After the Fire (After the Fire: Book the First)

by J. L. Murray

  “Some of the more powerful fellows, they get territorial. They don't want other gods coming in and taking over. And since the fire, well...there are not as many people, are there?”

  “I do not know,” said Eleni.

  Fin smiled. Eleni noticed his mouth went lopsided when he smiled. One canine had been chipped and looked sharper than the rest. She liked the way he smiled.

  “No,” he said. “There are not as many people to worship. Some places, the people were wiped out. Some gods crave the worship like your wolf craves meat and blood and killing. It makes them strong, invincible. So they walk around like specters, looking for humans, anyone to worship them. Perun doesn't like the other gods coming here. Everyone knows what will happen if they come anyway, but some don't care. They only think that there could be mortals about. Perun gives them one chance to turn around, then he defends his land.”

  “It is not his land,” said Eleni. “The land is the land.”

  “Indeed,” said Fin. “But he calls it his. And none have yet beat him to prove otherwise.”

  “It sounds like a great waste of time,” said Eleni. She looked toward the sky again. “We should go. It will be light soon.”

  “How can you be so sure?” said Fin.

  “The wolf is gone,” said Eleni. “The sun always comes up right after she runs off.”

  They walked the rest of the way without stopping, arriving at a ridge jutting between the thick of the trees just before mid-morning. The mist was still rising off of the ground, as if in one great sheet. Eleni could not see her own feet. She had never been this far into the forest. She had always turned back before this point to get back to the village before daylight. The trees wore long, flowing moss like jewelry, the green almost glowing in the sunlight. The colors of the day overwhelmed her senses. The red of the berries in a currant bush, the blue of the sky just visible between chattering leaves and needles, the cool dew glistening like stars in the sunlight on a branch. She had forgotten about the color and beauty that the day brought, so long had she been permitted out only at night.

  Eleni followed Fin to the ridge. There was a short drop into a low area that Eleni saw spread out in front of them, as if a flood long ago carved the land like a knife. The trees were sparse below, spindly, young, and undeveloped. Between the small trees were houses, dozens of them. They were not like any houses Eleni had ever seen. They were colorful and bright and seemed to be made of heavy cloth or leather. Some of them had pictures painted on them, large symbols that Eleni didn't understand, similar to the Daci symbols that warded off evil. The symbols hadn't done much to help her village, and Eleni doubted they would be any more effective here.

  There was a bright red house almost exactly in the middle of the camp. Eleni squinted. Black birds perched on top and all around it. She startled when she noticed dozens of eyes looking back at her from the trees. They were ravens – normal ones, not like the strange white one – but they were watching her in perfect silence. She looked at Fin. He shrugged.

  “Magda's. You'll get used to them.”

  She could smell the scent of the Reivers, but she only saw people. Small from this distance, she could see men draped in something that looked like furs over their shoulders, and women in dresses as bright as the strange houses. There was a flash of white and a screech that made Eleni's ears throb, and then the white raven was sitting on Fin's shoulder.

  “Hello, Mati,” said Fin.

  “Why do you call him a name?” said Eleni. “He is an animal. Animals do not have names.”

  “Do they not?” said Fin. “How can you be sure?” Eleni frowned at him. “Do you not call your wolf by a name?”

  “She is not mine,” said Eleni. “She is her own. And she has no name. I call her nothing, just as she calls me nothing.”

  “Nothing it is,” said Fin, smiling with his eyes again. Eleni always thought he was mocking her when he looked like that. She stiffened. “Next time I see your...er, the wolf, I shall call her Nothing.”

  “You can do what you like,” said Eleni. “It will make no difference to an animal.”

  Fin smiled at her. “Are you ready?”

  Eleni nodded. “Yes.”

  They set off down a trail tamped down on the ridge, muddy from the dew and the mist. Eleni could see her breath. It wasn't smoke this time, but fog from the cold of the air. Above the smell of Reivers, she could smell the coming snow.

