Wine of the Gods 1: Exiles and Gods (16 page)

Ira Penner was the worst sheriff ever. He was scowling at her. "So, who was it?"

"I don't know, it was dark . . . maybe, maybe he's not dead?" Her hands clinched. And still trembled.

"Maybe we ought to go take a look?" Chris suggested.

A glare from the sheriff. But the people at the back of the crowd shifted, someone produced a flash light, and suddenly Penner was elbowing through the crowd and leading the way.

Jason Brachman was quite dead, pants down around his ankles. Chris caught a single glimpse and turned hastily away.

With their limited forensic experience, the doctors could not be sure of what he'd died of.

Ginny Walcomb shrugged.
"His blood glucose levels were extremely low, my diagnosis is that he died of hypoglycemia. This is more usual after a diabetic coma of some length, not the few minutes that elapsed in this case. He had not been diagnosed as diabetic, but the symptoms are easy to miss." Penner's threats to arrest Lillian died quickly, as a search of Jason's tiny cabin turned up the missing panties of the other two rape victims.  And a lot of other panties as well.

Rumors flew.

Mostly about the possibility that Lillian had killed him with magic.

Tasteless jokes made the rounds, mostly about dying in ecstasy, and black widow spiders. And the God of Bad Karma. Curses and hexes.

"Can a god give someone diabetes?" Chris rolled his eyes. "And I fail to see how Lillian could have, I dunno, turned into a sugar vampire?"

His attempts at humorous reality were ignored.

Michael got dirty looks, and was thoroughly shunned by half the population, on his rare trips to town. All well and good that Brachman had gotten his just deserts, but no one had a completely clear conscience.

Harry shrugged. "It's the collective subconscious. At some deep level, everyone knows it was your proximity that caused Jason to attack a woman who could kill him."

"That's a bit tough on the girl, isn't it?"

"Yeah. You'll never be mistaken for the God of Sweetness and Light.
But you'll never get the people as a whole to admit that it's their subconsciouses, working together to cause the effect. You are just the focal point. I don't know why."

Michael sighed. "I probably deserve it. Pity I don't remember why."

After an unusually
unpleasant visit to town, four young men rode out to "show the god that he wasn't welcome." Their horses stampeded back into town a few hours later. Ira Penner's posse found no one. The god had departed, taking his mansion with him. Of the young men, there was no sign.

Unfortunately they weren't the only
troublemakers.

In a flash of competence, the Sheriff uncovered a fencing operation run by two men who rode between Tunis and Tripoli with "trade goods."
They'd kept record of what they'd bought, from whom. But not in enough detail that stolen goods not caught on them could be identified.

One
theft suspect was dating Iris. The yelling match with her father had been loud enough to qualify as public.

Two nights later
the sheriff's bellowed demand for entry woke half the town. Chris stumbled out, yawning, listening at the back of the crowd. Apparently Iris had failed to be home by her curfew. Ira continued to pound at the door of the young man's tiny cabin.

Chris sighed, and wiggled through the crowd. "Sheriff, calm down. I don't think anyone is there, you're loud enough to raise the dead." He winced. "Some of the youngsters meet at the back of the public barn. Have you looked there?"

The sheriff rounded on him. "Have you ever seen my daughter there?"

"Us bus kids aren't welcomed by that clique. But I didn't  see her at the Inn this evening." He looked over the heads of the crowd. Several people were backing away from the scene.

Penner pounced on them, and two girls shrugged. "Iris was there with Basil."

The sheriff loomed. "Doing what?"

"I saw them dancing."

"I think that was after a couple of drinks."

They both shrugged to show their complete indifference to Iris Penner.

An apprehensive crowd followed the sheriff to the back of the barn. This late, just a few men were still there, sitting on crude stools before a makeshift bar.

"Marshal Wallace." Penner growled as he stalked up to the bartender. "You've been warned about serving alcohol to children."

"And your bigoted, restrictive, biblical based, laws were all voted down."

"Where's my daughter?"

"Off somewhere. Try the hay loft."

