The Godless (19 page)

She left then and, in her wake, the shadows of six men and women emerged from the room around him. He met the gaze of each, met the flatness, the coldness of their eyes, and knew that he was a lucky man, a man who had just avoided death. In his own eyes, he would continue to do so for years after, feeling as if a power much larger than him was watching his every move. It was a feeling he would not have again until Samuel Orlan told the Captain of the Spine that he would accompany Dark into Leera.

In the barracks of Mireea, he felt a hand nudge his shoulder.

“Don't sleep in the chair,” Zean said, walking past him, leaving the empty room. “You always bitch about that on the horse in the morning, when you do.”

 

7.

 

It was Ayae, not Hien, who helped Olcea pack the rest of the cart. It took just under three hours, the last of the boxes being packed and repacked for space, and by the time Ayae carried out the box and jar to the driver's seat, the night sky had deepened and darkened into the early hours of the next day. “You never told me.” She pushed the last box in securely and turned to the witch, who was doing a final pass around the cart, checking the heavy tarpaulin and ropes, her wrapped hands pulling on the knots. “Why you were leaving?”

“There is an army approaching,” the other woman replied.

Ayae did not believe it. “You have been in fights before,” she said.

“A long time ago.” Olcea passed her on the other side of the cart and approached the black ox, her hand falling on his back. “But you are right, I have fought before. I thought to fight here as well. Mireea has been my home for a long time.”

“But no more.”

“No more.” She scratched the ox's ear and, over the beast's head, met Ayae's gaze. “I am leaving and you should do the same. You could even come with me, if you wanted.”

“You haven't even told me what you're running from,” she said.

“Running?” Olcea laughed ruefully and patted the ox's head. “I am too old to run, but I am too young to stay. There is too much power in this city, now.”

“The Keepers and—”

“Another.” She left the ox and drew closer to Ayae. “The dead have begun to
bend
.”

Ayae hesitated. In the witch's gaze was a look she had seen in Fo and Bau, a knowledge that she did not have, but unlike the two Keepers, Olcea feared what she knew. “I don't understand that,” Ayae said, finally.

“They move toward him,” Olcea said softly. “It is like corn in a field. The wind rises and it pushes it one way, then another, and it has not the strength to resist. I have never seen the likes of it before. The dead do not move easily, but even Hien tries to follow the call to him. He struggles to break the connection with his head, to leave the last of his flesh. I had been told before that the dead react like this to him, but to see it is another thing to experience. It is as if a myth, a tale told by witches and warlocks to their children, has emerged from the Five Kingdoms before me.”

“It ended over a thousand years ago.” Ayae wanted her voice to sound as if such a number meant nothing, but she knew that it did not. She felt dwarfed, insignificant, as if she were in the process of being consumed by horrifically large history. “So much has been lost.”

“This has not been lost,” the witch said. “This could never be lost. Not even for the thousand years we thought him dead, not even then could we forget. When, decades ago, he began appearing in cities and in towns, there was much panic.
Qian
,
witches said.
Qian
, warlocks said. In each voice was a tremble much as you hear in mine, Ayae. They feared what he would do, and feared it even more when he did not. After a while, others began to say that he was not the same man he once was. He said the words himself to witches and warlocks and stories of him working with them began to emerge. In Faaisha, it is said he stood beside a witch who possessed a child, watched her work, and thanked her later. But in all those stories, the witches and warlocks are not like me. Each one of those has talismans made from the bones of their family, of the men and women who came before them, who taught them all they knew. Their legacy was to each other. When the witch in Faaisha dies, she will leave her own bones to her daughter, and her daughter will leave her bones for her child. Of course he would not strike her, or any of her kind. But I am not her kind. I was not given my power. I did not ask for consent. I took my power in fire and steel and the tragedy of blood.”

“He saved me,” Ayae said. “From a Quor'lo.”

