Issola (9 page)

"Perhaps there are," she said. "But one thing I know, my dear Easterner, is that to you she is the Demon Goddess, and to me she is Verra, and we know her differently. Whatever I know might not be useful; indeed, it might mislead you."

I grunted. "Are the walls white?"

"Yes."

"I see them that way, too."

"Point taken."

"Then let's hear it."

"On the other hand," she said, smiling a little, "it may be that I can't tell you anything useful, and you're just procrastinating, because you aren't in a hurry to go through those doors"

"Point taken," I said, and started walking toward the doors.

"Wait," she said.

I waited.

"A god," said Lady Teldra, "is the living, sentient embodiment of a symbol."

"Oh," I said. "Well, that clears up everything."

"Your people, Easterners, might speak of a god of life, a god of death, a god of mountains, and so on. Isn't that true?"

"Sometimes," I said. "I think so. My education was a bit spotty."

"Those are all symbols."

"Death is a symbol?"

"Certainly. Very much so. Death, in fact, is a very powerful symbol because it defines life." There were many things I could say to that, but I settled for, "All right, go on." She looked around, gesturing to the walls. "We stand in the halls of a very powerful being; one with skills and abilities that surpass those of any mortal. By tradition, she represents the random arbitrariness of life."

"That's the rumor."

"Well, look around. Does her home appear random and arbitrary?"

I grunted, because I don't like giving obvious answers to pointed questions. "What are you getting at?"

"That she isn't just a symbol, she's also a person."

"Uh . . ."

"The tradition isn't wrong," said Teldra, "it is merely imprecise. She—" Teldra stopped and frowned, as if looking for the right words. "Your goddess," she said at last, "is capricious. At any rate, that is her reputation. It may be only that we expect being with her power to behave with a certain consistency and decorum, whereas she follows her whims as much as any of us do. But don't depend on her."

"I shan't," I said. "I never have." That wasn't strictly true. At one time I did, but I had learned.

"Then that is all I can tell you," said Teldra.

"All right," I said. "Thanks. Let's go."

And we went, for several paces, until we reached doors that made Morrolan's look diminutive, and there we stopped, because, unlike Morrolan's, these didn't open as we stood before them.

"Maybe we're supposed to say something," 1 suggested.

"Maybe we aren't supposed to go in," said Teldra.

I studied the massive doors, and the corridor behind me. "Last time I was here," I told her, "there was a sort of fog in the hallway. Now there isn't. Do you suppose it means something?"

She shook her head; the sort of head shake that comes in answer to a question one doesn't know the answer to. I cursed under my breath, and, just because I couldn't think of anything else to do, clapped at the door. Nothing happened.

"Too
bad, Boss. She's not home. Guess we'd better—"

"Shut up, Loiosh."

I then pushed at the door, because I'd have felt stupid if they opened inward and weren't secured. It didn't work, leaving me feeling stupid. The doors were filled with designs, all white-on-white, abstract designs reminiscent of embroidery from my ancestral homeland. All very nice. There were no handles on the doors. The space between the doors was wide enough to admit a pry-bar, or a knife blade, but I didn't have a pry-bar, or a blade with me that wouldn't snap from the weight of those doors. On the other hand, I had some spare knives. I pulled a stiletto from my boot, and was about to insert it between the doors when Teldra said, "Vlad." I turned my head without moving the knife. "Yes?"

"Are you quite certain that breaking in is a good idea?"

"You're afraid I'll offend her?"

"Well, yes."

"You don't think killing her will offend her?"

She showed me a smile. "Vlad, we both know you have no intention of killing her."

"Do
we know that, Boss?"

"Well, Teldra does, at any rate."

I turned back to the door, slipped the knife in, put some pressure on it, and promptly snapped the blade. The sound was dull and, like our voices, didn't echo. I stared at the hilt and the inch and a half of of blade left in my hand, shrugged, and discarded it. It made more of a thump than a clatter as it fell to the floor.

"Okay," I said. "Next idea."

"You could pray to her," she said.

"Yeah," I said. "But what if she answered?"

