The Realms of the Gods

by Tamora Pierce

  Numair. From their very first meeting, he’d given her joy, delight, new things to learn. He was her teacher, her traveling companion, her comrade in arms. He was her love. When he kissed her . . . She could never give him up, not willingly.

  She lifted her head as her heart turned to ice. She had promised Ma that she would return. She had given her word.

  “The immortals, brother.” A soft voice, filled with kindness, issued from the hood that shadowed the Black God’s face. “For their part in Uusoae’s plan, the Stormwings should be made to return here, and be forbidden the mortal realms for all of time. Perhaps all immortals should return. Humans have forgotten how to live with them.”

  “Too bad,” growled the badger. “Once immortals had a place in things. Human mages threw them out—and you allowed it. You have a chance to fix a wrong here, not repeat it.”

  The Graveyard Hag thumped her walking stick on the ground to get attention. “The badger’s right,” Carthak’s patron goddess said. “And it’s good for humans to have a few things to be afraid of. Besides us, of course.”

  —For nearly four centuries, I have labored with human dreams.— Gainel’s mind voice was firm. —The immortals evoke rich dreams without my striving. Mortal spirits were poorer with the immortals gone, human imagination less fertile. I have enjoyed a few years’ relief from a thankless task. Will you cripple me twice, brother?—

  Gold-streak put its small head beside Daine’s ear and whispered, “Stormwings.”

  That tiny, high voice broke through her concentration on her choice that was no choice. “What?” she asked dully.

  “Stormwings,” repeated Gold-streak. “To be prisoned here.”

  “Good,” she mumbled. “They’re evil; they’re—”

  Memory silenced her. Cold air touched her cheek as a voice remarked, “That creature would defile what mortal killers left, so that humans couldn’t lie about how glorious a soldier’s death is.” In her mind’s eye, a tan-and-silver figure plummeted, claws extended, blond hair and bones streaming. Dark, imperious eyes, and pale, hypnotic ones, accused her.

  She did not like raids on nests for eggs and nestlings, but her squirrel, crow, and snake friends did just that. Wolves chose scapegoats to bully, hurt, even reject completely from the pack. The sight of living prey fighting a hyena’s devouring jaws or of a killer whale beating a seal pup to death might reduce her to tears, but those predators could not help their natures any more than Uusoae, or the Great Gods, could.

  While she thought, the gods spoke, until Mithros cut off discussion with a wave of his hand. “Very well. Those immortals who dwelled in the mortal realms at the spring equinox may remain, if they choose. All others return here. As for the Stormwings—”

  Gold-streak stretched itself wire-thin, raising its head until Mithros could see it. “What of Queen Barzha?” it asked.

  Daine rose, gripping the edges of Gainel’s coat to keep herself covered. “Gold-streak’s right. Barzha’s flock for certain—them that followed her into the mortal realms. Even—maybe even some that sided with Uusoae. Stormwings aren’t humans. They aren’t gods. They are what they were made to be. If you punish them for that, you may as well punish yourselves for what you are.” She straightened, looking around at that magnificent assembly. If they wanted to admit her to their number, then they would have to get used to her speaking her mind. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look like you’d care to punish yourselves.”

  “Daine!” gasped Sarra, eyes wide with horror.

  A weight pressed against her leg. She looked down: It was the badger. —That’s my kit.— His mind voice spoke to her alone.

  “Isn’t order what makes you happy?” continued the girl. “Well, Stormwings are the nightmare of battle, pure and simple. What’s that but a nightmare of disorder? How can you begrudge a mortal home to anyone that might scare two-leggers off war?”

  Mithros glared. “The Stormwings may remain,” the Sun Lord barked at last, his voice thunder in her ears.

  The marble courtyard shimmered, then stretched, creating an immense bare space at the center. The moment that it ceased to move, Diamondflame, Wingstar, and Kitten popped onto it. Kitten whistled and chirruped, her scales red with anger. Seeing Daine, she trotted over and began to scold.

  “I wasn’t hardly given a choice,” Daine told her, guessing what her charge was upset about. “They just grabbed me when that Uusoae appeared.”

