She turned and ran three steps, then halted. If she escaped—
He would find her mother.
Nearly four years of protecting others from immortals fused with a lifetime of looking after Sarra. Weiryn was forgotten. Her frightened mind seized on one thing: If he didn’t get her, the tauros would go after her ma.
The tauros bellowed. Daine spun. She had to do something—in a minute he would be on her. Hands shaking, she dropped what she held. If only she had a bow! Even the sling she’d used as a girl—
The towels lay across her fallen clothes in a pair of clean white stripes.
She grabbed both, slinging one over her shoulder, keeping the other in hand. The brambles grew to the pond’s edge on her left. Even if she had seen ammunition there, it would be impossible to get. She’d have to go to her right, around the open edge of the water. Trotting around the cluster of rocks where she’d left her things, she scanned the ground. In a heap of stones and gravel, she saw five rocks the size of hen’s eggs.
The tauros moaned, a sound that made her own throat go tight. He was two-thirds of the way across the neck of water between them.
Daine seized a rock. Fumbling slightly—it had been years since she’d used a sling—she folded the towel into a sling and placed the stone in the cradle. Cloth and rock felt awkward, even wrong, as she began to twirl her makeshift weapon. Her body protested the large, strong movements required for a sling.
When she felt the best moment, when the weight of the stone and the speed of her arm seemed right, she released one end of the sling. The rock shot past the immortal’s head, skipped over the surface, then dropped from sight.
The tauros watched her missile sink. Horrified, Daine could see that he stood on the bottom. The water was up to his chest.
When I was little, I would’ve been glad to skip a rock four times! she thought, grabbing a new stone. She neatened the towel-sling, keeping an eye on the tauros. He decided that her first missile was not worth his interest. He ploughed into the shallows, drooling as he stared at her.
“Goddess, help me,” she whispered. Bringing the sling up higher, she twirled hard. The motion felt better. She let fly.
It struck the tauros on the shoulder, opening a large gash. He roared with pain and fury; silvery blood coursed over his chest. Frantically he scooped pond water to splash on the wound, flat nose running.
Daine seized two more stones—all she could hold—and backed up, putting the cluster of flat rocks between her and the immortal. It was hard to neaten the sling one-handed. Still retreating, she took the time to do it right; sloppy work now would kill her. When the tauros advanced, she loaded a rock and began to twirl. The circles of her wrist and elbow were broad now; her sense of when to release was exact. She let fly.
Her stone hit the tauros in the throat. His bellow was a strangled croak; he dropped to his knees with a splash, scrabbling at his neck. Dripping sweat, the girl flipped her sling into place and loaded her final rock.
The tauros lurched to his feet, wheezing. He stumbled forward, flat teeth bared.
“Don’t,” she called, lips quivering. She didn’t want to kill a beast who could no more help his nature than she could. “Give up, please!”
He roared and came on, the ground quivering under his weight. When he was six yards from her, she loosed her final shot with all her strength. It slammed between his eyes and stayed, embedded in his skull. The tauros gasped, flailed blindly, and toppled into the mud. There he thrashed, and choked, and died.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, eyes overflowing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. . . .”
Broad Foot surfaced nearby, plainly upset. “What happened? If I’d known that a tauros was about, I wouldn’t have brought you here! Where did it come from?”
“It crossed between realms,” she replied, still trembling. “I think it may’ve been sent. I had a vision of Ozorne, anyway, right before it came.”
“But how did he know where you are?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“And why do you weep? You’ve killed before.”
“And I hate it!” she cried. “Especially when this poor, idiot thing couldn’t do no different!” She tried to gather her things, and dumped them into the mud. “Look at him—what else is he made for but to prey on females? Are there any lady tauroses?”
“No. No, there aren’t.”
“Wonderful! No one cared enough to give them mates of their own kind. All they know to do is grab two-legger females. They either kill them or get killed themselves. It’s wrong!” Pulling her belongings from the mud, she ran to her parents’ house.
Broad Foot eyed the dead tauros. “She has a point,” he told it. “Someone ought to bring the matter to the Great Gods’ attention—once things quiet down a bit.”
