An Unexpected Deity (Book 7)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Picco, the mother of his daughter, and the princess of Seafare, was already in the nursery, tenderly rocking the baby.

  “May we have a turn playing with her, Picco-mother?” Odare asked when they entered the room.

  “Odare, how do you play with the baby?” Picco asked. She turned the baby around and watched Merea grin a toothless smile as she spotted the imp.

  Kestrel winced in anticipation of Picco’s pending reaction to discovering the game that Odare and he and Merea had developed in their time together, a game he was sure the imp was about to reveal to the baby’s mother.

  “Watch!” Odare blithely told Picco. “Come on, Kestrel,” she urged, as Merea gave an awkward clap of joy.

  Kestrel silently sighed, and took the baby from her mother.

  “Do you need to go anywhere to do anything else?” he hopefully asked Picco.

  “Kestrel,” Picco growled, wrinkles forming on her forehead. “No, I specifically made arrangements to be here with you and Merea,” she told him. “Which Ruelin wasn’t completely happy about, but he understood you’d be leaving tomorrow,” her voice trailed off.

  “Ready Odare?” Kestrel asked. It was too late to hope for a reprieve. He held Merea in his arms and laughed with her, as she anticipated what was to come, and then he threw her high into the air, ten feet above his head in the majestically-ceilinged palatial nursery, and watched as Odare swooped to catch her at the apex of her flight, then gently descend with the laughing baby held securely.

  The imp returned the baby to her father.

  “Kestrel,” Picco spoke in a low, deadly voice. “How many times have you used our daughter to play fetch with the imp?”

  “Oh, not that many, really,” Kestrel stuttered.

  “But we did this for an hour yesterday,” Odare protested. “Show her the long throw we did.”

  “No!” Picco said sharply. “I don’t need to see the ‘long throw’,” she nipped the proposal in the bud.

  Merea raised her hands in the air with a sudden squeal of delighted demand for another flight.

  “You’ve ruined her for us,” Picco scolded Kestrel. She gave a sigh, and sat back down in her rocker. “Now she’ll want to be tossed about all the time.

  “Go ahead and play your game tonight,” she conceded. “And make two promises to me.”

  “Sure, absolutely,” Kestrel gave a small grunt as he answered, as he launched the laughing baby into the air again.

  “Promise me there will be no baby-tossing games when you two get back,” Picco said, as her eyes intently watched the imp in the air intercept her flying child.

  “I promise,” Kestrel said sincerely.

  “And promise me you’ll come back safe and sound,” Picco added earnestly. “I had a few glimpses of you in Graylee after the prince’s henchmen beat you, and I know you think you’re indestructible – but you’re not! So take good care of yourself.

  “You take good care of him Odare,” she instructed the imp, as her daughter was handed back in preparation for the next flight.

  “We’re rather fond of him too, Picco-mother,” Odare said with false diffidence, as she looped through the air to catch the laughing baby once again. “Without him, we would have no one to arrange our mushroom markets, you know,” she laughed, then kissed Kestrel’s cheek as she returned his daughter once again.

  Kestrel laughed, then sat on the floor next to Picco’s chair, and turned Merea loose to crawl on the floor as he pretended for a moment that they were a real family living together. They talked of the little things in life until Merea grew visibly sleepy. Kestrel kissed the baby farewell, then handed her back to Picco, and left the nursery to return to his own room, with Odare behind him.

  “Kestrel?” Putty called as she knocked and opened his door moments after his return. “I’m back,” she announced.

  “I had a wonderful time,” she said. “The sweets were wonderful, and Gilbert was fun to talk to.”

  “Did he treat you nicely?” Kestrel asked.

  “I think so. What do you mean?” the girl asked, puzzled.

  “He, treated you,” Kestrel stopped, at a loss for words. “Like a friend,” he finished.

  “Yes,” Putty answered definitively.

  “I’ll see you in the morning?” she asked. “And you promise I’ll be able to wear my other skin?” she sought confirmation. Kestrel had assured her previously that in the wilderness of the southern mountains she could assume her yeti form

  “Absolutely!” he agreed, and watched her leave his room.

