Helpless, for the moment, they stood at the verge of the forest, staring upwards at the titanic battle. Taranis hurled lightning bolt after lightning bolt at the godling, which only seemed to lap up the energy, and unfurled new tendrils, trying to wrap around the gods. Trying to spear Jormangand. “I’ve got to get to the villa,” Trennus muttered, and slung his pack over his shoulder, running towards the city of Tarvodubron. As he did, he saw hundreds of cars crowding the roadways, trying to get away from the city. The people inside all recognized his clan’s colors in the pattern on his kilt, and honked periodically in acknowledgement. They might not have recognized him, but they knew he was part of the royal family. And the only one of them daft enough to be running back into an area that’s being evacuated, Trennus thought, and felt something sizzle across his skin. He dove for the ground, and rolled back up in time to see a black tendril scoop through the air where he’d just been, slicing through an automobile in the traffic jam, instead. Killing the people inside, instantly. Trennus swallowed and scrambled back to his feet to keep running; if he got bogged down here, exorcizing the mad god pieces being jammed into the bodies, he’d never reach his family in time. And yet it chafed, knowing that the family inside that car had just been turned to ghul, and would doubtless start attacking other people on the road now . . . . Gods damn it. He stopped long enough to pull tentatively on ambient ley, and wrapped a cage of earth around the vehicle, and its now-dead occupants. At least they wouldn’t be attacking anyone soon. And then he got back on track, heading for the city-center.
Lightning flashed constantly as he ran, and Trennus was half-deafened by the continuous roar of thunder. Through the city streets, trying to get his bearings, even as the earth heaved underfoot. Jormangand was on the move. Trennus caught his balance and kept moving, staying away from buildings with pillared porticoes. He didn’t want to have to knock the pillars away with ley. Not with so much power singing through the air. The less magic he used for the moment, the better, until he knew precisely what he needed to do.
There had been a good deal of construction in the city since the last time he’d run these streets. He had no landmarks for a few minutes, but followed the direction-sense he’d had since he’d first apprenticed as a ley-mage, and finally found his way to the old Roman-style villa, at the top of a hill overlooking the better parts of the harbor. There was a crowd surrounding the house, people begging for Vindiorix and government officials to provide them with information. Safety, transportation, anything. A sea of voices, crying out and shouting in anger, even as the skies opened up, rain slanting down at them all. Saraid lifted her head and howled, and the crowd quieted, stunned, and let them pass through. Trennus felt hands touching his back and shoulders and hair, as if he were a talisman, as he pushed through the crowd. He caught people’s hands in his own as he walked, trying to reassure them by touch, and then jogged up the steps of the old villa. The guards at the doorway recognized him, and stepped out of the way.
Inside, his eldest brother, Vindiorix was meeting with dozens of officials. Some in the uniforms of the local gardia, some Legion auxiliaries, but just as many were local elected officials and the like. They had maps plastered to the walls, and Trennus, a veteran of a few war rooms in his time, could read them easily. All chatter stopped as he entered, and Vindiorix stared at him, wide-eyed. Trennus tried to downplay the shock of seeing his brother so . . . old . . . but Vin had always been ten years his elder. White-haired now, but still strong enough to stand up from his chair and step forward, reaching for Trennus’ hands. “Why are you here?“ Another jarring impact, and what little hadn’t already fallen from the shelves and the walls toppled to the ground. Trennus darted a look around, seeing a dozen ornaments his mother had collected over the years lying in pieces on the floor, and his heart twinged.
“I’m here to help, in any way I can.”
Vindiorix lowered his white head, shaking it. “Get our people out of here. Help with the evacuation.” His head came up again. “Get my children and grandchildren away from here.”
“You’ll go with them. Come on.” Trennus got a hand around his brother’s upper arm.
“No. This is where I stay. This is where we’re directing the evacuation.” Vin lifted a hand and gestured as the earth shook again, and part of the plaster of the ceiling caved in behind them, raising a curtain of white dust.
