Whom The Gods Love

by M. M. Perry

  Cass exchanged a look with Gunnarr, who shrugged at her, before she turned back to Callan.

  “Well, the answer to your question about stealth is, yes. They are quite stealthy. We’ve been walking by, under and around them all morning long, yet you haven’t noticed them yet. In fact, if you turn to your left, you’ll see one about three feet away from you, eying you intently,” Cass said.

  At these words, Nat, Viola and Callan all looked to Callan’s left. Callan stared at what looked like a huge boulder covered in the same hairy moss that covered the trees. Then he saw the eyes, all eight of them, black and shiny, his face reflected in them eight little times. When Callan’s mind finally registered the outline of the giant mossy spider, he could pick out the subtle movement of the mandibles at the base of the creature’s face. A long leg the size of a tree trunk slowly shifted, lifting up and setting down in a new place a few feet away, almost silently. The leg was green and mossy as well, and Callan realized the spines he had thought were some kind of moss were actually hairs.

  Callan stifled a scream as he looked at the creature, its eyes tracking him, its huge body suspended between the arches of its eight trunk sized legs, which were mostly hidden by the tree’s trunks and their low hanging foliage, but Callan could pick them out now that he knew what he was looking for. He turned back toward Cass, and let his horse trot away from the horrible face. But now that he had seen one, he could see them everywhere. Everywhere he looked, the huge mossy spiders lurked, ready to strike at anything that moved beneath them. There were so many of them, Callan began to wonder just how many trees there actually were. He briefly toyed with the thought that if you took all the spiders out of the forest, it would actually be a meadow spotted with the odd oak tree. Briefly, because as soon as the thought came into his mind, he banished it so as not to panic uncontrollably.

  “Wow,” Nat said breathlessly, able to pick them out now as well.

  “Wow,” Viola said pulling her vest tighter around her chest, “isn’t exactly what I’d say. I’d really like to unsee that now. Thank you so much for drawing that to our attention, Callan.”

  Viola’s sarcastic prompt didn’t rouse Callan from his new, deeper fear. He closed his eyes and tried to cut out the world around him, forcing himself to calm down as he imagined a place far away from these woods. He remained that way, eyes closed and blocking out the world until they reached the village later that night.

  As the group finally approached the village in the early dusk, the trees thinned out considerably and changed in type drastically. No longer was the area wooded with the tall spindly trees that the giant spiders were able to hide in so well. Instead, the trees around the village were large and sprawling. The trees were chaotic looking, branches bending up and down, outward and inward, some looping back on themselves. One tree near the party had branches weighted down nearly to the ground by the tiny burgundy fruits dripping off them. The branches were so heavy with the fruit that some had snapped under the weight.

  Nat looked around, looking for the houses and buildings of the village, but could find none. The only thing that stood out as manmade among the widely spaced fruit trees was a huge fire pit, surrounded with large, roughhewn logs clearly meant to serve as benches. Viola was just thrilled to be out of sight of the spiders here. She relaxed for the first time since Cass had pointed out the nasty things to them. Callan, however, still had his eyes closed, and he jumped a little when Inez poked him with her stick. She cackled as he almost fell off his horse in surprise.

  “Where are their houses?” Nat asked, still looking around.

  “They don’t live in houses,” Cass said pointing up into the wide trees.

  Nat looked directly up into the tree they were passing under and saw woven hammocks hanging between various branches. He could tell that some held people in them. He wondered if they had retired for the evening, or were perhaps just dozing until dinner. Now that he knew what to look for in the dim green hue of the massive tree’s canopy, he could make out aborigines walking among the branches of the interlocking trees as effortlessly as if they were on the ground, moving rapidly along makeshift pathways that the twisting branches created. Several young children were working their way down through the network. They stopped on a branch a few dozen feet overhead and peered down at Nat curiously. He smiled up at them and they grinned back.

  “There are no spiders here? Are you sure?” Callan asked.

  “None here. They don’t like the smell of the fruit, remember?” Cass asked.