Halfway to her parents’ home, the girl paused: A Stormwing awaited her there. She hesitated only for a moment, then re-formed her towel-sling and grabbed stones for ammunition. If that Stormwing was an enemy, he or she had a surprise coming!
Emerging from the cover of the trees, she saw that her father and Numair were seated on the slab of rock that served the cottage as a doorstep. The immortal she had detected stood on the ground before them. He turned as she approached, his movement setting the bones that were braided into his long, blond hair to clicking.
Daine relaxed and tossed her rocks aside. She wouldn’t need them for Rikash Moonsword.
“What happened to you?” asked the green-eyed Stormwing as Broad Foot appeared on the path between him and the men. Numair got to his feet, frowning.
“Broad Foot will explain,” Daine said, weaving between the mage and her father. “I need to clean up.”
She scrubbed, then pulled on clean garments with hands that still trembled. As she was combing out her hair, Sarra knocked on the door. “We’re having lunch in the garden,” she called. “If you’re decent, come take a perch out for your Stormwing friend to sit on.”
Quickly the girl finished. Feeling calmer now, she did as she was told. Once she’d set up the perch by the outdoor table, Rikash glided down from the rooftop and took his place. For the moment they were alone. Numair and Weiryn were nowhere in sight.
“You let me down,” the girl told the Stormwing. “We thought your Queen Barzha would finish Ozorne once he was a Stormwing. Instead, he shows up in the spring with our enemies, and hundreds of Stormwings at his back.”
“Two hundred and forty-eight Stormwings to be exact,” Rikash said bitterly. “Those who did not care that he held a queen and her mate captive. Those who ignore the fact that he took his Stormwing crown by killing Jokhun from behind. Those without regard for Stormwing law. They are the army that followed him to the mortal realms.” He laughed. “Queen Barzha and her followers are fugitives, Daine. We stayed in the Divine Realms when the barriers fell. Here, at least, we are partly safe from Ozorne and his flock.”
Ignoring his pronounced odor, Daine put a comforting hand on the Stormwing’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear it. How are Queen Barzha and Lord Hebakh?”
“Tired,” replied the immortal. “As am I. Ozorne sends groups back to harry us. It is not enough to have most of us as followers—those who will not follow, he wants dead.”
“How many are on your side of it?”
Rikash shook his head, making the bones in his hair clatter. “Sixty-three, in all.” He tried a smile; it was half bitter. “Don’t take us to task for not killing him. We’ve tried our best.”
Daine sighed. “We humans haven’t done so well at it, ourselves.”
Sarra, Weiryn, and Numair came out, carrying their lunch, as the three animal gods materialized at their places by the table. With Rikash positioned downwind so that his odor wouldn’t spoil their dinner, the plates and bowls were passed.
“Has anyone thought of a way that we can go home?” asked Numair.
“There is none,” growled Weiryn. “The Great Gods are speaking to no one as long as Uusoae fights them.”
D
aine moved the food on her plate. “What about the animal gods? I came here last fall, while I was in Carthak. You took me back to the mortal realms then, Badger.”
“Not possible,” replied the great animal. “You were dead then. All I had to do was put you back into your mortal body. With both of you still alive, not all of the animal gods together could move you between the realms.”
“You are far better off here with your mother,” said Weiryn. “If you insist on leaving, then wait until the fall equinox, when the gates open for the likes of us and you. And there’s one of those things again!” he cried as the darking oozed onto the table, having climbed up Daine’s leg.
“Leave it be, Da,” she told him. “It’s not hurting anyone.”
Stretching to make itself taller, the darking changed. Up came a serpentlike neck, supporting a wedge-shaped head. The body the darking made was long and slender, with powerful hindquarters and long forepaws that were as nimble as hands. Two great wings unfurled out of the blot’s shoulders.
“Dragons,” Rikash said. “This creature is right, whatever it is. They might very well take you back. You have been looking after their young one.”
“You mean for my daughter to journey to the Dragonlands? Absolutely not,” Weiryn snapped. “It’s too risky.”
