Probably It's Prophecy, page 3
part #3 of Antiheroes Series
The god winced. “I…that is…normally prophets, those with the gift, will mark their prophecies with a drop of their own blood so that those with magical talents, such as your companion, Fedder the Firemaker, might identity the prophet and know that the prophecy is genuine.”
“And what?” Dannen asked, peering over the god’s shoulder. “Your prophecy here doesn’t have one of those?”
“Of course it does,” Perandius said defensively. “Or…at least, it did. Probably. I’m almost certain of it. Only…due to circumstances beyond my control, I am afraid that the mark, if it was there—almost certainly it was—has been…covered.”
Dannen grunted. “It seems to me, Perandius, that ‘circumstances beyond your control’ look an awful lot like someone spilled their drink on it. Tea, unless I miss my guess.”
“That’s quite irrelevant,” Perandius said hurriedly, “it is genuine, I assure you, and—”
“Hold on a minute,” Dannen said, grinning. “You’re the one that spilled something on it, aren’t you?”
The god sighed. “I’m not sure what bearing the means by which the prophecy was stained has on our current—”
Dannen made a tsking sound. “Quite a mistake for a Messenger God, isn’t it? I mean, messages, letters, notes, scrolls and tomes, that’s sort of your deal isn’t it? I can’t imagine Daddy Dearest was too happy about that. Likely your siblings had a good laugh though.”
Perandius puffed out his chest, sitting straighter. “I will have you know that, in all the millennia I have existed, I have never stained, lost, or otherwise besmirched a message given into my care—”
“Except this one,” Dannen said.
The god cleared his throat, deflating. “Well. Yes. Except for this one.”
Dannen laughed. He couldn’t help it. After being pulled out of bed naked and falling on his ass—quite literally—in a discarded version of the afterlife, it felt good to see someone else uncomfortable, particularly the god who had done the pulling in the first place. “And what did your great and terrible father say to that, I wonder? I bet your asshole brother and asshole sister had some words.”
The god cleared his throat, avoiding Dannen’s gaze, and said nothing. Dannen frowned as realization struck. “You didn’t tell them.”
“There was no reason to,” Perandius said defensively. “After all, it is only a small stain—miniscule, really, and my father is far too busy to be bothered with something so trivial.”
“Particularly when this something would net you a good tongue-lashing at the least, eh?” Dannen asked. “Or a good mocking from your sister and brother.”
“You do not understand what it is like, Dannen Ateran, to have two gods such as my siblings constantly examining everything you do, searching for a mistake, for some means of making you appear less in your father’s eyes. It is quite…challenging.”
“No, Perandius,” Dannen agreed, “you’re right. I, as a mortal, have absolutely no idea what it’s like to have a god involved in my life, not when they could sit back and watch the whole shit show run its course instead.” He frowned. “At least until recently, and while I’ve complained plenty of times about the gods’ absence I think I’ve decided that, on a whole, I prefer it when you bastards keep to yourselves. True, my life might be miserable, but at least I’ll have one. The way you’re going, that’s a problem that’ll solve itself soon enough.”
“I have never aimed to get you hurt, Dannen Ateran,” the god said, “in fact, quite the opposite. I have wished you nothing but success in your endeavors.”
“Sure,” Dannen said, “and maybe the wagon driver doesn’t mean to run over the rabbit that hops out in front of him, but that poor little bastard goes on being squished just the same and all the wishing in the world doesn’t change that.”
Perandius sighed. “Will you go, Dannen? Will you take up this charge?”
Dannen raised an eyebrow. “You mean I have a choice? What about that contract, all that shit you told me the last time you brought me here?”
“All true!” the god persisted. “And yes, of course there is a choice. I would never think to impose upon a man’s free will. You can, of course, deny this mission and accept another in its stead.”
“Another?”
“Just so,” the god agreed. “You see, there has gathered a rather large…well, I hesitate to call it army, but band of trolls in—”
“I’ll take the shepherd.”
