Gods of Earth (60 page)

The Guardian’s brow trembled. Chance knew that if he could weep, the Guardian would have done so.

“One thing,” the Guardian said, after a long moment of silence. He held Threkor’s Hammer out. “I made oath to the Creator that I would give back this when the god was killed.”

“No,” Chance put his hands up. “I should not. You return it, when these are grown.”

The Guardian smiled.

Chance disappeared.

CHAPTER

56

W
adjet woke. Green leaves, far above, waved in the wind. Blue sky stretched beyond them, cheerfully full of light. A single voluminous cloud passed. The air smelled of salt water, and dry leaves, and life.

Wadjet pushed herself up. She sat in a forest, on a slope, surrounded by great trees, huge ferns, low bushes. High above, hidden in the tree tops, insects thrummed, thrummed, thrummed, a song of great and vibrant industry. Surf shushed across sand nearby. Wadjet stood and discovered that she trod on a dark and narrow trail, pressed smooth by the regular passage of some small animals. She walked down it, taking big, quick strides. The smell of the salt sea, of the sea wrack decaying on the beach, of the forest behind her, all filled her now with a swelling sense of life. She burst through a wall of dense shrubs onto a beach of black sand.

The high sun was blinding, so hot and alive that for a moment, after the dark forest, she could sense nothing but white light and the sound of surf. Slowly her eyes adjusted, revealing a bright and beautiful world.

Not a hundred paces out in the sea, her ship sat, anchored, restored, bobbing on gentle waves.

On the beach before it, a large, black shape huddled just beyond the reach of the surf. Beside it, a heap of golden metal plates shone blindingly in the bright sun.

Wadjet walked down the beach and stopped a few paces away. The creature there was a gorilla. The gorilla. Champion and herald of the god. The gorilla’s salt-encrusted armor lay piled beside her. The gorilla did not look up. Her black fur was matted and caked white with brine.

Wadjet realized, suddenly, that the gorilla must have tried to drown herself, and then given up on the attempt.

“I am Wadjet.”

The ape did not answer. For a long time, they listened to the surf.

“That is my ship,” Wadjet said finally. “I’m going to sail far away, to a place where no one has feared or hoped of gods in a thousand years, and where there is no war between soulburdened and humans, and where most of your kind are sterile. If you would come with me, you could be mother to a whole future race.”

The gorilla looked up at Wadjet.

“Don’t,” she grunted. “Don’t make promises.”

Wadjet listened to the surf a long time before she bowed her head and consented, “That is wise counsel.”

She sat down beside the gorilla. She brushed at the hot sand with both palms, while the gorilla stared out over the waves. Finally, Wadjet said, “This, then: would you come with me, if only to see the ocean and see a new land?”

The gorilla nodded. “I’ve lost all hope,” she whispered in a coarse, grinding voice. “But I still live. I still want life. I will see what comes of living.”

E
PILOGUE

C
hance Kyrien stood at the end of a row of Ries vines, on the hill above the Kyrien Vincroft house. He looked down the length of Walking Man Lake. The sun had almost completely set, but light still diffused through the sky and lit the valley dimly. A thin layer of gray clouds hung low over the lake. A mild wind set the first tiny buds of leaves on the vines and trees trembling. It was proving a mild spring after a mild winter.

Sarah walked up the path between vinrows, hand on her growing belly. When she came to his side, she put her other hand on Chance, breathing heavily.

“I don’t have much wind today.”

“How is my daughter?” he asked.

“What makes you think it’s a girl?”

Chance only smiled at her.

“Kicking,” Sarah finally answered. She tapped his right arm. “You’re still favoring that arm.”

“I always will.”

Sarah turned and leaned against him, and looked also down the length of the lake. “My father came by just now. Said he’s sorry to miss you. He wants some help with his vines.”

“I shall go down there tomorrow.”

“That’d be nice. He also said most people in town are used to having us back now. I’m glad the talk is dying down.”

Chance nodded.

“And guess who else stopped by? Jeremiah Green.”

“No.” Chance laughed.

“Yes. Wanted to say hello, he told me. I could have fainted. I think he wants to buy any Ries grapes we have left next season. He asked if we expected a surplus.”

“He shall have some, then.”

