You perceive it differently than I, Hecate admitted. In the main, I see doors. I see where they can be opened most easily between here and there. It took until this century for human understanding to improve as much as it has, and my sight began to change with their understanding. New words, new ideas, to quantify what I have always done. Now observe the weak place. You will hold the edges of what I will build. And then you will help pull it all together.
Sigrun closed her eyes. Tried to perceive it as Hecate did, as if she were hauling on two heavy curtains on a stage, one in each hand, bringing them together. I don’t understand what I’m doing.
At the moment, understanding is unnecessary. You are providing me assistance. I have been regaining some of my old power. Those who believed in me are scattered, and many have been slain, but those who came to Judea . . . believe in me quite powerfully. Also, every time I am called to a place like this, there are residual energies that I can feed upon. I have become a scavenger. Loathing in her tone. But those who wish to survive cannot pick and choose.
Sigrun could feel Hecate working as she spoke. Weaving time and space back together, like cloth on a loom . . . except that that metaphor was almost entirely inaccurate. There was gravity involved, and time, and more dimensions than Sigrun could comprehend. At the moment? she asked, keying in on those words as she strained to hold the edges together.
Perhaps you will never need to understand more. Hecate looked up, her eyes gleaming like ancient gold coins under her hood. There are questions I would like to ask you, Stormborn. For instance . . . what do you remember?
Remember? Sweat beaded Sigrun’s face as she clutched at the edges of reality, which seemed to be fraying under her mental grip. About what?
Nith growled suddenly, a sound that reverberated through the ground, up into Sigrun’s legs. Mad ones approach. I may be able to distract them, but I do not believe I can adequately damage them. Niðhoggr’s body had been steeped in Veil energies for centuries. His teeth and claws carried more than mere physical force. But he’d had less luck in fighting the mad ones, than others of their kind. Their tendrils were energy, and the bulk of their core bodies were, as well . . . what little of them that they permitted to manifest fully. They could do more damage to him with their tendrils than he could do to their cores, which frustrated him. Still, his scales rippled and then flattened all along his length. I will gain their attention.
No, Sigrun said sharply, straining at the construct Hecate had built. Stay here. I cannot defend you if you are so far away, and if I am distracted by this work!
And if you lose control, then we may as well not have made this effort at all.
Reality wavered for an instant. We are done, Hecate said, in a tone of satisfaction, and Sigrun released her grip, staggering again . . . and then Nith caught her in a forepaw and tossed her up onto his back, Hecate following quickly behind. You may take us forth, Malice-Striker.
I detest leaving these creatures unfought, he said, launching himself into the sky. But we three alone are not enough to meet them in battle.
And then they were once more among the moonlit expanses of Sigrun’s cloud-formed realm. Tell me, Niðhoggr, Hecate purred, as Sigrun still reeled with exhaustion, what do you remember, if your lady knows not what I mean?
Niðhoggr banked above the keep. After a long moment, the dragon responded, I have over two thousand years of memories, lady of doors. You will have to be more specific. I remember the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth Roman legions coming to Germania a mere seven years before Caesarion the God-Born’s death. He had forged treaties as far as the Rhein, and one hot-headed Roman governor . . . Publius Quinctilius Varus . . . almost cost him his new province. Varus had previously misgoverned Damascus. He was renowned for his cruelty to those under his rule . . . in defiance of Caesarion’s orders for temperance and civility. And he took offense that Marobodus, king of the Marcomanni, declined to join the new Roman province.
Niðhoggr paused. Insults were exchanged, and the governor marched out the legions into the Teutonburg Forest to teach the Marcomanni, the Chatti, the Bructeri, and the Semnones a lesson. His tone chilled Sigrun. Their soldiers, the auxiliaries, the camp-followers . . . the line of them stretched nine miles. Our humans ambushed them, time and again, whittling away at their forces. My progenitor and I were there. When the Romans made camp in a series of hastily-built forts to nurse their wounded . . . she bade me attack. We came out of the darkness and brought death, and the survivors fled into the arms of our waiting people. The civilians were sold into slavery among the tribes.
