04c Dreams of Fire and Gods: Gods (2 page)

Has she come to take me into death?

“I am Imen,” the woman said softly, “the queen of the gods. And you, my young acolyte, have pleased me with your self-sacrifice and devotion to us.”

The youth had no doubt she was speaking the truth. Never had he seen a human woman of such surpassing beauty! Never had he been so overwhelmed by a man or woman’s mere
presence
! She could be nothing other than a god.

“I wish to grant you a boon, my faithful warrior,” Imen purred as she traced a finger along his cheek and down the side of his neck. The flesh there was blistered, and her touch should have been agonizing, yet Gonim felt nothing but pleasure at it. “First, you must tell me…. Are you willing to die for me?”

Gonim could imagine nothing nobler than to sacrifice himself for his goddess. In a paroxysm of religious fervor, he attempted to speak, but he had breathed in some of the flame, and his throat was too scorched to choke out even one word. Imen seemed to sense this, and she bent her face near his. Then she blew gently into his mouth. Where her sweet breath touched, his flesh was healed, and as he exhaled, Gonim found himself able to say, “Yes, Your Majesty!”

She smiled, her face seemingly illuminated from within, as she straightened. “Then you shall. But not today. There is much to be done.”

Imen stepped away from Gonim’s bedside and a stooped old woman Gonim hadn’t known was in the room with them came forward. The crone held a small rolled-up strip of leather, which she laid down on the edge of his bed and unrolled. Fastened to the inside of the strip by small loops were the tools of a seamstress—shears, needles, rolls of thread, and measuring tape.

While Imen stood silently nearby, the old woman set about her business, humming an unfamiliar tune. She chose a large needle and threaded it with a thread that shimmered and flickered as if on fire, and then she held it aloft in one hand, while her other slid Gonim’s blanket down to expose his naked chest. She picked up the shears and with a motion so quick Gonim barely had time to flinch, she stabbed him in the chest with one of the blades and snipped his sternum open.

Gonim felt the cut, yet it was oddly painless. Though he had difficulty raising his head, he was able to tilt his face so he could watch as the old seamstress snipped open his chest cavity. Blood welled up in the wound but did not gush out or spray as he would have expected it to. The woman set the shears down on the mattress and slid her hand into the wound, where Gonim could feel her fingers groping… until a sharp, intense pain made him cry out. He wondered if Father Turs would hear him screaming and come to investigate. What would happen then? Would Imen kill him for intruding? Gonim bit down on his screams, fearing that possibility, but it was impossible for him not to grunt and whimper in agony.

The pain grew more and more severe, until Gonim’s vision began to grow dark, and he thought he was going to pass out. The seamstress withdrew his beating heart from his chest and held it up as if inspecting it.

“Your Majesty,” she said in a dry, rasping voice.

Imen plucked a large ruby off the neckline of her dress and stepped forward to drop the jewel into Gonim’s open chest cavity. Instantly, the pain ceased. Gonim settled back onto the mattress and sighed in relief as a warmth emanated from the ruby and flooded throughout his body. He almost didn’t notice when the seamstress snipped the arteries of his heart and cast the organ aside.

The old woman stitched his chest back together with the needle and fiery thread, but Gonim no longer bothered to watch. The warmth flooding through his body spread throughout his limbs, easing all pain, energizing his exhausted muscles, and pooling pleasantly in his groin.

When the seamstress had finished her work and left Gonim’s bedside, taking her tools with her, Imen extended her hand to the youth. “Come.”

Hesitantly, Gonim raised his head off the pillow. He felt no pain and, looking down at his chest and stomach, he could see no trace of the severe burns that had been killing him just a short time ago. Indeed, there was also no trace of what had just transpired—no blood, no cut on the skin of his chest, not even a scar. Gonim sat up and put his bare feet on the stone floor. He felt stronger and healthier than he’d ever felt before.

He stood and faced the goddess, who regarded him with a triumphant smile.

“You are very beautiful,” Imen said, looking him over as she circled around him.

Gonim had been wearing nothing at all under the blankets, his kilt having been burned beyond saving, and he had stiffened when the warmth flooded his groin. This embarrassed him, but the goddess did not seem concerned about it.

“The magics of Harleh Valley cannot prevent me from entering, if I choose,” Imen continued in a voice as smooth as warm honey, “but there are times when a subtle approach is best.”

She stopped in front of Gonim and placed her hand lightly upon his breast. It felt hot against the young man’s skin and caused him to become even more aroused. “This body is now my vessel, and I will safeguard it. Go to Harleh! Be my eyes and ears where others are now useless.”

Gonim was beyond being confused by what was happening to him. He didn’t know whether to be elated or terrified by the goddess’s charge. “Y-Your Majesty,” he stammered, “what shall I do in Harleh?”

Her laugh was the first unpleasant sound to come from her mouth since appearing to Gonim. “That, my warrior, will depend upon what you find there.”

T
HE
funeral procession wound slowly through the spiral main street of Harleh, an empty casket at the fore. Sael rode in the next carriage, propped up between his father and his sister-in-law, unable to sit upright under his own power. The Taaweh who’d been attending to his wounds had advised against exerting himself, even this much. His body had been damaged by the fall from the suspended hall beyond anything the
ömem
could have done to save him—not that they would have—and only the intervention of the Iinu Shavi had kept him alive.

Sael had insisted on a state funeral for Koreh as soon as he was out of danger himself. His father had protested that Koreh had been his
nimen
only in the eyes of the Taaweh, who had no jurisdiction in Harleh. But Sael had grown so furious it had brought on another coughing fit. By the time the Taaweh physician attending him had calmed him down, the
vek
was looking pale and frightened.

