“I . . . what?” Zaya picked up the pages, and frowned. She could have sworn she’d been writing in Latin. But here, the letters were clearly Hellene. “I wrote it half-asleep,” she said, with a certain amount of untruth. “Obviously, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
The language is written as if you had spoken it, some twenty-five hundred years ago. Prometheus leaned back against the cushions of their tiny couch. I was much intrigued. Is there more of this?
Zaya frowned. “It’s something that just came to me in a . . . dream.” She felt Maccis’ hand stroke the back of her neck gently, and she went on, a little irritably, “The dream recurred just now, actually. I woke up from it again. But it went on longer this time.”
“And?” Erida made a little spinning gesture with her fingers.
“The Invincible was re-awakened. And this time he was a male. He barely remembered what had happened, the last time.” Zaya grimaced. “He’d been awakened by a priest who’d found the old writings and the binding-gem. He’d lost favor in the temple, I think, as a young god-born priest had taken over. So he summoned the godslayer into himself. The other priests saw the godslayer and thought their old friend and sometime rival had become god-touched. For an instant, he thought he’d found real power. And triumph, when they offered him the chance to lead the rituals. They bade him join their procession, and just for a moment, he remembered . . . the last time. Flying free as a bird with her . . . his . . . lover. The priest’s mind began to fade away, leaving just the godslayer.” Zaya shook her head. The pronouns were tricky. “This godslayer is essentially sexless, I think. A Veil spirit, can be anything that they wish to be, but are shaped by those they interact with. The godslayer can’t be shaped. Can’t change. Can’t grow. Then again, they think they’re perfect as is.” Zaya shook her head again, in distaste. “They took him to a field and showed him how the crops were growing there . . . and the godslayer found a bone sticking up out of the earth, and knew there was a mass grave under the soil.” Zaya swallowed. “He attacked them. I saw them fighting in the air, like birds, and then he dragged them below the ground, into the labyrinth below their temple. And then he destroyed the entire island. He only meant to kill the priests, but in his anger—that’s the closest thing to a human emotion I felt in the second part of the dream—he tunneled through the earth, deep into the dormant volcano, and woke it. Thera erupted. The only survivor was the priest himself, when he awakened on the smoking shore.” Zaya took another sip of coffee, and braced herself. “And then the Invincible left the world again, leaving behind another mortal shell, staring at a ruined life, a ruined place.”
Zaya paused. “None of it is true.” She put her cup down, and rested her head against Maccis’ shoulder. “I’m going mad, aren’t I?” she said. “I’ve spent too much time with Sophia, and I’ve caught it, like a virus.” She was only half-joking.
Erida shook her head. “Not unless I am as mad as you are,” she told Zaya. “I’ve dreamed this, of late. I did not know what I was dreaming, until I read this.”
Zaya exhaled, sharply, the relief flooding through her as keen as a knife. “Oh . . . thank the gods.” She looked at Prometheus. “But . . . how?”
You both seem to be sensing the past very clearly at the moment. Perhaps because of the disruptions to this universe’s time-space, thanks to the ley-line damage. Perhaps because of your lineage. You may descend, in part, from the child that the godslayer’s mortal vessel, this Ariadne, carried.
“I think she died,” Zaya said, dubiously. “Without giving birth.”
We may never know. He sighed. If you have any further visions like these, I would greatly appreciate it if you would make them known to me. They may be relevant to my calculations. Or perhaps . . . they will simply provide us more information on the godslayers, such as the one who stood as my brother. He seemed more willing to . . . change . . . than this implacable Adamas. Then again, fire is malleable. Diamond and stone are not.
Zaya nodded, and then volunteered, “I think that the godslayers have to be unbound. I think they’re bound into objects, like a diamond. Or a jar. I think the words have to be said, but they’re bound . . . and maybe the objects they were bound into have been destroyed, or lost.”
If the implacable one was bound to the diamond, that diamond was broken on Crete before I was bound. I remember Thera.
