by Holly Lisle
Faia felt both the Dreaming God’s pain and a tendril of his hope wash over her.
Maybe you will discover that mortality, with its pain and suffering and certain death, is not what you wish after all. If that happens, or if someday you discover that you can love me as I love you, ask, and I will bring you back to my side.
How shall I call you? Faia asked. I don’t know your name.
I have never had a name. But I will take one. When you call me—The Dreaming God paused.
—Call me Sorrow.
Chapter 39
At that instant, Bytoris’s clothing caught fire. The flames licked along his body, and caught his hair, and all the while he screamed, and screamed, the screams clear and loud in Faia’s ears. And Edrouss began to writhe as one tongue of flame danced along the tip of a board that touched his side, burning ever nearer his shirt.
Then she felt it—the mind of the Dreaming God, of the god Sorrow.
Would you still have magic in Arhel? he asked.
“Yes!” she shouted above the roar of the flames. Her own clothing caught fire, and she felt heat and searing pain. Smoke stung her eyes and filled her nostrils and burned her throat.
Then who shall I take? Who shall I make my own, to form the mind of the magic?
There was no hesitation. “Take Thirk!” Faia yelled.
Through the smoke, through the waves of heat that distorted her vision, she saw Thirk as he hung above the mob, suddenly bathed in radiance—and then her tormentor, her would-be killer, Thirk Huddsonne, vanished.
And the magic surged through her body again.
She drew the power to her, and with it blew out the flames that burned Bytoris and threatened to engulf Edrouss—and that licked at her flesh and left blisters and terrible pain.
She pulled in even more magic, and healed her wounds and the wounds of her loved ones. Then she walked free of the pillar and the still-smoking pyre, and beside her, Edrouss and Bytoris stepped out of their bonds. Their eyes were full of wonder—and their eyes were mirror images of the eyes of the mob, the silent mob, the mob that had seen their priest taken from them, and that saw those that priest had denounced set free.
Faia knew what she had to say—words that would heal, words that would set the people free.
“People of Bonton,” she shouted. “Thirk Huddsonne lied to you—about us, about the One God, about everything. The rules he gave you, the demands he made on you—they were all wrong, all evil. He was an evil man—but the god in whose name he worked has wearied of his evil and has taken him. That god—the Dreaming God, whose name is Sorrow—will change him and heal him and over time will make him whole again.
“That same god has set us free. And now that Thirk is gone, you must turn away from his lies, and the evil he demanded. You must go back to your lives. Go back to being the people you were before. Give the First Folk back their dead, and make peace. Rebuild your city, mend your walls and your families, worship the gods you choose to worship.”
“You could lead us,” someone shouted. “The One True God freed you. You must be his chosen one.”
Other people shouted agreement, and the roar of the mob grew again.
Faia winced. She raised her hands and shouted for silence, and they quieted. She shouted, “No one can lead you but you. Look inside yourself for your god. Don’t look to me—don’t look to anyone else. No path is right for every person.”
“You could show us Truth!” someone insisted.
“I don’t know Truth,” Faia told him. “I know only what is true for me, and I can speak only for myself.”
Faia shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather breeches and stared out at the milling horde of humanity. She would not make herself into their intercessor with Sorrow, nor would she tell them how they ought to live their lives. Shepherds were for sheep, not for people.
She turned away as the mob broke up and wandered toward its many homes; when the square was once again silent, she conjured three wingmounts—calling them from wherever they might have been. They answered her summons as quickly as they could; within minutes, three pale grey horses with wings and legs and manes tipped black appeared over the housetops, flying across the sky to her. They landed jarringly on the platform, and stood waiting.
Faia remembered the first time she’d ridden one—when Medwind Song came from Ariss to the little town of Willowlake to fetch Faia back to the University. Faia had been a child then, with everything to learn.
It’s been a long, hard, lonely road, she thought. She smiled to herself and looked at Edrouss, and thought of Kirtha. Even lonely roads could lead to happy destinations.
