The Goddess Denied

by Deborah Davitt

  Minori’s voice drifted up from the lobby, “Kanmi-kun? Come here, please. Right now.”

  He hadn’t heard that note in his wife’s voice since their ill-fated trip to Fennmark. “Practice your shield lessons,” he told his daughter, sharply. “Now. I’ll be right back.” He caught the expression of confusion and fear on her face, and cursed inwardly, but was already hitting the hallway at a run, pulling up every defense he had . . . and promptly skidded to a halt in the foyer, where reed scrolls decorated with Nipponese poetry danced back from the walls from the breeze of his arrival. His eyes widened, and, without a word, Kanmi linked his shields to Minori’s.

  Erida looked no older than when he’d first met her, in 1955. Her long, curling hair was dark and glossy; her skin radiated youth and good health, with pink undertones to the olive, explained by the curve of a pregnant belly under her simple white dress. But her eyes were no longer dark; instead, they gleamed like droplets of amber caught in the sun. Her rueful smile showed clean white teeth, and one of her hands rested on her son’s shoulder, as Athim—young, dark-haired, and dark-eyed—crowded closer to her.

  Erida wasn’t the reason for Kanmi’s unease. Behind mother and son stood a tall, slender figure, holding back from the threshold, clearly awaiting invitation. The only description Kanmi’s dazed mind could settle on, was that the creature looked as if black clouds of smoke had been blown into a glass statue of a man. It seemed . . . just barely contained, behind a shimmering, translucent barrier that might have been skin. Periodic flickers of yellow-orange light flashed out from between the thinnest veils of smoke inside its skin, clearly visible in the face, feet, hands, and the light raced to try to escape, but was inexorably drawn to the creature’s darkness, or so it seemed. And the eyes gleamed the same brilliant, flame-yellow as Erida’s. As if in some sort of mocking jest, it had apparently chosen to emulate human clothing, however. Black slacks and a simple, black linen shirt. No shoes. Baal’s teeth, Kanmi thought, dazed. Erida, I thought you might be in over your head. Now I think you’re in so deep that you found the bottom and started digging.

  A voice crackled and hissed like flame in his mind. And what a pleasure it is to see you again, too. This time, you do not appear to be choking out your life’s fluids. You’re much taller when you’re not crawling around on the ground. How interesting.

  “Am I meant to be impressed by a spirit who hasn’t yet mastered the basic art of crafting a life-like avatar? What’s the matter, human form too complex?” Kanmi couldn’t have stopped the words if his life depended on it, and he could feel Minori stiffen beside him.

  The yellow eyes gleamed, and the creature seemed to flow forwards. Not really moving its feet, just . . . one moment here, the next, there. Its next words were a silky purr in Kanmi’s mind. You are obviously far too accustomed to spirits who waste power on a pretense of humanity. I am not human, and I have no need to dissemble. I am . . . what I am. Lips split into a smile that revealed what looked like fangs made of fire in the creature’s mouth. Would you like to match your power with mine, sorcerer?

  “Zhi . . .” Erida said, in a tone of mild reproof. “That’s hardly the way to greet an old friend.”

  I was polite, my dear. I even pointed out when I had last seen his spark, flickering and on the verge of dissolution as it was. Of course, the last time, we were scarcely formally introduced.

  “Erida-san,” Minori said, in a strangled tone, “Why don’t all of you come inside, and make those introductions? And perhaps an explanation or two, if you would be so kind?”

  Kanmi’s teeth clamped down, and he held his tongue. Minori was, thankfully, giving him time to think. Min hadn’t been entirely thrilled when Erida had asked to come and visit them—his wife had never really forgotten the lightly-veiled flirtation that Erida had sent his way, during their visit to Erida’s Caspian estate, and Kanmi had, since then, always handed her Erida’s letters, unasked, so that she could see, for herself, that nothing was going on, besides the fact that Erida had, clearly, been lonely in her arranged marriage. She’s certainly not lonely now, is she? Damn it all, Trennus is halfway across town. Best I could do is to dissolve this thing’s mortal form and send it to the Veil temporarily. Of course, Erida’s showing every sign of being in a full-on soul-bond with the creature, so even Tren banishing it would be temporary. Would need to be killed by another spirit, or bound in a jar, and I don’t think Erida would like either option.

