“Guards!” the legate shouted, rising to his feet.
Sit down and be quiet. Sigrun watched as the legate sat back down as if his knees had been cut out from beneath him, and the door behind her sprang open. Your superiors are fools if they think that you could hold me. More likely, they seek to create an incident. One in which I will be forced to kill Roman soldiers. She was vaguely aware that outside, hail had just started battering the building, and for once, opted not to control her temper. The barracks’ tin roofs could handle the barrage. Tell them that I choose not to play their game.
“Stop her—” Cornelius managed to force past his lips.
One of the young legionnaires stepped in front of her, and put a hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyebrows knitting. “But you’ll have to come with us.”
I will do no such thing. The lengthening shadows in the room beckoned to her. Sigrun said, sharply, You know where I am having dinner tonight, Legate Cornelius. I would recommend against inviting yourself to the party. I would not look kindly on your intrusion, and Mamaquilla would view it as a breach of her hospitality.
Her form blurred, and the young legionnaire’s hand passed through her, as if she were no more than mist, or a shadow. Sigrun turned and let herself flow through the cracks that outlined the office door, and then down the hall, shadow to shadow, avoiding the fluorescent lights as she moved out of the administrative building, flowing rapidly into an open park nearby. Deserted at this hour, as the storm she’d called howled above, and dimly lit. Niðhoggr?
That was very well done. The dragon appeared beside her, landing heavily, hail shattering against his scales. You are still annoyed, I gather.
I should not have made such a show of myself. Contrition warred with anger, and the storm began to die.
I shall have to find more people who irritate you. I will strew them in your path like flowers for you to tread upon. Nith bared his diamond fangs. You have a dinner appointment. Would you like to race me to Machu Picchu?
In the air, I am no match for you, and I cannot open a door to the Veil. I would be lost there without you or Trennus, anyway. Sigrun thought for a moment. But . . . it is dark between there and here.
And now you are finally thinking as you ought. If you beat me there, I will allow you to ‘feed’ me, as you seem to think I am in need. Though what you could give me, that would not cause the Sapa Inca’s court to starve for a week, I do not know.
Sigrun’s lips actually quirked, faintly, at the corners. Leave that to me, my friend. Perhaps they have in their kitchen a very large cookie jar. Aside from which, I am in need of a dinner companion. She looked down, her heart wrenching.
Every time you think of him, dwell on him, your mortality tugs at you, Nith observed.
I would have thought that love was what allowed humanity to become more than beasts. That it was a prerequisite for . . . ascension.
There are many roads to ascension. Yours was sorrow. Worldwalker and Emberstone? Knowledge. Truthsayer? Compassion.
And yours was . . . ?
Pain. He set his wings. Fly, Sigrun Stormborn. Chase the night.
Wait. What are the stakes if you win? What do you want as a prize?
Nothing. If you win, I have won, as well. For you will have used your full power, matched against mine in a struggle of equals, and that is prize enough for me. If you lose, but again, use every iota of your power . . . then that is again, prize enough.
Sigrun stared up at the dragon, speechless, and then flung herself at the nearest patch of shadow—and there was a good deal of that, thanks to sunset and her storm. She later thought that if night had truly blanketed the sky from horizon to horizon, that she could have moved herself instantly to anyplace in the hemisphere where darkness reigned . . . so long as she could picture where she was going. But this first time, she blurred from shadow to shadow instantly, but had to stop and get a good view of her next location, while Nith cruised overhead, the thunder of his supersonic speed continuously present in the air. As the sun sank entirely behind the mountains, leaving long trailers of cloud bleeding red into the sky, Sigrun appeared in the courtyard of the Sapa Inca’s palace, just as Nith landed beside her. A tie, she told the dragon, grinning up at him. Perhaps the only way I will ever be able to keep up with you in the air. Make your size more manageable. You are coming inside to dinner.
I did not lose.
Your conditions for the race precluded losing. You suggested that no matter what the outcome was, you would win. If you cannot lose, then I cannot win. Therefore, this was not actually a contest, but a bargain. As such, I insist on reciprocity. Inside. Now. You are going to try a piece of everything served.
