by Pam Uphoff
Art’s museum home was an upside down step pyramid. This level was the smallest of the three layers. But not small. A group of four bronze horses galloping, tails high, necks ached in high spirits. A bull, menacing and huge, horns lowered. Two young women, heads together, arms around each other’s waists, giggling. All bronze, no marble. River turned to the double glass doors and pushed through to the warm twilight spring air.
Movement from the side. Large low shapes, about the size of ponies . . .
"Ah, he brought all four of you? Would you nice doggies like some meat balls?"
They would. She shared them out, got sniffed a bit more thoroughly than she would have liked, then they drifted off into the deepening shadows. She hunted around the garden, veering at the sight of a couple of very realistic statues, and found a bench to sit on. Mother, Amused and Flattered would be along eventually. But they weren’t who she was waiting for. What was Simon doing, in the gods’ inner circle?
As if she didn’t know. The question was, which one was he working for.
A gust of magical potential swirled.
Edmund Vice again? Perhaps she ought not have isolated herself. She looked for a line of retreat as a tall form materialized out of thin air.
"What are the odds that the World will be hit by a large meteor next year?"
River looked at the man cautiously. Not Vice. Chance. This was the real god, the inspiration of all the lucky ladies in the casinos. "Low, I hope. But I don’t know. What are the odds?"
"We don’t know either, but we’re collecting data. We're getting so many premonitions, we’re worried."
She straightened. "How large? How much damage? Next year!" Her voice sharpened as his meaning sank in.
"Half a mile, in my dreams. It will kill everything in a ten mile circle, at least. There will be serious damage, deaths, out a hundred miles, further. Once the observatory has cataloged the asteroids, the dark pieces, Logic and I will refine our numbers as it closes in. That’s all I can do, but the others say we should do something, not leave it to chance." His smile went crooked, and he walked away.
She heard giggles and male laughter, going the other direction. It seemed the rest of her triad had found what they wanted. Mother will be furious, to have attracted the attention of the God of Vice. Or maybe not, she ought not have brought them along if she didn’t want them to meet gods and their children.
River sat, disinclined to move for long enough to recognize the unnaturalness of her state, and hunt down the tiny delicate spell. She memorized it first, then snapped it.
She looked around. The garden was empty, a few of Art’s guests walking away down the driveway. And there was Simon, now. Bowing his head politely to Art as he stepped out the doors. He walked briskly, some destination in mind.
River slipped quietly after him. Her pale dress blended into the local stonework; she hardly needed the unnoticeable spell.
Simon was easy to follow, never looking back. She wondered about his tense shoulders and tendency to stomp. He passed through a middle class neighborhood into one with the slightly larger houses of the educated professionals. He stopped dead in the middle of a block, shoulders hunched and hands jammed in his pockets. She studied the houses beyond him. Prosperous, large, well landscaped yards. One stood out as larger than the rest, but not to the point of being odd. That was the one Simon finally approached.
River backtracked, found an alley and walked down it. From the back there was clearly a connection between four of the homes. There were no dividing fences, the lawn she caught glimpses of between the tall fence slats, ran the length of the four houses without restraint. There were children running around, playing tag in the dark. Up at midnight? Not much parental supervision around here. The large house was the northern-most of the four. A cross fence divided it from the next, a quiet place with a neglected looking garden, and a few fallen fence boards. She slipped through a hole and staying close to the fence, crossed to the narrow side yard between it and the large gray stone house. She eyed it wistfully. Dare she trespass further?
"I wouldn’t recommend it."
She spun around. The voice had been quiet, with a bit of a shake to it. The stooped gray haired form was barely visible through the netted window, a tiny shape in a big chair.
"Er, sorry. I was, well . . ."