Chris leaped and grabbed the sheriff's arm. Got cursed for his ". . . interfering ways, probably all your fault from the beginning."

"No, it's yours for being a horse's ass about just about everything." Chris turned him loose and headed for the nearest of several barn doors.

Iris was
passed out drunk. Basil was dead.                               

"I don't understand how having sex with a man can kill him." Gisele stared down at the body on the hospital exam table. "He died due to disbursed small strokes, bleeding points all through his brain, all through his circulatory system. As if he had a massive blood pressure surge."

"Lillian only killed someone when she was raped, and it was her first time." Chris had decided that he'd better get nosy and find out. "She says she's done it since, without a problem."

"Was Iris a virgin?"

"I don't know. But she was also drunk, lacking control. Can magic affect blood pressure?
" Chris cast his mind back to a warm Cairo night.
There was magic everywhere, none of us were harmed. But there certainly were a lot of magic surges. But all the guys were magic, too.
"Is it an effect that the magic have on the non-magic? Did Basil have any engineering? Jason Brachman didn't."                                                   

Dr. Walcomb stomped in. She must have heard what they were saying. "There's s
ome concern about how consensual it was, whether Iris was deliberately plied with alcohol. She's awake enough to say she was only drinking fruit juice. She remembers dancing, doesn't remember going into the barn with Basil."

The sheriff, stiff as a rod, and with a totally frozen expression, convened a court.

They found
insufficient evidence to indict.

"That two young men died in the same circumstances is odd, but in as much as the immediate cause of death was different in both cases,
coincidence is as likely as causality. A third young woman with power was also raped, without any negative impact on the rapist that we know of, certainly not instant death." The Jury foreman reddened a bit. "However, as a general precaution, perhaps some of the older women with power genes should council the younger set about controlling their magic during sex, and all authorities should definitely keep records for future analysis and reconsideration."

Iris
, and all the girls with power were openly called Witches. They were shunned by the young, powerless men.

"Hey, Chris, C'mere." Lillian was on the balcony, just outside the "wing" of the girl's rooms.

Chris perked up when he spotted Iris with her, and a third girl, Cassie, was it? Not one of the bus kids but he'd seen her at magic practice. He trotted up the stairs, and Dane and Rob trailed uncertainly after him.

Cassie made a face. "Oh, not those babies!"

Lillian waved a hand. "It hardly matters. Chris, we're testing a batch of spells Gisele taught us, and we need a man to test them on. It's nothing permanent, just those spells Harry brought back from Cairo."

Cairo? Oh, not the orgy spells. Surely.
"Oh, those healing spells Harry got from the massage therapist?"

"Yeah, and later we'll be trying the rock building spells. But this batch, we're not sure if they'll work the way we want them to." Lillian tossed a glance at the room below
and retreated down the hallway. "Come here."

Chris hesitated, but he didn't want to miss an opport
unity to talk to Iris. And whatever Lillian was humming drew him, and the other guys like bees to honey, and now all three girls were glowing as they briefly clasped hands. They cast a fast series of spells as a Triad, overwhelmingly powerful . . . Gorgeous. Chris touched Iris's cheek, caressed her lips and then kissed her.
Wait, wait, it's only been a few days since . . .
Lillian was panting, her face flushed, as she pulled at Chris and Iris, tugged them all into her room.

Chris tried to scramble his wits together as Cassie tackled Dean and Iris turned to Rob.
"Lillian, that's the orgy spell, did you mean . . . "

"We all want babies, and we can't stand men." She started unbuttoning his shirt. "This sounded like getting a bit of our own back.
And by casting on ourselves too, we'll like it as much as you do."

A three witch orgy. Score!
Chris started in on her buttons.

Sometime around midnight, the spell wore off. Iris flinched back from him. Cassie looked horrified. Lillian smirked.

Dane looked lost, and bit hurt as Cassie scooted away from him. Rob, thank god, just smirked back at Lillian.

