by Jean Johnson
Chapter Nine
At some point, the Efrijt portal closed. But that was acceptable; the Fae no longer considered using it a viable option. Not at this time. Not unless and until that portal reopened, after they found a way to cage Udrin’s anima-borne spirit. It was more unnerving to Ban that he didn’t feel trapped in this world, knowing that the one portal out of this realm was no longer open.
Zedren and Éfan managed to keep Udrin’s visits to the region around Ijesh as short as possible; in doing so, they learned and relayed the fact that each of the three could “tear off” pieces of consciousness from their opponent and scatter them. Never for long, and the tearing seemed quite painful, but by confining those clawing attacks to whenever Udrin appeared in the vicinity of the Flame Sea and Red Rocks tribes, Udrin learned to avoid lingering long.
The child-god could tear at the other two as well as the two of them gouging apart pieces of him, but two against one meant he could only focus on damaging one, leaving the other free to attack. Zedren flew back from time to time, reporting that Udrin had switched to hit-and-run tactics to try to wear them down without exhausting himself. For now, it was disconcerting to hear Éfan admit in his few, brief breaks that even together they could not contain him. That Udrin was simply that strong.
At least they diverted his attention from seriously harming anyone else, even if it was a struggle. And in that diversion, Ban had an opportunity to leave the stronghold on a mission for Jintaya.
Halfway through his evening journey across the ravines, canyons, and wadijt of the stone-dug city, Ban came under attack by a vicious whirlwind that snapped into existence around him. Between one heartbeat and the next, his body spun around under the force of that sudden wind. Pain stabbed through his head, then the whole world tilted, swung at him, and jerked to a stop.
Feeling his body collapse, Ban tried to move. Nothing responded. He could barely even think, but did not panic over his abrupt helplessness. Not even when the boy-god trembled the air over his head into audible speech.
“Ha! I’ve neutralized you. You’ll now be as dangerous to me as a root vegetable!” Udrin gloated, voice reverberating. “And all the wits and all the responsiveness of one, ha! With your mind and body paralyzed . . .”
Ban had time for one last, sluggish thought, red liquid seeping from his eyes, blurring his vision. Hearing truly is the last thing to—
He died. Three seconds later, Ban snapped back into existence, standing on his feet instead of slumped on the ground . . . and found himself forced to shield his eyes from the tornado of fury whipping twigs and pebbles and leaves out of the planting beds lining the path he took, pelting his body in pointless, childish rage.
“What does it take to STOP you?!” Udrin thundered, unseen hands ripping out a bush by its roots and dashing it against the sculpted stone street meandering its way up the ravine. “You should have been incapacitated! I experimented on dozens of humans to try to figure out how to paralyze you!”
Squinting against the grit in the wind, Ban folded his arms across his bare chest. “Did you really think that in dozens of centuries, people have not tried to paralyze my body and mind just so that they can experiment upon me? And that I would not find a way to nullify it?”
The whirlwind stopped, and the most honest answer Udrin could have possibly given buzzed through the air around him. “Yes!”
“Well, they have. And I did. I reshaped the very core of my powers to ensure it will never happen again. Not for long,” he stressed. “If my body or my brain becomes paralyzed for more than ten seconds . . . I die. And then I come back to life again.” He spread his arms, reaching out with his will and its distinctly outworlder magic. “You will never neutralize me for long. Now that I know I can control your ener—”
Udrin vanished just as two more gusts whipped into the canyon. Éfan swirled to a stop and manifested in a very watered-down and shimmering version of his first attempt. “What are you doing, standing still? Zedren said you’re on a mission!”
“Excuse me, I just died,” Ban retorted, gesturing at the debris scattered all around. “Udrin paralyzed and killed me, just now.”
“That’s no excuse! Not for you,” the Fae mage dismissed. “Get back to work.”
“Yes, please,” Zedren agreed, a bit more politely. “He’s exhausting us. Come on, partner, I can sense him north of the Red Rocks—Ban, tell the others, the more we move around like this, the more we become aware of all the areas where we ‘sample’ the local energies. It’s thrilling even as it’s exhausting.”