Very well. His tone was singularly unenthusiastic. And then?
We will oversee our people’s retreat from this land. Ensure that no legionnaires get excitable and open fire on the ‘deserters.’ Follow them north to the border of Nahautl and through that land. Thor and Heimdall have bargained with Quetzalcoatl for safe passage of our people, but none of us trusts that Quetzalcoatl speaks for all his fellows.
Nith, now lindworm size, leaned his head on her shoulder, his scales rippling in silent laughter. Sigrun looked at him in surprise. What is it?
You said us. You said none of us trusts . . . .
Sigrun swallowed. “So I did.” Reverting to the spoken word was a flinch, and she knew it.
Go in to dinner, Sigrun Stormborn. I will be right behind you. Nith’s tone was strikingly content. And he placidly accepted roast guinea pigs and llama steaks and even whole roasted potatoes as she held them up on a fork for him to eat, ignoring the stare of the Roman governor, who weakly protested Anahuarque’s decision to hire the ‘deserters’ to protect her borders. “They are rebels,” he repeated, without force, as he stared at Sigrun and Nith, and then at Mamaquilla—the last, with notably wide eyes. While Mamaquilla had been engaged in her people’s governance for decades, Sigrun suspected she’d never manifested around the Roman before.
Perhaps, but that is of no great concern to me, or to my people, Mamaquilla informed him, sweetly. I worry more about forces from Quecha and Nahautl coming into my lands and threatening my people, than the Roman civil war. If you are truly here for the well-being of my people, and not merely to exert Rome’s control upon them, you would be concerned, too.
Sigrun raised her small glass of largely-untouched chicha in front of her, and toasted Mamaquilla with it, suppressing the urge to smile.
And so, for the next three weeks, Sigrun rode over-watch with Nith, escorting convoys of Gauls and Goths who wished to go home through Nahautl territory. Three times, a Nahautl god appeared to challenge her—all three times, it was Tezcatlipoca, their god of sorcery and the night sky. The god that Ehecatl had, years ago, told her that he revered—and feared—as much as he loved Quetzalcoatl. Tlaloc’s murderer, Tezcatlipoca called to her, the first time, as the moon rode high in the sky. You are the reason Xipe Totec has been slain now. Jupiter has put a price on your head. On the heads of all your kind. He offers us forgiveness if we kill you, and bring him your essence. Tezcatlipoca bared his teeth. Tlaloc was weak when you found him, murderer and thief that you are. He had been shackled by human artifice, and bowed by centuries of indifference. I am not weak, little death.
And you think that Rome’s forgiveness will extend so far as to allow you to continue your sacrifices? Sigrun managed to toss back.
I care nothing for Rome’s forgiveness. I will kill you for the pleasure of vengeance, and I will swallow your power and turn it against the mad godlings. Against Jupiter himself, if he comes against us. Rome’s gods are old, but if they have not taken to the skies to attack us yet, they never will. They will not, because they cannot. Tezcatlipoca’s manic grin looked like a coyote’s, and not a jaguar’s. Time for you to die, little death.
The first time, he’d tried to use raw magic against her, and, thanking the gods that she’d been practicing with Min and Reginleif, Sigrun unleashed se
iðr in response, covering herself and Nith’s entire body in a silvery shield. She brought lightning down on him, and he responded by forming a hurricane that appeared around them without having been birthed in North Africa or nurtured by the Gulf of Nahautl’s warm waters. It battered at Nith, and Sigrun managed to still the storm around them, while continuing to hammer at Tezcatlipoca with lightning . . . but then the sky had rained down obsidian shards instead of water, every one of them slamming into her and Nith. Cutting into her armor, and slicing into the flesh beneath as they sheared through her shield of seiðr . . . and then Thor arrived, and Tezcatlipoca fled into the Veil, out of reach.
