Bounty was furious. “You never intended to let us hand Aolpho over to the Emperor, did you? You wanted to swap him for your own useless deity!”
“You would have had a god to take back,” Xandra flared. “The knife wasn’t the only bargain I snapped up at the post-Decimalisation auctions. We’ve got Raglah parcelled up for you in the handcuffs of Llura the Formerly Lovable, ready to be transported to the imperial palace.”
“You don’t think maybe bringing back the wrong god might annoy the Emperor?”
“Bounty, Xandra,” I said warningly. “Do we remember why we’re here?”
Aolpho chuckled good-naturedly. “It’s a nice offer, Officer Spydaughter. I’m ever so flattered. But I’m afraid I have greater ambitions than to be the pet god of the Gilded City.” He raised an eyebrow slightly. “How needy do you think I am?”
He flicked his fingers in Xandra’s direction and her whole body slammed back against the wall of the cave. She crumpled to the ground in a mess of jingling gold coins.
Bounty flung the net—or tried to. In the split second before she threw, she started screaming and fell to her knees, her hands curled in pain.
A curious smile passed over Aolpho’s face, as if he was pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. He got to his feet and stood over Bounty, his hand outstretched as if to touch her.
Of course, I wasn’t going to let that happen. I inserted myself between them. “No,” I told him firmly. “You’re not going to hurt her anymore.”
He eyed me, not seeing anything beyond the mortal, undeniably human body of Delta Void. “And what are you, to stand in my way? Some kind of hero?”
“I’m a lot of things,” I grated between my teeth. “In about three seconds time, I’m going to be a goddess.”
If I fail to exercise any of my personae for a year or two, they get rather forceful about the matter, pushing themselves forward. I hadn’t let Constellation have control of my body since I was fourteen, when she took me over and rampaged through Mocklore, killing anything that crossed her path. I didn’t realise how much pressure I had been exerting to keep her trapped in the back of my mind until I suddenly released it. She burst out of me in a rush, her all-powerful body replacing mine.
“I thought I was the only one,” Aolpho said delightedly as my hair turned ice-white and the godly power spilled out of me.
While I still had some control over Constellation’s actions, I blasted him against the cave wall, forcing him away from Bounty and Xandra.
But she was stronger than me, and it wasn’t long before it was her thoughts, her desires in the driving seat. Look out, world.
The power engulfed me. It felt like sunshine and tasted of lime juice. I took a moment to relish my freedom. Delta Void would never again be my prison. Every other persona she controlled had limits of some kind. Even the maddest and baddest of them would sleep occasionally, returning control to her. But the loveliest thing about being a goddess is, we never sleep. There was no going back to mortal meat. I would be a goddess for eternity.
Aolpho’s eyes drank me in. “How have I existed in this world without ever hearing about you?”
“I can’t imagine,” I at drawled him. “I make a splash wherever I go.” Blood, mostly.
“Between us,” said the other god, his eyes bright. “We could take this world back for our kind.”
Who cares about the world? The mundanity of other deities astounds me. The only reason I let him continue to exist was because his costume complimented mine so nicely. “Don’t talk,” I said. “You’re boring me.”
“So what would interest you?”
I laughed trillingly. “Aren’t we going to fight?” Fighting other gods is my favourite thing. It’s so invigorating. Last time I was free, I killed three of them before the rest took an interest and forced me back into Delta’s subconscious. It had taken forty of them to contain me. Thanks to their mad mortal Emperor, there were only a quarter of that number left in Mocklore now. No one would stop me this time.
“Why would I want to fight you?” he said with what he probably thought was a seductive smile.
I looked into his mind. The complex colours of it proved that he was a god, if a minor one. I can’t even see human thoughts; they’re too grey and tiny. I learned the thing he cared most about, a solitary mountain peak in the midst of the Skullcaps, home to a thousand different kind of wildflower. With a thought, I obliterated it.
Now he was angry. “What have you done?”
“Shall I do it again? How much do you care about this messy little world anyway? We can design a new one to match our outfits.”