  “Good night, Odare,” he told the imp, as he snuffed out the candle in his room, and went to bed in Seafare for the last night.

  Chapter 2

  The travelers and their friends assembled in the garden of the palace early the next morning. The travelers, now including the full contingent of imps assigned to the journey, carried light packs of limited supplies for their initial foray into the southern lands. Kestrel expected that the imps would provide a means of easy resupply as they needed, and he wanted to travel as fast and light as possible. He knew what speed Wren and Putienne were capable of, and he was pleased with the prospect for their swift trip ahead.

  “Take the imps to our destination and make sure there is no trouble waiting for us,” he told Stillwater. “Odare went last night and she reports that the site was peaceful.”

  “I have already heard her report,” the leader of the imp contingent answered with equanimity. “We will go now to confirm that all remains calm,” he informed Kestrel, and all the imps disappeared from the air over the garden, as the humans of Seafare stood and watched.

  Kestrel carried a purse with a few gold coins, and a few pearls; the coins were the result of a trade he had conducted in the city. He had been astonished by the profitability of his encounter with a Seafare jewelry trader during his visit to the city.

  As a result of that meeting a few nights earlier, the imps had helped him fetch a small chest of pearls from his Oaktown treasury, and he had discovered that the jewels were even more highly coveted in Seafare than they had been in Hydrotaz or Graylee. He’d sold a substantial number, arranged for many others to be woven into a necklace that would be a future princely gift for Merea, and given more to Creata to do the same for Wren.

  He didn’t anticipate there would be opportunities to spend the wealth in the wilderness, but he felt the coins made him slightly more prepared for dealing with some of the unexpected problems that might arise.

  “Our landing place remains empty, Kestrel friend,” Stillwater reported as the imps reappeared.

  “Good bye, Creata,” Wren gave her fiancée a final hug and kiss.

  A chorus of farewells broke out, and then the imps surrounded the travelers to carry the trio away, and the group disappeared from Seafare.

  The impact of revisiting the campsite in the former Southern Forest was immediate. As soon as the imps carried Kestrel to the site, his eyes took in the fateful place where so much had happened, and he remembered the pitched battle he had fought there.

  The hillside was greener than he remembered from the previous fall, as was to be expected. But the new greenery had grown rampantly, and young trees appeared to have achieved three or four years’ growth in the span of a few months. The growth was a welcome legacy of the wonderful, healthy, and wholesome energy and rain Kestrel had unleashed when he had created the powerful transformative waters that had wiped out the Viathins.

  He saw the spot where Canyon had been killed, and he also saw the fragmented stones on the hillside, where he had expended deadly energy killing the southern elves. He had been driven to that use of excessive violence by the spirit of the Viathin energy that had possessed him at the time. His eyes had been black, as his spirit had been while he fought off the possession by the evil energy within him.

  But above those sights, he saw the hidden entrance to the cave. In that cave, Hierodule had given birth to a son, to a little boy who had been named Canyon in honor of the imp
who had died in the battle there. It had been a moment of happiness that had softened the pain of the imp’s death.

  “Let’s go visit the cave,” Kestrel indicated to the others. He started walking up the hillside.

  There was a roar behind him, and he whirled to see that Putty had returned to her native form as a yeti, and was celebrating her joy by roaring and stretching. He turned back around and smiled, then continued up the hill.

  “Why visit a cave?” Wren asked as she caught up with him.

  “Just because,” Kestrel replied. “I know it’s here, and I remember a little baby boy who was born here. He’s still alive today, as far as I know.”

  Kestrel had considered the prospect that his group might run into the small band of southern elves. He might see Hierodule and her sister Hye. He might see Moorin.

  But if they did not run into the elves by happenstance, he told himself, he would not lead his group out of their way to find the elves. He would not deviate from his trip’s objective just to find Moorin once again.