"Wondering what really goes on with those people? I’ll bet you’re one of those new professional women reporters, aren’t you?" The old lady leaned forward. "Well, let me tell you, those wizards are sick. Child abusers, in my opinion. They want the boys to get the girls pregnant when they’re young – when the boys are young, they don’t really care about the girls. Then on the boys’ sixteen birthday—they cut ‘em!" The grey head bobbed. "Eunuchs, every one of them. That’s what gives them their power. The old ones marry the pregnant women, and raise the children as their own, but most likely they’re grandchildren, through the boy or girl, or both. They don’t really seem to care." She pounded her fist on the arm of her chair. "It’s evil, I tell you, evil, what they do." She leaned forward and glared. "Now you get! I don’t want those evil people to notice me. Get!"
River retreated. Wizards. Simon Golan, Golian Wizards. Why hadn’t she made the connection? She slipped through the hole in the fence and walked away.
So. There it was. A connection between The God of Art and the wizards. Which got her nowhere. What could the wizards do that Art and his Little Gods couldn’t? Of course Art was also collecting the witches' support. So he's lining up all the magic users.
Perhaps she should do a bit of research. If that little old lady was right about the castration enabling the wizards’ power . . . what a hideous choice. In the unlikely event the boys were given a choice. But would it explain why the Golians were as powerful as most witches? A fourth organized group of magicians. Gods, witches, mages and now wizards. With the little gods scattered about, and about to find themselves used by their older but less numerous Archetypes.
Simon. Well, if he was a wizard, and not an ordinary go-between, she could just stop thinking about him, couldn't she? Damn. He hadn't acted like a eunuch.
***
Simon had to consciously relax his jaw before speaking. "When I got your message, I hoped for some show of friendship, family. I should have known better. No. I will not perpetuate the family. I will not give you children to mutilate. If you would at least let them decide for themselves . . ."
"They’d all say no. At that age, I would have. But now, oh, now, the power I have, the things I can do . . ."
"I don’t care." Simon huffed out a tight breath. "I’m glad to see that you are doing well, Father. But I won’t be back."
"Take this. My man said you were drooling over a witch. It’s an aphrodisiac, a fertility aid, and forces a witch to have a boy."
"Force. Always force."
"You don’t want to pass your X to a daughter, do you? And it is also a truth drug. The little bitch will tell you just what she really thinks of you, and how she’s just using you to advance her own powers."
Truth drug. Oh Hell. It could be useful. And I will not take advantage of her, even if she is a follower of Mercy. He hesitated, then picked up the vial. It tingled in his hands. One of the few magics he was capable of was the detection of magic.
And this magic was strong. All he had to do was figure out how to get a witch to drink it without noticing.
Chapter Six
June 2236
New Tokyo, Asia
It was a frustrating three weeks since the party. She’d located Simon’s home, a small apartment just outside the university, and followed him. He was frequent visitor at Art’s museum, and even ventured into Just Desert’s territory. He’d been limping once, but hadn’t seemed to have drawn the God’s dogs into a personalized delivery of karmic justice.
Amused and Flattered had been disappointed that their swains had disappeared the day after the party. The witches who had trained in health matters shook their heads. Neither of them
were pregnant. Keep trying.
And they all looked pointedly at River.
"I’m a messenger. How am I going to do that, waddling around pregnant, needing to stay near a midwife and then with a baby?"
"Really, River." Her mother shook her head reprovingly. "The Senior Sister wants you to advance in power. I think you should try for an immediate pregnancy, you’ll be back in shape by next year, the baby can stay here." Her mother’s nose wrinkled. "Amused and Flattered are just advancing to keep the triad together. They weren’t supposed to get ahead of you. But they’ll be handy to keep your baby while you’re away. But! If you don’t want a baby, fine. But you must learn how to channel." Her mother rattled around in her cupboard and pulled out a small vial. "Here, take this. It’s an aphrodisiac, not a fertility aid, since you don’t want children yet. A couple of drops in your wine, a couple in his and you'll see that it’s all good fun."