  —We have come to take Veralidaine home,— said Diamondflame. —The humans want to know what happened.—

  “She may not be able to return,” said Broad Foot. “She has to choose either the mortal or the divine realms—she may not cross from one to the other.”

  —And whose idea was that?— Wingstar demanded. The duckmole began to explain.

  “I ought to stay,” Daine told Kitten, tears rolling down her cheeks unnoticed.

  The young dragon replied in a stream of chatter and croaks. Tiny lightnings crackled over her scales.

  —She wants to know why,— Gainel remarked in his soft voice. —She wants to know why you will not go to your friends in the mortal realms.—

  Kitten reared onto her hindquarters and dug silver talons into the front of the Dream King’s jacket. “Kit!” protested Daine, trying to work her friend’s claws out of the fabric. “See, I promised Ma I would visit. I gave my word.”

  “Dear one, no.” Sarra had moved away when the dragons arrived. Now she came forward, clothing over one arm. “You don’t belong here. You would be so unhappy.” She held out the garments. “I believe Gainel would like his coat back eventually.”

  Numbly Daine reached for the clothes, still trying to understand her mother’s words. “But—I gave you my promise. I don’t break my promises.”

  “You’re not breaking it. I’m releasing you. There’s a good man and true friends waiting for you at home. That man is a fair strange man, certainly, but he’s a good one.” Sarra motioned, and Daine was encircled by a glittering curtain. The girl couldn’t see out; no one else could see in. “Hand me Gainel’s coat, dear.” A hand pierced the wall, and slender fingers beckoned. Daine gave the coat to her mother, who pulled it out of the enclosure.

  Where the underthings, lavender dress, bodice, and slippers had come from, Daine could never guess. She put all of them on. “Ma, I’m decent.”

  The enclosure vanished. Weiryn had one arm around her mother; he clasped a bow and quiver in his free hand. Looking for Kitten, Daine was horrified to find that the young dragon was scolding Mithros quite emphatically.

  “Your going back won’t be so bad,” Sarra told Daine, eyes filling. “We’ll come to you on the equinoxes and solstices.”

  “But I promised—”

  “We can’t restore the years together that were taken from us,” Sarra interrupted. “It was misery, but we can’t change it. Seeing you here taught me you’re adult now. You’re needed, and you’re valued, and you’re loved. Those are wondrous gifts, sweetling. I can’t let you throw them away.” Tears spilled down her cheeks and her smile quivered, but her blue eyes were steady.

  “She is right,” Weiryn said gruffly. “The mortals need you, as you do them.” He offered the bow and quiver to her. “Since you lost the one you had.”

  Slowly, feeling numb, Daine accepted the gift. The bow changed subtly, until it fit her strength and grip exactly, as the last bow Weiryn had given her had done.

  “Veralidaine, do you choose?” boomed Mithros. “Diamondflame, take your grandchild in hand!”

  —Skysong, come here,— ordered her grandsire. Kitten obeyed, still muttering.

  “Our daughter is going home,” Sarra told the gods, chin high, “to the mortal realms.”

  Mithros looked at Daine. “Is it so?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Then I return you—” began the Sun Lord.

  —No,— said Diamondflame, cutting Mithros off. —We shall take her back. Sometimes those whom the gods return to other rea
lms—how shall I put it—they go astray. What a pity it would be if she entered the realms of Chaos, or of death, by mistake. Better not to take chances. Come, Veralidaine.—

  She thought the blue dragon was being unfair. Still, another dragon ride sounded wonderful, and it would give her a brief rest before she plunged back into mopping up Ozorne’s army.

  Sarra hugged Daine tightly, then kissed her cheeks. “The fall equinox isn’t far off,” she said. “We’ll come to you then.”

  She stepped back to let Weiryn hug his daughter. “I am glad that you were able to visit us, Veralidaine. Try not to lose that bow.”

  “I’ll try, Da.” She knelt to bring herself closer to Broad Foot and the badger. “Thank you,” she told them, running a hand over the duckmole’s springy fur and scratching the badger’s ears. “You helped save Tortall, both of you.”

  “It was the least we could do for the friend who tricked Uusoae into the open,” Broad Foot replied. “G’day, then, Weiryn’s daughter. We’ll meet again, I know.” Silvery fire condensed around his form. Inside it, he grew smaller, and smaller, until he was gone.