The next day, Quetzalcoatl appeared in the sky, coiling along in his feathered serpent guise. He was at least Nith’s length, undulating through the heavens in blue-green glory, his wings extended widely, and a mask of pure, soft gold over his face, protecting his eyes, but leaving his terrible fanged jaw free. She could only imagine what this looked like to the Goth and Gaul troops below, in flatbed trucks and on foot. Sigrun tiredly lifted her spear in a respectful salute. If you are here to fight, please know that I am not, she’d said, wearily. We are escorting our people home. That is all.
You must understand that your very presence in our territory is provocative. You slew Tlaloc. His voice, however, was not threatening. Contemplative, perhaps. But not hostile.
I did not. I was unconscious at the time. Take the memories of my good friend, Ehecatl Itztli, who is your devoted servant, if you do not believe my words.
That got the dragon-like head with the blue-green feathers to snap towards her. And who do you think has protected him all this time? Ensured that the other gods of this land did not punish him for his part in Tlaloc’s death? He stayed here, and prayed most fervently to me. He did not take refuge in distant lands.
Sigrun lowered her head slightly, a sensation of relief washing over her. While Quetzalcoatl probably didn’t feel any friendship towards her, he at least protected his own people. I am glad that you have extended a sheltering hand over him, she said, simply. He is a good man. She swallowed. If I might ask . . . ?
Why I do so, little death?
No, great one. I think you have already judged how pure Ehecatl’s intentions were. How loyal his service. Sigrun swallowed again, her throat tight. But I would ask why you have not told your brethren the full tale.
Quetzalcoatl was matching speed and bearing with Nith now, and Sigrun could feel the dragon tensing under her. Before, under the Peace of Rome, there was no point in so doing, the feathered serpent told her. Yes, Tlaloc was dead, and yes, mostly by his own foolish undertakings. Trying to reignite his followers’ belief with technology, sacrifice, and fear. He never learned. He never grew. Quetzalcoatl’s voice was ruminative. I saw no need to attack humans for defending themselves. Under the Peace of Rome, we lodged protests against the other gods, but again . . . mortal hands. But now, some of those hands are no longer mortal. And the Peace of Rome is broken. He turned one burning turquoise eye on her as they rode through the air. You see the problem. A piece of Tlaloc burns in your heart. There are those who find that most offensive.
You do not sound offended, Nith put in, mildly.
As I said, Tlaloc died of his own foolishness. Power comes from power. Using it, properly, for the benefit of one’s mortals. Defending them. Enriching them and their lives. Moving with the times, and the shape of their belief. I do not need any of his essence to be powerful. Quetzalcoatl’s great form rippled. The others are hungry, however. They always have been. They do not seek justice. They seek . . . justification.
If it would help, please tell the Black Tezcatlipoca that I do not wish to fight him, and intend no harm in your lands.
I will relay your words, but you will not be heard. Such is the effect of the end of the Peace of Rome, Quetzalcoatl told her, darkly. Their threat has been enough to keep us all from making war upon each other for centuries. Now, I think the gods of Rome only hesitate to decide which of us they are more offended by—and whom they will strike and devour first.
You could fight and devour me, and use what you absorb of my essence to fight Rome. Sigrun felt Nith’s muscles tauten under her at her words, but Quetzalcoatl’s huge head once more swung towards them.
No. That would be dishonorable. We are at parley, and here, in daylight, you are weak, and I am strong. More pragmatically, your power is too much akin to my Morning Star self. Your powers would pull me out of balance. Your allies would fight for you, and even if I managed to destroy you, the energies released that I did not absorb immediately would twist and distort my land and my people. He paused. No, I will not fight you. But I will watch you and yours closely as you pass through my lands.
Sigrun lowered her head. And now I understand why my friend Ehecatl and his son Mazatl both revere you. You are wise, and you think of the welfare of your people, before all else.
Quetzalcoatl’s laughter hissed through the air, and he banked away. His guise as the Morning Star was not a beneficent one, but he had come to be worshipped more as the god of the merciful western wind than as the god of vengeance over the centuries. That didn’t mean that the darkness had been effaced. But she had the sense that he was considering her words, carefully.