Olcea nodded, briefly. “He found it later, and chased it beneath the city, to where all the old dead waited. Don't stay, Ayae. Don't stay for this. Come with me.”

It will not be long until a kindness is said.
She heard Muriel Wagan's words again,
but knew that this was not the kindness she meant. It was clear that Olcea was being driven out by her fear—fear of Qian, fear of
Zaifyr
. Her old, bandaged hands shook as she pulled herself up onto the cart and took the driver's seat. On the wooden bench, she hunched into herself as if to hide in a way that Ayae had never seen before. The witch looked, suddenly, as if she were old, much older than she was, and Ayae knew that her offer to come with her was not one born of friendship, but fear. She wanted Ayae to come with her because she was just like Zaifyr, because she was cursed.

“Are you going through Yeflam?” she asked.

The witch winced. “For the first time in over a decade,” she said. “I will find a boat there that will take me to Gogair, at least.”

“Drop by Faise, will you?” Ayae took a step back from the cart. “Tell her I'll be by soon.”

Olcea's grin was without mirth. “I would have said no too,” she said. “But I will visit. I will tell her that—but do not wait long. Even Samuel Orlan cannot protect you from the powers that are gathering in this city now.”

Ayae watched her ride away, the black ox disappearing into the night, the witch following, the cart last. For a while, she heard the wheels move along the paved stone, but soon, she could no longer hear that. For a moment, Ayae felt her frustration rise, her anger with it but it did not peak; instead, it fell in her, and left her standing alone beside the silent, old shape of Olcea's house.

A house that was hollow inside.

 

8.

 

Scratching awoke Zaifyr, a low, dull noise that bled into the final fragments of his dream. He sat upon the edge of a trail, short grass spread out beneath him. Above, the sun was singular and sat high in the empty blue sky. He had no destination, was waiting for no one and suffered from neither situation until the noise began behind him. A scratching. Faint, but persistent. He rose, but could see nothing and the sound grew and grew until the sharp claws felt like they were beneath his skin.

When he opened his eyes, there was a large raven on the windowsill, its wide, glossy back presented to him.

Reaching for the cloth trousers at the side of the bed, he pulled them on and grabbed the glass of water from the table beside him. Outside the window, the morning's sun had just begun to rise.

At the window, he rinsed his mouth and spat past the raven onto the garden below. “Good morning, Jae'le,” he said, placing the glass down.

“And to you, brother.” The raven's voice was harsh, unnatural, its vocal cords forced into positions uncommon to it. “How do you find the Spine of Ger?”

“Interesting.”

“Oh?”

“There are two Keepers here.” He reached for the chair Orlan had sat on the night before and occupied it himself. “Fo and Bau, the Disease and the Healer. We can assume that the Enclave does not think of this as a simple war.”

“Our sister has long ago abandoned any notions of simplicity.”

“You turn bitter, brother.”

The raven's feathers ruffled. “You accuse the wrong one of us. Aelyn has become jealous of her corner of the world and seeks to establish firm lines.”

Zaifyr frowned. “Is that why you asked me to come here? For her?”

“No, brother. I am, as I said, merely interested in the new power arising here. Did Samuel Orlan talk to you about that as well?”

He met the raven's black gaze. “You smell too much.”

“Why would he visit you?”

“His apprentice was attacked by a Quor'lo.”

The raven's beak dug suddenly into its wing, tearing out a black feather, signaling that Jae'le had relaxed his grip on the animal for a moment. Zaifyr imagined the lean man in his cushioned chair over half a world away, twisting the long, dark beard that he had grown over the last century. The raven—more itself than it had been for weeks—was trying to dig him out by pulling at its body like it might a tick or a loose feather, searching for its annoyance. Then, as quickly as it began, the raven went still, its head rising.

“Perhaps,” Jae'le said, “you are right that this is not a simple war.”

“There is also a City of Ger beneath this city.”

“That's hardly surprising. The remains of those cities are all through the mountains.”

