The Realms of the Gods

He nodded. ‘Mind the spurs on my hind feet, though. I’ve poison in them.’

She lifted him gently. The fur under her fingers was springy and thick. Examining broad, webbed feet armed with heavy claws, she handled the rear ones – and their venomous spurs – with care. ‘What on earth do you eat?’ she asked, putting him down.

‘My people eat shrimps, insects, snails – frogs and small fish if we can get any. I usually eat the same things as my people, though gods are more venturesome. Sarra cooks the best fish stew in the Divine Realms. I spend warm seasons here, just for that.’

‘You come here for Ma’s cooking?’

His eyes twinkled. ‘That’s right. She sent me to tell you that she has food ready for you, if you care to dress and come out.’

Daine eased out from under the blankets, careful not to dislodge her guest, and saw that she wore a cotton nightgown. ‘How long have we been here?’ she asked Broad Foot.

‘Four days. See you in the garden.’ Silver fire bloomed; the duckmole vanished.

Four days was too long. What were Kitten, Tkaa, and King Jonathan doing now? Did they know that Numair and Daine weren’t dead? Frowning, she washed her face and cleaned her teeth; all that she needed to do those chores lay on a table.

Looking about, she saw a simple red cotton dress at the foot of the bed. Under it lay a pink shift, underclothes, and red slippers. She wished they were a shirt and breeches, but knew she might as well put them on. There was no sign of her old clothes, but even if she could find them, she doubted that they would be in very good condition.

Once dressed, she had to sit briefly to catch her breath. The weakness and ache weren’t as bad as they had been, but she was still shaky. Tidying her bed required another rest before she could leave the room. She did not see the pocket of shadow that separated from the gloom under her bed and followed her.

The main room of the cottage was empty of people. Looking around, she saw the things that she would expect in her mother’s house, as well as three heavy perches – as if very large birds often visited. She guessed that other bedrooms lay behind closed doors. Two doors, however, stood open. Outside one, a path led downhill into a forest. Going to the other, she looked into a walled kitchen garden. A small well, a table, benches, and an outdoor hearth were placed on the open grass. Her mother sat at the table, peeling apples. The duckmole sat on the table beside her, pushing a bit of peel with his bill.

Sarra beamed as Daine sat opposite her. ‘It’s long past breakfast, but I thought you might still want porridge.’ She filled a bowl from a pot on the hearth. Pitchers of honey and cream were on the table; Daine used both. The porridge was rich, with a deep, nutty taste that shocked her. It was stuffed with bits of dried fruit, each tasting fresh-picked. The cream and honey also were intensely flavourful. She ate only half of the bowl, and put it aside. Her mother drew a mug of water from the well. That was easier to swallow, although it was as powerful as if it came from an icy mountain stream.

Sarra frowned. ‘You should be hungrier, after all that sleep and the pain from crossing over.’

‘You forget how things tasted when you first came here.’ A fluffy orange-and-white-marbled cat leaped onto the table to sit in front of Daine. She stared at the girl with large amber eyes, pink nose twitching. ‘In the Divine Realms, you eat the essence of things, not the shadow. I am Queenclaw, goddess of house cats.’

Respectfully, the girl bowed. Queenclaw was an impressive creature. ‘It’s a very great honour, meeting you.’

‘Of course it is.’ The cat began to wash.

‘How’d you come to be here, Ma?’ Daine asked. ‘I thought the mortal dead go to the Black God’s realm.’

Sarra cut her apples. ‘So I did,’ she replied. ‘Your father came for me there. He petitioned the Great Gods to allow me to live with him. They decided it was well enough.’ She eyed Daine warily. ‘You blame me for not telling you about him?’

Daine looked at the cat, who was still washing, and at the duckmole, who was grinding apple bits in his bill. She’d forgotten her ma’s way of discussing private things before others. ‘It might’ve helped later, is all. Ma, we can’t stay, you know. We’re—’

Queenclaw hissed, and leaped off the table. Briefly Daine suspected her of creating a diversion, until she saw that a black shape, almost like a living ink blot, was tangled in the cat’s teeth and claws. It wriggled and shifted like water, trying to escape. Only when the duckmole jumped down to stand on one of the thing’s tendrils did it quieten.

‘What is that?’ the girl wanted to know.

‘I’ve no notion,’ replied Sarra, frowning. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Unless it’s one of Gainel’s – the Dream King’s. It could be one of his nightmares.’

‘No,’ Queenclaw said, looking up. ‘He’s strict with his creatures. They lose their power over mortals if they’re allowed to wander, so he keeps them close.’

