by Dorian Hart
Morningstar shook her head. “A week? We can’t afford to delay that long.”
“We took a vote, and we agree with you. If you’re feeling better, we’re going to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But you said—”
“Having a wizard solves all sorts of logistical problems. After a week on the road, Aravia is going to teleport back here, see what the sages have for us, then teleport again to wherever we are. She says if she’s only teleporting herself and one other person, that shouldn’t be a problem for her.”
Dranko pointed at her meal tray. “I should let you eat. You want me to get the cook to heat that omelet back up for you?”
“I’m sorry I struck you.” Morningstar couldn’t say why the apology came out just then. “That first day in the Greenhouse. You were trying to tell me what I needed to hear, and I wasn’t ready.” A deeper shame burned at the memory of that early confrontation. She had judged him not only for his boorishness, but for his physical appearance. She, such a freak herself, the near-albino, the White Anathema, had thought less of Dranko because of his tusks, his scars, his greasy hair. She should have said something before now.
Dranko shrugged his shoulders. “Eh. I would have slapped me, too. The priests always told me my mouth was my worst feature. But apology accepted.” He moved to the door. “If it helps you recover faster, consider this. We promised we’d give the Crosser’s Maze back to Shreen, but we didn’t say anything about how. If it’s bigger than a thimble and smaller than a loaf of bread, I intend to shove it down his throat personally. And if it’s bigger than a loaf of bread, I’m still going to try.”
Morningstar stared after him as he left, then let her head sink back onto her pillow.
She could not deny that her encounter with Shreen had left her in a kind of physical torpor, on top of the spiritual hurts she had suffered. But her talk with Dranko bolstered her, gave her a stronger perspective with which she could beat back her self-doubt. She sat up and ate every scrap of food on the tray, bite by meticulous bite. Kibi was right; even cold, the omelet was delicious.
It was only midafternoon by the time she was finished, so she stood, stretched, and went to see how the others fared down in the dining commons. Dranko, Grey Wolf, Ernie, and Kibi were engaged in a game of dice. She sat and observed them for a few minutes; the game was odd, involving five dice of different shapes rolled onto a felt mat marked with concentric circles. A large bowl of nuts sat off to the side, and each of the four players had a pile of nuts in front of them.
“Step taught us to play,” said Dranko. “It’s called ring-bones. Usually one wagers iron rounds, but it seemed pointless to play for coins. And you know that men will take a game more seriously when their nuts are at stake.”
Morningstar said nothing to that, though she thought to herself that Dranko was the oddest combination of churl and philosopher she was ever likely to meet.
“Do you know when Aravia and Tor will return?” she asked.
“Step guessed they’d be back by dinner. He went with them to make sure they didn’t get lost.”
“Was that wise?”
“Calculated risk,” said Grey Wolf. “We wanted to make sure our requests made it to the sages of the Vault today, so that we can leave first thing tomorrow morning. Any news from Previa about how much time we have?”
“No,” she admitted. “I usually receive her report at the end of each training session, but last night our meeting ended…abruptly. I was knocked out of the Tapestry, an accident, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get back. I’m going to try again tonight.” She kept her voice neutral so as not to alarm her friends, but inside she still harbored a gnawing worry. What if she couldn’t get back for days or weeks? Or ever? “I think it likely, though, that if Previa had heard something especially alarming from Eddings about the archmagi, she would have told me straight away.”
“And how are you doin’ otherwise?” asked Kibi. “I’m findin’ I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout Shreen so much anymore, like the promise is fadin’ into the background the more time goes by. We’re hopin’ the same is happenin’ to you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, though the oily skin of the oath had not faded, and she didn’t expect that it would. She’d have to overcome it through force of will.
Aravia, Tor, and Step returned just in time for dinner. Step’s face held a sort of permanent bewilderment.
“Mission accomplished!” Tor announced. “And I’m starving.”
Aravia sat down and rummaged through her pack. “We enlisted the services of a sage calling herself Keen Mind. We had to make a substantial down payment, but she was confident that within a week she’d have something for us about Het Branoi and the City Vitreous, or the Crosser’s Maze. Possibly all three, though she did not recall of any of those things off the top of her head.”
