by P. C. Cast
“Iron Fist, I accept you and name you The Blade of the God. Henceforth, let the People know that The Blade speaks with his God’s voice.”
“Thank You, my Lord!”
Dove knew who moved to speak his oath next. She could smell the rot that followed poor Lizard’s every breath.
“I will worship and be true to You, my Lord!” Lizard’s voice cracked and was thick with pain, but his shout was loud and traveled easily to the courtyard and the watching People.
“Lizard, I accept you and assure you that soon you will be free of your suffering.”
Dove gripped Lily’s wrist painfully, whispering urgently, “Pledge yourself to Him. Now! Call for the other Attendants to follow your lead.”
“But, Mistress, I—”
“Do you want to live?” Dove spoke quickly.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then do it! Now!” Dove freed her Attendant with a small push.
“Come, Attendants! Let us swear ourselves to our God!” Lily said.
Dove heard the soft padding of the bare feet of her Attendants hurrying to follow Lily’s lead. There was a rustling of their skirts, like fall leaves blown by winter wind, and Dove knew the Attendants were bowing before the God.
“Excellent! I happily accept the supplication of Dove’s Attendants. Stay close to your Mistress, women, and prepare to welcome a Goddess to join her God!”
“Yes, my Lord,” they intoned after Lily.
“And now, what of you? What of the rest of my People?” The God’s voice blasted from the balcony as Lily hurried back to Dove’s side.
“Motion for the rest of the Attendants to go inside the chamber.” Dove spoke softly and urgently to Lily.
The girl didn’t hesitate. Dove felt her make several small, fast gestures and then heard the sound of the Attendants’ bare feet moving past them as they scurried back to the relative safety of the Chamber.
“I will worship You!”
“I will follow You!”
“I will fight for You!”
The shouts began to lift from the courtyard as Lily described to her Mistress what was happening below. “The men He made Reapers—they are all moving forward and falling to their knees to swear allegiance to Him.”
“As will I!”
“And I!”
More shouts joined the voices of the Reapers. Dove tried to place each of them in her mind, but there were too many of them and their pledges devolved into a din of noise.
“Are all the People accepting Him?” she asked Lily.
“Not all, Mistress, but most. I can see a group of Hunters who are keeping to themselves and have not spoken.”
“Enough!” At the roar of the God, all of the People fell silent. “I am pleased that so many of my People have chosen to remain faithful to their God.”
One voice broke free from the silence below. It was strong and sure, and Dove recognized it at once as that of an old Hunter named Fist. “But your form is not that of our Reaper. The God we worship is a woman, and you, though powerful and obviously divine, are a man. So, my question is are you our God or simply a God?”
“That is easily answered. But first, tell me, are there others who would like to ask this question of me?”
A tremor of fear skittered through Dove’s body. The God’s voice seemed kind, as if He welcomed the question and would welcome more questions from the People. Dove knew better. She knew one surety beyond any other—Death would not abide being questioned.
“Yes, Champion,” another man called from below. “I am River. Like Fist, I would ask this question.”
“And I am Slayer. I would ask this question, too,” said another man.
“Excellent! And I shall answer your question. Move forward, Fist, River, and Slayer, so that I may see to whom I speak.”
Dove heard the crowd moving and murmuring.
“What is happening?” Dove asked Lily.
“The three Hunters have left the others and are standing before the central fire. The one over which the boar was roasted.”
Dove bowed her head and waited.
“My answer is thus—you were wrong. This statue is not a God. It is dead metal. It matters not at all whether it is an image of a man or a woman, because it was never a God. I am Death and I am your God. Not because of this statue. Not for any reason except that I have chosen you as my own. And I thank you for giving me this opportunity to show my divine power to those of my People who are truly faithful.”
Then there was a horrendous sound of screaming metal that was joined by the hysterical shouts of the People as Dove heard something heavy plummet to the courtyard below.
Lily gasped in horror, hiding her face in Dove’s shoulder as she sobbed.
“What is it? What has happened?” Dove shook the girl, forcing her to answer.