She turned her attention to the wingmounts. None of them wore bridles or saddles—or even halters. They were rough rides even with those amenities—she had no inclination to ride them bareback, guiding them by hope and good thoughts. She closed her eyes and created three hackamores and three light saddles, already in place on the wingmounts.
Then she turned to her brother.
“Good-bye, Bytoris. Hug Renina and your children for me, and thank them for all their care and kindness.” She gave him a sad smile. “Have a good life, and be happy with your family.”
“Won’t you come home with me—at least for a while?”
“I’ve been away from my family and friends too long. Arhel’s magic is back, and Kirtha will be waiting for me.” She hugged him briefly. “And I need to check on Medwind. But I’m glad we met. I feel a little better, knowing I have a brother.”
“Good-bye, then, sister. For all the disasters that meeting you brought me, I’m still glad I know you.”
They hugged again, and Bytoris eyed the wingmount warily. He shook his head. “But, though I thank you for your consideration, I’ll walk home,” he said. “I don’t like the look of that thing.”
Faia smiled a wry little smile. “The ride is nice—though sometimes it can be exciting.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’ve had enough excitement for a while.” Then he turned and strode away, and within moments was lost to sight behind the tight-packed buildings of Bonton. Faia urged the extra wingmount forward, to send it back home. It launched itself off the platform, careened down at the stragglers who remained in the square below, and only built up enough speed to pull up at the last instant before it smashed into several fleeing people.
Faia winced, and Edrouss Delmuirie paled.
“You want me to ride one of those?” he asked.
“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” she lied. To herself she thought, It’s worse.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose I can try it this once.” He swung into the saddle and grasped the reins.
Faia slipped onto her own mount’s back, finding the placement of the wings as awkward as she ever had. She clicked her tongue, and urged her horse forward, and Edrouss did the same.
They swooped into the empty square—even the stragglers, having seen the first wingmount’s less-than-graceful exit, had decided it was time to go home. Her heart lurched into her throat, and behind her, she heard Edrouss howl. Flight would allay the terror of the takeoff—actually flying on a wingmount was a sensation of freedom unlike anything else she had ever known. He would love it.
She decided not to mention to him until the last possible minute, however, that landings were always worse than takeoffs.
Chapter 40
RED light from the firepit illuminated the ancient mosaics in the First Folk dome, its flickering giving them a lifelike appearance that the presence of the two Klaue sitting beneath them only increased. The cat Hrogner—renamed Disaster—curled on the shoulder of the largest of the First Folk, purring; Kirgen had kindly fetched him from Omwimmee Trade to the ruins, where he had discovered he had the undivided attention of the Klaue, who had never seen anything like him.
Medwind, sitting cross-legged beside the fire, said, “Kirgen has definite confirmation that most of the lesser gods have returned.”
Faia shivered. “What about—” She whispered her next
word. “Hrogner?”
“His worshipers have been to his shrines regularly, taking the usual offerings. I don’t know if he’s returned, but from all reports, there is as much havoc across Arhel as there ever was. So he’s probably back, too.”
“Where did they go?” Faia thought of her Lady; she hoped both Lady and Lord had returned safely from wherever they had been.
“Kirgen has a theory—heretical, but it does make sense.” Medwind put another log on the fire and rearranged the embers so that it burned higher. Even though summer had returned to Arhel, nights in the mountains remained cold. “He suggests that all gods but the Dreaming God are the manifestations of human desire mingling with the Dreaming God’s magic. Kirgen argues that this would explain why—” She lowered her voice. “—Hrogner—vanished when you angered Sorrow and he dissolved his emeshest. All the other gods in Arhel vanished at the same time.”
“He thinks we created our gods?” Faia had to agree with Medwind’s assessment. The idea was heretical.
