by J. F. Lewis
The Eldrennai prince lay with his back against the stone, still clad in his armor—who other than the Aern actually did such things?—with the light of the newly risen suns casting him in a warm glow only dawn could produce. She sniffed the air and started.
Is that smell me?
She sniffed her tunic and blanched.
Definitely me.
An aroma of roses permeated the doeskin leathers she had been wearing for the past several days. If she had known she was going to be fleeing for her life from some undreamt horror, she would have made sure to keep a change of clothes stored more securely about her person. One to wear and one to wash, anything more is wasteful dross, as the Root Guard said.
Maybe the prince could magic them clean? Yavi snorted at the idea of taking off her clothes and asking the prince to clean them for her with his elemental powers. His short, barely pointed ears twitched at the sound, a lock of raven-black hair falling across his face as he shifted.
Yavi ran her silvery bark-covered fingers across her own much longer, more than hand-length ears and shook her head, running her tongue along her unpruned dental ridges. What did it feel like to have a mouth full of teeth, like Eldrennai or humans or even the Aern? To have skin that was soft and supple in all seasons?
Dolvek had changed so much from the arrogant idiot she’d met before the Grand Conjunction. His features had been softened by the breaking down of so many years of self-righteous superiority, but instead of becoming bitter he had been gently worn down, not broken but honed.
His spirit had smoothed around the edges, its colors more subtle and its aura more open. She felt sadness there blended with resolve and a spark of hope Yavi yearned to help grow. Gathering her heartbow, Yavi turned her senses elsewhere, seeking the spirits of animals hiding in burrows beneath the snow or slinking along the rock searching for food.
By the time the prince was awake, she’d caught a fat little round-bodied rodent she found perched on a rock making high-pitched calls to other of its more discreet kin and a pair of medium sized birds that reminded her of grouse she’d seen once when visiting the more southeastern edge of the Parliament of Ages, closer to Castleguard. Only these had whiter feathers.
“Breakfast?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” Dolvek rubbed his eyes. As he did, nearby snow melted, water flowing around Dolvek and passing through the flames until it was warm and steam-chased, then flowing over and around his clothes, skin, and hair, only to be dried away in moments by heated air.
He blinked twice when she handed him one of the two grouse she’d cooked, watching her carefully before beginning to eat his own meal in the same fashion she did.
They were halfway through breakfast before Yavi realized Dolvek had never eaten meat before and hadn’t known exactly how to approach the task without studying her.
“Blast,” Yavi cursed. “You don’t eat meat. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Dolvek’s laugh tickled her ears, bright and heartfelt, made all the more attractive by a sigh that sounded to her ears like resigned amusement rather than impatience or exasperation.
“I assure you, Princess, I have already mewled and whined far beyond the allotment most are granted for their entire lives. I’m attempting to let some of the other societal interactions catch up.”
“Like what?” Yavi quirked a smile at him, hoping that he had not been brain addled by some hidden head injury. They had plunged straight through who knew how many juns of stone when they’d fled from Uled, and their days of tracking the leader of the dead and the bulk of his army had not been entirely uneventful.
“Gratitude.” Dolvek shook his head, his lips drawing a straight severe line. “I should have offered to bathe you and clean your garments before I did so for myself.”
“I didn’t know you could even do that.”
“Jolsit taught it to me when I was with the elves assisting Kholster’s warsuits in assaulting the Zaur.” He frowned. “Before I deserted my post . . .”
“Fabtacular.” Yavi began to strip out of her garments.
“A moment.” Dolvek breathed softly. “While I will able to provide a more pleasant experience if I can see what I’m washing, I must admit to a certain degree of . . . preoccupation with your form . . . specifically.”
“It would have been hard not to notice.” Yavi smiled, exposing her dental ridge. “And well, I am a Vael, so . . .”
He smiled back, she thought, half in shock and half in—, no sign of a flinch at my unpruned dental ridge. Eyes locked straight with mine.
“Yes.” Dolvek nodded. “I . . . fear that portions of the process may feel restrictive. It’s a simple exercise for me to perform the magicks on my own person because I can feel what I am doing more directly. Doing so to another is more complicated. If you like, I can construct a crude bath of sorts and—”
“I trust you.” Yavi took his hand and placed it palm down on her arm.
Dolvek’s fingers snapped open, an exaggerated non-grasp.
“You won’t grab me unless absolutely necessary, right?” Yavi asked.
“Not purposefully, but I can’t promise that by accident—”
Yavi hushed him with the tips of her free hand. “And if I want you to let me go, you will. Right?”
“Of course, but—”
“And that’s one of the reasons I trust you, Dolvek.” She hushed him again. “Don’t make a warpick out of a finger bone. Just go ahead and clean. Okay?”
CHAPTER 16
LINES OF COMMUNICATION
They make a cute couple, Vander thought at Kholster.
Couple of what? Kholster thought back.
Vander let the matter of the Eldrennai and the Vael drop. There was only so much baiting the irkanth that was wise, even for the god of knowledge. He rolled his eyes. Only one person could have ever gotten him to even consider being a deity, and he could not decide whether it was good fortune or ill that that single being had been the one who asked.