  He reached the hidden entrance to the cave, and twisted around behind the stone that obscured it from view. Even if they did not run into the southern elves, he certainly intended to try to find the gnomes of the Western Mountains. He would see friends among the gnomes – Greta and Hansen, among others – and he was sure to receive a warm welcome as a survivor of the unusual Garrant Spark that had helped sustain him and take him to victory over Ashcrayss.

  But most of all, he wanted the gnomes to provide a guide that could lead his band across the Dangueax River, on the path to the isolated lake where the fortunes of men and elves and imps and Viathins had been reversed, and now were apparently reversed again.

  “What is this place?” Putty asked. She had resumed her non-yeti shape to speak to him.

  “It’s a cave where I camped with elves last year when we were running away from the Uniontown forces,” he said. He looked at the spot where Canyon had been born, and then at the spot where he and Moorin had laid side-by-side.

  “There’s nothing else to see,” he said, turning away from the entry, leaving the others to scratch their heads at his quick examination and hasty dismissal of the site.

  “Stillwater, we’re going to go south by southwest from here, staying in the mountains. Would you send scouts out in that direction to make sure the paths are safe?” he asked.

  “And if you see any gnomes, they will be friends. Tell me and let me talk to them,” he directed.

  “You have plans?” Mulberry asked. “Who knew? When did you mean to tell us this?”

  “I hate to spoil the surprise,” he grinned at the imp.

  “And don’t forget, Stillwater,” he shouted a reminder, “We’ve got three elves running now, so the pace will be fast.”

  They started running, Putty once again a yeti. The pace was fast, but easy for all of them. Though they were in the Western Mountains, the terrain was not as rough as the Water Mountains had been, and the flying imps scouted out the best routes, allowing the earthbound runners to make good time.

  “So Kestrel,” Wren pulled up almost alongside him to speak as they loped through the mountains. “What does this ring of mine do, the one that you said came from Kai?”

  “I don’t know,” Kestrel admitted. He had wondered the same thing, then forgotten about the ring as he prepared to depart.

  “Did you give me the broken one, and save the good one for your lovely young yeti protégé?” she asked. “Or did you expect her to always look like the one who got away?”

  “I think they both can do the same thing,” Kestrel said, stung by the barb. “You just haven’t used yours to stop being a monster!” he laughed, then sprinted ahead to narrowly avoid Wren’s vicious punch.

  They traveled through the mountains for two days, leaving the regenerating Southern Forest behind as they traveled in the direction of the dwarves. At noon of the second day, Stillwater’s scouts reported signs of a gnomish patrol on the path ahead. Kestrel plumed the depths of his memory to find his rudimentary fragments of the language of the gnomes, and he prepared himself to greet his no-longer-so-distant friends.

  The meeting began on an unpromising note. “Let your guards take positions high in the air,” Kestrel insisted to a resistant Stillwater, as they approached the spot where the gnomes were known to be stationed.

  “How can we guard you if we are not close enough to protect you?” Stillwater complained.

  “I’ll need no protection from the gnomes,” Kestrel said. “I have their own purple eyes,” he explained as he motioned carelessly towards his face.

  “You better keep those purple eyes open and watch out for trouble then, because we won’t be close enough to help you if they are not as hospitable as you seem to think,” Stillwater refused to concede the argument. “Gnomes can be a touchy people. I don’t know how you managed to work your way into the good graces of two sets of them,” he spoke in a way that clearly showed he resented Kestrel’s unwarranted success in gaining the trust of the reclusive race, one that had historically bickered with the imps during their rare interactions.

  Kestrel’s expectations of mutual trust proved to be less realistic than he had expected. The imps had flown high above the tree canopy, and the three elves had slowed from a run to a walk, as they traveled in a tight cluster through the forest of the gnomes.

  “Look out!” Putienne called, as she spotted a large rock hurtling towards them from the canopy of the tree branches spread overhead. She dove forward into Kestrel and Wren, spreading her arms wide to grab them as she flew through the air, and changing form at the same time. Her arms lengthened as they reached, and her skin became hide, so that she turned into a living shield, able to absorb the impact of the first stone thrown with deadly intent by one of the gnomes.

