Godspeaker

by Tessa Crowley

  “It’s a tradition that began with a celebration of my coronation,” she called, the acoustics of the arena carrying her voice all across the ring, “but it would be presumptuous of me to pretend that these Tournaments have anything to do with my rule.

  “Seasons pass, children of the fourth and fifth and even sixth generations are born, and these Tournaments continue – not only as a test of mettle and physical prowess, but as a standard by which we measure ourselves and how we have used the gifts the gods have given us.

  “It is my pleasure and my privilege, here in the sight of our gods and our Godspeakers—” (here she gestured briefly up to us) “—to declare that the twenty-ninth Queensday Tournaments are officially begun!”

  More cheering, even more impossibly loud, and the great wooden doors on the far end of the arena floor groaned open. The athletes for the first event came out on chariots to the sound of thundering drums.

  “The first event is archery,” Greatmother Amira said to me, though she had to shout to be heard over the fanfare “I don’t think anyone would notice if you took a nap.”

  I grinned at her.

  I had thought that my presence would only be required during the opening day of the Queensday Tournaments, but as it turned out, such was not the case – I was expected to be at every one. So in addition to my upcoming confirmation ceremony and coordinating with the High Priestess of Umbrion (the only High Priestess of Umbrion, as it turned out) about my upcoming duties as the head of her Temple, I had to take six hours out of each day to watch the games.

  On the third day, the first event to take place was combat Craft, Perenor’s event. I wasn’t particularly eager to see him, even from a distance. Long before I’d made it into the Queen’s Ring, my mind was turning over the painful, troublesome problem that was my family and what to do about them.

  But thinking about it turned out to be a mistake, because when I made it up to the special section of seats on that third day, there she was – my grandmother, as though manifested directly from my desire not to talk to her.

  She was sour-faced as ever, looking particularly pale in the bright sunlight, and I could tell from her gait alone that she had been waiting for me.

  “Grandson,” she said, voice flat.

  I stopped a few feet away from her. For a moment, I seriously considered just leaving from whence I came, but I doubted I could get out unnoticed. Maybe I could get a guard to throw her out? Then again, she was a member of the Queenscourt, so the chances of that working were very slim.

  “How much longer, may I ask, are you planning on avoiding your family?”

  Well, it could never be said that my grandmother was one to mince words.

  “Only as l-l-long as you are its m-matriarch, I suppose.”

  The glibness of my answer did not land well with her at all, which, quite to my surprise, did not bother me in the least. Time was, that smoldering glare of hers would eat the heart out of my chest, but as I met her eyes, I felt no fear.

  Perhaps she didn’t have power over me anymore. Perhaps, as Umbrion had asked of me, I had already forsaken her.

  “You do not wear this new power well,” she said coldly.

  “W-well it’s a good thing that I d-don’t care about y-your opinion, then.”

  I sat down neatly on the bench. Grandmother straightened, bristled, narrowed her eyes. I must have struck a nerve.

  “Then perhaps you’ll care about common sense and propriety,” Grandmother said. “Perhaps, in the absence of any formal declaration from you, you have realized the very serious and far-reaching implications of formally renouncing your house.”

  I could already tell this was going to be a tedious conversation. I looked down at the arena where the contestants were gathering.

  “Silas, if you actually renounce House Olen, there will be very real political and economic consequences,” Grandmother said severely. “We have important diplomatic ties all over Andelan that would be put under considerable strain if word got out that you renounced it.”

  Struck by the sudden dark irony, I laughed. The reaction seemed to bother her quite profoundly, which only made me laugh harder.

  “Do you think this is funny?” she demanded. “Do you have no concept of the trade deals we keep in place, the delicate diplomacy House Olen facilitates? This would cast a very real shadow—”

  “Grandmother,” I interrupted, still laughing, “if y-y-you think I haven’t c-considered the political and econ-n-nomic ramifications of renouncing m-m-my house, you underestimate m-me more than usual.”