She found what she sought in her pack—a book, naturally—and started to read, but Pewter jumped up onto the pages and looked straight into Aravia’s eyes. A second later Morningstar was surprised when Aravia looked directly at her.
“I see you’re out of bed. Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you. No news from Abernathy, I’m afraid.”
“Step was telling us about the Kivian gods on the walk back,” said Tor, gazing at Aravia. “It was quite fascinating.”
Dranko grabbed a nut from Ernie’s pile and ate it. “You know, I’ve been thinking we ought to know more about the local deities than we do. Step, why don’t you start at the beginning and give us all a primer? If you pretend we don’t know your gods from a hole in the heavens, you won’t be far off.”
Step nodded sagely. “It is said that a man who hoards his knowledge will himself live in ignorance. Untold eons ago, the high gods arrived on Spira and, finding the lands of Kivia unclaimed by other gods, took the continent for themselves. Men and women wandered aimlessly across the fields, through the woods, over the hills. The high gods revealed themselves; they are Manisette, goddess of creation, and Yulan, god of time and reality. With them came Myr Madar, the celestial judge.
“Together, Yulan and Manisette created the five greater gods, who are Kemma, goddess of the sun; Drosh, god of death; Tiria, goddess of chaos and war; Palamir, god of the arcane; and Posada, god of the sea.”
Step paused to take a sip of water. “Tor has told me that in your land of Charagan, you have your own god of the oceans, and that the two gods contend for control of the water. But it was not always so. In the elder days, Posada’s sovereignty was uncontested. It was sometime in the centuries since that the two gods met and began their rivalry.”
Morningstar frowned at the implication that the Kivian gods were already here when the Travelers arrived. It meant that Dralla had ruled the night on Spira before Ell had come.
Dranko gave an easy smile. “A god of death and a god of chaos, huh? Not to mention a god of the sea who gets a mite jealous. I’ll bet the family gatherings are a riot.”
Step looked scandalized but didn’t comment. Instead he continued his tale.
“Seeing that their creations were good, Yulan and Manisette instructed the greater gods each to create a lesser god of their own, and four of them did so, one to one. Kemma created Hyros, god of mercy. Drosh created Dralla, goddess of night and monsters. Tiria created Nifi, god of fire. And Posada created Quarrol, god of nature.”
“Nifi is a lesser god?” said Dranko. “Pfff. His worshippers are invading Charagan right now, but I’ll bet our Werthan Stormknights will kick their arses.”
“You said only four of the greater gods created a lesser god,” said Aravia. “What about the fifth, Palamir, god of the arcane?”
“Palamir disobeyed,” said Step. “In his pride he created four lesser gods instead of one, but they were flawed, weaker than the rest, mere godlings among the pantheon. They were Para, goddess of craftsman and builders; Laramon, god of luck; Vinceris, god of thieves and assassins; and Svetla, goddess of the harvest. When Manisette saw what
Palamir had done, she grew wrathful, and though she was a goddess of creation, she showed that she could also destroy. She unmade Palamir and recreated him as a god of loyalty and duty.”
“That’s not fair,” said Dranko.
Certain Step blinked at him. “She is Manisette, goddess of creation. I think it perfectly fair that she punished a—”
“No, I mean it’s not fair that you people have twice as many gods as we do. We don’t have a sun god, or a fire god, or a chaos god. Maybe we did, a long time ago. Some of the older priests think the Adversary killed them and that the seven Travelers who got away were just the survivors. It’s not a popular idea, I grant you.”
Step looked horrified. “Who is the Adversary? How could the gods be killed?”
“By a bigger, badder god,” said Dranko. “The Adversary was a being so powerful, so evil, so dangerous, that it took all of our gods just to trap him in a prison. After that they hoofed it to the far side of creation so the Adversary couldn’t find them if he ever escaped. We call them the Travelers or the Traveling Gods, but that’s only because we’re afraid they’ll smite us if we call them the Gods Who Ran For Their Lives.”