  Callan looked up into the fruiting tree and at some of the other trees around. Only a few currently bore fruit. Another had bright yellow blossoms on it.

  “Do they fruit at different times then?” he asked.

  “Every time I’ve been here, there’s been a different tree with fruit on it,” Cass said, “so I’d guess yes.”

  The trees in the villages, though massive and interwoven, didn’t blanket every bit of the sky as in the rest of the forest. The more spread out trees provided some wide patches of grass for the mounts to graze on, so Cass had them all dismount and let their horses munch on the soft shade grasses around them. The group followed Cass and Gunnarr to the area around the fire pit. A weathered old man appeared from around one of the tree trunks and came toward them, his expression one of pleasant surprise. He spoke to Cass and Gunnarr in the same soft language Tampoto did.

  Cass turned toward everyone.

  “They’re going feast us. Come, sit,” Cass said.

  Callan grumbled as he made his way to a log and sat down.

  “More of those little fruits? I don’t know if I can take any more of that,” he said.

  “No,” Cass said sitting beside Gunnarr, “not just fruit. They’ll have something else as well. The herd animal migrations haven’t started yet, so there won’t be any large beasts to bring to table, but there should be some rabbit and pheasant.”

  “Oh,” Callan said smiling a little. “Pheasant sounds nice. Just so long as it isn’t sautéed with that fruit.”

  The aboriginals began dragging large logs into the fire pit from discrete stacks of the timber tucked away within the low hanging foliage of some of the surrounding trees. It took them half an hour to fill the pit up. Once they finished and set it ablaze, a wall of warmth rushed out of the huge fire as it almost immediately roared to life. Then the benches began to fill up as villagers gathered around the pit with their families. A few villagers came around with food piled on flat pieces of bark.

  Callan took one of the bark planks and thanked his server with as much gratitude as he could muster. He scrutinized the offering; a round flat piece of sandy colored bread piled with chopped vegetables and greens, all drizzled in something oily. Callan could also tell from the purple bits of color in the mixture that some of tiny fruits were chopped in to the concoction as well. Callan attempted to pick out the fruit but it had been too finely minced. He looked up dishearteningly from his meal to see that Cass and Gunnarr had rolled the flat bread into a tube around the greens and were happily tearing through them.

  Callan rolled the bread around the mixture and took a tentative bite of the tube. The flavors were immediately tart and bitter, but after a moment, strangely pleasant. He swallowed his first bite, and then another. Before he knew it, it was gone. His stomach hadn’t even complained all that much. As he looked around to get some clue about what he was to do with his now empty bark plank, another villager appeared and took it from him, handing him a wooden bowl with a warm broth in it in trade. Callan sipped the broth. It was both salty and sweet. He gulped it down, feeling the warmth of the liquid spread through his body.

  “Oh, that is good,” Callan said burping a little as his empty bowl was taken away.

  “Yes, it’s wonderful!” Viola said wiping her mouth.

  “I’ve had better,” Inez said sipping her broth, “but then, once you’ve had ambrosia…”

  Inez’s gaze was far off as she smiled.

  “Ambrosia?�
�� Nat asked excitedly, “Auntie, you never told me!”

  “Why should I? You lot don’t ever ask me anything. You think the only ones with stories to tell are those overgrown muscle heads over there,” Inez said gesturing to Cass and Gunnarr.

  Cass looked over at Inez slyly.

  “Actually, I’d love to hear some of your stories. I’m sure you have some truly interesting ones.”

  Inez looked at Cass with guarded eyes. She set down her bowl of broth and crossed her arms.

  “I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready, and not a moment before,” Inez said mischievously.

  “Somehow,” Cass said, her normally jovial voice becoming quite serious, “I imagine when that happens, it will mean there will be trouble.”

  “Mind your tongue!” Inez snapped suddenly.

  Everyone stared at Inez, her violent outburst at Cass catching their attention. They were unsure of what to make of it.

