by M. M. Perry
“Well, you’d have to first believe these are the gods before you could imagine they’d be upset by such things,” Cass said.
Inez perked up then, her shrewd voice cutting through the air.
“You don’t believe these are the old gods, then?” she asked.
“Oh, I believe the old gods probably dwelled here once. But to think these statues are truly them? I don’t know,” Cass said thinking, “I know the legend. How could anyone that grew up here not? That these monstrosities of stone were not built by any man, but are actually the old gods. That the old gods grew too complacent, that their children declared war on them leading to a final battle, supposedly fought here, on these plains. But it’s a very old story. Maybe there’s some truth at its core, as there often is with the truly old tales. But I think of these statues more like temples than the actual bodies of the gods. Deserving of reverence, perhaps, but not divine.”
“Perhaps,” Inez said eyeing the warrior woman carefully. “Do you know the full tale then?”
Cass glanced down at the old woman in her wagon.
“Well, I know several versions. But I’ll tell you one I like the best,” Cass said. She gestured out at the plains as she continued in a loud, clear voice.
“At first, the battle raged for weeks, with neither side able to take an advantage. But there was a traitor among the old gods. Natan, who had grown weary of his compatriots. Natan, who had fallen in love with a beautiful daughter of Timta. But Timta refused to let him court her daughter. Timta despised Natan, for he toyed cruelly with the lives of mortals, which she found reprehensible.
“Natan turned to his son, Oshia, for help. Together they crafted a mystical jewel that could defeat all the old gods at once. Natan was sure that once they were defeated, Timta among them, he would be free to pursue her daughter. The stone was indeed a terrible weapon and could have brought him victory, for when the jewel was held up to the light of the heavens, any immortal touched by the light that passed through the jewel would instantly turn to stone. But Natan was not only betrayer, but betrayed. Oshia himself lusted after the daughter of Timta. So Oshia told his father, Natan, that whoever held the stone would be safe from its rays. But that was a cruel lie. When Natan held the jewel up to the sky, the first old god touched by the light and turned to stone, was himself,” and here Cass paused to point out over the plains, where far in the distance they could all see the writhing serpent body of the god, Natan—a large boulder chiseled in the shape of a gem in one hand, held aloft.
“But these are just tales,” Cass said waving off the story, “As you can see, it is no gem Natan carries, just more stone.”
Inez smirked as she looked at Cass, “You said you’ve heard several versions. Perhaps you know another, more accurate version?”
“That is the version I’ve heard, but I know little of the gods,” Callan said staring at the stone in Natan’s hand. “Is there a more accurate version? And even if there was, how would we know? All this happened, if that is even what happened, so many years ago.”
Cass stared down at Inez. There was something about the old woman that struck the warrior as odd. She turned forward once again, making a mental note to keep an eye on Inez.
“I don’t know about accuracy, but there are some versions that cast a far less flattering light on many of the gods in this story. It’s hard to tell how they have been influenced by the teller of the tale. If you worship Natan, you’d see him as the ultimate victim, and your tale would reflect that. If you worship Oshia, well, then you might say he was justified in doing what he did because the old gods were so corrupt. Whatever the case, I’m not so sure the old gods died that day,” Cass said.
“Why not?” Inez asked.
Cass thought for a moment before speaking.
“I have been to one of Timta’s shrines. I did not see her, but... I could feel a power there. If these statues,” Cass said gesturing around her again, “are the old gods, I do not think they were completely destroyed. Perhaps someday they will rise again and reclaim the world from their children, but for now, I think we are safe to travel the plains. I have never felt any malice from any of these old gods. I find their statues beautiful and majestic, not grim or frightening.”
“Have you met many gods then?” Nat asked.
Cassandra did not answer right away, suddenly hesitant to speak on such things. Inez was the only one to notice her reticence.
“A few. Enough to know I never wish to see another again,” Cass said finally.
