by H. M. Long
I nodded, beginning to sense where he was heading. “And I brought food and water back with me.”
At that, Omaskat laughed. “That was cunning of you. But consider, Hessa, how much a week in the High Halls transformed you, a human. Yet the ‘gods’…”
“Yet the gods have spent thousands of years there,” I finished for him.
“Precisely. Eang and those like her have been eating and drinking, breathing and conceiving in the Halls for uncounted years. Is it not fitting, then, to wonder what they were like at the beginning of all those ages?”
I found myself nodding, but I pointed out, “That doesn’t mean they’re not gods, though.”
“Well, consider this. The Four created three categories of living things: animals, humans and Miri.”
Miri. I recognized the word. Shanich had called both Eang and herself by that name – at the same time as she’d denied being a god.
I suppressed an unsettled breath and refocused on Omaskat’s words.
“The Miri are those you call the gods, the Old and the New. The Four created their kind to rule creation as governors… or that was the intention.” There was an edge to Omaskat’s voice, as if he remembered the event personally. “They had long life and great power, but they were nothing like what they are now. What they became.”
“Because of the High Halls?” I prompted.
“Yes,” he affirmed. “When humans began to die, as humans are prone to do, their spirits so saturated the earth that another world needed to be created to hold them – the High Halls. One of the Four did this, weaving her power into the grass and the trees, the water and the air to create an afterlife of unparalleled beauty. Some of the Miri were elected to shepherd the dead there and took up residence in the Halls. Then the Four, believing their creation to now be self-sufficient, retreated from the world.
“But the Miri who inhabited the Halls began to change. They discovered the power of the Pillar who created the Halls was soaking into them. They learned how to manipulate their own natural abilities with its aid, to create life themselves and reweave the fabric of creation. The human dead in the Halls could not be altered, being already dead, but their awe inspired the Miri.
“With the Four Pillars’ eyes averted, the Miri took advantage of their new power and their long lives to convince humanity that they were the gods, and with their worship, the outpouring of human blood-magic and the dedication of souls, they grew stronger than ever. The rest of the Miri, those who hadn’t been given governorship of the Halls, were divided. Some tried to steal power their brethren had found – they became the demons. Others resisted the temptation of magic, choosing to make their home in the Waking World instead of going against the created order – like those you know as the rivermen, and some of the woodmaidens.”
Disquieted, I thought of the power in my own blood with a new, uncertain anxiety. Pieces of what I’d learned over the last few months began to merge together, more and more cohesive, but I still struggled to believe it was true. “If the Four were so powerful, why didn’t they stop it?”
“They were not here,” Omaskat said, glancing down at his hands as if they, themselves, had failed the world. “One, she who made the High Halls, sensed the disturbance after a time and returned. She managed to find only two others, Eiohe and Thvynder, my god, while the last, Imilidese, remained elusive. Together, the three strove to reclaim their creation. But the Miri – those who now bore names like Lathian, Styga and Ashaklon – had become too strong, and the magic of the High Halls had grown wild. So she who made the Halls returned to them and wove herself into the frayed ends of time. She is the Weaver, Fate as you know her. She sacrificed her physical presence and bound it to her loom – seeing, influencing, but no longer touching the corporeal world.”
I fought to keep my expression still. That aligned with what little I knew of Fate.
“Thvynder and Eiohe took the brunt of the Miri’s assault,” Omaskat said. “Eiohe faced them down in what is now Apharnum, but with all the petty ‘gods’ and their armies of enslaved humans against them, they were overwhelmed. They were wounded and bled and fled back into the stars. But Thvynder surrendered, on the advice of Fate. At least then, the two of them could remain in the world and exert some influence on their creation. At least then, they could intervene when the darkness grew too great.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And Thvynder was bound beneath the lake.”
“Yes.”
“But if they were bound, how could they ‘intervene’?”
