The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) (46 page)

“We’re not backing out,” said Lark.  “We’re providing external support.”

Cob gave her a dirty look.

Vriene intervened at that moment, sliding a plate of ham and roots and mushrooms and flatbread in front of Cob, and he lost all track of the conversation in his sudden need for a fork.  A second plate plunked down beside his, and then Arik was there, placing an overturned bucket next to his chair and perching on it happily.

“
You want my chair?  Think I’m gonna turn in,” said Dasira.

“
Yes, please,” said Vriene.  “The buckets belong in the washroom.”

Cob half-turned to watch Dasira go, but she did not glance back.  Beside him, Arik made grouchy sounds but got up and hauled the bucket back to the washroom then took Dasira’s chair, pulling it up to Cob’s side again and slinging a brawny arm across his shoulders as he took up his own fork.  Cob gave him a warning look but did not shrug it off.  It was not as discomfiting as the skinchanger’s sad eyes would have been.

They bent to their dinner ravenously.  Now and then Cob caught Arik sneaking food to him—mostly the roots, which was no surprise—but after a while there was a pile of ham chunks at the corner of his plate that just made his stomach tighten when he considered them.  He cleaned everything else away and finally came up for air to see Arik regarding him quizzically.

“
You do not want the ham?” the skinchanger said.

Cob shook his head.  “Feel kinda ill when I eat it now.”

For a moment Arik looked from his pile of offerings to Cob, profoundly crestfallen.  Then his eyes lit and he grabbed the young man in a bear-hug.  “You’re pregnant!” he crowed.  “True love conquers all!  Come, my little butterbean, we must nest.”

“
Get off me!” Cob sputtered, face hot.  Across the table, Lark choked on her tea; Fiora looked scandalized.  Cob levered apart from the beaming skinchanger then punched him in the shoulder until he leaned away with a wounded look.

“
This is no way to treat the father of your pups,” he said.

“
Take your pikin’ ham and shut up!”

With a grin, Arik stole the plate away and bent to it, ignoring such niceties as forks.  At the end of the table, Lark pillowed her head in her arms, shoulders shaking as she tried to muffle laughter; straight across, Fiora stared at Cob like he had grown another head.  He felt the blush creep up to his hairline and down the back of his neck.

“He jus’ makes things up for fun,” he said defensively.  “There’s no, uh….no…”

“
Alas, he is not pregnant,” Arik interrupted.  “But he is a good Stag.  Manly, virile.  He will father many children once he learns to take his trousers off.”

Cob punched him again.

“Here, Cob, I will demonstrate,” Arik continued, unfazed.  He set the plate aside and reached toward his own trouser cords.

Cob was about to tackle him off the chair when Vriene intervened, leaning in to take the plate and arch a motherly brow at Arik.  The skinchanger smiled sheepishly and raised his hands away from the danger area.

“It sounds to me that you are being affected by the Guardian’s presence, Cob,” said Vriene as she withdrew with the plate, still keeping a stern eye on Arik.  “From what I know of the spirits, their influence on their folk is far more direct than the Goddesses’ influence on us.  For example, Erro the Bear is always present within my husband, no matter his form, as I imagine Raun the Wolf is ever-present within you, Arik.”

Arik’s shoulders wilted, and Cob glanced sidelong to him, questioning.  The skinchanger did not meet Cob’s gaze but nodded.  “We feel what Raun feels, hurt when he hurts, rage when he rages,” he said quietly.

“And your forms, your wolf-shape and man-shape—they mend because Raun is not wounded, correct?” said Vriene.  She dunked the dishes in the washbasin then rested one hip against the counter, half-turned so she could look between her husband, Cob and Arik.  “When you move between forms, your hurts mend because you touch Raun’s power, and he is unharmed.”

Arik nodded solemnly.

To Cob, she said, “The Guardian acts upon you similarly, even though you are not a skinchanger.  Its presence brings out aspects of your ancestral bloodlines, and so you begin to feel the remnants of the Stag.  Meat loses its appeal.  Other foods will likely follow.  There may come a time when you find yourself eating twigs, leaves, but you should not be concerned.  It is what you are.”