  Daine lifted Gold-streak from the badger’s wide back and kissed the blot. “What will become of you darkings now?” she asked.

  Gold-streak rubbed its head against her cheek. “Dragons invite us to Dragonlands. Darkings go there for now. We must think of what we will become.”

  “Good luck to you, then,” she said.

  “We will always remember you,” Gold-streak told her. It trickled over to Wingstar to climb onto the dragon’s back.

  “Badger,” Daine said, tears filling her eyes. “I s’pose you’re done with me, now that I’m grown and know my da and all.”

  He thrust a cold, wet nose into the hollow at the base of her throat. She flinched. Even after he backed away, the sense of coldness remained. Touching the spot, the girl felt a chilly metal curve, its base wrapped in silver wire, attached to a chain. Lifting the claw, she saw that it had been cleaned so thoroughly that there was nothing to remind her of the use she’d made of it. “You left that where it might have been lost,” the badger remarked, dark eyes glittering with amusement.

  Daine buried her face in his heavy fur, holding him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I’ll never take it off again.”

  “I will check on you often, to be sure you keep your promise. You aren’t rid of me so easily, my kit.” Rearing slightly, he nudged the claw with his nose. “Ozorne always underestimated you. It was a lesson he never seemed to learn.”

  —Come,— ordered Diamondflame. Kitten was already tucked into the circle of his forepaws and talons, safe within the great dragon’s hold. —Gods annoy me.—

  “As dragons annoy us,” snapped the Graveyard Hag. She winked at Daine. “Good to see you again, dearie.”

  “I bet,” muttered the girl. Giving the badger a last hug, she climbed onto Diamondflame’s back, tucking her skirts so that she could sit astride the dragon’s neck. She looked at Sarra once more. “Ma? Can you do something for me?”

  Sarra came to the dragon’s side. “If I can.”

  “Can I see you as the Green Lady? Just once?”

  Sarra laughed; Weiryn grinned. Light, gold and soft, gathered around Daine’s ma. She grew taller. A simple green cotton dress, heavily decorated with embroideries in complex designs, fluttered around her body in a wind that Daine couldn’t feel. There was a sheer green veil over Sarra’s face and hair; it too fluttered and moved as if windblown. Looking at her, Daine felt comfort and hope.

  “You’re beautiful, Ma,” she said quietly. “I love you.”

  Sarra raised her veil. “I love you too, sweet.”

  —Stand back,— warned Diamondflame. He opened his great wings, and took flight.

  EPILOGUE

  When they glided out of the clouds, Port Legann lay below. On the sea, a few ships still burned. Yamani vessels herded those they had captured into the reopened harbor. All around the city the land was tattered, scorched, and frayed. Everywhere lay the dead. Groups roamed the battlefields, gathering the wounded and the dead, giving the death stroke to dying animals, or scavenging weapons and valuables.

  On level ground before the north gate, tables had been placed. On one side, Daine saw enemy leaders—nobles of the Copper Isles, Carthaki renegades—well guarded by royal troops. Opposite them were King Jonathan, reunited and handfast with Queen Thayet, Lord Imrah, the Yamani admiral who had commanded the ten ships that had mopped up the enemy fleet, Onua and her big dog Tahoi, and the mage Harailt. Papers were strewn over the wooden tables, and scribes stood by, heating wax for the seals that would be fixed to each document.

  Close by his monarchs, Sir Raoul was perched on a camp stool. A healer examined deep cuts in his scalp and left arm as the big knight tried not to flinch. In the distance, Daine saw her Rider friend Evin and Sarge helping to lift the wounded into wagons that would carry them into the city.

  Diamondflame landed on a clear space in the battlefield, Wingstar behind him. Freed of her grandfather’s hold, Kitten trotted around to his side, whistling and clucking. Daine looked where her dragonet pointed, and saw a tall, thin, reptilian creature race toward them from the north gate, his tail draped like a train over one long arm. Hard on his heels galloped her small, shaggy gray pony. A broken rope that trailed behind Cloud showed how she had managed to get out of the stables, where she’d stayed since Daine first came to Legann.