“Vistic,” Omaskat replied, unfaltering. “He is a Vestige, or what a Vestige was intended to be, a piece of Thvynder’s life transmuted into a human soul. Once he’s returned to the lake, my god can rise. A thousand lives of men and women that soul has lived on this earth… watching and waiting, dying and being reborn. Waiting for me to fetch them at the proper time.”
“A thousand – what? Vistic is a baby,” I spluttered. “And what do you mean by return him to the lake?”
“I mean exactly that,” Omaskat said, unhelpfully.
“Are you going to kill him?”
The man’s brows furrowed. “Only an Eangi would assume that. Vistic will not be harmed – as I said, he is what a Vestige should be, not the faulty mockery that Eang has made in the Eangi. He will not die.”
“But I don’t understand,” I protested, barely consoled. “There’s no way Vistic is what you’re saying – part of your god. I was there when he was born! I scrubbed his birth-blood off my hands. I grew up with his father.”
“You did,” Omaskat conceded. “He’s a baby, of flesh and blood, but his soul is something vastly other.”
Emotion – indignation, confusion, a spark of fear – clogged my throat. “That’s mad. Eang would have known. He was born in her Hall. His father was an Eangi.”
Omaskat shrugged. “Despite where his soul originates from, he’s human, Hessa. There was nothing about him to attract undue attention at this age – not until you brought it upon him. Eang was furious when she realized what he was and that she was unable to kill or bind him, because of your vow to protect him.”
The words struck me like a lash. “No.”
“You could ask Gadr,” the man offered. “I sent the child north with him. Until Ogam intervened, in any case.”
“I already spoke to Gadr,” I countered. “I know you stole Vistic from Sixnit and left her enslaved.”
Omaskat’s eyes bored into mine again. “I’m not finished.”
I didn’t waver. “Then continue.”
The man turned weary eyes back over the Headwaters. The springs had begun to boil again, filling the air with a distant, gulping rush.
“The other way Thvynder retained power was through me. I am the Watchman.” Omaskat watched tiny waves skitter against the rocks. “I observe and do what I can to influence the pattern of the world and understand the tapestry Fate weaves. I watched Eang and her generation revolt against their forebears, as their forebears revolted against the Four. I watched the Arpa Empire rise where Eiohe’s blood had spilled. And when I sensed the awakening of Lathian and his cohorts, I spent years around the White Lake, beginning the process of waking Thvynder and waiting for the Vestige’s – Vistic’s – next birth.”
“And after all that, you thought giving the baby to Gadr would be a wise idea?” I demanded, partially out of indignation and partially because this event was more tangible than everything else he’d said. “And leaving Sixnit behind?”
“I regret having to leave Sixnit. But Gadr, I met him at the lake, after he lost his people, and we came to an understanding.”
“He’s on your side?”
“My side?” Omaskat echoed, incredulous. “The side that wants this world to survive an unbound Lathian? Gadr saw what Lathian’s zealots did to his people and offered me help.”
I took this silently, thoughts darting back to the slaughtered Algatt villages. After having seen the massacre myself, I could hardly blame Gadr for throwing
in his lot with Omaskat. He couldn’t very well go to Eang for aid.
“Neither of us realized what Ogam had done, back then,” Omaskat added. “I believed that Vistic would be safe with Gadr.”
“What has Ogam done?” I asked. “He’s allied himself with Lathian?”
The traveler held out his hand as Ayo sidled up, sitting at his side and curling her tail around her legs. “Yes, apparently so. At the least, he broke many of the seals on Lathian’s tomb and stole Vistic from Gadr.”
“But… breaking those seals wasn’t enough to release Lathian?”
“No. A binding’s strength is more than seals. It relies on the life and power of whoever wrought it, and Eang and Gadr and a few others are still alive.”
“Then how close is he to freedom?” I asked, once again weighing which was the greater threat to my world – Lathian or Omaskat’s god.
Omaskat made a contemplative sound and settled into a cross-legged position, pulling the dog’s head into his lap and beginning to stroke her absently. “He has left his tomb, on the other side of the mountains, and is on his way to the lake. He cannot physically pass through Algatt and Eangen, not with Gadr and Eang still alive. But he’s stronger by the day. And now that Ogam has sent more legionaries to feed him, I’m not sure what he will be able to do.”