“Don’t be a gods-be-damned fool!” Trennus snapped out, as the officials around them stepped back, apprehensively, and Saraid growled a little in his mind. “Our people need you. The family needs you. Who else is going to be king? No one else is daft enough to want the job!”
“Trennus. Little brother.” Vin’s old smile broke across his face, though he had to cough a little at the rising plaster dust. “You came home with that spirit, and I told you that you should take up buggering sheep instead. Remember that?”
Trennus almost laughed. It had been so damned long ago, and he’d been so young and touchy at the time. “Now how could I forget that?”
“You loosened my teeth.” Vin bared them at Trennus. “Took all our other brothers to pull you off of me. Truth was, I was more than a little jealous. When you started showing up with two of them, and that family of yours . . . gods. What children you have.” The ground heaved. “Now, I’m going to do you an even greater disservice.” He looked around at the various officials. “Bear witness!”
The earth quavered. Trennus’ stomach flipped. “I designate my youngest brother, Trennus Matrugena, summoner and ley-mage, as my choice as heir to the kingdom—”
“You can’t—”
“Oh, but I can. To be ratified by the clan-leaders and elected officials, etcetera, etcetera. I ask that if the kingship stays in your line, that it passes to a son or daughter of yours by our lady of the Forest. Keeps it a little closer to home, anyway.” Vindiorix gave Trennus a gimlet stare. “And as my heir, I charge you with rescuing as many of our people as you can. Go. You’ll have the full cooperation of the guards.”
Trennus’ head spun. “This conversation is not over,” he told his brother, grimly. “Consider it tabled for later, however. At least get out of the house, damn it. Take your meetings and radio calls outside, where the ceiling’s not going to fall on your head!” I am not king material. I will find a likely one of your grandchildren and make him or her king or queen before I stand for this. He turned and left, catching sight of Vin turning back to work with the officials, though yes, a little closer to the back door as he took in reports from the gardia, who were directing traffic out of the city . . . but slowly. Far too slowly. Bridges were collapsing. People were dying.
He stepped out into the open air again, various guardsmen surrounding him, asking him for directions. He had no idea what to tell them. “We’re not going to be able to evacuate the city in time,” he finally shouted into the roar of thunder, and looked up again to see that Jormangand had slithered further inland. His coils were now in the Forest itself as he and the mad god continued to battle, and a slice of land behind the great serpent glowed sullenly red, a trough of lava carved out of the beaches, the fields, everything. Saraid cried out in pain as the serpent crashed through another rank of trees, and fire bloomed everywhere around him, racing through the treetops.
We should have brought Lassair, Saraid said. She could douse the fires. Her wolf form grew larger, to the size of a fenris, and the guards and citizens fell back from her. I must go, Worldwalker! I must defend my people and my territory!
Wait! Jormangand might turn on you, as surely as he’s turning on the other gods. Why aren’t Taranis and Nodens tearing the godling apart between them? Freya was using some of the little godlings as pouncing lessons for Sigrun. Trennus was frustrated, but he supposed it was a matter of the relative power level. Neither god dared to get too near the damned thing, and they had to defend themselves, lest their power be siphoned off to feed it. Jormangand wasn’t being defensive; the creature really couldn’t be. Its best defense was its incredible
destructive power. So the godling took pot-shots at all of them, and danced back, luring them deeper and deeper into the Forest. All it had to do was be lucky once, and a god would die. Massive amounts of energy would be loosed; it would devour it, and grow stronger. The residual energies would create earthquakes. Volcanoes. Like we’re seeing already, just from Jormangand’s presence.
It is not just that, though those are all good reasons that they have not yet torn it asunder, Saraid said, quietly, her ears drooping a little. What has happened almost every other time a god has died?
. . . mutations. Well, it didn’t happen with Tlaloc and the gods of Tawantinsuyu . . . .
We don’t know that for certain. There were reports of hundreds or even thousands of little supay and cherufes in Tawantinsuyu after Inti’s death. They could have been genuine spirits . . . .
