Whom The Gods Love

by M. M. Perry

  “I have. We see them often up in the mountains. I’ve slain a few myself. And I would say straight out that I know for a fact this did not come from an ogre. I believe you have simply found the carcass of a razorback and brought this bit back to me,” Oaten said wiggling the flesh in his hand.

  “In fact, this looks like something I had for dinner last night. You probably just went to the butcher and picked this up. There is no way you got all the way out there, killed an ogre, and made it back in such a short time. I don’t appreciate being played,” Oaten said, “and I expect more from warriors.”

  The corner of Cass’ mouth twitched.

  “I think you may be mistaken, your highness,” she said.

  “No. I would know this piece of meat anywhere. You brought it here thinking I wouldn’t recognize it, not realizing it’s a delicacy here at my court. Peasants often make such mistakes. The nobility has a much more refined, wider palate than the low born,” Oaten said angrily.

  “You mean to say that you and your court eat ogre assholes, your highness?” Cass asked innocently.

  Oaten glared at Cass for a moment before what she said sunk in. He looked at the piece of flesh in his hand, then back at Cass. Gunnarr was having trouble keeping his face straight, but Nat had already failed to keep his composure completely. He turned away and clamped his hands over his mouth. Callan allowed a wide smile to play across his face as he looked up at Oaten.

  Oaten flung the flesh from him. It landed with a sickening flop on the royal floor. He gestured for servants. When none came he stood, his face turning beet red.

  “Someone bring me hot water and soap! NOW!” he bellowed.

  Men all around him began scattering. He turned to look at Cass, his face livid. But he could no longer charge that he knew exactly what he had been holding. His actions betrayed that he knew the warriors had indeed slain an ogre, and had produced the proof as promised.

  “I take it from your response that you have reconsidered, and now realize we have performed the task you gave us?” Cass asked primly.

  Royal decorum would not allow Oaten to go back on his word. As several servants surrounded him and began scrubbing vigorously at his hands, Oaten closed his eyes, not wishing to look upon the party again. He had planned to keep sending them out on quests for days, denying they had completed any of them. He had wanted to humiliate Callan even more, but now he found himself just wanting to be rid of them.

  “Go then. The guards will let you pass. I do not wish to see you again for a very, very long time,” Oaten said tersely.

  “Your majesty,” Callan said bowing, “That is a request I will gladly honor.”

  Chapter 15

  “Pretty clever, that” Callan said to Cass as the party approached Coterman’s Pass. He was genuinely impressed with how adroitly Cass had manipulated Oaten. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were an old hand at court politics.”

  The guards standing watch at the ornate, imposing gate that barred most from approaching the pass let them by without comment. From this distance, they could already hear the roar of the waterfall that waited ahead.

  “Well to be honest, I wasn’t crazy about killing the ogre,” Cass said. “He really was just minding his own business. He was far away from the city and likely never going to get any closer. As soon as I saw him I realized the king was just sending us on a wild-goose chase, and that we were likely going to get more of them. I’m curious though, are you and he in some sort of a tiff? He seemed bent on delaying and humiliating you as much as possible.”

  Callan frowned.

  “When we were younger, things were different. If you’d asked me about him back then, I’d probably have even counted him among my friends, insofar as a prince can have friends. But somewhere along the line, something changed. I’ve never been sure what. One year when our families got together, as we had been wont to do, he just started treating me differently. Making sneering comments about me to his cronies, and the group of them foisting an endless series of japes onto me. I can’t claim the high ground entirely, though. It didn’t take long before I was sniping back, and I even fancied that I gave better than I got. If I get through all this, I suppose I should try to figure it out what it was that soured him towards me. It all seems so foolish now, to have kept that childish squabbling going for so long,” he said.

  They were close enough to the waterfall cascading down the mountainside then that the fine mist of water it created had coated all their clothes. Almost as soon as it settled on them, it froze, making their clothes crinkle as they walked, thin flakes of ice cracking off of them and falling to the ground as they moved.

