The Realms of the Gods

by Tamora Pierce

  She had forgotten she wore only the claw necklace that stayed with her each time that she shape-changed. “Oh, for—!” she cried. Getting her pack, she went behind a tree. Fumbling with her garments, the girl shouted the details of her talk with Broad Foot.

  When she emerged, stockings in hand, Numair was close by, ready with her boots.

  “Are you sure you didn’t drink from the lake?” she asked quietly, fixing him with a stern eye. “That creature looked to me like a blue, naked female with a big chest, until Broad Foot changed my vision. She looked like just the kind of female you might want to be tempted by, Master Salmalín.”

  He blushed. “I give you my solemn word that I did not drink the lake water and request temptation,” he said, combing his wet mane back with his fingers. “I tested it with my Gift, and sensed there was something very wrong with it. You know, magelet, the gods may be losing ground against Chaos.”

  Broad Foot had arrived and was talking softly to the badger. Hearing the mage, they broke off their conference and came over. “What makes you think so?” asked the badger, dark eyes sharp.

  “I know my legends and myths,” explained the man. “The creators of the universe ordained that the gods, who stand for order, and Chaos, who stands for—”

  “Chaos,” Daine interrupted with a smile.

  Numair tweaked her nose. “They must stay in balance. The only problem is that it’s the nature of each to fight the other. It’s written that a day will come when the Queen of Chaos will break free of the prison made for her by her siblings, the Great Gods.”

  “When that day comes, the mortal and divine realms will melt into Chaos. The gods—all gods—will perish, as will mortal life.” Broad Foot’s voice was grim.

  “You know your legends well, human,” remarked the badger.

  “I have to report this,” the duckmole told them. “It’s more than just the lake being poisoned. The creature that had you captive was no part of this place. It was a Chaos dweller, masked as a lake being. How one of them managed to escape into the Divine Realms. . . . You start without me—I’ll catch up.” Without another word, he vanished.

  Packing, Daine filled Numair in on what he’d missed while bespelled, as the badger went to examine the vent. Once she was ready, the girl realized that she hadn’t seen the darking.

  “We have to go,” warned Numair. “We can’t spend the day searching for it.”

  “I know,” replied Daine, scanning the grass around them. “I think it does, too. I just hope it didn’t fall into the lake.”

  When the badger rejoined them, the humans shouldered their packs and returned to the path. There, stark against sandy dirt, was an inky pool. “Is that you?” she asked it. “Did you come back?”

  The ink split. Half flowed over to her and reached up with a pair of armlike tentacles. The other half thrust up a part of itself shaped as a head, cocking it to one side.

  Daine stooped and picked up the one that clearly wanted her to do so. Cupped in her hand, the darking was light, but still had weight and a presence against her skin—like a bubble filled with water, she thought. “You brought a friend?” The darking on her palm grew its own head and nodded.

  “More of those?” grumbled the badger. “Don’t they have anything else to do?”

  Both darkings shook their heads.

  Daine smiled. Giving her bow to Numair to hold, she lifted the newcomer in her free hand. “I don’t know where you two will sit, though.”

  The first darking trickled up her arm and curled around her neck, a bit of coolness on her skin. The other flowed over her wrist until it could drip into her belt pouch.

  “I guess we’re set,” she told her companions. Numair returned her bow. They set off briskly, mage and badger in the lead, Daine bringing up the rear. It was something she and Numair did automatically: She could trust him to pay attention to what was ahead; he knew that she would guard their backs.

  The duckmole rejoined them as they stopped for their noon meal. “Not good, not good,” he said, pacing the clearing where they sat. “They have placed a ban on the lake, but they won’t be looking into the matter of those who have been tainted. I think—” He came to a halt and sighed. “I think it is all they can do to hold the barriers against her.”

  “Then if we can do nothing here, let’s be on our way,” suggested Numair. “Daine and I would like to go home, where we can do something.”

  FIVE

  THE BRIDGE

  They made good time that afternoon. Black mountain pines gave way to maples, chestnuts, and paper birches, and larger clearings. Flashes of bright color darted through the tree canopy as the sunbirds began their afternoon’s homage to the sun.