Nith’s voice shifted, subtly. Only one man of Rome left the forest: Publius Quinctilius Varus himself. He tried to commit suicide to clear his name of the dishonor of having lost twenty thousand men, and the Eagles that they carried as their standards. He tried to slit his wrists, and Hel closed the wounds. He fell on his sword, and she let him writhe in pain, but would . . . not . . . let . . . him . . . die. Nith’s voice held force. We took him to a Roman colonia to make his explanations to Caesarion the God-Born. I have it on good authority that once the emperor heard the full details, the man was crucified upside-down . . . and that the next governor sent to Germania was far more civil. Niðhoggr turned his head over his shoulder to regard Hecate steadily. Thus, I remember assisting in the murder of some twenty-thousand men. And murder it was. For while their arrows were enchanted, none of them could possibly have harmed me. He paused again. Was that the memory that you had in mind?
Sigrun wondered what it must be like, to carry so many centuries of bitter memory. She was eighty-six now, and even the weight of those decades—paltry, in comparison to Nith’s lifespan—was a heavy burden some days. His memories are as bitter as Reginleif’s. He was commanded, and Reginleif chose . . . or did she? She was pulled between her old bond with Loki and her new bond with Hel. And how close was Kanmi to insanity, having Baal-Hamon in his head? The thoughts coalesced in Sigrun’s mind. It doesn’t excuse Reginleif’s actions. It doesn’t excuse Nith’s. They both have to live with their actions, for the rest of their lives. But both of them were bound to Hel. Sigrun paused, and tried to put it into words for Nith’s sake. It was your progenitor’s fault, my friend. Or Rome’s, for invading. Not yours.
Hecate shook her head. Peace, young one. I can remember as much blood as you. No. I meant . . . presentiment. You are a creature of the Veil, in part, steeped in it for centuries. You must remember forwards. What do you pre-remember, young one?
Sigrun felt a shudder go through Nith’s frame. He doesn’t need to answer that, she objected.
I will answer, the dragon answered, slowly. I have rarely looked to the future, lady of doors. I never had a future before. He paused. What I pre-remember . . . just flashes. Impressions. I remember . . . loneliness. Loss. I see myself dying, wings scored through from missiles and spell-fire. I see Stormborn weeping over my body, but her cloak is white, and when I say her name in farewell . . . it is the first time she has ever heard me. She looks so . . . bereft. As if understanding comes to her only in that moment . . . . Another shudder rippled through his massive frame. Looking to such a future as this, lady of the crossroads, is meaningless. For that future is a lie.
Sigrun shivered. Nith’s forward-memory would not, could never happen. At least, she hoped that was the case. She didn’t want to live in a world where he had no voice. No, it couldn’t happen. She heard his voice. Her cloak was and had been black for years now. And the past was the past. What happened . . . stayed happened. So she had to regard ‘pre-memory’ in the same light as Sophia and Prometheus’ gift of prophecy. A guide to possibility. Sophia’s predestinate future . . . didn’t exist
They escorted Hecate back to the Wood and detailed the condition of the ley-lines in Caesaria Australis to Worldwalker. Or at least, Hecate did; Stormborn hardly knew how to describe what she had seen. Trennus finally asked her to show him what she had seen, mind-to-mind. That was surprisingly easy, as if they’d practiced this a hun
dred times before. His thoughts were like sun-warmed earth, something sorely lacking in the mortal realm at the moment. I can use what you were able to perceive, Trennus told her. The way you interpret the data is much easier for me to understand than Hecate’s methods.
You don’t sound entirely happy.
I’m not. Some of the lines that collapsed resonate with lines in Caesaria Aquilonis. That means that energies are transmitting between continents. Trennus put a hand on Sigrun’s shoulder. You and Hecate did a good job. I just . . . I need to be there. Frustration in his tone.
