Child of a Dead God

by Barb Hendee

  “Everyone keep your wits,” Leesil cautioned, dragging the emptied boat up a bank. “We don’t want to run into conscription squads, let alone a military detachment.”

  Osha looked warily about. “I know some . . . of political here.”

  Magiere glanced at him. His grammar hadn’t improved, but his vocabulary must have expanded, if he grasped the word “political.” Living day in and day out among humans had rubbed off on him, that and Wynn’s badgering that he keep practicing his Belaskian.

  Osha turned to the sage. “Which house . . . is rule now?”

  Over the past days, Wynn had interacted the most with Osha, and this began to concern Magiere.

  “What?” Wynn said, rising from her own thoughts. “Umm . . . probably the Äntes, headed by Prince Rodêk, but there is no telling who has power now—if anyone. News was scarce, and we have heard nothing since leaving Soladran to cross into the Elven Territories.”

  Magiere took the lead, watching all around as they moved on. If open fighting was still taking place, most would be farther north between Enêmúsk and Kéonsk—the home of the Äntes house and the capital city.

  Growing up as a peasant, she knew little of her homeland’s history of internal struggles.

  Divided among noble houses, each was headed by its own prince in a bloodline claimed to be noble. Most descended from peoples who’d migrated here or invaded this territory in the distant past. But all acknowledged the rule of the Grand Prince—or claimed to.

  Every nine years the conclave of the noble houses chose a new leader. Seemingly more democratic than a monarchy, this practice had also led to civil war more than once. During Magiere’s time in Venjètz, and then the elven forests, she’d learned how Most Aged Father had used the Anmaglâhk to seed discord within human nations. Whether the Anmaglâhk had had a hand in this recent war was beyond her guess. She wasn’t even certain which houses were now vying for the throne.

  “Keep your hood up,” she told Osha.

  He drew his brows together. His hood was up.

  “Most people here have never seen an elf,” Wynn explained.

  Magiere still regretted letting that female anmaglâhk run off. Osha had assured them that she would go directly to Most Aged Father over the failure of her “purpose.” Magiere didn’t understand what made him so certain. At this point, she had little choice but to hope he was right.

  Dangling moss beards hung from the old trees thickening overhead, blotting out most of the sky. Even in spring, the air was chill and damp. Beneath the scents of wet loam and wild foliage lingered a thin odor of decay and rot. They traveled through this for most of the afternoon.

  “Is that a dwelling?” Leesil said, and quickstepped up beside Magiere.

  She had already seen it. “And there’s another . . . a village, perhaps.”

  Magiere counted about twenty dwellings, something like a common house, and even what appeared to be a smithy with smoke rising from its scavenged-stone chimney. All of it looked surprisingly well maintained.

  At the village’s nearer edge, an old woman with two small children turned and saw them. Her expression grew cautious, but not openly frightened, and Magiere guessed that the fighting had not reached this far southeast.

  “Hello,” Leesil called in a lazy tone, and he smiled with a quick but exaggerated bow.

  He could put people at ease no matter what he felt inside. Magiere sometimes wished she possessed such a talent.

  The woman nervously half-turned and called into the smithy. “Cameron, you there?”

  A barrel-chested bear of a man, with brown sweat-matted hair and a leather apron, stepped out, wiping his hands on a scrap of burlap.

  “What now, Mother?”

  Then he spotted the strangers. He quickly tossed the burlap back inside and stepped in front of the old woman and children. His gaze settled longest on Chap and Wynn, and his suspicion softened slightly. Osha wore his cloak loose with the hood up over his hair and ears, but he still looked far too tall.

  “Can we purchase supper and a night in your common house?” Leesil asked.

  At the word “purchase,” Magiere set the bundled orb between her feet and swung her pack off to dig inside. It felt strange to take the purse out. How long since coin had been useful to them?

  The enormous smith stepped a bit closer, still cautious.

  “I am Cameron,” he said. “This is Katrina, our village elder.” He looked at them in surprise. “You came from the Everfen?”

  “We’re passing through on our way to Belaski,” Leesil answered, sidestepping the question. “Can you offer a roof for the night?”

  “We can pay,” Magiere added, pouch in hand.

  Coin wasn’t common here, but was still useful for taxes or purchases in the larger cities. Magiere frowned. They had some silver among their gold, but little of it was in small coin. No pennies or groats, and even shils were a bit flashy in these backwoods.

  “Come with me,” Cameron said and turned down the path.

