Age of Myth (25 page)

The javelin and knife froze in midair and fell. A moment later seven of the nine Galantians slammed into an invisible wall. Three hit so hard they bounced and collapsed, dazed. The giant staggered and reeled, blood running from his nose. The woodpile was swept aside, revealing the yellow-eyed goblin chanting and dancing until he, too, stopped. With a wave of Arion's hand, the goblin froze and the fire surrounding her vanished. She was still dressed in pristine white; not so much as a thread of her wondrously white robe had been singed.

“Sit down, all of you!”
Arion ordered. The Fhrey, as well as the creature near the woodpile and the giant, were thrown to the dirt.
“I've had enough of this foolishness.”

The remainder of their weapons flew from their hands and scabbards, clattering into a pile near Arion's feet.
“This is why you're treated poorly. You dare to attack your fellow Fhrey?”
She pointed at the goblin.
“You've enlisted practitioners of the Dark Art! You've become wild and are too dangerous to be allowed back into society. Association with the Rhunes has distorted your ideals of loyalty and honor. What virtue is there in living like an animal? What honor is there in rebellion? You've become feral—no, worse—you've become rabid! It isn't for you to decide whom you serve or the wisdom of the fane's actions. Lothian is fane because Ferrol has decreed it. Your father died because our god knows who will make a better fane. When you disobey Lothian, you're defying Ferrol's will. Who do you think you are to—”

Arion crumpled, sprawling face-first on the gravel where she lay awkwardly twisted, her cheek pressed against the little rocks of the path. She didn't move. Her robes billowed up briefly with a breeze then settled as lightly as dandelion tufts. Everyone stared in shock at the pool of white robes and the bright-red blood that began to stain them.

Behind her, holding a rock in both hands, stood Malcolm.

“We
really
need to talk about this habit of yours,” Raithe told Malcolm as he stared down at the pile of cloth and the frail Fhrey at his feet. “This wasn't our fight.”

“Shegon wasn't my fight, either, but you didn't seem too upset then.” The ex-slave continued to stare at the bleeding Fhrey with a look of sadness so pronounced that Raithe wondered if the man would vomit. As he thought about it, Raithe realized Malcolm had looked the same way after hitting Shegon.

The Galantians rushed forward. Nyphron stopped, looking down at her. “She's breathing.” Then to Raithe and Malcolm he said, “She's still alive. You need to finish her.”

“What?” Raithe asked, stunned.

“You're the
God Killer.
” Nyphron looked squarely at him. “You have two swords. Use one of them and kill her.”

“She's defenseless,” Raithe said, hoping Malcolm didn't say anything. This was not the time to be admitting past transgressions.

“I know.” Nyphron took a tentative step closer, a step wide of her pretty white robes. “Which means it'll be easy.”

“I don't kill women or children.”

“That's not a woman. That's a Miralyith.”

“I don't even know what
Miralyith
means.”

“It means she's too powerful and dangerous to live.”

Sebek looked at Malcolm. “You do it. Kill her. You don't attack a Miralyith without finishing the job. Leaving her injured is suicide for you, us, and pretty much everyone.”

“Don't lay this at our feet. If you want her dead, go ahead and kill her yourselves,” Raithe said. “We can't stop you.”

“We can't. Fhrey can't kill another—” Nyphron looked irritated. “Where's Grygor?”

“No! Don't hurt her!” Persephone cried, rushing forward. She held her skirt above her ankles and muscled her way into the ring surrounding the fallen Fhrey.

“Grygor, get over here,” Nyphron called, and the giant lumbered toward them, pausing to pick up his sword. “I need you to kill this bitch.”

“Don't let them hurt her!” she shouted at Raithe.

Raithe wondered when, and how, he had become the arbiter of all things. He hadn't even been the one to use the rock. “Why?”

“Protect the injured,” she said, looking deep into his eyes as if this was a magic spell she was casting. “
Protect the injured,
remember?”

He didn't. Not at first but then it hit him, and he understood what had lit a fire under her. “You
are
kidding.”

Persephone stood before the giant, holding up a palm to stop him. Then she faced the Galantian leader. “If you want to stay with us—and since you can't go back to Alon Rhist, this might be the only place you are welcome—I forbid you to harm her.”

