve always wanted to meet aliens. He looked up at the clear blue sky. Who knew that they’d just come out of our own population, instead of from the stars? “How many of the Pictish spirits came with the land?” he asked, more to fill the silence than anything else.

  “All of them.” Trennus cleared his throat. “Most of them were bound to their rivers, lochs, and mountains. They wouldn’t abandon them. I understand that where Inbhir Nis, ah, landed, southeast of Jerusalem? Loch Ness is just southwest of them. It’s rather noted for its kelpie. I’m hoping that the locals don’t pester it too much.”

  “What’s a kelpie?” Adam asked, feeling lost.

  A river horse. A spirit that sometimes takes the form of a man, and sometimes of a stallion, but its element is the water itself, Saraid told him. Some are considered to be maleficent, and there are rumors of them drowning people who try to ride them. Of course, that’s mostly a matter of perspective. I would not wish for someone to jump astride my back and try to force an iron bit into my mouth, as if I were no more than a beast. I would not wish to be bound against my will. She looked into the back seat, and her lips curled up, showing her canines. The kelpie of Loch Ness is well known to me. He will not disturb your people, so long as they do not disturb him.

  They had to leave the automobile, and hike for a short way. Adam once more damned his knees and hips as he did so. He knew that these were aches and pains he’d damned well earned by using his body as hard as he had over the years. He’d kept in good shape, but he was like a professional gladiator. Most of them were crippled by their sixties due to repeated stress injuries and scar tissue.

  But when they reached the clearing with the lake in it, and he saw the island at the center, he thought it worth the effort to reach. “Beautiful,” he assessed, staring at the dark blue waters. “I don’t feel any different, though.”

  “We’re not in the Veil yet,” Trennus told him, and caught Adam’s arm to help him over the smooth, rounded rocks at the edge of the lake, and Saraid caught the other . . . and then to Adam’s astonishment, they walked out over the surface of the water. “Steady,” Trennus told him as Adam stumbled. “Saraid’s increasing the local surface tension for us. Just keep moving.” They crossed the lake, and Adam looked up, spotting, at last, an area above the ground, where the air looked . . . sucked in, for lack of a better term. “That’s it?” he asked, trying not to feel nervous. “That’s the gate?”

  “Unimpressive, I know. I didn’t really want to advertise where it was.” Trennus released his arm, and walked forwards. “Sari will walk you in, all right? I’ll go through first, so you can see how it works.”

  Two more steps, and then Trennus simply . . . vanished. Adam swallowed again.

  Are you ready, Steelsoul?

  “As I’m going to be.” Adam shook his head. “I wish Sig were here.”

  That got him a glance askance. I think, perhaps, it is best that she is not.

  Adam didn’t have a chance to ask what that meant, as Saraid walked him right through the gate.

  . . . disorientation. Steelsoul looked up, and saw that the area around him had changed only a little. The trees were taller here, the emerald-tinged shade beneath them darker. The dancing patterns of light and shadow on the ground were almost fractal in their complexity, as an eternal wind moved the branches overhead. The grass was long, but soft, and harbored no insects, and around the lake, there were walls, covered in arbors of grapes and ivy. Saraid stood beside him, and he could feel the power of the Lady of the Wilds, as he never could in the mortal realm. A kindly, gentle creature, but with the power to turn on a foe in wrath, if provoked. Welcome to our realm, she told him, and stared at him in what looked like mild confusion.

  Worldwalker jogged over, a welcoming smile on his face. Young, healthy, vital, a hunter of these woods, and lord of this realm. A quick wrist-clasp. Not so bad, is it? Come and see. Explore the fortress under the lake. It’s built to withstand even the kind of power Emberstone unleashed with the liberated hydrogen from the Chott el Jerid. He paused, sorrowful, and then dismissed it. Come and meet all those who dwell here. Another pause. Your self-image is . . . different than I expected, Steelsoul.

  What do you see? Steelsoul looked down at himself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Though, to his relief, the cane in his hand had become a sword, and every step he took, felt the way it was supposed to. Free, easy. Light-footed and graceful. I could stay here forever. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.

  That would please Stormborn, Saraid told him, looking behind him, her expression tight.


  Worldwalker’s glance was uneasy. I see you. Young again. But in armor—sort of an idealized version of our old Praetorian gear. Meets more of your old requirements. Covers every vulnerable point. Painted in camouflage patterns of gray and green, to break up your outline. The helmet covers your eyes, and I think there might even be a breathing apparatus in there. Self-contained. Perfectly controlled. Ultimate in protection. I think you are . . . pulling away from the world, old friend.

  Steelsoul shrugged. He was in the waning years of his life. He was still trying to be of use in Judean Intelligence, still trying to remain a part of the lives of those around him, but they were all . . . leaving him behind, one by one. A function of age. We all tend to become more isolated when we retire. No more work networks. Fewer social interactions.

  Steelsoul? Look behind you. Saraid’s voice was emphatic.