The Silver Lake (71 page)

He bared his teeth at them, his momentary lapse of resolve forgotten. Last year he’d been too young to do anything more than watch helplessly as they’d consumed everything in their path; this year he was no longer young and no longer helpless. The spirits would do well to realize that.

They seemed to understand his thoughts, hunkering down in their shadowy hiding places each time he turned his baleful regard on them, but that wouldn’t last, he knew. Soon the God of Prophecy would make His move and they would boil out of their refuge like a plague of locusts.

Raising his face to the wind, Spar smiled suddenly. Incasa wasn’t the only Deity poised to act this night and, although he knew the God of Prophecy had taken that into account, he also knew that Gods, like spirits and people, too, for that matter, were greedy and usually acted in their own self-interest if given half a chance. A good lifter knew how to exploit that to his own advantage.

Spar smiled. He was always careful and he was always hidden.

Sending his mind out on the wind, he felt the dusk pressing eagerly against the day. The Evening Invocations were nearly finished; at Havo-Sarayi the priests had turned to their revelry, knowing that the Seasonal God drew strength from their celebrations, Oristo’s people stood by their hearths, and Usara’s in their infirmaries, both continuing songs of power that could invoke their Gods at the slightest hint of danger. The Warriors of Estavia were still locked in the throes of their own God’s violent embrace; Spar could tell that simply by glancing over to gauge the growing barge-poled expression on Brax’s face. Ystazia’s people would be next and finally Incasa‘s, and then it would begin. Returning his gaze to the dark waters below, he felt the God of Prophecy stir as His priests prepared to bring the power of their minds together as one.

In the arzhane, Bessic stood when Ystazia’s song finished. Raising his arms, he tipped his head back, and taking a deep breath, sounded the full bass note that began Incasa’s High Seeking, rather than the traditional Evening Invocation. One by one, the God of Prophecy’s seers added their voices to his from every rural and urban cami along the lakeshores.

And as they sounded the note that would release the night, the sun vanished below the horizon, the night rushed forward, and the surface of Gol-Beyaz exploded as the great green-and-brown-mottled God of the Seasons shot into the air. Hair writhing in the wind, Havo cut a great swath across the sky, then streaked down to land on the western walls of Anavatan with a sound like a thunderclap.

Below, a huge mass of spirits flung themselves at the God-Wall, hammering, squirming, and fighting to join those that had already begun to boil up from the cobblestone streets, urged on by Graize standing now and screaming in triumph at the feet of Lazim-Hisar.

The veins standing out in his neck like streaks of fire, the First Oracle sang out the bass note once again. Glutted with power, Incasa reared up from the waves like an icy sea serpent. As the spirits broke through the wall of power, the God of Prophecy hurled his dice into their midst.

The mass of spirits exploded over the city before suddenly being sucked into a narrow God-wrought channel leading straight to Estavia-Sarayi.

On the battlements Brax threw his shield up instinctively as the force of the explosion flung him against the wall, but Spar, his face twisted into a mask of hate and rage, threw his arms into the air to welcome the storm’s power. It broke over their heads with a ferocity matched only by the four remaining Gods who burst from Gol-Beyaz to defend Their city. As Estavia rose above Her temple in all Her feral glory, Brax swept his sword into the air, screaming out his oaths to Her. The Battle God’s responding jolt of power shot down the blade and into his arm, outlining him in a spray of crimson light. As the spirits swarmed over the battlements toward Gol-Beyaz, he threw himself in front of them.

Once again, he stood before an army of sharp-clawed creatures of power and need, once again they came at him in twos and threes and tens and hundreds, and once again he slaughtered them all. Their ravaged potential rained down around him in a shower of blood-soaked silver ash, blinding him with its brilliance and filling him with a vitality so pure it threatened to tear him to pieces, but he never faltered. He was Estavia’s Champion and he would not allow Her enemies to reach the lake of power. As gouts of red-and-golden fire began to stream from his mouth and nose, he screamed out his challenge to any who would oppose him.

But this time it was the Godling who accepted it. Streaking from the clouds above, It slammed into him with a force that nearly knocked him off the wall, sucking up the streams of power as fast as they emerged. Lightning cracked above them and, for a single heartbeat the half born God and half grown Champion hung suspended as if they were recorded in Ystazia’s secret book already, but then, as the Godling made to drive its teeth into Brax’s throat, Spar threw his great, black net between them, destroying the tableau.

“No! You won’t take him,” he shouted. “None of you will!”

The wind rose to a screaming crescendo as the Godling spun about, shrieking in fury, but Spar stood his ground, deliberately staring into Its blazing eyes, willing It to look deep into the dark place where he held dominion despite Gods and priests and oracles, willing It to see, to remember, the trap he’d once sprung on It before the black tower beyond Orzin-Hisar. The Godling froze, but as Brax swung his sword, Incasa turned to flick a single vision toward Graize with one fine-boned finger.