“Well, with luck you shall see at least one more. Oshia in his temple, for he is the only one who can cure my wife,” Callan said.
Cass said nothing to this, but Inez spoke up, “I don't know if I would call that lucky. I have heard it told that no one who has sought out Oshia has ever returned. I know of the legends that say Oshia will grant all who find him one wish, but I know of none who have ever returned from his temple to say whether or not this is true. And I have been around a long time, and seen many would be wish seekers.”
“I have heard of one who returned,” Gunnarr said quietly.
“Really?” Inez asked as she bumped along in her cart.
“Yes. There is a story that has gone around Swords Aplenty. Some years back, a warrior who wished to prove their mettle traveled to the Temple of Oshia to ask him for a favor, and returned,” Gunnarr said.
“Hmmph, and I don't suppose you know the name of this warrior? Couldn't you have pointed them out to us before we set out to do that exact thing?” Inez said.
“No, because no name is ever given when the tale is told. But... there is something in the telling, something that makes it seem like more than just a tall tale,” Gunnarr said looking up at the towering statue of Safra, the goddess of the earth.
“What about you, Cass, have you heard this tale?” Inez asked.
Inez tried to make eye contact with the huge woman, but Cass was concentrating on leading her horse through some difficult terrain. The ground was rough here from the many stones that had rained down from Safra’s outstretched arms over the years.
“Yes, and I've told it a time or two. But, alas, all the versions I have heard do not mention any names either, so it is hard to know if the tale is true, or just a bard’s fancy” Cass said ruefully.
“I hope it’s true. It would be good to know this has worked for someone before. I’m only going on this quest because my seer is sure it is the only way,” Callan said quietly.
“Well,” Cass said gently, “I promise I would not take you if I didn’t think there was a chance you would succeed.”
“If you say so,” Callan said skeptically. He touched the locket under his tunic again, hoping to find it would quicken his resolve.
Cass noted Callan’s gesture once again and knew he was beginning to brood again over the near hopelessness of the task he faced. She decided to change the topic to something more light hearted.
“You know, it has been my experience,” Cass said, “that the gods are not as impressive in person as in their stories. It's possible their power is waning, that although ages ago they were very powerful indeed, now they are somehow diminished. Take Chort, the god of lightning, for instance. In his stories he is always portrayed as a terribly powerful and important god. Much more powerful than any of the old gods, the stories claim, and appalling to behold. Yet the first time I met him I thought I would die not from fright, but from laughing. He didn't like me much after that.”
“Chort doesn't like anyone much,” Gunnarr said with a smile.
“You've met him too then? Did he threaten you with his stick?” Cass asked laughing.
“Yes,” Gunnarr chuckled, “he did at that. And if he ever was able to hurl bolts of lightning from his staff, I would be very surprised. It gave me a mild shock at best. After he tried a few times, I tossed him overboard.”
“He visited you at sea then?” Cass asked laughing at the vision of the god sputtering curses up at Gunnarr from the churning waves.
“Yes. He appeared out of nowhere and demanded I go to war with him against his brother, Hadra. I was already on a quest, so I refused. Had I been free at the time, I might have gone with the silly little man, just to see what it would have been like to war against a god. But I was on my way to defeat a great sea serpent that was terrorizing a small village south of where I lived. He refused to take no for an answer. So overboard he went, stick and all,” Gunnarr said with a wide grin.
“He's still trying to recruit warriors against his brother, then,” Cass said remembering the strange little god. “He came to me in the pub one night. I was moderately drunk, as it happens. I had just taken a man to the Wandering Village, where he claimed he wanted to reside. But once he got there he realized that although a wandering village sounds exotic, if you're a cobbler, you're still going to be a cobbler—even if the magical village you live in relocates every night. The cobbler was so dissatisfied and angry with me—which makes no sense to me, since I had done exactly as he asked by taking him to the village—that he managed to push me out of the village and into the Wet Desert just as the village was changing location. I had to walk all the way back without any provisions. That long without ale, and of course I had to make up for lost time. When I finally got back to the pub I drank myself silly.