Furious, he flung himself at me. Finally! I flexed my powers in his direction, shaped into claw-sharp fingernails. He slugged me in the jaw, an amusing thing from one with godly powers. It was a physical fight, limbs and light everywhere. Delightful!
Then something was wrapping us, trapping us. Fronds of salty thread encased our bodies, binding us together. “It tastes of Oceandra,” he snarled.
I tried to pull away, but the fronds held us together. “Netted,” I said in amazement. I wanted to obliterate the mortal who had insulted me thus, but my powers could not reach beyond the net. Three minutes of freedom, and I had already found my way into another prison.
“It will rot,” Aolpho snarled. “All things die, even possessions of the gods. We will be free one day, and take our revenge upon the bounty-hunter’s descendants.”
“And in the meantime?”
He shot a bolt of white-hot light into my stomach, hurting me. I laughed brilliantly and hurt him right back.
Our battle was endless. We existed only inside the net, two gods with infinite power in an infinitely small space. Mortals would have driven each other mad; I rather think we drove ourselves sane. We laughed, bit, kicked, punched, hated, tormented…we were lovers for a while, then mortal enemies again. For a while I think we became friends, the only two in the universe who understood each other. Then we went back to fighting and torturing each other—
Until I rolled free of the net like some mythical queen rolling out of a carpet, on expensive floor tiles in a pretty black and white pattern. I was DV again, which came as a shock after so long as Constellation. I stopped rolling when someone stuck out a boot to stop me. I stared at that boot. It was the reallest thing I had seen in—well, an eternity. It was made of sturdy grey leather, and paired with another. They were good boots.
Lying on my back, I stared up at the man who owned the boots. Mostly I saw grey, from his clothes all the way up to a piercing pair of cold grey eyes. “Can you stand?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure. “Is it necessary?”
A hint of a smile passed briefly over his face. He leaned down, offering a comradely arm. We got me as far as sitting upright on the floor, then gave up. “Did you free me?” I asked. The room was huge and very grand, decorated with elaborate tapestries and ancient statues. It took another moment to realise what I had been freed from. I recalled pain and torture, insane giggles and ice-white hair. I had a companion as crazy and all-powerful as myself. That must have been fun. Gods, how long was I in there? “Did I get anyone killed?”
He approved of the question. “A mountain top vanished, which is upsetting some botanists. And cartographers. And a few mountain climbers who were very near at the time. That would seem to be the extent of the damage.” He raised his voice, sounding chill and furious. “Constellation and Aolpho have both been banished from this realm. Are you satisfied enough to release your prisoner?”
I turned my head, still dazed. There were Bounty and Xandra, standing guard over a middle-aged, aristocratic man in fine golden pyjamas. He was bound to a fine mahogany chair with silken ropes. Bounty held a sword to his throat and Xandra stood over him from behind, an axe poised to do terrible things to his skull.
The prisoner in gold pyjamas looked annoyed, as did the man in grey.
It occurred to me that the only person who had the power to banish two gods from Mo
cklore was the person who had done it before, with significantly more gods. Emperor Timregis himself. “Oh, Bounty, you didn’t,” I breathed.
“She did,” said the man in grey. He gave Bounty an exasperated look.
Something clicked. “You wouldn’t be the Imperial Champion, by any chance?” Which made this the palace…
“Aragon Silversword, at your service.” He offered me his arm again. “Want to try standing?”
“I’ll give it a go.” This time, we were successful at getting me on my feet. I grabbed hold of the discarded net of Oceandra and tucked it in my belt. You never know when something like that is going to come in handy.
“If you wouldn’t mind releasing the Emperor?” Aragon asked Bounty. His tone of voice suggested that his patience was about to explode into little explosive bits.
“I had to do it,” she said defiantly, her voice breaking slightly. “It was so long before your Emperor would even deign to see us, and even then he said he was happy to leave them both in there until he could be bothered to banish them. Can you blame me for taking drastic measures?”
“Bounty,” he growled. “My job is to protect the Emperor from harm and you are currently holding a sword to his throat. Did you expect me to be happy about this development?”
Sounded like their relationship was heading into rocky territory. A pity, really, he was one of the more sensible boyfriends she’d taken up with in recent years.