She put a hand on his back, in turn. You can only be in so many places at once, old friend. And here is where you must be, for the moment. We’ll keep it together till you’re able to return. Old affection, friendship, and ease, however strange the circumstances in which they found themselves.
She endured a penetrating look from Hecate, and then returned to Valhalla, where the gods were examining information as it came in through satellite feeds and the eyes of their mortal contacts. The generals of Nahautl had taken advantage of the chaos following the deaths of the Quechan gods, and punched south. The remaining gods of Nahautl had contacted Quetzalcoatl, congratulating him on his singular victory. Tlazolteotl, the goddess of lust and prostitution—debased fertility, in essence—expressed her gratitude for avenging her child, Centeotl. Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl, the king and queen of the underworld, thanked him for providing them with easy access to fresh sacrifices. Now we will turn the mad godlings from our lands! they boasted.
Quetzalcoatl had not answered any of them. He was in the process of ferrying as many of his people across the sea as he could protect at once, getting them to safe harbors like Nimes, Judea, or Burgundoi. Sigrun bit her fingers as she looked down at the perfect maps of the world, watching armies swarm south. Watching the Nahautl gods fight the mad godlings . . . and some of the godlings swinging west into Mamaquilla’s territory. It was all for nothing? Sigrun asked Nith, finding a place out of the way of the others. We had a choice between letting war between the Quecha and the Nahautl continue, or working against the Quecha directly. And now we’ve strengthened the Nahautl at the expense of the Quecha, and weakened . . . the whole world?
Nith wrapped his tail around her. It is difficult to judge the consequences of actions when one is in the middle of them. History makes decisions very easy to second-guess.
Sigrun gripped the tip of his tail, but cautiously; the end was like a spear’s blade, lethally sharp. I sometimes wish that I had your perspective, though not such bitter memories as you have. Does it make it easier?
The tail-grip tightened. It makes it easier not to be concerned over small things. But these are the worst times I have experienced. And yet, at the same time, the best. He paused. You will gain your own weight of memory and perspective, my friend. In time. And I will share what I see and remember with you, whenever and however I can.
Months passed in a kind of numb haze for Sigrun. A mad godling attacked Mamaquilla, and Mimir and Mani both died helping her defend her territory. After their deaths, the godling fragmented, and Mamaquilla was able to drive off the remnants. At the same time, Persia attacked Judea from the south and the east, driving right into the Caledonian Woods. Sigrun returned to there in an effort to keep what was left of the alliance together. Flights of lindworms and harpies rose with her and Nith as they defended the last provinces of the Eastern Alliance. Aviation fuel was currently in short supply, so helicopters and jets were being saved for vital sorties now. A motorcar could run on an electrical or ley battery, but a jet really did require chemical propellant to pull off its speed and aerobatics.
The lindworms, therefore, became highly agile bombers, and the harpies became their fighter escorts. Pilots and harpies could have worn oxygen masks for high-altitude flights to get to a target, but preferred to skim the treetops on their way to a Persian position. Nith and Sigrun’s role became that of the large and visible target, allowing the others to drop their payloads, harry the enemy, and get away . . . but they did more than that. Between the two of them, they had ice, wind, and lightning, and Nith periodically was able to reach down into the earth and trigger localized earthquakes, throwing enemy formations into disarray. Missiles, rockets, and bullets aimed at them, and they dueled with efreeti and ornithopters in the air. Persian battle-mages flung fire at them, and Sigrun sweated and redirected it, even as Nith would exhale white death down onto the ground in turn. When they would appear above a battlefield, Sigrun could see the jotun and the fenris turn their heads to identify the shadow in the sky, and roars and howls would erupt in her mind. Malice-Striker comes! Malice-Striker and Stormborn!
But for every inch of ground they took back, they lost some on another flank. Making matters worse, Rome once again landed, and retook the embattled city of Tyre and its war-weary population.