  “I am your elder. You should respect me. Just because we’re…,” Inez paused and looked at Cass sideways, “…on this trip together, doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”

  Cass sighed and leaned her elbows on her knees.

  “Just so long as we’re clear about the reason we’re on this trip, old one,” Cass said.

  Inez snickered.

  “Old? My mother was old. My father was old. I am not so much old as I am wise.”

  Most of the small group failed to pick up on the subtext of the conversation between Cass and Inez. Gunnarr was watching carefully however, and picking up hints of what was really being communicated between the two women. He’d noticed Cass had been acting much differently toward Inez since the Village of Light. Now he thought he might know why.

  Callan, who was oblivious to the hidden meanings that were flowing under the surface of the conversation, simply snorted at Inez’s last proclamation.

  “Whatever you say, but if it’s the weight of all that wisdom, and not the years, that makes a body sag like yours, may I forever remain ignorant,” Callan said.

  He sniffed the air as he caught the unmistakable scent of roasting meat. He saw that the villagers had been setting rows of spits hanging over the near edge of the fire, and the small carcasses they sported were beginning to hiss and crackle. His mouth began to water in anticipation. Shortly, a villager approached and offered him another piece of bark, this time lined with wide flat leaves covered with strips of seared meat. Callan picked up a piece and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor.

  They finished this final course of their meal in relative quiet, the tension of the group slowly fading with distance from Inez and Cass’ conversation. By the time the last bark plank was taken from them, they had mostly forgotten it.

  “Are they going to ask you to tell another story then?” Viola asked.

  “They don’t have to ask,” Gunnarr said as he finished licking grease from his fingers. “We’ll gladly tell one.”

  “Who’ll tell it then?” Nat asked.

  Nat had been taking every chance he could find to covertly scoot closer to Viola all night long. Now he was close enough that he could feel her body heat. He set his hand on the log and his little finger was nearly touching hers. He kept glancing down at his fingers, imagining them entwined with the enchanter’s. He still hadn’t gotten up the courage to try it yet.

  Despite his efforts at stealth, Cass had noticed Nat slowly drift closer to Viola during the meal. She also couldn’t miss the way Nat had been eyeing Viola all night. He had gained some confidence from the ceremony in the Village of Light, but she could see that Nat had a way to go before he would be suave enough to translate his ardor into action. Cass did find it odd that Viola seemed oblivious to Nat’s attentions. She knew most women were aware of such things, even if they pretended to ignore them. But Viola seemed to be genuinely unaware of the situation.

  “I think I’d like to hear a story from Gunnarr, about his time out at sea,” Cass said looking over at Gunnarr.

  The huge man’s cheeks became ruddy with a blush. He smiled at Cass. His smile turned to a grin as he noticed a group of villagers passing out large pints. He accepted the pint offered to him and peered down at the bright maroon liquid inside.

  “I might need a touch more wine for that,” he said before happily swallowing the pint down in three gulps. “Maybe two or three more touches.”

  He pulled the mug away from his face and wiped the dregs away.

  “They have wine?” Callan asked in disbelief as he took his own cup and sniffed at it.

  “They do now!” Cass said enthusiastically as she downed her own cup.

  Callan took a sip. It had the unmistakable flavor of the little fruits, but he found he was growing used to the taste. Drinking the fruit in a beverage seemed far preferable to eating it, and would have the added benefit of getting him drunk. With the thought of heading out among the spiders again tomorrow looming in the back of his mind, Callan thought he could use a little liquid courage. He drained his cup.

  “What do you mean they ‘do now?’” Callan asked burping as another tankard was handed to him.

  He looked around, wondering where all these people who were serving him kept appearing from. He had the stray thought that the servants back in the castle could learn a thing or two from these aboriginals.

  “Well, they didn’t when we first met them. Not until we,” Cass said drinking, “well, not Gunnarr or me, but some other kind warriors, brought them barrels and yeast and taught them the basics. They always have more fruit than they can eat, so they took to it right away. And although they don’t use it in place of fresh fruit, the wine does have the added benefit of preserving the scent, though to a much lesser extent. You’d have to drink gallons of the stuff to get the same effect as eating a handful of berries.”