  He was surprised by how clean and calm his thoughts actually were. And the conclusion he reached was clearly the one Minori had arrived at long before he had. Their daughter was in the house, and Erida had brought her son. This was not a time for hostility. Make nice and get more information. “Let’s start over,” Kanmi said, tightly. “Erida, you’re looking well. Also, looking young and pregnant. Apparently, you’ve been leaving things out of your letters again.”

  “A few things, here and there, but then, we both know that there’s a good chance of those letters being read along the way by Persian Intelligence.” Erida shrugged. “You might be warding them to burn if unsealed by any hand other than my own, but that just requires someone to be creative.” They stepped in past the door, and she raised a hand. “Zhi, this is Kanmi Eshmunazar and his wife Minori. Kanmi, Minori, this is . . . Zhi. And this is Athim, my son.” The boy’s eyes were wide, and Kanmi wondered what he thought of his . . . step-father? Good gods.

  The creature turned its head, and nodded now, to Minori. Ah, the mistress of the house. I bid you greeting, mortal. It looked past them both, and addressed Masako, who, damn it all, was now peeking out the hallway, wide-eyed. And I greet you as well, small human. I must say, I am intrigued by how much defensive magic is in this house. One might think that you are suspicious of the neighbors. A smile that bared the flame-like teeth again.

  Kanmi reached out, got a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, and pulled her sharply to the center of the defensive field swirling between him and Minori, and gave his wife a look. You’re better at the making nice part. Go to it.

  “That’s better,” Minori told everyone, a gracious smile plastered on her face. “Why don’t we go into the living room? You can sit down and elevate your feet, Erida. I’m surprised your doctors let you travel. You’re what, seven, eight months along?”

  “Seven, yes, but with Persia nibbling along the border again, we couldn’t really put off the trip until after my lying-in,” Erida’s tone was unruffled, but there was a hint of a flush in her face as the efreet took her arm.

  Kanmi now had no intention of letting Masako out of his sight. She perched on the couch beside Minori, once Minori had settled Erida into a chair with a footstool, and brought the Chaldean magus a cup of tea and some almond cookies. “There’s really no need to fuss,” Erida said, but leaned back, looking content. “I suppose I should answer a few questions, before Kanmi has a fit of apoplexy. Really, my dear old friend, you’re getting older. Letting your blood pressure get away from you like this can’t be healthy.” Uneasiness warred with amusement in her voice. She’s embarrassed. Well, Magi aren’t really supposed to get knocked up by their bound spirits, so there’s probably a reason for that.

  Erida’s explanation was punctuated by glances at her son. “I told Athim parts of this story when he was younger, because I felt that not telling him the truth would surely only come back to haunt me in the end. I have no desire to play Clytemnestra to his Orestes.” Her eyes narrowed, and her son leaned against her, looking sorrowful. “My late husband turned out to be not such a good man, after all. In between sexually abusing the servants, including some of Athim’s nursery attendants, he stole one of my grimoires, and summoned one of the Names inside. I believe he was looking for a life-everlasting sort of contract. Which, well, unless you are exceptionally powerful in yourself?”

  “Makes for a lot of sacrifices?” Kanmi said, darkly. He glanced at Zhi out of the corner of his eye. It was probably no more the spirit’s name than Sari or Asha were real names. What sort
of bargain do you have, Erida?

  “Precisely. I summoned Zhi, and made with him a bargain, as I had back in 1955. He took care of my late husband, and we went after the spirit he had summoned, together.”

  It was powerful, and yet, it tried to hide. Amusing, really, when all I needed to do was follow its binding cord from one of Erida’s servants to where it hid. The efreet sat back in its own chair, its gleaming eyes hooded. Interestingly, it chose to use Erida’s mortal name. He’s concealing her true Name, if they know it. Interesting. Circumspect. He’s cannier, warier than Lassair. Kanmi wasn’t even aware of the moment when the efreet went from it to he in his thoughts.