  “Silas—”

  “Of c-c-c-course I know the ramifications,” I said. “I’m n-n-no fool. If I have not y-y-yet made my d-d-declaration, it’s only b-because I know how b-b-badly the s-s-scandal would strain important d-d-diplomatic ties.”

  “Then why in the name of all the gods would you even threaten something so grave?” she demanded.

  “B-b-because it s-s-seemed like the quickest w-w-way to what we b-b-both want,” I answered honestly. “Or will you d-d-deny that you w-want to be r-r-rid of me?”

  “That’s…” Her expression soured. “Silas—”

  “D-don’t trouble y-yourself with m-m-my heart, Grandmother,” I answered. “You n-n-never have b-before.”

  Oh, yes, that had hit a nerve. Good.

  “B-b-besides,” I continued, “the N-Night Father all but g-g-gave me holy order to-to-to forsake you.”

  Grandmother reacted as though my words had struck her across the face. I kept going, taking a dark and intense pleasure in her sudden alarm.

  “He’s b-b-been with me all m-m-my life,” I continued, “w-watching over me s-s-since conception, and his advice w-w-was to forsake you.”

  She did not have a response, so I kept talking.

  “I was sh-shocked at first – it d-d-didn’t seem like advice th-that a g-god would give – but I’ve had t-t-time to think about it and n-n-now I th-think I understand. I am st-stronger without you, w-w-w-without your poison.”

  “Silas,” she said. Her voice was softer this time, but I was no longer interested in hearing what she had to say.

  “You d-d-don’t even know how b-badly you hurt me – or if y-y-you do, you don’t s-seem to care,” I said. “You t-t-tried to betroth me behind m-my back, you c-called me a heretic wh-when I needed you m-m-most—”

  “Silas,” she said a second time, but it was not her turn to talk.

  “All th-th-this, after a l-life time of c-contempt, derision, cruelty. If y-y-you have ever l-loved me, you’ve c-c-c-certainly n-never taken pains to sh-show it.

  “So wh-wh-why shouldn’t I f-forsake you?” I asked. I did not take my eyes off her. I drank in every line and subtlety of her face, every twitch, every restrained grimace. “Why sh-shouldn’t I renounce House Olen? Wh-wh-what loyalty do-do I owe it, after everything? What l-loyalty has it ever sh-sh-shown me?”

  She opened her mouth as if to respond, but no words came. All the times her cruelty had left me stuttering in heartbroken impotence, all the times she’d let me hate myself, this felt like justice, or at least something like it.

  And then there was the sound of screaming.

  It took me a moment to refocus, to pull myself up and out of the conversation and identify the source. On the far side of the arena, the spectators that were not scrambling towards the exits were staring up at the sky in open-mouthed shock. I turned over my shoulder, and it did not take long for me to find the source of their fear.

  Screaming out from and ripping apart a large fair-weather cloud was an immense, silver-white light with a long tail. It was hurtling down for the sky, aimed straight at the arena.

  “What in Sol’s name is that?” I heard Grandmother breathe.

  I had no answer. I did not know. Whatever it was, it was huge and it was barreling down toward us faster than the sound of it could catch up.

  “Silas—” Her hand found my shoulder. “Silas, we have to run—”

  “There’s n-n-not
enough time.” It was moving far too quickly. “W-w-we need cover—”

  The screaming was getting louder, more frantic. People were clogging the vomitoria, scrambling over each other to get out—

  “Perenor!” Grandmother cried, bracing both hands on the balustrade that overlooked the arena. “Perenor!”

  Down in the middle of the ring, the battle had stopped. I could see Perenor – or at least, the indistinct outline of Perenor – standing on the dirt, shoulders heaving, looking up at Grandmother, then the crowds, then the sky.

  “Run, Perenor!” she shouted. “Find cover!”

  But he didn’t run. He stood and stared up at the sky. I could see his hands wringing around his staff. And suddenly, he was holding it over his head, and was glowing with a brilliant white light—

  “Wh-wh-what’s he d-doing?”

