Beyond the Wall of Time Page 18

  The man looked taken aback. “It does not work that way,” he said.

  “No? I have seen her killed once, throat slashed by one of your Lords of Fear, and she came back to life. First thing she did was to drink her own blood.”

  The Destroyer frowned.

  “You didn’t expect to be taken at your word, did you?” Robal laughed. “Gather around, everyone!” he called, his voice cracking. “Witness your beloved Undying Man, your heroic saviour, refuse to save his most faithful companion!”

  He stepped back a pace to the upper edge of the path, next to a collection of digging implements.

  The Destroyer took a step forward. “Be silent, you fool, about things of which you are ignorant.”

  “All I am ignorant of,” Robal said as people came closer, drawn by the shouting, “is why you would refuse to renew the blood of immortality you have already bestowed on her. You captured and abused her seventy years ago, then stood back as she became a pariah in her own land, never denying the rumour that she had been your paramour. You knew they called her the Destroyer’s Consort, but did nothing about it. You even knew the curse of immortality could not be passed sexually but let her suffer an unfulfilled marriage.” He took a deep breath and wiped spittle from his lips. “That’s always been your motto, hasn’t it, you paragon: ‘Use and discard.’ Now you’ve used her up you’re ready to discard her. Not while I have breath and can wield a weapon!”

  Robal snatched up a pickaxe and took a stance, trying not to wobble on his unsteady legs. It took everything he had to lift the weapon from the ground, and cold sweat sprang up on his brow as he struggled to hold it steady.

  A few of those watching laughed.

  A stone sword sprang from the Destroyer’s open hand. At the same time the granite beneath Robal’s left foot disappeared. He staggered and almost fell.

  More laughter.

  “You believe Stella needs blood?” the Destroyer asked, raising the sword.

  “That… won’t be necessary.”

  The crowd gasped and pulled back. The Destroyer gave an exclamation of surprise. Robal turned as swiftly as he could—which was not very swiftly at all—and Stella stood there, her skin healing as he watched.

  “Stella,” the Destroyer said, springing to her side.

  Robal tried to stagger in her direction, but fell to one knee. The pickaxe cracked him a nasty blow on the ankle and he let out a yelp.

  “Back again,” she said heavily. “Thought I’d made it through this time, but no, I’ve been dragged back.”

  “No, my queen,” Robal protested. “There are those who value your return.”

  His heart beat wildly, out of control, and he feared he might collapse or throw up or burst into tears at the sight of her.

  “So I heard,” she said, a touch of something—bitterness? laughter?—in her voice.

  “You sound different,” said the Destroyer.

  “I am different,” she said, but did not elaborate.

  “I thought you had died.”

  “So did I,” Robal added lamely.

  Stella’s lips twisted in disgust. “I did die,” she said. “Just not enough. I will not speak about it, not now, not here. Besides, we are neglecting the real heroes.”

  Hero? Who has been heroic? Robal had not really been paying attention, so focused had he been on Stella and the Destroyer. But the canopy still held, though he could hear a faint background roaring beyond it, and see occasional shudders as the gods worked their magic against it in vain. The injured were receiving assistance, and the remainder of the refugees milled around, sat together talking or stood close by, listening with puzzlement to the exchange.

  The Destroyer nodded. “We are speaking, I presume, of Anomer and his team of brave locals who allowed him to draw from their essenza. They were instrumental in healing the breach in our barrier, at significant cost to themselves.”

  He waved a hand to where a few people lay prostrate, though they all seemed to be alive. Anomer looked up from where he bent over a woman and gave them a wave.

  Stella spoke. “And of Lenares the cosmographer, who climbed above the canopy on her own to face the god and draw her fire. Lenares, it took great courage to do what you did, and your act distracted Umu long enough for us to make good the damage she did. We are very grateful.”

  The cosmographer girl smiled and blushed, clearly unused to compliments of any kind. A few of the onlookers clapped.

  “We were also rendered a great service by two magicians some distance away,” said the Destroyer. “Captain Duon of Elamaq and Arathé of Fossa gave liberally of themselves, sending their magic to assist Anomer in tapping into the Malayuan locals. We hope they will rejoin us soon, at which time we will thank them in person.”

  “And one other,” Stella said. “Robal, my guardsman, put aside his quarrel with the Undying Man and poured his energy out in a great flood for him to use. I felt it even as I wandered beyond the void. I have no doubt it made the difference. Without the actions of brave men like Robal, the god-breathed storm would have broken through and killed us all.”

  Robal wanted to strike the smirking Destroyer down where he stood. He’d put her up to this, nothing was more certain. Poured his energy out? It had been taken without his permission.

  “So, miss, when can we leave?” asked an elderly man. “Some of us want to get back to our homes and families, like, to see what remains.”

  “Nothing remains,” said the Destroyer. “Any houses you had will be debris scattered to the four corners of Malayu. Your families will not have survived unless they took shelter in holes somewhere, as we did. It is a bitter pill, but I will not deal in false hope.” A number of those listening began to weep. “Andratan will aid in repair of your homes and in the restoration of government. I will ask the Factor of Malayu to make a personal inspection. This land will be rebuilt.”