“A-are you sure?” the god asked. “You didn’t let me finish. Perhaps if you heard—”
“Shepherd,” Dannen repeated. “Gods, Perandius, I’ve had more than my share of trolls, thanks. Anyway, between a shepherd boy and a troll, I’ll take the shepherd boy every time. Less chances of getting eaten that way.”
Later, Dannen would come to think back on those words, to regret them and accept them as yet more proof—if any was needed—that he was a complete fool. For now, though, he remained blissfully unaware of what lay in his not-so-distant future, and so was relieved when Perandius nodded.
“Very well,” the god said, “if that is your wish. And the others? Do you believe that they will also accept this charge?”
Dannen grunted. “Well, now, that’s a question isn’t it? After all, last I heard, Tesler and Mariana have spent the entire week confined to a room at one of Talinseh’s inns, barely coming up for air let alone to eat. Still, I think they’ll get on board.”
“I see. And Fedder?”
Dannen sighed. “There likely to be fighting on this quest of yours?”
“Well,” the god said slowly, “I certainly hope not, though, often, when prophets speak of shadows and darkness, they mean—”
“Something that plans on killing you.”
“Err…yes.”
Dannen nodded at that. “Yeah, I don’t think Fedder will be a problem.”
“Very well,” Perandius said, “then if that is all—”
“Now just hold on a damned minute,” Dannen said. “Look, godling, I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go, do I?”
“Oh, right. That. Tell me, do you still retain the Divining Stone in your possession, the one I gave you when first you accepted your quest?”
It was Dannen’s turn to fidget. “I’m…yeah, probably I can get it.”
The god arched an eyebrow. “Probably? Please, Dannen Ateran, tell me that you have not lost it.”
Dannen cleared his throat. “Of course not, what do you take me for, an idiot? No, I know exactly where it is.”
“Very well,” the god said, holding out his hand, palm up.
“What?” Dannen said. “You need it now? Well,” he paused, gesturing at his naked form, “Sorry to say, godling, but I left it in my other pants.”
The god studied him for several seconds, his face expressionless. “To imbue the Divining Stone with the proper target—in this case, the shepherd foretold in the prophecy—I will need to touch it.”
“Sure, sure,” Dannen said, “imbuing and all that. See…the thing is, well, I may have given it away.”
“You sold the Diving Stone,” Perandius said in a shocked voice.
“No, no,” Dannen said hurriedly, “don’t be ridiculous. Of course I didn’t sell it. Only…well, I gave it to Clare. For a necklace. It looks really good on her.”
Perandius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “And what, I wonder, was your payment for giving it away? I hope it was plenty of coin, for such items are not easily come by and—”
“No coin,” Dannen said. “I told you I didn’t sell it. Still…” He paused, grinning. “I suppose you could say there was payment, and if you ask me, godling, that payment was far better than any black stone could ever be.”
“I cannot believe this,” the god said in, Dannen had to admit, a damned good I-can’t-believe-this voice. “A priceless artifact from the land of the gods, one of immeasurable value and extreme rarity, and because of you it sits on…on a necklace.”
“Fine, so maybe I shouldn’t have given it to her,” Dannen said defensively, “but let’s not pretend like this thing is one in a million, eh? As I recall, you showed me hundreds, maybe even thousands of the damn things the last time I was here.”
“Those things, as you call them, took centuries, millennia in the forming. One Divining Stone is only produced every fifty years’ time and that after much work and hard labor for such fashionings are not easy, even for the gods.”
Dannen nodded slowly. “Right. Well, I suppose I should be asking for it back then.”
Perandius shook his head, clearly annoyed. “No need.” He snapped his fingers and then, suddenly, the stone was there, lying on the desk in front of the god who had an undeniably arrogant smirk on his face. Dannen might have hoped that it was another stone—after all, as far as he could tell they all looked the same—except for the fact that he could see broken pieces of chain on either side, no doubt from the necklace that had bound it to Clarissa’s neck when she’d walked out of the bedroom that morning.
“Shit,” he said.