Sarah pressed her head against his shoulder. “It’s good to be home.”

“Yes,” Chance said, reaching his arm around her. “It’s very good. Let’s not leave.”

She laughed. “I was not planning on another trip to Disthea.”

Their return had been a small matter, much smaller than Chance or Sarah had imagined it would be. While Chance and Sarah had been at the foot of Yggdrasil, the soulburdened of the Forest Lakes had begun raids on the edge of Purimen lands. The Purimen, Trumen, and some refugees had joined with the Rangers to beat the soulburdened back. The Trumen of the lakes were all convinced that no greater battle had been fought in centuries. The return of Chance and Sarah seemed insignificant after that. When Chance had first gone to church, holding Sarah’s hand, a few had grumbled and stared. Now, months later, folks treated Sarah and him like any others when they arrived for the service.

Chance’s house was cleaned up. It had not taken much work. The vines were in fair shape. The wine that his father had already started had not gone sour. There would be a batch of wine this year after all.

They were home. They were mostly accepted. It was clear that eventually everyone would accept them. They had been raised here, after all, in this tiny place, this valley. They were its people.

And here Chance chose to fix his feet, here where he would relent and respect the flow of time and the pull of the Earth on matter. Here he would stay planted, as long as he could. At least for a human while.

Sarah pointed at the glowing cloud. “Full moon. We’d be under the Eye, if it weren’t for that cloud.” She said it lightly, a joke, but Chance’s reply was serious.

“I’m not ready to walk in the gaze of the moon. Not yet.”

Sarah frowned. With an effort Chance smiled at her, to dispel the grim tone he had taken. He pulled Sarah closer. An owl cried in the forest behind them. A distant coyote howled, as if in answer. Two bats flitted past overhead.

“It’s as beautiful a place as any we’ve seen, isn’t it?” she asked.

A few bright stars began to appear in the darkening sky and their twinkling light reflected in the lake. A warm, gentle wind whispered through the forests behind them and stirred about them. It smelled of damp soil, and the first green tendrils of plants, and of the wetland below the farm, and of the lake beyond that. It smelled of spring. All the fecund land begat now the creatures of spring that started life with the conviction that life was new.

“It’s fair, that it should be ours a while,” Chance said. “This small and human share of heaven on Earth.”

–T
HE
E
ND–

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
have many debts. Foremost to Nancy Kress, my teacher and mentor and friend. Next to both Jonathan Sherwood and the members of the D309 East Side Novel Group: Lyndsay Calusine, Ben Chapman, Kim Gillette, Therese Pieczynski, Aaron Micheau, and Gary Mitchell. Thanks to Sarah Higley for help with Old English, and to Michael Boylan for help with Ancient Greek. Special thanks to Janice Carello. Writers & Books was an essential locus for much of my writing and learning. The artist Jeffrey Carr inspired my first dim idea of the Numin Jars and then of the gods of Earth; he also offered valuable advice on early drafts of this novel; I thank him for both. A shout-out to Dr. Stanley Schmidt for being the first editor to believe and invest in me; and to David Pomerico at 47North for believing in this book. Thanks to Aletheia DeLancey for inspiration and to Lorena Ferrero DeLancey and Nancy DeLancey for their support.

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

2013 © Aletheia DeLancey

Craig DeLancey is a writer and philosopher. He has published dozens of short stories in magazines like
Analog, Cosmos, Shimmer, The Mississippi Review Online
, and
Nature Physics
.

He also writes plays, many of which have received staged readings and performances in New York, Los Angeles, Sydney, and Melbourne, to name just a few.

His stories have also appeared in translation in Russia and China, and his writing has garnered numerous awards. His short story “Julie Is Three” won the Anlab Readers’ Choice award in 2012. “The Man Who Betrayed Turing” was named by
Cosmos
magazine one of their Top 12 Science Fiction Short Stories of 2012, and his short play “My Tunguska Event” was a finalist in 2011 for the Heideman Award, given by the Actors Theatre of Louisville.

DeLancey enjoys oceans and forests, hiking and gardening, reading and talking, and imagining other worlds.

Born in Pittsburgh, PA, he now makes his home in upstate New York and, in addition to writing, teaches philosophy at Oswego State, part of the State University of New York (SUNY).