Child of a Dead God

by Barb Hendee

  Léshil had not taken his new blades from their canvas wrap. Those weapons, so like his own, were disturbing enough to Sgäile, but they were nothing compared to the items presented to Magiere: a war blade made of Chein’âs metal and a strange heavy circlet.

  Sgäile had thought long and hard on this as he led Léshil and Magiere out of the granite foothills. Brot’ân’duivé could not have known Magiere would force her way into this journey, for the Greimasg’äh’s instructions only concerned Léshil. Yet somehow the Chein’âs had known she would come.

  What was the hidden meaning behind these strange gifts, and the way that dark little one had looked at her with such pain? Its expression had reflected that of the séyilf who had appeared at Magiere’s hearing before the clan elders and claimed an impossible shared heritage with her.

  One night in the granite foothills, Sgäile had heard Magiere mutter fitfully in her sleep and then sit up, breathing hard. He remained silent, watching her through the slits of his eyelids, until she finally curled up under the blanket with Léshil.

  They were all traveling south to find an object for these human “sages,” but Magiere was much more involved than she admitted. Sgäile now felt as though he were the one being dragged along blindfolded.

  “They are back!” a glad voice shouted from above. “Osha, quickly— come help!”

  Sgäile glanced up to see Wynn’s smiling face hanging over the ship’s rail-wall. Osha appeared beside her an instant later.

  “Hold on,” Osha called, and a crewman tossed down lines.

  Sgäile stepped around Chap to secure the skiff’s prow. When he turned back, Magiere had done the same at the stern. About to reach down for his pack and the canvas bundle of gifts, he saw Léshil had already picked up the latter.

  It was the first time he had touched them since leaving the tunnels. Sgäile could not comprehend Léshil’s reluctance.

  Léshil handed off the bundle to Magiere and crouched as Chap approached him.

  “I will carry him,” Sgäile said quickly.

  Léshil’s face clouded, but he nodded. “I’ll head up and help haul him over. Magiere, go ahead.”

  Magiere climbed up, and then Léshil, and Sgäile crouched to offer his back to Chap.

  “Please allow me to assist you,” he whispered.

  With a soft rumble, Chap hooked his forelegs over Sgäile’s shoulders, bracing his rear paws on Sgäile’s belt. The dog was heavy and made climbing the rope ladder precarious. When they reached the top, Wynn scrambled into Sgäile’s way.

  “I will get him,” she said cheerfully, reaching out.

  At the sight of her, Chap lunged.

  The dog’s push-off flattened Sgäile onto the deck’s edge. When Chap’s weight lifted from Sgäile’s back, he climbed through the rail-wall’s opening and paused at the sight before him.

  Wynn sat with legs splayed where she had toppled, and clutched the majay-hì’s neck. Chap lapped at her face as she laughed.

  “I missed you!” Wynn said, grabbing his face by the jowls.

  Sgäile shook his head. At least it was heartening to see this ancient one’s hidden burdens lifted for a moment.

  “Greetings, Sgäilsheilleache,” Osha said. “It is welcome to see you.”

  “Osha!” Wynn grumbled at him.

  He groaned with a roll of his eyes and repeated his welcome in Belaskian.

  The hkomas strode over, displeased as ever, and Sgäile steeled himself to remain polite. The ship and its keeper had remained idle for six unexpected days on this well-kept route between the coastal communities.

  “We pull anchor,” the hkomas said. “We are far behind schedule for our next stop.”

  “Of course,” Sgäile answered. “If I can assist in—”

  The hkomas turned on his heel and began shouting to his crew.

  A cold gust rolled across the deck, and Wynn crossed her arms with a shiver as she stood up. Osha immediately opened his cloak, stepping closer, and Wynn slipped in against his side as he pulled the cloak’s edge about her.

  Sgäile stared silently, as did Magiere and Léshil, but the two young ones did not notice everyone’s attention fixed upon them.

  “Hungry?” Wynn asked, peering from beneath Osha’s gray-green cloak. “Have you had supper?”

  In the lingering silence, both Wynn and Osha finally noticed the tension around them.

  “We need to get below,” Magiere said, still holding the bundle of gifts. “Now, Wynn.”

  Some of the crew paused amid their duties, casting displeased and troubled glances at the returned foreigners. One stopped altogether to watch them. The continued interest of this young woman, the hkomas’s steward, did not escape Sgäile’s awareness.

  Osha swept back his cloak as Wynn hurried after Magiere. Léshil and Chap followed. Sgäile watched with mixed feelings as they headed for the aft hatch. He prayed that Chap would keep his oath.