“And then here pops in Chort, demanding I help him destroy his brother once and for all. When I refused he poked me with his deadly stick. The shock made me spill my ale. I was fair put out. I never spill my ale, no matter how drunk I get.”
“What did you do to him?” Gunnarr asked.
“I used him as my chair for the rest of the night. He was rather irate, but it was somewhat the conversation starter I'll tell you that much,” Cass laughed and Gunnarr joined in.
Cassandra looked up into the sky and prodded her horse to trot a little faster.
“If we pick up the pace, we'll be in the shadow of Timta by dusk. Then we can stay with Selina for the night. I think she'll like that,” Cass said.
As soon as Callan saw Selina for the first time, he felt sure she must be a witch. Although Cass claimed Selina had raised her, Cass was at least thirty years old and Selina did not look a day over twenty. She had raven black hair and eyes, and the palest skin he had ever seen. Despite his concerns about her witchy-ness, Callan found Selina friendly enough, as she welcomed them to the small stone home she had built beneath the feet of Timta's great statue.
Selina greeted them warmly, offering them tea and, in the case of the warriors, ale. She doted on her adopted daughter, brushing the hair off of Cass’ face and generally fussing over her. Cass indulged Selina, surprising Callan. He expected the warrior would dislike being fretted over, but Cass just let it happen. In fact, she hardly seemed to notice.
Selina’s small house had three rooms; two bedrooms and a large living area with enough space for them all to sit comfortably around a huge oak table. When Callan had enquired why a woman who lived on her own had a table that could seat ten, Selina just laughed. She touched the table gently, her fingers lingering.
“My husband is a retired warrior. My daughter is a warrior. When warriors have company, a table for three will not suffice. My husband built this place, knowing that. So the main room is big enough for a gathering. It has to be really, with that tavern so close. People are always stopping by, asking after Cass and Driscol,” Selina said. “If Driscol wasn’t away right now, we might not have had enough room for everyone at the table.”
“Driscol is your husband I take it,” Callan asked politely.
Selina nodded. Then she busily began setting the table for dinner. Callan surveyed the room; the walls were lined with things from exotic lands. He guessed that when you had two warriors in your family, they probably brought back a lot of unusual trinkets from their travels.
“So, you’re going to the Temple of Oshia?” Selina asked Callan.
Her voice sounded light and inquisitive, but her eyes darted to Cass and were guarded.
“Yes, I was told by a seer that Oshia was the only one with the power to help my wife. She is afflicted with a deadly illness we cannot cure,” Callan said sadly.
“Oshia is not the only one who could help... but your seer probably saw the surest path. Probably the best,” Selina muttered. She was quiet for a moment as she continued setting the table, until she suddenly burst out, “I dislike seers.”
Cass sent Selina a dirty look.
“Selina, that isn’t very polite,” Cass said.
“Why do you dislike seers, my lady,” Nat asked.
“Seers,” Selina answered him, but stared at her adoptive daughter as she spoke, “have the unfortunate habit of putting their predictions in motion merely by uttering them. People will do things because they are certain they must, because it has been foreseen, because a seer has seen them do it already, when under normal circumstances, they would not have.”
Selina kept her gaze locked on Cass. Cass crossed her arms and stared back. Inez could almost hear the unspoken volumes that were being traded between these women during that look.
“It is why I stopped doing it.” Selina finally said.
“You are a seer?” Callan asked.
“Was a seer. Obviously I can’t stop the visions entirely. But I no longer accept requests from those looking for a glimpse into their future. Not after the last vision I invoked. It has not yet come to pass, and it would not have come to pass, had I not set things in motion by telling the people involved,” Selina said bitterly, breaking her gaze with Cass and turning to her fire. “And now they make foolish choices just to see the vision through.”