“You, you, what?” Nyphron asked. The Fhrey blinked repeatedly, as if trying to get a clear view of her. For the first time, Nyphron appeared genuinely and unequivocally dumbfounded.

“Persephone!” an enraged Konniger shouted from the doorway of the lodge, a fortress of wood he'd retreated to. “Stay out of it. This isn't our affair.”

“It is! This lady
cannot
be harmed. Raithe, help me,” Persephone pleaded. “Don't let Nyphron kill her.”

“Nyphron can't kill her,” Malcolm said, his voice a refuge of calm assurance. “Fhrey can't kill Fhrey.”

“That's why
you
have to do it,” Nyphron told Raithe. “Or let Grygor.”

Raithe had no intention of killing anyone. He had nothing against the lady, and she was pretty, which made the idea even more distasteful. It was always more difficult to snap a rabbit's neck than crush a spider. He found himself agreeing with Konniger. This was none of their business. Around them, the inhabitants of the dahl inched closer, closing a hesitant circle. Children were pushed back or held close as parents watched with worried eyes.

Persephone pressed on, ignoring everyone. She bent down and touched the face of the Fhrey. “Delwin, Cobb, Wedon, take her into the lodge.
Gently.
Carry her upstairs and put her in the bed in the loft.”

“Are you insane?” Nyphron asked. “You don't understand.
She's Miralyith.
If she wakes up…” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “She'll—she'll erase Rhulyn from existence, and all of you along with it.”

“I don't care.” Persephone tilted the delicate, bald head and grimaced at the blood leaking into the dirt. “It's what the tree said to do.”

“The what? Did you say the
tree
?” Nyphron asked.

“She's right.” Malcolm was nodding.

Nyphron focused on the ex-slave even as Delwin and Cobb crept in, moving like cats terrified of the Galantians and not terribly thrilled with the Miralyith.

“Go on, pick her up—gently,” Persephone instructed. “Be very careful. She's bleeding badly. We need to stop it or she'll die.”

“Good, let her die!” Nyphron declared.

His outburst caused the men lifting the Miralyith to flinch, but Nyphron wasn't looking at them; he hadn't taken his eyes off Malcolm. “You'll be the first one she'll come after, you know? You and your rock.”

The path to the lodge was blocked by the giant. “What do you say, boss?” Grygor asked. The giant was still holding his sword. Not that he would need a blade to kill the delicate Miralyith.

“I mean what I said,” Persephone told Nyphron sternly. “Leave her be, or you won't be welcome here anymore.”

Nyphron broke eye contact with Malcolm. “Never mind. Forget it. You heard the woman. We don't want to jeopardize our welcome.”

“You sure?” Grygor asked.

Nyphron shot the giant a look.

“Just asking.”

“Stryker! You lousy goblin,” Nyphron shouted at the creature still near the fallen woodpile. “Get over here. We need to talk.”

The giant turned sideways, letting the men carry the Miralyith past him toward the lodge.

“Dammit, I said no!” Konniger shouted. “You aren't bringing her in
my
house.”

As the lady Fhrey was borne up the steps, Hegner and Devon joined Konniger's side, spears at the ready. The three stood, blocking the entrance, a wall of muscle and stone-tipped sticks.

Raithe caught Persephone by the arm. “Does it have to be in there?”

“It's the best place, the most comfortable, and it will be quiet and safe.”

Raithe nodded, then looked at the chieftain. “Move out of the way.”

“This is no concern of yours, Dureyan,” Konniger growled.

“Your maimed friend and I have unfinished business. I'll be happy to include you in the fun if you like.” He drew Shegon's sword. “So we can settle everything now, or you can get out of the way.”

Konniger didn't move, but he also didn't attack. The man appeared just as trapped in his position as he was in that doorway. Instead, he repeated himself, speaking louder. “This is no concern of yours!”

“Well, it certainly is
my
concern,” Nyphron said as he and the other Galantians came up. This included the goblin, who had escaped the woodpile and was wiping blood from its hooked nose. “If we aren't going to kill her”—Nyphron shook his head in disgust—“then she's going to have the best bed possible. Maybe that will make a difference when she wakes up. I doubt it, but we can hope.”

