The New World (10 page)

Too little was known. Cyron and Pyrust could play their game, but it would destroy them and their nations. It would leave the people without leaders or a means to survive. It would be worse than the Time of Black Ice.

And I cannot permit that
. Pelut kept his face frozen. He would comply with Cyron’s wishes and give him what he wanted. All of it. He would overwhelm the Prince with details too vast and trivial to be of use. Once Cyron had been overwhelmed, he would leave the working of the world to those trained for it.

Then the game would end and the losers would be very sorry indeed.

Chapter 10

“Y
ou are perplexed, my brother.”

Jorim had sensed Tsiwen’s presence, but had chosen not to acknowledge it until she spoke. He turned from the edge of his palace’s courtyard and leaned back. A balustrade materialized, preventing him from tumbling to the earth. He was not sure which of them had manifested it, but he let it accept his weight.

“I am, sister.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I have stood here and watched since my brothers left. It seems as if no time at all has passed, but nights and days have blinked over the face of the world. It hardly seems enough time to consider all I have been told—and certainly not to reach a decision about Nirati and her death.”

The goddess laughed lightly, the sound coming as gently to his ears as a warm spring breeze. “Our brother believes death is the solution to everything because he is the Master of it. Because of the magic you gave Men, he cannot touch your mortal sister.

“I do not believe I can, either.”

Tsiwen raised an eyebrow. “Dire news if true.”

Jorim waved her to the courtyard’s edge and the balustrade obligingly evaporated. “See, down there: Anturasixan. My grandfather used magic to create it.”

“Yes, I can feel the power in it and him.”

“My brother and I used to debate about whether or not a cartographer could become a Mystic. What would magic enable us to do? Draw maps without brush and ink? Would we be able to make one master map, and all maps drawn from it would change as the master changed? These were the lines along which we were thinking, but Qiro seems to be able to create lands by whim. He used to say that no place existed until he put it on a map, and now places seem to exist
because
he places them on a map.”

“So it would appear.”

Jorim scratched his throat with a gold talon. “But now he has created his own world. And wittingly or not, he has defied the gods and denied them access to his creation.”

Tsiwen hugged her arms tightly around her middle. “So even if Grija’s solution were the key, you could not simply appear there and destroy Nirati.”

“No. Nothing lacking a blood tie with my grandfather can set foot there. Nirati is allowed. The things he makes—some of them creatures plucked from nightmares I confided to him—are free to leave. I think he had created those things before he even made his continent, and they had ventured out to attack the Amentzutl. The Mozoyan became more complex over time as he unconsciously redesigned them, making them better.”

“If what you say is true, then nothing can reach your sister.”

“No. She is there because she is his flesh through my father. Likewise my brother. He could get there.”

A cloud passed beneath the palace, momentarily eclipsing the world. Tsiwen turned and looked up into his golden eyes. “How does he prevent someone from going there?”

“He’s crafty. He always has been.” Jorim waved a hand toward the continent. “You are Wisdom incarnate, sister. Perhaps you can find a way to outwit my grandfather.”

Tsiwen smiled impishly, then stepped off the courtyard’s edge and streaked earthward. Her silken gown snapped as the wind plucked at it, then the flailing sleeves grew into bat’s wings as she dove, flittering out of his sight. She looked to be having so much fun that Jorim almost sprouted wings of his own to join her.

But he had already failed in the mission she was attempting. He had no desire to be frustrated again. It was less anger at being thwarted by a mortal than being unable to best his grandfather. He’d never been able to outfox Qiro when he was human, and divinity hadn’t made much of a difference.

But isn’t Qiro a god of sorts himself?
Because Qiro had become a Mystic, he had access to the fabric of reality. He might not have as much power as a god, but he had enough. Unlike other Mystics, Qiro did not seem to release a lot of chaotic magic as a by-product of his talent—he appeared to use all of it.

I wonder if that is because he is
creating
something, not just performing a task
. Could it be that Mystics tapped into far more magical energy than their task could accommodate, hence the release of the excess?
The release of excess magic should have warned people against profligate use
.

The flapping of Tsiwen’s wings revealed her irritation as she returned. She landed, then blossomed upward with a venomous expression on her face. “You could have warned me, brother.”