  “This is not right!” Kestrel said angrily as he lay on the ground, upset by the ambush the gnomes had sprung.

  He raised a blue dome of protective energy overhead, then struggled out from beneath Putty’s weight, and looked around angrily. A few of the gnomes were visible, he recognized, spread around in a series of spots that surrounded the visitors.

  The gnomes were stunned by the unexpected reactions of their targets – a female elf who had changed into a yeti, and then a male elf who had raised the energies of some otherworldly being. No gnomes made any sounds; none moved a muscle for several seconds.

  “All at once – bombard them!” the patrol leader ordered, and a heavy hail of stones came raining down upon the three entities who stood safely inside Kestrel’s dome, as heavy stones struck and bounced off his shield, doing no harm, other than where they created a nuisance as some of the spent missiles piled up across the path, falling and tumbling along the dome’s perimeter.

  “What is this attack for?” Kestrel thundered in the language of the gnomes.

  The rock-throwing ceased, as the gnomes received yet another shock in hearing their own language spoken by one of the intruders.

  “Why do you come to our land during this season?” a voice called.

  “We know where they all are, Kestrel-friend,” another voice, Stillwater’s voice, called from overhead, speaking in the common language of the elves and the imps. “Shall we defeat them for you?”

  “Stillwater, I think we may need their help. Better to not attack them if we don’t need to, and right now we don’t need to,” Kestrel shouted loudly in response. “Just hold your positions.”

  “What voices are those? Do you bring demons?” the gnome asked.

  “We bring our allies, the imps of the Swampy Morass,” Kestrel answered.

  “Silly, frivolous beings,” the unseen voice growled. “You cannot be anyone of serious note to have such childish allies.”

  “Do you call the Garrant Spark a childish role?” Kestrel asked in a biting tone. “Do you call Corrant’s blessing a frivolous boon?”

  The gnome was silent once again.

  “Kestrel,” Wren tugged at his sleeve.

>   “Just a minute,” he focused on the activity around them.

  “Kestrel-gravel voice,” Stillwater conveyed his own distaste for the gnomes and their language, “one of the gnomes seeks to run away, perhaps to bring reinforcements. Shall we hunt him down?”

  “Wait a moment,” Kestrel instructed.

  “Does your companion leave you because he is afraid, or because you send him as a herald to proclaim my return?” Kestrel asked the gnome. “Did you send him to announce Kestrel to Hansen and Greta?”

  “Larch,” another voice called from a different direction, and one of the gnomes suddenly emerged from a hiding place in the foliage. He dropped a pair of throwing stones to demonstrate that he had disarmed.

  “Listen to this accented stranger. He is Kestrel, or so close it does not matter. He must be the monster-destroyer. Call off this talk-talk, and let us escort him to the village,” the visible gnome said.

  “You can return to your other shape,” Kestrel told Putty. “And you can put down your bow,” he advised Wren, who stood with an arrow notched and ready to fire.

  “Allow the gnome to depart without attack,” Kestrel spoke to Stillwater, avoiding another potential provocation to battle.

  The gnome who had broken from the discipline of the patrol by stepping out into view proved to be persuasive, for two more gnomes suddenly appeared and dropped their stones, just as Putty transformed herself.

  “Shall I trust you?” Kestrel called. “Shall I release my shield and be able to parlay without attack?”

  “You are safe from our attack,” the gnome patrol leader’s voice was forlorn, but he too released his stones that he held. “We shall accompany you to the village, and submit to the judgment of the elders. We will travel safely to the village together.”

  “Be ready,” Kestrel called to the imps. “You can come down now. We have a truce, and I will release my shield,” he explained.

  Kestrel ceased the straining effort of holding the protective dome over his companions and himself, then waited for three silent seconds in the forest, before a gnome suddenly stepped out into the open and dropped its stony arsenal. Another and another also appeared and released their deadly projectiles.