Meta Gods War

by B N Miles

  Cam didn’t look up. He unbuttoned his woolen tunic and slowly pulled it off. His muscles ached from dragging his heavy father through the underbrush, and all he wanted was silence.

  Dagan nodded to himself, turned, and walked to the heavy clay jug of fresh water they kept tucked in the back corner. He ladled some out into a shallow bowl, carried it over, and set it down.

  “Clean yourself,” he said. “I’ll gather the men. Rest now, you’ve done enough.”

  Cam looked at the water and stared as it shimmered in the lamp light. Dagan moved to the door, but before he could pull it open, Cam spoke up.

  “We need to leave the village,” he said.

  Dagan didn’t move. The older man’s eyes moved to Cam and he tilted his head.

  “What did you say?”

  Cam met his gaze. He felt dizzy and unsteady, but the truth of what he was saying pierced him like an arrow. “We need to leave the village,” he said. “Weres don’t move in small packs of five or six. They move in packs of twenty or thirty. Even with the walls, we can’t defend the village against a true Were pack, assuming there’s only one.”

  “If we leave, they’ll pick us off,” Dagan said.

  “Then we need to send a message to the Mansion. They can send warriors to defend us.”

  Dagan looked troubled. “With all that’s happening…”

  “We can’t stay here and do nothing,” Cam said. “They’ll overrun us. You know it.”

  Dagan let out a breath and hung his head. “I’ll speak with the others.”

  Cam nodded and relaxed back onto the bedroll. Dagan slipped out the door and let it bang shut behind him.

  Cam’s eyes moved over his small home. His father’s bedding sat next to his own, though larger and wider, with more bear furs and skins. They had a low wooden table, three chairs that Cam had helped build, and shelves along the far wall covered in dry herbs, meats, and seeds. Pots and bowls were stacked on more shelves, and larger pots held their store of grain and dried meats.

  Half-finished bows were stacked in the corner, and the arrows Cam had been making the day before were still stacked on the table. He was tempted to get up and continue his work, but he couldn’t move a muscle. It took all his strength to get his tunic off and to clean the blood off his hands in the water Dagan had brought over.

  When that was finished, he collapsed back onto his furs and stared up at the wooden ceiling, wondering how his village could ever survive without his father.

  Let alone how he was going to manage from one moment to the next.

  5

  “Cam!”

  The familiar voice pulled Cam from a half dreaming state. He blinked and let out a little groan. His head hurt and his body ached, but he shifted his position enough to stare up at Key.

  Her mouth hung slightly open as she lingered in the door of his home. She had long blonde hair braided tight and hanging over one shoulder. Her plump, pinks lips always made him smile. Her bright blue eyes gazed at him, concerned. Her body was tight and athletic, her skin lightly tanned. She wore a tight gray tunic, the top two buttons left open to expose just a hint of her gorgeous breasts. Her tight leather pants fit her like a glove, and Cam had always appreciated the way she never seemed to want to find clothes that fit a little bit looser like most women in the village.

  “Key,” he managed.

  She hesitated and looked around the empty home. Normally his father would be there, giving them both a disapproving stare. Cam had been close with Key since they were children. They’d grown up together, along with Cam’s best friend Theus. Together, the three of them had explored the village and the wilderness around it like animals, and Cam always thought of himself as a part of their little merry band. But Cam’s father had always disapproved of the way he spent so much time with Key, and felt that if Cam was going to be so close with her, they might as well get married. Better to be married than to end up with a bastard, he’d grumble.

  Cam wouldn’t hear that ever again, he realized with a strange, melancholy twitch.

  “Can I…?” she asked, head tilted.

  “Come in,” he said. “Nobody’s here to yell at you.”

  She rushed to his side and dropped to her knees. He managed to sit up with a sigh. She stared at his bare chest and touched his skin gingerly with her fingers. He’d never seen her so concerned in his life. Key had spent most of her days either working the field with her mother, or training in staff and spear with the other men. Her mother didn’t approve of it, but she also couldn’t stop Key from doing what she wanted. Key had become something of a mascot for the village, and though it was odd for a woman to train in arms, it wasn’t unheard of.

  Normally, her touch would be rough and confident. But she seemed hesitant, unsure of herself. Her fingertips just brushed along Cam’s chest and her eyes stared into his.

  “Your father…” She trailed off.

  “He’s dead.” Cam reached up and took her hand. He held it for a moment and neither of them moved. Cam’s heart heaved, and he felt a strange longing, something he never thought he’d experience.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  And she threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his broad body and hugged him close. He bit back another sob, still refusing to let himself cry. He hugged her back gingerly, still sore, but her touch seemed to wake something in him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and she was warm, so warm and soft, though muscular and lean at the same time. He’d always known Key was beautiful and always desired her body, but he’d never known just how badly he needed her until this moment.

  She pulled back and their eyes locked. Neither of them spoke and she continued to hold his hand. “Are you hurt?” she asked finally.

  He shook his head. “No. Lost my bow though.”

  She smiled, uncertainty and pain etched on her face. “You’ll get another.”