“I did. I told you he was being clever.”

“And you knew I would take that as a challenge. You are correct, however. I can see the continent, but I cannot find a path to it.”

“Exactly. Unless he grants us a map or wills us to approach, we cannot
reach
Anturasixan.”

Tsiwen looked at him closely, then her eyes widened. “Your grandfather is not the only clever one.
You
could get there, if you reanimated your body.”

“I’m certain of it.” Jorim pointed and the world spun. Beneath them now lay a continent far to the east of where Jorim had been born. With another gesture the world drew closer, providing a clear view of the Amentzutl capital, Nemehyan. Almost a dozen ships bobbed in the bay—the largest being the
Stormwolf
. People moved along a floating quay, bringing supplies to the ship.

“They bound my body tightly in rags and sank it in a cask of oil to preserve it. They are bringing me home for a funeral.” He smiled. “I could enter that body again and reanimate it.”

“That would cause something of a commotion.” Tsiwen shook her head. “This is not a course I would recommend.”

“If there were another, I would choose it.” Jorim frowned. “I have seen my sister and I have searched for my brother. I found him in Helosunde. He is distant and unapproachable.”

“How so?”

“Keles does not seem to know who he is. Since he is lost, there is no way to find him.” Jorim shrugged. “The point is moot, however, since getting him to Anturasixan would take a long time and then . . . They are twins. He could never kill her.”

“Could you?”

Jorim slowly shook his head. “I do not know. Grija and Chado tell me that Nessagafel wishes to scrape away all creation save for his Viruk, and start over. That would destroy everyone I know and love. I can’t let that happen. At the same time, can I kill my sister to save everyone else?”

“Could you kill me to save everyone?” As she spoke, Tsiwen took on Nirati’s form and stole her voice. “Which do you love more? A small piece of creation, or the larger part of it?”

“Don’t do that, please.” Jorim turned from her and stared down at Nemehyan. There, on the
Stormwolf
’s deck, Anaeda Gryst shouted orders to sailors. A portion of the crew looked to be made up of Amentzutl, which surprised Jorim. The Amentzutl had no maritime tradition to speak of, but it looked as if they’d taken to their training rather quickly.

From belowdecks emerged a tall, slender Amentzutl woman—Nauana. She possessed a serenity out of place with the beehive of activity around her. What struck Jorim most about her was the black silk robe she wore with gold at the cuffs and lapels. It had been embroidered in gold with an image of Tetcomchoa, the feathered serpent. Jorim had been recognized as the incarnation of that Amentzutl god. The robe, clearly manufactured from Naleni material, had been decorated with Amentzutl designs, demonstrating cooperation between the two peoples.

Jorim watched her as the sea breeze caught a lock of long, black hair and brushed it over her cheek. He wished he was there to sweep it back, to kiss that cheek and enfold her in his arms. As a god, he would have the ability to crush her, but as a man he could have held her tight and shaped a new reality with her. Though her face betrayed none of it, he felt the ache born of his death lodged deep in her heart.

He would have sunk into glumness, but Shimik bounced and rolled after Nauana. His fur had become midnight black, save for gold over his throat, chest, palms, and soles. His eyes had even become golden, completing a transformation that marked him with Jorim’s colors. The Fennych darted between sailors, scaled one of the ship’s nine masts, ran along a yardarm, then leaped to the deck right in front of Nauana with a shriek.

She caught him up off the bounce and laughed. That laughter spread through the crew, and even Anaeda Gryst cracked a smile at the creature’s antics.

Tsiwen rubbed his shoulder. “I know the pain you feel; the pain they feel. You mustn’t think of returning, however.”

“Why not?”

Grija growled and materialized in a grey, furry lump. “Because I simply will not allow it. You’ve passed through the gates of my realm and they have closed behind you. If I let you back out again, who knows what havoc you could wreak? You might release the demons of the Fifth Hell, or the wizards in Tolwreen. They could cause more trouble than Nessagafel.”

Jorim’s golden eyes narrowed. “How is it, brother, that you have such poor control over your realm? Are you not the god of Death?”

“I am.” Grija drew himself up to his full height and manifested as a black wolf with fiery eyes. “I have claimed you, have I not?”

