coming to our lands. I know of no Trumen that hunt them. But… I hear from Trumen that many other men hunt them. Especially in the north.”
The Guardian scowled.
“You spoke to them first in a guild language,” Chance added. “Was it Leafwage?”
“I spoke in Lifweg, yes.”
“And Seth knows it,” Chance whispered. The coyote said nothing, nor lifted his head, but looked up at Chance through his brows, giving him a sweet, pathetic expression. Chance ran his hand over Seth’s head, then tugged at the thick fur on the back of his neck. The coyote had explained, as they stumbled back to the camp, that he had confronted the pale unman the night before, and had been cast aside with a wave of the hand that held the eye. Knocked unconscious, Seth had awakened in the morning and found the croft empty. He had immediately set off to seek Chance. How the coyote knew in which direction to follow, Seth did not explain; Chance assumed he had followed a scent.
“All the woodwardens spoke Lifweg when last I walked the Earth,” the Guardian said.
“Are you in the Leafwage?”
“The cursed Guild? That Guild was smitten long ago. Their leader Treow, the First Knight, lost sway of the guild, then walked into the great wood, and was never seen again. Each of the other knights was murdered by the Theogenics Guild, the Orderlies, the Dark Engineers. In the end by the gods. Hunted by all.”
Chance heard bitterness in the Guardian’s answer. He asked a different question. “What was that thing that… attacked us?”
The Guardian frowned. “It is a shard of a god. One of the seven Younger Gods, perhaps. Or so it seems. Why it craves you I do not know.”
“The False Gods were all destroyed,” Chance said. “The True God ordained that they would destroy each other, as would many false men, in wars and strife wrought of their pride.”
The Guardian fixed his pale eyes on Chance a long time, seeming to weigh whether to answer him. Finally he said, “I cannot guard you and your beliefs, Puriman. One must be hurt.” He leaned back.
“There were seven human gods. An old lay told of this; perhaps somewhere men sing it still.” The Guardian surprised Chance by chanting softly,
Five were the demigods,
First of men with numinous power:
Threkor, Arvang, Wervool, Jeet, and Kane.
Seven were the children gods,
First with otherworldly flesh,
And Threkor forged in his black fires
Seven jars to bind them.
“Two of the gods went missing even before the beginning of the Theopolemein, what some others have called the Theomachia, and yet others call The War Against the Gods.”
“The War Against the False Gods,” Chance said.
“So Purimen call it, then. This must be a bit of one of those two lost gods. Eating the soul and flesh of a man.”
“The eye,” Chance whispered. Seth whimpered.
“The eye,” the Guardian agreed.
“How can an eye be… any danger?”
“Each bit of the Earthly body of human gods has all of its soul. It is a bitter and bewildering bane for it to be broken into parts. It may not know who or what it is. But each withdrawn shred could become the whole god.”
“Is it looking for the rest of itself?”
The Guardian shook his massive head slowly. “It seeks you, and you are not the rest of it. I think only the eye abides.”
“Can anyone fight it?”
“I could easily rend the man, and make the god near harmless for a short time. But I will need help to bind it.”
Chance picked up a stick and poked the fire. Sparks leapt and climbed the smoke. “But in the barn.…”
“I did not use my full strength, and we had only just begun to fight. Such a clash can wreck, in a wide ground, space and the things in it. I did not want to kill the many Purimen there. Perhaps I should have waged full havoc. Now the god grows stronger with time, as all the gods did.”
A moth fluttered around Chance’s head. He brushed it away. “What did it do to Sarah and Paul?”
“It moved them—” The
The Guardian scowled.
“You spoke to them first in a guild language,” Chance added. “Was it Leafwage?”
“I spoke in Lifweg, yes.”
“And Seth knows it,” Chance whispered. The coyote said nothing, nor lifted his head, but looked up at Chance through his brows, giving him a sweet, pathetic expression. Chance ran his hand over Seth’s head, then tugged at the thick fur on the back of his neck. The coyote had explained, as they stumbled back to the camp, that he had confronted the pale unman the night before, and had been cast aside with a wave of the hand that held the eye. Knocked unconscious, Seth had awakened in the morning and found the croft empty. He had immediately set off to seek Chance. How the coyote knew in which direction to follow, Seth did not explain; Chance assumed he had followed a scent.
“All the woodwardens spoke Lifweg when last I walked the Earth,” the Guardian said.
“Are you in the Leafwage?”
“The cursed Guild? That Guild was smitten long ago. Their leader Treow, the First Knight, lost sway of the guild, then walked into the great wood, and was never seen again. Each of the other knights was murdered by the Theogenics Guild, the Orderlies, the Dark Engineers. In the end by the gods. Hunted by all.”
Chance heard bitterness in the Guardian’s answer. He asked a different question. “What was that thing that… attacked us?”
The Guardian frowned. “It is a shard of a god. One of the seven Younger Gods, perhaps. Or so it seems. Why it craves you I do not know.”
“The False Gods were all destroyed,” Chance said. “The True God ordained that they would destroy each other, as would many false men, in wars and strife wrought of their pride.”
The Guardian fixed his pale eyes on Chance a long time, seeming to weigh whether to answer him. Finally he said, “I cannot guard you and your beliefs, Puriman. One must be hurt.” He leaned back.
“There were seven human gods. An old lay told of this; perhaps somewhere men sing it still.” The Guardian surprised Chance by chanting softly,
Five were the demigods,
First of men with numinous power:
Threkor, Arvang, Wervool, Jeet, and Kane.
Seven were the children gods,
First with otherworldly flesh,
And Threkor forged in his black fires
Seven jars to bind them.
“Two of the gods went missing even before the beginning of the Theopolemein, what some others have called the Theomachia, and yet others call The War Against the Gods.”
“The War Against the False Gods,” Chance said.
“So Purimen call it, then. This must be a bit of one of those two lost gods. Eating the soul and flesh of a man.”
“The eye,” Chance whispered. Seth whimpered.
“The eye,” the Guardian agreed.
“How can an eye be… any danger?”
“Each bit of the Earthly body of human gods has all of its soul. It is a bitter and bewildering bane for it to be broken into parts. It may not know who or what it is. But each withdrawn shred could become the whole god.”
“Is it looking for the rest of itself?”
The Guardian shook his massive head slowly. “It seeks you, and you are not the rest of it. I think only the eye abides.”
“Can anyone fight it?”
“I could easily rend the man, and make the god near harmless for a short time. But I will need help to bind it.”
Chance picked up a stick and poked the fire. Sparks leapt and climbed the smoke. “But in the barn.…”
“I did not use my full strength, and we had only just begun to fight. Such a clash can wreck, in a wide ground, space and the things in it. I did not want to kill the many Purimen there. Perhaps I should have waged full havoc. Now the god grows stronger with time, as all the gods did.”
A moth fluttered around Chance’s head. He brushed it away. “What did it do to Sarah and Paul?”
“It moved them—” The
Similar Books
