The darkness in the room deepened, and Trennus spun, bringing his hands up in the beginnings of a defensive spell . . . and then stopped, staring at the entity that had just materialized behind him. “Is it really you?” He stepped forward, uncertainly, and put a hand out, as if to touch the entity, and then dropped his hand to gesture at the room. “He’s gone. He . . . turned himself into a godslayer, and ran off to . . . cover our retreat.” He swallowed, and reached out, as he had so often. Offered an embrace, though he wasn’t sure it would be accepted. How can I ever make this right? I should have seen what he was doing. I should have known. This is my fault. “I’m so sorry. I was too late.”
He did what he was always going to do, given a world that presented him with the same crisis, and only a limited range of options. Pushed into extremis, Adam was always going to sacrifice himself for the rest of us. You know that, Trennus. The words were brine-soaked, tasting of tears, and his head rocked back at the power in the voice, though the slim figure moved closer to him, accepting the embrace, and a hand moved in the darkness, touching his cheek tenderly, and with love. Do not grieve. You and Kanmi have made a good start. But now you must move everyone you love into the Veil. Not one person must be left behind, Trennus. And do your best to pull Adam there, as well. Even if it makes him scream in torment, hold to him, once you’ve pulled all the others. No matter if they resist. No matter if they say they must hold the line.
“The line is lost,” Trennus said, dully. “The stars went out. Kanmi tried to explain how impossible that is, and how it has to be an illusion.” All hope is lost.
There is now only the hope we make. The response to his unspoken words didn’t surprise him. And this is no illusion. It is merely something Kanmi deems to be impossible. You two will have quite the time working out the math. But when you enter the Veil with everyone, seek out Prometheus—for he must be there—and ask him to tell you of Cronus. The master of unbridled occurrence, as he once called the ancient titan. Ask him what happens, when effect precedes cause. Dark arms tightened around him and pulled his head down, and he put his head on her shoulder, and just stood there for a moment, wanting to weep like a lost child. Go, Trennus Worldwalker. Take what you found here with you, and preserve it. Preserve your children, your kingdom, and your people. Those who are in the Veil, will be safe. They will remember.
“Remember what?”
Everything that matters. Who they are, and who they were, in the face of who they might be.
And then he was, once more, alone. Trennus closed his eyes. If it had been anyone else to tell him this, he’d have doubted. But given the source? He stepped back out into the night, feeling strangely eased. There would be enough time to do all that needed doing. Saraid?
Yes, Worldwalker? Saraid sounded exhausted. She’d been defending the northern forests all day, as he had been, until Kanmi had told him to evacuate Adam, since the Temple Archives and the Magi Archives had been attacked.
Call the retreat, wild-heart. And come to me. We’ve been given an assignment. It felt good to say that, oddly enough.
Saraid came to him, reading his memories of the past half hour as she wrapped herself around and through him, covering his body with her essence. She shuddered at the image of Adam as the godslayer . . . and paused in shock at his vision of the goddess. It was truly her?
It was.
I am so relieved and grateful to hear that it is so. Nothing but sincerity in her voice.
Me, too. Now, let’s go, wild-heart. There isn’t much time.
Rig and Solinus had seen Maccis and Athim leave with Zhi a half hour before. They’d seen what looked like comets—sun-bright ones, at that—rising up into the sky at the eastern edge of town, and Rig had felt mad ones dying and dispersing. The other mad godlings shifted and headed directly for the east, trying to surround the source of those sun-bright bolts. Either to attack it, or to feed on those of their kin that were being dispersed. “Whatever or whoever that is, I wonder how long they can keep it up?” Solinus asked, staring, and shaking his head.
“Not long enough,” Ima said from nearby, her voice a rasp that ran up and down Rig’s spine. “There are too many godlings left in the world.”
“And yet, if they all came here,” Rig muttered, “if we could destroy them, their power would just be . . . absorbed.” He grimaced. “Though there has to be an upper limit on that.”