Surrounded by books in the form of data embedded in tiles of bone-steel, Vander felt he ought to be attired in scholarly elven robes, but could not bring himself to wear the horrible things. If the world was not ready for another deity who preferred jeans, boots, and bone-steel mail, then it would have to learn to live with it or stage a deicide.
He grabbed a tile in an attempt to read farther into the available data about what Uled had done to himself, but it was all useless. His mind was too quiet to study. When there had been multiple Kholsters to coordinate and keep thinking roughly as one, he had been able to distract himself, but the lack of Eyes of Vengeance ached like an arm hacked off to use for bone metal. He could make another warsuit if he wanted; the combined knowledge he had inherited from Aldo made it clear such a thing was well within his capabilities—even a new Life Forge was not beyond him—but one such forge had been enough and no armor could replace Eyes.
You got quiet, Kholster prodded. Vander put the tile he was reading aside and turned more of his attention to the mortal world.
Our ascendancies are wreaking havoc, Kholster. Unfolding beneath the Outwork, Vander watched the news of his own apotheosis continue its spread from Long Speaker to Long Speaker. Information, when he looked for specific points of it, showed in blue, gold, silver, and red. Initial reports were golden, the information’s hue altering as it left the source and changed. Falsehoods were a bright silver. Lines of red concealed hard-to-read messages designating the dangerous overlap between his and Kilke’s domain, with open discussion and the muddying of fact, fiction, and opinion assuming varying shades of blue. Shades of sapphire meant more accurate data, where obscured or deliberately distorted data shifted into hues of indigo, even mixing with red to make amaranthine strands of opinions believed to be fact.
He wasn’t sure about the orange yet. Aldo had obviously not seen the world in the same way Vander did. Withheld truth, perhaps? The mortals (and wasn’t it strange to no longer consider himself one of them) reacted badly to the depth o
f change in the deific hierarchy. Torgrimm’s diminished state and Kholster’s rise as death had been enough to set off only the most fanatical of the Harvester’s worshippers, their tongues wagging and causing the Harvest Knights of Castleguard to hunt Rae’en’s Overwatches, but Vander’s taking of Aldo’s role and the death of Nomi at Wylant’s hands had served as a large wedge in the crack, and exactly what the widening fracture would reveal was difficult to predict.
How would they handle the newest upset? Kholster had presumed they would find Torgrimm’s resumption of his more-familiar role to be reassuring, creating a palliative effect upon the humans in particular, but Vander believed otherwise, though Vax demonstrated a refreshingly calming aspect as the new god of war.
Well? Kholster asked, as he stomped along the trail to Port Ammond.
Concentrating on Kholster made things easier. Vander slid Kholster’s battle map around beneath his gaze without changing what Kholster saw. A small band of Zaur and Sri’Zaur tracked the ancient Aern but seemed content to observe him rather than interfere. There was no telltale link in the flow of data representing news of the Vael-Zaur Alliance and the proposed addition of the Aern to that treaty.
If they had possessed knowledge of it, Vander presumed they would keep a watchful eye on Kholster, offering no interference until the larger matter was settled. Even so, maybe they would be smart and leave Kholster alone.
Strike that. A team of twelve seemed to have gotten up the nerve. As he watched, lines of red began to mass. Interesting.
How are the humans handling things? Kholster asked.
It was at the edge of Vander’s mind to point out the approaching enemy, but a flick of Kholster’s eyes and a twitch at the edge of his mouth was a sure sign Kholster had spotted them on his own.
You want me to show you? Vander thought. It looks like you’re about to be rather occupied . . .
They can’t do any harm, Kholster thought, but keep everything contained to one quadrant of perception, will you?
Of course. Castleguard knights lined the perimeter along Bridgeland border, all traffic having been closed. The Dwarves, seeming content to leave the humans to their dispute, had sealed Bridgeland’s western borders in response, withdrawing the Token Hundred within the safety of its gates, but the beginning of strife had spread with the need. Vander provided an aerial view of the bridge as if from the perspective of an arrow hurtling an impossible distance along the center of the bridge from Southgate to Northgate.
Clusters of humans fought each other, Dwarves, and the various Token Hundreds present in-between. Midian itself seemed immune to the battle, the Dwarven presence too concentrated there to allow anything more than minor skirmishes or brief riots that were put down quickly with the deployment of steam-driven Dwarven vehicles and the occasional burst of junfire.
The Guild Cities? Kholster asked.
A handful of rogue Long Speakers got the word out before Sedric and Cassandra could stop them. With the central spire down, the news of the next shift in the pantheon can’t make the rounds, but—
How is Vax handling things? Kholster asked. How is Wylant?
Good news there, Vander thought back, of sorts. Some are still fighting, but more and more are gathering around to hear what Vax has to say so—
Show me.
