Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

  His cold eye catches mine again and I nod, looking away; just like that, my last window of opportunity to take action closes. The arrow is made of wood, so I think I can cause it to sprout roots and send it down into the ground like the tree it once was part of, but I’ve never tried it before and dare not risk failure. For all I know, the wood of the arrow has been ‘dead’ too long to respond to my ability. Besides, he could draw another arrow in that time, and even if I covered him in vines, he’s strong enough to break free in short order.

  “Tie their hands,” Whisker instructs.

  Stone Drum speaks up. “Can we tie their hands in the front this time? It will be easier for them to eat and keep their balance once we’re underway, and if one of them accidentally falls overboard in one of the rougher sections of the river…“ He trails off meaningfully.

  “Fine,” Whisker says dismissively, already turning away. His canoe goes into the water first, with Moon on Water seated in front. I can see the fear in Little Squirrel’s eyes. She nearly drowned when she was only five summers old. Bathing in the river doesn’t faze her, but she’s always avoided deep water.

  Whisker doesn’t know this, of course. I know Little Squirrel well enough to know she would die before she showed weakness in front of her enemies. So she steps into the canoe and sits down, appearing calm on the outside, but I can tell from her too-straight back and wide eyes that she is afraid.

  Shy Mouse gets into the boat next and Whisker sits next to her, his knife in one hand and a paddle in the other. They begin to drift down the river. Darting Mink takes her place at the front of our canoe. Curving Claw climbs in next and helps me to the seat beside him, and Red Feather gets in behind us. Soon, the gentle current catches us and we begin to paddle downstream behind the others.

  Little Squirrel is talking to Stone Drum quietly. I hear her laugh at something he says and hope no one else can hear the strain in it. The current is picking up here; the canoes begin to rock and sway, carrying us downstream like leaves flying before the wind. Here and there, a rock juts from the water or a floating log threatens to ram us, but Curving Claw’s huge shoulders heave mightily beside me, pushing us away from danger. At times, I have to duck down so he can reach my side of the canoe. Eventually I just huddle down in front of him, out of his way. I can only hold on tightly and pray that Little Squirrel stays safe. To his credit, Whisker looks almost as adept at steering their canoe as Curving Claw is with ours, though he’s not as strong. Few in our Village are.

  After what seems like hours, the river quiets and our canoe once again glides serenely through the water. Curving Claw offers me his hand and I take it, feeling cramped from crouching down in front of him. Taking my seat next to him, I sigh with relief to see Little Squirrel’s canoe still floating ahead of us, seemingly undamaged, Little Squirrel’s long, dark hair drifting on the wind.

  “You really do care about her, don’t you,” Curving Claw says gruffly, not looking at me. He must have heard me sigh. “Even though she isn’t your blood.”

  I hesitate. In his culture, love is not weakness, but showing emotion can be seen that way. I must be careful and earn his respect if I can.

  “She’s been my little sister from the moment she was born,” I answer simply, shrugging. “The heart knows no limits.”

  Curving Claw considers this, pausing in mid-stroke, his brow furrowed in thought and his small eyes unfocused.

  “But she was not raised with Shy Mouse,” he says finally. “Why should she care if she lives or dies?”

  I lift my head proudly and look him in the eye, though he towers over me.

  “She cares because she has a big heart, and because it’s the right thing to do.”

  He mulls that over for several moments, his paddle trailing lightly in the water.

  “I have a little sister too,” he admits finally. “I always bring back a honeycomb for her when I can find it. She loves honey.”

  “What Bear Clan girl doesn’t?” I reply, and we both laugh. He stops abruptly, though, looking suspicious.

  “You better not be using your Outsider magic on me,” he says bluntly, glowering. Reaching behind him, he takes an arrow from his quiver, tests the sharp edge of the flint arrowhead with his finger, nods with exaggerated approval, and puts it back. His warning is clear.