“Or the shard we have is actually a portion of Adamas’ body,” Erida suggested. “Either way, we know that diamonds tend to make very good spell-stones, thanks to their hardness.”
Then is the tablet that was left with me what binds the fiery one? Prometheus sounded pensive. Or is there an additional object, separated from it? He considered it. The Aetheric spirit removes itself after completing whatever it considers its task to be. Leaving the human vessel behind, dazed, confused, and often guilt-stricken by their own actions. Possibly a target for the other gods, and defenseless against them. The Aetherials put themselves into a binding object . . . or perhaps depart for their realm, and the object is a focus for the spell that summons them. The writings left with me might well be a summoning ritual.
“Or an explanation of what went on that no one can read,” Erida volunteered.
Prometheus nodded. Certainly possible. If the tablet is a ritual, and not the focus itself, in the way that the god-born in Fireflower’s first vision had to read words and hold the diamond over her . . . then why was only the tablet left with me? Why separate them?
“Tombs aren’t secure enough,” Maccis said. “And whoever sealed up your tomb didn’t want the godslayer to return,” he added, bluntly. “Two-key systems are far more secure when they’re separated. If I’d just woken up from having my life used like that, I’d have left an explanation, or maybe the summoning with you, gotten on a boat, found the deepest part of the ocean, and dropped the binding object overboard. If there was one.”
“Or it’s in someone’s collection, somewhere,” Erida noted, “and they have absolutely no idea what they have in their hands. Zaya, we should re-catalogue everything we have that’s Hellene or was found in Asia Minor. Look through the old catalogues from museums, too.”
“What would I even be looking for?” Zaya protested. “A lump of coal? Someone could have burned that by now. An antique brazier? A torch?”
Prometheus had ignored the byplay, in favor of addressing Maccis, nodding slowly. Humans do not take kindly to having their free will usurped. He glanced at Zaya. Thank you, Fireflower. I am in your debt.
Zaya relaxed, incrementally, and then they bade her farewell, Erida kissing her on the cheek. “Did I not always tell you that you should be proud of your bloodline?” her mother chided her, gently. “You are a daughter of the Magi. Never forget that.”
Two hours later, Prometheus heard a tap on his door, and glanced up from one of the dozens of books pilled on his desk. He’d taught himself to read a half-dozen languages since his awakening; the constant surge of data and information was valuable to him. It enriched him, and his calculations, in a way that was altogether alien from the means of knowledge available in the Veil. Enter, he invited, sensing familiar presences beyond. He was not particularly surprised to see Hecate and Loki, but startled to see Mercury. Should you be out of Valhalla’s safe confines?
Loki’s skill at concealment permits me this small excursion, Mercury informed him, but his eyes remained on Hecate. Hecate perched on the jotun-sized bed that took up most of Prometheus’ chamber, and cocked her head. I was given a message to pass to Hecate. From an entity who has a domain in a hidden portion of Valhalla. This personage told me to apologize on her behalf, and assure our lady of the crossroads that all will be made right in time.
Prometheus’ head had snapped up. You’ve met the entity who is altering the prophecy and the course of events?
Met, yes. Was I given a Name? No. Mercury’s agitation was nearly palpable. She said that I could only find her because I, like Loki, had not died, while all the others had.
Hec
ate looked away. Mercury gesticulated for a moment, and then went on, And when I brought the notion of an entity on par with Jupiter camping out beside Valhalla to our friend Loki, he told me not to worry about it. A scathing glance at the trickster god. I think perhaps that I should be very concerned that you may indeed have your own agenda.
Loki shook his head. Not an agenda, he said. Just . . . presentiments. Intimations. I have been much concerned with prophecy for two thousand years, since the Norns first announced that Fenris and Jormangand and I would bring about Ragnarok. I could never see how that was possible. I am not as wedded to the future as mad Apollo of Delphi. I am not a prognosticator of possibilities, like Prometheus here. He paused. Most of us, to stay sane within this reality, must do what Odin does so well. We need to see the face of time with mortal eyes. I do this as much as of any of us does. And yet, because of my interest in the future, I have these intimations. And my sense is that this entity is no threat. If she were, she would already have attacked Valhalla, and we would know her Name. A sidelong glance. You are sure it was a female? As you yourself have told Stormborn, that is a rather arbitrary concept for us . . . .