Cob grimaced.  The food issue did not bother him; despite the fact that he had fantasized about bacon and cheese and all those delicious things throughout his lean days in the army, he could survive without them.  The trouble was with things like his nose—unbroken though still bent as ever—and his height, now far taller than a Kerrindrixi should be.  The Guardian was shaping him, not just his appetite.

“What do gods do?” he said, not about to share his feelings.

Vriene pursed her lips in thought, then said, “I can not tell you what non-Ascendants do.  My lady Brigydde and Fiora’s lady Breana were both once human, and have what you might call a definition.  Brigydde is defined as the Mother, the Healer, the Seer, so when her power reaches down to her faithful, it infuses only those who have been mothers, only those who have the heart to heal and the vision to see.  I do not mean physical vision, for Brigydde is blind, but an openness to other perspectives.  Openness to the future, to her prophecies."

"They are not prophecies," said Ilshenrir mildly.

The Trifolders looked at him: Vriene with curiosity, Fiora automatically hostile.  "She is the Prophet and the Seer," Vriene reiterated in a tone of light rebuke.

The wraith shook his head.  "She sees like I do, and thus what she sees are possible futures, not the fated truth.  Not prophecy as humans define it."

Cob eyed Ilshenrir, surprised.  "Y'can see the future?"

"As I just said—"  The wraith sighed.  "Possibilities lie before us like endlessly branching streams.  When I am not blindfolded by proximity to earth—or to you, Guardian—I can see some distance along the streams, and thus select the most comfortable path, but none of what I see will necessarily come to be.  Our future is ever in flux.  The Brigyddians and their goddess see in the same way, but as humans they latch onto the most dramatic of possibilities, which they delusionally consider inevitable—"

Growling, Sogan loomed toward the wraith, who fell silent.  Vriene patted her husband's arm, her mouth curved in a frown, but then gave Ilshenrir a nod of thoughtful acknowledgment.

“Regardless," she said, "my goddess still requires an openness to such...possibilities from her followers.  She can touch those outside her definition gently, but the more power she lends us, the more we must be built in her image to keep that image from overwhelming ours.  Men can not take power from Brigydde because they do not have the body, the physical vessel that can accept her gift.  Virgins likewise.  The cruel and vindictive find their hearts forcefully softened by her mercy, which is why at one time female criminals were sent to our temples to learn our ways.  We no longer do this; it is a grave imposition upon their free will. 

“
As for the seeing, those who draw upon the Goddess’s power for great tasks risk their physical eyes, for when she comes to you, so do her visions, and they are strong enough to burn out mortal sight.  We pledge to accept this danger, and though our supporters fear for us, they know we do it out of love for them.  We do it so we can protect them.”

Cob nodded slowly, thinking of Mother Matriarch Aglavyn, blind and dying, hidden away in the Cantorin catacombs.  “And Breana?”

“She imposes looser restrictions upon her followers.  Men or women, lovers or chaste, all the young folk are permitted—for she was all of those things, or pretended to be, in her quest to bring righteousness to the army of her day.  She died protecting civilians from her corrupted comrades, and so it is the way of the Breanans to join armies where they can, or militias, mercenaries, guard forces, in order to protect those who can not protect themselves.  Either from each other or from the ones that are meant to watch over them.”

“
We do have to be careful though,” Fiora interjected.  “Brigydde gives Breana the power to...well, exist, so every action we take has to be acceptable to her.  To both of them.  When their views come into conflict, we feel it; it's really uncomfortable.”

"So you kinda serve both, if you serve Breana?" said Cob.

Fiora nodded.

“
And the third goddess?  Brancir?”

Fiora deferred to the Mother Matriarch, who said, “She is an elemental spirit.  I believe she inspires her followers more than she infuses them, as I have seen her power at work in their arms and armor but not so much in the Brancirans themselves.  She has a strong following among her own people, the Silver Ones, but she touches humans only lightly—perhaps she fears harming them.  Regardless, the Brancirans act mostly on their own, but the items they forge are potent and guided by the goddess more often than not.”