Vander wanted to argue, to remind Kholster about the nearby Zaur and the fact that Kholster could at least shift into the realm of gods so they could not attack him, but he knew the tone of that “Show me”; it would brook no argument. So Vander showed him and kept a small portion of his attention focused on Kholster’s nearby observers.
*
A rare quiet had settled over the Guild Cities by the time Vax finished speaking with his followers. Wylant listened to most of it, but the approach he espoused came as no surprise to her. At their core, Vax’s values reflected the shared beliefs of his parents. Killing could happen. Not killing was preferable. Vax’s own twist on the myth came across as a desire to have reasons to fight and be true to them: home and hearth, friends and family, right and wrong.
“Not everything,” he had said at the last, with thousands surrounding him and vying for a better view, “can be slain with a sword or sharp set of teeth.”
The Token Hundred laughed loudly at that. Draekar and his kholstering stood at the outskirts of the crowd, eyeing them suspiciously. Wylant wondered if they should have kept their position on the gate with the Dwarves. She had no intention of correcting them either way, or of doing anything but listening to Vax and watching as he addressed his . . . worshippers?
“Draekar,” Vax had called to the kholster, “Aern know more about combat than many beings ever will. Can you think of an enemy one cannot fight with a physical weapon?”
“Well . . .” Draekar rubbed pensively at his bone-steel breastplate, a sign that he had been granted the honor of forging a warsuit only to have the Life Forge destroyed before he could complete it. “Stupidity.”
“Stupidity or ignorance?” Vax had asked.
“Either.” Draekar shrugged.
“How would you combat ignorance—” Vax turned to a young woman in the crowd, her face covered in sweat and grime, her hands thick and strong, marked with scars from smithing. “—Lori?”
“My mother always said—” Her voice was coarse and small, hesitant at first, picking up confidence at a smile from Vax. “—that you have to beat the stupid out of some people.”
Scattered laughter made its way through the crowd. Vax nodded for her to continue.
“But . . . Well, no beating ever put anything useful into my head.” She looked down at her hands, smiling at the next burst of laughter. “When I wanted to be a Smith, I found a gal who knew how and I did chores around the forge until she’d showed me all I wanted to know. So . . . Teaching or learning is how I would take care of not knowing what I wanted to know.”
Magic lanterns drifted out over the assembly, spots of bright against the dim. In their luminance the colors of blood were muted. Breath of the living took on a touch of their light, lending a subtle glow to all beneath them. Bodies lay in astonishing numbers. Most lay where they had fallen.
“So you would combat a thing with its opposite?” Vax asked.
“I suppose,” Lori answered.
“Ignorance with knowledge,” Vax said, “Injustice with . . . ?” He looked up. “Anyone?”
“Justice,” a few scattered voices proclaimed.
“Yes.” He had a teacher’s smile as he called out his bravest students. “Roan, Halsey, Brianna, Jim, Howard, and Katerine. Well said.”
“And hunger with . . . ?” Vax scanned the crowd, “Everyone?”
“Food,” more people answered.
“And darkness with?”
“Light.” Most of them had answered that last one. Wylant knew where her son was leading them, but she wondered if the former followers of Dienox saw it, too.
“And fire with?”
“Water!”
“And hate with?”
He had asked the question too soon. Wylant heard a new hesitance in their reply. She would have tried a few more, maybe throw a silly one in there to get them smiling.
“What my son means—” Wylant raised her voice to not quite a full Thunder Speaker’s boom, “—is that war is not an end unto itself. All conflict must have a purpose beyond the continuation of more conflict. Conflicts should occur in the service of a desired resolution.”
“The aim of war,” Vax interrupted her. “I know what it should be. I suspect you deduce my opinion on the matter. What I ask all of you is, do you agree? While you think about it, Mother, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Something must be done about these bodies, Vax thought to her. I want us to take care of them, if that is okay with you.
“It’s fine, Vax. We can consider it a part of their final resolution.” Wylant rose into the air and poured forth her flames unto the dead, reducing the bodies to ash with such care and precision that her son’s new fo
llowers were left staring in awe as the fire and smoke passed harmlessly around without singeing a single hair she did not intend to singe.
*
I don’t remember collecting that many souls from— Kholster started.
Not your job any longer, old friend, Vander teased, and those particular departures have been comparatively recent.
A moment. Kholster turned to face a sudden charge of the reptiles who had been tracking him. You speak their language now, don’t you?
I speak everything. Vander laughed. Even some languages which do not appear to be from this dimension. Apparently, I now know all the languages from the lands to which the dragons departed as well as those here. Why?
I want to try something different, Kholster thought, in honor of my son’s birth.
*
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Headlong charge dissolved into flanking maneuver as the reptilian warriors, six on two legs, six on four, spread their formation. More experienced than the last Zaur he’d fought, the ones he’d encountered on the way to Oot and the Grand Conjunction, these bore Skria and Skreel blades with subtle alterations to better fit the bearer’s grip or fighting style: some blades a little more forward of the forearm, others flat against it. The look of Named reptiles, if ever he’d seen any.
“Die, scarback!” a few of them hissed.
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