Sigrun now split her time in the mortal realm between Caesaria Aquilonis and Judea. Adam was now sixty-eight years old, and her heart broke every time she came to the house on Shar’abi Street. “I hate reading intelligence briefs anymore,” Adam groused tiredly one evening. “Everything we’re getting is satellite telemetry, occasional jet forays for photographs, or harpy and dryad scout reports.” He glanced around the living room. Trennus was up in the Caledonian Woods, working with the Pictish generals to stymie the Persian and Roman invasion forces. The thick pall of smoke over the Wood was a testament to the invaders’ decision to use incendiary bombs against the living, sapient forest.
Kanmi and Minori had been fighting up there themselves, and were, like Sigrun, taking a day’s leave. “The problem,” Minori told Adam, quietly, “isn’t the intelligence sources. It’s the fact that at the moment, we have few areas where infrastructure still exists, and people are getting food on a regular basis. Iberian Gaul is holding out. Rome. Judea. Persia. Tawantinsuyu. Parts of Nahautl, Novo Gaul, and Novo Germania. Parts of Qin. The rest of the world is . . . . ”
“Huddled camps of humanity who’ve banded together in their villages to keep the darkness outside their walls, but have only sticks, torches, and pitchforks with which to do it,” Kanmi supplied, leaning his head back against the couch. “It really doesn’t help that in a lot of areas, people are blaming the technomancers, the ley-mages, the god-born . . . and even the gods . . . for all of this. There’s this area near Lutetia where the crowds tore down their ley-towers. They have no power. It’s freezing cold, but they did it themselves, on the theory that the mad gods won’t come where there’s no ley-power.”
“And they have about a million Britannians in that area, who walked across the ice to get there,” Sigrun supplied, quietly. Nith was curled at her feet, his massive head on her knees, as she turned the pages of a book for him.
“Did it work?” Adam asked, stirring at the coals in the rarely-used fireplace with an iron poker.
No, Nith answered. The mad ones came anyway. And turned the people to ghul.
Adam turned to look at them all. “So what you’re telling me is . . . there’s no hope left.”
“Oh, there’s hope,” Sigrun said, staring out the window at the stars. “The hope that we can kill the mad godlings. That people will stop fighting each other long enough for the few remaining areas with equilibrium to re-assert themselves. That nature will recover. That infrastructure will be rebuilt.” It sounded like a children’s tale, when she said the words out loud. But we all need the last resident of Pandora’s box. Or else we may as well just stand on our pyres, right now.
“There’s definitely hope,” Kanmi said, sharply, and the words, coming from their resident cynic, got every head in the room to turn. “Admittedly, I have to place that hope in humans, and human nature, which I realize is a hard sell.”
“You, Kanmi?” Adam said, levering himself into a chair. “You’re going to champion humanity’s nature?”
“I always have. It’s just that they keep letting me down.” Kanmi’s laugh was harsh. “I’ve always said that given enough freedom
, humans would figure things out. That social controls are necessary, to keep the strong from killing the weak, but so long as what you do in your house doesn’t affect me in mine? You should be free to do it. My major objection to gods and religion—don’t point out the irony. I’m all too aware of it, most days.” He glared until Sigrun swallowed the words hovering on her lips, but Nith snorted frost. “You, too, dragon.”
I said not a word.
“Keep it that way.” Kanmi cleared his throat. “My objection to gods isn’t the gods themselves. The various religions of the world started off as a way to explain things to humans. We’ve gathered, in the past forty years, that the gods themselves know more or less what humans know. Only they know some things before we know them, because they’re outside of time, and what humanity knows in the future, they’ve had at least inklings of in the past. But humanity of the past wasn’t ready for that knowledge, and some gods and spirits are . . . well, better at understanding science than others are. Look at Lassair. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about physics, or understanding why things work.”
“She’s much more interested in how people’s minds and hearts function,” Minori cut in, softly.
“More power to her. It’s going to be a terrible disappointment to her when she finally figures out that it all boils down to self-interest.”
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 118