  “My ‘Outsider magic’ only affects plants,” I explain. “Let me give you a harmless demonstration. Look at that tree branch arching over the river in front of us.”

  Eager curiosity flits across his usually dour face. He squints at the branch obediently, his distrust momentarily forgotten.

  I focus my attention on the branch, imagining what I want to have happen. The branch trembles and a twig sprouts slowly from it, a new leaf unfolding like a flower at the tip.

  Curving Claw gasps in delight like a child shown a new toy.

  “How did you do that?” he blurts, twisting in his seat as we glide under the branch to keep it in view.

  “I don’t know,” I answer, hoping my honesty will make him warm to me. “I was hunting for mushrooms and they just began popping up everywhere. I can make corn grow with a thought,” I add, trying not to sound like I’m bragging. “We never have to go hungry again. How is that evil? It seems more like a gift from the Spirit Over All to me.” I focus on the side of the canoe in front of him, and a small cedar branch sprouts from the wood, fluttering in the breeze. It takes a great deal more of my strength than making a living tree sprout does, I note.

  But I must have said something wrong, because his eyes harden.

  “The Lady says you’re evil, and the Lady wouldn’t lie,” he says stiffly. Reaching out, he grabs the twig jutting from the canoe and breaks it off. Throwing it into the water swiftly as if it can hurt him somehow, he rasps, “Don’t do that again. If you use your Outsider magic one more time, I’ll knock you out.”

  He turns his back on me and begins to paddle in earnest, as if trying to get to the Lady faster. I slump against the side of the canoe, feeling defeated. My head starts to pound again and I feel as if I might pass out. But eventually the gentle rhythm of the canoe soothes me somewhat, and I drift into a doze.

  Artan, a familiar voice calls. Blinking, I sit up. I had been slumped against a tree, I note groggily.

  Over here, the voice says from behind me. It sounds like Little Squirrel’s voice. Startled and hopeful, I turn.

  Standing there is a creature out of a dream—or a nightmare. It has four long, tapered wings of many colors floating back behind it and three strange, mesmerizing eyes of a color I’ve never seen before. It balances on two long, birdlike legs and a long, brightly-colored tail covered with the same softly glowing, feather-like overlay as the wings. Its triangular, birdlike head rests atop a long, curving neck.

  It’s me, the voice says. I share the mind of this being now, and it shares mine. It’s Little Squirrel.

  An image of her coalesces beside the creature, but I can vaguely see through it. What is happening? Am I dreaming?

  You’re asleep, but what you see is real. I’m still in the canoe in front of yours, but now that I share my mind with Mah’ue, I am also here with you now, because he is.

  Her image steps toward me.

  There’s no time to explain, because you might wake at any moment. I need to tell you something important. Those headaches you’ve been having—I had them too. It means your mind is under attack. That’s why I joined my mind with Mah’ue’s; it was the only way to protect myself from creatures that would do us harm. You need to join with Mah’ue’s friend before it’s too late.

  Another creature with brightly colored wings lands beside the first one. It dips its graceful neck to me as if in greeting but does not approach. My mind reels from the shock of Little Squirrel’s bizarre statement. The creatures are see-through as well—doesn’t that mean this is just a dream?

  I am called Si’o, a voice says inside my mind. The second creature dips its neck to me again. I am here to help you.

 
I replay in my mind what Little Squirrel said about joining minds to protect herself, but something just feels wrong about this, besides the obvious sinking feeling at the thought of letting that thing into my mind. I study Little Squirrel’s image carefully while she explains where the creatures came from and their alien ability to ‘eat’ the emotions of others. I nod occasionally, but I’m only half listening. Her voice sounds right, though a little thin, and her clothes are the clothes she was wearing…

  All at once, I realize what’s wrong. The wound on her forehead is over the wrong eye!

  If this Mah’ue creature is the one projecting her image for her, then that might make sense. But she’s speaking for herself while sharing his mind, so it stands to reason that the image he would use of her would be from her own mind, wouldn’t it? Standing here right now, I can still feel my headache, so surely if that image is from her, her wound would be on the correct side because she would feel it.