“On the bright side, we’ll eventually be able to tell exactly where he goes in this world,” Éfan agreed. “Excuse us, we have to go.”
They whipped away, leaving him alone. Or almost alone. Wide-eyed humans peeked out cautiously from behind shutters and reed-woven curtains shielding their canyon-dug homes. Deciding Udrin would stay away—at least for a while—Ban shifted his hands to his hips, filled his lungs, and called out strongly, “Every human in Ijesh is to report immediately to the theater! Spread the word far and wide. Your Taje-ul commands you to bring yourselves, your children, your elders, everyone to the theater for an important meeting. Taje Jintaya-ul needs you to help her fight the monster that has been unleashed. Spread the word, rouse those who are sleeping, and make your way to the theater!”
The curtains rustled and the shadows backlit by oil lamps moved. Message heard, message understood. Whether the message would be obeyed, Ban could not say. He had a job to do, and it involved visiting the most annoying resident of the Flame Sea.
***
Grandmother Siffae, secret Head Priestess of the Pantean of Fae-Gods, arrived in style on a litter chair borne by four of her many descendants. She wore Fae-woven silks in shades of gold and cream, camel and beige, in imitation of Fae preferences. Her age-thinned waist, wrinkled neck, and frail wrists glittered with gold and polished gemstones, and one of her grandsons had taken the time to brush out her long, sparse curls, braiding them and pinning the plait around her head with yet more hammered gold and sand-rounded crystals.
She remained in the litter chair even when her three great-grandsons and one great-granddaughter hefted it up the stairs onto the stage. Her cataract-hazed eyes stared at the firelit hall, head turning to take in the many people huddling in their seats. Well, shapes. She could barely see anymore. Taje Djin-taje-ul had done what she could, even restoring Siffu’s sight a few times with Muan-taje’s help, but the ravages of time and old age would always eventually triumph over medicine magics. Still, she could see the Golden Ones as they rose with remarkable respect from their seats on the stage.
Bowing her head to her gods, Siffu composed herself mentally, and asked as firmly as she could, “You have called me here to speak to me as the chief of those who rightfully worship you . . . and you have reassured me that you finally wish to honor that worship. Taje Djin-taje-ul . . . is this claim true?”
One of the golden blurs detached itself from the others and approached. “Yes, Grandmother Siffae, it is true. We have, as we said . . . Muan, come here,” Djin-taje-ul commanded, breaking off what she had been saying. Her tone switched from gentle and kind to slightly sharp and annoyed. “Her eyes have clouded over again. We don’t have a lot of time, can you clear the left one while I get the right?”
“Of course.” Another pale-haired golden blob approached. Siffu widened her eyes, familiar by now with the procedure, and stared up at the shadows of the ceiling. Energy washed through her, making her eyeballs sting and itch maddeningly. She struggled against the need to blink, felt tears gathering and spilling down her cheeks . . . and then the milky mists blurring her sight slowly faded, like the way a fog of warm breath applied to a metal blade on a cold day evaporated. Finally free to see with some clarity—not perfect, but some—Siffu nodded.
“Thank you, my goddesses. Thank you for letting me look one last time upon your faces,” she murmure
d, drinking in the sight of gentle Mother-of-All, the first goddess, and then the new goddess, the one just today she had heard the younglings of her extensive clan calling the Goddess of Love. It suited gentle Muan-taje.
Djin-taje-ul crouched beside her, placing her head lower than Siffu’s. That should have felt wrong, but Siffu knew it was just the kindness inherent in the Taje-ul. She felt Djin-taje-ul gently cup her aging fingers, and listened intently to her words.
“We have, with the best intentions at the start, but unfortunately an inability to prevent it at the end, unleashed a severe problem upon this world. Udrin, son of Muan and Dakin, has now become one with the magics of this world.” Mother-of-All shifted position, twisting to stand and face the risers, though she kept hold of Siffu’s hand. “He may have no body anymore, but he now has the power to go anywhere, and to steal the anima of this world from its people, its rocks, its trees . . . We are sorry we entered into the agreement that created him, and the Efrijt are remorseful as well.