I am quite certain. Mercury stared at Hecate. Do you intend to say anything, lady of doors?
Hecate looked up, and smiled, but the expression was bittersweet. Only that it is good to see that she will own the debt, and repay it. When she will remember it, however, remains in question.
Mercury glared at her. Give me one good reason why I should not take this matter directly to Odin. As I should, as a guest in his domain, protected by his power.
Prometheus squinted. I do not see any lines of probability radiating out from that that lead . . . anywhere. If they go searching for this entity, it is very likely that she will not be found, given her level of power. I also only see an eight percent probability of her attacking Valhalla. It seems more likely that she is, in some way, affiliated with them. He frowned. I also see a forty-five percent probability of it . . . resulting in chaos. I do not understand what I am seeing. He stared at Hecate. This is not Cronus.
No. Cronus is dead. Zeus killed and devoured him.
Cronus was the master of unbridled occurrence. Only he could do what I am seeing. I see . . . temporal collapse. Prometheus stared at Mercury, who had paled. Maia-within-Mercury remembered Cronus.
I do not understand. Loki sounded mildly confused.
Cronus mastered time as well as space. Zeus was only able to defeat him with a trick, and the aid of all his Olympians. Mercury hesitated. Cronus is dead. I . . . Maia watched him die, and then fled.
Prometheus nodded. I was dead, and returned. But I do not think he has. Do not press this issue, Mercury, I beg of you. Not for the moment.
Loki nodded, his eyes gleaming with curiosity . . . and a hint of knowledge that irked Prometheus. He hated information being withheld from him. If it becomes relevant, I swear that I will tell Odin myself, Mercury. Let the fault and the blame come to rest on my head, not yours. He flicked a finger in Prometheus’ direction. Don’t look like that. I have suspicions. Nothing more.
When the other two had left, Hecate drifted across the room, and whispered his Name in his ear. Prometheus closed his eyes at the sweetness of it. Do not cloud my mind right now, I beg of you.
It is not Cronus. You may put that fear behind you. I would not ally with him, even if he did somehow return. He would not understand the modern world. He would only seek to devour it. Hecate stroked his cheek. You took your new life from me. And I do not regret it. We are bound because of it. But it would indeed be a wondrous thing, if my power were returned to me. When she acknowledges the debt.
He lifted the hood of her cloak out of the way, so he could see her face and her eyes. He knew why she always concealed herself. She couldn’t bear to allow anyone to see her so . . . diminished. But she allowed him to see her. And he was grateful for the trust that simple fact bespoke. You are more than the sum of your available power, he told her, simply. I am far less powerful than you are, even now. But what I have is knowledge, and the will and the skill to use it. And so do you. Humans and inexperienced spirits often mistake force for power. You and I both know, that real power . . . can be a subtle thing. He lowered his head to hers, and said her Name, and they began to let their power run between them in perfect, utter silence. The bliss of communion. He knew she held parts of her mind back, shadowed and secret. But he trusted her. Because in the end, everyone had to trust something, and she had yet to lie to him, since bringing him back from beyond death’s final door.
Chapter 13: Fimbulwinter
Climatology is not an exact science. Compared to most forms of natural philosophy, it is considerably looser than practitioners like to admit, simply because of the numbers of interacting systems and variables that are involved. Accounting for every variable is almost impossible, and statistical models are only as good as the data they are fed. Modern calculi can crunch numbers, but how often do weather prognosticators err in the forecast?
With that in mind, we can address the so-called ‘Fimbulwinter.’ We already see the result; its causes are multiple.