  Uncertainty was a foreign state of mind for Sgäile, and lately he had been perpetually lost in it. He believed in his self-chosen purpose to protect Léshil. But Magiere’s presence nagged at him. Between the séyilf’s claims at Magiere’s hearing and the gifts and actions of the emissary at the fissure’s edge, Sgäile wondered what role Magiere played in Léshil’s future.

  She was a monster. She could be irrational and consistently ill-mannered. But she also possessed attributes Sgäile found admirable—fortitude, courage, and an unshakable loyalty to those she cared for. He had once asked her to watch over young Leanâlhâm, and she agreed without hesitation. And two of the ancient races expressed mysterious interest in her.

  Sgäile grew weary of thinking.

  “What happened,” Osha asked, “when you took them before the Chein’âs?”

  Perhaps Osha had spent too much time with these outsiders. He had many shortcomings that made Sgäile doubt his suitability to be Anmaglâhk. It would not serve the young man to sympathize with humans.

  “Wynn is safe,” Sgäile said. “You served your purpose well.”

  “Purpose?” Osha blinked, and his gaze wandered toward the aft hatch. “Yes, Sgäilsheilleache . . . a pleasant duty.”

  Sgäile stiffened.

  “There is no pleasant or unpleasant for Anmaglâhk,” he said coldly. “There is only your purpose to fulfill for your people. If you cannot hold this above all else, you have no place among us.”

  Osha’s jaw dropped slightly, like an ignorant boy regretting an error he did not understand. “Forgive me,” he stammered. “I meant no . . . I live in silence and in shadows. I am Anmaglâhk.”

  Sgäile offered no reassurance. Putting Osha at ease would be no kindness.

  “See to our charges,” he said. “Bring them supper.”

  “Yes, Sgäilsheilleache.”

  As Osha walked to the hatch, Sgäile turned to the rail, watching the coastline and dwelling on Magiere. Perhaps he should chastise himself as well.

  Most Aged Father rested within the root chamber of his great oak. Alone for a moment, he tried to quiet his restless mind.

  Father?

  He opened his eyes at Hkuan’duv’s voice and placed a hand on the living wood of his bower.

  “I am here,” he replied, concerned, for Hkuan’duv would need a tree for his word-wood to function. “Where are you?”

  I halted the ship to go ashore so we could speak. Hkuan’duv hesitated. I have been in contact with the informant you arranged. Sgäilsheilleache’s ship anchored for six days, and he took Léshil and the human called Magiere ashore. By the location described, I believe Sgäilsheilleache took them to the haven of the Chein’âs.

  “What?” Most Aged Father tried to sit up.

  When they returned, Magiere bore a canvas bundle, which the informant had not seen when they departed. It was of sizeable bulk.

  Most Aged Father had been shocked when he first learned that Sgäilsheilleache had continued to accompany Léshil. But guardianship was a difficult burden to put aside, especially for one such a
s Sgäilsheilleache, who clearly felt his oath was not yet fulfilled, misplaced as it was.

  Father? Hkuan’duv asked. Is there more concerning this purpose . . . that I should know?

  Most Aged Father was troubled. Since leaving Ghoivne Ajhâjhe, Sgäilsheilleache had made no reports. Now he had made an unscheduled stop near a place no human should ever know. Had Sgäilsheilleache taken Léshil and that undead woman into sacred fire?

  Father, are you still with me?

  Most Aged Father’s frail body flushed with indignant heat. Oh, the answer was obvious.

  Brot’ân’duivé—the Dog in the Dark—betrayer of his people. But why would the deviant Greimasg’äh want Sgäilsheilleache to do this? Why, when he knew what it would cost once the truth came out?

  This breach was all Most Aged Father needed to begin planning the swift end of Brot’ân’duivé.

  Father?

  “Yes, I hear you!” Most Aged Father hissed, and then calmed, weighing his next words. “Sgäilsheilleache’s loyalty is unquestionable, but his purpose has been twisted by one among our caste who works against us . . . like that traitor, Cuirin’nên’a. If he now serves a purpose that neither he nor we know fully, then this object the humans seek has greater import than I first thought. Upon your return, speak of it to no one, even among our caste. You will bring it only to me.”

  Another pause and Hkuan’duv replied, You have no reason to doubt.

  Most Aged Father leaned back shakily in his bower. “In silence and in shadows,” he whispered.

  Was there no limit to Brot’ân’duivé’s treachery?

  “What is wrong?” Wynn asked, closing the cabin door. “What has happened?”

  Chap dropped his haunches to the floor, but he sent no words into her head.

