Fallen Gods

by James A. Moore

  Parrish looked at the other man for a long time and finally shrugged. “Faster mind. Faster reflexes. Other changes that are harder to define.”

  Bron listened carefully.

  Finally he nodded and asked, “How do we meet this Theragyn you speak so highly of? Do we merely walk into his Cauldron?”

  Parrish nodded his head. “If you wish to meet him, you, too, must pass his tests.”

  Bron considered the options, his brow wrinkled with worry and thought alike. A chance to save his family? His kingdom? A chance to get out from under the demands of uncaring gods? Parrish seemed to be doing well enough, but the Cauldron was here and not in Stennis Brae. Would there be a greater cost? Would he be forced to swear fealty to Parrish? He wouldn’t put it past the man to forget to mention a few details like that. That sort of action was well within the king’s possible ploys.

  Parrish was an ally for now, but as he had just reminded the assembled royalty, they had been enemies once. And more importantly, Parrish had lost to Bron. He was exactly the sort that would hold a grudge. He admitted as much when he spoke of praying to the gods for a chance at revenge.

  Before he could answer, Jahda spoke. “I will not be joining you. I am very grateful for the offer, but before I can make that sort of decision I must speak to the other leaders of the Kaer-ru.”

  Parrish looked displeased.

  “You traveled all this way.”

  Jahda smiled again. “Indeed I did. How else could I see what you spoke of, King Parrish? How else could I know what you offered and what is at stake? But I must speak to the other rulers first.”

  Jahda’s words made sense. The difference was that Bron had to answer to no one. Bron had to consider the safety of his people. He also had to consider whether or not any actions he made might anger the gods even further.

  In the end any chance he could take to save his kingdom was a chance that had to be taken.

  “I would meet your Theragyn.”

  Pardume nodded. “Me too. I would meet this god of yours.” The king of ruins and little else sounded eager. He wanted a new chance at being a king. He wanted to rule a land that was not drowning.

  Parrish smiled. “Excellent,” he said, slapping Bron on the shoulder in a comradely way. When Bron looked to Jahda, to see if the man might change his mind – for it is said that fear is the surest way to make a man seek companionship – he was surprised to see that the man was gone.

  Parrish did not seem nearly as startled.

  “Come, Bron. Come, Pardume, time to meet. And afterwards, we will feast to our successes.”

  Bron nodded and said no more. Pardume nearly led the way in his eagerness to make new friends.

  Interlude: The Blood Mother

  Hollum was dead. There was no way around that. The people of Hollum, however, continued on. Many had wagons, which lined the outside of the caravan. Others had horses. Most, however, had only their legs and whatever they could carry, moving along with a cart or drag behind them. There was some food, but as this was Hollum those who had it charged others dearly if they wanted to eat.

  The rains sometimes fell as water and sometimes as sleet, but they fell constantly. That was the one thing of which the people seemed assured.

  Sitting inside her wagon loaded with supplies, Theryn, often called the Blood Mother, nodded to herself and considered their progress.

  Sitting with her were her three lieutenants. Naza’s face was scarred from the one time she let herself get caught stealing. The burns had long since healed. The memories remained. Choto was a little heavy and looked ten years younger than she was, which had led more than one fool to underestimate her. Kemm, who was, perhaps, the skinniest man Theryn had ever met. But he was deceptive. He was far stronger than he looked, and faster, too.

  The three of them had one important thing in common: they were faithful. They did as they were told and they never questioned the reasons. They were also rare in that they offered advice when it was wanted and their suggestions were usually sound.

  Most of the people on the trip were worried about survival. Theryn and company were not. They were worried about profits. The simple fact was that Hollum was dead and they intended to move their operations into Torema.

  The coastal city had to know they were coming. They would be prepared to resist a wave of new refugees. Just as Theryn and the other rulers of Hollum had been prepared.

  There were other rulers, though currently they were pretending to be anything but in charge. Most of the merchants had little choice but to abandon a great deal of their wares. They had been prepared for almost anything but a disaster large enough to erase Hollum from existence. Truly, who could have been ready for that?

  The slavers were done for. Most of them had lost their wares in the floods. Those slaves that didn’t escape were few in number, and as dead slaves did little good, they either had to be fed or let free. Food was a precious commodity. Currently Theryn and her group were making a handsome profit on dried fish and meats. The merchants may not have had room for their supplies, but the thieves always found a way.

  There had been a few desperate fools who tried to steal supplies from the thieves, but they soon learned that the experts in stealing were also adept at preventing theft.

  The rest of the leaders were still in charge of their groups, but they had little true power. The supplies meant profit. Profit meant opportunity. Theryn and her followers had access to nearly everything, and they were the ones people came to for what they needed. Except the whores. There were always people willing to pay for pleasure, and Theryn was not known for trading in those particular joys.

  Naza shook her head and sighed. “We are two days away, Theryn. Three if we go slowly. How do we plan on moving into the city without being seen?”