“This is foolishness,” he said irritably, but then he added, “Have the funeral, if you must.”

Sael drank from the cup of water the Taaweh held for him. She then eased his head back onto his pillow. When Sael was able to speak again, he said, “I want you to be there, Father. Riding in the carriage with me and Tanum.”

Worlen looked as though he might object, but apparently he thought better of it. “Very well.”

Then he gave his son a curt nod and strode from the room.

The Taaweh woman looked at Sael sympathetically. “
Iinyeh
Sael, this is really unnecessary. Your
tyeh-iinyeh
’s physical body is gone, but his spirit is not. All living creatures must someday go through this transition.”

Sael had asked for some time alone after that, embarrassed to let her see his tears. Koreh was gone, and the last thing he wanted to hear was vague religious reassurances that Koreh’s spirit would continue in some sort of Taaweh afterlife. It might be true—Sael fervently hoped it was—but it wouldn’t bring Koreh back to him. And the thought of spending the rest of his life without Koreh was unbearable.

It was raining as the horse-drawn carriages clattered across the cobblestones in the street, and though the citizens of Harleh were turned out to watch the procession, huddled in doorways and under awnings, there was no grief on their faces—merely confusion and curiosity. They hadn’t known Koreh. Most were still baffled and frightened by all the strange occurrences over the past few weeks—the emperor’s army suddenly falling unconscious during battle, the strange forest that had sprung up on the plain and surrounded Harleh, the appearance of an unearthly spired city to the west, and the constant eerie blue clouds that now blanketed the valley. This funeral was merely one more puzzling thing added to the lot.

Lady Tanum sat to one side of Sael, holding his hand. She’d been sympathetic, having been through this with her own husband—Sael’s older brother, Seffni—just weeks ago. She was still dressed in mourning for him. But though Sael would have felt far more comfortable slumping against Tanum’s shoulder, it was his father who supported him on his right side. The
vek
had been adamant about Sael not being seen in public draped in such an undignified manner against his sister-in-law. Even then, Sael did his best not to appear infirm to those people watching his carriage. He summoned up enough strength to sit upright, with only his shoulder pressing against his father’s to avoid slumping.

The carriage behind them held both Master Geilin and Vönan Makek Snidmot. There had been some discussion of them taking separate carriages, since Geilin was no longer part of the
vönan
order and therefore not really suited to ride alongside the
vek
’s
vönan makek
. However, Geilin was still Sael’s advisor and still a mage—if a different sort of mage—since the Taaweh had begun training him. Sael had insisted he ride at the head of the procession. But then Snidmot had insisted his carriage be allowed to go ahead of Master Geilin’s, since he was from the
vek
’s household. Geilin would have allowed this, but Sael said no. Master Geilin was part of
his
household and this was
his
city, so Master Geilin outranked Master Snidmot while they were in Harleh. Sael stated this, of course, largely to get under Snidmot’s insufferable skin.

His father had then stepped in and ordered both mages to share a carriage or walk. They agreed to share.

The remaining carriages in the procession were occupied by General Meik and General Denet, other high-ranking soldiers, and some of the high-ranking servants in the keep. It wasn’t a very long procession, but it was enough to satisfy Sael that Koreh was being afforded a proper amount of respect.

Since Koreh had disliked the temple, Sael had made the decision to hold the service at the edge of the Taaweh forest instead of the temple courtyard in the center of Harleh. The funeral processed outward from the keep, winding through the city until it departed through the west gate. Sael observed that the shops and houses outside the gate, which had burned during the siege, were mostly rebuilt now.

The sky was odd. Odder than usual, that was. Sael had almost grown used to the ubiquitous bluish cloud cover, but now he could see flashes of light in the sky that disturbed him. He’d noticed them in the city but hadn’t really paid much attention, assuming them to be lightning. Now he could see the flashes were too bright and too frequent for normal lightning. Was it some kind of Taaweh magic?

His father saw that he was watching the sky and commented almost offhandedly, “We appear to be under attack.”

“Attack?” Sael asked, his eyes going wide.

“The bombardment began the night you returned. I gather the Stronni were not pleased when you freed this… Iinu Shavi.”

“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Sael asked.

His father gave him a withering look. “I assure you, I am quite capable of looking after Harleh while you are indisposed. If there had been anything that demanded your immediate attention, I would have informed you.”

Sael felt his face flush. He hadn’t meant to imply that he was essential to the administration of the city—not while his father was here. But before he could think of a response, he noticed the carriage was passing a number of tents and lean-tos that had been hastily constructed alongside the road. They appeared to be housing a disturbing number of people.

“What’s all this?”

“Refugees,” Tanum said softly.

“From where?”

“Worlen,” his father replied. “The Stronni have been attacking it as well. Harleh Valley has been safe, so far. The fireballs cannot make it through the cloud cover. But Worlen is falling to ruin. The attacks are predictable—the Stronni only attack at midday for a brief time—but the casualties are enormous and much of the city has been reduced to rubble.”

Sael felt the hair prick up along the back of his neck and on his scalp. “How many casualties?” he asked.

“Thousands,” Worlen said, as he looked out upon the makeshift shelters. “There are no longer any safe havens within the walls of Worlen. Most of the buildings have been destroyed, though the hospital still stands, for the time being. We’ve been evacuating the citizens here and to other cities as quickly as we can, but if they are caught on the open road at midday, they are frequently assaulted.” He sighed and said grimly, “All of this time, we have been worshipping monsters.”

Eventually the procession came to the edge of the forest and stopped, the carriages lined up along the edge of the road. A space had been cleared for a funeral pyre and servants lifted the casket out of the first carriage to place on the pyre, while the
vek
helped Sael step down from their carriage.