River closed her eyes. Damn it all! I don’t want to use Simon. I want . . . I want to take my time and find out how much I like him. Except. Who is he working for? University of Cairo my ass. No longer than it took to form a legitimate sounding background, I’ll bet. Where would he have been before that? Athens? Maybe. Maybe New Miami. Next time I get down there, I’ll have to ask around about this "visiting professor."
She smiled wryly and took the vial. After all, I don’t have to worry about hurting him, he’s the enemy. Maybe he’ll babble in bed.
So. How do I get him to drink some wine with me?
At this time of day, the Sea View Restaurant was quiet, even though far from empty. Perched on a headland with two hundred and eighty degrees of floor to ceiling windows, it lived up to its name.
Simon looked over the wine list. "Daring. I wouldn’t have thought Art would want Wolf’s Head sold in his premises."
River chuckled. "Art says keeping the Old Wolf busy with his wine is for the good of humanity." And the Wolf laughs and agrees.
That got a snort from Simon. He ordered a white wine, and opened his menu. The waiters whisked around with silent efficiency, pouring a smooth fruity Pinot Blanc.
Go north, away from the city. River blinked to clear her head.
"I heard that Art owns thirty percent of the restaurant, the windows being his entire investment." Simon’s gaze crossed from the busy harbor on one side, lingered on the offshore islands, and moved on to the rough, rocky coast stretching to the south. He settled back in his chair and eyed her.
River suppressed a grin; he hadn’t seen her pour the vial into their glasses. "I’ve heard he charmed the refrigerated boxes as well. But all this glass is impressive."
His eyes crinkled. "So long as it doesn’t make you seasick."
"Not as long as I have my feet firmly on the ground. I thought you were a physicist, not a magologist." All it had taken was a chance meeting in the street to turn into an invitation to dinner. A bit to her relief, not in a venue where she could easily seduce him. She was undecided about whether it had been wise to use her mother’s potion. No matter how strong, it can’t make me leap on him and ravish him in public. She slipped the vial into a pocket by feel, while she admired the view.
Embarrassed, he fussed with the silver ware and the shifted the wine glasses back out of elbow-knocking range. "I’m incurably curious. Take your witch name, for instance. River, where the two women you introduced me to are Amused and Flattered. River doesn't fit the theme; am I correct in assuming that means you aren’t a native?
"So to speak. My Mother, Firefly, is from here, but she traveled a lot when she was younger. My oldest sister was born in Red River, the next in Scandia and the next in New Bombay. Then all the way back to Sahara, where I was born. I think I’d traveled the world before I was ten. At any rate, I gained my witch name from the Sahara Pyramid at birth, and kept it, even though I’ve been in five pyramids since gaining power." Ha! My mother's amblings are well enough known to be checkable, so he can research and realize I told the strict truth.
"Huh. And still traveling. Despite the sea sickness."
"I like going places." She took a sip of wine. The spells just about knocked her out of her chair. She hastily spun out a mental dampening, even a wizard might pick up on something like this. "Well, not the seasick part."
"Does it get better or worse as you get older? I’ve heard about all the witches steps to power." He reddened a bit and reached for his own wine glass.
She tried, and most likely failed, to suppress a smirk. "Get the twinkle out of your eye, I’m not going to discuss advancement through major life experience stepping stones. I expect I’ll get more seasick with advancing power. Pity overland travel is so slow." She took another sip of wine. Mother should have warned me! River turned her attention to the menu.
Simon glanced at his, and settled back, still with the expression of a researcher on the hunt.
River jumped in first. "It’s very odd, the three new sorts of people we have around, the last two generations."
The waiter reappeared to take their orders. Simon included an appetizer, and a Wolf’s Head shiraz to have with dinner.
"Three? Gods, Goddesses and what?" His fingertips traced a line her arm, pulled back.
"No, those are the standard. Now, just in two generations, we have Little Gods, Golian Wizards and the Sea Kings. Not that they’re really kings, in the old literary sense." She turned, and her knee rubbed his.