“His theory is that, once the Delmuirie Barrier went up, worshiping Arhelans unknowingly used the magic when they prayed, and created the gods they thought they were worshiping.”
Faia raised an eyebrow. “So we gave ourselves the gods we deserved.”
Medwind chuckled. “That’s one way of looking at it. His theory would also explain why the gods didn’t manifest physically until Arhel’s magic ran wild. They didn’t have enough available power to do it until then.”
Faia considered it. “It’s an interesting theory. I don’t like it very much… but I’ll think about it.”
Medwind stretched until her joints cracked, then laughed. “It doesn’t really matter, now. The magic is back, and so are the gods. I never paid much attention to them anyway—except sometimes to Etyt and Thiena. What really matters to me is that I’m young again. If I could manage it, I would be young forever. But since I can’t make that happen, I’ll take this second chance and enjoy it.”
Faia smiled. “Will you be staying here?”
“Cooped up in these ruins reading about the dead past, while the world goes on without me and I grow old for real?” The Hoos woman shook her head. “Choufa wants to see the Hoos plains, and I have a few husbands I would like to look up—and I’m sure there will be plenty of fresh, horny young bucks I could catch if I can’t find those. I’ll have plenty of time for celibacy once I’m dead—for now, I want to get laid and have fun.”
“So you’ll go back to headhunting?” Faia asked her, suppressing the shudder she always felt when thinking about her friend’s past.
Medwind laughed again. “Oh, no! I have a daughter now—that makes me eligible to sit in Council. I don’t need to be a warrior anymore. I made my break with my gods Etyt and Thiena years ago; I’m thinking about taking up with the god Stempfel and going into clan politics. The Songs have a long history of politicking; it is randy, low-down, and sometimes bloodier than our warrior history. Besides, I got plenty of practice when I was teaching at Daane University, back in Ariss. If I could handle that, I can handle the Hoos. I think a new job and four or five young husbands will be just what I need to make sure I’m appreciating life to the fullest.”
Faia watched Edrouss’s eyes grow round; she bit her lip to keep from laughing. “That certainly sounds… interesting,” she said.
Medwind grinned at her. “Interesting. What a tepid word. It’s going to be fantastic.” She sat up and brushed her hair—still luminous, gleaming white—back from her face. “And what about you three? Have you decided where you’ll be going next? Back to Omwimmee Trade, perhaps?” The warrior-mage laughed a gravelly laugh. “Or maybe Ariss? I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you there.”
Faia sighed. “If they hadn’t built the city on a swamp and counted on magic to keep it standing, they would have been fine. As it is, I’ve heard the mages and sajes will finish raising the last of the buildings from under the water within a year.” She shook her head ruefully. “But, no—I don’t think we’ll be going to Ariss. I had hoped that by fixing Arhel’s magic, I could get them to forgive me for the last tragedy I precipitated there. Somehow, I don’t think that will happen now.”
“Ah… no.”
Edrouss cleared his throat “We do have a plan, however.”
Faia smiled at him, and he returned her smile.
He told Medwind, “We’ve been talking to the Klaue. They tell wonderful stories of the world outside of the Delmuirie Barrier, where humans and Klaue have built cities together, different from the separate places they once had. We thought we would travel with them when they return home.”
“You’re planning on leaving Arhel entirely?” Medwind looked stunned. “How? The Barrier is back.”
“It didn’t go up by accident this time. Sorrow left a door—well hidden from both directions, but permanent.”
“What about Kirgen?”
“He and Roba have the twins, and these ruins, and their work with their universities, and all their goals. But we have different needs.” Faia twisted the tip of her braid and stared at Kirtha, sleeping at the feet of the Klaue she had come to adore in the week all of them had been in the ruins. “I have no home here anymore, and neither does Edrouss. Kirtha needs to be away from magic for a while—at least until she learns to control her temper.” Faia shook her head. “But it’s more than that. I inherited my father’s wanderlust. I want to see the world—and now I have the chance to go places no Arhelan has ever been.” She clasped her hands together and leaned forward. The excitement of an unknown, unknowable future burned in her belly like the fire that danced in the firepit.