‘We’ll hold it for Weiryn to look at when he returns.’ Sarra reached down, white light spilling from her fingers. When it touched the shadowy thing, Queenclaw and Broad Foot moved away from it. Kneeling, Sarra picked the creature up, using the white fire as a kind of scoop. ‘What manner of beastie are you?’ she asked, frowning.

The creature rolled itself into a small, tight ball.

‘I command you, give me your name!’ ordered Sarra. There was a crack, and a smell of blood. ‘Darking?’ She looked at the animal gods. ‘Have you heard of it?’

‘Never,’ Queenclaw said, washing a forepaw.

Broad Foot shook his head. Vanishing in a wave of silver fire, he reappeared on the table next to the girl. ‘Easier than climbing for a little fellow like me,’ he explained.

Daine’s mother shrugged, dropping the creature into her apron pocket. ‘That will hold you for now.’ She drew a line of white fire across the pocket’s opening. Seeing it, Daine was uneasy: Sarra’s magical Gift had always shown as rose-pink fire, not white.

‘Don’t fuss,’ the woman told her pocket as the darking began to thrash inside. ‘You’ll just—’ She fell silent abruptly and cocked her head as if she listened to someone.

When Daine opened her mouth, the cat placed a paw over it, silencing her. ‘Hush,’ Queenclaw whispered. ‘Someone needs her.’ Fur tickled Daine’s nose; she sneezed.

‘You are known to the Green Lady, Isa,’ Sarra remarked, oddly formal. ‘You seek aid for a breech birth? Who is the mother?’ She listened, then sighed. ‘Nonia. I see.’

Daine frowned. They had known an Isa and a Nonia in Snowsdale. Her mother had always claimed that Isa would be a good midwife, if she could ever stop having children of her own. Nonia was barely a year older than Daine herself.

‘Harken, Isa. You must turn the babe before it comes. No – listen to me, and I will help.’ Absently, Sarra walked into the cottage, looking at something very far away.

Daine was the only one who saw the darking – whatever it was – drop to the ground through a hole in its pocket prison. She thought, just like Ma to fix the opening with magic and forget there’s a hole in the bottom. She said nothing as the darking vanished into the shadows by the cottage wall. If Queenclaw and Broad Foot hadn’t seen its escape, she wasn’t going to tell them. After all, the darking hadn’t done any harm.

‘She’s not the same as she was back home,’ she whispered, more to herself than to the cat or the duckmole.

‘Of course not.’ Queenclaw stretched. ‘Only gods or immortals may dwell here.’

‘You’re telling me that Ma – my ma – is a god.’

‘There was a need,’ Broad Foot explained. ‘The northern forests had no one to watch over village gardens and childbearing – the Great Mother Goddess can’t be everywhere. It wouldn’t have worked if your mother hadn’t liked such things already. Since she does, she became the Green Lady.’

‘Is she my ma, then?’ demanded the girl. ‘Is she who she was, Sarra Beneksri?’

‘Are you who you were?’ asked the cat.

About to say that of course she was, Daine stopped herself. Daine of Snowsdale could no more heal animals – or turn into one – than the sun could rise in the west. She got up, ignoring a slight dizziness that overtook her. ‘Please excuse me. I need a walk.’

‘Be careful,’ both gods chorused.

‘Do you wish a guide?’ added Broad Foot, concern in his voice. ‘Some mortals find the Divine Realms overwhelming—’

‘No company, thank you,’ Daine said, heading towards the gate.

Outside the wall lay a well-marked path. To her right it curved around the house. To her left it crossed a log bridge over a stream and led into the forest. Near the trees a rocky bluff rose in tumbles of earth and stone until it breached the leafy canopy. Anyone who climbed it should have a view that would stretch for miles.

Crossing the bridge, she found that her head had cleared; strength was returning to her legs and arms. She left the path at the foot of the bluff, taking a track that wound through piles of stone, leading her gently upwards. When she stopped for a breath after steady climbing, a nearby chuckling sound drew her to a spring hidden in the rocks. A couple of sips of water were all that she needed: her veins seemed to fill with a green and sparkling energy that carried her on upwards.

There was plenty to think about as she climbed. Her ma, a god? She loved her mother, but there was no denying that Sarra needed looking after. Without it, she would seek plants on a cloudy day without taking a hat. Gods were dignified, all-knowing, all-powerful creatures, weren’t they?

