The god-thing paid her no more attention, still growing – or at least the blackness, the goddess, was growing, subsuming the red skin of Gosfath into itself – until the head wove among the rafters and arms and tendrils alike punched through the roof, letting in shafts of bright autumnal sun and a blast of fresh, cold air to whip away the stink and some of the fuzziness in Tara’s head.
Sobbing, she rocked up to her knees and held her broken arm to her broken chest; the fingernails were turning blue and there was a heaviness inside her, a sloshing as her lung began to fill with blood. All right, Fox God – Crys – I’m not joking any more. I really, really need your help or that thing is going to chase down Rillirin and take the baby. Please?
She didn’t wait to see if He’d answer, but got one foot flat, put her good hand on her knee and pushed up, wobbling. The sword was lost somewhere, so she limped forward with the knife. ‘We’re not done yet,’ she gasped, dots swirling slowly through her vision like soot drifting on a summer breeze. The light was funny, everything glowing slightly around the edges. Had to stop it. Had to keep it away from Rillirin. Stop it …
‘Hey,’ she called and then coughed, coughed blood on to the filthy flagstones, on to her chest and the remains of her gown. Tara dragged the back of her knife hand over her mouth. ‘Hey,’ she yelled again, a little louder. ‘I said we’re not done.’
The gods’ head had vanished through the roof as it continued to grow. It couldn’t see her. Never lose sight of your opponent. Unless you’re too tall to see them, that is.
Another manic giggle stole more of her air as Tara shuffled until she stood between its misshapen, tree-trunk legs. One of the knees bent the wrong way so it flailed and limped as it moved. Maybe it was looking for Rillirin. She stared up at the tracery of veins in the pale flesh, squinting, head spinning as her chest bubbled with every breath. She didn’t have long.
Femoral artery. That’ll do it.
Dragging together the last of her strength, Tara jumped and struck, the blade stabbing in deep and ripping downwards as her weight pulled it out.
The monster let out a bellow and a scream, twin sounds so loud that Tara’s eardrums burst. It slammed back through the roof in a maelstrom of arms and whipping tentacles and fangs and claws, bringing beams and slates and ironwork with it, all raining down to bounce and shatter on the flagstones, Tara protected by the thing’s own bulk. Protected, but in its eyeline.
Another gout of blood, bright and arterial this time, splattered from her mouth and down her chest as something shifted inside her, tore her open, and then red, black-tipped hands scooped her up and lifted her, faster than bird flight, through the roof and into the air and up towards its face. Faces.
Tara burst into the sky, the city and the fields beyond glowing under a warm sun, bright golden rays winking from glass and picking out the golds and reds in the trees and the rich brown earth.
A flock of starlings whirled past, their weird, looping calls summoning her to fly with them. ‘Oh, that’s pretty, isn’t it, Tomaz?’ Tara tried to say through the blood in her throat.
The thing holding her was roaring, but she turned her face up to the sun as the peace of the Fox God encased her heart and held it firm.
She wasn’t alone.
‘So pretty.’
The hands closed, and twisted, and pulled her apart.
CRYS
Tenth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
The hill, edge of Deep Forest, Wheat Lands
It was as if there was a fish hook in Crys’s gut and someone was yanking on the line, trying to rip it out so that he staggered, an involuntary cry breaking from his lips as he stumbled on to his knees.
Dom was nearby and he toppled over and began to convulse at the same moment, cords standing out in his neck, teeth snapping like a mad dog’s and limbs flailing without control. And it just kept going.
Minutes passed before Crys could stand against the pain and Dom was still thrashing, weaker as his body burnt through all the reserves it had, his tongue and lips savaged. Most of the high command had gathered at the shouts, the running and chaos, and they watched in uneasy, superstitious silence as Hallos, at the risk of losing a finger, tipped opium powder on to Dom’s gums. It was that or sheer exhaustion that finally slowed the convulsions to twitches and then dropped him into a sleep so deep it looked like death. Might have been death if not for the fluttering, erratic pulse in his throat, a tiny movement they all watched with the intensity of hawks, waiting for it to skip and then stop.