  “I’m so glad we have these clothes,” Viola said as she tucked her hands into the fur-lined pockets of her coat.

  The waterfall plummeted down swiftly and violently from its apex far above until it crashed down into the rocks several dozen feet below them. They could see that the path they were on disappeared into the torrent and then appeared on the other side of it. As they got closer to the waterfall, Viola saw that a small stone statue stood just a few strides away from the cataract. It was much worn, most of the details having long ago been melted away into indistinctness by the slow, relentless assault of the waterfall. Yet she could see that what stood before her was a man enshrouded with heavy robes, his face hidden beneath an oversized hood. It took her a moment to realize that the unusual lumps around his mid-section had once depicted a belt with many pouches of different sizes hanging around his waist. Viola touched her own thick cloak, feeling for the many pocketed vest that lay beneath.

  “Bula is wearing the tools of an enchanter! Why has the elder never told us of Bula? Or anyone else for that matter,” Viola asked, more to herself than anyone in the party. “Janelle came here last year to perform this rite, and she never mentioned this statue to me.”

  “She may not have noticed,” Inez said, “this thing has seen better days. A lot of them, a very long time ago.”

  “Perhaps,” Viola said inspecting the totem. She supposed that, had she not been so keen to see the figure, ready to see Bula—an unheard of god of male enchanters—because that’s what Inez had told her she would find, that she might have simply dismissed it without a second glance, focusing instead on the task she’d come to do.

  She reached out and touched a particularly smooth spot on the top of the statue’s head. She looked up, expecting to see the water stopping at any moment. It continued to cascade down with regularity. Viola touched the statue again, this time concentrating as she did when she was creating a spell. But she could feel nothing. The power did not stir within her. Viola shut her eyes tight in frustration. Of all the times for her to lose her gift, she wondered, how could it be now that full maturity overtook her.

  Inez chuckled behind them. Cass glared at her until she stopped, and then turned to Viola.

  “Is something wrong?” Cass asked gently.

  “No,” Viola said, refusing to admit it. “I just need to concentrate. It’s the cold. It’s making my hands numb.”

  Viola began rubbing her hands together violently, ostensibly to warm them up, but really to buy her some time. She looked down at the totem in desperation. If she had a god to pray to, she would have. But her village never prayed to the one they called the nameless god, for fear it would bring unwanted and potentially hostile attention to them. Their understanding of their own gift was minimal at best. They had been taught since they were very young that it was best to remain ignorant of the mysteries surrounding the origin of the enchanter’s abilities, lest it be taken from them if they became too curious.

  Viola’s eyes met the shadow beneath the stone hood on the totem. She imagined she could see two pinpoints of light shining out at her, reflections of eyes. Then she did something she had never done before—she prayed. She prayed silently to Bula, the god of mysteries, that he give her one more day with her power. Or maybe two, she quickly amended her silent prayer, realizing she’d need to help them get ba
ck across as well. Then Viola felt something inside her, as when she conjured a spell, yet different in a way she’d have been hard put to describe. It felt like casting a spell, but more so. She opened her eyes, hardly daring to breathe as she reached forward and touched the spot on Bula’s head.

  An impossibly loud crash made them all turn their heads upward, toward the source of the waterfall where the sound seemed to have come from. It was followed by a deep, steady rumbling for several moments. Then the water suddenly stopped coming, shrinking away from a raging torrent to a thin dribble and then to nothing in a matter of seconds. All the water in the riverbed below them quickly drained as it continued its journey down the mountainside.

  Cass clapped her on the back.

  “Well done. Here,” Cass said pointing to the path that had been obstructed by the falling water. “But go slowly. It’s so cold the damp on the stone will turn to ice soon, if it hasn’t already. You don’t want your horse stumbling and sending you sliding down the mountain.”