  The Blood Mother waved a hand and shrugged her shoulders. “We will advertise our arrival. We have supplies. We have coin. We will be welcomed with open arms.” She steepled her fingers in front of her face. “Well, we will be tolerated. Others will not be as lucky.”

  Kemm nodded. “I am hearing reports from a few of the scouts. They say we’re being followed by a small group.”

  “And?”

  Kemm spread his hands. “You said you wanted to know of anything unusual. This group comes from the west, and they are keeping pace with us.”

  “How small a group are we speaking of here?”

  “Close to a hundred.”

  “That’s your idea of a small group?” Theryn raised an eyebrow and stared at her subordinate.

  “We are fifty thousand people, more or less. We are an army, whether or not we mean to be an army.”

  “Fair enough. Watch them. If anything changes, let me know. Make sure we keep close eyes and have extra archers assigned to the western side of the caravan.”

  The slender man nodded. “We could just have them killed.”

  “Why do for free what we might get paid for?” She shook her head. “Watch them for now, and thank you for the warning.”

  After a while in the comfortable silence, she looked toward her other aide. “Choto?”

  “Yes, Theryn?”

  “How fares Rik?” Rik had been one of her lieutenants until he let his affection for Tully foul up his position. The man was an excellent thief, and a good and loyal aide, but Tully had always been a weak spot for him. He adored the little blonde thief. Currently he was among them, but his arms were bound behind his back and his hands were tied together in a very deliberately uncomfortable position. He’d spent the last few days in the elements, with the rain as his only regular source of nourishment.

  “He’s fallen four times and been lifted back to his feet. Much longer and he’ll be dead.” Choto’s voice offered no regret or sympathy for Rik. Like most of Theryn’s followers they’d grown up under her care. Unlike most of them, the two had been lovers off and on for many years.

  Choto could easily have lied to her or betrayed her. She had not. Very little happened that Theryn
did not know about.

  “Unbind him. Let him rest in one of the wagons. Bring him to me in the morning and we will discuss what will happen with him next.”

  Choto nodded and offered a very brief smile of gratitude. They both knew the way this balanced out. Rik had done a disservice and he had been punished. If she decided he was truly repentant, Theryn would let him back into her good graces. If he failed her again, or if he was not properly grateful, he would not reach their destination.

  The city was going to be a problem. It didn’t matter what she said, or what she believed, money be damned. There were thousands of people coming to Torema, and even if they were welcomed with open arms, there would be a problem with how many people the city could take in.

  “Naza?”

  The younger woman nodded.

  “You and Kemm need to go to our wagons. Talk to the drivers. We are going to stop for one hour when everyone else does, but we are not going to set camp. We’re going to ride tonight and through the day. We need to get to Torema before everyone else. Please make it happen.”

  Naza smiled and nodded. She understood. A smaller army would be invading first and that army would have money and supplies. The rest could come afterward if they were so inclined but they might not be as easily welcomed.

  Interlude: The Iron Mothers

  They paced the caravan from a distance. There were a great many people in that trail of horses, wagons, and pedestrians, and the Iron Mothers needed to be certain of what they were approaching before the time came.

  They were spotted. It was nearly inevitable. Without a word spoken between them, the group broke up and continued on their way.

  When night came and the caravan stopped, the Iron Mothers continued on, but they did not move forward. They moved around.

  Over the course of several hours, they made their way to new locations near and far and waited for the right time.

  When Harlea and Emila had started descending toward the west and the distant Broken Swords mostly hid their light, the Iron Mothers made their move. As they approached the caravan they tore away their iron masks and peeled the old, dying skin from their bodies, revealing new, fresh flesh that was several shades darker than the deathly white hide they’d sported before. Their hair fell out as they moved, and was replaced by different colors. They no longer resembled the Grakhul they had been, but instead appeared as human women of different ages.

  Naked, cold, they made their way into the camp. One hundred and seven shapes moved through the thousands who were slumbering, exhausted, and sleeping as best they could in the elements.

  It was survival at stake and so they did what Ariah commanded and took what they needed to camouflage themselves among the humans. Some of the people from Hollum died in the process. Those who woke too easily or had not reached a deep enough slumber paid the price for consciousness.

  Wet, bedraggled, shivering, the Iron Mothers did their work and hid away the bodies of the dead.

  When the sun offered its feeble light and warmth, the caravan started on its way again, puzzled more by the loss of over a score of wagons than any other deficits that might have been noticed.

  There were some who called for loved ones and could not find them. A few made attempts and others did not, but the Iron Mothers had hidden the dead well enough to avoid easy detection, especially since the rains had come in and made a mud wash of nearly everything around them.

  The Union of Thieves had moved on in the night. The Iron Mothers took their place and walked on, moving with the people of Hollum, heading for whatever might be the final destination of a river of the wretched and displaced.

  Ariah watched on from his prison, seeing all through the eyes of his Iron Mothers, and he was pleased.

  Harper Ruttket

  “Tell me that’s not a mirage.”

  Harper smiled. “It is not a mirage.”