She knew that lesser gods entered the Mortal Realms only on the equinoxes and solstices, and her mother had said it was good they met the Skinners on Midsummer Day. There were degrees of strength among gods, then. If this was so, then perhaps lesser gods weren’t all-anything, and Sarra could now be a divine being.

‘There would be worse goddesses than Ma, I suppose,’ she remarked, then sighed.

She left her thin, pretty slippers under a bush when they began to pinch. Thickening the soles of her feet by changing them to elephant hide, she climbed on in comfort. The way was rocky and steep. By the time she reached the rocky summit, she was gasping.

Below was the forest roof, an expanse of countless shades of green, pierced by clearings, streams, and ponds. Turning, she found mountains that stabbed into the sky, their heads wrapped in cloud, their shoulders white with snow.

‘Oh, glory,’ she whispered, and went to see what lay below on that side. Passing a dip in the rock, she halted. A pool of some eerie substance was cupped there. It shimmered with green, yellow, grey, and blue lights, much like the colours that she’d seen in the sky the night before. They moved over its surface in globes, waves, or strips. Watching the pool made her giddy. She swayed, and put out a hand.

‘Don’t touch it!’ a voice behind her warned.

She fought to yank her eyes away in vain. There was something terrible in those moving colours, something that she rebelled against as it drew her in. Pain flared on her ankle; it broke the pool’s grip. She stumbled back a few steps.

‘Careful!’ Clinging to her foot was a lizard, a striped skink. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, but I thought you needed help.’ Green with white and black stripes and a yellow muzzle, she was large for her kind, a foot in length. Her black eyes glinted with intelligence.

Daine bent to pick up the lizard. ‘So I did.’ She crossed to the far side of the bluff, putting yards of stone between her and the shifting pool. There she sat, placing the skink beside her. An inspection of her ankle showed that it bled a little. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ The skink jumped on top of a nearby rock to put herself at eye level with the girl. ‘The next time you find a Chaos vent, don’t look into it,’ the lizard advised. ‘It’ll pull first your mind, and then the rest of you, into the Realms of Chaos.’

‘Chaos vents?’ She licked her finger and dabbed at the bite, cleaning it off.

‘You’ll find them all over the Divine Realms,’ replied the skink. ‘They serve as gods’ windows into the home of Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos.’

‘You’d think they’d put warning markers on such things,’ grumbled Daine. ‘And why are the gods keeping these windows open if they’re fighting this Uusoae?’

‘The vents have always been in both the Divine and Chaos Realms, whether they’re at war or not,’ explained the skink. ‘Father Universe and Mother Flame ordered things that way. Are you over your scare?’

‘I think so.’ Daine leaned back, bracing herself with her arms as she looked at the view. ‘Why didn’t I sense you?’ she asked. ‘I should’ve known you were here the moment I got in range.’ In the distance, a hawk wheeled over an opening in the trees. Her finely tuned ears picked out the distant call of crows, jays, and starlings. ‘I never felt any of the People. I can’t hear you in my mind.’

‘Nor will you,’ the skink replied calmly. ‘We are not mortal animals, Veralidaine Sarrasri – we are gods. If we are killed, we are instantly reborn in new bodies. We have our own magic, powerful magic. Mortals cannot hear us, or know us.’

Daine rubbed her ears. ‘I feel deaf. I feel – separate from everything.’

‘It’s all right,’ said her companion. ‘Bask awhile. The sun will do you good.’

Daine smiled to think that sunning would help, but she obeyed. The rock warmed her and banished the fear caused by the Chaos vent. Below, woodpeckers tapped trees; squirrels called alarms. Nearby a pika chirped. From the mountains behind them, first one, then another, then more wolf voices rose in pack-song. She grinned, hearing the feeble, shaky notes of wolf pups joining their elders, perhaps for the first time.

The wind shifted, and brought with it a hint of wood smoke. Looking for the source, she found her parents’ house and garden, cradled in the bend of the stream that ran past her window. A white plume of smoke trailed from the chimney.

‘Look,’ said the skink. ‘To the west.’

A large, dark bird of some kind flew up from the tree canopy in a twisting pattern. Daine couldn’t see it clearly; one moment it was shadowy, the next almost transparent. It was larger than any bird of prey, though not as big as a griffin. She would guess that it was four or five feet long, with a seven-foot wingspan. Up it flew, its spiral tightening. When it seemed as though it spun like a top in midair, the bird opened its wings to their widest, spread its tail, and faced the sun.