“They might refuse to help,” Queenclaw pointed out. “I never met a dragon that wasn’t perverse—they’re worse than we cats. Even the Great Gods can’t force a dragon to do anything it doesn’t wish to.”
“I’m almost positive they will do it,” said Rikash, bating. “Don’t forget, we Stormwings know them best—our eyries border on the Dragonlands. They are proud. One or two of Skysong’s kin will feel they must repay you for what you’ve done, and one is all you need to go home.” He looked at Numair and grinned. “Well, it may take two. There’s so much extra of one of you.”
The girl smiled, then asked, “How do we find them?”
The Stormwing looked at Weiryn. “I’m sure a map can be drawn—unless you plan to cage them?”
“Da, Ma, please listen,” pleaded Daine. “Humans and People need us. I’ve friends that would risk their lives for me and Numair. If you won’t help us, then we’ll muddle along on our own—but we can’t just sit here, seeing them in visions, and laze about.”
The god sighed and rubbed his antlers. “No—no, I won’t cage them.”
Sarra wiped her eyes. “Not even a day I’ve had to talk to you. But I know you can’t sit idly by when them you care for are in trouble.”
“Lord Rikash,” the house cat said, “they will need help to cross the Sea of Sand.”
The immortal sidled, digging into his perch with steel claws. “I will see what can be done. It will take persuasion.” He looked from Daine to Numair, frowning. “Be careful,” he told them. “The Divine Realms are perilous. Maybe Queen Barzha is right, and I am getting sentimental, but I would hate to see anything happen to either of you.” Jumping into the air, he took flight, blowing waves of stench over the table.
FOUR
TRAVELERS
“Forget sentimentality,” the badger grumbled. “I’d like to see him lose that smell.”
“And from a badger, that’s saying a great deal,” quipped Queenclaw.
“I will go with them,” said Broad Foot. Everyone stared at him. “I can’t transport them, but I can act as guide and protector. The three of us should manage.”
“The four of us,” the badger told him. “I will come as well. I haven’t put so much time into looking after this young one to stop now.”
“Lord Weiryn, will you and Sarra come with us?” Numair asked.
Daine’s mother smiled wistfully. “As a new goddess, I’m bound to Weiryn’s lands for a century.”
“As am I, for requesting her admittance here,” added Weiryn. “You will do well with the badger and Broad Foot.”
“If we’re to leave today, I’d best get a little extra hunting done,” commented the duckmole, and vanished.
“I will join you tomorrow morning,” the badger said. “There are a few things to deal with at my sett before I go.” He, too, vanished.
“Ma, Da,” the girl said thoughtfully, “are there horses we might trade for, or buy? We’d go faster than afoot.”
“No, dear one,” Sarra replied. “Every horse in the Divine Realms belongs to itself, or its herd. They do not serve anyone.” She rose. “I’d best pack your things—no, Daine, I don’t need help. You’d only be in my way.”
“Besides,” added Weiryn, also getting to his feet, “I need you both to come with me.” He led Daine and Numair inside.
“What about making horses?” Numair asked. “Could you—”
“No,” Weiryn said flatly. “Any being created in the Divine Realms belongs to itself and serves no one else. You would be lucky if such a horse only dumped you in the dirt. It might take you for a ride that would last a century of mortal time.”
In the main room, he opened a door that the girl was positive hadn’t been there the day before. It gave onto a small, dark chamber that was more like a shed than a room. Here, to her surprise and delight, she saw a wood-carver’s tools, staffs, boxes of feathers, boxes of arrowheads, coiled strings, and completed bows.
Weiryn ran long brown fingers over the finished weapons, checking the feel, rejecting this one and that. “These are my gifts to those I favor.” He selected an ebony-colored bow with startlingly pale horn nocks over both tips. “And if my own daughter isn’t one I favor, who is?” He laid the stave across his palms, and offered it to Daine.
It was air-light in her grip at first, but it got heavier, until it reached the exact weight she looked for in a bow. Weiryn offered a string. Fitting the loop over the lower nock, she braced that end against her instep. She drew the upper nock down and slipped the other loop over it in a flash. “She’s sweet, Da,” she told him, smiling.