“H-he tore the trident from the statue of the God and hurled it into the courtyard. He has killed Fist, River, and Slayer!”
“NEVER QUESTION DEATH!” the God thundered.
“Are the People fleeing?” Dove asked.
“No, Mistress. The People are falling to their knees and bowing to Him.…” Lily paused while she sobbed, finally managing to whisper, “What are we to do?”
“We are going to survive.” She put her arm around her Attendant and let the girl weep into her shoulder as Dove’s sharp, resourceful mind began to make plans.…
CHAPTER 22
The day dawned overcast and cool, with the taste of smoke heavy in the air and in Wilkes’s throat as well. His eyes felt as if he’d rubbed sand in them, and as he stretched and unwrapped himself and Odin from the cocoon-like hammock he’d fashioned late the night before in the great boughs of an ancient pine left untouched by the fire, Wilkes heard his cough echoed around him by his brother Warriors.
“Wilkes! You up there?”
Wilkes glanced below to see Claudia with her Shepherd, Mariah, peering up into the boughs of the pine, face ashen and expression grim.
He cleared his throat painfully and steeled himself for bad news.
“I’m here. Give us a minute. Odin and I will be right down.”
Claudia nodded and sat heavily beside her Shepherd, draping a slender, soot-smudged arm around the big canine as Wilkes quickly reworked his travel cloak into a sling, lowering Odin to the ground before he followed him more slowly, climbing down the broad tree trunk.
“Here, I brought this for you.” Claudia handed Wilkes a wooden cup filled with hot, honey-laced tea.
Wilkes nodded gratefully, blew on it, and then took a big gulp, savoring how the herbs soothed his smoke-abused throat. Then he met Claudia’s gaze. “Okay. Tell me.”
“We found Ethan.”
Wilkes’s stomach clenched with dread. His mate had been missing since the day before. He hadn’t made it to the Channel—Wilkes already knew that—but he’d hoped Ethan was one of the wounded who had lost their way in the smoke and fire and had begun straggling back to the Tribe since the blaze had been extinguished.
“Where is he? Is he hurt badly?”
Claudia stood and rested her hand on Wilkes’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Ethan’s dead. We found him not far from where the Council was killed.”
Wilkes bowed his head and let the grief wash over him. He and Ethan had been mated for a decade. Wilkes had liked to joke about how much Ethan nagged him, but the truth was that he counted on his partner to keep him grounded. And now—now Ethan was no more and Wilkes felt as if he’d lost his true north.
“What about Ginger? Was she with him?”
Claudia sighed sadly. “His Shepherd died with him. They were found together.”
“Where are they? I want to see them.”
Claudia’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “No, my friend. You do not. Ethan and Ginger were placed with the Council, their canines, and those who died on the way to the Channel. Some of the Hunters are building a pyre for them. It should be done around sunset.”
Wilkes wiped tears from his face
with the back of his hand as Odin whined and pressed against his leg. “Did you see him?”
Claudia nodded wearily. “I did.”
“Do you think he suffered?”
“It happened fast and he wasn’t alone. Ginger was wrapped in his arms, and there were several other people beside them as well. Let that be a comfort to you,” she said.
Wilkes nodded sadly and dropped his hand to rest on his Shepherd’s head, finding comfort in his Companion’s nearness. I can’t think about Ethan and Ginger right now. I can’t mourn yet. There is too much to do—too many lives that might still be saved. He cleared his throat again and lifted his head.
“Were any Healers found alive?”
“No. Emma and Liam are the two apprenticed Healers Kathleen sent from the infirmary before the blaze destroyed it and everyone in it. A third trainee, Olivia, did find her way to the meditation platform late last night, but she almost didn’t make it through the fire and said the other three apprentices who were following her weren’t as lucky.”
“So, we have three half-trained Healers. Okay. Well, that’s better than none, but we’re going to have to get them some help.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up into the boughs of the nearest trees, “Warriors! To me!” Instantly the tree limbs began to sway with the weight of humans and canines awakening from much-needed sleep. “Wait here for the Warriors to get themselves awake, and then bring them to the meditation platform. Have you seen Latrell? I need him to gather his Hunters, too.”