  The path under the waterfall differed from the one they had come up. Until now, and beyond where the waterfall had covered the path, the path had just been a thin, rough-hewn trail carved right out of the face of the mountain. But right before them the portion of the path previously hidden by the waterfall was a six-foot-wide shelf made of what appeared to be marble. The stone somehow withstood the constant rush of water, appearing as sharp edged, finely detailed and true as the day it had been laid, and Viola wondered how that would be possible. As they stepped across it, however, she began to feel the power flowing through it. It had been enchanted, and the spell still held. Whoever had done it was very skilled.

  As Nat looked up towards the top of the waterfall, a drop of water splashed onto his forehead.

  “How long does it stop for,” he asked uneasily as they slowly made their way across the path.

  “Until the following morning. At the first light of day, the water begins to fall again,” Cass said.

  Even with Cass’ reassurance, Nat was relieved when his pony finally stepped off the marble on the other side. On this side, the path continued on for several yards, but then veered rather sharply into a passageway so narrow they had to travel single-file through it. Nat could not see past Cass ahead of him, so he was unable to gauge how long the passage was. He could hear Inez’s little wagon scraping the sides of the canyon behind him. The sound echoed all around them, adding to the already claustrophobic air.

  “How far does this go?” Nat asked, his voice bouncing around the passage, asking the question over and over again.

  “For a while. But, the good part is, when we get to the other side, we can take off these bulky winter clothes. We’ll be in the Valley of Clouds,” Cass said softly to avoid too much echo. “It’s a place few have seen. A story that other warriors will relish hearing from you, young Nat.”

  Nat smiled at the thought.

  They continued through the canyon in relative silence, the only sounds the echoing clopping of the horse’s feet, the occasional snort or whinny, the scraping sound from Inez’s wagon and the susurration of air blowing through the narrow chasm. An hour of slow, uneventful riding passed before they emerged, punctuated only once by the complicated act of unjamming Inez’s wagon when it lodged in a particularly narrow portion of the passage. That had involved Cass squeezing by Nat and helping Gunnarr lift the little wagon to a channel between the rocks that was slightly wider than at the passageway’s base. Nat had been duly impressed that the two warriors had been able to lift the wagon up off the ground at all, let alone then force it through the just wide enough gap. Now that they were approaching the exit, Nat could feel warm, humid air brushing against his cheek.

  “Here we go,” Cass said cheerily.

  As they emerged from the canyon, Nat had to squint. He had been so used to seeing the back of Cass’ horse that the sudden fissure of light at the end of the passageway blinded him momentarily. His pony continued to move as Nat squinted and blinked, forcing his eyes to adjust.

  When he was able to see, he took in a lush, green valley. It was not very wide, perhaps two miles at best. But the green, living gash in the mountains stretched on before him for many miles. Nat looked up to either side and could see snowcapped mountains in every direction. This valley was nestled deep between two of the tallest peaks Nat had ever seen.

  It was then he noticed how warm he was beginning to feel, beads of perspiration now dotting his forehead and running down his nose. He moved his pony far enough away from the exit that he wouldn’t hinder anyone else, then hopped off and joined where Cass was standing, already pulling off her furry leggings. Nat began taking off his own cold weather layers as well.

  He looked towards the far end of the valley, where it disappeared a mile ahead into the thick fog that hung low over the valley, filtering everything with a damp veil. Nat turned back to Cass to see that she was already stowing her clothes in a rocky crevasse near the chasm they had just emerged from.

  “You’ll want them handy for when you come back,” she explained as she stuffed the fur lined things away.

  “This is so beautiful!” Viola exclaimed. “I never imagined we’d find something like this hidden away in this frozen place!”

  Inez hopped out of her wagon with unusual vigor. Her eyes were bright and piercing as she looked toward the other end of the valley, as if she was able to part the mists and see Oshia’s temple at the end.

  “Getting a stretch, old woman?” Callan asked, freeing himself of his heavy overcoat.

  “Taking in the view is all,” she said dismissively.