First, we have seen an increase in the number of volcanic eruptions in the past twenty-five years. Volcanic activity can be difficult to assess in terms of its relation to climate. Ash can block sunlight in the atmosphere, acting as a cooling agent. For example, many researchers posit the eruption of Krakatoa as the reason for world-wide famine in 580 AC. Procopius, a Roman historian of the era, stated that the sun had no heat or brightness to it, as if the world had been placed into a year-long eclipse. Records in Qin, Eire, and Britannia indicate famine in that year.
On the other hand, that same volcanic ash that cools the planet in the atmosphere, when settled onto the white polar icecaps, will reduce albedo, and absorb the sun’s light, causing the ice to melt. Volcanoes also release tremendous amounts of CO2, which is a greenhouse gas, and can therefore warm the atmosphere. Both have occurred, and have coincided with the undersea volcanic activity caused by ruptured ley-lines. And, if it is not too precious to mention in a scientific periodical, the awakening of Jormangand. Once the world-serpent left the Arctic and the ley-lines were repaired (see my parallel article “Ley-Line Disruption” in the Journal of Ley-Engineering, Winter, 1995), volcanic activity subsided, and the Arctic ice cap began to reform.
All of this stressed the existing climatic system. Warming and cooling agents fought against each other to achieve an equilibrium point . . . until the death of Skadi in 1995. Skadi was, by far, the most powerful god or goddess of winter in the world. Angerona and Cailleach Bheur? Who prays to them? Boreas, the north wind? Perhaps a mariner or two still honors his name. But Skadi had the reverence and fear of two hundred million or more people who lived in the coldest climates on Earth, and honored her potential wrath.
At the moment of her death, the North Sea began to freeze. Britannia, as most people here are aware, is currently as ice-bound as a Raccian port in winter. Sea levels, which had crept up by almost a foot, world-wide, in the past twenty years—a pace that climatologists called frightening—have dropped by two feet in the past six months. Frightening seems far too tame a word to describe this event. If this trend continues, the Imakpik Strait between Caesaria Aquilonis and Raccia may, within our lifetimes, once more become dry enough for someone to walk between the continents, as the ancients did. The lands once walked by mammoths may reemerge around Europa, and human villages, untouched since the last Ice Age, may once more see the light of day.
With so much additional ice locked into the polar regions, we may be looking at a long, cold, dry epoch in our planet’s history. Agriculture is certain to suffer, as will wildlife.
—Minori Sasaki, “Systemic Interactions and Thaumic Variables in Changing Climatic Conditions.” Journal of Climatology, vol. 127, Spring-Winter, 1996 truncated ed.
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November 5, 1995 AC
The temple of Isis at Pilak had been founded by
the Ptolemies, but it had taken the Romans to finish construction of the complex. Budget overruns, lack of skilled labor, and occasional wars, had delayed progress on the temple and city dedicated to Isis, mother of Horus and wife of Osiris. Her brother-husband had been dead long before Akhenaten had come along.
Now, only seven Egyptian deities had survived the reign of Akhenaten. Aten himself had barely survived the wrath of his fellow gods; Horus and Isis had, in fact, kept Set from killing him. They had reasoned that they were weakened too much to face the gods of their neighbors without him . . . and Set would have been made even more fearsome, had he feasted on the Aten’s energies.
Thoth and Sekhmet had survived the purge as well, but Sekhmet had lost her sister-self, Hathor. They had been twin goddesses, two-in-one, until that point. Both had been beloved of Ra, and Ra, too had been killed. Only enough of Ra and Amun’s essences had been left for Sekhmet to rebirth as Amun-Ra. Eternally separated now from her beloved, and deprived of her twin-self, the war-goddess had become even more ferocious than before.
Not knowing what else to do, they had all directed their priests to continue offering devotions to the slain gods. It had seemed the wisest course at the time. For if humans knew that gods could die at the hands of their god-born, or even sorcerers who’d found ways to bind them in the mortal realm, or attempted to UnName them, like Akhenaten . . . they would try to do it again.
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