The Water Road (23 page)

“I understand,” Antrey said. “I
felt the same way when Alban taught me to read and I discovered his library.”

Goshen continued, as if he did not
hear her, “Any time I was neither working nor sleeping, I was reading. Of all
that I read, it was the tales of the gods that I most enjoyed. Every bit of
Altrerian or Neldathi mythology I could find, I read and committed to memory.
When the Elein would come near the city, I would go out to where they made camp
and listen to the Speakers of Time tell their stories, about how the gods
battled alongside them in the field.”

“I still don’t understand how the
Maker of Worlds plays into all this,” Antrey said, getting impatient.

“Surely you have heard of the Maker
of Worlds, Antrey, if that library you had access to was anything at all.”

Antrey shrugged. “Maybe? But it
doesn’t mean anything to me right now.”

“Both the Altrerians and Neldathi
have stories about how the world was made, you know. That is the Maker of
Worlds. Perhaps not by name, but she is the one. The Neldathi story is that the
Maker of Worlds dipped her hands into the Lake of Eternity and filled a void in
the firmament with our world. The land was formed by a drop of blood that
flowed from her palm, after she sliced it with a knife. Then she made the Water
Road…”

She was starting to remember now.
“The Water Road was made when this goddess looked down and saw the people of
her land constantly fighting one another,” she said. “She took a finger and
drove it into the land, dividing the people. That made the Water Road. As a
result, the ground heaved and split, creating the Neldathi mountains to the
south and the Rivers Adon and Innis in the north. Right?” She was genuinely
excited by her recall.

Goshen smiled. “So you do know the
Maker of Worlds,” he said.

“As you must know, if you’ve read
my journal, I read nearly every book in Alban’s library. There was at least one
in there about the gods.”

“I see,” Goshen said. “Name them.”

“Name them?” Antrey asked, unsure
just what he was driving at.

“Name the gods and the goddesses,”
he said. “You tell me their names and I will tell you which clan they protect.”

“All right,” Antrey said, pausing
to summon a name from her memory. “Fargan,” she said.

“God of war and combat, protector
of the Uzkaleyn, who roam the Rothery Mountains to our west,” Goshen said.
“Next.”

“Solal,” Antrey said.

“Goddess of the sun, protector of
the Chellein, for it is said that their lands to the east are first touched by
her warmth each day. Of course, that is not strictly true, but that is not
important at the present,” he said. “Next.”

“Otven,” Antrey said, ticking off
another name in her head.

“Goddess of the wind and the snow,
protector of the Akan, from the west of the Vander Range, south of the Hogarth
Pass. Along with the Elein, the oldest of the clans. Next!” he said, his voice
ringing with excitement.

“Dagcht, I think?” Antrey said,
certain she had the name wrong.

“Yes, that is correct,” Goshen
said. “God of the hunt, protector of the Volakeyn, who roam the valley between
the Levin Mountains and the Vander Range. Keep going.”

“Mamur,” Antrey said, certain of
this one.

Goshen nodded. “God of death and
the underworld, protector of the Mugein, who circle the farthest reaches of the
land to the southeast, where the snow never ends. Another.”

“How about,” Antrey said, pausing
to think. “Ainsof,” she said, mangling the pronunciation.

“Yes, Ainsof,” Goshen said, slowly,
for her benefit. “Goddess of the trees, the forests, and the creatures who
dwell in them. She looks down upon the Haglein, who travel the western edge of
the Kelly Range. Our neighbors to the west, for what it is worth. Go on.”

This time, Antrey was drawing a
blank. Her inability to summon another name was obviously ruining Goshen’s fun.

“Think smarter, Antrey,” he said,
trying to spur her along. “Think of the elements. What have we not talked about
yet?”

“Oh, I remember,” Antrey said as a
name sprang to mind. “Kaneyn.”