“Do not worry, Dannen Ateran,” the god said, “thankfully, your mistake is one that might be remedied.”
“Shit,” Dannen said again.
The god frowned. “Now, I will imbue it with the essence of the subject of the prophecy, so that you might find him.” The god placed his hand on the stone and Dannen felt some invisible force gathering. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck began to rise and then there was an audible pop in the air. A moment later, Perandius gave a satisfied nod. “It is done.” He offered the stone to Dannen.
Dannen took it. “Shit,” he said.
“Are you quite alright, Dannen?” the god asked, studying him carefully. “I have heard of mortals having seizures before, but I must confess I have never seen it in person, so to speak, and—”
“Clare really liked that necklace,” Dannen said, trying to work some moisture back into a throat that had suddenly gone bone-dry.
“I see,” the god said in a voice that proved he clearly didn’t. “Anyway, you may use the stone to track down the subject of the prophecy. It is my understanding that he resides somewhere in the far south.”
“Sure, why not?” Dannen said, finally pulling his gaze away from the stone. “I mean, it isn’t as if he’d live in the close south, is it?”
“I’m sorry?” the god asked. “I don’t understa—”
“Nothing,” Dannen said. “Forget it. Anyway, best send me back so I can be getting on with it. Probably best I leave Talinseh tonight, maybe even now. You know, shepherds to rescue and all that. Well? Damnit, man, why aren’t you doing your portal thing? Let’s go already.”
“Forgive me for saying so, Dannen Ateran,” Perandius said slowly—slowly enough that Dannen seriously considered giving him a good kick in the shin, “but it seems to me that you are, all of a sudden, in a hurry. Confusing, I must admit, considering that moments ago you seemed just about as reluctant as anyone could imagine.”
“I told you,” Dannen said, staring at the stone as if it were a viper that would bite him—and it may yet. There was still plenty of time for that. “Clarissa really liked that necklace. Now, can we get on with it?”
“As you say,” the god said, perplexed, then he waved a hand and a golden portal began to appear in the air, small at first and growing bigger by the moment.
“One more thing, Dannen—” the god began, but Dannen was already jumping through the golden light. It wasn’t until he was already committed, sailing his ungainly body through the opening, that he remembered the godling telling him about the man with the thumb. Or more accurately, the man without it.
But it was too late to do anything to stop himself, too late to reconsider. Too late to do anything, really, except scream. Which he did.
CHAPTER THREE
As he retrieved his traveling pack from Clarissa’s closet and hurriedly began tossing things into it, not quite at random but nearly so, Dannen told himself he was being ridiculous. True, Clarissa had liked the necklace but so what? She liked him too, didn’t she? Or maybe tolerated. Some days, it was hard to tell.
Anyway, it was just a rock. A rock found exclusively in the Land of the Gods, sure, and, if what Perandius had told him was true, only found there after great effort. But still. A rock.
“Shit,” Dannen said, redoubling his efforts, glancing nervously at the door as he did. Maybe he was being ridiculous and maybe he wasn’t—as far as he could tell, there was only one way to know for sure, and that was waiting on Clarissa to return home in several hours after her work was finished. A thought that, just then, seemed just about as appealing as seeing firsthand what a dragon’s insides looked like.
He paused, a chill running up his spine. If, that was, she even waited that long. She might well be on her way already. After all, if there was anything capable of making someone change up their routine surely it was a necklace—and the Divining Stone adorning it—disappearing off their neck as if by magic.
He told himself again he was being silly. Clarissa wouldn’t hurt him. Probably. The problem, of course, was that while she could be quite pleasant, there was a terribly sharp, terribly deadly side to Clarissa as well. After all, in a city full of assassins and muggers, murderers and thieves, she had risen to the very highest rank—that, Dannen thought, pretty much said all that needed to be said. She was, in short, like the world’s sharpest blade sheathed in a scabbard with bunny rabbits painted on it. Sure, the rabbits might be cute, but then they had a wicked bite if someone pissed them off.