  She swore colorfully in the Old Tongue. “That foolish boy!”

  I felt arms around me a moment later, and I was pulled down, behind the balustrade.

  “Grandmother—!”

  “Stay down!”

  I did not have time to protest. One after the other, several things happened very quickly:

  First, there was a rumbling, low and sonorous, as though springing up from the depths of the living rock under our feet. It was accompanied by a sudden burst of white light – not from the sky, but from the center of the arena. It domed outward, a thick layer of Craft that was hot to the touch, that expanded across the entirety of the Queen’s Ring.

  Then, there came a sound so deafening, so impossibly loud, that for a moment I thought my head might split open from the force of it. It darkened my vision and the shockwave knocked me flat, my grandmother on top of me.

  Finally, there was a light, and a tremendous shaking, and the smell of ozone and rising dust. Then there was the sensation of falling, as though the ground had given out beneath my feet, and we fell, Grandmother and I, tumbling over what felt like broken rock and splintered wood and debris.

  We tumbled through the sound and the chaos and the roaring fury, until we stopped.

  I was immersed in a terrible, numb silence. I blinked open my eyes but could see little past smudges of yellow sand and white limestone.

  My ears began ringing, softly at first, and then louder. The world came gradually back into focus.

  I could hear my grandmother – or rather, I could hear a muted, foggy blur of sound that resembled something like my grandmother’s voice – but I could not make out the words. There was ash raining from the sky, black and hot, and it burned my skin.

  “Silas,” I could hear Grandmother say as the ringing in my ears began to subside. Her voice was hoarse, and she was coughing, and there was distant screaming. “Silas – Perenor—?”

  “Your Holiness!” came another voice, but I was being swallowed by an ever-encroaching darkness. “Your Holiness, Your Holiness, are you all right? Stay awake! Stay awake!”

  But I did not stay awake. I fell into the swallowing dark, and then there was nothing.

  Are you hurt, little bird?

  We were once again back at the beach, awash in water and starlight.

  I knew that this was a dream, and though I had dreamt of him many times, I had no doubt that this was a true manifestation.

  He moved toward me in subtle, rippling movements, until he was close enough to lay his hands on my face. I shivered at his touch, and all the terrible-wonderful sacrilegious wanting came surging back to life in my chest and on my throat.

  I must be more vigilant, he said. I can’t have my little bird breaking a wing.

  I wetted my lips, tried to focus. It was always so hard to concentrate when he was close like this, and it took everything in me to come up with a response, even in the sleepy, hazy, uncoordinated fog of a dream.

  “What happened?” I asked him. “Do you know?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked upward into a strange, ethereal smile. His hands did not move from my face.

  A large chunk of rock fell from the sky, he answered.

  “A rock?” I repeated. “But it was on fire. Stone can’t burn.”

  An artifact of high velocity, he said, which was a fascinating answer, and I would have liked more time to think about it, but unfortunately he didn’t give me the time. These are not the interesting questions you’re asking, little bird.

  Despite myself, I smiled. Somehow the fact that he was speaking in riddles struck me as oddly charming. I’d always loved riddles. “And what are the interesting questions?”

  The most interesting question, I should think, is where it came from.

  It seemed strange to consider that such a massive, cataclysmic event could have come from anywhere. I frowned and thought about it, but my mind could come up with no answers.

  You’ll understand in time, the Night Father assured me. He lifted one hand and brushed it through my hair, and all at once I fell apart underneath his fingertips. I wondered if he knew what he did to me, the reactions he evoked in me. In fact, I imagine that when we next meet, everything will be made quite clear to you. How is your family, my little bird?

  The abrupt change in the conversation was surprising, though only for a moment. I looked down at my feet as I thought. The dream-blackened waters were lapping at my feet, though I could not feel the.

  “I think I will renounce my house,” I answered eventually.