Not as much fun as with the happy, laughing women in Cairo.
Chris cast a quick look at Iris. He'd tried to monopolize her . . . unsuccessfully. Her expression was vindictive, triumphant. And growing a bit fearful. His own sense of victory rolled over and died. He shivered, and picked though the shed clothing for his own. Stopped and thought. "Lillian, you can't do this sort of thing. Oh, those spells are all fun, when everyone agrees. But when you don't ask, ahead of time, it's practically rape. Yeah, yeah, we're guys, we don't think about sex the same as you do. But what are you doing to yourselves? Turning into rapists in turn? Don't do this again. "

"We'll do whatever we want to." Iris tossed her head, anger overriding the nervousness, the fear in her voice.

Dane scowled suddenly. "And will you say it's all right if we just pick on some random girl, toss a spell to make her say yes, rape her for revenge? Don't be stupid, Lillian. Chris, we need to work on some counter spells." The boy scooped up his clothes and walked out, naked.

Rob chortled and followed.

Chris hopped to get his jeans on, and walked out, buttoning his shirt. He was glad there were no witnesses out there, but the other two looked disappointed.

"Damn. Three women in one night. Several times each." Rob was grinning as he dressed in the hallway.

Dane looked a bit embarrassed, but a glean of triumph was starting to show in his eyes. "Wow."

Chris snorted, then nodded. "But we really do have to stop them. We really don't need a war between the sexes."

And the more he thought about it, the worse it seemed. Sick.
I couldn't even think about Iris the way I had been. With love as well as lust, and sure as hell not sharing her around like this.

S
haken and a bit sick, himself, he buried himself in finishing the big boat.

And working on a shield that would block
sexual effect spells.

They launched the hull as soon as the ice broke.

Lacking a bottle of champaign, they begged a glass of white wine from the Old Wolf's autokitchen.

The eight of them looked at each other.

Chris handed the glass to Lance. "Go ahead."

Lance shook his head and nodded toward Mark, who shook his head in turn.

"No one?" Chris looked around, then
took the glass and turned back to the ship. "In that case . . . Gentlemen, I give you The Harpy."

They laughed as he tossed the glass of wine on the bow, and they removed the
logs supporting the earthen wall of their improvised dry dock and knocked holes in the last barrier between the ship and the deep channel of the stream.

Getting t
he rigging right and learning how to actually sail a boat with this much sail took weeks of practice. But they only ran the keel aground twice, and in mud soft enough to do no damage.

They cautiously applied their weather work to influence the wind, and found it easy, with the Compass. And dangerous, as storms, once summoned, were hard to send away.

They loaded supplies and trade goods and headed west as soon as the ice retreated enough for safe sailing along the southern shore.

By April they'd ferried goods and people all the way to Gibraltar. In May they turned east and visited both Cairo and Red River.

Thanks to the shortwave, they brought in ingots of refined metal, both iron and copper, with reassurances that they could b
uy all the grain they could handle. And assurances from Red River that they'd take all the wheat they could carry.

The brotherly gods sauntered down to the dock and observed the young men, and walked off without speaking. Chris blew out a breath of relief and settled down to the business of determining the relative value of iron and wheat.

"Wow, dolls at eleven o'clock high." Lance sounded appreciative. "Despite the encumbrances."

Chris looked further up the bank. The girls from
the orgy.

With babies.
Big ones. Toddlers.

He swallowed nervously.
Somehow managed to not think about consequences, didn't I?
He glanced at the dock. "I think we'd best be a bit conservative with our first load. I think that's enough wheat."

"We've been talking to Red River, they've got some small steam engines we'd love to try out for irrigation,
running the mill, maybe even a municipal water system, if we can make enough pipes." One of the merchants selling wheat eyed the boat. "Think about making several trips."

"We will, that's an excellent plan." Matt hefted another bag and handed it down to Lance. It all fit, and the boat didn't ride too low.

"It's beautiful. How did you do the woodwork?" One of the young women stooped to run her hands over the bonded planking.

Before he knew it, the boat was over run with women, young men, and
there were babies everywhere.