“I thought you wanted to hear what was interesting?”

“And I found Samuel Orlan's visit—”

“I know what you are going to say.” Zaifyr reached for the glass of warm water. “I am not interested in being chastised.”

“I was not about to do so.”

“You were,” he said firmly, ending the topic before it could reach other, older areas, where Asila could be brought up. He had done enough of that, himself. “Now, instead, ask me about this city you have no interest in and how it links to this rising power you sent me to examine.”

Quietly, the raven said, “Very well.”

“It is a holy war. The first in a long time, brother. The Quor'lo hinted at that and not lightly, either, which can only mean that the intention of those marching on the Spine is not meant to be a secret. We—and by we, I mean the Enclave and every other person with a touch of a god's power in them—will no doubt be their enemies, just as Mireea is for being on Ger's remains. The attack on Orlan's apprentice was most likely a chance attack on one of us—a new one without much risk, at least in the mind of the attacker. As for the city above—” Zaifyr placed his feet on the window seal “—Mireea cannot hold against a large army and my belief is that the city is preparing for siege while also preparing to retreat. In my ride up here, the roads from Yeflam were clear, many with rebuilt bridges. I didn't venture to the other side of the Spine, but I've heard that the mining settlements that the Spine can't protect have been forcibly shut down and the people moved. They're living in two camps on the trail when you approach the city from Yeflam, though I wouldn't say there was more than a thousand people there currently. That's Heast's work.”

“How long do you think they can hold?”

“I don't think he plans to hold, honestly. Whether the Leeran Army and those in charge of it will think the same, I don't know.”

“The priests.” Jae'le hesitated, the dark feathers on the raven ruffling. “Do you think they are like the old ones?”

“I never saw a priest possess a dead man before.”

“The old ones had power, brother.”

“Not from blood.”

The raven's head shook. “In this, your birth fails you. The original servants of the gods were not to be underestimated.”

Zaifyr tipped back in the chair, quiet. His brother, in this, was right: he had met none of the priests that had both terrified and inspired much of the world. Meihir had been his only connection to such figures, and she, he knew, had been a pale candle compared to the servants of other gods, or so he had gathered from Jae'le's descriptions of them. Once, the thought of meeting such figures would have driven him out of Mireea, to find them, question them and fight, but of late he struggled to recall such emotions.

In truth, he had grown tired with the intricate puzzle boxes of theories that peppered the conversations of his family since his release, conversations that he used to take part in, used to enjoy. They would begin with the idea of theft and inheritance—both theirs—but had no conclusion. The quest to know who and what they were was all that mattered to his brothers and sisters, but he was unable to share it now. It was not helped by the fact that Aelyn had not spoken to him since his release, and that the others—all but Jae'le, in truth—had been distant, managing only a handful of words. There were laws, now, and he had to admit that he did not have any interest in them, just as he had no interest in their arguments and debates any more. He could forgive them the time he had spent locked in the tower, understood it even, and agreed. He knew what he had become and the madness that lay at the center of him … but there was no denying that since the door opened, he had been different: cured, yes, but changed through that, driven away by their very actions.

For all that, he had come to Mireea at his brother's request.

“The City of Ger,” Jae'le said, finally. “Could you return to it?”

“If I wanted,” he replied, carefully.

“Would you?”

“Are you asking—”

“Yes.”

Zaifyr hesitated, then said, “He may be protected.”

“He will.” The raven shifted, its claws scratching lightly as it did. “But perhaps we should know in what condition Ger lies, before these priests arrive.”

“What do you think they will do?”

“I do not know, but we will learn soon enough. You need not be here for that.”

Zaifyr hesitated, then said quietly, “I might stay. For a while.”

“People will die, brother.”

“I know.”

Unnaturally still now, as if the body of the raven were being gripped tightly by a man who had once remade the world in the image he so desired, Jae'le said, “What did Samuel Orlan say to you?”