He and Solinus were wearily cleaning and readying their weapons for another sortie to the southeast. Rig had fought mad godlings before, but none of the other people with them were capable of it. Their best option was to keep the Persians and the ghul and whatever else that they could, away from the city. And he and Solinus hadn’t been recalled by the Praetorians yet. Not that he figured Caesarion would call for them. The Emperor would rather see them fighting on the line. Putting off the inevitable one more day.
The scene was controlled chaos, with the wounded having been moved to the infirmary building, and Lindworm reserves getting ready for another mission. There were injured lindworms and dying pilots in the massive barn to their left, and Vidarr and Ima had skipped the debriefing after their strike to the south. They were about ten feet away, talking rapidly on radios with their field commanders, trying to get a feel for where they needed to move their troops next, while aides handed them reports on casualties.
Audible even over the churn and thrum of voices and cries of pain, was a silken rustle in the air, and Rig lifted his head as saw Solinus’s own head jerk up. “Father?” Solinus asked, and Rig looked just past his friend, his gray eyes widening. Time seemed to slow, if not actually stop.
He’d grown up across the street from the large and noisy Matrugena family. He’d married Inghean, and been embraced by the entire clan. But he’d never seen his father-in-law like this before. Rough fur sprouted along the backs of his arms, and down his bare legs under his kilt, but many of his tribal markings were still visible through the hair. His eyes were leaf-green at that moment, and antlers sprouted from his forehead. Cernunnos, Rig thought, dazed, but the Gallic god of the hunt and wild places was dead. No. Worldwalker, the huntsman. All the belief that used to go to Cernunnos is . . . going to him now . . . ?
Solinus. Rig. Vidarr. Ima. Your children. Scimar, you and Heolstor, too. All of your people, in all the different shapes that humanity now wears. Come with me. It is time.
Solinus frowned. “Father, we have too much work to do—”
“I have to bolster the southern defenses,” Vidarr objected.
The other lindworm flights are taking heavy casualties. We have rested enough to go and assist them, Heolstor said, his dark eyes catching the dim light of the emergency lanterns.
Rig closed his eyes as realization hit him. “My father’s dead?” he asked, quietly.
His words caused a profound silence to spread around him.
We do not know. We know that there have been dozens of seismic events near Burgundoi. Taranis and the Morrigan cannot hear Odin and Freya any more. Loki’s fate is currently unknown. Trennus held out one hand, wreathed in green and amber light. Inghean is waiting for you in the Veil, Rig Lokison. So is your daughter. Kanmi just took Masako there, too, Solinus. It’s time to go.
Ima’s eyes filled with tears, and she spun and kicked over a table filled with equipment, a sudden snap of temper that was unlike her normal equanimity. “This has been our home!” the giantess cried out. “We cannot leave it—”
You must, Saraid said, her voice suddenly carrying far more power and authority than Rig had ever heard her use before . . . but it suited her, as queen of the Picts and Lady of the Woods. We are bringing as many of the jotun and hveðungr and fenris with us, as we can. You are needed. Your children are needed. You have always been a bridge, Silentheart. You have been a voice for those who could not speak. That has not, and will not change. Come. It is time.
It went against the grain. Rig had been fighting for so long that this felt like surrender and his heart rebelled at it. But af
ter a moment of staring into Trennus’ eyes, Rig reached out, numbly, and took his father-in-law’s hand. A brief shock, and then he was in the Veil. In the deep, emerald heart of the Woods, and Cinderrose and his daughter ran to him, and he caught them in his arms. I’m here, he told them, foolishly seeking to reassure with words, but their fear for him was already rapidly passing into the pure relief of seeing him. I’m so glad to see you both. He held wife and daughter tightly to him, and kissed them. Whatever happens next . . . even if we abandon Earth and start fresh on Mars, or some damned thing . . . I’m here with you. The thought of them all just . . . moving to a different planet, and terraforming it, and starting over again, suddenly had enormous appeal. Somewhere where the mad ones couldn’t reach them. Although . . . the mad ones weren’t physical. Perhaps they could cross the void . . . .
