Wine of the Gods 1: Exiles and Gods

by Pam Uphoff

  "No. A government that paid you to make the coins, and your word to make only as many as they ordered." Chris grinned. "I wonder if the money could be marked, magically, so it couldn't be counterfeited?"

  Lillian and Ariel slipped out of the crowd.

  Lilian raised an eyebrow at Milly consorting with a man.

  Ariel grinned. "What's up? You two look like your plotting something."

  Milly nodded. "Yep. A bank, money. Come along, witches, we need to talk about this. Do any of us do any artwork? And we need to write up a petition about it, too."

  Chris fell back. Metal, he regretted to say, was still women's work.

  Old Wolf had figured it out, and could do it fairly well. Even the other gods were clumsy at it. The rest of the men were just pathetic. The women acted like it was child's play.

  Infuriating.

  Of course the women couldn't do weather work. Or wood.

  So it all averaged out, in the end.

  Lance and Matt started studying the older men's wood working skills. Then Vince and Tyrone suggested they build a boat and start trading up and down the coast. Hugh, Dane and Javier pitched in, and Chris made it a full "compass" and what the eight of them working together could do to wood was nothing short of awesome. They made small fishing boats for practice while Chris dug into computer files for boat designs, and they settled on a fifty foot single-masted cutter for their first trading ship. About the only thing they argued about was whose girlfriend their ship would be named after.

  ***

  One of the petitions was to build a jail, driven by a spate of thefts. Some of valuable items, some of increasingly rare luxury items. Jokes about the women who stole each other's pretty undies made the rounds.

  Until Cassie was attacked. Hit over the head, raped and left unconscious behind the public barn.

  Then petitions for a justice system, courts, judges, and as a starting point, a sheriff.

  Both sheriff and judge were added to the slate of offices they wanted to fill. No one registered for the judicial race. Two men vied for the Sheriff's post. Ira Penner was elected.

  ***

  The late crops could use the water, so no one formed up to chase the clouds away. Huge, billowing high thunderheads. Brilliant white, darkening as they built, spreading, thickening, moving in from the lake. A gust of cool air stirred the trees, thunder grumbled in the distance, and the day grew dark and gloomy. Chris hurried to finish all his barn chores. Easy enough, with almost all the animals out to pasture. Today he helped extend the fencing outside the barn, so they could split up the cattle for more efficient feeding, according to the experts. They hung the last gate as the first big fat drops hit the ground. He was soaked before he made it through the doors of the Inn, and headed straight to his room to change. Back in the dining room, the kids on serving duty had already lit candles.

  "Good thing we're cooking on a wood stove." Neil plunked macaroni and cheese down in front of him. "I'll bet the electricity would be off, if we had any. Milly wants opinions about the cheese, it's local, not fabbed. It think it's pretty good."

  Another crash of thunder rattled the windows.

  Chris nibbled. "Good, nice and sharp." He took a forkful and eyed the steamed broccoli. Vegetables. I still haven't escaped from having to eat vegetables. He ignored the green thing and dug into the mac.

  Karina and Elnora hustled in, dripping.

  "Man, it's wild out there. The cows and horses are running all over the place."

  Chris swallowed. "We'll have to go out and check them for barbed wire cuts after this is over. I hope they don't go through the fences." He winced a bit at the thought, but all the cattle ranchers had tall tales about what spooked cattle could do, fences, cliffs, rivers apparently no obstacle once they panicked en mass. I'd never see those mares again.

  Three hours later he'd changed that to I'll never see those mares again as he stretched wire to repair the breaks. Rider were out searching for the hopefully tired but not injured or eaten escapees. Roughly half their cattle were gone.

  When they finished the fence, Chris started walking south. He stuck to the better drained ridges. He sighted several groups of animals being herded homeward. Spotted a trio of cows huddled in a grove of trees and waved down Romeau to point him at them.

  "I suppose Sungold is much too smart to panic over a bit of thunder?"

  Romeau grinned. "Of course. The fact that he and Jet took refuge from the storm in my front room had nothing to do with it."

