What Lies Beyond, page 37
part #6 of The Cycle of Galand Series
Blays shrugged. "Maybe I just like smiting bastards."
Still perched on the branch, Urt swung his legs like a child, albeit a very oddly proportioned one. "Yes, that feels true to me."
"Good. Now what sort of person are you? Or does nobody get to know that?"
"The more people know about you, the more they tend to treat you in ways meant to get something from you, or that will not trouble or offend you. I'm not very interested in that."
"Sounds kind of lonely, though."
Beneath his hat, Urt's teeth flashed—he was grinning. "I gather that you speak this freely to everyone. I'm surprised one of my peers hasn't killed you yet. You're wrong, though. It isn't lonely at all. If it was, I think I would have died a very long time ago."
"Well that's good. I'd like to think the people that can destroy us with a snap of their fingers aren't sad and angry all the time."
"Don't be mistaken, we have the same emotions you do. Plus a few more that we thought wouldn't really work for you. But I don't get lonely any more than anyone else does. How could I when I hear the voice of every person who prays to me?"
"You do?" Dante said. "Do all of you?"
"I don't know that it is good for your kind to know too much about us. That's a good reason to get you out of here as fast as possible, isn't it?"
"But why create us in the first place if we're not supposed to know you?"
"Quiet." Urt swept his arm downward, sleeve flapping. Light flared from in front of them, coalescing into a long, narrow triangle of moiling ether: a second part of the shaft of the spear. "For now, this is yours."
Dante looked up from the glowing shard. "Are you giving us this just to get rid of us?"
"I rarely do things for pragmatic reasons. That is boring."
"Then why?"
"I'm not going to tell you why." Up in the tree, Urt was harder to see than ever. "Take it. Take my blessing, too. I think that you will need it."
Blays moved to add the part of the shaft to the other pieces he was carrying.
Dante bowed his head. "Thank you, Lord Urt."
"I don't think that we'll see each other again," the god said. "But this has been interesting. I hope that you continue to be interesting."
Before Dante could reply, he was cut short by a startling whirr, one like the call of a hundred thousand cicadas. He flinched, blinking. When he opened his eyes, the forest had vanished.
Instead, up a short slope, the Knifelands carved at the sky. Urt was gone, and so was his realm.
26
They were back where they'd first entered the realm. Yet not everything was the same.
Most notably, the dead forest was no longer there. Neither was all of the debris that had been disintegrating within it. Instead, it had been replaced by a meadow, although quite a few saplings were springing up from nowhere, threatening to overtake the grass.
"My strange friends," croaked a man's voice.
A figure stood twenty feet away from them between a pair of waist-high saplings. The man was so old and bent it took Dante a moment to recognize him. "Tarlic?"
"That is so," Tarlic said. "I remember you now—and the things that you've done for me. Thank you for that."
"It wasn't entirely selfless." Dante inspected him. "Has something happened to you? I didn't know the people here could grow so old."
"It isn't typical. You see, I am to be replaced."
"Replaced?" Blays said. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Tarlic laughed hoarsely. "Don't be sorry! You can't be sad for me when I'm not sad for myself. A new spring is beginning. It needs someone younger to look after it."
"A new spring? You mean Urt's decided to start this place anew?"
"Just so. Now I believe you'll be wanting your horses. They're right over here."
He led them down a dip in the land. At the bottom, their horses were happily cropping grass, looking well-rested, a state of being they unfortunately weren't likely to see again for at least several days.
They mounted up, said their goodbyes to Tarlic, and rode up the acclivity to the Knifelands. Once they'd gained some elevation, Dante glanced back, curious if Urt or his people had built any new temples or the like, but the only things he saw were more grass and saplings.
"So Urt's starting a new cycle for himself?" Blays said. "That can't be coincidence, right?"
"What do you mean?" Dante said.
"As you might recall, this place was dead before. At least in this time. Or place. Or whatever the difference is between here and the other places we just saw and now my head is starting to hurt. Who knows how long it's been that way. And he only now decides to bring it back? Did we convince him to do that?"
"That is the only rational conclusion," Gladdic said. "Yet if you expect any of us to be able to understand why he was convinced, you will be left wanting."
They entered the Knifelands, following the trail they'd carved through it on the way to Urt's realm, at least when they could find that trail. When they couldn't, Dante smoothed a new one through the jagged labyrinth of rock. They quickly arrived at the desert, its yellow dunes stretching across the horizon.
Going further that day would require them to make camp in the desert overnight, which they mutually decided was a horrible idea. Instead, they settled into a cave at the fringe of the Knifelands, alternating between discussing Urt, deciding where they were going next (Denhild), and sleeping.
As soon as morning's first light turned the sands a ghostly blue, they started off, traveling as fast as the horses could sustain. It was still so dark they were no more than silhouettes, but as soon as the sun itself broke from the east, they were starkly exposed against the naked dunes.
Dante kept his knife in hand so he'd be ready to draw his blood at the first hint of the return of the worm. Every shriek of a hawk made him jump. He kept his teeth clenched to stop himself from biting his tongue when he startled. After several hours of riding, what was left of the plateau he'd raised shimmered in the distance. Huge chunks of curved rock lay broken at its base. If a giant came by and fit them back together, they might have resembled the shell of a massive, round egg.