  Tkaa halted and nodded to the dragons as Daine put her bow and quiver on a nearby tree stump. That done, she threw her arms around Cloud’s neck. In mind speech she told the mare everything that had happened, while Cloud lipped her sleeve.

  I’m glad you came back, the mare said when she was done. I don’t have the patience to train a new rider anymore.

  Daine laughed, and straightened. “You never had patience with any rider, including me!”

  Tahoi beat Onua in the run to greet them. Rearing on his hind legs, the dog planted his paws on Daine’s shoulders and proceeded to wash her face.

  “No—no, Tahoi, that’s sweet, but really, I’m practically almost clean!” Holding his paws, Daine backed the dog up until he said that he would be good and not wash her. She released him. He lunged, ran his tongue from her chin to her forehead, then sat, tail pounding the dry earth.

  “Very funny,” muttered Daine, and wiped her face.

  Onua gave her a quick, tight hug. “Ozorne?” she asked, examining the girl for any sign of injury.

  “Dead,” replied Daine, flushing at the memory. “Just as dead as I could make him without dragging him before the Black God myself. Numair?”

  “No one knows,” was the quiet reply. “The magic-sign of his duel with Hadensra vanished a while back, but no one’s had a chance to go that way to check on him. What in the name of the Goddess happened? There was a—a sound, and the next instant, at least half of the immortals disappeared from the battlefield. Just—vanished!”

  “It’s a long story,” Daine told her friend. “Ask Big Blue to tell it to you.” She pointed to Diamondflame, then grabbed her skirt with one hand and mounted Cloud. “I’m going after Numair.”

  —Big Blue?— echoed Kitten’s grandfather. —Hm. An interesting nickname.—

  Onua grabbed Cloud’s mane, and was almost bitten for her pains. “Daine, there may be enemy soldiers out that way, still. Wait for a cleanup squad—”

  Without needing a word from Daine, Cloud walked over to the tree stump. Daine grabbed her father’s bow and quiver, and smiled at the K’mir. “It isn’t me who has to be wary of them,” she said gently. “They’d best be afraid of me.” She nudged Cloud, who set off at a trot.

  She was glad that her mare knew where she wanted to go. Exhaustion, banished temporarily while she wore Gainel’s coat, was gnawing at her. She prayed that her words to Onua weren’t vainglory, and that she’d be able to use her bow if necessary. It would be too embarrassing to have survived all this, only to be cut down by a straggle
r determined to make one last kill before he surrendered or escaped.

  Watching where she placed her hooves, Cloud picked her way through bodies and equipment for war. The giant wooden barriers made to deter jumping horses had been pulled aside, opening gaps in their line. Pony and rider passed the wooden towers, now black and crumbling after their encounter with dragonfire, and rode through a break in the low earthen wall.

  The ground sloped, leading to the camp beside the river. Here the destruction was complete. Tents and goods had been destroyed, burned, or stolen. The bodies of those who had defended, not run, lay everywhere.

  The red-and-black globe of magics had not come from the camp, but from upriver. Daine gripped trembling hands in Cloud’s mane and prayed as they turned right, following the water east.

  Deep gashes were torn from the earth. The shallow river was half blocked by stones and what looked like a yard-long bank of earth-colored glass. Already the water was carving a new path around the obstruction. Steam drifted in the hollows under the trees.

  “Whoever you are, if you’re here to kill me, you’ll need to do it while I remain prone,” a familiar voice said nearby. “Have the decency to be quick about it, so I can get back to my rest.”

  Daine tumbled off Cloud’s back, trying to see where he was. “What I’ve got in mind isn’t near so quick as killing!”

  There was a long silence; her heart twisted within her chest. Then she heard a cracked whisper: “Daine?” Under the long, drooping branches of a nearby willow, a dark figure lurched to its feet.

  She ran to Numair, slamming into him with enough force to drive him back against the willow’s trunk. “That hurt,” he gasped. Before she could apologize, he was kissing her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. She kissed him back. They came up for air, then kissed again, their hands checking each other’s bodies, for serious injury as well as simply for the joy of touch.

  They came up for air several more times before they had calmed down enough to let each other go—although Numair kept his grip on Daine’s hands. “Will you marry me?”