“Very good,” Goshen said, his good
mood saved. “God of the waters, rivers, and lakes, protector of the Paleyn, who
live in the Orford Range near the sea and Great Basin Lake. The story they tell
is that Kaneyn himself dwells in the depths of the lake.”

“Is that true?” Antrey said, immediately
scolding herself in her mind for even entertaining the idea. She blamed Goshen
for shifting her in to a mythological mindset in which she was willing to
believe anything.

“Of course not,” Goshen said,
gently scoffing at her, “for reasons that will soon be made plain. There are
two others.”

Antrey’s chagrin focused her
recall. “Zein,” she said.

Goshen smiled. “The goddess of time
and patience. An odd protector, to be certain, but nonetheless beloved by the
Sheylan, to the south of the Paleyn in the Orford Range. Now, what is the final
one?”

“Var,” Antrey said brightly, proud
of herself. “I almost forgot about…hey, wait a minute…”

Goshen cut her off before she
reached the conclusion. “Yes, Var, the trickster god and keeper of secrets. The
protector, of course of…” he paused long enough for Antrey to join him in the
answer.

“The Dost,” they said in unison.

For some reason that made Antrey
laugh, a deep, raucous laugh that she had not had in a very long time. When she
stopped, Goshen told her, “I knew you were familiar with the gods. All that
reading served you well.”

“Thank you,” Antrey said. In spite
of the compliment, she remained confused. “So we’ve covered the gods and the
goddesses, but I still don’t see where your Maker of Worlds fits into all this.”

“Let me ask you this,” Goshen said,
deliberately avoiding a direct answer. “You are familiar with the Maker of
Worlds from the creation stories. Yet, as we went through the pantheon of the
gods and goddesses, she is not present. She is the protector of no clan. Does
that not strike you as odd? None of the Neldathi clans have ever worshiped her,
nor did the Altrerians.”

“I never really gave it any
thought,” Antrey said. “But I thought the story said that the Maker of Worlds went
away after she lashed out at what she had made? How could she be part of the
pantheon if she went away?”

“A very wise observation,” Goshen
said. “The Maker of Worlds did go away. And left behind was a void, a void that
was filled by Solal and Var and the rest. It was a way for our ancestors to
give meaning to their existence, to understand the nature of the world around
them.”

“Are you suggesting that the
traditional Neldathi gods don’t exist?” Antrey asked. “That’s a strange
position for a holy man to take, you know. You’d be right at home amongst the
Altrerians,” she said with a chuckle.

“Oh, no, that is not true,” he said
in a stiff, formal way that told Antrey he was insulted by the idea. “It is
more complicated than that. I do believe in the gods, in all of them. They are
very real. But I have come to the conclusion that they do not exist in the way
most Neldathi believe they do, or even how the Altrerians once believed.
Instead of individuals, they are manifestations of something greater.”

Antrey had no answer to that.

“Do you know the story of the
peddler and the raft?” Goshen said, breaking the silence.

Antrey shook her head.

“Long ago, there was a peddler.
This man sold poorly made products for exorbitant prices, up and down the River
Adon,” Goshen said. “He could not swim, so he constructed for himself a small
raft out of reeds that could carry him up and down the river, as well as across
it. He would go to a village, sell his goods, and then, before the people of
the town discovered the poor qualities of the goods, the peddler would run to
his raft and float away.”

“Sounds like a lovely character,”
Antrey said.

Goshen continued, undaunted, “The
peddler did this for many years, during which time he made very many people
very angry. Over that time, his raft began to come apart, so that the water of
the river lapped up around his feet as he floated. One day, after having made
his escape from an angry crowd of villagers just in time, he floated downstream
to safety. When he arrived on the riverbank, he saw that his raft had nearly
sunk and was no longer of any use except as kindling once it was dry. He pulled
the raft from the water in order to break it up for that purpose. About this
time, an old man with a crooked back happened by. The old man’s eyesight was
very poor, so the peddler tried to sell him the raft. Of course, to do so the
peddler had to lie to the old man about the condition of the raft and told him
it would serve him well for many years to come. Convinced, the old man bought
the raft. With the money he made, the peddler made his way to the nearest
village in search of entertainment.”