  Davers smiled when he heard those words. He nodded and pulled out his pipe and tobacco. He’d been saving the last little bits until he was in range of a place where he could buy more supplies. In a short span of time he had a cloud of smoke surrounding his face, despite the constant drizzle, and he seemed content.

  “This is madness.” Constir was a good lad, but always impatient. These days he was quiet more often than not as the gravity of their situation made itself known in a hundred little ways. “I can see the tents lining the city from here.”

  Harper looked along the line of the city. Seen from their angle, which looked down on most of the vast cove that was the very heart of Torema, the easiest thing to see was the thick caul of smoke and fog over the entire area, but, yes, there were tents everywhere along the edges, and wagons as well. The road into the city was clearly marked under most circumstances but it seemed many people had decided that the road was level enough to let them settle in.

  Harper had every intention of riding over anyone in their way. He wanted to reach the harbor before the night ended.

  “Any news from the gods?” he asked of Mearhan, who looked his way and said nothing for a moment.

  Her expression did little to make him happy.

  “Speak, please, Mearhan.”

  The girl sighed and shook her head. “We are not fortunate. You saw the shape of Edinrun. Several of your fellows were there.”

  “And are they dead now?”

  She nodded her head and said nothing. Truly, there was nothing to say.

  “Well then, we’d best get about gathering a ship and a crew.”

  “To what end, Harper?”

  He offered her a thin smile. “If we can no longer be sacrificed to save the world, the gods will be ending us all soon enough. That means we have one hope. Brogan must find a way to kill the gods, or stop them.”

  “I don’t think the gods will approve.” She was trying for levity, but he could see her desperation.

  “They don’t seem to approve of much these days.”

  “We’ve time being bought for us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The gods made an offer to the leaders of the Five Kingdoms. Each must sacrifice a blood relative to spare us for another month.”

  “And do you suppose the rulers will listen?”

  Mearhan nodded. “Most often, according to the gods, the people would rather accept a punishment than lose a world.”

  Harper thought about that for a moment. “And you, Mearhan? Do you believe that?”

  She looked away from him, her eyes cast downward. “Well, I gave up you and Laram alike, didn’t I?”

  “Did you? You told what you knew. You did your sacred duty as the voice of the gods.”

  “Do you see it that way, Harper?”

  “There’s no other way to see it.”

  “I expect you’re the only one here who would agree.”

  Harper shrugged. “I’m the only one here who betrayed the gods for the sake of a friend.”

  “What do you mean?” He could hear the shock in her voice.

  “Do you not know, then?” She shook her head and he clarified. “I’m the one who led Brogan and the others to the Grakhul and helped them avoid the deadly places. Most anyone trying to reach them would have been killed by the areas that are poisoned. No one can move there without withering and dying, but I was trained, wasn’t I? I knew the right paths to take and I led them for Brogan’s sake.”

  “Did you hope to save his family?”

  Harper sighed. “I didn’t think it was possible. I truly did not, but I hoped. I served faithfully for many years and I hoped. I thought, perhaps, that the gods would listen to my prayers and save my friend from losing all that he loved. I was wrong.”

  Mearhan did not speak further and neither did Harper.

  Instead they rode in silence for a time, each lost in their thoughts. He could not have said what the girl considered, save that she was likely worried about Laram. She betrayed him because the gods demanded it, and she did so with a heavy heart. She was still here when she could have slippe
d away a dozen times for the same reason. She hoped, he suspected, that Brogan might yet save the boy she loved and that, somehow, they would find a way to be happy together.

  As for Harper, he had other thoughts to consider. He prayed that the gods would forgive Brogan. He had prayed that, somehow, they would spare his family, and that had not happened.

  And more than once, he’d wished that Brogan’s life was not so very perfect. Brogan, who had a lovely wife, and three children so filled with joy that they made his heart ache when he saw the family together. More than once he’d let his jealousy into his prayers and now, though he tried not to dwell on it, Harper once again found himself wondering if the gods had seen fit to answer his prayers, but had chosen the wrong ones to answer.

  It was said that the gods rewarded the faithful in their own ways. Harper had been a faithful servant for a very long time.

  He found himself wondering if that was why he had chosen to help Brogan in the first place. Had he lied, Brogan would have known no better. He could have made up an excuse. He could have said that the way to the Grakhul was hidden until the gods needed him and Brogan would have never known the difference. It was plausible enough. The ways of the gods were mysterious and made more so by the Undyings’ whims, and the often vague answers the scryers gave when they spoke on behalf of the gods.

  Harper considered the fate of the world and wondered, again, whether he could have prevented any of the things that had happened.

  Ultimately it was a question he could not answer. In the end, only the gods could say.

  They made their way into the city with little trouble, but true to his earlier thoughts he had to demand a few people move their belongings or lose them. For so many people it was exhaustion that made them foolish. Or, perhaps, they had simply given up when they reached Torema and realized there really was nowhere else they could go to avoid the wrath of the gods.