  Suddenly the travelers emerged onto a long, wide, grass shelf. Ahead the land fell into a vast gorge. Approaching the edge, Daine looked down and whistled. Far, far below lay a thin, silver curl: a river.

  “Long Drop Gorge,” the badger told them. Nodding at two splintery logs planted upright in the ground at the cliff’s edge, he added, “And there’s the First Bridge.”

  Daine gulped. What had looked like a sturdy enough wood-and-rope construction in the vision over Weiryn’s map was in reality fraying, twisted hemp and ancient slats. Twin ropes, as old and unreliable looking as the rope of the floor, were strung as rails at waist height and attached to the logs. The whole structure didn’t look as if it would support even one of them, let alone their whole group.

  “The first rope-and-wood bridge,” corrected the duck-mole. “The first rope bridge is further up. We didn’t think you’d like that.”

  “First Bridge or First Wood-and-Rope Bridge, it won’t break,” snapped the badger. “It was set here after the first humans were done with it, and it’s been here ever since. No force in the Divine Realms may break it, until the realms themselves are broken.”

  “Is there an easier way to cross?” Numair asked. “Anywhere?”

  Both gods shook their heads. “Long Drop Gorge extends several days’ march in both directions,” explained Broad Foot. “You did say you are in a hurry.”

  “Would you be able to carry our belongings if you and Broad Foot transported yourselves across?” the man wanted to know.

  “No,” said the duckmole. “Weiryn and Sarra both put some of their power into what you carry, to help you. Those things are bound to you. If we tried to take them, they would not come.”

  Numair eyed the crystal in his staff and said drily, “I didn’t know Weiryn cared.”

  Daine looked at the canyon floor again and winced. It was just too far down. First Bridge or no, the thought of seeing that distant ribbon far under her toes made her sweat. I could take eagle shape, she thought. Heights never bother me when I fly.

  That was no good. Numair carried his staff; she couldn’t burden him with her belongings, not when he’d need a free hand to grasp one of the ropes that served as rails.

  An arm slipped around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” Numair asked. “Heights don’t bother you.”

  “It’s the bridge as much as the height,” she replied.

  “I will carry your things, if you want to shift,” he told her softly. “A shape change is out of the question for me. We must keep our food and weapons, for one. For another, I would hate to use my Gift to fly across, then need it to handle trouble on the other side.”

  “If we are going today, let us begin,” urged the badger. “I would like to be across before anyone, or anything, else comes by.”

  The thought of being caught on that bridge by an enemy made Daine’s stomach roll. “He’s right.” She tried to smile at Numair. “We’d best start walking.”

  Numair put down the duckmole and stood back. Silver fire bloomed, shrank: The gods vanished, to reappear on the far side of the canyon.

  Daine insisted that Numair go first, and tried not to watch as he carefully moved away from the cliff. When he was well ahead, she bit her lip and stepped onto the first plank. It shuddered beneath her weight
; the whole structure shook with her friend’s movement. Trembling, she seized the rope handholds: firmly with her right hand, awkwardly with her left, the one in which she carried the bow.

  Numair slipped, making the bridge rock. Like Daine, he’d managed the barest hold on the left-hand rope, hampered by his staff. “It takes getting used to,” he called to her.

  “It’s stood for time out of mind!” The badger’s voice came from the air near them.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” they both chorused.

  Numair glanced back at the girl, and grinned. She had to smile as well. Carefully, he walked on, eyes on the planks before him.

  She’d meant to keep her eyes forward. Instantly she discovered that would be impossible. Gaps lay between the wide boards. To avoid putting a foot through an opening, she had to look where she stepped, and was treated to a view of the river as it wound between tall, jagged rocks far below. She forged ahead, a step at a time.

  Away from the cliff, she walked into a brisk, playful breeze. “Of course,” she growled. “What would a First Bridge be without its own plank-rocking first wind!”