The god offered her a quiver full of arrows. “I should have given you a proper bow long before this,” he told her, wrapping extra strings in a square of oiled cloth.
Handing that to Daine, he went to the staffs in the corner. “Here, mage.” Weiryn selected one that was six feet of thick, knotted wood. About to hand it over, he frowned. “A moment.” He looked at Numair, then cupped the top of the staff in one hand. White fire shone from his palm; when he drew it away, a fist-sized crystal knob sat on top of the staff, embedded in the wood. He gave the staff to Numair.
The mage took it and stood for a moment, one hand wrapped around the wood, the other around the crystal. Daine saw no magical fire but knew he examined the staff with his Gift, looking for its secrets. When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with respect. “Thank you. I’ve never had something that was so—attuned—to me.”
Weiryn scowled, and went to a wooden counter along one wall. “Come here, both of you.” An ink pot and brush appeared on the surface next to him. The god wet the brush, and began to paint symbols directly onto the wood. “Here we are,” he said, tapping the brush against a painted square. “Here’s the stream, and the pond where Broad Foot stays. And this is the path you must follow.”
Daine, following the brush, thought for a moment she saw trees and streams along the dotted line of ink. When she blinked, she saw only glossy black dots sinking into the stained wood.
“If you walk steadily, you will spend the night beside Temptation Lake,” Weiryn informed them, drawing that body of water close to the trail. “Do not drink from it—unless you desire to be tempted, of course.”
A vision of Numair reclining among three naked, lovely women who fed him grapes, or rubbed his feet, or finger-combed his hair, filled the air over the counter. From Numair’s deep blush, Daine could tell that he saw it, too.
“Not funny, Da,” she told her father, her voice very dry.
“Neither of us is in the mood for temptation, Lord Weiryn,” the mage added quietly.
“Hmpf,” snorted the god. “Well, just don’t drink the water there. It’s a go
od place to stop—no dweller of the Divine Realms may harm another within a league of Temptation Lake.” He rewet his brush and continued to draw. “The trail will carry you to Long Drop Gorge, which you will cross on the First Bridge.” Briefly Daine glimpsed a wood-and-rope bridge in the air over the counter, like the bridges that filled the mountains of Tortall and Galla.
Weiryn continued the line of the path for an inch or two, then stopped to create a blurred area around it. “This is Mauler’s Swamp.” The vision in the air over the map showed a pair of yellow, slit-pupilled eyes sticking out of murky water. They moved. A ripple of passing square ridges like those on a crocodile’s back cut through the image of water, followed by the snakelike curving of a long tail. “Give no offense to Mauler, if you can avoid it.
“Here is the Stonemaze.” The vision was one of rocky canyons and a distant, small river, as seen from high overhead. “Watch your footing, never leave the path in the maze, and harm no stones.”
“Lord Weiryn,” said Numair, “it would help if you were to explain what will happen if we make a mistake in these places.”
Weiryn looked at him, leaf-colored eyes glinting. “Who can tell?” he asked. “The gods in most places never punish a trespass in the same manner twice. Mauler once ate the mortals who disturbed his afternoon nap, but that was a while ago. He may not choose to eat the next intruder. Of course, he may have young to share his swamp, and they always need a meal. Just use caution. Cut no green wood. Take no fruits without asking the bush or tree. If you don’t, you might spend a century with wild pigs trying to dig you up by the roots. Blackberries in particular have a very nasty streak.”
“Wonderful,” Daine whispered.
“Where was I?” asked her father. He rewet his brush, and sketched another blurred area on the wood. “Oh, yes. At last you will come to the Sea of Sand.” The vision revealed dunes; for a moment Daine’s face was hot and painfully dry. “If the Stormwing can’t find help, the winds will strip your body of moisture in the time it takes your mother’s pan bread to bake. Don’t you see what folly this is?” he demanded, eyes on Daine. “The Divine Realms are too dangerous for a pair of mortals!”