  As they neared the camp, the movement stopped. The people stopped to gape at the newcomers, frozen where they had been gathering wood or tending to the children or, among the men, talking in a huddle and occasionally hitting each other. There was whispering, and more men and women trickled out of the makeshift houses to look at Fin and Eleni. Eleni was sure they were focused on her. The white raven called Mati flew up off of Fin's shoulder and flapped across the camp to land on another shoulder. Eleni peered through the people to see an old woman, older than anyone Eleni had ever seen. Her spine was curved and her hair hung down her shoulders long and gray. She was dressed in black that contrasted with her raven. When she saw Eleni, she stood up as straight as she was able to. The black ravens Eleni had seen from above seemed to watch the old woman, a half dozen of them hopping along behind her.

  But Eleni's eyes shifted away from the crone she knew to be her aunt. She looked around at the strange village. Everything was temporary. The houses she had seen from above were just sheets of tanned hide wrapped around round wooden frames. Most looked as though a good wind would topple them. The women were painfully thin, the skin clinging to their bones; the children's eyes dark and bruised, their skin sallow. The babies didn't make a sound but just hung limply in their mothers' arms. The men, all big, tall and almost awkwardly broad, looked healthy and well-fed and strong. Many had wolf skins draped around their shoulders, some with the heads still attached. They carried weapons made of polished boar in slings on their backs, the handles jutting out of the leather. The men looked at each other, blinking nervously, then back to her.

  Eleni stepped forward, looking over the crowd. The smell of Reivers filled her nostrils, making her want to spit. With resolve, she stepped toward the first man, whose eyes shifted around at the others around him. He seemed afraid to look at Eleni. She could smell fear in his bitter sweat. She forced herself to lean forward and breathe in his stench. She looked up at him and he finally met her eyes. Eleni shook her head.

  She walked purposefully toward the next man, passing a mother whose breasts lay empty and flat under her shift, in her arms a jaundiced baby almost as thin as she was. Eleni turned her attention to the man. He took a step back, but Eleni took another one forward. She leaned forward and breathed in the smell of unwashed Reiver and old grease. She shook her head again. Again she walked to the next man, the largest one that she could see. He stood a head above the others and had a pompous look on his face that reminded Eleni of Cosmin.

  “Eleni,” said a sharp voice, and the old woman emerged through the crowd, the women making way for her. “What is this?”

  Eleni turned, ignoring her. She sniffed the large man. He was cleaner than the others, though the smell of Reiver was more pronounced. Eleni met his eyes and saw he was not as afraid as the others. He just stared back at her, bemused. Eleni turned away. She approached the next man. He was shaking, she saw as she moved to confront him. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He was thinner than the other men and had the look of a weasel about his eyes and nose. He was clutching a pouch. Eleni could feel something radiating from him that she couldn't quite understand. Something familiar and welcome, though it was disarming coming from this man that smelled of rotten meat and urine. He had a fur slung over his shoulder, though the hair was matted and dirty, encrusted with food and something brown that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

  Eleni knew before she inhaled that she had found what she sought.

  “Eleni,” said the old woman again. “Is this how you treat family? Will you not greet me?”

&n
bsp; “I will,” said Eleni, not looking away from the man's twitchy eyes. She held out her hand to the man. “You have something that belongs to me, small man,” she said. The man shook his head. “If I have to look for it, it is going to hurt,” said Eleni.

  The man feverishly reached inside his shirt and pulled something over his head. He held it out to Eleni. She took it, her eyes drawn to it. It was a round, clear orb, like a bubble in the stream, and was no bigger than an acorn. But inside, tiny bolts of lightning flashed and forked and hit the sides of its prison, seemingly desperate to be released. The flashing bauble felt hard and cool, but a feeling came over her, a feeling she associated with her mother. A feeling of safety, of feeling protected. But there was more. The small lightning also hinted at a memory of pain that throbbed in Eleni's chest.

  The Reivers were staring at her. She dropped the leather strap over her head and tucked the pendant under the fabric of her dress. She looked back at the weasel in front of her. He had been staring at her, but looked away when she looked at him. “You hurt a friend of mine,” Eleni said. “His name was Alin. He is dead now.”