  “Doesn’t bring back our families,” someone said.

  “No, it does not. There is nothing Andratan can do about that. But we did what we could and kept you alive. We hope you are grateful for that, at least.”

  There had been deaths, Robal discovered as he stumbled around after Stella and her shadowy companion. Dozens of them. A handful struck down by lightning, many more by the acidic rain. A few bodies lay further down the stepped slope of the pit: fallen, no doubt, when the canopy was removed for a few moments as Lenares was rescued. They had been dead already, Stella said, victims of the storm-talons, and she pointed to the gruesome stab marks through their bodies.

  “How many people lived in the path of the storm?” Lenares asked the Destroyer.

  “We don’t have an accurate census. Had the storm struck further north, it might have claimed a million lives. Perhaps a hundred thousand people live on the Mala Peninsula and in the towns of Camantain, Long Pike Mouth and Doma, but citizens down this way sometimes… ah… actively resist enumeration.”

  “Tax avoiders,” Stella said. “We have them too.” She stared at Robal.

  “I never avoided any taxes!” he said, angered at her gaze.

  “Your friend and his father do. You know that is the reason why their settlement is always on the move.”

  “So you don’t approve of them? This after they treated you as an honoured guest?”

  “I’m not asking about tax,” Lenares said, as abruptly as ever. “I don’t care about money. I want to know how many people the storm killed so I can estimate how much larger the hole in the world has grown. It feeds on unnatural death.”

  “A hundred thousand people slaughtered by one storm?” Stella said.

  “They may not all have died,” the Destroyer responded.

  “But you said before that nothing remains.”

  “I said that to keep expectations low. I am hoping people will have some pleasant surprises ahead of them.”

  “And suffer in the meantime,” Stella said disapprovingly. “Perhaps making rash decisions based on your ‘low expectations.’ You are a cruel man.�
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  “I will ask you in ten years’ time whether you still think I am cruel. Conditions are different over here. Cultures are more complex. As I have explained to you previously, I must work within the boundaries the people have set.”

  “So how many dead?” Lenares persisted.

  “Perhaps twenty, thirty thousand,” said the Destroyer. “Maybe fewer, maybe more.”

  The cosmographer shook her head. “The hole in the world will soon be big enough for Keppia and Umu to do whatever they want.”

  “So what are the implications?” Moralye asked in her soft voice.

  “The next thing they send against us will be far worse,” Lenares said. “We have reached a tipping point. From now on, there is little we can do to keep the hole small save killing the gods themselves.”

  It took the best part of the night for the storm to blow itself out. For hours the wind shrieked, thumping against the barrier and the walls of the pit. Around the middle of the night a huge crash woke everyone in the camp: the wind had succeeded in bringing down the top half of the thin granite column that had, according to Seren, marked the height of the original granite rock. People shook their heads at the strength of wind required to do such a thing, and after that there was no more talk of leaving the pit. Indeed, many people came up to Stella and Kannwar to thank them both for the protection they had provided.

  Stella’s head nodded. Her mouth said all the right things, with more graciousness than she herself could have mustered, and in a slightly lower voice. Stella herself was a tiny ball of awareness in the back of her own head, a badly hurt and frightened presence lost in her own mind, not in possession of her own body. A body that now belonged to the Most High.

  It is the only way I can save you, he had said as she lay on the ground, the terrible flame scouring her life away. Don’t struggle against me.

  I don’t want to be saved, she had replied. I’m tired. Let me go.

  The Most High had sighed then, a sound encapsulating the weariness of the world. Ah, if only the world would let go. But you must learn, Stella Pellwen, that the world does not let go, not when you play such a large part in it.

  Save someone else, she persisted. Others are dead or dying and want to live. Save them.

  If I let you die , many others will follow. Do you want that?

  She had responded with anger. Then don’t arrange the world in such a way that it depends on me! Change the story! Write me out of it!

  You know it does not work that way. Your friend Leith knew this, and eventually accepted his role. It’s not like you to be selfish.

  But I’m so tired! she had cried.

  So am I, said the Most High. I make you a promise, Stella Pellwen. When the world lets me go, I will ensure it lets you go also.

  Reluctantly she had allowed him to fill the empty spaces she had been driven from. Immortal by virtue of her Water of Life-touched blood, she had been vulnerable to anything that stopped her heart, preventing the tainted blood from renewing her skin, muscles and bones. The lightning strike had convulsed her heart, and the blood had ceased flowing. It had taken direct and continued intervention from the Most High to restart her circulation.

  Will it always be like this? she asked as another family came to pay their respects.

  No. Soon your body will begin to renew your heart. When that happens I can leave you alone.

  Why am I so important?

  I truly do not know, answered the Most High.

  What sort of answer is that? Of course you know.

  I do not. I am aware of possibilities, that is all. Every choice you make subtly alters the balance of those possibilities. Because you are one of the travellers you act as a—forgive me the pun—lightning rod to the gods, attracting their attention. Were you to leave, they would have less reason to focus on this group. And in many possible futures you have important tasks to complete.

  Always important tasks. I’ve had seventy years of important tasks. When do I get to rest?