"Do the gods answer, when you pray?"

"Sometimes. I've had her answer once, at any rate, and maybe twice. Or there may be other occasions I'm forgetting about. That's the sort of thing I'd like to forget. How do we get in here?"

"I don't know," she said. "You'd know better than me; you've had personal contact with her."

"Yeah. From which I know nothing except—" I put my face up against the door and yelled, "Verra! It's me, Vlad!

You've had your joke, now open the bloody damn door."

The door began to swing inward. The last time I'd been here, the doors had opened outward. At least, I think they did. But this time they opened inward, and mists and fogs rolled out; the mist that had been in the corridor last time was now in the room.

"You can get the same effect with dry ice," I told Teldra.

"What's dry ice, Vlad?"

"It is an Eastern secret for keeping things cold. I learned of it from Valabar's."

"Witchcraft?"

"I guess so."

She nodded. "Shall we go in? I believe we've been invited."

"Yeah, sure, all right," I said, and stepped into the fog.

I walked forward with more confidence than I felt. I walked a long time, reminding myself that distances seem greater when you can't see, and the room was plenty big without help.

"Wall, Boss."

I stopped and cursed under my breath. Then I said, "Verra—"

There was a chuckle that seemed to come from all around me, and the fog cleared away and vanished - not going anywhere, just thinning out until it was gone, a process that took about five seconds. I was standing at the far end of the room; Verra sat on her chair, or throne, or dais, about twenty yards to my left and behind me. I made my way to the front of it and, while Teldra made some sort obeisance, I said, "What was that all about?" She gave me an ironic indulgent look, if you can imagine such a thing. On the throne on the dais (all of white), she looked even taller than she was. She wore a hoodless robe that was mostly pale red with black embroidery. Her fingers were long and had an extra joint to them. Her hair, this time, was shoulder-length and wavy: a subdued brown with red highlights, and very thick, so it seemed to have an iridescent quality. Her eyes didn't glow, but it seemed like they ought to have.

She was my God - insofar, at least, as I had one. When 1 was a child, my grandfather had spoken of her, but given few details of the sort that might be useful, and my father never mentioned her at all, but it had been impressed upon my young mind that one made the proper observances at the proper times of the year. More than that, her power and presence were so deeply ingrained in me that all through life my thoughts would flash to her briefly at times of danger, or in moments of despair; and even in moments of great joy or triumph I would think of her, sending her my gratitude and the hopes that I would not be punished for enjoying my happiness. When I had first met her in person, so many years ago, the shock had been so great that I couldn't assimilate it. At other times, I had felt her presence, but didn't know how often this feeling was only supplied by my imagination, and how often she had truly been with me. There were occasions, such as my one experience as a soldier of the line, when I could not imagine how I had survived without her having some hand in the matter, but she had never told me she actually did. Of course, I hadn't asked, either.

To know her as real - that is, a flesh-and-blood individual with whom I had spoken - was something I could never reconcile with the idea of a presence watching over me; perhaps watching me at times I didn't want to be watched. I had buried my own reactions, only to have them emerge as hatred some time later when she had visited misfortune upon my head, or maybe allowed misfortune to visit me, whichever. Since then I had tried not to even think of her, but in this I had failed, and now here she was, and to rescue my friends, I had to destroy her.

"Well?" I said. "Why the games?"

"An odd question," she said. I had forgotten the peculiar sound her voice had: not exactly an echo, but more as if there were two of her speaking, mostly in unison, but sometimes they'd fall a bit out of synchronization. She continued, "How can you complain of my treatment of you, when you are only here to assassinate me?"

"There is that," I agreed. "Goddess, may I be permitted to put a question?"

"Very well, assassin," said the Demon Goddess.

"Was this all your doing?" And, for a second, I actually had made Verra look astonished. Then the expression was gone. I continued, "The last time, if you recall—"

"Yes, Taltos Vladimir, I remember. But no, this was none of my doing. I did not arrange this, nor expect it. I did not expect you to arrive here; I did not think you would be able to do so without my assistance. Tell me, how
did
you manage that? I can't believe the Issola standing next to you accomplished it for you." I wanted to say something like, "It's a trade secret," but even I have limits beyond which I won't go. Teldra said, "Goddess, it was the Jenoine."