  “Maybe.” His eyes moved away and fell on the staff hanging from a couple of pegs next to the half-finished bows. Either end was capped with heavy bone, heavy enough to crack a skull or to splinter wood if swung right. “I’m afraid of what’s coming, Key.”

  “I heard people talking and the men gathering. Nobody would tell me what’s going on. Cam, what happened to you?”

  “Weres,” he said, meeting her eyes.

  She dropped his hand. He wished she wouldn’t, but she leaned back on her knees and stared. “Weres? Here?”

  “A small pack of them ambushed us,” Cam said. “Father, he did… he used the Urspells. He killed most of them, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “I’m so sorry.” She bit her lip. “He was a great man, your father. He was always so kind to everyone.”

  “He was suffering,” Cam said, and he knew it was true. But it didn’t help at all. “We’ll need him now more than ever.”

  “But he’s with the Urspirit,” she said. “He’s home now.”

  “I know that.” His jaw tensed and he glared at the ground. “But he took everything with him, Key.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers so light and gentle. “He taught you,” she said. “I know he did. You spent hours with him in the forest, and I saw you sitting alone in the gate square sometimes, staring off into space. He taught you everything he knew and you were trying to make it work.”

  Cam pulled away from her touch and let a pained growl escape his lips. “He might’ve taught me, but I didn’t learn. I can’t do what he did and you know it.”

  She stared at him, her eyes pleading. “You can. You just—”

  “Stop,” he snapped, and regretted his tone a moment later. She meant well, and he couldn’t let his anger, his fear, and his grief spill out over her. He spoke again, but softer. “I just can’t,” he said. “Without my father’s magic, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  “We’ll have to try something.” She shook her head. “We don’t have any other choice.”

  “What are the men saying out there?” H
e shifted a little and was suddenly very aware of his bare chest.

  Key moved closer to him and tilted her head. “They’re talking about arming,” she said. “And about sending someone to the Mansion for help.”

  “It won’t work,” Cam said. “I thought maybe, but… they won’t get back in time. Even assuming they have any warriors to spare.”

  “We have walls,” she said. “Good walls. We can hold out.”

  “Not against a real Were pack. If they’re this far south, then they’re desperate, Key.” He shifted again, up onto his knees. Key moved back for a moment, and Cam noticed her eyes slide down his chest and his body, down to his breeches. He followed her gaze and saw the bloodstains all over. “Shit,” he whispered.

  Key got to her feet. “Let me get you some clothes.”

  He started to argue but she was already rummaging around in the oak trunk they kept in the corner. He had only one spare pair of leather breeches, and a handful of tunics he’d sewn over the years. She tossed him the bottoms and found his second-best tunic, gray and black, and handed it over. He hesitated a moment then began to strip out of the bloodstained pants.

  Key watched him and he saw something new in her eyes. He’d changed in front of her before, when they’d gone swimming or bathing down at the river. But having her alone in his house like this, so close to him, her body so lean and beautiful…

  He felt his heart beating hard and he had to turn away.

  Once he finished dressing, he turned back. She was blushing, her cheeks flushed and red. She had turned away and was staring at the arrows he’d been making, like she was studying his work. But he knew she’d been watching his body.

  He knew she’d been making the same calculations he had.

  “Come on,” he said. “Get my spear. We need to go speak with the others.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure yet. But we don’t have time to waste.”

  She nodded once, and the Key he normally knew came rushing back. She fetched the staff from the wall and handed it to him, her face serious, her motions practiced and smooth. He held the staff for a moment, testing its weight. He wondered if he could’ve been of more use to his father if he had a real weapon meant to fight Humans, not to hunt bucks.

  It didn’t matter. He nodded at Key then led the way out toward the village.

  6

  Cam stepped out of his small home and into the late afternoon sun. He hesitated as a wave of disorientation hit him, and he wondered if he was hurt worse than he realized. But Key stepped up next to him and laced her arm through his, her firm hand pressed against his bicep, and he nodded to her gratefully. Together, they stepped down off the slightly raised platform of his porch and began to walk toward the gate square.

  On a typical day, the village would be busy at this time. Older men and women would be out in the shade of their porch, sitting on roughhewn chairs doing minor mending, sewing, carving, and arrow making. Children would be underfoot, running from one place to the next, while younger adults would be out in the fields or carrying water from one place to the next. There were over ninety men and women in the village, and Cam knew it was growing every year as more refugees arrived from the north. Just last week they’d taken in a young man and woman, and already they were beginning to construct a small home for themselves in one of the few empty spaces of land within the village walls.

  They’d talked about expanding their walls, making them wider and taller, but Cam knew that would never happen now. That had always been more of a fantasy than anything else.

  News from the north had been steadily flowing in for years. The Were packs were marching across the Mansions in Germania, slaughtering Human and Godling alike. And just three years back, they struck an alliance with the Shifters that made them even more powerful. Stray Godlings had been sighted more and more frequently near Human settlements, and tensions between groups were boiling as Mansions continued to fall to the might of the rampaging Weres.