The world seemed to slow.

Beneath Lazim-Hisar, Graize was suddenly consumed by the vision of Brax and Spar destroying everything he’d spent the last year building. With a scream of rage, he summoned his army of spirits to him. They surrounded him like a swarm of locusts, catching up his arms and legs and flinging him into the air as they had so many months before on Liman-Caddesi. But this time they served under his command, hurling him up and over the battlements toward his most hated adversary.

Brax met him with a scream of his own.

Close to a full manifestation now, the Godling began to shimmer with a silvery-red glow as It slowly and almost painfully began to push Its way into the physical realm. Still latched onto Brax like a giant leech, It continued to suck greedily at the gouts of power that spewed from his chest. Spar leaped forward, but was suddenly thrown aside by Incasa Himself, rising up between them like a furious leviathan, His long, white hair writhing about his head like so many sea snakes. As Spar’s head hit the wall of the sentry box with a crack, Freyiz’s voice sounded in his mind.

And then a voice as cold as the deepest waters of Gol-Beyaz sounded in his head.

“THE GOD-WALL CANNOT HOLD
EACH TIME IT FALLS, THE SPIRITS
BROUGHT INTO BEING AS A GOD GOD MUST TAKE ITS PLACE IN GOL-SAVE THE FUTURE.”

The words crashed over him, threatening mind, but suddenly he found himself plunge the past where the beleaguered Gol-Yearl their Gods for protection against their enem of Ystazia crouched, bloody and dazed, o littered battlefield recording the sight of Ka and Marshal Nurcan standing on the site some day become Anavatan, Incasa hove great white bird above them, and a crea formed potential waiting to be born, a creat spirits surrounded by silver swords and go imprinted on a warrior who would one day temple, and brought into the world by the Champion. A creature who would become of Battles.

Yashar’s deep, comforting voice calmed h he was standing on the bloodstained cob Liman-Caddesi, staring down at Drove’s d Incasa’s voice rang in his ears once more.

And once again, Spar watched as a swa caught Drove up in a deadly enveloping shr him about like a rag doll, leaping upon h neck and sucking greedily at his body like lampreys, then flinging his corpse into the just as they reached for him, the vision memory of the city guards dragging Cindar’s body away, his staring eyes half concealed by a mat of shadowy gore-soaked hair, blood on their weapons and blood on the suddenly misty ground.

On the suddenly misty ground.

Then the battlements of Orzin-Hisar rose up before his mind’s eye and Chian, already dying, drew Spar’s mind up from the dark place as the Godling fled into the clouds, trailing a line of crimson blood.

Trailing Chian’s blood. Trailing Chian’s death.

Drove and Cindar and Chian.

Raiders from the north, Petchans from the south, Yuruk from the west, and the spirits of the wild lands attacking the people of the shining city and their villages year after year. And, as the people stood before the waters of Gol-Beyaz, their prayers formed the lake spirits into six beings of protection and power.

A child of unformed spirits, if left to fight and feed unchecked would overwhelm the wall and the people. A child who would take form by imprinting on Graize and be molded into a controllable form by the deaths of Drove and Cindar and Chian.

And now Brax.

Before him, the older boy’s life began to falter and Spar struggled to his feet.

Not Brax.

Standing, Spar reached into the dark place and, pulling out another memory from Liman-Caddesi, hurled it into the wind with a strength he didn’t know he possessed.

Brax’s words took form, blazoning across the sky like a beacon.

And the God of Battles responded as She had a year ago.

Swinging Her great swords in the air, Estavia leaped forward and dealt the Godling a blow that would have decapitated It had it been anything other than immortal. It went spinning off into the air, only to turn and hurl Itself back at them, misty claws outstretched like an enraged eagle’s.

Spent now, Brax crumpled, his sword ringing against the stone, and Spar pushed himself up on one hand and flung his net toward their attacker. The black tendrils wrapped about the Godling like strands of sticky sea grass, but almost fully manifested, It shredded them with a single gesture, then streaked toward the two boys once again. But, standing guard over Her Champion’s prone body, Estavia met It with an explosion of power that burst outward to impact against the armory tower. As bricks and stone rained down upon the courtyard below, Spar began to frantically rebuild his net of darkness into a heavy bow and arrow, strand by strand, working as quickly as his split focus would allow.

But Graize was also scrabbling to come to the Godling’s aid. Leaping to the top of the battlement wall, he flung his mind outward.

“Swallow!” he screamed.

Below, Danjel’s body snapped into a masculine form, his eyes rolling back in his head, as the power of his wild-land blood was suddenly absorbed into Graize’s own.

“Nightingale and fox!”

Ozan began a screaming, discordant song of power, while Kursk sliced through his knots with his kinjal, sending a hurtling mass of spirits racing up the wall to merge with the Godling Itself.