Taranis chafed at the order, but it made sense. Between the two of them, they should have been able to kill the big one. But with the addition of all the smaller ones . . . Let me call for my kin—
No. You will all turn on me when the battle is done.
We have to survive the battle, first—
No!
And thus, in the eleventh hour of the fight, Mars was slain by a mad godling. The shockwave caused avalanches as far away as the Alps, burying every pass in rock and snow. After the dust settled, not one piece of metal, stone, or wood in Toxandria remained larger than a finger’s length.
Taranis, badly injured, managed to call for his allies. The Morrigan, fresh off a fight with Obsidian Butterfly, raced first to Taranis’ side. Of the gods of Valhalla, Mimir and Mani appeared next, followed by Toutatis, the crafter-god of the Gauls, and Thor. Together, they slew the mad godling . . . sending hundreds of smaller godlings rampaging over the area.
On seeing this, the jotun and fenris retreated. They couldn’t fight the godlings. Even the weakest godling was on par with a strong djinn—and couldn’t be touched, grappled with, or even shot. Any grendel remaining in the area might well be consumed by the godlings, though, fortunately, no one had yet seen a grendel, ettin, fenris, jotun, or god-born ghul.
The area’s ley-lines tore, warping space-time at the battle site. Trennus and Hecate arrived within hours, trying to close it, while being guarded by Kanmi, Minori, Sigrun, Saraid, and Niðhoggr. Kanmi and Minori were unable to detect any gravitic shifts, unusual radiation, or time dilations in the area in which the ley-lines were tangled and fused. But there was what appeared to be a shimmering rent in the air at the heart of the city. And anyone who happened to fly up, and looked through that shimmering wrongness in the sky, saw something that puzzled them. “A city,” Sigrun told the others, shaking her head. “I suppose it looks like Toxandria did. The older area is a cluster of narrow buildings with statues and fountains, flanked by a newer area of skyscrapers and wider roads. There are motorcars on the roads, and a brown haze over the city. Perhaps a resonance of the past?”
Kanmi rose into the air to look for himself, and descended again, puzzled. “Maybe. Or perhaps it’s another quantum reality,” he suggested.
“Prometheus does claim that other realities exist. Personally, I do not think that they are our business. We have enough of a job trying to fix this one.”
Kanmi hovered beside Sigrun, where she perched on Nith’s back. “You’re not curious?”
“Not enough to put my fool head through the door, just in time for Trennus and Hecate to seal it shut,” Sigrun returned, and Kanmi snorted.
Though that had been a Sunnandæg in Iunius, the temperature had been unseasonably cold. The harvests in Britannia last fall had failed. Starvation was imminent in many areas, though Damara, the Gallic goddess of nature and plenty, was using all of her power to try to create food for her people there, and in Gaul. The North Sea remained choked with ice, and people were evacuating the islands of Britannia and Eire by foot, crossing the channel to Gaul along sheets of ice that were ten feet thick, thanks to the cold left by Skadi’s death.
Gaul and Iberia, which were already flooded with Gothic refugees, now were swamped by their own people. The fact that Rome periodically sent missiles and fighter planes over the mountains to harry Gaul hardly improved on matters, but it did keep people there firmly locked on the notion that Rome was the enemy. And that the Goths and Gauls were allies, in spite of the increasingly cramped living conditions, the shattered economies, and the rationing.
Raccia had collapsed. As a nation, they were no strangers to harsh weather, but they had already been pushed east into Asia by the ettin and grendels, and been beset by mad godlings as their native gods resisted the call to join forces with the gods of Valhalla and Gaul. And then the ruined harvest had reduced their population to starvation. Qin, therefore, saw another surge of refugees, this time from the north. News was scarce out of that Empire, however; they had a tradition of keeping their problems to themselves. So the only inklings the rest of the world had of events in Qin came from satellite photography and seismography that showed massive earthquakes in Tibet. And from near the Forbidden City.