Gilda sat back on her heels in the grass, wiping a shaking hand over his brow. ‘What in the Dancer’s name was that?’ she asked.
‘It’s happened,’ Crys said, kneeling next to her with both arms wrapped around himself, breathing through waves of nausea. ‘She’s back, and She’s hungry.’
‘Hungry?’
‘Tried to rip out Her essence that I swallowed. Couldn’t get it, not yet anyway, so I’m guessing She went back into Dom the way She used to.’
‘Guessing?’ Gilda asked, furious. ‘You’re a god, Crys, do better than guess.’
Crys shuddered out a breath and put a palm on Dom’s hot face, felt a shadow inside him, and a seed of Light. Striving. There was a flick of sentience across his mind and he withdrew hurriedly from its oily malice, feeling as though he needed to wash out the inside of his skull just from that momentary touch. How Dom stood it he had no idea. Unless that was Dom …
‘I don’t know,’ he said, rubbing his hand against the leg of his trousers. ‘Something’s not right,’ he added reluctantly. ‘She’s definitely back, meaning the ritual was performed over Rillirin’s babe, but it’s all wrong. Something went wrong. You’ll need to ask Dom; I can’t see it the way he can.’
‘And Rillirin? What of her child, does it live? Is it … Her?’ Gilda’s voice was pure priestess, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her.
‘Again, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I felt … madness and hate, triumph and then pain. All jumbled together.’ Ash helped him to stand. Rumour hissed through the ranks of the army like a rising breeze. ‘But if the calestar and I felt it, you can be sure the Mireces did as well, and with less … hurting. They’ll know the Dark Lady has returned, and they’ll probably understand far better than I what’s happened. Regardless, I’d bet my life they’re on their way even now. The Dark Lady too.’
Mace paused, mouth open to issue orders. ‘What?’ he asked instead. ‘Rilporin’s a hundred miles and more.’
‘She’s a goddess, Sire. I don’t think distance works the same. If She wants to be here – and why wouldn’t She, with so much concentrated faith from the Mireces and Easterners, faith Her presence will both strengthen and from which She can take strength – then I’m pretty sure She can just appear in our midst.’
Mace grabbed him by the arm. ‘And you’re ready for this?’ he demanded, before remembering who he was talking to and releasing him.
‘I don’t think we have much choice, do we?’ Crys said without rancour as weariness brushed its poison over him. ‘I’m ready. Just make sure this lot are ready for Corvus.’
Mace spun away and began issuing crisp, low-voiced commands to the runners strung behind him. The army began to move, to stretch and settle back into formation. To prepare.
Crys cocked his head as his awareness was wrenched across the miles in response to a plea, not for mercy so much as contact. Recognition. ‘Tara?’ He bent over and put his hands on his knees, concentrating. Tara? Tara, can you hear me? It’s Crys. I’m here; I’m with you. You’re not alone.
The kernel of her courage was crystal-bright and diamond-hard and small. So small among her hurts. She was scared.
Foxy. Go. Do something, anything.
Such as? I cannot rescue her.
Crys’s knees hit the grass again, the impact distant, his awareness turned inward and outward at once, across the leagues to Rilporin.
Fucking go, he snarled in his head. Bring her peace, if noth
ing more.
He felt a hesitation, a protest that thousands had died and thousands more would and should He, the great Trickster, mourn them all, and Crys tensed until his whole body was one roaring imperative, an inviolable command that promised retribution not even a god could withstand. A piece of the Fox God broke away and arced across the sky.
Tara’s fear grew until it outweighed even the monstrous weight of hurt, enough that either one of them alone would have crushed Crys flat. I’m here, my friend. I’m here. Hands descended on his shoulders. Mace too, and Ash. We’re with you.
Crys reached up and took their hands and with a sigh and a wriggle, he moved the three of them into the soul-dream, where distance meant nothing, and there was Tara, in the shape of a great cat, all stubby tail and tufted ears and wide golden eyes. Her stone-grey and cloud-white pelt was ragged and bloody and she lay on her side, ribs heaving. Those eyes were misted with pain, but they brightened at the Fox God’s approach, a slink of red fur. He settled beside her and nuzzled His head beneath her chin. He licked her throat and face and her breathing slowed, stuttered.