  Callan downed another glass and burped again.

  “I’ll have to work on that then,” he said, beginning to loosen up.

  They drank and laughed at the horrible jokes they told each other well into the evening. Even Inez’s cheeks had a rosy glow. Nat eventually found the nerve to scoot so that his leg was touching Viola’s. Gunnarr had tossed his arm around Cass and pulled her closer to him, spilling his wine in the process. Callan pulled Inez’s little wagon closer to the fire and helped her into it. He surprised them all by scrambling up beside her, both their legs hanging over the side as they leaned back and shared private jokes at the expense of Cass and Gunnarr.

  As the moon approached its zenith, Tampoto approached them. He was grinning widely at their obvious drunkenness, and stumbled a bit himself on the way over. He spoke softly to Cass and Gunnarr. Gunnarr reluctantly took his arm from around Cass’ waist, stood and handed Cass his glass.

  “Keep it empty for me,” he said, his voice heavy with drink.

  Cass tipped the glass in his direction, then drained the last swallow from it as Gunnarr wobbled to an area closer to the fire. He took his place at the head of a log that was raised slightly higher off the ground than the rest. Perched there, everyone around the fire could see him, now that the blaze had died down for the most part to a pit of flickering embers. All the surrounding logs were full of attentive aborigines, and those who couldn’t find a place to sit, stood, eager to hear Gunnarr’s tale.

  “I was nineteen when I took my first true voyage at sea. I’d been out on the water before of course, for a few days at a time on smaller vessels, but never like this before. I was on a boat big enough to carry all of you,” Gunnarr said, gesturing to encompass all the listeners.

  “But of course that was barely enough space for nine other Braldashadian and myself,” Gunnarr continued, beaming as he warmed to his audience.

  While the circle of listeners hooted and cheered, Gunnarr waited to continue his story.

  “The sea is a beautiful thing, dressed out in hues of blue on a clear day. But she is intemperate and mercurial. Many say the sea is blue because it loves the sky so much, it wears its colors. We Braldasha
d know otherwise. From the first time the sky touched the sea, on the first dawn of time, the sky has been passionately in love with the sea, yet she is not always to be his. On nights when they sky is red with passion, you know the sea will churn gently, swept up into slow, meandering peaks by the sky’s affection. Under cover of star spotted still darkness, they love each other tenderly. But when the sky is red in the morning it is with anger, not passion, for it means the sea has rebuffed the sky’s attentions, and pushed him away. It is then that the sky will lash out with jealousy at any sailor who dares to touch his lover that day.

  “We Braldashad know it is not the sea that reaches up and takes sailors to her deaths, but the jealous sky who hurls us down. Not that the sea isn’t dangerous herself, there are things lurking within her depths that I would wish no man to see, things that would prey upon the men and women drifting across her surface.

  “Creatures like the hydra. It glides through the water, deep beneath the waves normally, but will surface to prey upon ships that pass through its waters. The hydra is a terrible thing. It is covered with scales the color of the highest part of the sky on a bright day, save for its back, which is covered with a mosaic pattern of multi-colored scales. The scales form the shapes of the creature’s face repeated over and over all along the body of the hydra. My people believe the faces on its body are to distract. For you see, the only way to truly kill a hydra, is to lop off its head.

  “Its hide is so tough, swords glance off its scales. You can stab at the thing, but it has a layer of blubber under its scales thicker than the length of any sword I have ever seen. It has two long fore arms that it will use to climb the side of a ship and tear in to it. Its mouth is filled with teeth like daggers, each a foot long. But it has a short, thin neck. A powerful enough swing,” Gunnarr made a mighty swipe through the air, as if holding a sword, “and the beast will fall. It knows this, and will retreat into water whenever it feels it is in danger. It will then attack from beneath, trying to tear out the hull of your ship if it can, leaving the crew easy to pick off after the boat sinks.