“I think I see where this is
going,” Antrey said, the tale beginning to seem somewhat familiar. “What
happened next?”

“The peddler made merry with drink
and women in the village for several days, to the consternation of the village
elders,” Goshen said. “They sent emissaries to nearby villages and soon learned
that the peddler was a thief. Since they knew where the peddler was, dozens of
people from the surrounding villages came to seek revenge on him. When the
peddler awoke the next morning, he was driven from his bed by a crowd wielding
rakes, clubs, and crude spears. His instinct took over and he ran to the river.
It was only after he arrived at the riverbank that he remembered his raft was
gone. Panicked, he looked up and down the river until he saw a young boy
several hundred feet downstream tying something to the stump of a small tree.
He ran to the boy as fast as he could.”

Goshen paused, as if setting up the
big twist. “It was a raft the boy was tying up. First, the peddler tried to
convince the young boy to give the raft to him because he was in mortal danger,
but the boy was suspicious and did not agree. Then the peddler offered the boy
a gold coin, pulled from his still stuffed purse, to purchase the raft, which
appeared to be new and stout. The boy rejected that offer, telling the peddler
that the raft was worth much more. As the crowd of angry villagers appeared
over a hill not one hundred yards away, the peddler told the boy he would pay
any price. The boy demanded the peddler’s entire purse and all the coins
inside. The peddler hastily agreed, handed the purse to the boy, and jumped on
the raft. The boy untied the raft for him and it began to float slowly out into
the river.”

Antrey thought about jumping into
the story at this point, but kept silent and allowed Goshen to finish.

“The peddler turned and saw the
angry crowd arrive, moments too late. He started to laugh, but was quiet when
he began to feel cold water rushing around his ankles. The peddler looked down
at the raft and saw it was no longer new and stout. It fact, it looked just
like the raft he had floated into town on a few days before. He began to sink,
but could not think of anything to do about it. He looked back to the shore,
where the boy was standing, holding his purse and smiling. As the crowd
arrived, the boy simply disappeared. It was as if no one else had even seen
him. The crowd stood on the riverbank and threw rocks at the peddler and his
raft until he slipped beneath the River Adon and drowned.” He sat back on the
stool with a proud look on his face.

Antrey was unsure what to say to
this. “All right, so this is a story about one crook who gets humbled by
another one, right? I’m not sure I get it.”

“Not a crook,” Goshen said, wagging
his finger. “A trickster. The old man, the young boy, they were both
manifestations of Var. Var learned of the peddler’s deceitful ways and decided
to put a stop to them. He bought the peddler’s old raft and ensured the peddler
would need it for his rescue.”

Antrey was getting more frustrated
by the moment. “Look, Goshen, the old stories are fun and interesting to hear,
but I’m still not seeing what any of this has to with your Maker of Worlds.”

Goshen sighed. “You are being too
literal, Antrey,” he said. “Neither the old man nor the young boy were actually
real. They appeared as manifestations of Var. They existed in this world only
to the extent needed to inspire belief, temporarily, as the situation dictated.”

Something in Antrey’s mind clicked
with recognition. “The same way that Var and Ainsof and all the others exist
only enough to inspire belief,” she said.

“Until the Maker of Worlds is ready
to return to her creation,” Goshen said, interrupting her to complete the
thought. “Now you understand.”

Antrey sat still and silent while
the idea sank in and she tried to understand just what it meant. The first
thing that flashed through her mind was also the most ludicrous, but she needed
to eliminate it as a possibility. “And you know this because…the Maker of
Worlds told you?” she asked.

Goshen began to laugh, quietly at
first and then so heartily that tears welled in his eyes. “Oh, no, of course
not,” he said. “That would make me a madman, would it not?”