And though he couldn’t say for certain what a person’s mood might be having a beloved necklace disappear off their neck without explanation, he thought it might land them, if not directly on pissed, close enough as to make no difference.
And so, in the space of less than ten minutes, he’d packed his belongings and was hurrying down the stairs from her room, several of Clarissa’s servants looking at him oddly as well they might. After all, though Dannen had spent the last week at Clarissa’s home, the better part of it—far better to his mind—had been spent ensconced in her bedroom.
Out in the street he felt better, and he thought it probably said a lot of his respect—and fear—for Clarissa that he would rather brave the streets of the Assassin City than to risk her anger. But once he was safely away, he hesitated, realizing he’d given no consideration to where he might find the mage. Likely, the god could have told him easily enough, if only he’d thought to ask him. Dannen sighed. Not a great start to a quest, as far as such things went.
Normally, if he was ever searching for Fedder, he’d do so by the simple expedient of listening for the screams. The problem, of course, was that in Talinseh a man intent on following the sound of screaming would be wise to pack himself a lunch, as he’d have a full day of it.
So it seemed that he had a long search ahead of him. Dannen started down the street, annoyed with himself, with Perandius, with the world itself, and then froze as an idea struck him. He hurried back to one of the guards stationed at the gated entrance to Clarissa’s home. “Hey.”
The man said nothing, only frowning at him grimly as if he’d woken up and decided to spend the day practicing his most threatening look. And from what Dannen could tell, the man would be fine taking the rest of the day off. “The man I came here with before, big man, red hair, likes to shout a lot, do you know where he went?”
“No, sir,” the man said, somehow making “sir” sound like a curse.
“I see,” Dannen said, then another thought came to him. “What’s the roughest tavern in Talinseh?”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Roughest, sir?”
“Sure, you know, the most dangerous one, the one no sane man would ever step foot in.”
“Ah, right. Well, that’d be The Angry Bear, sir.”
The Angry Bear. Well, that sounded about right. Dannen asked the man for directions, listened as he gave them, then nodded. “Thanks.”
“Anything else, sir?” the guard asked as if to say there’d best not be.
“A coffin, maybe.”
“Sir?”
“Nothing,” Dannen said, “thanks again.”
And then he was moving.
***
It didn’t take as long as it might have to find The Angry Bear. Mostly, Dannen just had to walk in the opposite direction of everyone else—not that most of those were walking as all those he saw were running like their lives depended on it. Which, if the mage was in the vicinity and had been in his cups, they likely did.
There was a man sitting beside the door to the tavern, his head hanging down on his chest. He might have been asleep, a bouncer who’d had a long night before and was paying for it today, except the knot on his head, visible even as Dannen passed, and the blood trickling from it. Dannen paused, staring at the unconscious man—gods let him be unconscious—and gave it a good think. It wasn’t as if he had to go into the tavern. After all, there were far more pleasant ways to die, he thought, then either at the hands of a pissed-off mage or at the hands of those unfortunate bastards who had managed to find themselves on the opposite end of his wrath.
In the end, though, he knew that he was going inside. He may not know what awaited him in the south, but he knew that there was no man in all the world better in a scrap than Fedder the Firemaker. Likely it was because of all the practice.
No sooner had Dannen eased the door open and stepped inside than someone stumbled into him. He caught the person out of reflex and looked to see that the man had a broken nose and his eyes were swimming around in their sockets like drunken fish.
“Butcher!” came a roar, and he looked past the shoulder of the man he still held to see Fedder facing off against five men, a wide, stupid grin plastered on the mage’s face, a mug of ale in one hand and a man held off the ground by the other. “Just in time!” the mage bellowed. “Get that for me, would you?”
Dannen frowned, not sure what he meant at first, until the mage nodded his head at the man who had bumped into Dannen. Get that for me, would you? As if the man were a trinket he’d dropped that was slightly out of his reach. The man let out a groan in Dannen’s arms. “Get you, you…bastard,” he growled, and Dannen saw his hand going for his belt and the knife sheathed there.