‘Peace, Tara,’ Crys whispered. She exhaled and returned his gift, brushing him with a forgiveness he hadn’t expected and didn’t deserve. A great cat-smile as her dimming gaze moved to Mace and she made a final effort to stand.
‘Stay where you are, and that’s an order. Just do as you’re told for once.’ She flopped back with another cat-grin that became a grimace as the light of her soul began to fade.
Mace stepped forward, his voice strong and gentle and the last thing she’d know before the Light. ‘Dancer’s grace, Major. You have discharged your duty with honour; you can stand down.’
‘What happened to her?’ Mace demanded back in the world, rocked by what he’d seen, where he’d been taken. ‘How did she die? Is she dead?’ His voice was ragged but the words were iron-hard and his expression was implacable despite the shine of tears. The fist clenched in the neck of Crys’s shirt didn’t tremble.
‘She’s gone, sir. But she saw you and heard you; she knew she was loved. She went to the Light knowing that she wasn’t alone.’
A muscle jumped beneath Mace’s eye. ‘And she’s in the Light? You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely, sir. She’s at peace.’
Mace’s gaze could’ve cut steel, but then he let go of Crys’s collar and rubbed his mouth. ‘Thank you. And for allowing me to say goodbye.’ He cleared his throat and stared off into the distance in silence for a long breath, flinched when Dalli touched his cheek, and then came back to the world. He went over to Hadir and his senior officers, the Warlord and war leader joining them, putting away the hurt until he had time for it. Becoming the soldier again. The officer. The king. Crys should go too, but they’d laid out the plan days ago – he could waste a few minutes just … being.
The pain in Crys’s stomach was still there, and Dom was still unconscious at their feet, and the enemy was coming and Tara was dead and something, something indescribable, had happened in Rilporin.
Crys focused on controlling his breathing, on slowing the galloping of his heart and surreptitiously wiping the sweat from the palms of his hands, but Ash saw it all and understood it all anyway. He rested his palm on the nape of Crys’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. It was close now, the end of this mad, wonderful, perfect love, close and real, not the distant future event that they’d pretended so hard wasn’t coming.
Ash hadn’t left his side in the last week, and would fight next to him in the battle to come. A second shadow armed with steel. It was both a gift and a burden, Ash’s presence, the reminder that Crys’s life was almost done, that the sum of his days was nearing its final tally, and that it wasn’t enough. This love, this life, it was nowhere near enough. Crys wasn’t done with living, wasn’t done with loving, with Ash, with all of it. He swallowed hard and breathed in the scent of his husband.
I bet Tara wasn’t done with life either, was she, Foxy? You still took her.
There was an uncharacteristic, almost angry, silence inside him, so profound that he began to regret the thought. She’s done more to win this war than she knows. One day, in the Light, we’ll be able to tell her exactly how.
‘So, a big fluffy kitty, eh? Kind of wish I’d known that earlier,’ Ash murmured, interrupting the internal dialogue. ‘I’d have made her a giant ball of string to play with.’
Crys coughed a laugh. ‘She’d have killed you.’
‘Yeah, but it would’ve been worth it.’
‘Let’s get him to the field hospital.’ Hallos’s voice broke in. Crys opened his eyes but didn’t move from Ash’s embrace. They watched as two soldiers lifted Dom and carried him away down the hill, Gilda and the physician following. What do you know? Have you seen my death yet, Calestar, beloved of gods? Have you seen me end? Did you see Tara’s?
Crys stepped forward. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he called after Hallos. ‘We probably don’t have long, but let me see what I can do.’
Gilda looked back. ‘Thank you.’ They hurried down the slope towards the hospital.
‘Cavalry scouts coming in hard,’ a voice yelled behind them.
‘Positions,’ Mace roared and his staff sprinted to their units, the Krikites and Wolves flowing downhill, the archers – without Ash – hurrying to take their places on the flanks. ‘Tailorson?’