  The horse nodded his agreement. Chris grinned and hiked on. Romeau's front room was large and bare, except when they brought out the folding chairs for a wedding. Wish my horses had that much sense. Or socialization. No telling how far those critters went. In fact, they may still be going.

  He camped, damp and uncomfortable despite a fire, and circled around, checking for the hoofprints of cattle and horses. He spotted one of the polled hereford cows with her calf, and two wild heifers with big V brands on their butts, and circled to carefully aim them back toward home. He managed to not spook and stampede them again, and turned them over to Leo around noon.

  "We've got most of them back, or accounted for. Lions and injuries . . . lost five for sure. Vito'll be glad to see these two. And Ira might even start talking to you again."

  "Maybe." Chris shrugged. He doubted it would make much of a difference.

  He made a long sweep around further west, but his wild mares were long gone.

  And the first time he saw Iris, she was chatting one of the 'normal' boys.

  Just as well I've got the boat, and trading as a backup occupation. I don't seem to be getting anywhere as a rancher.

  Chapter Sixteen

  15 Aug 2118

  Greatly daring, and with the wind behind him, Harry sailed west, directly across the Arabian Sea, then followed the coast of Arabia to the Red River. The river was his first serious barrier. The warm winds from the Ocean at his back were barely sufficient to make way against the current. Then the winds shifted and a cool breeze from the north had him anchoring along shore and learning how to heat rocks to cook the fish he caught.

  It gave him too much time to think, and review his visit to New Bombay. Mercy with a Hospital, Logic with a University, Peace with a police force and court system, Art with a museum full of statues. Babies in bubbles. Harry slapped his forehead. “Idiot!” He caught a bubble, slid it over his boat and started hiking. It was a long way to the town of Red River.

  And a very thin welcome.

  Michael was gone. His dogs had killed an eight year old boy.

  Harry walked on to the north and then west to the lake, and a welcome return to sailing. He crossed to the north shore and found wild places that had never been seen by man. Places that called to him to be the first. He turned east and following whims and dreams, found Michael and his dogs.

  The man paced, restless. Haunted. The dogs slunk. Sad eyes on their master. "I can't stop it. Things happen around me. And every once in awhile I can read someone's thoughts. And the dogs just . . . That boy . . . Was I supposed to tell his mother that he'd killed the baby she'd given birth to six months ago? That he was angry that she was pregnant again and planning on killing that baby too? He wasn't the first person the dogs killed. There was a pedophile . . . they ate him. Everyone assumed he ran off. It's going to be like this wherever I go. I can’t stop it, there’s nothing conscious about it."

  Harry winced. "I see. I don't like what's happening to us. I think we're being molded into the Archetypes. War, Peace, Logic, Art, Explorer. I'm going to check on Cairo, see if Barry and Edmund are still playing at Virtue and Vice. Would you like to come?"

  Michael laughed. "Certainly. It sounds like they deserve me. Bad Karma on the hoof. I should never have left there."

  The trip across the lake was mercifully quick, as all five of his passengers got sea sick.

  Harry greeted the brothers cheerfully. "Still here, I see. Have you gotten over your god complexes?"


  "Complex, no, we're actually very simple gods." Edmund eyed the dogs, huddled behind Michael. "So, you dogs brought your servant back?"

  Michael smiled faintly. "No, that's cats. Dogs are man's best friend. Well, that's arguable, where mine are concerned. A bit too much of the collective subconscious focused on them, I'm afraid."

  Barry snickered. "I think your 'karmic field' is funny, Michael. You must show us how it's progressed with time. Edmund and I have been tracking our own growth with considerable interest. God really isn't a misnomer, anymore."

  Michael gritted his teeth. "Harry, you'd better not sail without me. I really don't fit in here."

  Edmund snickered. "Well, since we're all still friends, let's have a party." He turned and walked away.

  Harry hesitated, then followed. Why did I come here? Do I really want to know what they are up to, now?