“Most of them have been forced to flee. Three remain behind, to guard and watch over the humans in their care. They are Kuro Chadesh, who is a healer; Daro Dakin, who is Udrin’s mortal father; and Taro Anzak, who is kin to Dakin. I ask that you treat them with respect, and make them feel welcome among you, for they not will be able to rejoin their people for a very long time. Grandmother Siffae . . . I ask you to encourage your people to honor them as guests and refugees. Will you instruct your followers to do so?”
“Of course,” Siffu agreed. Or rather, Siffae agreed to it. She was Siffae now, Sif-of-the-Fae, her title and rank acknowledged openly by the chief of all god-beings. Her heart swelled with emotions, wonder and happiness and pride. “What else will you command of us, Mother-of-All?”
“This will indeed be the last time you look upon my face as it is now, Siffae,” Djin-taje-ul cautioned her. “Éfan-taje and Zedren-taje have already gone ahead of us, making the transition from mortal Fae to . . . anima-being. They seek to counter the wild and reckless wishes of Udrin. But they need help. He is cunning, and it takes great strength to confine him. It takes numbers to confine him, and numbers still more to give each shift a chance to rest and regather their strength.”
She looked across the stage at someone. At the one nongolden member of the pantean, Ban-taje. Death. Blurry though he was, he stood in what he called his war clothes: that leather skirt with the pleated folds, the knee-high boots, and the slices of golden sunsteel that served as his war blades. But while he looked ready for battle, he stood with his arms folded across his chest. In all her ninety-two years, Siffae could not recall anyone looking less happy about a situation without actually frowning or crying.
“We have therefore decided to break with our long-standing tradition. All of us will become god-beings. All of us who are Fae. The Shae, Ban-taje, will . . . remain as he is. Even Udrin fears his power, and rightly so. We hope one day to confine Udrin long enough for Ban to catch up to the place where we will catch him. At that time, Ban-taje will control him, and contain him until the Efrijt portal again, so that he can be exiled to the home of his father’s kin,” Djin-taje-ul added.
Her words seemed a little cryptic and thus a little confusing. Siffae listened intently all the same, memorizing every word. The tribe of the Flame Sea had learned much by listening, reflecting, and debating. Her tribe. Her immediate family, and her clan, the widespread tree of descendants spreading out beyond her initial dozen offspring.
“Once he has been exiled to the realm of the Efrijt . . . Udrin will not be able to steal any more of the anima of this world. He will weaken and fade. He may even perish, but he will be caught, confined, and dealt with. We just . . . cannot do it with mortal bodies slowing us down.”
“You said you would ask us to fight,” Siffae heard her son and successor, Talgan, call out. “How can we fight a god-being?”
For a moment, Djin-taje-ul pressed the edge of her first two fingers to her brow, frowning in that way that said she was seeking the patience to fight against and ward off evil of some sort. An annoyance, a problem, a headache . . . Breathing deeply, she spoke. “Udrin has found a way to use anima to fuel the transition in someone who is at least part Fae . . . but not part human. The rest of you are safe from this sacrifice—and if you think it not a sacrifice, I suggest you talk with Ban-taje about the downsides of being immortal.
“Suffice to say, our problem child has drained most of the ambient energies in the region . . . but you, the people of the Flame Sea, still have plenty of anima to spare. Animals always have more anima than rocks or trees, and sentient beings, humans, have the most to give. So . . . we ask that you open yourselves up to us, offering each one of the Fae the energy we need to make the transition from mortal being to pure anima-being. The faster we can do this, the faster we can contain Udrin and make sure he can never harm anyone again.”
“Will this stop another child from dying?” a woman called out. Siffae wasn’t sure, but it sounded like poor Doldj’s mother; her eyesight had been mostly restored, but only by removing the clouding of her eyes; her lingering nearsightedness left the bodies seated in the theater stands a mottled, blurred mess.
“We will do our best,” Krue-taje promised. “And we will still keep an eye on you, protecting you from within the aether. Not always directly, and much of our attention will be spent on keeping Udrin contained, and on figuring out how to reverse what he did to himself, but we will always care for you and your descendants.”