Unfortunately, Quetzalcoatl’s tolerance did not extend to Tezcatlipoca. A week later, Sigrun found it difficult to keep her eyes open as she rode on Nith’s back in the afternoon sunlight. Every time she opened her eyes, the scene around her changed. But while a distant part of her mind told her that this was dangerous, another part reassured her. Nith never sleeps. He’ll wake me if something’s wrong . . . no, I shouldn’t think that way. It’s my job to watch over him, too . . . .
Her eyes closed again, and when they opened once more, she found herself walking through a jungle, with no cognizance of where she’d been before she reached this place. Parrots called in the branches, bright flashes of color as they coasted from branch to branch. Monkeys squabbled overhead. And Adam was there, smiling at her, his dark eyes lively. I’m glad I said yes, Sig. This is the way everything was meant to be.
She stared at his young face avidly, but it had the distant quality of an old photograph. It was strange to see him so unlined, so unworn. So we’ll fight alongside each other?
What’s left to fight? Don’t you remember? We saved the world. He leaned forwards to give her a kiss, pulling her by the wrists toward sleeping bag on the ground.
Sigrun dug in her heels for a moment, frowning. You’re not concerned about spiders, scorpions, and ants? she said.
Not anymore. Not here. This is the Veil. Don’t you remember?
Sigrun’s mind rebelled. Reginleif’s oldest training kicked in. If something seems to be too good to be true, it is. Find the seams. Find the things that don’t make sense.
Adam? Why don’t I feel a connection to you, a soul-bond? I have a blood-bond to a servant, and I can always feel it. Why can’t I feel you?
. . . you never bound me, Sig. I took Tren’s invitation. Remember? That’s why we’re here, in the Veil.
This isn’t Tren’s Wood. This is a jungle. Whose realm are we in? It’s dangerous to enter the wild Veil, Adam. Her mind twisted. I said Adam. I didn’t say Steelsoul or Godslayer . . . . The land around them shifted. Tried to form itself into oaks, beeches, and pines. Why was I walking? Where was I coming from? Where was I going? This . . . isn’t right.
You could bind me now, Adam invited her, and the offer cut into her heart. I’m ready. I’m sorry that I rejected you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. Here. All you need to do, is give me a little of yourself. He held out his hands, and his eyes, his smile, were just as they had always been before age and pain had caught up to him, and made him curl in on himself. Before she’d become an entity. Oh, she still sometimes caught him looking at her in the old way . . . but this . . . this was the man she remembered. This was the man she still loved.
And he was a lie.
Sigrun snapped herself out of the vision, shout
ing, “Niðhoggr!” as her eyes cleared and she saw Tezcatlipoca hovering in the air beside them. The dragon shuddered under her, clearly wrenched out of a vision of his own by her use of his Name, and snarled, exhaling liquid oxygen right into the Nahautl god’s face and then leaping for him, a ball of teeth, claws, and rage that Sigrun found inexplicable. Then Heimdall arrived, just as Tezcatlipoca had managed to whirl in close enough to stab Sigrun in the shoulder with an obsidian knife. Then again, outnumbered, Tezcatlipoca fled. Dreams, Nith said, in a tone of disgust. What useless things they are, nothing more than traps for the mind.
Do I want to know what you saw?
I would not tell you, even if you commanded me. Leave it be.
She’d rarely heard that tone from Nith, and left it alone, as he asked.
The third time they were attacked, they were only a day from the Novo Gaul border, and this time, Tezcatlipoca came at night. Sigrun and Nith had had time to consider their tactics, if they should be attacked again. But Tezcatlipoca was wily, and attacked the soldiers on the ground, hundreds of jaguar-spirits leaping out of the thorn bushes of the desert north to attack the people who were traveling, footsore and weary, alongside the trucks of the convoy. The earth, too, rose up in jagged spears of obsidian, jabbing into people’s feet and groins, and a hundred deaths hit Sigrun at once. Mistake, she thought distantly. Death empowered her. Unjust deaths, in particular, seemed to fill her with energy, as if anyone who died crying out for vengeance on their killer, sent her . . . pieces of themselves. You do not touch any of these people, Tezcatlipoca. They are mine to protect, mine to avenge!
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 75