He meant Polinus’s men. My heart slammed against my ribs in renewed fear for Nisien and Estavius. “But Thvynder can stop Lathian?”
Omaskat nodded gravely. “Before he’s fully released, yes. But once he physically arrives in his temple in Apharnum and gains full power? All will be lost.”
“And if… if I let you wake Thvynder, what will happen to my people?” I needed to know. “What will happen to the High Halls? The light from the White Lake is already destroying them.”
Omaskat answered without a hint of question in his voice, “Thvynder will rule the north. They will be its god, its protector. The High Halls will be restored – they were made for your kind, Hessa, for your dead, and they will not be withheld.” Heat entered his eyes then, sharp and jagged. “And your place there will never again be questioned.”
My heart swelled against my ribs. This. This was what I’d desired, this was what I’d fought for.
“And while you live?” Omaskat added, his gold and blue eyes level and candid. “Thvynder will have need of a priesthood, and the Eangen of leaders. The Miri that submit will be permitted to live… but I doubt that Eang will be among them.”
My elation faltered into grim agreement. Eang would never submit.
“Do you have any more questions?” Omaskat asked, glancing from the dried sweat on my skin to the Headwaters. “Or will you trust me long enough to save Vistic, your friend, and the High Priestess?”
I was overly conscious of the tarnished Eangi collar fastened to my belt, pressing into my flesh in reminder, warning and condemnation. At the same time as I resisted all Omaskat had told me of history and the gods, I believed him – but the implications were too thick, too complex to sort out now. I had to focus on the task at hand: Sixnit, Svala and Vistic.
“I will,” I replied, climbing back to my feet and taking up my shield. “Though I haven’t made up my mind.”
Omaskat toyed with one of Ayo’s ears and the dog shook her head in irritation. He lifted his hand and frowned at the beast as he said, “Very well. You have the day. Now, out there on the Headwaters, Svala and Sixnit and Vistic are trapped in ice. But Ogam will not simply let us retrieve them.”
“Why would you be afraid of Ogam?”
“I’m not. But those three – Vistic, Sixnit, your priestess – are going to be weak. While I deal with Ogam, I need you to get them away.” His gaze flicked to my hands. “It should not be hard, not with your new skills… whatever they may be.”
“About that…” I rested the rim of my shield beside my boots. “I’ve only been able to fully use the power in the High Halls, when I was cursed by Quentis. Eang’s Fire, now… I can’t break through it.”
Omaskat made a contemplative noise. “Eang’s Fire will always seek to dominate, whether that’s over your enemies or your own soul. It is a pity, though.”
I nodded, considering Quentis’s quest to kill Eang’s Fire. If he had succeeded, what would I be right now? Would I be a shadow of myself, stripped of the Fire that had carried me through a hundred battles, or would I be… more?
“Will I be punished?” I asked in sudden realization. “Haven’t I done exactly what the Miri did, taking the power of the High Halls for myself?”
Omaskat frowned and got to his own feet. “Very little in this world is as it was meant to be, and just because some abused the power you wield doesn’t mean that you will. Use what you’ve gained for good, and I see no fault in you.”
My emotions jarred against one another – tentative hope, reckless determination, and no small measure of fear.
If Omaskat’s talk of true gods and Miri and Vistic was to be believed, I could still save the north and the High Halls. I could be reunited with Sixnit and Vistic and Svala. I wouldn’t be alone anymore, stumbling my way through questions of life and death and deity. The thought made my tentative hope turn desperate and cloying.
But Svala would not listen to any of what Omaskat had just said. She was High Priestess of the Eangi, of all Eangen, and she was as likely to turn on Eang as Eang was to bend the knee to Thvynder.
The thought came with a rush of memory and emotion. I remembered how, as a child, Svala had taken my hands and vowed to protect me. I remembered the Eangi’s countless proclamations of Eang’s bravery and watchfulness, her power and dedication to the Eangen people. And I recalled Svala joining Eidr’s and my hands together, before the altar, before all the Eangi, in the Hall of Smoke.