Daine gasped as spears of orange, yellow, red, white, and even scraps of blue light flared from the creature’s feathers, turning it into airborne flame. It flashed its blazing wings three times, then folded, shedding its fire, or covering it. Once more it was simply a nondescript bird, now flying downwards in a spiral.

The skink sighed with pleasure. ‘Sunbirds,’ she said. ‘They do this from noon until sunset. I never get tired of watching it.’

For a while they sat in quiet comfort, enjoying this vast scene before them. In the distance an eagle screamed. The breeze changed, to come out of the south, carrying with it the scent of water from still pools and busy streams.

The skink’s head shifted. Daine looked and saw three bird forms rise from the trees in that distinctive corkscrew flight pattern. Eagerly she watched the sunbirds climb far above the leafy canopy. At last the three faced the sun, spreading wings and tails in an explosion of colour. Daine gasped at the brilliance of the hues: there were more dabs of blue and green light among these birds, even a strong hint of purple under the flame.

There was also something like a picture. Startled, she closed her eyes; the image was clear on the insides of her lids. Queen Thayet and Onua, Horsemistress of the Queen’s Riders, stood back to back on the wall before the royal palace in Tortall. Stormwings fell on them, filthy and open-clawed, mouths wide in silent shrieks. Grimly the two women, armed with small, recurved bows, shot arrow after arrow into the flock overhead, hitting Stormwings almost every time. A mage raced along the wall to join them, raising both hands. Something glittered like crystal in his palms.

The image faded. Opening her eyes, Daine got up. ‘I have to go,’ she told the reptile, who watched her curiously. ‘It was very nice meeting you.’

‘Come back when you can visit longer,’ the god replied.

Daine frowned at the skink. ‘Why are you being so nice?’ she asked. ‘I’d have thought a god would be more, well, aloof.’

The skink couldn’t smile, but Daine heard amusement in her voice. ‘When you were a little girl, you once saved a nest of young skinks from two-leggers who wished to torture them. For my children, I thank you – and I hope to see you again.’

Daine bowed to her, then began her descent. She had to stop more often to rest this time. A drink from the spring helped, but her legs were trembling by the time she reached the bottom.

Weiryn was there, waiting, strung bow in one hand, a dead hare in the other, quiver of arrows on his back. ‘Your mother is worried about you.’ His leaf-coloured eyes were unreadable. ‘It’s not always a good idea to wander here, these days.’

Daine wiped her sweaty face on her sleeve. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said shortly. ‘And what is that?’ She pointed to his kill. ‘Surely a god doesn’t need to hunt.’

‘Don’t vex that tender heart of yours,’ he replied. ‘As gods themselves, my prey are reborn into new bodies instantly, or there would be no game anywhere in these realms. And a hunt god must hunt.’ He turned and walked towards the cottage. Daine fell in beside him. ‘Didn’t those mortals teach you anything? The tasks of gods bind us to our mortal followers.’

‘But you don’t need to eat. You’re gods.’

‘We don’t need to, but it’s fun. Which reminds me – I don’t like how you’ve been eating lately. What kind of hunter’s daughter won’t touch game?’

Daine sighed. ‘One that’s been hunted, in deer shape and in goose shape.’ She tried to smile. ‘I’m down to mutton, chicken, and fish, Da. I’m just too close to the rest of the People to be eating them.’

Weiryn shook his antlered head. ‘To think that—’ He whirled, dropping the hare. ‘I thought so.’

‘What?’ she asked.

In a single, fluid movement, he put an arrow to his string and shot. His arrow struck, quivering, in a patch of shadow under a bush.

Daine frowned. Something keened there, in a tiny voice she heard as much in her mind as in her ears. Trotting over, she saw that the shaft pinned an ink blot. What had Ma called it? A darking? ‘What did you do that for?’ she demanded, cross. Gripping the arrow, she yanked it out of the creature. It continued to flutter, crying, a hole in its centre. ‘You don’t even know what it is!’ She tried to push the blot in on the hole in its middle.

‘I don’t have to,’ was the retort. ‘It came into my territory without leave, sneaking about, following us. Now, don’t go coddling it—’

Sitting, she picked up the darking and carefully pinched the hole in its body, holding the edges together. ‘It’s fair foolish to shoot something when you don’t even know what it is.’ The darking ceased its cries; when she let it go, the hole was sealed.

The god picked up the hare. ‘When you are my age, you may question what I do. Now, come along. Leave that thing.’ He set off down the trail.

