Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (63 page)

           
I watched the ship grow larger, my
hands tight on my hook. It came up faster than any natural wind might propel
it. I saw that the blood-red cylinder was all painted with occult sigils, and
that the long basket beneath was spread with more. I saw the glimmer of the
magic that drove it, trailing back from the pointed tail like heat haze against
the sky, like the shifting translucence of fire's glow. The sea gulls that were
a constant punctuation of the sky fled before it, and I suddenly realized that
the cats that prowled the shoreline were also gone,- likewise the handful of
dogs our village boasted. That seemed very strange to me—the absence of such
familiar things—and I glanced around, my valor threatened. I saw that my
father's knuckles bulged white from his tanned hands, and that Thorus's lips
were spread back from clenched teeth in a kind of snarl. I realized then that a
terrible silence had fallen, as if this unexpected Coming drove stillness
before it, or the presence of the Sky Lords absorbed sound. No one moved. I
stared in shared dread, feeling the shadow of the boat fall over me, which it
should not have done, for the sun westered and that shadow should not—nor
could—have reached us yet.

           
But it did, and I trembled, for all
my youthful bravery, in its cold. My father did the same, though he sought to
hide it from me, looking down at me and smiling. I thought his smile was like
the grin I had seen on the faces of drowned men.

           
Then the great shape was directly
above us. I stood, trembling, cold weight heavy on my head and shoulders, the
sand no longer warm under my feet. I craned my head back, seeing that the
airboat hung high above us, though it darkened all the village, and where it
rode the sky, strange stars and prancing shapes showed through the blue, as if
elementals sported there.

           
Some arrows fell, unflighted by the
height, and fired, I think, in amusement; a fisherman named Vadim even caught
one in his hand, that feat producing a shout of encouragement from all the
rest.

           
And then the ship was gone, passed
beyond the cliff and out of sight.

           
It was both disappointment and
relief to me: I had anticipated glorious battle,* I was also glad that horrible
weight was passed. I enjoyed the way my father held my one shoulder, Thorus my
other, and both told me I had played my part, even as men went running to the
cliff, to follow the ship's passage.

           
I went running with them, still
clutching my hook, for they all still held their weapons, and I was suddenly
possessed of a dreadful fear that the ship had gone past the village to land in
the fields—the wood—beyond, and disgorge the Kho'rabi knights to massacre my
mother and my siblings, and all the others hiding in the caves. But Thorus
hauled me back and shouted at my father that the wind was wrong and whatever
magic the sorcerers of Ahn-feshang commanded, it was not enough to ground the
boat to disembark the fylie.

           
Even so, I was not satisfied, nor my
father, until we topped the path and saw the ship drifting on, over the wood,
disappearing into the haze of the afternoon sun, like blood drying on a wound.

           
Robus, mounted on his old, slow
horse, had reached the aeldor's Holding during the night. The watchmen had
brought him before the lord, who had immediately ordered three squadrons to
patrol the coast road, one to ride instanter for Whitefish village.

           
They arrived a few hours after sun's
rise; dirty, tired, and irritable. To me, then, they looked splendid. There
were twenty of them, their warrior's plaits decorated with little, bright
feathers, and shells: tokens of their calling. They wore shirts of leather and
mail, draped across with Cambar's plaid, cinched in with wide belts from which
hung sheathed swords and long-hafted axes, and every one carried a lance from
which the colors of Kellambek fluttered in the morning breeze, round shields
hung from their saddles. There was a commur-magus with them, clad all in black
sewn with the silver markings of her station, a short-sword on her hip. Her
hair was swept back in a tail, but bound with a silver fillet, and decorated
with two long eagle's feathers,- and, unlike her men, she seemed untired. She
raised a hand as the squadron reached the village square, halting the horsemen,
waiting as the mantis approached and made obeisance, gesturing him up with a
splendid, languid hand.

           
I, and all the children—and most of
our parents, no less impressed—gathered about to watch.

           
The soldiers climbed down from their
horses. The magus, too, dismounted, conferring with the mantis, and then
followed our plump and friendly priest to the cella, * calling back over her
shoulder that the men with her might find breakfast where they could, and ale,
if they so desired, for it seemed the danger was gone.

           
I felt a measure of disappointment
at that: I had become, after all, a warrior, and was reluctant to find my
new-won status so quickly lost. I compensated by taking the bridle of a horse
and leading the animal to where Robus kept his fodder. I had never seen so
large an animal before, save when the great winter whales washed up, and I was
more than a little frightened by the way it tossed its head and stamped its
feet and snorted. The man who rode it chuckled and spoke to it, and told me to
hold it firm; and then he set a hand on my shoulder, as Thorus had done, and I
straightened my back and reminded myself I was a man, and brought it to Robus's
little bam, where it became docile as his old nag when I fed it oats and hay
and filled the water trough.

           
The soldier grinned at that, and
checked the beast for himself, taking off the high-cantled cavalry saddle,
rest-

           
ing his shield and lance against the
wall of the pen. I touched the metalled face of the shield with reverent
fingers, and studied his sword and axe. Then smiled as he turned to me and
asked where he might find food, and ale, and I told him, "Thorym's
tavern," and asked, "Shall you fight the Kho'rabi?"

           
He said, "I think they're
likely gone, praise the God," and I wondered why a soldier would be
thankful his enemy was not there. I did not understand then.