“And y’ don’t know about the other gods?  The, uh…”  Cob frowned.  He knew there were more than just the Trifold.  The Shadow Cult, the Nemesis, the God of Law and the nightmare-lord Fiora had mentioned...

“
I fear we have a distant relationship with the others,” said Vriene.  “The Shadow God puzzles us; sometimes we are friends and sometimes we are at odds.  We are not certain how he aids his worshipers.”

“
Through the eiyets, mostly,” said Lark.  “And the shadowbloods.  If you pray directly to Morgwi, he won’t answer; he’s usually busy chasing skirts.  But the little shadows are everywhere, and if you know how to catch their attention, they’ll come to you.  You don’t need to be a priestess to get their aid.”

“
And the other gods?” Cob prompted.  “Six women, three men is what I heard, but...”

Lark looked to Vriene, who pursed her lips slightly.  “I can not tell you how they operate, but there are more than nine.”

“Death and the Dreamer, yeah.”

“
And others.  The three great men, I imagine you know.  Law, Light and Shadow.  Of the six women, three are the Trifold, but the others are those we consider our opposites: the Nemesis, the Blood Goddess, and Lady Ruin.  Then Death and Surou, as you mentioned, and then the lesser gods Iroliyale, Tatska, and the Blood Goddess’s sons Daenivar and Rhehevrok.”

“
Iroliyale, he’s an ally of Morgwi’s,” said Lark.  “The god of travel.”

“
And an ally of the sun-god, the True Light, though not of the Imperial Light,” Vriene confirmed.  “Tatska of the Moon is his nightly counterpart, who watches over dark roads.”

Cob made a face, not wanting to start an argument about the Light.  “I know Law’s dead and it’s the Nemesis’s fault.  She’s your enemy?”

A shadow crossed Vriene’s features, then she turned to pluck the teakettle from the stove and pour herself a cup.  In silence she seated herself at the table, her husband moving to loom behind her protectively, and for a moment she just looked into her cup as if divining the meaning of the swirling water.  Then she said, “We do not know.”

“
She’s the crazy goddess of assassins.  How can y’ not—“

“
She has never moved against us.  I do not know if she can.  When she fought Law, she tore him into three pieces, two of which fell into the material world before her webs could catch them.  Brancir claimed one of them, which turned into a shield in her hands, the Aegis of Justice; the Blood Goddess snatched up the other, which became a helm, the Crown of Authority.  The third, which the Nemesis retained, became a sword—but as it had been Law’s sword, it operates only by Law’s rules.  She can not use it to smite the innocent.  She has named it Vengeance, but if there is no reason for her to take revenge, she can not strike.  Her assassins are more dangerous to their employer than to their target if the contract violates that rule.”

That set Cob back in his seat, but not for long.  “How about this Blood Goddess then?”

Beside him, Fiora snorted.  “Oh, she’s definitely the enemy.”

“
The Mother of Rage, the Berserker Queen, the Slavemistress,” Vriene intoned in agreement.  “We have fought her for millennia.  She ruled Lisalhan before the godswars forced the greater gods to step back from the world—which she circumvented by giving the land to her first son.  Her influence is still strong throughout the west.  Throughout all the lands, really, for her purview is war and domination, and we seem to have no shortage of that.  Some of us considered the Imperial Light to be one of her facets.”

Cob clenched his teeth but did not respond.

“We have learned otherwise,” Vriene continued, “but we are still concerned with her possible influence upon the outlying Phoenix territories.  Regardless, she is a dire foe, and her sons are no better.  Daenivar was a wraith of some sort who challenged her during the godswars, and whom she ate but could not digest.  In tearing him from her gut, she discovered that he had become infused by her power—subordinate to her yet independently motivated—so she claimed him as her ‘son’ and made him an advisor.”

“
A haelhene wraith,” Ilshenrir interjected quietly.  Everyone looked to him, but he lapsed into silence, either unable or unwilling to elaborate.