“You have. Many times. I was trapped below because of you.”

“Then you know my power. Do not trifle with me.” He glanced toward the mortal world. “Have you determined how to get rid of the woman?”

Jorim said nothing because Grija’s protestations of power seemed paper-thin. Either he could control his realm or he could not. If he could not—and Qiro’s defiance suggested weakness—then could Grija’s solution be the only one?

Or would it be the most expedient and beneficial only to Grija?

Something else struck Jorim as odd. While the Naleni had nine gods, the Amentzutl only had six. In their cosmology, Omchoa had consumed the god of death, Zoloa. To the Amentzutl, Grija existed, but only as an aspect of the Jaguar god of Shadows. Jorim did not know how the gods had become consolidated, but he wondered if that somehow reduced Grija’s grip on power. Was his ability to manipulate reality limited by the number of people who believed in him?

“I have tried to reach Nirati on Anturasixan. You know she cannot be touched. And as I am now, I am not part of Qiro Anturasi’s creation, so I am barred from interfering with it. The only way I know to reach her is if I reanimate my mortal remains. That is the key—much as I was the key to unlocking the divine aspect of myself to recover my power. Let me do that, and this can be over.”

“No. Impossible.”

“Why? You allowed me to reincarnate time and time again.”

“Yes, but always in a new body, a new place. That is the way it is done.” The wolf flashed fangs. “Bodily resurrection, never.”

“ ‘Never’ is a strong word.”

The wolf glanced at the goddess of Wisdom. “You should lend him your intelligence, dear sister, for he is in sore need of it.”

Jorim looked at his sister. “What is he talking about?”

“When Nessagafel created us, we did not have our aspects. There was no god of Death nor goddess of Wisdom. But when we created Men, we also shaped these aspects for ourselves. They allowed us to concentrate power—much as your Mystics do in perfecting a skill. Yet while death was a reality, none of us chose to become the guardian of it, except that it proved necessary.”

Grija growled from deep in his throat. “Our father made the Viruk long-lived. Our creation was flawed, so Men died in an eyeblink. Their souls reincarnated and Men
remembered
their previous lives. This became messy, so the underworld was created. We shaped the Nine Hells, then matched them with Nine Heavens. I kept spirits and souls for as long as it took them to forget who they were, then I would release them to be born again. Some I keep longer, like the wizards, for they cling to their memories and power, but most return shortly.”

“And if I were to reanimate my mortal body, some balance would be upset?”

“You are a god, Wentoki.” The wolf sniffed. “Your mortal body could not contain what you are. And the essence that could not fit would be loosed in my realm to cause havoc.”

Jorim frowned. “But a vast chunk of my divine nature was severed from me before. Could that not be done again, allowing me to return to deal with Nirati and Nessagafel?”

“If you would fully embrace your divinity, you would recall how painful that was.” The wolf’s hackles rose. “The scream of a god is not pleasant.”

“But it would work?”

“It might. But, no, I cannot allow it.”

“I think you must.” Jorim’s form swelled into that of a dragon. He curled around the wolf and looked down upon him. “It is our only choice, brother.”

The wolf leaped from within the circle of Jorim’s tail. “Do not think to threaten me. This is not an action to be taken lightly. I will consider it, but it
must
be the only way.”

Jorim returned to his mortal form. “I do not threaten and I will seek an alternative. Understand this, however. The pain is of no consequence if all we know is to be saved. I suspect the discomfort will be as nothing compared to the loss of never having existed. Deliberate with haste, brother, lest we find out my fear is true.”

Chapter 11

H
e always wondered why Grija made a light when coming to torture him. Nessagafel saw no need for it. The Underworld existed, but its shape and form was an illusion agreed upon when Grija accepted the role as its sovereign. The Underworld was dark because it was dark, but no god needed light there.

Grija’s movement and hunger drew Nessagafel back from infinity. If Nessagafel had actually given it any significant amount of consideration at the time he had created everything, he would have made himself omniscient. But as he created things, especially his children, he found bits and pieces of his creation shut off to him. At first this was intriguing, since he found his children’s surprises a challenge. He could always discover and destroy their little plots, but he allowed them to plot because he found the challenges so entertaining.