  And now that my suspicions are roused, I notice something else—Little Squirrel isn’t speaking like herself, if that makes any sense. I know her better than anyone else—her tone, her mannerisms, her expressions, her choice of words, even her body language—and none of those things are coming through. In fact, she’s almost expressionless, her tone flat.

  So all you need to do, her image is saying, is kneel in front of Si’o and try to keep your mind as open as possible. It will all be over in just a few moments. Your headache will immediately cease. She looks at me expectantly.

  Time to test my theory.

  Do you remember that time when you snuck out of our house in Civitas Dei and I caught you just before you fell into that river?

  Her image hesitates almost imperceptibly before answering.

  Of course I do, Artan. Why?

  And Father was so angry with you that he wouldn’t let you leave the house for days?

  Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. We’re running out of time. Her image frowns at me.

  What that has to do with anything, I say slowly and deliberately, folding my arms across my chest, is that you aren’t Little Squirrel.

  Of course I am, she objects, folding her own arms to match me. What are you talking about?

  If you were Little Squirrel, you would know that you did fall into the water, and that it was a lake, not a river. Also, Father never could be angry with you. So you see, there’s no way you’re Little Squirrel. I give her a cold smile, but inside I’m beginning to panic. When will I wake up?

  Abruptly, the image of Little Squirrel disappears; so does the image of the creature she claimed to join with. Only the second creature is left. A milky membrane swiftly slides across its eyes, much like I’ve seen with birds’ eyes. It chills me somehow. Why can’t I wake?

  You are correct, Artan, its mind-voice says. Little Squirrel has in fact joined with one of us, but they are not here. What I told you about your headache was true, however—your mind has been under attack. I have been attacking it, you see. Your fear is delicious, by the way.

  The thought of that creature eating my emotions makes me feel physically ill. I begin to back away before I even realize what I’m doing, bumping into the tree I had been leaning against when I arrived here. The creature’s amused eyes follow me.

  The Dark Lady will welcome you with open arms once we are joined, human. What is left of you, that is.

  With rising terror, I watch like a mouse transfixed by an owl as the creature leaps up high into the air, its gorgeous wings snapping out and cupping the wind, then dives toward me. Its long talons glint in the sunlight as it reaches for me...

  A flash of color darts across my field of vision, knocking the creature across the sky just before it reaches me. A blur of wings pinwheels out over the cliff, resolving into Si’o and another of the creatures. They appear to be grappling, clawing at one another viciously. All at once, the sky above the cliff is filled with wings. My head rings with their high-pitched cries as beings beyond my ability to count battle one another. The one called Si’o is larger than most of the others, but its opponent is larger still, I note, cowering behind my tree. Si’o’s wings boast more colors than its opponent, but the other seems to shine more brightly.

  My unnamed protector soon beats Si’o back, away from the cliff. The creatures like it, shimmering like miniature suns, their numbers greater than the others’, soon push back their opponents as well.

  Go back to Mer'at and tell her you failed, my protector tells Si’o, a phalanx of its radiant allies arrayed behind it. Si’o and the others wink out like lost stars and are gone.

  The one who spoke circles around to face me but doesn’t land, no doubt sensing my fear.

  My name is Mah’ue. I am sorry I did not arrive sooner. Little Squirrel sent me to check on her heart-father and Prairie Blossom, and I have just returned.

  Its mind-voice and eyes are kind, but I don’t trust it after what I just went through. So I stay silent, still trying to will myself to wake up.

  I do not expect you to believe me, the creature called Mah’ue continues. It and the rest of my surroundings seem to be fading, I realize.

  You are waking, he explains. Little Squirrel will turn and wave at you when you wake, and then you will know that we are on your side. We will do our best to protect you from the next attack, but we cannot hold them back much longer. His three incredible eyes hold mine…

  I open my eyes. Curving Claw is shaking me none too gently.