  A weighted action in your culture, in my admittedly limited understanding. I cannot say that I’m surprised. It was always going to end this way.

  “Was it?” I asked him, looking back up.

  His hands travelled lower, closer to my throat. My heartbeat hastened.

  You are stronger without them, he said. He was nearer now, so close that his starlight hummed against my skin. We both are. Our destiny is beyond anything they could possibly hope to comprehend.

  The only explanation I have for what I sad next is, despite knowing that I was addressing a deity whose power and ineffability could chew me up in an instant, the strange feeling of invincibility unique to dreaming had not gone away.

  I was not thinking of his godliness at that moment. I was thinking of his fingertips and of how badly I wanted him. I felt ethereal, windswept, fearless, and I asked—

  “Are you going to kiss me?”

  It seemed like a perfectly fair question at the time. After all, he was so very close to me, and his touches were intoxicating.

  But his response was not immediate. For a moment, all he did was study me, his eyes like auroras and his fingertips like lightning, until the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a half-smile.

  Would you like me to kiss you?

  I tried to swallow down the heart in my throat to little success.

  “Yes,” I answered. What point was there in lying to a god, after all?

  Then I will kiss you, he said, and that was precisely what he did.

  There was a moment quite some time after the fact that I realized the last time a god had kissed an Andel, an entire culture had sprung up around her.

  I doubt that any songs will be sung or legends passed down about this kiss – or at least not any that I should like to hear – but some selfish part of me thought it deserved some fanfare.

  Calling it a kiss at all was a bit of a misnomer. It was a kiss in the same way the ocean was water – correct, but vastly oversimplifying. Far more than a kiss, it was an event, one that ripped me open and dissolved me into stardust.

  There are no words that can really do it justice. The best I can say is that being enfolded in his arms was like being submerged in liquid twilight, and that whatever your mind could come up with as to what it is like to be kissed by a god, I can assure you that you are underestimating it.

  But all dreams end, and though I would not have minded spending the rest of my life pressed into him, I was pulled away—

  “Silas…?”

  I smelled tea, heard birdsong, felt sunlight. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could still feel him on m
y lips, and my skin was still electrified.

  “You’re sweating. Are you feverish?”

  A hand pressed to my head. I opened my eyes but found myself squinting against the light reflecting off the bright limestone walls. I knew at once that I must have been in the palace.

  “Soya?” My voice came out as a rasp.

  “The very same. You don’t seem to have a fever.”

  Underneath her hand, which I could now perceive as being on my forehead, there was cold sweat beading. I had neither the faculties nor the impetus to tell her why.

  “Wh-wh-wh-what happened?” I asked, coming up through my own consciousness one stage a time.

  “No one’s sure.” I blinked a few times, willing my eyes to refocus. Soya had withdrawn her hand and was sitting on a chair at my bedside. “The scholars are still arguing about it, in fact.”

  I sat up slowly. There was a tray of food at the foot of my bed – fresh bread, ham steak, and tea, the sort of meal you’d give to someone who was recovering from something, which I suppose I must have been.

  “It was a ch-chunk of rock that f-f-fell from the s-sky,” I said, realizing as I stared at the food that I was ravenous. I tugged the tray over and went straight for the fragrant, floral tea.

  “Well, no one knows for sure,” Soya said, dragging a chair over from the wall and sitting down. “Perenor’s shield apparently evaporated it.”

  I took several gulps of tea. I had nearly forgotten that detail – the bright dome of Craft from the center of the arena, the deafening roar.

  “Perenor s-s-s-saved Ellorian.” It would have found it more impressive if I didn’t already find it incredibly obnoxious.

  “Yeah,” she said, nudging the ham steak toward me. There wasn’t any silverware – though I was hungry enough not to mind that much – and I tore a large chunk from it. “It wiped him out, though. I guess Craft that strong will really run you ragged.”

  I frowned as I chewed. Even though I told myself I didn’t care, I asked, “He’s okay?”