“Latrell is dead. Thaddeus has taken on the role of Lead Hunter.” Claudia’s frown clearly said what she thought of the change of Hunter leadership.
Wilkes ran a hand through his matted hair. “That news could be better.”
“Yeah, well, none of the Hunters challenged him. Not that I blame them. He’s mean. Almost as mean as that Terrier of his.”
“I thought after Odysseus was wounded Thaddeus might focus on his Companion,” Wilkes said.
“That’s a nice thought, but the wound seems to only have slowed Odysseus down—not Thaddeus,” Claudia said.
“Hopefully, when we ordain a new Council they’ll appoint someone more appropriate as Lead Hunter.” Wilkes shook his head, muttering, “I blame Thaddeus for this mess.”
“That bastard! Just the thought of him pisses me off. I don’t understand why he’s still free, let alone Lead Hunter. I can’t stand that he’s walking around like he didn’t cause—”
Wilkes made an abrupt motion. “Never mind. That was self-indulgent of me. There’s no time for blame or what-ifs right now. I’m heading to the platform.”
Claudia shook herself. “You’re right. Thaddeus can wait. I’ll follow you with the Warriors.”
Wilkes tried to smile his thanks, but his face felt cracked and broken. At that moment he wondered if he would ever smile again. So he simply nodded and began picking his way through the underbrush that peppered the forest floor around the old pines that were too ancient to hold the Tribe’s nests but still sturdy enough not to have been culled for wood and reseeded.
This was the part of the forest closest to Port City, and it had always seemed haunted to Wilkes. When their ancestors first found that they could survive with the help of the Mother Plant by living in the trees, it must have seemed logical to built their new city just outside the old one, but as generation after generation passed, the Tribe had chosen to expand away from the ruined city, moving farther to the north and west. The meditation platform had been the last of the usable relics, and the Tribe rarely went past that old sentinel. Wilkes looked uneasily around him, feeling as if the ghost of those first Tribesmen were watching him … judging him.
As the Tribe grew and the trees aged, they shifted the heart of the city into stronger trees that were just reaching their maturity, so the enormous old pines around him stood silent, abandoned, with remnants of nests and lift systems that had been cannibalized for anything of value to the ever-expanding Tribe.
Well, we used to be ever expanding, Wilkes thought morosely. Now we’re just trying to survive.
His feet felt heavy and he made himself finish the strong tea, hoping the honey it was laced with would give him a boost of energy. His stomach growled, surprising him. He’d been too busy to think about food before he and the Warriors who had taken the late shift with him had finally wrapped themselves in their cloaks and managed to steal a few hours of sleep. Odin whined and Wilkes patted his head.
“Okay, I hear you. We’ll eat soon.” Which reminded Wilkes to check and see if any of the rabbit warrens had survived. Damn, I hope so. Don’t know how we’re going to feed hungry canines with no rabbits. Wilkes’s shoulders slumped. There was just so much to deal with in the aftermath of the blaze. Sunfire! How he wished Sol were alive—or, at the very least, he wished Nik and his Healer had stayed. Nik’s presence would have given the Tribe a sense of safety, especially as Laru had chosen him. And Mari? Wilkes didn’t give a damn what idiots like Thaddeus thought—the girl was a gifted Healer who could wield sunfire. She belonged with the Tribe!
“He’ll be back,” Wilkes told Odin. “And this time I’ll do a better job about convincing him to stay.”
Wilkes trudged his way through the forest to the temporary infirmary they’d established on the meditation platform that served as border between the old, uninhabited section of the forest and the outskirts of what was left of their City in the Trees. He heard the sounds of the wounded before he got to the clearing that surrounded the old tree. He tried to prepare himself, but as he stepped from the forest and he took in the sight of the wounded lying in a wheel-like arrangement around the tree, spreading into the clearing and beyond, Wilkes knew nothing could have prepared him for the reality of the losses his Tribe had suffered.