. . . or they could have been mutations. Trennus’ mind leaped ahead. But when mad gods die, and they release their contained energy . . . wait, that’s happened in Nippon, no mutations, Chaldea, no mutations . . . .
Ghul, however, arise. Her voice was anxious, and her eyes were locked on the mad god in the sky, her hackles raised.
He nodded, and stared up at the gods, and a very real splinter of worry burrowed into his soul: And what happens to my people if Taranis or Nodens dies today? One out of every ten people died in the kingdoms of the north when Hel died and Loki passed out of the world. One out of every ten became a nieten, or something else. The odds for the people of Hellas and Carthage were equally dismal when Baal-Hamon died. I . . . can’t let that happen. I can’t let one in ten of my people die. I can’t let one in ten become . . . nuckelavee, or selkies, or whatever else might happen to them. I can’t. But what can I do to stop that?
His brother’s words rang through his head. I charge you with rescuing as many of our people as you can. Jormangand, in the distance, spun and breathed liquid fire at Nodens, as once again, the sea-god got a little too close, and the god spun away, possibly injured.
Oh, gods, no. Not this time.
Worldwalker! Let me go to them. Let me fight. Saraid’s voice rose to a howl of frustration as he still held her back with his will. There’s no way to evacuate the entirety of this land. The best we can do is drive the mad godling out to sea, and destroy him there.
But you will be weaker over the ocean. So will Taranis. Nodens will be empowered, but he will be the only one. And even salt water hasn’t been enough of a buffer before. Hellas was over the sea from Carthage. The centaurs, harpies, dryads, and minotaurs show us that even hundreds of miles of ocean may not be enough. Trennus had a hand on her ruff, fingers buried in her fur. Let me think, wild-heart, let me think. The ground shook, and he could hear the clatter of tiles falling off the roof behind him. Hold the rain off of me. I think I have an idea.
A bubble formed in the air over him, and the rain no longer soaked him, so Trennus was able to dig in his waterproof bag for his grimoires. You remember how Zhi brought Erida’s house to Jerusalem?
I certainly remember searching for some of their servants for over a year in the Veil. We never found some of them. Though they must still be there. Saraid’s tone was wary. You mean to bring your brother’s family and the people of this city to Judea?
Trennus froze, his mind working. Not just the people. The people aren’t enough. People without their land, without their homes, without their places of employment . . . are just another group of displaced refugees. No home. No purpose. No industry. My people without their land . . . would hardly know what to do with themselves. They wouldn’t be themselves. They would be another wave of lost refugees, in perpetual search of a home they can never regain.
Beloved . . . Saraid’s tone held fear and a little disbelief. What are you saying?
It can’t be just the people, wild-heart. It can’t be just a building or two, either. I mean to take my home there. Our home, Saraid. Trennus reached up and touched the device at his throat. Kanmi had made it for him, decades ago, and Minori kept it charged. A technomantic device that aided a summoner, it had settings for binding circles and protective circles. And when it was used properly, it burned them into the ground, ensuring that not a single topological curve was out of place. “Everyone, back up!” Trennus shouted, and turned to look at the guards. “Get everyone back. I need space.” It wouldn’t do to amputate someone’s leg with the device.
Worldwalker, you are mad, Saraid whispered in his mind, her lupine head whipping around and a whine entering her voice. Neither of us has the power. I could move a house, as Zhi did. You and I moved the refugees with Truthsayer through the Veil, too, a few years ago. But the image in your mind . . . no one can move so much or so many!
“My brother said to evacuate our people. That is exactly what I’m doing,” Trennus said, grimly. “Judea has not been attacked by the mad godlings yet. Sophia kept calling it the undying land. Good enough probability even for Prometheus. And I won’t see my people destroyed, maddened, or distorted in form.” He pressed a button on the device, and set up a protective circle at his feet. Go to Nodens, he told her, quietly. Beg him for his assistance in this. I do not know how many Names will answer me. But if there is nothing here to draw the mad god, nothing to feed on, it may turn and leave. And if there are no people here for the gods to have to protect? Then they may fight it without constraint.
I do not like this! But I will speak to the sea-god. This is my place. He must hear me, here.