You had better be here with us, Cinderrose told him, and kissed him, fire rising around her form here in the Wood. Visionweaver blinked, and recovered, looking around past her for familiar faces. He didn’t see his mother.
She’ll make it, Cinderrose said. But . . . you should come with us. Mirrorshaper mourns. Fireflower died in the mortal realm, and the Guardian holds him here. Refuses to let him go.
Visionweaver went with his beloved, as Moltensoul and dozens of others began to enter the Woods around them, blinking in the dim light. Moltensoul picked his own wife up off the ground, flaring into a pillar of brilliant flame in the joy of seeing her once more. And then dimmed, banked himself, as they found Mirrorshaper, mourning over Fireflower’s burial mound, deep in the Woods, where Cloudwalker and Shadowweaver waited, too.
Visionweaver touched Mirrorshaper’s shoulder, gently, trying to let him know that they were all there, but knew that Mirrorshaper’s grief was likely to be eternal, if duration was not permitted to the younger man. Time didn’t heal all wounds. But time allowed . . . perspective. Without it, they would all be locked in an eternal instant.
Mirrorshaper didn’t look up as the gods came—Sekhmet and Amaterasu, Taranis and the Morrigan, the Evening Star in her subtle glory, Mercury and Quetzalcoatl, who removed his feather-adorned mask to reveal features that looked strikingly mortal, in many ways. There were lines of age and experience around the eyes and mouth, at any rate.
The Picts arrived, and the forest grew darker and denser, as every tree of the mortal Forest appeared beside its twin in the Veil. The children of Trennus Worldwalker appeared one at a time, drawn through the Veil, and Lassair, soaring overhead as a phoenix, dipped and took human form to embrace her children and Saraid’s, tears of fire working their way down her face in relief at seeing them all safe.
And then Kanmi Emberstone and Truthsayer appeared, with their children and their families, too. The skies were crowded with lindworms and harpies, and the woods teemed with dryads, satyrs, minotaurs, centaurs, fenris, jotun, and leonnes. Chaldean Magi mingled with Nahautl Jaguar and Eagle warriors and their families. Dazed-looking Goths and Gauls, and Nipponese engineers and technicians. Hellene physicians in their white doctor robes. Stunned Romans, looking up at the trees in wonder—he definitely spotted Marcus Livorus, Caesarion, and Aquila, all sitting together in a knot. He thought he even saw a handful of Judeans—all modern types. None of the more conservative, older people.
And in the trees, to greet them all, were the spirits of this place. Monkeys and foxes, wolves and breezes, stones that formed themselves into the shapes of humans, briefly, and then lapsed back into craggy silence. Giant spiders and sapient clouds, tendrils of ivy that spoke with angelic voices. Everyone, human and spirit alike, seemed overwhelmed. Overcome.
Finally, Trennus Worldwalker appeared, with Saraid by his side now, his face pale. Prometheus appeared beside them, and Trennus sank to one knee, obviously pulling still at something, some leaden weight. Come on, Trennus said, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd his face a mask of concentration. Leave it. Leave it, Steelsoul. Leave the damned godslayer behind. It’s time.
In the mortal world, Adam continued to fight at the edge of Jerusalem. The godlings had tried to drive their tendrils through his body, and recoiled, every time; the energy inside of him was inimical to them. The energy was Aetheric, and thus poisonous, as far as they were concerned. So he was bleeding from a few wounds, but they couldn’t do much to him. Yet, with Inti’s weapon in his hands, he could do quite a bit to them. I wonder if the sun-god foresaw this at all. If he knew what his weapon would be used for, eventually. Bringing light and order to a time and a place of utter darkness. Adam found another target, and pulled the trigger.
There was a sense of presence behind him, and he heard Trennus’ voice in his mind. “I can’t leave the godslayer,” he told Trennus, finding another target, and trying to correct for the mad one’s erratic movements. “He’s me. I’m him. And we can’t enter the Veil. I’m sorry.”
Stop being a gods-be-damned fool. You’re already here. Now shut up and stop struggling.
“If I’m already there, then I must already have gone—”
Or you were to go there, you stubborn fool.