  As they followed, Magiere noticed Osha hanging back, and she realized this was his first time in a human settlement. Hopefully Wynn would keep an eye on him, but the large smithy didn’t seem to give much notice. With the sage’s knack for languages, she’d picked up some Droevinkan, but Osha spoke none at all.

  Katrina reached the door first and opened it, shooing off more children who’d gathered at the sight of strangers—most especially to see the large silver-gray dog.

  “Off with you all. Go on home!” she said, then stepped inside, waving for the guests to follow. “Not many pass this way, but I can find some oat-cakes and goat cheese.”

  “That would be fine,” Magiere answered. “Thank you.”

  Chap trotted around, sniffing the floor. The place was dry, and a decent mud and stone hearth rested in the back wall. Three rough-cut tables accompanied by stools filled the room.

  “We heard talk of fighting,” Wynn blurted out. “Is it safe to pass through?”

  Abrupt as this was, Magiere watched Cameron, eager for his answer.

  “No fighting here,” the smithy said in his baritone voice. “But we hear things . . . it is bad north of here, near the capital . . . and has been for a long while.”

  “What have you heard?” Magiere asked.

  “Bits and pieces, whenever our own go elsewhere for trade. The Väränj accused the Äntes of murdering one of their barons. They demanded restitution, as well as the surrender of those involved. Prince Rodêk denied knowledge of it. Rumors claim his brother accused the Väränj of carrying out the deed themselves. Fighting broke out inside the walls of Kéonsk, the capital. After that, we all kept out of the way. We heard hundreds died the first day, not all of them soldiers. The last I heard, the Väränj had laid siege to Enêmúsk.”

  “What about Chemestúk?” Magiere asked.

  Cameron frowned. “I think I’ve heard of it. To the north, across the Vudrask River, yes? I’ve never traveled that far. No one here has.”

  “I have family there,” Magiere said, fighting to remain calm and steady. “Have you heard anything at all?”

  The big smith shook his head. “If it’s where I think, then it’s well within war’s reach. Anyone with wits would’ve run long ago or ended up dead . . . or conscripted.”

  Magiere’s first instinct was to bolt and keep running, to reach the capital and grab any barge or boat headed for her village. Anything, at any cost, to make certain that Aunt Bieja had gotten out alive.

  Leesil grabbed her hand. When she turned, her gaze landed on Wynn.

  The little sage leaned tiredly against Osha’s side.

  “What about a safe route?” Leesil asked. “We just need to get through to Belaski.”

  “Head west,” Cameron counseled. “Don’t veer north for at least six days. The forest is thick and the roads are bad, but I doubt any house will have soldiers that far out. It’s mostly minor houses out there, and they can’t afford to be dragged in between the major princes.
”

  Magiere breathed deeply. Common sense quelled some of her fear. Aunt Bieja could be in Miiska already, long gone in the past season—Magiere had to believe that.

  Osha reached his arm around Wynn.

  Magiere did not begrudge either of them a companion’s comfort. Far from it, but she worried about something Brot’an had once told her. She had to speak with Wynn at the first opportunity.

  “I’ll go find that cheese for you,” Katrina said and slipped out.

  Magiere turned back to Cameron. “Our thanks, and I hate to ask, but might you have a packhorse or mule we can purchase?”

  Beasts of burden were dear in this land, but Cameron nodded.

  “There’s an old horse I’d planned to take to the next market fair. Long past his prime, but he’ll do all right . . . even as far as Belaski. Might as well sell him to you as anyone else.”

  Magiere handed Leesil the pouch. “Would you take Chap and Osha to go see about the horse? Wynn and I will settle our gear.”

  Leesil raised one eyebrow at her. For one thing, she had just handed him all their money, relinquishing her tightfisted ways to his openhanded ones. And two, she’d suggested he take Osha out into the village.

  But in true Leesil fashion, he waved Osha along and then smiled at Cameron. “Lead the way.”

  The last thing Magiere wanted was to speak to Wynn alone about matters of the heart. But she had to.

  Wynn was confused when Magiere sent Osha off with Leesil and Chap, but not curious enough to ask why. She was too tired—in body, mind, and spirit.

  Since Sgäile’s death, she had been wrung out with exhaustion every day beneath the canopy of the Droevinkan forest and its perpetual false dusk. Now all she could do was try to comfort Osha, but the pain of effort left her weary. She did not even want bread and cheese, only sleep.

  “Wynn . . . ,” Magiere began, then faltered.

  “What is it?” Wynn asked.

  Magiere pulled out two stools at the nearest table. “Sit with me a while.”