Cass glared at Selina’s back. Selina stirred vigorously at the huge pot of stew, ignoring the hot feeling of anger she felt lashing her back, coming from her daughter. Everyone decided to look anywhere but at Selina or Cass, recognizing that this was a serious matter between the two of them. Cass noticed everyone had become uncomfortable, so she decided to make herself useful and pass out bowls for the stew. As she handed each bowl first to Selina to fill, the silence between them only grew longer. Selina ladled stew into every bowl without uttering another word.
Cass could take the silence no longer. As she set the last bowl down at her own place, she told the group, “Eat fast. If we can get outside before night falls completely, I can show you the griffins.” She said it with as much cheer as she could muster.
Cass’ invitation to see the griffins seemed to work. Everyone, save for Selina, began shoveling down their food, with mouthful mumblings of appreciation and praise for Selina’s excellent meal. Even Callan, who would normally have found that kind of behavior crass, joined in the rush, slurping down his food so fast he burned the roof of his mouth. He wanted to see the griffins, not just for himself, but for his wife, Melody, who so loved the things. Callan thought he might even have a chance to collect a feather to give her. Melody would be delighted at the gift, he was certain. Then, as he ate his last dollop of stew, he realized he might never get to give that gift to Melody. He stared at his empty bowl, suddenly very morose.
Nat was the next to finish and as soon as he did, he stood up excitedly. He wandered over to the door to the house, pacing between it and a window, like a dog waiting to go outside and play. Inez and Callan pushed their bowls away then. Cass took a last bite and then took pity on Nat, hurrying over to open the door and gesturing for him to go outside. Inez and Callan followed him out.
Gunnarr stood and gathered up all the bowls, putting them in the wash basin.
“Would you like some help cleaning up?” he asked Cass in a shy voice.
Cass smiled at him and shook her head, “Not now. After we see the griffins. If we miss the light, well, let’s just say I would hate to see the look on Nat’s face if he missed the griffins.”
Gunnarr grinned and went to the door. He had to stoop to get out the low passageway. Cass turned to Selina and sighed.
“He is very handsome,” Selina said, stirring the fire.
She
refused to look at her adoptive daughter, afraid of what she might say.
“Who?”
“You know who. I saw you looking at him, and him looking at you. It’s strange. I’ve never seen you act that way around men. You’re not being very forward with him. You shouldn’t be so coy,” Selina said chiding her.
“I don’t need your advice,” Cass said testily. Then she softened a little. She realized Selina was only worried for her. “I’m not being coy, trust me. He’s a little shy is all. I didn’t want to chase him away.”
Selina chuckled and finally looked at her daughter.
“I saw the look on his face when you smiled at him. I don’t think you could chase that one away if you tried. He must be the one you told me about last time you visited. You were complaining he hadn’t been able to even work up the nerve to come talk to you. I also recall what you said you’d do if he ever did.”
Selina wiggled her eyebrows and Cass blushed.
“I was drunk!”
“Yes. You were. But I wasn’t.”
“Well, things are different now. We have a duty to perform. I have to keep my task in mind,” Cass said crossing her arms.
“If you are going to the temple… well then I can’t think of a better time to have a fling. Unless it isn’t a fling you’re looking for. My little Cass, are you growing up?” Selina said delightedly.
She came to Cass and reached up to cup Cass’ cheeks in her hands, looking closely into Cass’ eyes. Cass pushed Selina’s hands away, the mothering finally becoming too much for her.
“Stop it. It isn’t funny,” Cass said seriously.
“Why,” Selina said taking a step back from Cass, “the timing is only bad if you go to the temple. You don’t have to go. You never had to.”
Cass sighed.
“You worry too much about me. You always have. I’m a warrior. I put my life on the line for others every day. I’ve always known this was coming. You’ve known this was coming. Doing my duty… it comes before everything else. I chose this life. I’m not going to turn aside from the life I chose, just because things become a little difficult,” Cass said as she headed to the door.