  Movement pulled her attention to her chest, rather than her footing. Shimmering with light, the darking that had been tucked into her belt purse now hung by a tentacle from her belt. The other darking had flowed off her neck to swarm over the belt darking, hitting it with tentacles shaped like hammers. She heard small plops as each blow landed.

  “Here, you two, stop it! This isn’t the time—”

  “What’s wrong?” The breeze was strong enough that Numair was forced to shout. He was more than forty yards distant, a third of the way across the bridge.

  “I don’t know!” she yelled. “It’s the darkings! Enough!” she told her passengers. Clutching the left handhold with fingers still wrapped around her bow, she released the right-hand rope and grabbed the top darking. She pulled it away from the one on her belt and stuffed it down the back of her shirt. Seizing the belt darking, she held it up.

  Examining the darking, she gasped and nearly dropped it. Its center was filled by Ozorne’s face. He grinned and waved, then vanished. The darking was solid shadow once more. Daine stuffed it into her belt purse and tied the pouch shut with one hand. As she seized the right handhold again, her magical senses prickled. Wind made the bridge jump. Clinging to the rails, the girl looked for the disturbance. Far overhead, the sky rippled.

  “Uh-oh,” she whispered. Like the tauros, something, or someone, was crossing from one realm to the other.

  Winged shapes came into view, as if they flew through a waterfall or beaded curtain. Please let them be friendly, Daine thought, shaping her own eyes to those of an eagle. Now she saw the new arrivals clearly: horse-shaped, with powerful, batlike wings and a predator’s talons and fangs. They were not at all friendly.

  “Hurroks!” she yelled to Numair, pointing. “Eleven of them!”

  The immortals drew their wings in and dropped, coming for the bridge like plummeting falcons.

  Numair planted his feet and raised his staff, holding the rail with his right hand.

  The girl couldn’t afford a handhold. Kneeling, spreading her legs to balance herself, she grabbed two arrows. One she put to the string; the other she held in her teeth. She refused to think about the rocking bridge, or the gaps on either side.

  Five hurroks formed the first attacking wave. Carefully Daine selected a target. Black fire shot from the crystal on Numair’s staff even as the girl loosed; the hurrok struck by the mage burst into flame and dropped. Another screamed in rage: Daine’s arrow had grazed its chest and punctured a wing. With her second arrow Daine shot the next hurrok coming in. It shrieked and fell, her shaft through one eye.

  She yanked two more arrows from her quiver, putting one between her teeth, one to the string. Sharp pain dragged across her scalp: A hurrok had come from behind to rake her with his claws. As momentum carried him far below, into the gorge, the impact of his strike knocked Daine forward. The arrow in her bow fell as something ink-colored hit the board in front of her. Daine flinched.

  It was a darking. Keening, it clamped onto the board, locking itself down with a half dozen tentacles. She couldn’t believe it might attack—something in its shrill cries told her it was too busy keeping itself from dropping into the gorge to do her an injury.

  Rolling, hampered by her pack and trying not to crush her quiver, she put her second arrow to the string. Carefully, she turned over, tracking the hurrok with her blood on his talons; correcting for wind, she loosed. The arrow soared across the air below to plunge into the hurrok’s belly. Shrilling, he tried to claw the missile from his flesh as he dropped. Two more attackers plummeted, one set ablaze by Numair, another fighting silver fog wrapped around its muzzle. The animal gods had joined the fight.

  Daine sat up, holding the bow at an angle to keep it from tangling in rope or boards, and groped for her quiver. Two arrows met her fingers. Glancing back, she saw that the darking she’d put into her shirt was spread over the quiver’s top. It had saved her arrows from the chasm; now it handed them to her. “Thank you,” she whispered, getting to her knees again. She touched the back of her skull: Wetness trickled through her curls. “Hope you don’t mind getting bled on.”

  Other hurroks, including the one that she had first wounded, spiraled down to the attack. Daine shot and killed the injured hurrok. A sparkling black net enveloped a pair of the immortals and exploded, leaving nothing. Two more hurroks, one nearby, one higher up, dodged frantically, trying to evade the badger’s deadly silver fireballs.