  The plaza was lined booths, produce and hand made goods for sale. Not terribly well constructed. The end one collapsed as they walked past. Michael sighed.

  Barry shook his head over two men arguing, when the first fist swung, he waved a hand and they both sank peacefully to the ground.

  "I've got to learn that one." Michael muttered.

  The two brothers climbed to the top of the central platform.

  "Today we are graced with the presence of two of our brother gods. We shall have a feast tonight. Prepare!" Edmund's amplified voice rolled over the plaza, and Harry heard faint echoes from further south.

  Can they hear him all the way out in the gardens and grain fields? Harry shivered and walked around the plaza. He traded copper and iron ingots for supplies for the remainder of the journey as well as trade goods. They had some nice cloth here. "Are those coffee beans? Real coffee beans?"

  The pretty girl manning the booth smiled. "Yes, and we have cocoa powder now, too. It's still a bit rough, but I think we've just about worked out how to process it."

  "And they have tea in New Bombay. The world is now complete and acceptable." He spent the last of his witch-manufactured metals and loaded the boat.

  Michael viewed wares from a cautious distance. Embarrassing utterances and arguments followed in his wake, pratfalls occurred, and items were dropped, generally fragile ones. The dogs eyed the people warily, but the brothers never seemed to have any problems with clumsiness, however much they laughed as it spiraled out from Michael’s vicinity. It doesn't seem to touch them. Or me, now that I think about it.

  As the sun dropped toward the horizon, tables started appearing on the plaza, and then food. Harry winced at the thought of another drunken, magic involved orgy.

  If Michael doesn't affect me, I ought to be able to shed the brothers' effects too.

  Harry bought a bottle of wine from a merchant, and took it with him to the head table as the brothers toasted the visitors and started the feast rolling. Harry avoided their wine, and managed to shield the women in his vicinity. He left the dais as soon as he could, and headed south with a following of anxious women. They kept drifting off and returning carrying babies, and many were also trailed by husbands. Upriver far enough to be out of the brothers' area of influence, he relaxed.

  "So, how about a class in mental shields? And anything else you're interested in, and might need, once you've figured out how to get rid of that pair?"

  One of the women snorted. "They keep the insects off the gardens and the fields. Can you show some of us how to do that? Trading them for starvation doesn't seem like the best of ideas."

  "I don't have the power gene, but my son will." The second woman's voice dripped disgust; the baby boy she was carrying was a redhead, an odd contrast with her brunette tresses. "But I really don't want to have to wait a generation to get rid of those perverts."

  "Oh yes. You don't even need the power genes to do the pesticide and fertilizer spells. I'll teach them to all of you. And those of you with the power genes, do you know about working in teams? Three women together? Four or eight men? Let me show you . . . "

  Teaching the basics. Again. Why haven't I ever written them down? A manual of magic practices? I hate to leave them with so little instruction.

  "Right. Women and men have different areas of expertise."

  The coffee-and-cocoa woman was there. The baby girl she was carrying had a noticeably darker complexion than her deep tan.

  "Why don't you put all the babies kind of in the middle, where you can keep an eye on them?" Harry half closed his eyes, and could easily see the women with power. "You, you and you. Try holding hands. And you three . . . " He scooted a baby out of the way and felt an odd zing. Like nothing he'd ever felt before. Like falling in love for the first time. Like the first time he'd touched a woman.

  Like holding my child for the first time.

  He blinked at the child's dark skin and put the little girl down carefully. Stepped away. That . . . zing of recognition. Real or imaginary? He was utterly certain the baby was his.

  Harry worked with them all night, and left them out there, practicing in coordinated "Compasses" and "Triads." The women with no power memorized the garden songs, several of them taking notes, so hopefully they'd remember all of them, and which of them did what.

  Harry hoped he could return to the city before the brothers missed him. It turned out he needn't have hurried.