"They’re certainly lords of all they survey. Did you notice anything odd about our voyage north?" He retreated a bit. Damn, hadn’t she got enough into his glass?
"The way we never sloshed back against the dock, nor had a seriously unfavorable wind? The crew seemed ordinary, the captain very sure of himself."
"And barnacles won’t grow on his hull and his ship will never sink, nor can he be drowned. If you believe everything you hear." He smiled at her, then nervously shifted his gaze out the window as she reached for her glass.
She swapped it for his nearly empty glass, then touched it to her lips. "Well, people who aren’t witches tend to disbelieve what we can do as well, so I shouldn’t be too skeptical." She paused while the waiter delivered a platter of little tidbits. "And I wasn’t even as sick as I usually am. So, maybe there are mages with an affinity for the sea."
"Ah. Magic users, sticking together. Do you believe in mermaids?"
"Umm, I've seen some very impressive transformation experiments, but witches that can change into dolphins? Who have lived in the sea for generations? Umm . . . I'm a bit skeptical."
"And the Little Gods?" He poured more wine for her, and sampled his own. He didn’t seem to notice anything so the damping of perception spell must be working.
If I were already a Bright Quarter Moon, I’d have power enough to be sure. But then, I wouldn’t be here trying to seduce this man . . . Right? "Poor things. They’re really being dumped on by the collective subconscious. But I know a bunch of them who have resisted and have reasonably normal lives. Someone being pressured into the mold of the God of War can be a soldier or a guard. No need to make a spectacle out of oneself. One of the ‘Gods of Chance’ is a stockbroker, another a speculator." River shrugged. "And the Travelers, well, some hang around cities, but most find jobs that involve traveling. 'Travelers' is nearly a synonym for freight haulers, these days."
Salads arrived and they crunched vegetables for a moment.
"As I understand it, when there were only the thirteen old gods, you could pray to one of them, and he’d appear. Or at least the God of War and the God of the Roads worked like that. But now the prayer gets absorbed by the little gods, and the old, original god stays home, fat and happy." It was definitely his knee drifting over to bump hers, not the other way around.
River raised her eyebrows. "Huh. I didn't realize the little gods interfered with prayer reception. So actually there would be a practical reason to have a little war god as a troop mascot—he’d keep the real thing from being used against you." River leaned forward a bit. Extra cleavage couldn't po
ssibly hurt.
Simon removed his gaze from her. "I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it makes sense. The other old gods I’ve seen always have a 'God of War' in their private guards. I thought they were amusing themselves."
"Instead, it was practical. Huh. I don’t know why so many magicians with two power collection genes are . . . eccentric. I don’t know why the collective subconscious isn’t satisfied with the Old Gods. Or why they don’t invent something new." He's fighting the potion, drat. River sat back and shifted her knee away.
"That would be more interesting." Simon flashed a quick grin. "Why not a God of Music? A Goddess of Beauty?"
The white wine was gone, and Simon shook his head at the offer of another bottle.
"God of Thieves; goodness, look at all the Robin Hood and Black Bart tropes around." She ran her hand up his arm. Strong wiry muscles. "The God of Spies."
"Yes, think of the stories about the Super Spy. He out fights, out talks, out magics everyone. He’s got the fastest horse, working equipment from the Exile. Always gets the girl, but never finds true love."
River met his warm gaze for a long moment. "Unless she gets killed, so the Super Spy goes off to get revenge. That’s not fair!" She leaned back and got a grip on herself, and her hands off Simon, as the waiter took the salad plates away and delivered her steak.
"God of Assassins, God of Scumbags."
"Not all the Archetypes are gods. Think about women. The Girl Next Door. Mata Hari. The Perfect Wife."
"Dumb blonde. Trouble Maker. The Other Woman. Ice Queen. The Black Widow."
The waiter brought the shiraz and poured.
And her knee was back where it belonged, but she’d dropped a shoe and was running her foot up and down his boot. She made herself stop. Concentrated on the steak and searched for a change of subject.