Konniger was still frozen. Only his eyes moved as they darted between Raithe and Nyphron.

“Grygor, give him some help, he looks stuck,” Nyphron said.

The giant took a step forward, traversing half the lodge's steps in one stride. That was all it took to make Konniger move. “C'mon.” The chieftain grabbed Tressa's wrist, abandoning both the porch and the lodge while Hegner and Devon followed close behind.

“You just better hope she dies,” Nyphron told them. “You're putting a dragon to bed in there, and when she wakes up—Ferrol help us.”

Tekchin sighed. “I wouldn't count on it. Ferrol will be on
her
side.”

By the time they laid Arion on Persephone's old bed, the bald Fhrey had a purple bruise covering the back of her head and a bump roughly the size and shape of a small apple.

“Open the window and light the lamp,” Persephone ordered. “Wedon, run get Padera and Roan. Oh, and Suri the mystic, too.”

Cobb opened the window without saying a word, and Delwin lit the lamp without question. People were used to following Persephone's orders. They'd been doing it for twenty years, and when gods fought within the dahl's walls—for surely this bald Fhrey
was
a god—doing what felt normal was the next best thing to feeling safe. Persephone didn't pause to question if she
should
be taking control. Things needed to be done, and the stakes were too high to leave matters to a novice chieftain.

“He bashed her good,” Padera said with a whistle when she arrived. The old woman tilted the Miralyith's head to one side. A small cut near the crown bled more than Persephone would have thought possible. Bright splashes of red were on the floor, and the sheets and pillow were starting to soak. “Need bandages.”

“Suri, there's a sheet in that chest,” Persephone told the mystic. “At least there used to be. Go ahead and tear it into pieces.”

“Strips,” Padera corrected. “
Long
strips. Need water, too.” The old woman peered at the wound with her squinting eyes. Persephone grabbed the lamp and held it up.

“Cobb, get water,” Persephone told the man, who looked happy to have an excuse to leave.

“Gonna need your needle and thread, Roan.” Padera held her hand out to the woman expectantly, while Roan dug into the purse on her belt. As she did, Padera eyed the injured Fhrey. “You sure you want me to fix her, Seph? I'll do my best if you say so, but”—she turned and looked into Persephone's eyes—“in my experience, when you find a mountain lion caught in your rabbit snare, it's best to accept good fortune and spear the thing rather than let it loose. Might be better off putting a pillow over her face.”

The Fhrey lady was so small, her skin so pale against the brilliant explosion of red.

Protect the injured.

“We
have
to save her,” Persephone insisted.

The old woman nodded. Getting the tools from Roan, she went to work.

It didn't take long for Padera to sew and bandage the Fhrey. Roan stood beside her, passing threaded needles, wet cloths, and the bandages Suri had prepared. Now that things were beginning to settle, Persephone had time to think, and doubt. She felt sick.

Maybe I'm wrong. What if it's all just a coincidence? What if the tree meant something else, or if Suri can't hear trees at all and is simply delusional? Am I killing all of us? Grand Mother of All! I challenged the leader of the Galantians and threatened to throw him out of the dahl! And I defied Konniger…again. If he didn't have a reason to side against me before, he does now.

Everyone was against the idea. Nyphron, Konniger, even Padera had questioned the wisdom of healing the Fhrey woman. Although merely a poor farmer's widow, who likely hadn't traveled more than ten miles from the dahl, the old woman knew everything.
Maybe not everything, but certainly everything worth knowing.
Padera understood how best to lay out a garden and knew what to do when a little girl like Persephone ate a handful of poisonous berries. In all her long years, there wasn't anything the old woman hadn't seen. If the world operated logically, Padera would have been made chieftain years ago. So if the old woman felt it was best to let the Fhrey—

“Heal the injured,” Suri said, and punctuated the words by ripping another sheet.

“What?” Persephone asked.

Suri tore the sheet again. “Magda's instruction. You said it wrong outside. It wasn't
protect
the injured. She said to
heal
the injured.”