  The man swallowed, his eyes flickering from Eleni to someone standing behind her. Eleni turned to see the ancient woman. One of her eyes was dead and white, but her other eye, a vibrant blue that had clouded slightly with age, seemed to be boring into the man.

  “You were told,” said the old woman in a controlled, tight voice, “to leave the old man alone.”

  The weasel's jaw moved like he was trying to talk, but no sound came out. His eyes were wild with fear, small and darting. They reminded Eleni of a cornered pig. Magda turned her good eye on Eleni.

  “Child, my apologies. If you wish to kill him, I will not object. But I would ask you to let his brethren do it in their own way.”

  Eleni looked at the old woman for a long moment. “Thank you,” she said. “I do not wish him dead.”

  Magda shook her head, misunderstanding. “Why not, child? You have every right to kill him.”

  “Alin died because he wanted to,” said Eleni. “I could have saved him. But for the pain caused to him...” Eleni turned to the man, who looked scared and now bewildered by the conversation going on. “Give me your weapon,” said Eleni.

  “Wh-what?” he said.

  “That weapon,” said Eleni. “On your back. What is it called?” Eleni looked at Magda.

  “Falx,” said the old woman, looking at Eleni with wonder. “It is called a falx.”

  “Falx,” said Eleni to the man. “Give it to me.”

  The man shook his head, but lifted the leather strap that held the blade safely at his back. Eleni took it. She pulled the handle out of the leather pouch and turned it this way and that. It was a long blade, as long as Eleni's arm, and murderously curved at the end like it had been bent in on itself. Eleni replaced it in its leather and slung the strap across her chest. “This will do,” she said. But she didn't look away from the man. He had sweat soaking his hair and running down his face. Eleni looked around her at the crowd gathered.

  “Why are these people starving?” she asked the man in front of her. He shook his head, his mouth moving soundlessly again. Eleni sighed.

  The biggest man stepped forward. Eleni had to look up to see his face. He was glowering. He looked to Magda. “I mean no disrespect, Grandmother,” he said, “but our ways are our own. Not for this kivul to judge.”

  “Men that refuse to feed their children are not men at all,” hissed Eleni, looking up at him with disdain.

  The big man's eyes widened with rage. He clenched his fists. Magda stepped in front of him. “Elek,” Magda said. “I think you forget yourself sometimes. If you do not want Eleni to burn your own village to the ground with you all in it, I suggest you show the goddess some respect.”

  Eleni watched the exchange without emotion. It meant nothing to see a big man angry. They always thought they could hurt her until the very end, when they came to regret their decisions. She had no reason to shrink from this man who thought he was as a wolf. The thought was almost laughable to her. Wolves were quiet and noble. This man was garish and had a cruel glint in his eyes.

  Eleni turned back to the weasel. “You will fetch food for the women and children,” she said. “Do this, and I will not kill you.”

  “B-but...” said the man, looking indignant. “You took my weapon.”

  “Yes,” said Eleni. “You will find other ways. I have been hunting for my village for many years. The men were too afraid to do it. Are you too afraid, small man?” Her tone was not confrontational, but casual, as if commenting on the weather.

  The man's eyes flicked to the big man. Eleni looked at him. He had his head down, but was glowering at her. Eleni looked at him curiously.

  “You will do this,” said Magda to the weasel. “Do as she says, or I will kill you myself.”

  “You are a coward,” said Eleni. She handed him back the falx. “Very well, take the weapon. But you will hunt for your people. Do you understand? Starting now.”

  The man took a step back, unsure, the falx pressed to his chest. He looked at Eleni. She responded by lifting her hand and allowing a flame to burst from her palm. The man scrambled away from her quickly, and into to the forest. Eleni looked around at the crowd of people,mostly women, some children, a few old men. They were whispering and looking at Eleni. Eleni made a fist and extinguished the flame. She looked beyond them to the figure standing at the edge of the crowd, in shadow and sunlight at the same time. Fin looked back at her, an odd small smile on his face. He tipped his hat to Eleni and strode away, toward a blue tent at the edge of the encampment. Eleni touched the lump under her collar. The necklace sent a buzzing into her fingers.