Blays gave him a look. "Couldn't you have made that thing too thick to escape from?"
"I could have tried. But the effort would have hit a snag when it took too long and I was bitten in half."
"You two may continue your argument as you please," Gladdic said. "I am getting the hell out of here."
Dante kept his head on a swivel for any shift in the sands. The wind picked up, sending the grains hissing across each other. The afternoon sun fell past the halfway mark between noon and sunset. They still hadn't seen any hint of the worm, but Dante had no idea how much desert remained, either. After some dithering about whether it would be safer to just ride through the night—and if the horses would be capable of doing so—he nicked his arm and paved the sand ahead of them into a thin strip of road, enabling the horses to travel much faster.
But the sun seemed committed to outspeeding them. Soon their shadows stretched long across the desert. The sun touched the horizon, a dull red blob, and fell away. The wind arrived to take its place. With twilight at hand, insects and reptiles squiggled from their burrows. In the very last of the daylight before they had to use ether to guide the way forward, they came to the black swath of the river that marked the desert's end.
~
Come morning, they forded the river and rode north for Denhild.
Hours later, Blays visored his eyes against the sunlight. "Is that a rider?"
Dante squinted. "Either that or a centaur."
"But I see a horse head and a human head. Definitely a rider."
"Maybe it's a mutant centaur."
"It appears," Gladdic said, "to be a ramna."
Blays glanced at him. "You're about nine hundred years old. How are your eyes better than mine?"
"You have been warned of the consequences of your habits."
The figure had caught sight of them and was now riding toward them. The spear he carried and the heavy furs he wore marked him as one of the barbarians.
"Suppose he's friendly?" Dante said.
Blays loosened his sword in its sheath. "Are any of them?"
No reinforcements appeared from the hills, but with typical ramna heedlessness, the rider came forward undaunted until he stood close enough that they'd barely need to raise their voices to speak, which was more than close enough for him to be obliterated by the nether.
"You are the outlanders." His skin was quite tan and while many ramna wore their hair long, his black hair was trimmed nearly to the scalp. "Did you succeed in what you were sent to do?"
Blays leaned forward in the saddle. "Would it be uncouth to ask why that's any of your business?"
"Did you succeed?"
"Yes," Gladdic said.
"Then come with me."
Dante sat a little higher. "Mind telling us where we're going?"
"To the foul city of Denhild."
"What if we were already headed there?"
"That was assumed. But you will not make it without me."
The rider turned and headed north without them. After a brief discussion, the three of them caught up to him. He was among the least talkative people Dante had ever met, but after much querying, they were able to pry two basic facts from him: first, that his name was Kavan. And second, that following the sack of Protus, the ramna bands had undergone a strange transformation, neither breaking up nor dispersing, but instead taking to the roads connecting the various kingdoms of the gods, looting every caravan and killing every soldier in sight, ripping up the roads themselves and toppling every outpost the gods had managed to maintain, a jeering orgy of destruction. Nobody—least of all the ramna themselves—could tell whether they were gearing up to go home, or to mount a new siege on another kingdom.
What it all added up to was the least safe conditions for travel in living memory. So while they didn't entirely trust Kavan, or even understand who had sent him to guide them, they went with him anyway.
His horse was almost as fleet as their own and while the first day was quiet the second brought them to the fringes of the ramna-occupied land. Bands rode leisurely through the forests and prairies, searching for any messengers, scouts, or military expeditions hapless enough to have been sent out into the madness. Kavan avoided most bands, hiding out in little vales or slipping away along stream beds, but now and then he recognized a group he was friendly with and negotiated passage.
The closer they came to Denhild, the greater the sense of dread grew in Dante's stomach, the sureness that something would lurch out to smash them before they could deliver the proof of having bested Urt's challenge that would earn them the other pieces of the spear, leaving Taim's as the last to be collected. Yet they hadn't so much as gotten into a skirmish with the ever-present ramna by the time they approached the realm of Gashen.
The god of war had maintained a few towers and forts outside the city itself. These were now smashed to their foundations. The soldiers who'd died in their defense had been heaped up and burned in a pyre, while a single large burial mound covered the bodies of the ramna, suggesting it was the barbarians who'd taken care of the dead—and suggesting further that Gashen was now entirely turtled up in his city.
The giant walls were still in good repair, however, though a team of men was lugging in stones and mortar to refill a section that had suffered the application of enemy sorcery. As they rode to the gates, Kavan wheeled about and galloped away into the wilderness without so much as a goodbye.
All of the gates were closed despite it being the middle of the day. But this time, the sentries were waiting for their arrival, and let them right through. The interior was amok with workers digging ditches, raising ramparts, and moving logs and stones around. Soldiers drilled more seriously and vigorously than during their first visit, though they seemed almost joyous about the strenuousness of it, as if being called to their purpose had elevated their souls.
They headed for the great wooden hall and were met halfway there by a very eager General Lars.