  The party had gone sideways, the plaza was empty except for a few slumbering or passed out drunk bodies. The only movement was up on the dais, where . . . several dozen matrons were demanding that the gods give them powerful children. Barry and Edmund were surrounded by the older women, and clothing was definitely optional. Harry spotted Michael and circled around towards him. He was stinking drunk, sitting in a circle of exclusion and laughing at the brothers. His dogs were laughing, too, but from twenty feet beyond the far side of the dais. Was that the "safe zone" around these drunken idiots?

  "You and your fucking damned karma!" Edmund shoved one of the old women away and climbed to his feet. "Effing damned God of Just Deserts! I'm not finding this amusing." He wrestled a pair of pants away from a woman who looked old enough to be his grandmother.

  Harry snorted. "Are you admitting that you deserve what's happening?" He concentrated, envisioning a bank of magic blocking fog creeping across the group. The nearest woman staggered a bit, backed away looking horrified, and fled. The others started looking around, their gazes sharpening.

  "Very funny." Barry fought his way out from under a woman, and joined his brother, facing Michael and Harry.

  Edmund was scowling at Harry. "That suppression effect right there is not something we want anyone around here to remember." With a wave of his hand the women surrounding them collapsed. "Nice, the way a stun spell interferes with short to long term memory conversion, isn't it? The perfect Date Rape drug, should the two of us need any such thing." He frowned. "I think you two should die. You've just made yourselves into a threat to us."

  Barry nodded. "How about chopped to bits by a friend? Sounds good, eh?" He threw back his head and spread his arms, theatrically. "God of War! I summon you!"

  Something quivered in the air, some force, some potential that seemed to encompass the whole world, a flood of choking invisible power. An odd breeze swirled up a bit of dust, a funny shape that he might have imagined . . .

  ***

  Chris scowled at the red rock. No matter what he did, it was still just a red rock. Old Wolf was getting pretty good at refining metals. The women, especially the older women were awesome. A pulling gesture of their hands, and the rock crumpled, sand falling away from the rusty redness, then they pulled the oxygen right off and they were left with a powder of pure iron. That they could shape into anything they wanted. They were doing it with copper as well, and everyone was using the new coins, or solid bars of a useful metal. Chris thumped the rock down and picked up the sword.

  "It's probably not good for anything. Iron, not steel. I was just experimenting with making shapes." Wolf was brushing his big stallion. Jet was probably less than two years o
ld; he'd be even bigger in a couple of years when he quit growing.

  Just a big friendly pet. Chris sighed. He occasionally caught glimpses of wild horses. Possibly his. Hopefully their next foals would be, well, a bit like their sire. And maybe he could even catch them.

  The black horse nudged the man, who grinned and vaulted lightly on to his back.

  Romeau shook his head sadly. "When that horse is finally old enough for you to do something with him, he's going to be wild and fierce, untamable. You ought to handle him more often."

  "You're just hoping he'll buck me off."

  "Well, most people at least have a halter and reins. And saddles make things more comfy for both horse and rider."

  Chris extended the sword. "You ought to make armor, too."

  Wolf threw back his head and laughed. He brandished the sword, and Chris thought he could almost imagine armor.

  The black colt reared suddenly.

  Then they both disappeared.

  ***

  . . . looked just like a rearing horse, black, saddled and bridled in black and silver. The knight on his back wore shining silver chain mail with dull black breast and back plates. A silvered helmet with a black plume. The cheek pieces and nasal were covered with black etchings. His gleaming sword was held aloft. The big horse touched down.

  "God of War! Kill my enemies!" Barry pointed at Harry and Michael.

  The God of War turned and looked at Harry. Looked down at himself, as the giant warhorse snorted and pawed.

  "Good grief! I clank! Harry? Where the Bloody Hell are we?"

  Harry boggled. "Wolf? What are you doing here? How did you get here? And when did you make the armor?"

  Barry stalked forward. "I told you to kill my enemies!"

  "Edmund? No, you're Barry. I thought you were the good twin?" Wolf tucked the sword under his left arm and pulled his helmet off. Stared at it in disbelief. Ticked it with a fingernail to hear the metallic ring.