“Then you may have anything you want of me.”
“And me.”
“Me, as well!”
“If it will end the madness of this day, Tajet, we will pray for each of you and follow your commands.” That voice, Siffae recognized. Taje Toruk, just a handful of years younger than her son. Chief of the Flame Sea humans.
“Animadj Zuki?” Djin-taje-ul asked. “Do you agree?”
“Will we still be able to access the anima, if you become one with it?” the elderly woman asked. Younger than Siffae, of course, but still quite old at the age of seventy-nine.
“We may have to find a way to bind and lock up the free anima of the world,” Djin-taje-ul offered reluctantly, “but we will never drain the personal anima from any of you without your permission. I am saddened to say that Udrin considers humans to be no more important than animals. He will not hesitate to wring you dry and discard your body. We care too much for all of you to let him do that to you with impunity.”
“You are a good leader, Mother-of-All,” Siffae murmured.
“. . . Will you teach us how to ward our anima from being stolen?” Zuki asked. “I know you have ways to keep anima from penetrating into your stronghold grounds.”
“Yes, we will teach you those things,” Mother-of-All promised, this time without hesitation. “When we have the time to teach them, we will. But in order to have that time . . . we must all make the transition. It will not be pleasant to watch,” she added in warning, gently squeezing Siffae’s fingers. “We must first fill ourselves absolutely full of anima . . . and then Ban-taje must end our mortality. The injuries inflicted will be swift, but he will not do so until the moment is right, and he will do so thoroughly.
“So . . . with your permission, I would like to begin. If you do not want to share your anima, please leave now. It will not be taken from children under ten,” Mother-of-All added firmly. She pointed at the baskets of greens and fruits, of berries and fresh-seared fish resting in baskets at the end of each curved bench on the theater risers. “Rua-taje has brought you food and drink, the last harvest of her hidden gardens, so that you may recover your strength. The children are here so that they will be protected through the transition phase, and so that they may witness for themselves what is happening.
“We are mortals. We are not gods . . . at least, right now. But we are about to become beings of pure power . . . and if that makes us gods,” Taje Djin-taje-ul admi
tted gravely, soberly, “then we accept that burden upon our consciences and our souls. We grant the right to the priesthood of the Flame Sea to call upon us and rebuke us for any failure to contain Udrin. This is why we take up the burden of this transformation, after all.
“If we could do this another way and still keep all of you protected, we would . . . but the only thing that can counter a sentient anima-being is another such being. Or Ban-taje, but he cannot make the transformation himself. He can only guide it. So. Please leave now, if you object to lending your strength and your energies to this task. We will begin in one hundred heartbeats.”
“You may have my last gasp of breath, Taje-ul,” Siffae stated. “You may have my everything.”
Her descendants repeated those last five words in ragged chorus. About half the others of the five hundred adults pledged along those lines as well. Many remained silent, some looked hesitant, but only half a dozen actually rose and left. Three of them were mothers with newborn infants. Siffae decided that was a wise choice, but in case anyone thought otherwise, she spoke up, firming her voice so that it wavered only a little.
“Making milk for a child taxes the body of a mother,” Siffae announced. “As I learned all too well with my own brood. Anyone who has any other reason to refuse is equally right to do so. It is their anima, and their lifeforce. I will not have anyone who leaves be shamed by those who stay.”
Fuzzy though her myopic vision was, she saw the nearest, lowest rows of human faces nodding in agreement.
“There is nothing wrong with choosing not to volunteer something so personal as our innermost energies,” her son agreed, his voice strong and smooth, not yet troubled by advancing age. “I will make sure they are not censured. Rather, I will take heart that they will be well enough to tend the rest of us, should some of us give so much that we are too weak to move. One of which may very well be me.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Djin-taje-ul soothed. “We need at least four more of us to make the transition right away. That should be enough to contain Udrin in one place, allowing the rest of us enough of a respite to travel to those places where the anima is still rich all around. Fifty heartbeats before we will begin.”