  “How far is the temple from here? I can hardly see through all this fog,” Callan said.

  “It is some ways yet. At least a day’s travel, and we only have a few more hours before nightfall. We could travel all through the night, if you prefer. There is little here to be afraid of, the path is gentle and there aren’t any creatures here to fear. I suggest we just keep going until the horses tell us they’re ready to stop,” Cass said.

  Once everyone was freed of their winter clothing, they remounted and began traveling at a brisk pace. The ground sloped gently downward as they travelled. Exotic looking birds watched them as they passed. Tiny four legged, hoofed grazing creatures looked up at them as they rode by. Nat was shocked when the little creatures didn’t run away from them. It was as if they were not afraid in the slightest. Insects buzzed all around as water droplets too small to make out collected on the bodies of the adventurers. Eventually everyone’s hair was soaking wet.

  “What makes it so warm here?” Nat asked looking up at the mist.

  As it got darker, the cloud of mist became thicker, blanketing the sky and hiding the mountains around them from their sight.

  “There are hot springs here, lots of them. I suspect they aren’t the only thing warming the air though. A fellow warrior told me he once saw a lava flow here. Said it broke right through the surface. Wouldn’t it be something if we were only a few feet above a river of that stuff? That might explain how this valley can exist here, though,” Cass said.

  They continued riding well after dark and as they did the sounds of the wildlife around them began to change. More insects began chirping, and Nat was certain he could feel the whoosh of bats over head as they swooped in and out, capturing their meals. It was very dark in the valley at night, the moon and the stars obscured by the fog. After several hours of travelling in the dark, Cass suggested they stop and make camp.

  It was so warm, nobody had any interest in setting up a tent. They did build a small fire though, so that they could cook some meat from one of the deer-like animals that Gunnarr caught. Cass left them while Gunnarr dressed the carcass, and came back with an armful of fruit for them to add to their meal by the time he had it spitted and roasting over the fire. They sat around the small flame, the only source of light around. The light from the blaze somehow made the fog seem even thicker and more impenetrable. The horses were grazing nearby, tied up so they
wouldn’t wander away and get lost in the fog, enjoying the abundance of soft grasses the valley offered.

  “You know,” Callan said as he leaned back on his elbows, his legs stretched out, “now that we are hours away from Oshia’s temple, I’m realizing just how little I actually know about him. He’s a new god, and we, I mean the royalty, we don’t worship them like many of our subjects do. Oh, we put on a good show because the people like it. But I always found the gods to be petty and vindictive, and they seemed to do more harm than good, taken on balance. I never really saw a reason to worship that sort of behavior. Now that I’ve heard so many of your stories, I’m finding the gods to be even worse than I had originally thought. I guess I’m not all that upset I’ve never really worshipped them properly.”

  “Well, I can tell you this much about Oshia. Petty is one of the nicer words you can use to describe it,” Cass said.

  Inez snickered at these words.

  “That much I do know,” Callan said, “and yet he is one of the few you can actually seek out and speak to. Make requests of. It seems at odds with the sinister reputation he has built up that he even bothers to offer such boons.”

  “It has a price,” Cass said darkly, “It doesn’t just dole out blessings to all who ask.”

  “Yes. I’m also aware of that,” Callan said swallowing, “but sometimes the price is worth it, no matter how steep.”

  Cass stared at Callan, who seemed lost in thought. She turned and Gunnarr caught her eyes. They shared some unspoken words in their look. Gunnarr looked away, shame on his face.

  “Why do you call Oshia ‘it?’” Viola asked.

  Cass turned toward Viola, her look guarded as she spoke.

  “It appears to each person in whatever way it chooses. I’m sure it has a sex, but I’m also sure it long ago forgot it. There are tales of it seducing males and females, both gods and mortals. It doesn’t make a distinction between male or female, unless it has some bearing on it getting what it wants. It is selfish, greedy, petty, and cruel.”