Bounty lowered the sword. Xandra did the same, backing away from the Emperor before she lowered the axe. “Are you okay, Delta?” Bounty asked me.
“I’ll live,” I said dryly.
Her face took on a strained expression that I realised was her trying not to show how worried she had been. “We didn’t know if it would work. We figured there was a 50-50 chance you’d be left in the net after Constellation was banished. But you’re here!”
I walked over and hugged her, carefully removing the sword from her grasp. “How long was I out?”
Bounty chewed her lip. “Time is relative…”
“Two months,” said Aragon.
I liked him. Straight answers were exactly what I needed right now. “The Emperor’s a busy man, I suppose?”
Aragon looked at Bounty. “Never too busy for blackmail and abduction.”
“Twenty minutes head start to get away,” she said in a small voice. “You promised me. Word of honour.”
I nudged her. “I don’t think a promise counts if it’s given at sword-point, Bounts.”
“I always keep my promises,” said Aragon Silversword. He half-lifted an eyebrow at us. “You’d better start running.”
Xandra grabbed one of Bounty’s arms, and I grabbed the other. We headed out the double doors, skidded on the expensive tiling and then veered to our left.
“Do you realise how many corridors there are in this place?” Xandra complained. “You should have asked him for two hours head start!”
“Sorry things didn’t work out with Aragon,” I panted as we ran.
“This is actually the least messy break-up I’ve had in ages,” Bounty grinned back at me. “Don’t fret. Aolpho’s gone and you never have to worry about Constellation ever again. I call that a happy ending.”
“You won’t get the bounty,” Xandra reminded us as we burst out through a side door into the gardens and headed for the nearest wall. “And the people of Zibria have some serious explanations to make to our patron god. He must still be in the handcuffs.”
Bounty and I boosted Xandra up the wall, then I lifted Bounty. She wriggled as I held her up. “Are you okay, DV? I know how losing a persona affects you, even a psycho like Constellation.”
Once she was secure on the wall, they both leaned down to help me up and over. “I’m okay,” I said when we hit the grass on the other side. “I’ll be fine.”
Bounty shook her head. “They were two of a kind, weren’t they? Aolpho and Constellation.”
No argument there. “A matching set.”
“Maybe, wherever they are now, they’re together.”
I’m sure she meant it to be comforting. It wasn’t.
Two garden walls later we were out of the palace grounds and into the city. When it seemed clear that Aragon Silversword had not, in fact, sent any guards after us (probably too busy grovelling to the Emperor for letting him get kidnapped in his own palace) we decided to go shopping instead of running for our lives.
At least, Bounty and Xandra decided to go shopping, ostensibly for disguises, but mainly for shoes. I trailed along behind them both, thinking my own thoughts.
I know how losing a persona affects you, Bounty had said. She knew me well. The death of one of my selves usually overwhelmed me with loss, depression, darkness. This time, I felt fine. The implications were obvious.
Whatever strange gift the Emperor had for banishing gods from the mortal realm, he was beastly careless about where they ended up. In Constellation’s case, she had literally gone back where she came from. She was making herself comfortable again in the back of my mind with the rest of my personae, willing to be patient until the next time I lost control and unleashed her on the world.
It wasn’t all bad. No one had gotten killed this time, and her brief run into the real world had bought me a few more years of control. Next time, I would be better prepared.
That wasn’t what was worrying me. Maybe, Bounty had suggested, wherever they are now, they’re together.
I had a sinking feeling that when Constellation had returned to her cozy home in the back of my head, she had brought a friend with her.
BONUS CONTENT
Essay - “Boots are Pretty: Femme Fantasy and the Mocklore Stories”
I started writing Splashdance Silver on the day I started university. You know how it is, wandering around campus all inspired and feeling like a grown up, and there’s a brand new blank notebook burning a hole in your pocket…
Brand new blank notebooks were the bane of my life, when I was seventeen.
(I remember that a boy I knew walked past and asked me what I was doing—I told him I was writing a novel and he said something along the lines of, “All right for some.” Yes, this is the sort of thing you have time to do when you choose a humanities degree over science. Suck it up.)