Intimations that their gods, too, could die.
Watching far-viewer footage had become the world’s primary source of intelligence-gathering. Spies already in place in given populations had been either displaced by population shifts, killed in mad godling attacks or the shockwaves propelled by gods’ deaths, or were unable to gain access to communications gear. Telephone lines were down all over the world, and underwater cables had been severed in places. Satellite phones still worked, but they were in the hands of a privileged few; Rome itself had been cut out of its own satellite network. As such, news out of places like India was sketchy at best. Caesarion’s intelligence people were able to ascertain that Persia had been pushing into India’s territory for the past several years, and while the Indian army was holding out, the Hindu gods were locked in battle with the mad godlings. A particularly bad earthquake on the island of Sinhala registered over a nine on the Rihtære scale, and was attributed to the death of the goddess Kali.
Sekhmet continued to make forays into Egypt, retrieving those of her people whom she could. The humans who’d turned bestial and maddened, trailed along behind columns of refugees, looking for scraps, or stragglers. On reaching the outskirts of the refugee camps, they’d wait out of sight until nightfall, and then try to sneak into the camps to steal food, children, or the infirm. It had really only taken finding one child being devoured by a man with a crocodile’s head to ensure that the Judean border guards would now open fire on any human with the head of a beast who did not advance with hands held high in the air. The chatter of semi-automatic gunfire could be heard erratically at almost any hour of the day or night, as the guards had to mow down those who had once been human. Reports of combat fatigue were increasing among the border guards as a result; the Egyptian provincial border had been, for generations, a low-stress environment to rotate people to, away from the Wall. Now, there was no rest for anyone.
And the people who lived in the tent city along that border shivered in the cold that never really seemed to lift from the desert. Even when the sun shone overhead, it never really seemed to warm the air as it should, seeming more distant and ruddier than normal.
In September, there was an assassination attempt on Caesarion’s life. The bullets came from a high-powered rifle fired from a window down on his motorcar as it passed through the streets of Jerusalem. Solinus made sure that his protectee was alive, and then flowed out the shattered window of the car as a rush of pure flame, formed himself into a blazing phoenix as soon as he had empty air around him, and arrowed back along the trajectory of the bullet. Rig, who while on duty, continuously maintained an illusion of Caesarion that was about three inches to the right of where the man actually was, checked the Roman governor for wounds, and their driver, a Judean lictor, floored the accelerator and got them out of the vicinity. “You’ve got a bruise the size of a grapefruit on your chest,” Rig said, staring at Caesarion in disbelief. “What kind of warding spell-stones are you carrying?”
“None,” Caesarion told him, sitting up and brushing broken glass off his shirt. “I am not a particularly powerful god-born. I just barely qualify, in fact.” He rubbed at his chest. “But my hide is somewhat tougher than it appears. And no, no Achilles heel that I am aware of. Just the blood of Mars, Venus, and Isis, though much diluted by time.” Another rueful glance. “I was cited several times for bravery under fire during my stint in the Legion. I have always doubted that it was courage that sent me into the line of fire when my men hesitated. It was more that I knew I would have a better chance of surviving it than they would. Hardly a virtue on my part.”
Rig looked back through the rear window for pursuit, and wrapping Caesarion completely in invisibility. “Mars died recently.”
“I’m aware. I do no
t know if any of his residual essence came to me. I am in no place to be making claims of such.” Broken glass fell to the seat from out of the invisibility field, as Caesarion shook it out of his hair and clothes. “Everyone else is quite all right?”
“Everyone’s checked in. Sol and our agents on the ground are going after the shooter. Even odds if it’s a Roman or a Persian, sir.” Rig’s mind raced. Since Caesarion was god-born, and Julianus and Hadrianus were not, he could push for the throne on those grounds. But he wasn’t doing so. Probably a good thing, too. Rome’s gods would say he’s subject to them . . . wait. If he’s god-born of Venus, can’t Venus keep tabs on him, the way Loki can watch over me? But he’s god-born of Isis, too. But Isis is dead. Rig’s head ached. I’ll . . . stick to thinking about the job.