  “We’re approaching more dangerous waters,” he says gruffly, his eyes not meeting mine.

  Stiffly, I lever myself up and into the seat next to him to see for myself. The sun is high in the sky now, the river louder and moving more swiftly. Curving Claw drags his paddle hard in the water to avoid a thick floating branch. Looking ahead, I see the canoe ahead of us hit the first of the rapids.

  Little Squirrel turns briefly to wave at me before turning back to grip her seat. Her eyes, in that instant, tell me everything I need to know. It’s true. My little sister has one of those creatures living in her mind. I shudder violently, icy fingers of horror running down my spine at the thought, but then we enter the rapids and I duck down again so that Curving Claw can wield his paddle without hindrance. My headache is worse, I realize. I can almost feel sharp claws scraping against my skull.

  Kneeling in the bottom of the canoe, I begin to pray.

  Chapter 34: Kella

  Sera is waiting for me that night in my dreams. She gives me a small smile when she sees me, but her eyes are shadowed with worry.

  “I felt so helpless, watching you fight alone against those creatures. I wanted to visit you while you rested at Jaereth’s hut, but decided you would be better off getting uninterrupted sleep. I’m so glad you’re okay, Kella.”

  My cheeks redden, thinking of all she must have seen pass between Jaereth and me in his hut, feeling deeply ashamed of my feelings for him.

  “No, don’t,” she says quickly, sensing my embarrassment. “Where I come from, women and men have equal standing, and romantic relationships between them are normal. So please don’t feel ashamed on my account.”

  The huge knot in my chest loosens. Her words confirm Kisto and Jaereth’s bizarre claim—relationships between men and women are not wrong, or at least, not where Sera comes from. But that doesn’t really change anything in the long run. My people would still punish us severely if they ever found out about us. I’d rather face a dozen of those creatures than see the look in my family’s eyes if they ever learned of my ‘perversion’.

  “You warned me of the danger I was in, and you were right,” I tell her, deliberately going back to the safer subject. “But how did you know before it happened? When you became bodiless, did you gain the ability to see the future?”

  “Not exactly, dear. I wish that were so, so I could better prepare you for what’s coming tomorrow. I can’t really explain it, but I’m certain you’re still in danger.”

  “How many more of those creatures are com
ing? I need to warn my family so they can protect themselves.” Imagining Karyl and the rest, defenseless against a wave of creatures out of a nightmare, I can’t help but shudder.

  Sera looks uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know how many, but if you tell your family the truth, they’ll likely think the fall from your horse knocked the sense out of you. Think of it: you come back telling a much more likely story, then the next day, you claim you saw giant beings that had skulls for heads and flaming eyes? They won’t let you play tomorrow in the match if they think you’ve lost your mind, and the Elmaya healers will make you stay in bed to rest for a couple of Fifth-Days at least.”

  “Then I won’t tell them those details,” I answer stubbornly. “All I need to say is that I saw three creatures, each as tall as a full-grown apple tree, two that walked upright and one that flew, and when they attacked me, my horse panicked and threw me off.”

  Sera nods patiently. “And what will you say when they ask how you managed to survive the attack with only a few minor injuries?”

  She had me there. My instincts warn that if I tell anyone else about my ability to call the wind, I’ll be denounced as a witch and shunned as a traitor to the faith, or worse. Frustration fills me like something clawing in my throat to get out. Surely there’s a way…

  “So I should just stand quietly by while my family is attacked and killed? You know me better than that if you’ve been watching me my whole life!”

  Her eyes are sad. “Yes, I do. But it won’t do you any good. They won’t believe you. They don’t take you seriously.”

  I sigh, knowing she’s right. Then an idea occurs to me.

  “I can at least tell them I glimpsed a very large pack of wild dogs roaming nearby and urge them to arm themselves. They’ll believe that, at least.”

  “I think that would work,” she affirms, but it feels like she’s holding something back.