It disconcerted Morningstar to hear Dranko talk like that, as though the gods were nothing more than a collection of unpopular school instructors.
Step’s jaw hung down. “How can you speak of the gods with such words?”
Dranko grinned. “Two things. First, are they going to smite me with holy lightning? I don’t know about your gods, but ours have shackled themselves with something called the Injunction that prevents them from directly meddling with us. And second, I figured out a long time ago that if the gods don’t have a sense of humor about these things, I’m utterly screwed.”
Certain Step didn’t look convinced. “But if you anger the gods, they will send your immortal soul to the hells after you die. Why would you take that kind of risk?”
“Honest answer? I say a lot of things, some more serious than others. I have faith that Delioch can see into my heart and know what kind of person I am.” He downed half his beer in one long gulp, then let out a resounding belch. “And it turns out that I’m the kind of person Delioch has granted the power to channel divine healing. He loves me!”
Morningstar wasn’t so sure. Delioch had granted him the power, certain enough, but if things continued as they were, that power would one day consume him completely. Maybe Delioch chose Dranko because he considered him expendable.
Step took a last bite of grassfowl and excused himself, his meal half-finished. “I must go home and prepare for our departure. Since my temple is not far from White Empress Square, I can meet you by the East Gate tomorrow morning.”
Horn’s Company finished their dinner in relative silence. Morningstar wasn’t in much of a mood to talk. She considered all that she had heard. It was well known that the Travelers had fled from the Adversary, but in the dark halls of Ell it was not often surmised that they were the last survivors, that other gods had been killed by the Adversary before their escape. Had there been more besides Ell, Brechen, Werthis, Delioch, Corilayna, and Uthol Inga?
The presence of an entire pantheon of different gods, worshipped by a population many times larger than that of Charagan, prompted her to rethink all of her assumptions. One school of theological thought maintained that the power of the gods was derived in part by the number and fervor of their worshippers. If that were true, might not all of the Kivian gods be greater than the Travelers?
Ell, I am sorry for even thinking these things. I am well out of my depth.
“I think I’ll retire early. One more night of sound sleep and I’ll be ready for the next leg of our journey.” She wasn’t as sure as she sounded, but she was keen to try to enter the Tapestry. Throughout all this talk of gods, there had lurked an ever-growing fear in her heart that Scola’s hammer had ended her usefulness to Ell. But her team would be there, waiting. Previa would make sure of it.
Back in her room, Morningstar lay down again on the bed, aware for the first time of its lumps and scratchy sheets. She used that to her advantage, thinking about the stuffed mattress instead of the broken-glass voice of Shreen. Only when all of her focus was on one particular wad of wool beneath her shoulder did she shift her mind to the Tapestry…
And there she was, thank the goddess! The others were there, scattered into little groups: Amber with Sable, Gyre, and Belle. Scola with Previa. Jet with Obsidia and Starbrook. But as soon as they noticed her appear on the dark-green grass, they rushed over from all directions. Scola wore an expression Morningstar had never seen on her face: contrition, tinged with relief.
“I’m so sorry!” she blurted. “I was trying to strike against your armor. I never meant—”
Morningstar held up her hand. “Scola, I know. I know.” She gave a wry smile. “I won’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind that some part of you saw the chance to take out the White Anathema. But no, I understood exactly what happened.”
She took a deep breath, filling herself up with the air of the Tapestry as though assuring herself of its reality. “In fact, in a way I’m glad things worked out the way they did. I discovered something important, and it reminded me of a lesson I haven’t yet shared with you.”
“If it’s ‘don’t get hit in the face with a huge hammer,’ we already figured that out,” said Jet. The sisters laughed, all nine of them, and it was strange to hear it. Morningstar, so new and unqualified to lead, had a moment of revelation. Heretofore she had kept her training sessions focused and solemn, a testament to the enormous responsibility Ell had put on all their shoulders. But she did her sisters a disservice, not balancing that gravity with levity.