Behind him, the portico of the villa began to wobble, and Trennus reached out, almost absently, fortifying it with ley-power, no longer fearing the repercussions. Fused the segments of the pillars, each to each, so that they wouldn’t slide apart. Slid his power through the foundation, a temporary measure to keep it from jerking apart, and shouted at one of the guards, “Get the king and his advisors out of the villa before it falls on their heads!”
And then he drew his knife, and cut open his left hand. Dropped the blade to the protective runes incised two inches deep in the flagstones in front of the old house. Let the warm wetness ooze between his fingers and splatter down into the carved channels, which were already flooded with water, but at least no fresh rain was coming down to wash the blood away now, thanks to Saraid’s bubble. He pulled out his first grimoire and laid it open over his forearm, lest he get blood on the pages, and began reading. “Ausangate,” he began, saying the Name with infinite care. “Mountain god of Tawantinsuyu. I freed you from the Nazca Lines. A debt stands between us, and today, I call for you to make it right. Akamari, mountain god of Tawantinsuyu, I freed you from the Nazca Lines. A debt stands between us, and today, I call for you to make it right. Mamasimona, goddess of the mountain, I call your Name. Come to me and pay your debt. Saqsaywaman, mountain god, come to me now, and set things right between us. Viraqochan. Senq’a. Pijchu. Pinta. Wanakauri. Yananti. Pitusiray. Wakac Willka. Pachatusan. Putucusi. Tunupa. Wayna Picchu.”
There were two dozen Names that simply represented the gods of major mountains in Tawantinsuyu. Each was a small god, comparatively. Each had been trapped, and almost dissolved in the Nazca lines, to feed the Sapa Inca and the huge system meant to break Inti and the other gods up into manageable chunks of energy. To spread their energy through the land, and renew it.
The line of Names went on and on, as Trennus did not plead and cajole, but demanded. “Ozcollo, the spirit of the great hunting cat. Taruca, the deer, who roams the crags. Aquana, water-spirit, who danced the waves until she was bound, Lilka, the vengeful spider. Uthurunku, jaguar-spirit. Mashu, night-flyer, hear my words. Tuku, owl-spirit. Machi, monkey-spirit. You all spoke of a debt that was owed. Many of you have partaken of my generosity. You stay in my realm in the Veil. You dream of time and space there, and enjoy the protection of Saraid and Lassair and myself. A debt is owed. It is now due.”
Singing tension in the air as more and more spirits entered the mortal realm from the Veil. The earth still buckled and heaved, and Trennus periodically staggered with it, once dropping
to his knees as he kept reading. The spirits were afraid; he could feel their terror. We cannot fight a mad godling! one of them protested. It will devour us!
And I do not ask you to, Trennus replied, and kept reading. He had a thousand Names in his grimoires from Tawantinsuyu alone. He had been accumulating markers and contacts and contracts since he was eighteen years old, and had first started studying summoning. He had the grimoire of the man who had killed Senecita, his mentor. He had the grimoires of the man who had bound Lassair, whom Trennus had unNamed. He had four and a half decades of contacts made when he was in foreign lands. Names pieced out of the Magi library. And hundreds of Names of Veil denizens who might never have come to the mortal realm directly, but who liked to visit the Wood in the Veil, and therefore acknowledged themselves indebted to Trennus for permitting them to partake of time’s flow without the danger of entering the mortal universe. All told, Trennus had about two thousand Names at his disposal. It would take too long to say them all—this wasn’t a secondary school’s commencement ceremony, after all. A hundred or so, however? Would do very nicely.
He pulled the hundred most powerful from this book or that, and Saraid looped back down from the sky, and manifested beside him, in her semi-human form. Leaf-dappled eyes stared into his for a moment. I hope you understand what you are proposing, Saraid said, anxiously. You will become the focal point for all their power. You will be the center of the nexus. I will try to reinforce you, beloved. But this may quite literally tear you apart, like . . . Actaeon. Like a man broken on the wheel and then dragged by horses.
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 19