Chris introduced those he knew to his compass, other introductions flew, food appeared on the dock and
a party had somehow gotten underway.

"It's the gods," Mica said. "When we're around them, well, anywhere within ten miles of town, partying just comes natural
ly."

One of the guys glanced over. "You won't hear us complaining, but, well, mainly because we can shield a bit and not get pulled into the scrums they have up on the plaza."

Mica tossed her head. "We just have to not worry too much about who fathered which kid, and get on with life. Which sounds all fine now, but come hard times, the guy's'll probably just walk away. But we don't let the gods influence us any further than that, any more. Which has pissed them off. They threatened to leave, and we all cheered. That . . . got a little nasty for awhile. But it's settled down, now."

"They're plotting something, you can see it in their smirks." Lakisha shrugged. "No doubt we'll find out eventually."

Chris took a quick head count. "Ten guys? Do you know how to work together? You'll need to recruit some more, for complete compasses. And I'd love to learn how to shed a god's influence. I've tried to build a good mental shield, but it barely works."

Sharon held out her hand, palm outward in a "stop!" position. "Picture a mirror, facing out, a bubble. Close your mind, reject outside thoughts and magic, then picture that refusal expanding out to your bubble."

They had impromptu lessons off and on all evening, the party stretched out and a few more people drifted in.

The babies got laid out on blankets, then moved to clear a dance-and-compass floor. Chris picked up a little redhead and felt an
odd zing. Almost like a shock of recognition.

Mine.

He blinked at the tiny girl in dismay. Could this baby be his? He sucked in a shaky breath, feeling tingles of magic winding up his arms, and around his heart and soul. He put the sleeping child down and looked around. It was a brilliant night, bright stars and a fat crescent moon. He could see everyone, touch everyone mentally, see their glows, soft, or bright, sparkling or steady. They were all beautiful, and for a long moment he felt like a god, looking down at the brilliant souls below.

He
dodged the next dance, and paced around, out in the darkness.
Me? A father? A damned poor one, if I am. But I feel so . . . inflated, powerful. Joyful, like I could laugh and the whole world would smile.
He studied the people around him more carefully.
No. Not the whole world, just this group, both the locals and my Compass, who know me so well.

He pried himself out of his weird mental state
and went back to magic lessons.

He wasn't all that sure how the witches in Tripoli
did it, but with a bit of encouragement, the women started experimenting with their last copper bars.  "Picture it flowing, like clay. Form shapes with your mind as much as your hands. Think about making pipes, for a water delivery system, all over your city and country-side."

Then h
e was pulled away to a compass with half locals. They traded around, practiced with all the magicians and they changed around again, finding the best positions for each magician in each Compass, to smooth out the power flow so it could be raised to the highest possible levels. Chris was easily the most powerful, and the best trained of them all. And his compass wasn't far behind him.

Matt eyed him. "You've gotten stronger. Again. Either I'm going to have to start practicing more," his grin flashed, "or get some girl pregnant in a drunken orgy."

Chris snorted, and then waved Matt silent as Red River called them on the shortwave. He took the call, then turned back to the others. "We'll leave tomorrow, come back in a week. They'll take all the grain you're wiling to sell."

Mica laughed. "Excellent. Now stop tending to business and come party. I want to s
how you how we've refined a few of those tricks we discovered last year. And stop looking so worried. We've got contraceptive spells, now."

On Harry's advice, they didn't volunteer their magical status in Red River.

They made six tr
ips back and forth carrying people, products, and grain..

Then they headed for home, with their profit in the form of two small steam engines.

Not much had changed over the months.

Lillian, Cassie, Iris and a bunch of other girls had been granted title to a square mile in the name of the Sahara Pyramid. It was notable only for the rocky hill in the middle of it.

Muriel Westfarlin pounced on the steam engines, and dived into figuring out how to run her thresher from one, and then started talking about a large mill to take care of everyone's grinding.

In return, the witches filled The Harpy with copper pipes of various sizes, and suggested that more steam engines would be useful.