"We won Urt's part," Dante said, reading the question on his face. "Although someone might have thought to warn us about the giant sand worm. And the—"
Lars held up his hand. "Save your words. I will hear them at the same time you speak them to Lord Gashen." He brought them toward the hall, calling for pages to relieve them of their horses. "Did you meet your guide?"
"Who, Kavan?" Blays said. "Ramna fellow who acted like he'd taken three different vows of silence? How'd you get one of them to agree to help you in the first place?"
"Because we are ransoming his father," Lars laughed. "With the troubles in the wilds, we thought you might use help avoiding unnecessary adventure."
They ascended the hill to the great hall. The soldiers manning the entry saluted General Lars and pulled open the doors. Dante and the others soon found themselves back in the dark, seemingly unwalled space where they'd first met Gashen.
Blays picked up one foot, giving a disgusted look at the hard-packed sand on the ground. "After Yula, I was really hoping to never have to step on this stuff again."
The stout and towering figure of Gashen stepped forth from nowhere, arms crossed over the barrel of his chest. "Did you find Urt?"
"We did," Dante said. "And we won his spear."
They related the story, though Dante tried to stick to the facts and spend little time speculating about, say, what the precise meaning of their passage through the forest might have been. Gashen did a lot of chuckling once they got to the parts involving Urt himself.
"I do not get to speak with Urt often," Gashen said once they were through. "But every time I do, I either laugh more than I have ever laughed, or wind up wanting to punch his head in."
"What is he even about?" Blays said. "You've got your wars and such, Phannon rules over the waters, Arawn likes it when you die. But what's Urt's domain? That of doing nothing to help you when you can't figure something out on your own?"
"I'm not sure that I fully know. If I did fully know, I am almost sure that I wouldn't tell you. I have come to believe his realm is that of deep judgments. Ones made from places none of us can fully understand because we are not looking as deeply as he does. And none of us can look that deeply without living as he does."
"Alone, half insanely, and disappearing altogether for years on end?"
"That is only the half of it."
"We did what we were tasked with," Dante said after a brief pause. "Will the other gods give us their parts now?"
Gashen smiled knowingly. "I will see what I can do."
He stepped back, vanishing. They stood around in semi-awkward silence, unable to speculate or gossip about whether the other lords would actually do as they said with Lars right there, to say nothing of the fact Gashen could almost certainly hear everything they'd say as well.
The lord of war returned within a few snaps of his fingers. He bore three glowing objects. The last third of the haft. The last third of the blade. And a golden wrist cord.
Dante and Blays gawked at each other. Even Gladdic lifted an eyebrow.
"But how did you get them so fast?" Dante blurted, knowing it was probably a stupid question to ask of a god.
Gashen smiled avuncularly. "There was no need to wait for your return to gather them. That would only have delayed us for no good reason. The others trusted that if they were to leave them to me I would not gift them to you unless you had earned them."
Blays kneeled, untying and unrolling the tarp he carried the others in. He tried to fit the pieces of the haft together, but they didn't stick tight any more than three pieces of cut wood would. Still, Dante could see now exactly how the Spear of Stars would look when it was assembled, and the sight of the eight pieces gathered in Blays' grasp made his spirits soar.
"Then all that's left is the purestone," Dante said. "The gem that binds the spear's parts into a single piece."
Gladdic nodded. "Naturally that would be the portion that Taim keeps guardianship of for himself."
"Lord Gashen, do you still think you can get him to turn it over?"
"I do," Gashen said. "I will speak with him tomorrow to tell him that the contest is over."
"What if he still refuses?"
"He might do that. The crisis of the White Lich offered him the opportunity to deal with the degradation of the Mists, a problem that has vexed him for a great long time. Will he be pleased to give up his solution to this problem? About as pleased as I was to lose my axe!" Gashen got a good laugh out of this. "But look upon his position as if you were a general intent on sieging him. Most of his allies have abandoned him. The few that remain teeter on the verge of ruin.
"By contrast, you stand on the brink of victory, despite all opposition, and continued success makes that victory appear inevitable to those that are watching. Lastly, everyone involved is being menaced by a great horde of barbarians that were rallied to the field by Taim's own missteps. At the moment, we are incapable of coming together to put down this threat due to the very divisions and uncertainties I have described.
"Lord Taim will resist the inevitable. But only until he can come up with a solution that lets him lend you the last part while still saving face. If he cannot come up with one for himself, I will provide that solution for him. I don't think this process will take longer than three days. It may be finished by tomorrow. Does that satisfy you?"
He tilted his face forward, looking down at them from beneath the ramparts of his eyebrows.
"With fists as big as yours," Blays said, "does anyone ever tell you 'no'?"
"That's as much as we can ask of you," Dante said. "But feel free to hit Blays anyway."
Gashen clapped his hands. "Good! Then go and eat, and trade stories of your deeds with my soldiers, and forget your worries for your future until the morning."
They did just that. During their conversation in Gashen's inner chamber, soldiers had begun to fill up the great hall and were already hoisting tankards and eating meat-filled dumplings. The three of them were called over to a table of Lars' officers and those warriors who'd recently distinguished themselves in combat. Plates of food were brought out as they were prepared. Whenever a soldier finished his drink, he flipped his cup upside down on the table and a servant came by to refill it.