“Isn’t that we’d call a paradox? Maybe your Guardian will just up and disappear now.” Adam pulled the trigger. “And good riddance.”
In the Veil, Visionweaver looked up, and caught sight of the Guardian, covered in his fluidic steel armor, walking steadily forwards. The armor defeated even Veil senses. It was a mirror, reflecting his gaze back to him. The various gods all regarded the Guardian with marked confusion, and a little suspicion, but he dropped to one knee beside Trennus, laying his sword over his raised leg, and lowered his head, enduring their stares. It’s all right, old friend, he said, his voice tired. It’s going to hurt. But you’ll manage it. Just hold on tightly. And what you manage to hold, will . . . snap here. When the gate closes, and time truly ends.
The land shuddered, and Kanmi Emberstone moved forwards through the crowd. And what precisely does that mean?
It means that time stopped in the mortal realm, at just slightly after midnight. As Caesarius thirty-second became September first, the Guardian told him, simply. That is why the light of the stars vanished.
Oh, bullshit. We were all still moving around— Kanmi hesitated.
Time stopped, Prometheus confirmed, and Rig shuddered at the implications.. But duration continued. Continuity continued. Because someone with enough will allowed it to do so, for some of us. As occurs when someone with sufficient willpower creates duration in the Veil. As there is duration here. In Olympus. In Valhalla.
Truthsayer’s lips parted. Why? And who? Who has this kind of power?
Why? To give us the opportunity to evacuate people to the Veil. To ensure that there could be continuance. As to who . . . . Prometheus stared at the Guardian. You are Steelsoul Godslayer?
I am. And I am not. Adam ben Maor was a fool, twice over. I was a fool, twice, but I have hope that I am not and will not be a fool three times over. I remember . . . all that the Godslayer gave me to remember, from the Aether. I remember two lives. The mirror-like mask flowed back from the features, revealing the tired eyes but young face of Steelsoul himself. Visionweaver stared, bewildered, as the Guardian said, steadily, You are all here to remember. And to preserve.
In the mortal realm, Adam ben Maor screamed in pain as he felt himself being torn from himself. Every cell in his body felt as if it were being unknitted, every nerve ending sang in red-hot agony but Caliburn stayed in his hand. “Trennus, let go, god damn it, let me do this—”
I’ve got your otherself here, telling me that this is what he remembers. So let go, you stubborn fool. Let go and let me save you. The battle’s over. Everyone we can rescue, has been rescued. So come here and help us build, gods damn you. That’s what you’ve always said you’re for.
The words lanced through him. So much pain in his friend’s voice. He’d lost Sigrun. And while Adam would have welcomed dying at this moment, the cause for which he fought was lost. Trennus was right. The war was over.
Adam let go.
His last sight in the world, was of himself, still standing there, meeting his own eyes. The Godslayer, the creature of the Aether stood up, still encased in silvery armor. I am what changes. I am what endures. I am humanity, and I am you. Take my gift of knowledge with you, and farewell.
Adam, son of Light, saluted him, and, without a host body, faded out of existence. And then all around him, he saw the Woods in the Veil, and again, a moment of agonizing pain, this time all concentrated in his head. Steelsoul the Guardian put his hands to his temples, barely registering that here, Caliburn was a damned sword, how perfectly useless, I can’t shoot with a sword . . . .
. . . and then the memories hit. Not just the memories of previous incarnations. Not just the memory of holding up the pillars to give Nefertiti time to escape. Not just dying painfully under the rubble. But memories that didn’t make sense. I . . . no! I would never attack Sigrun! I would never!
And yet, as he stared down at his hands, he could remember one of them being cut away by her spear, just at the midpoint of the arm. But he’d been wearing black, hooked armor, and he’d . . . leaped out of the house at her, seeing a bringer-of-chaos . . . No. No, that didn’t happen. He looked up at the others, his mind reeling as the memories of decades spent in the Veil hit him. Time he’d had available to consider every angle, every option, from memories that only meshed partially. It didn’t happen. But it did.
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 175