Daine looked at the darking. ‘Do you want to come with me?’ she asked, wondering if it could understand. ‘I won’t let him hurt—’

The darking fell through her hands to the ground and raced under the bush. That’s a clear enough answer, thought Daine. ‘Don’t let him see you again,’ she called. ‘For all I know, he’ll keep shooting you.’ She trotted to catch up to her sire.

‘I never thought a daughter of mine would have these sentimental attachments,’ he remarked. ‘Pain and suffering trouble gods, but they don’t burden us as they do mortals.’

Daine thought of the two-legger goddess that she had met the previous autumn, the Graveyard Hag. Certainly she hadn’t been troubled by the ruction that she had caused. ‘Maybe that explains more than it doesn’t,’ she replied grimly. ‘Though I believe gods would be kinder if things hurt them more.’

Her father turned to look at her. ‘What makes you think our first duty is to be kind?’ he wanted to know. ‘Too much tenderness is bad for mortals. They improve themselves only by struggling. Everyone knows that.’

She blinked. He sounded like those humans who claimed that poverty made the poor into nobler souls. ‘Of course, Da. Whatever you say.’

Sarra met them on the other side of the log bridge. She kissed her mate, then ordered, ‘Go and skin and dress that hare, and not in the house.’ He left, and she looked at Daine. ‘You shouldn’t wander off like that, sweet. You’re not well yet—’

‘Ma, if I’m well enough to climb that’—she pointed to the bluff that thrust out of the forest—‘then I’m well enough to go home. Me ’n’ Numair can’t be lingering here.’

Sarra blinked, her mouth trembling. ‘Are you so eager to get away from me? After not even a full day awake in my house?’

Daine’s throat tightened. ‘I don’t want to leave you. Don’t think it!’ She hugged her mother. ‘I missed you,’ she whispered. ‘Four years – I never stopped missing you.’

Sarra’s arms were tight around her. ‘I missed you too, sweetling.’

Memory surged: the girl could almost smell burned wood, spilled blood, and the reek of death. The last time that she’d held her mother, Sarra had been stone cold, and Daine had been trying to yank out the arrows that had killed her. Tears rolled down her face.

Gentle hands stroked her hair and back. ‘There, there,’ Sarra whispered. ‘I am sorry. Never would I have left you willingly, not for all the gods in these realms.’ Softly she crooned until Daine’s tears slowed, then stopped.

‘Forgive me.’ The girl pulled away, wiping her eyes. ‘It was – remembering …’

‘Me too.’ Sarra drew a handkerchief from a pocket. Tugging on it until two handkerchiefs appeared, she gave one to Daine, and used the other to dry her own eyes.

‘Grandda?’ asked the girl. She blew her nose.

‘In the Realms of the Dead. He’s happy there. Well, you know we never got on well. We like each other better now that I only visit and—’ Sarra cocked her head, that odd, listening expression on her face. ‘Someone needs me?’ she asked, her smile wry. ‘Two in one day – I must be getting popular.’ Her voice changed, as it had in the garden before. ‘Yes, Lori Hillwalker. The Green Lady hears you.’ Turning, she walked away, crossing the stream on the log bridge.

Daine wasn’t sure if she ought to follow. Looking around, she saw Queenclaw trotting towards her.

‘Don’t just stand there,’ ordered the cat goddess, ‘pet me. Did she get another call?’

Daine knelt to obey. ‘I don’t see why they would call on her. They liked her well enough when they needed a healer. The rest of the time, they thought she was silly, and odd … and shameful.’ Queenclaw looked up, and Daine answered the unspoken question. ‘Well, there was me, and no husband, and there was—were always men around Ma.’

‘Cats have more sense,’ Queenclaw said. ‘We don’t keep toms or kittens about any longer than we must. Mind, your people don’t know it’s her they pray to. They call on the Green Lady, who started to appear over the town well in Snowsdale. She told them to summon her for help in childbirth and sickness, or for matters of the heart.’

‘I’ll be switched.’ Daine was impressed in spite of herself.

The cat’s eyes followed something in the grass that only she could see. ‘You’d better go do something with the stew,’ she remarked, tail flicking as she crouched low to the ground. ‘It hasn’t been stirred in a while.’ She pounced. A mouse squeaked and ran for its life, Queenclaw in hot pursuit.

Grinning, Daine went inside. The stew smelled wonderful. Stirring it, the girl realized that she was half listening for a courier to arrive, wanting her or her friends to arm themselves and come quickly. There were no horns calling for riders to mount and ride out. There was no thunder of message drums, pounding signals to those who had no mages to pass on the latest news. Her parents’ house breathed rest and quiet.