  “It was powerful enough that I think you valued my assistance.” Erida’s tone was arch.

  You were indeed very helpful. I gifted you with some of its power, did I not?

  Erida shifted a little in her chair. “Yes . . . I wasn’t really expecting that.” She wrapped a strand of hair around her finger, glancing at Kanmi. “I’d grown used to the gray. Not that I miss it.”

  You were a part of the kill. Therefore, you received a portion of the essence. This is fair, and contractually obligated, yes? Besides, I had plans for once your body was renewed. You did not seem to object to this. The tone was bland, the words just short of domineering, but both were met by a narrowing of Erida’s eyes. A battle of wills was clearly fought through their bond, and probably was every single day.

  Kanmi swallowed his first three comments, and turned towards Minori. His wife had a bright and not-entirely sincere smile on her face. “And since then?” Minori asked. “You have kept busy, yes?” Her eyes flicked downwards, and Erida chuckled, a little uncomfortably.

  “Yes, we have .” Erida rubbed a hand over her abdomen. “Which brings me to the real reasons for today’s visit. Two-fold, I’m afraid. Business first?”

  Kanmi nodded slowly, glancing at Minori. Erida took their assent, and moved on. “First and foremost, then. Persia’s been breaking various of the terms of the peace treaty. Not exactly a surprise. Not only is their alliance with the Khanate breaking down as the mad giants and monsters push south from Raccia into Mongolian and even Persian lands, but Persia wishes to have us back.” Erida raised a finger in a spinning gesture between herself, Zhi, and Athim. “And by we, I mean the Magi, as a group. We of Chaldea conducted most of their complex sorcery and summoning. Their home-grown summoners are good enough to bind spirits into ornithopters, and the like, but for full-scale war-sorcery, whom would you rather have? A Zoroastrian hedge-wizard, or one of the Magi?”

  “A full Magus,” Minori admitted. “University of Persepolis turns out some fairly decent technomancers, and I’ve met a few of them at conferences, but they’re not on par with the Magi.”

  “And that brings you here today?” Kanmi asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m no longer a lictor to Propraetor Livorus. And he’s retired, as well.”

  “Yes, but you still have his ear, and he has the ear of your Imperator. I would ask that you speak with him. Some of the Magi, would like to begin . . . immigrating. In a quiet sort of fashion. One family at a time. Some families won’t; some of them feel a historic kinship and loyalty to our erstwhile Persian overlords.” Irony in her voice. “I am slightly too visible to immigrate immediately, but I will buy a house here in Judea, and move the bulk of the Magi archives here, as well. I will not have centuries of work taken from us if and when Persia invades. I will not see millennia of research taken and buried in a vault in Persepolis.”

  Kanmi’s eyes had gone wide. “You have the permission of the other Magi to do this?”

  “The chief elders met in conclave. As I am the custodian of the archives, I was one of them. Seven Magi left the conclave in a fury. The rest of us decided this course of action without their votes.” Erida’s tone was stark. “You two, Kanmi and Minori, are the heads of the brand-new department of thaumaturgy here in Jerusalem. Would you be able to arrange secure vaults for the largest known collection of grimoires, spell-books, and godslayer artifacts in the world?”

  Minori’s spine had gone sword-straight. “Absolutely, yes,” she said, not even looking at Kanmi, knowing his reaction would be the same as hers. “Knowledge should be shared. Admittedly, some Names . . . probably shouldn’t be.” Min shuddered a little.

  “Hence the need for secure vaults. The usual precautions for dangerous spells, as well as argon-filled storage chambers for the preservation of the oldest manuscripts, and the like. I can contribute a little money towards any buildings required for the facility, but I can hardly fund the entire thing. And I will start moving the most precious books here, in small numbers. Trip by trip. It may take a few years, but I daresay I should have the bulk of the truly important tomes here by 1983, if we begin now.”