“Albor,” I said distantly.
Omaskat, in the midst of bundling his cloak and stashing it high in a tree, paused.
“You…” I tried to keep my words clear of emotion. “If you’re who you say you are, when you came to Albor, did you know what would happen to us?”
Omaskat lowered his arms and settled back into his heels, moving as if I were a skittish horse.
“Did you know?” I repeated. My voice cracked despite my best efforts and my eyes began to burn. “Did you know the Algatt would slaughter them all? That Six and her baby and I would end up with the Algatt?”
The Watchman of Thvynder looked down at me with an unfaltering gaze. “Yes.”
I couldn’t crack his bones or rupture his mind with Fire. I had my axe, but it never left my hip. I had hands to beat him, nails to claw him, yet my body did not respond. Instead, my knees became butter and my fingers lead.
I raised a trembling hand to my face and tried to control myself, tried to stop the anguish that threatened to collapse my chest, but it only grew.
When I managed to speak, my words were ragged. “You could have saved us.”
Omaskat remained where he was, watching me with that same stalwart gaze. “Fate has her own mind, Hessa, and a way of righting herself. Once one’s days are written, they can rarely be undone. Even I can’t change that, but it is why I came to the Hall of Smoke when I did. I wanted to meet you. To see Sixnit and her husband… before. Perhaps that was selfish of me. Perhaps I should not have done so.”
I clamped my eyes shut, careless of my tears, and pressed into a memory of Eidr’s strong arms. One more day. Even if Fate could have been evaded for one day more, I…
I felt Omaskat draw closer, but I didn’t move. I kept my eyes sealed shut, grasping at the scent of Eidr as if I were drowning.
Omaskat touched my hand. I jerked away but he reached out again, more firmly. Through a fog of tears, I looked down to see him press my three-pronged hairpin from Albor into my palm, engraved with birds and the runes of Eidr’s pledge to me: protection, eternal promise and belonging. My thumb twitched over it.
When Omaskat spoke, his words were charged with both empathy and authority. “Come with me, Hessa. Let me, let us, save your
people now.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
I splashed my face with water and raked my hair into a fresh braid. I wound it into a crown to keep it from the straps of my gear and fastened it with my usual leather wrap, then secured it all with the hairpin Omaskat had returned to me, burrowing it deep so it would not come loose.
I ignored Omaskat’s glance at my torn ear and cinched my belt tighter, easing the weight of mail on my tired shoulders.
“Here.” Omaskat held out a small pouch.
I took it and looked warily inside. It was packed with dried fruit, last season’s nuts and twists of venison. “Do you even need to eat?”
“No, but you do.” He took up two long poles. “And take one of these. I don’t want to lose you in a well.”
A few minutes later, we stepped into the Headwaters. Ayo ranged ahead, water tugging at the fur of her belly as she quested.
“If all else fails, follow her back to shore,” Omaskat told me over his shoulder. The arrowhead of rivulets he made rippled towards my own plodding legs. The water only reached his knees, but it was at my hips. “She’ll be able to sense any wells or… unpleasant creatures… long before you.”
The first of the Headwater’s springs were easy to find. Every so often they awoke, interrupting the surface of the water with an arch of lively, ominous bubbles. Ayo skirted them and we followed her path. But when the currents slept, the springs became lurking wells. So, even though both Omaskat and the hound preceded me, I stabbed my staff left and right, making sure I wasn’t about to step into unknown depths.
My legs plodded, the water rippled, and I was so focused my steps that I failed to notice danger until Ayo yipped.
I swung my pole just in time to strike a face full of teeth. Omaskat reacted in the same moment and a knife flashed, hurtling through the air before I’d even had a chance to see where he’d had it hidden.
A silvery creature the size of a large otter loosed a horrific shriek and fell away from me, a fine throwing knife protruding from its head.
I sucked in a gasp and staggered, looked back at Omaskat. “What was—”