The hit had been conducted by a Roman operative . . . a member of the Praetorian Guard who hadn’t been in Judea on the Guard’s rolls. Who hadn’t been rounded up and given the choice to swear allegiance, or leave in peace. Adam ben Maor in particular seemed to be hard-hit by that piece of information. “There’s no honor left,” he told Trennus and Kanmi. They were both bothered by it . . . but neither of them had invested as much of their identity in the role of a Praetorian, as Adam had. Trennus had always been a ley-mage and an intercessor, first. Kanmi had always been a sorcerer, a technomancer, before his Praetorian role, and had gone on to be a professor. Adam had gone from special forces to the Praetorians, and though he’d retired, he’d never stopped being one. Duty. Honor. Courage. Discipline. Loyalty. Integrity.
Trennus did his best to comfort him. “There’s plenty of honor left, Adam. The Empire’s looking at the same information we are, seeing a whole world coming apart at the seams, and they want to re-unite what they can. It’s just that Julianus is taking a page out of the bad old days of the late Republic and the Decadent Periods.” Trennus clapped a hand to Adam’s shoulder, as the three of them sat in a room of Trennus’ northern villa, by a fire. “The agent had Roman papers on him, stamped as if he’d lived here through the entire change of government. But the local PG office says they have no records of him ever being attached to the Guard here. They had to have gotten him in somehow. Either smuggled in with refugees—”
“Fritti will love that,” Adam muttered. “She’s already got enough to deal with, without security checks on every person on every boat, truck, bus that gets through, but I suppose it’s necessary. ”
Tren nodded, but his mind was clearly still on the original topic, “—or they brought him here through the Veil. Come to the Woods with me, and talk with the Guardian. He keeps an eye on the portal between there and here for me, when I’m not actually in the Veil. He might have some ideas.” Trennus shrugged.
“And you just trust this entity who showed up out of the blue to guard the Woods for you?”
“He hasn’t proven untrustworthy yet. Sari’s comfortable with him. Most of the other spirits that dwell there act as if he’s . . . always been there.” Trennus shrugged again, though clearly ill-at-ease. “And he managed to catch Iris. There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye.”
“Not that I’m not curious, but I don’t think I really should—” Adam twitched a little. The Veil was a temptation. Youth, health, vitality. But he really didn’t want to see the shadow on the ground, with the gleaming yellow eyes. See how much deeper and blacker it was now. If it loomed in three dimensions now, instead of only two.
Tren sent him a considering glance. “If Sig happens to visit, I’ll take you home immediately.”
Adam allowed himself to be persuaded. Mostly because he was mildly worried about Trennus being taken in by this entity. Tren was sometimes too trusting, though Kanmi more than made up for this tendency, on balance. And in the Veil, he swallowed hard, seeing the black shadow, always at his feet. No larger, no darker than it had been before, but twice as inevitable.
The Guardian proved to be a little taller than Steelsoul himself—closer to Trennus’ height. But the Guardian moved with light-footed grace, in spite of his size and the liquid-appearing silver armor that flowed around his form. When Worldwalker introduced them, the featureless mask with the closed eyes turned towards him. I already know Steelsoul. I have known him for a very long time. The tone was surprisingly unfriendly.
I don’t know you, Steelsoul denied. Have I done you some harm, somehow?
You have. You will.
What did I do? What will I do, that you hate me for? Steelsoul was bewildered.
You’ll listen more to your head than to your heart, and you’ll destroy my life and yours. No. I’m not making one of Trueseer’s damnable predictions here. And the thing that kills me—hah—is that you won’t just make that mistake once. You’ll do it again. You’re doing it again. With the Guardian’s back towards Worldwalker, the lids of the featureless mask opened, and Steelsoul looked into brown human eyes. I can’t tell you more. I never told you more than this, before.