  Seventy years? the voice said, and for a moment the Most High sounded ancient. Seventy whole years? That is a very long time.

  You don’t have much of a talent for sarcasm, Stella replied. She knew this was no way to talk to a god, especially not one who had in anger split Dona Mihst asunder and cursed the First Men, but she spoke with the carelessness of one with nothing left to lose.

  No, I do not. When people converse with me they are generally seeking answers, not humour.

  It was a fair point, and Stella chewed on it for a while.

  Around them the refugees from the storm settled down, organising whatever comforts they could and preparing for sleep. Children cried, old men chattered and quite a few snored; sounds infinitely preferable to the screaming that had filled Corata Pit a few hours previously. There was little to eat, but hunger was a small inconvenience.

  I have questions for you, Stella said.

  The Most High smiled, lighting up her mind. I’m sure you do, he said. Please ask them, but be patient with my replies.

  She’d intended to ask him about his children, the Son and the Daughter, but her thoughts turned to her own family. Bitter thoughts.

  Why did my brother die?

  He drank himself to death, said the Most High. But you know this, so it is another question you wish to ask.

  Why did he have to die while I was away serving you? The question was more accurate, nearer to what she really wanted to say, but the asking carried mixed feelings, anger and guilt among them.

  Ah. He didn’t have to die. Death attended upon the lifestyle he chose.

  That is only part of the reason, Stella snapped. Why didn’t you prevent it? Why couldn’t his death have waited until I returned? We rendered you a great service and suffered for it.

  Near the heart of it, this.

  Child, you left Loulea with Leith and the others because you wanted to escape the village. You saw your destiny in the wider world. But you did not consider the effect your feigned death had on your brother, who had already been driven half-mad by the drink. It was because you left that he took to it more fiercely than ever. Your leaving precipitated his death.

  No, she whispered. But the truth of it encircled her damaged heart.

  You have a complaint against me. I hear it and take it seriously. You rendered me a great service, you say, and suffered for it. You wish to know why that should be so.

  Stella wanted the conversation to end, but where could she flee to avoid the god?

  Yes.

  You came into my service as little more than a dumb animal, unaware you were serving me, said the Most High. I yoked you to my service like an ox put to the plough, so that your suffering would not be in vain. At no time during the Falthan War did you choose to serve me: I made service out of your actions.

  So it wasn’t your plan that I ended up enslaved by the Destroyer? That my part in the salvation of Faltha was as his unwilling consort, while Leith got to play the hero?

  Such petty, bitter words, but they were at her core. How could she keep them hidden from him?

  I do not have a plan. Why would I create things separate from myself, entities with conditional freedom, only to prescribe their actions? You acted foolishly and paid a heavy price as you walked on the path you chose. Leith acted bravely and suffered far less as a result—though you have always underestimated the extent of his suffering and guilt. He always believed, for example, he was responsible for his brother’s death. Yet despite your different paths, you ended up in the same place. That is because, in the end, you put yourself aside and acted with courage. If I have a plan, it is to encourage people to find the least difficult path possible.

  Time to hazard her question. Is that why you have had so much trouble with your own son and daughter? Because you don’t have a plan? Isn’t this all your fault?

  A brief silence. She’d shocked him perhaps. But he must have thought about this many times during the thousands of years since his children had rebelled against him. I
t might be he’d never been called on to explain it before.

  Perhaps you see me as a benevolent uncle, someone unfailingly pleasant and indulgent, he said. If so, you need to dismiss the thought. Love is not always pleasant and indulgent. It can be severe. Sometimes it must be severe.

  Is that a threat? Have I threatened you? How could a mere human be a threat to the Most High god? Oh, I forgot. Kannwar of Dona Mihst has already shown how it is possible.

  A wave of anger washed across her emotions. His anger. Before he could speak, she added: You’re about to tell me I’m speaking about things I don’t understand. You will say you cannot explain your inscrutable purposes to such a limited mind as mine. But the problem is this: you tried explaining your purposes to Kannwar two thousand years ago, when he was a child, because you wanted to raise him up in opposition to your own rebellious children. You tried and failed. Don’t you see you need to get better at explaining things? Don’t you think you ought to become a little less inscrutable?

  She waited for his anger to consume her, but his voice remained mild. The problem with Kannwar was not in the explanation or in his understanding, said the Most High with brittle patience. It was his refusal to accede to my plan.

  You do have a plan then. She loosed the words at him like an arrow.

  I have many plans. Plans for this, plans for that. But I do not have one overall plan within which everyone must fit. Instead I have an infinite number of plans, each one abandoned whenever anyone makes a choice. Kannwar made his choice; I abandoned my plan.

  You had a plan for your children too, didn’t you? What was it? What went wrong with it?

  Very well, he said, and Stella felt a sigh blow across her soul.

  Yes, I created the world and all within it. I loved it and made a special place in which I could watch it grow without ruining it. Remember, I need to keep separate from it in order for it to remain itself. You have been to that special place and call it the House of the Gods.

  Yet this was not enough for the people of the earth. They came searching for me, besieging me in my own house, demanding I provide for them, that I do the work I had created them to do. This they called ‘worship.’