She manifested a long roll of parchment and let it unspool to the ground. “You need to think more deeply. Here I have prepared a full list of things not get hit in the face by. Anvils. Boulders. Very large fish—”
“Pies!” called out Gyre.
“A second enormous hammer,” said Amber.
“The temple church bell!” said Starbrook.
“A cow!”
“Sister Colla’s frying pan!”
“Volume three of the Shadow Scriptures!”
Soon they were all shouting and giggling, letting out weeks’ worth of tension. Morningstar let them continue until they ran out of ideas.
“I’ll be sure to add your objects to the list,” she told them. “But now I want you to be serious for a moment, and listen carefully.”
They grew quiet, and each crafted a cushion to sit down upon. They were all of the size and shape of Morningstar’s training cushions, though the patterns and colors varied. It was an unrehearsed act of unity.
“When Scola broke my neck, I immediately woke up uninjured in the waking world. The first thing I did afterwards was try to return here, to assure you that I was fine and to continue our training. But I could not. My guess is that the mind stays convinced of that death and balks at the idea of going back to a dead body. But given a day of rest and reflection, I could overcome that reluctance and find the Tapestry again.”
“But can Aktallian kill us?” asked Scola.
“Yes. He can. To the best of my knowledge there are only two people in all the world whose actions in the Tapestry translate directly to the waking bodies of their targets. Aktallian is one, and I am the other.”
“Can you teach us?” asked Amber.
“I’m sorry, but no, I cannot. My avatar said as much, plainly. Ell has granted me that power, and maybe she will see fit to do the same for you, but I cannot foresee it, and we cannot count on it. Which brings me to the most important lesson I want you to take away today. When we face Aktallian, I want to make an end to him, permanently. And that means when the time comes to strike the killing blow, I must be the one to land it.”
A murmur of concern ran through the sisters.
“So we should beat him to within an inch of his life, and then let you finish him off?” asked Scola.
“That is a ve
ry direct way of saying it, yes,” said Morningstar.
“What if we don’t have a choice?” asked Amber. “Not that I relish this possibility, but what if Aktallian kills you?”
“Obviously knocking him out of the Tapestry is better than nothing,” said Morningstar. “My hope is that he would suffer as I did and not be able to return for a day. But since we don’t yet understand the nature or timing of the battle to come, that may not be enough to disrupt his plans.”
“In that case,” said Scola, “when we face him, perhaps all the rest of us should focus on holding him down, trapping him, making him helpless. Then you can walk up and cave his head in.”
The other sisters nodded their approval.
“That would be an excellent opening gambit,” Morningstar admitted. “Binding him with those vines would be a good approach. But if it doesn’t work, if Aktallian has a way to escape, we must prepare for a more conventional fight.”
“Conventional?” Amber laughed. “We’re expecting the least conventional battle in the history of warfare.”
“But we understand what you mean,” said Previa.
“Why don’t we find and attack him now?” asked Belle. “We disabled you quite effectively.”
“You did,” said Morningstar. “And it gave me great hope to see you work so well together as a unit. Though I have more experience in the Tapestry than all of you together, being outnumbered so badly presented a tremendous limitation to my options. But Aktallian is far more skilled and deadly than I. Until we cannot wait any longer, I want to continue our training. Every day that we improve your skill, your mental quickness, your Tapestry battle-readiness, it increases the chance that we will defeat our enemy.”
“How will we know, exactly?” asked Amber. “What is going to let us know it’s time to strike?”
“I’m not certain,” Morningstar admitted. “But consider what we do know—or at least strongly suspect. Aktallian is bringing nightmares to the archmagi, which are hindering them in their task of keeping Naradawk locked in his prison. But through Previa I have sent word back to them, warning them of what Aktallian is doing. In turn, they are taking measures to minimize the effects of Aktallian’s meddling. There are many forces in a tenuous balance, but the scale is being inexorably weighted against us. My hope is that Abernathy will know when we can wait no longer, when we have no choice but to remove Aktallian’s thumb from the scale.”