           
I brought him to the tavern and
fetched him a pot of ale as his fellows gathered. His name was Andyrt, and as
luck would have it, he was jennym to the commur- magus, a life-sworn member of
the warband, and, I realized, fond of children. At least, he let me crouch by
his side and even passed me his helm to hold, bidding the rest be silent when
they looked at me askance and some wondered what a child did there, among men.

           
I bristled at that, and told them I
had stood upon the sand with hook in hand, ready to fight, as the Sky Lords
passed over. Some laughed then, and some called me liar, but Andyrt bade them
silent, and said that he believed me, and that his belief was theirs, else they
chose to challenge him. None did, and I saw that they feared him somewhat, or
respected him. To me, he was exotic,- glamorous and admirable.

           
I ventured to pluck at his sleeve
and ask him what it took to be a warrior and find a place in the warband.

           
"Well," he said and
chuckled, "first you must be strong enough to wield a blade, and skilled
enough in its wielding. Save you prefer to slog out your life as a pyke, you
must ride a horse. You must be ready to spend long hours bored, and more
drinking. To hold your drink. And you must be ready to kill men
_;
and
to be, yourself, killed."

           
"I am," I said, thinking
of the beach, and the airboat; and Andyrt said, "It is not so easy, to put
a blade into a man. Harder still to take his in you."

           
"I'd kill Kho'rabi," I
told him firmly. "I'd give my life to defend Kellambek."

           
He touched my cheek then, gently, as
sometimes my father did, and said, "That's an easy thing to say, boy. The
doing of it is far harder. Better you pray our God grants strength to the
Sentinels, and there's no Coming in your life-time."

           
"You fight them," I said.
"You're a warrior."

           
He nodded at that. I remember a
shadow passing across his face, like the cold penumbra of the Sky Lords' boat.
He said, "I'm life-sworn, boy; I know no other way."

           
I opened my mouth to question him
further, to argue, but just then the commur-magus entered the tavern, our
mantis on her heels, like a plump and fussing hen, and a silence fell.

           
Andyrt began to rise, sinking back
on the sorcerer's gesture. The black-clad woman approached our table and two of
the warband sprang to their feet, relinquishing their places. I found myself
crouched between Andyrt and the commur-magus, who asked mildly, "Who's
this?"

           
Andyrt said, grinning, "A young
warrior, by all accounts. He stood firm when the skyboat came."

           
The mantis said, "His name is
Daviot, eldest son of Aditus and Donia. I understand he did, indeed, run back
to join his father on the beach."

           
The commur-magus raised blue-black
brows at that, and her fine lips curved in a smile. I stood upright, shoulders
squared, and looked her in the eye. Had I not, after all, proved myself? Was I
not, after all, intent on becoming a warrior?

           
"So," she said, her voice
soft and not at all mocking, "Whitefish village breeds its share of
men."

           
That was fine as Thorus's praise; as
good as my father's hand on my shoulder. I nodded, modestly. The commur- magus
continued to study me, not even turning when she was passed a mug of ale and a
fresh plate of fried fish and bread. She waved regal thanks; her eyes did not
leave my face, as if she saw there things I did not know about myself.

           
"You stood upon the
beach?" she said, her voice gentle; speculative as her gaze. "Were
you not afraid?"

           
I began to shake my head, but there
was a power in her eyes that compelled truth, that brought back memory. I set
Andyrt's helm carefully down on the cleanest patch of dirt between the chairs
and nodded.

           
"Tell me," she said.

           
I looked awhile at her face. It was
dark as Andyrt's, which is to say lighter than any in the village, but unmarked
by scars. I thought her beautiful; nor was she very old. Her eyes were green,
and as I looked into them, they seemed to obscure the men around her, to send
the confines of the tavern into shadow, to absorb the morning light.

           
I told her everything.

           
When I was done she nodded and said,
"You saw the cats and dogs—the gulls, even—were gone?"

           
"Then," I told her, and
frowned as an unrecognized memory came back. "But this morning the dogs
were awake again, and the cats were on the beach. And the gulls," I
pointed sea-ward, at the shapes wheeling and squalling against the new-formed
blue, "they're back."

           
"Think you they fled the
Coming?" she asked.

           
"They were not there
then," I said. "The sky was empty, save for the boat. I think they
must have."

           
"Why?" she asked me
_;
and I said, "I suppose they were frightened. Or they felt the power of the
Sky Lords. But they
were
gone,
then."

           
She sipped a mouthful of ale; chewed
a mouthful of fish and bread, still staring at me. I watched her face,
wondering what she made of me: what she wanted of me. I felt I was tested and
judged. I tried to find Andyrt's eyes, but could not: it was as though the
mage's compelling gaze sunk fish hooks in my mind, in my attention, locking me
to her as soundly as the lures of the sur£- trollers locked the autumnal grylle
to their barbed baits.

           
She turned then to the mantis and my
attention was unlocked, as if I were a fish loosed from the net. I looked to
Andyrt, who smiled reassuringly and shrugged, motioning for me to be silent and
wait. I did: nervous and impatient. The commur-magus said to the mantis,
"He's talents,, think you?"

           
The mantis favored me with a look I
thought sad, and ducked his head. "He's a memory," he agreed—though
then I was unaware of what, exactly, he meant—and added, "Of all my pupils
he's the best-schooled in the li-‘ turgics: he can repeat them back, word for
word."

           
"As he did this Coming,"
said the commur-magus, and turned to me again, though now without that draining
gaze.