Verra nodded, slowly. "Yes," she said. "It had to be. Do you know who? Or which faction?"

"I was unable to learn, Goddess. I can tell you that one addressed the other by the honorific 'ker.' "

"Well done, Issola. It is a term used by what among the Jenoine is the equivalent of the military. It is useful information."

"I am only too happy to be of service," she said.

The Demon Goddess narrowed her eyes a little at this pronouncement, and said to me, "And you, little Easterner. Are you, also, only too happy to be of service?"

"I haven't decided yet," I said. "How many places can you be at once?"

"Well," she said. "You've been studying. Sethra Lavode, I take it?" I grunted. "Yes, but I knew that much, at least, from a long time ago."

"Many," said the Goddess, in answer to my question. "Bui there is one place I cannot be, and your countrymen are responsible for that."

"An ancestor?"

"No. It was a blood prince, and you are of peasant stock."

That stung. "All right," I said. "Thanks for the compliment I still want to know."

"I cannot appear among the Jenoine, Vlad, which is what you're really asking, isn't it?"

"Supernatural powers, immortality, and clever, too."

"Don't try my patience, Fenarian. I mean that."

I swallowed and nodded.

"Goddess," said Teldra, presumably breaking in to take me off the hook, "our friends are being held captive. Can you and will you help us?"

"Sit down here at my feet," she said, "and we'll talk."

Teldra sat on the dais as if there was nothing distasteful about doing so; I did my best to emulate her but I don't think I managed to keep the scowl entirely off my face.

"Speak," said Verra, and Teldra did so. I occasionally filled in a detail or speculation. Verra remained silent the entire time. She must have known some of what was going on, to judge from her comment about my being there to assassinate her, but she just listened and gave no hint about what she had known.

"There is more to this," said the Goddess when we were finished, "than you are aware of."

"No shit?" I said.

She gave me an indulgent smile, which did nothing to improve my mood. I felt Teldra's hand on my arm; if it had been anyone else, I'd probably have bit it.

Verra said, "I do not, however, intend to explain everything to you."

"Well, there's a new experience for me."

"Little Easterner," said Verra, "you seem determined to express your displeasure to me in more and more obvious ways until I take notice. Very well, I take notice. You are wroth with me because I have used you; because I have offended against your innate right to be a useless cyst on the hindquarters of life. Yes, well, you may continue to be wroth with me, because I intend to continue making you useful. You may attempt to kill me, in which case I will destroy you; or may continue to annoy me; in which case I will cause you sufficient pain to make you stop; or you may shut up and accept the inevitable."

I opened my mouth, Teldra squeezed my arm, I shut my mouth.

"Say, 'Thank you, Teldra,' " said Verra.

"Thank you Teldra," I said.

"Boss,
where did this self-destructive streak come from?"

"Shut up, Loiosh."

Verra said, "I have been waiting for some time, and so has Sethra, for the Jenoine to put their plans in motion, without knowing exactly what form they would take, or, indeed, what those plans were. But we knew they were preparing something. Now they have begun, and we are only able to respond and react until we know more about their intentions."

I said, "Sethra once tried to explain to me about offensive-|defensive strat—"

"Keep still," she said, and I suddenly felt like someone was I driving a spike into my head. I gasped, and the pain went away.

"Very convincing," I said, when I could speak again.

"They have made the first move," said Verra, as if nothing had happened. "We don't yet know what it means. The Jenoine are, in some ways, not unlike the Yendi; they will have anticipated our response, and worked it into their plans. They will have secondary and tertiary responses to our moves. Their objective will be concealed under layers of illusion and misdirection."

I bit back a suggestion that she let me know when she had the problem wrapped up; I was learning. She continued,

"There are some things, however, that we can be certain of: one is that they must find a way to neutralize Sethra, Morrolan, and Aliera, among others whose names you don't know."