“Arhel is one tiny continent of a huge world. Outside of the Barrier, there is no magic, but the cities have grown without it. Imagine, Medwind—a whole world of humans and Klaue living side by side. New languages, new customs, wonders no one else in Arhel has ever seen. The Klaue want to go home. Irrarrar has his sister’s bones; he wants to take them back to his family. When the Klaue go, we intend to go with them.”
Medwind’s smile was wistful. “The wonders there will have to be wondrous without me. I can never go outside of the Barrier.”
Edrouss slid an arm around Faia’s waist, and she moved closer to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled at Medwind. “And yet you will be doing what you want to do, too. Our futures cannot be the same—we aren’t the same, and the things that make you happy would not do so for me. But we’ll meet again. As long as there is magic in Arhel, I will be able to find you. Someday I’ll come back to Arhel with wonderful stories to tell, and you and I will sit beside a fire like this one, and tell our tales.”
Medwind laughed. “Fair enough. In the meantime, our tales are waiting for us to live them.”
Glossary
Air Tongue (Klaue) One of the four main languages of the ancient First Folk, used to work out ideas and for common conversation. The most flexible but also the most changeable of the Klaue languages, and like the other three, one that exists in both spoken and written form.
See also Blood Tongue, Stone Tongue, Water Tongue
Ancient Gekkish The linguistic precursor of modern Hoos in all three of its main forms and dialects.
Annin (Klaue) 1) A pejorative noun for the class of all things ground-bound. 2) The name the ancient First Folk gave to humankind.
antis (prob. Arissonese, ancient) The first meal of the day.
Arhel The small continent in the Southern Hemisphere of Trilling that has been, throughout much of its history, surrounded by the Delmuirie Barrier.
Arissonese Daughter-tongue of Old Arhelan, and if the speakers of all mutually comprehensible dialects are counted, one of the three most common languages in Arhel.
b’dabba (Hoos) The easily-transportable, mostly waterproof, fairly warm goat-felt hut that most Hoos call home. The dwelling adapted equally well to the broad Huong Hoos plains and the rocky, bitter cold fjords and hills of the Stone Teeth Hoos.
backlight lads (Omwimmee Trad
er) Young, unmarried men who offer themselves for the entertainment of bored Trader women—they seek their companions by going through the alleys looking for backdoor lamps that are lit during the day. While they are sometimes paid a small fee for their companionship, more frequently they are given gifts and if they suit their patrons, can hope for recommendations for regular work as jobs in town come open. Trader women do much of the hiring for the local businesses, and network compulsively.
banim Stately hardwood tree common in the northern and central inland regions of Arhel.
bletch (Old Arhelan) Enormous sea creature, large enough to eat a klaue whole and to attack and sink the largest of Arhelan wooden ships. Vicious, predatory, and fortunately rare within the Delmuirie Barrier, where it has been hunted nearly to extinction.
Blood Tongue (Klaue) The language of war and sex.
bonnechard (Hoos) The leaf of a desert succulent that, when dried and chewed, acts as a strong pain reliever and in most cases a mild soporific. One of its common side effects is a temporary lowering of inhibitions, with the result that some people who take it find themselves saying (and more rarely doing) things they later regret.
Bontonard ideographs (ancient, origin uncertain) Primitive pictographic form of written Arissonese, replaced very early in known history by the Hortag-Ingesdotte script. There are fifteen thousand common ideographs and an estimated two-hundred thousand ideographic combinations. The difficulty of the ideographic system has kept the literacy rate among those cultures that still use it (Bontonard, Kareen) low.
Bright Faia Rissedote’s birthplace, which now only exists as a glassy spot on the side of a hill.
Caligro Sehchon, god of engineers One of the minor deities of Bonton. Mostly benign.