  Kanmi squinted. “How do you intend to cover up repeated visits to Jerusalem?” he asked, bluntly. “People will start to talk, and you will be watched.”

  Erida smiled faintly. “Ah, my old friend. That brings us to the second reason for our visit here today.” She tipped her head to the side. “We of Chaldea do not have schools to train our magi, not until they are . . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty or so. This is the final, formal polish. We are more . . . traditional, in that respect. We have never left the master-and-apprentice system behind. And while I have trained Athim here, myself, since he first started manifesting his talent—shortly after his father’s execution, in fact—there is only so much that a mother or a father, however excellent a teacher they might be, can teach their own child. Sooner or later, the relationship interferes in the training.”

  Alarm bells began to sound at the back of Kanmi’s mind. “There are those who say that parents are the best teachers,” Minori put in hastily, clearly following the arc of the conversation just as easily as he was.

  “And they are, for fundamentals. For the rigorous instruction required for mastering sorcery and summoning? There can be no bond of love, only that of respect for a teacher. Which is why I would have Athim taught by the best. I understand that not only are the two of you the heads of your department, but that you, Kanmi, volunteer every weekend, working to find the refugees here who have magical ability.” Erida shrugged. “It would be a good experience for Athim, to see how someone outside of a noble’s home lives. That is not an experience I can provide in Chaldea. Thus, you two, for sorcery, and our good Pictish friend, for summoning. You will find Athim an apt pupil. And since he would reside with you, I would have an excellent excuse to visit frequently and leave behind my smuggled tomes.” Erida put one of her hands on Athim’s curly head.

  Kanmi’s mouth opened, and then shut. The boy’s eyes were unreadable. He showed no facial reaction at all when his own mother spoke of having had his father executed, Kanmi thought. No reaction at all suggests he’s a prepubescent sociopath. Or, he’s just really, really good at hiding what he feels. Kanmi blinked, and looked at Min, who wet her lips with her tongue, and said, cautiously, “How do you feel about this, Athim?”

  The boy cast Zhi a sidelong glance. “I’m all right with it,” he said, diffidently. “Mother says you’re the best. I thought Uncle Dumoro was supposed to be the best, but . . . Mother’s a good judge of power.”

  Something caught and held Kanmi’s attention. It was the faintest hint of anger, just under the surface. Anger was something that Kanmi was intimately familiar with; outrage and anger had fueled most of his life, at least until meeting Minori. And it still seethed, just under the surface, most days. Anger was also something he looked for in his students.

  Anger that people turned inwards and nursed, warping and skewing? Those were the ones he sent packing into less dangerous schools of sorcery. Go be a hedge-wizard. Freeze warts off people’s feet or something. Do engineering sorcery, help build bridges. Anything that won’t let you use that anger on anyone else. Those who could turn the anger outwards, in a clear, clean blow, and then be done with it? Those people, he could temper. He could turn them into self-willed weapons, good ones, on
es who could make the right judgment calls. Anger in one place can turn to rage that seeks an outlet. Any outlet. I’m not frightened of this child, but if he’s in my home, that rage could spread to include my daughter. “Listen to me, Athim,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “Are you all right with it, because you don’t like the new fellow in your mom’s life, and you feel you’re about to be abandoned for the new child, anyway? Are you going to sit here in my house and sulk and stew because you think they’re getting rid of you?”

  Athim’s head snapped back on his neck, and a look of fear came into his eyes. Zhi bared his flame-like teeth in a mirthless smile. You see more than I thought, mortal. Erida’s eyes had gone wide, and she turned towards Athim, her expression concerned.

  “That’s me, full of surprises.” Kanmi locked his gaze on the boy’s face. “Anger’s a fine weapon, Athim. But I won’t have someone in my house who can’t or won’t control it. I use mine every single day, in fact. You slip, even once, you turn on someone in this house and use your power in anger? You will be packed back to Chaldea in disgrace, with my recommendation that your mother employ you to hold a real sorcerer’s spell books, you understand me?”