Warriors and Hunters who were finishing their early shifts were staggering from the direction of their still-smoldering city. Wilkes knew they’d been combing the wreckage of the huge, blackened pines and the rubble of graceful nests and platforms that had, for generations, sheltered the Tribe of the Trees, looking for survivors and putting out any hot spots that might begin the blaze anew. One glance at them and he knew they had not found survivors.
“Here. Eat this. You look awful.” Wilkes blinked and refocused as Ralina, the Tribe’s Storyteller who seemed to have taken up permanent residence with the wounded, pressed into his hand a wooden bowl filled with porridge, almond milk, and more honey.
“Thank you,” his scratchy voice said. “I need to feed Odin, too.”
Ralina nodded. “The Carpenters built a temporary platform in that gnarled old oak about twenty yards over there.” She pointed toward the far side of the meditation platform. “Two of the rabbit warrens survived. We’re rationing food for the canines from there.”
“Only two warrens left?” Wilkes shook his head. There had been twelve major warrens where rabbits were bred and then distributed to the Tribe for food and pelts.
“Only two,” Ralina said. “And that was a close thing. But the Hunters are already setting traps for more breeder rabbits. Maybe they’ll manage to bring back a deer, or even a boar.” The Storyteller looked up at Wilkes, and he could see a world of misery in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. Two warrens are a lot better than none. And the rabbits can be replaced. Easily. How about you take a seat with me on that log and fill me in on everything else?”
“Okay. Yes.” Ralina began to walk with him the short distance to a singed log, but she staggered and almost fell.
Wilkes helped right her and kept a tight hold of her arm, easing her into sitting beside him. He noticed how pale she was and the terrible dark shadows under her eyes.
“Did you sleep at all?”
She shook her head.
“You have to,” Wilkes told her gently.
“I tried, but when I closed my eyes I saw nothing but fire and death. I—I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again.” Her head bowed and her shoulders shook as she cried silently.
; Wilkes put his arm around her. “Hey, we’ll get through this. Think about The Tale of Endings and Beginnings. Worse has happened to our ancestors and they survived and thrived. We will, too.”
“More than anything else I hope you’re right about that.” Ralina wiped her face with her sleeve as her Shepherd, Bear, padded up to her, whining his concern.
“It’s okay, Bear. I’m okay,” she murmured as he licked her face and she slipped from the log to sit on the ground beside him. It wasn’t long before she crossed her legs and leaned back, looking up at Wilkes. “I’m better now. What is it you need to know?”
“How are the Mother Plants?”
“They’re being tended. It’s too early to be sure, but Maeve says most will live. She transplanted them into the branches above the meditation platform, though they will soon need to be permanently planted in a new cluster of Mother Trees.”
Wilkes closed his eyes briefly in relief. “Maeve made it. How about her new pup? Fortina, right? Is she fine, too?”
“Both are well. And all of her assistants live, too. As soon as the fire broke out, Maeve ordered the Mother Plants moved.”
“That was wise of her.” He shoveled a couple more bites of porridge into his mouth, asking around it, “Do we have a death count yet?”
“We have an estimate. The count is almost two thousand Companions lost, but it’s probably low.”
“Sunfire! More than two thousand dead! But that’s almost half of the Tribe.”
Ralina nodded. “There are another five hundred plus wounded. Many of them will die, too. And that doesn’t take into account how many of us will perish later from the blight.”
The Storyteller looked down at her arms, and Wilkes followed her gaze. Her forearms were riddled with scratches he hadn’t noticed before through the sweat and soot that pretty much covered all of them, but now he saw the bloody wounds and he felt a terrible hollowness in his stomach that he knew no amount of porridge would ever fill. Her wounds were minor, but blight could infect any break in the skin, with a survival rate of less than five out of ten. He took quick stock of his own body. He was bruised and sore, though he didn’t think his skin had been broken anywhere. But Ralina’s right. How many of us who look healthy right now, who think they’ve come through this terrible fire safely, will die slowly of the blight because of scratches and cuts?