‘I’ll be back, sir, I swear.’
Mace glared but waved him off and the group broke into a run, Dom flopping and bouncing in the soldiers’ arms.
‘Here we go,’ Crys breathed. ‘Stay close.’
‘Always,’ Ash said. ‘Forever.’
RILLIRIN
Tenth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
South Gate, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
The merchants’ quarter had supplied Rillirin with an old gown, some boots that were a little too big, and a shawl to fasten a sling for her baby.
My baby, my little girl. Hello, Macha, my little warrior. Seems like we did it after all.
Salter and the surviving prisoners had raided houses and cellars for food, clothes, weapons, the latter being almost impossible to find. A few wood axes, some kitchen knives, an unstrung bow.
Fortunately, they hadn’t yet run across more than a few Mireces, quickly dispatched.
‘Gods alive, what is that?’ The panic in the voice and the pointing finger had Rillirin wobbling around in an unbalanced circle to peer back the way they’d come. It was hard to see past the crowd of thin, desperate soldiers and over the rubble and the buildings still standing, the smoke and dust clouds roiling, but there was … something rising over the temple district. A jarring outline of red and black and whipping tentacles.
‘Go,’ Rillirin said, when the soldiers clumped together and stared back towards the temples. ‘Let’s go,’ she repeated, a little louder. Salter proffered her a skin; watered wine, heavy with honey. It was like a drink from the gods, replenishing a little of her energy. She shambled on, Salter’s hand under her elbow and the rest flooding around them into formation again. So tired.
‘It’s coming,’ Salter shouted, yanking her to a halt. ‘Back into the houses, quickly. We’ll be clear targets on the road or outside the city. Take cover!’
Soldiers scattered, civilians following, and Salter hauled Rillirin towards the nearest building. They half fell inside, kicking the door shut. They were in a small kitchen, a jug on the table, a pot still bubbling over the fire.
Salter held a finger to his lips and gestured her beneath the table, passing her the jug before taking up position by the small window to the left of the door. Milk. She drank, poking her tongue through the thick layer of cream to reach the liquid beneath. Like the wine, it alleviated a touch more exhaustion, although that could be yet more fear flooding her veins with the urge to run, to fight, to stand over her cub and snarl her threat at any who came for them.
All was silence. Cautiously, Rillirin slid from beneath the table, wrapped a cloth arou
nd the handle of the pot and hoisted it from the fire, before retreating with it and a spoon back under the table. I should be too scared to eat, she thought to herself as she shovelled scalding stew into her mouth, but, gods, I’m so hungry. I could eat a horse.
That thought triggered another and Rillirin dropped the spoon into the pot and, fumbling with anxiety and the worry of getting it wrong, she pulled down her collar and breast band and guided Macha’s mouth to her nipple.
The babe knew what to do, and after the initial sharp pain had faded they were both eating, Rillirin pausing every few seconds to marvel at the sensation of that tiny mouth and surprisingly powerful suction.
Sounds of destruction and the roaring of gods broke their mutual contentment. ‘Nope,’ Salter muttered. ‘We need to go.’ He looked back, mouth dropping open at the scene, and then dismissing it just as fast. ‘On your feet.’
‘We should get supplies.’
‘We stay here we’ll be dead in minutes. Come on.’
Rillirin adjusted the sling so Macha could continue feeding and then dragged herself to her feet.
They flattened themselves against the outside wall and Salter let out three low whistles. All along the street the prisoners emerged from hiding. A series of gestures Rillirin didn’t understand and the soldiers were moving again, some ahead, others behind, while the civilians huddled around Rillirin.
Quartering the approaches as Dom had taught her so long ago and trying to force down yet more fear, so much swallowed it almost made her sick, Rillirin and the others crept to the South Gate and out of Rilporin. They sidled around the slumped, poorly repaired tower called First Bastion and then they were in the open, in the Wheat Lands with a hundred miles to walk to reach Deep Forest and Mace and Dom. The distance undermined her determination but the Rankers were moving already, checking behind and to the sides and she was in their midst with a score of civilians, and they were out. They were escaping. Free.
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