  She ran a hand through her black hair as Wynn settled across from her. Twice Magiere opened her mouth then closed it again, dark eyes blinking rapidly as if she had no idea how to begin.

  “Are you in love with Osha?” she asked suddenly.

  Wynn flushed in embarrassed shock and sputtered, unable to get a word out.

  “It’s important,” Magiere said, and her voice grew firm. “Do you remember the night in Crijheäiche . . . when Brot’an tossed you and Chap out of the tree dwelling, so he could speak privately with me?”

  Wynn remembered quite clearly.

  “He told me something about . . . about his people,” Magiere added, squirming upon the stool. “When they choose a mate, it is for life. If they lose that mate, they suffer. Some don’t recover—ever—and some even . . . it’s part of what they are. They are different from us . . . humans.”

  Wynn was dumbfounded, not even sure what Magiere was trying to say. Then she remembered Osha’s speaking of his father, who had died young for an elf. His mother had not risen from her grief—and had not lived her full span.

  Wynn looked wide-eyed at Magiere. “What are you saying?”

  “Leesil is everything to me,” Magiere went on. “I’m sometimes afraid, thinking of what I’ve done to him, and that he’d suffer if anything happened to me—but I’ll never leave him. I want to see his face every day of my life and just before I close my eyes each night. Can you say the same about Osha?”

  Wynn swallowed and closed her eyes, finally catching Magiere’s meaning.

  She envisioned Osha’s kind, long face. Then she thought of the days ahead, studying what texts she had saved from the castle’s library.

  Osha’s face changed to a pale and narrow one, with red-brown hair and eyes almost colorless. Chane’s image faded as Wynn opened her eyes.

  “I cannot,” she finally whispered.

  Magiere reached across the table, gently gripping Wynn’s small hand.

  “Then don’t give him false hopes. I know you’d never hurt anyone on purpose, but you could harm him just the same . . . and far worse than you’d care to imagine.”

  Magiere took a long breath, as if what she’d said cost more effort than trudging through the Everfen. She released Wynn’s hand and stood up.

  “Let’s get our beds ready.”

  Wynn’s legs trembled as she got up. “Magiere?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  A day across the western Droevinkan border, well inside Belaski, Chap barked as he saw a good-sized town ahead. Following Cameron’s advice, they had kept due west without incident and only turned northwest after six days. It took longer to work their way into familiar territory.

  They had all been surprised to find Belaskian cavalry patrolling the border—and then Chap realized he should have expected such with Droevinka in a state of civil war. But he and his companions passed through easily after answering a few questions about their destination.

  Now, finally, they were nearing their home. If they maintained their direction along Belaski’s inland roads, they could gain the coast soon enough, perhaps six or seven days in good weather.

  He looked back at his companions, leading the old packhorse Wynn had named Aspen. Its coat was a mix of grays and browns, and Leesil had lashed the covered orb and Wynn’s bundles of texts onto the animal.

  Everyone was much improved physically, and Chap’s relief grew by the day. Since leaving Droevinkan territory, they had been blessed by regular stays in villages and better food.

  Wynn stumbled, eyes wide, and came running past him. “A town . . . an actual town!”

  “Maybe we can buy horses,” Magiere suggested. “And ride the rest of the way.”

  “Not for all the dead deities,” Leesil grouched. “After all this, I’m not risking my neck on some half-mad bag of bones—not again.”

  “Fine, we’ll buy a wagon,” Magiere snapped back, “since horses frighten you so much.”

  Leesil scoffed. “You’d never part with that much coin . . . not before you got us thrown out of the town with your endless haggling and insults.”

  Magiere slowed, and her voice dropped to grating growl. “What did you say?”

  Osha listened with startled interest, plainly baffled at this couple who never tired of their little battles.

  Chap shook his head and scurried after Wynn.

  Would Magiere never learn when Leesil was baiting her, or that making her angry gave him a thrill? But Leesil only prodded Magiere when he was happy—and he was happy to be going home. And Magiere only squabbled with him this way when she felt safe, for even a moment.

  And they both believed they would stay within the Sea Lion Tavern, finally returning to the life they wanted.

  Chap wanted to believe it as well.

  But he could not—not since the wide cavern and chasm, when Magiere had mistakenly opened the orb. He had spent the passing days since watching over his shoulder.

  They entered a bustling little town, and few townsfolk even looked their way. That in itself was another relief. People passed through the towns and cities of peaceful Belaski every day, and no one gave them much notice.