  Cam had always thought it would stop soon. His father, on the other hand, never once said the Weres would back away before reaching their land. Even though they had the mighty Alps at their back, and Lord Remorn’s Mansion was carved into the rock itself, he never once thought the Weres would pass it by. Every Mansion was a target, every Human was a potential slave. The world was burning, and although they couldn’t see the flames, the smoke was thick enough to choke them all.

  They stepped from between two buildings and found the gate square packed with people. Cam had never seen so many adults standing together during the day. There must have been thirty of them, a mix of men and women, all of them within their prime fighting years. Normally, that many adults would be out in the fields, working and tending to the crops. Harvest was coming soon, and they’d need time to prepare.

  “Cam,” a voice cut through the group. Eyes turned toward him and he gazed back. A welcome face pulled itself from the group and came trotting over.

  “Theus,” Cam said as his best friend stopped and clasped his forearm. They touched their foreheads together—a more intimate greeting than was common among families.

  “Key told me she was visiting,” he said in a rush. “And the elders are pulling everyone together. Is it true, Cam?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “The Weres. Are they coming?”

  Cam frowned at his friend. He had messy dark hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin from working the fields. His nose was long and hooked. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he was one of the kindest and strongest men Cam knew. He was an inch shorter than Cam’s six feet, with muscular arms and a wide chest. If Cam was the best at staff and spear in the village, then Theus was a close second. They spent hours training together every day, sparring and perfecting their footwork. It had made them more like brothers than partners.

  “I think so,” he said. “The pack that attacked me and my father was small… but I doubt they came this far south alone.”

  Theus’s face slowly fell and his eyes darkened. He wore a deep blue tunic tucked into loose leather breeches. His brown leather sandals had seen better days, and Cam absently wondered if they’d survive a long march.

  “The men are talking,” he said, keeping his voice low. “They say they don’t believe you. They don’t believe what you said happened.”

  Cam tensed and he felt Key squeeze his arm then drop her hand away. “They’re just afraid,” she said.

  “They saw my father’s body, didn’t they?” Cam growled. “They saw what those Weres did to him?”

  “They saw,” Theus said and looked away. “Cam, I’m so sorry. I loved your father like my own. He was a good man.”

  “He’s with the Urspirit now,” Cam said, pushing back his sorrow again. “Come on. We have to talk with the others.”

  Theus nodded and Cam caught a look flash between him and Key. He wanted to ask what that was about, but he cut himself off and strode into the square.

  More eyes fell on him as Dagan stepped up between a group of men. “Young Cam,” he said. “You’re up.”

  “I’m up,” Cam replied. Theus and Key flanked him on either side as more people turned to stare at him “And I’m told there are some of you here that doubt my story.”

  There was a general murmur and a rustling. Dagan looked around him with a frown on his face. “If there’s doubt, I haven’t heard it,” he said.

  “Where’s Arter?” Cam asked.

  Dagan turned toward the men as Cam’s eyes drifted over the group. They were dressed for the fields, with light woolen tunics and breeches, and some of them still carried pitchforks and scythes. Others had on heavier leather shirts, cured and stitched for fighting, though those were less common. Most held spears, long, heavy wooden shafts with sharp copper blades sunk deep into the haft. The men in Cam’s village grew up learning to fight with spear and staff, mainly because swords were expensive and very rare. His father’s weapon was from before the
man had come and settled here, from back when he was a mercenary traveling the world.

  Cam pushed thoughts of his father from his mind. There was a stirring among the men and they parted. Another older man stepped between then, his long white hair pulled back in a braid, and his sharp blue eyes narrowed. He wore one of those leather vests over his gray woolen tunic, and his leather breeches clung tight to his muscular frame. He held a spear against one shoulder and looked at Cam.

  “So the shaman’s son is up and about then,” Arter grunted. He was one of the three Elders in the community. Dagan was another, and the final Elder, Kraed, was nowhere to be seen. Probably drunk under a table somewhere.

  Cam stepped toward Arter and gripped his spear. “We need to speak about the village’s plans.”

  “The village plans to protect its walls,” Arter said.

  “Nothing’s been decided yet,” Dagan growled in response.

  Arter shot him a look. “There is no other option. We have no proof that there’s a large pack gathering nearby. If there are simply small groups of Weres that have strayed far from their armies, then it would be foolish to leave the walls. Five or six Weres can’t penetrate our village.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Cam snapped. “If there are many more Weres than just groups of fix or six? Or if five of those groups join together to bring us down, what then? I know it’s hard to leave everything we’ve built behind, but walls can be rebuilt. Humans don’t rise from the dead.”

  Arter laughed. “Good lesson for you to learn, shaman.”

  “I’m not a shaman,” Cam said through clenched teeth.

  “No, you’re not. But your father was, and look at him now.”

  “Arter,” Dagan snapped. “Careful”

  Cam stared at the Elder with rage in his body. Arter had never liked Cam’s father, and the two of them had always been at odds. But this display of disrespect would never have happened if Father were still alive. And yet Cam knew he couldn’t call Arter out, not yet at least. He needed the Elders to listen to him, because they were the ones that ultimately made the decision. They were the ones that the men would follow.