  Coldly, Daine drew the bowstring back to her ear. Silver fire overtook the hurrok farthest from her. It turned black and charred, dissolving as it fell. The last hurrok, screaming its rage, plunged toward Daine, claws outstretched. The girl shot.

  The arrow flew as neatly as if she were in the practice yards of the palace. It slammed into the hurrok’s throat, cutting off its scream. The immortal beat its wings to stop, and flew right into sparkling fire. Instantly transformed into a charred skeleton, it broke up, raining into the canyon.

  Carefully Daine put down her bow. “I want to go home,” she whispered. “I’ve had enough excitement for a while.”

  A darking head peered over her shoulder.

  “You have some explaining to do,” she told it. “The one in my pouch was spying on us, wasn’t it?”

  The darking squeaked and hung its head.

  Daine pointed to the darking that clutched the plank. “What about this one? Is it coming with us?”

  The darking on her back squeaked at the newcomer. It trembled like jelly, and finally shrilled a reply. Her passenger nodded to Daine.

  “Is it a spy, too?”

  The small, inky head shook emphatically. The newcomer was no spy.

  “Well, it’s certainly a deserter from Ozorne’s army, at the very least.” Carefully the girl reached forward to peel the newcomer off the board. Quivering, it pooled in her hand. “Why did you come over to my side, hm?”

  “Daine,” called the mage, “may we move on?”

  “Sorry,” she yelled. “Just a moment.” To the darkings, she said, “You’d better come up with some answers that make sense, and soon.” She dropped the newest of the blots inside her shirt. The darking on her shoulder stuck its head under her collar. Their soft, peeping conversation was drowned out by the creaking of the bridge as Daine carefully got to her feet. Gripping the rope handholds, she caught up to Numair.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, touching the back of her head, when she reached him. The girl winced. “I’ll tend it later, though. Let’s get off this thing!”

  “I don’t know,” she remarked, following. “It seems like a nice little bridge.” He looked back at her, eyebrows raised. “It never dumped us, now, did it? And it could’ve.”

  “Yours is a happy nature,” the mage answered, wry. “I confess, this is too much like excitement for me.”

  “It could be worse,” Daine said, and giggled. �
�It could be raining.”

  Numair shook his head, then returned his attention to crossing the bridge. “I wonder if that hurrok struck your head a little too hard.”

  “Nonsense,” the girl retorted. “I couldn’t have shot straight if it had.”

  When they stepped off the bridge, Numair swept her into a tight hug, and examined her scalp as he held her. Daine rested gratefully against him. He’d sounded calm on the bridge, but his heart pounded; his shirt was sweat-soaked.

  “We should clean this,” he remarked over her head. “Didn’t Sarra give you ointment for injuries?”

  “Mm-hm.” Daine rubbed her nose in the patch of chest hair that peeked through the V of his shirt collar.

  He drew back. “Stop it,” he said sharply. “I can’t think when you do that.”

  “You think too much,” she retorted, but she stopped anyway.

  “I smell water,” said Broad Foot. “Fish, and frogs, too.”

  “Let’s find it,” the badger ordered. “Before something else happens.”

  They found their way down into a valley. It was cut in two by a lively stream that flowed out of a deep pool. Broad Foot plunged in. Seconds later, Daine saw him on the bottom, riffling through sand and rocks with his bill.

  On Numair’s orders, Daine washed out her cuts. The darking that had deserted the hurrok remained inside her shirt, clinging to her waist, enduring without complaint the cold water that dripped onto it. The darking that had protected her arrows helped the man to gather firewood. The third darking remained in Daine’s belt purse. She ignored its bumping as she dipped water and poured it over her aching head. The badger hunted for his supper among the ground-squirrel, snake, and mice gods nearby.

  By the time he returned, the fire was burning well, and a pot of tea water was heating. Daine submitted patiently as Numair examined her scalp wounds, made sure they were clean of grit, and rubbed ointment into them. Neither he nor the girl were much surprised when the cuts healed as the ointment was applied.