  Magiere roughly tossed her coat onto a bunk. She dropped on the bunk’s edge, looking tired and drawn, as Leesil sank to the floor beside Chap.

  Daylight had faded, and Wynn took out her cold lamp crystal, rubbing it briskly until a glow filled the small room. Her curiosity—and worry— sharpened with the light, and she glanced over at the strange bundle in the corner by the door.

  “What is in there?” she asked.

  Magiere leaned back, her jaw working beneath tightly pressed lips, as if uncertain how to answer.

  “Talk to me!” Wynn demanded.

  “Ooeer-ish-ga,” Leesil whispered.

  Wynn spun toward him. “What?”

  Úirishg, Chap corrected for Leesil’s badly spoken Elvish.

  Leesil sighed. “I think we met another one of your forgotten mythical people.”

  Wynn stared at him, but she flooded with excitement.

  Úirishg was an ancient Elvish name she had learned from recorded myths gathered by her guild—a legend of five races matched to the five elements of existence. Of these, Elves and Dwarves were known. Wynn had considered the other three no more than fancy, until . . .

  She had followed Leesil and Magiere into Droevinka, and they had uncovered the hidden crypt below the keep of Magiere’s undead father. And one of the Séyilf—the Wind-Blown—had appeared at Magiere’s trial before the an’Cróan’s council of clan elders.

  Spirit, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.

  Essence, Solid, Gas, Energy, and Liquid.

  Tree, Mountain, Wind, Flame, and Wave.

  Elf, Dwarf, Séyilf . . . and . . .

  “Which race?” Wynn asked.

  “The one left in the iron crate,” Magiere said.

  In the hidden crypt, Leesil had discovered one set of remains near an age-crusted iron crate. Beneath the grime and dried rust, Wynn had found gouges in the metal. Whatever it had held had tried to claw its way out. The skeletal remains near the crate were as dark as its iron, and the bones of its toes and fingers ended in curved obsidian points. Its skull was small, with sharpened charcoal gray ridges in place of teeth.

  “Just listen,” Leesil said, but he faltered, looking to Magiere. “I don’t even know how to start.”

  “Show her,” Magiere said.

  Wynn did not wait. She rushed for the bundled canvas and tumbled it open upon the floor.

  “Sgäile took us down . . . somewhere under a mountain,” Magiere began. “A small, black-skinned creature came out of a deep fissure, carrying those things. The winged blades were for Leesil, but it tossed the other two at me.”

  Wynn was spellbound by the four objects. A pair of winged blades, not unlike Leesil’s, yet made of unmistakable metal. The other two left for Magiere—a long and heavy hiltless dagger of the same material, and . . . a thôrhk?

  But the engraved characters upon it were not Dwarvish, although it was shaped like one of the collar adornments worn by some of their warriors. Wynn turned her frustration on Chap.

  “Well, say something! You were supposed to be my eyes and ears.”

  Chap dropped his head upon his paws. Chein’âs—the Burning Ones.

  But then Magiere began recounting all she remembered, and Wynn listened intently.

  “Before we could leave with Leesil’s blades,” Magiere said softly, “it shrieked at me, and left those things.”

  “Sgäile wasn’t happy about it,” Leesil added. “He had no idea, and I don’t think Brot’an and my mother had anything to do with those.”

  “It knew me . . . ,” Magiere whispered. “The gift-bearer was hurting . . . or in mourning.”

  Wynn glared at Chap, but he remained silent. What was wrong with him? He had made her a promise. She turned back to Leesil.

  “We have already learned that you and Magiere were created by opposing sides,” Wynn said, “for a conflict yet to come, though the sides of that conflict are somewhat ignorant of each other. And the Fay seem to want neither of you involved. The an’Cróan ancestors saw Leesil as a future savior, and Chap believes Magiere is to lead an army for the long-forgotten enemy that Most Aged Father fears. Both of you have rejected these paths, but now . . . with these things . . .”

  Wynn looked down at the items and lingered upon the ruddy-colored circlet.

  “Perhaps these old peoples, Chein’âs and Séyilf, do not care how or why either of you were made. They either offer their help . . . or are asking you for help.”

  “Help with what?” Leesil snapped. “Enough already! We’ll find this orb thing, keep it from Welstiel . . . and then we’re done!”

  Magiere stretched out a hand to Leesil, and he rose to join her on the bunk.

  Wynn shook her head in resignation. She had no wish to upset them nor to make them think she wished either to succumb to a purpose others thought they should serve. She only wished she had been in that cavern to understand more of what happened.

  “You had better start explaining,” she growled at Chap.