I was thinking about the fantasy epic I’d been writing on and off since my fourteenth birthday, and how I was kind of over fantasy that took itself too seriously, so what if I made it funny and light-hearted and sarcastic instead?
The year was 1996—two and a half years later, that book made me a published author for the first time.
I was in love with my Mocklore stories, but they broke my heart a little over the years, too. They were responsible for some of the biggest successes and most gutting failures of my writing career. Eventually, I left them behind, moving on to other, different, successes and failures.
All the stories in this book were written a decade or more ago, including the previously unpublished two, though I took the editing pen to them to tidy up the worst and most glaring examples of ‘sentences I would never write now’. Putting the collection together has been a fascinating glimpse into my teenage and early-twenty-something brain, and also to the era in which they were first imagined: when ‘girl power’ meant the Spice Girls and feminism meant everything Kat says in Ten Things I Hate About You.
Rereading the stories for the Bounty collection has been weirdly eye-opening about what I considered empowering back then. There’s a femme sensibility to the Bounty and Delta stories that doesn’t fit at all with the person I think I was in my teens or in my twenties—I never learned to wear lipstick, I never had more than one pair of boots at a time, I and the only thing I ever liked shopping for was books. Why are my stories so full of thin, pretty girls who like to decorate themselves with shiny things while they’re saving the world? What was my obsession with elegance as a superpower? Why were the handsome men all so grumpy?
My only conclusion I can come to now, in retrospect,
is that teenage me was so over the unrelenting masculinity of sword and sorcery—the male gaze, the male power fantasies, the male narrative, the valorisation of female characters who succeeded only on male terms—that I wanted to take the genre and wipe girl cooties all over it.
I wasn’t the only one doing it back then, not by a long shot. The 90s were filled with women writing fantasy fiction, writing female heroes, and even sometimes (shock!) allowing their female heroes to be girly as well as capable. (Even Alanna of Trebond wore a dress sometimes.)
I read a lot of fantasy fiction in my teens. Like, a LOT. I absorbed it all—old and new, crappy and awesome, serious and hilarious. While I liked the high epic tales of prophecy and wars, I had a particular taste for the sword and sorcery stories, usually featuring a duo or a small team of ratbag characters who had serial adventures. I loved Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser in particular—there was something about ‘grungy best friends having terrible adventures’ tales that really clicked with me, even though the only women in those stories were a series of interchangeable sexy lamps wearing strips of leather and fur.
There were books that gave me female heroes, female generals, queens and sorceresses, but I also consumed a heap of books (not all of them written/published before I was born…though many of them were) presenting women as glamorous love interests who flitted in and out of the lives of the real heroes, and who were always, always defined by whether or not they were sexually alluring to the main character, the man writing the story about the main character, and the (imagined) men reading the books.
These days, I have filters to avoid that sort of thing. But it took me years as a teen reader to start building those filters. I had a lot of time on my hands, so I swallowed a tonne of books where the most active contribution a girl could make was to wear an armoured bikini on the front cover. (Even when the authors acknowledged or challenged the problematic tropes around women in fantasy fiction, the cover art often worked against them.)
There was a lot of comic fantasy around in the 90s—we hadn’t yet settled on Terry Pratchett being the Only Funny One (though he remains entirely inimitable), so there was also Robert Aspirin, Esther Friesner, Robert Rankin, Piers Anthony, Diana Wynne Jones, among others. Most importantly, we had Xena and Buffy, tearing up our screens. Women could be tough and scary in these stories—even if the joke was how scary they were—but only while also being beautiful. In comic fantasy novels, the humour often came from the sexy lamps with swords not being sexually available for the male-but-not-macho hero—the question the narrative rarely asked was whether those women wanted the hero to be available for them. (The ongoing joke in Xena, of course, was that the heroines were much more interested in each other than in the men they crossed paths with, a narrative that became more and more explicit over the years, while still pretending on the surface, to the network and their more conservative critics, that it was subtext rather than, as is clear in retrospect, text.)
Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles) Page 106