  “I hope you're pleased with yourself,” said a voice. Eleni turned for the first time to give her full attention to Magda.

  “Pleased?” said Eleni. “Why would I be pleased?”

  “Hrm,” Magda grunted. “Come with me,” she said, walking toward a green tent. “You will sleep first. Then I will tell you everything.”

  Chapter Eight

  The three figures loped up the slope, upright on two legs, but they would have looked just as menacing on four. They were covered in dark brown fur crusted in ice and snow. If not for their sheer power and the size of the gleaming white teeth protruding from their jaws, they would have looked almost comical, awkwardly stumbling up the mountain. As it was, the very trees seemed to shy away from the three, crashing their way up to the summit. There was a fierce intelligence behind their cruel black eyes, and when all three turned to face Perun at the top of the mountain, even the great god of lightning hesitated.

  Perun stood tall and waited for the creatures to approach him. They looked on him with their beastly eyes. He flexed his fingers, readying himself should they choose to attack. It was in their best interest to keep their distance, but Perun didn't trust them. And with every task, they had grown stronger with the essence they believed was making them into gods. Perun feared that soon he wouldn't be able to kill them. But he couldn't lose them now. Not yet. He was so close.

  Though he towered over most men, Perun had to crane his neck to look up at the two that stood in front of him. The third lingered behind, smaller in stature, but still immense. Perun had never heard the small one make a sound. He was always watching, those sharp black eyes examining, boring into him every time they met. The quiet one made Perun even more uneasy than the larger, noisier two. He had shown up with Skoll and Hati only recently, and any inquiry into who he was or where he came from was met with growls and snarls.

  The quiet creature stared at Perun, as if watching a performance, a play-act. If he hadn't had the head of a wolf, Perun would say he wore an almost bemused expression. Perhaps he was only imagining it.

  “Our payment,” growled Skoll, in a voice that put Perun's teeth on edge. It was a voice that was not meant to be a voice. Something meant only for snarls and howling and guttural growls. “You will give it to us now.” Frozen
slaver was icicled on the beast's chin. His lipless mouth curled up over his teeth as though containing the urge to rip out Perun's throat.

  “In good time,” said Perun. “First, tell me if you found him.”

  “He cannot be found,” said Hati, matching his brother's fierce tone. “He does not exist in the world. We have searched everywhere for him.”

  “He's here,” said Perun. “You have found someone, haven't you?”

  Skoll stopped baring his teeth, which Perun guessed was the same as smiling for him. “Three,” he said. “Two sisters and a brother. We found them on the Western Islands. They put up a great fight. But we were stronger.”

  “What were they?” said Perun.

  “Order gods,” said a voice. Perun looked up to realize it was the first thing the small one had ever said in his presence. He spoke clearly, unlike the other two, but there was venom in his voice.

  “Indeed,” said Perun. “And where are they?”

  The brothers turned toward the third, whose great, clawed paw went to a pouch at the quiet one's hip. Perun had not even noticed it before because it was covered in fur the same color and texture as the beast's. His movements were smooth and Perun frowned. He tried to remember the third beast's name, but he couldn't remember if he had ever known it. The beast seemed to sense Perun's thoughts because he looked up at him. Something passed in the beast's eyes, making Perun blink at him. For a moment the eyes had turned a deep shade of violet, Perun was sure of it.

  Perun caught the pouch from the great wolf-beast. Finding the opening in all the fur, he emptied the object out into his hand. Perun held the carved horn up to the light. It was so light, it was hard to believe what it contained. The designs carved into the bone were foreign to him. There were symbols among the weave-work that Perun didn't understand. Every time he saw it, it vexed him. He should know what they meant. He was a god, after all. Nothing was a mystery to him. No written or spoken language should have been alien. Yet here he was squinting at the corked horn, as unable to understand as a mortal. Perhaps his power was fading. He banished the thought as soon as it had come. Impossible.