But we’ve never spoken before!
We have. And we haven’t. Reality is recursive in the Veil. The Guardian turned away, his eyelids sealing again. Worldwalker, you’ve come to ask about intrusions into Judea from the Veil. But as you know better than I, in a universe without time, all physical loci are equally reachable. And the physicality of Veil-space is not completely contiguous with the space of our universe.
You’re saying that, for instance, this Wood doesn’t entirely map to the congruent reality of the Wood in the mortal realm, Steelsoul interpreted, carefully.
Correct, Trennus agreed. It is actually contiguous to both the Judean area and the original Britannian location at the same time. But there are specific locations for doors to the Veil in the mortal realm, such as the gates of Valhalla. Some of these doors open both ways. Some open only one direction, or the other. Most of the permanent doors are guarded. But with sufficient will and power, one can exit the Veil for the mortal realm almost anywhere, really. The way Nith travels. The way I’ve learned to travel, with Saraid to guide me.
So determining if someone traveled through the Veil to Judea might be almost impossible if they didn’t use your permanent door. Steelsoul was aggravated. Assuming they brought the assassin that way, anyway, and not by boat.
If you can backtrack your assassin’s movements in the mortal realm, you may find more or less where he first appeared. There may be trace elements of the energy used to move him . . . if he did indeed come through the Veil. The Guardian’s tone was distant, and his head swiveled, blindly, towards Adam. It brings back all the memories of Livorus, doesn’t it?
Steelsoul squinted. That was the man’s mortal name. It seemed important that the Guardian used it. It does, he admitted. How did you—
I know you. Go about your tasks, Adam ben Maor. Sarcasm over the mortal name. Though the creature stood in sunlight that streamed in through the canopy of leaves, there was no shadow at his feet.
Steelsoul shook his head and persisted, relishing the clarity of his own thoughts, the lack of pain and irritability in his mind and body. If you know what’s to happen, then you know precisely how this man came to Judea. Tell us. Save us the time.
There was a pause, and a shrug. You’ll want to verify my words, if only to try to prove me a fraud. And considering that we stand outside of time? There is no such thing as paradox. Very well. He came to Judea in 1989, four years after you retired as the commander of the local Praetorians. He served in the local office for a year. Some of the commanders in Rome could see a potential need for an independent agent in Judea. Someone who could kill you, Trennus, or Sigrun, if the godslayers got out of hand. They made his records disappear. He’s been living on a small stipend, drawing pay as if disabled, and doing mid-grade espionage work ever since. Check a café in Little Roma called Calix. He lived above it and washed dishes there to cover his room and board. But he was running out of money, due to a recent terminal lack of pay from Rome. If he’d put in for his ‘disability’ check through the Judean Praetorians, some accountant might ha
ve noticed his lack of records. And before you tell me that Sigrun should have recognized him . . . The Guardian’s voice became cynical, he worked in counter-intelligence. Not her turf. Aside from which, she wasn’t around much at that point, was she?
It wasn’t quite a question. Steelsoul stood there, the wind soughing softly in the trees of the ancient forest, leaves rustling all around him, and admitted to himself, quietly, that there was so much detail in the Guardian’s words, that it was hard to regard the words as lies.
She’s coming, the Guardian said, suddenly, lifting his head. Time for you to leave. As must I.
Trennus Worldwalker frowned. Why do you always leave when Sigrun comes here? Do you fear what her truthsense will tell us about you?
But the Guardian had already melted away into the woods with surprising stealth for a creature encased in shining silver armor, lost from sight in moments.
Get me a door, Steelsoul told Trennus. He looked skywards, where a vast shadow with a searing white heart soared. On its back was a form made of pale moonlight, cloaked in night. A shield of silver power shone around them both, spun from will and thought. An unspoken thought: She can’t see me carrying her death in my shadow.
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 114
