death's knight 12

 so, the gas man cometh allegedly today. 

Chapter 12

 

“What do you want, Death?” asked Rogaz, the injured Toróg mother goddess, her six breasts torn and dripping everlasting pus from where she had been ripped from the Blue Moon by the Wolf of chaos.

“Much what you want,” said Alethos. “The death of the Red Moon and the Trickster, and the breaking of the trógling curse.”

“Many of my brightest and best already lost their lives trying to break that, and came up only with the Greater Toróg,” snapped Rogaz.

“Because they tried to perform a flawed ritual,” said Alethos. “One of mine is named the Daykaz, and is the child of prophesy. By research, her ritual to begin the end of the reign of chaos, she needs a priestess of Darkness.”

“And what do you mean by the beginning of the end?”

“You won’t like it, but I assure you it is necessary as circles must be completed in order to proceed in straight lines.”

“Don’t speak in riddles.”

“My tool is a trógling and she has to go back in time to give the trickster the idea of trógling.”

“What? Are you insane? Why should I help to produce those abominations?”

“Because believe me, if the Trickster doesn’t get the idea of Trógling, it’s likely that he would come up with something worse,” said Alethos. “My mother is Fate; trust me on this one. And my... my beloved wants to separate Trógling from Toróg and restore your fertility, and make things right.”

“Why?”

“Because she cares about her own kind and she doesn’t think she would have co-operation from you without a gift for a gift.”

“And how does making the Trógling curse come about  help my people’s fertility?”

“It’s the start of taking down Chaos,” said Alethos, patiently. “Kaz has to make sure she is born in order to have the worship of the free trógling, and deny them to the Trickster because that’s who gets every trógling and their power when they die which is why your priestesses could not break the curse.”

“What? You mean....”

“I mean that he created them, so they are by default his worshippers, without even knowing it. You could have alleviated it by letting the best of them become initiates, but you did not; so it becomes my beloved’s problem. She and our other heroes will kill the Trickster and Selen but things have to happen in order. And if she does not return in time to do this, the point will be reached when no live births of even Darklings will occur, and your people will die out.”

“And you want one of mine. I cannot think any High Toróg priestesses will find herself able to demean herself so much.”

“Kaz has identified a Darkling merchant, one Hraazaz Wealthbringer as a possible hero of yours,” said Alethos.

There was a long silence.

“I will instruct Hraazaz to come to the place you specify,” said Rogaz.

 

“Thyella, stop casting looks like a dying dog in a gutter at Harkon, and go and speak to him,” said Kaz, in irritation, after they had set off to return.  “Try holding his hand, or kissing him. But you’d better mean it, because if you change your mind and break his heart, I will be so angry with you that I will use you to practise godslaying.”

“But you already have a beloved, why should you care?” pouted Thyella.

“Because I love Harkon as a brother, as a commander, as a friend,” said Kaz. “We all do. If you are going to be our sister, we shall love you too, but if you can’t manage to change that much, either leave now and never return, or risk having your duties taken by those of us who care more about Harkon than about any windy sorts of gods whose demands and pronouncements are like the farting of goats.”

“You can be truly offensive,” sulked Thyella.

“Thank you,” said Kaz.  “We’re halting here. Leave the camp to me and just go and kiss him.”

 

Thyella went up to Harkon, and kissed him on the cheek.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Are you trying to be funny?” asked Harkon.

She looked confused.

“No; the Daykaz told me to kiss you,” she said.

“I’ve got no time for being trifled with,” growled Harkon. “If you want me to be a man in your life, be a woman, otherwise don’t waste my time.”

“I don’t want to waste your time; and by the way, I could get us back to your base far quicker in a thunderbolt, so I don’t understand what you mean by wasting time, you’re the one insisting on walking.”

“We’re mortal. It’s the way we do things. And sometimes walking means we encounter things Fate wants us to encounter, to hear things she wants us to hear, to be seen by people she wants to see us. Zipping around in thunderbolts destroys all that rich experience of life and possibly destroys clues we are supposed to follow. Now do you want a kiss or don’t you? I don’t appreciate being teased by a poor excuse for kissing like that. I have an iron will, but no man is made completely of iron and you are cruel to flaunt yourself, and mess about with a man’s feelings without giving him at least something worth dreaming about, even if you do decide to remain the Celestial Virgin.”

“But what else am I suppose to do?”

Harkon looked into the stormy blue eyes full of perplexity and confusion, and jerked Thyella into his arms, and kissed her with an intensity which almost frightened the goddess into disappearing in a thunderbolt; but she was aware that would burn Harkon, and suddenly she realised that she was enjoying his lips on hers, and relaxed against him.

Harkon deepened the kiss and buried his hand in her hair; she was burying her hand in his and clinging to his waist with the other hand. He lifted his head and she made a sound of disappointment.

“I can step away here,” said Harkon, “But if you want more, be sure you really want more.”

“I... I want more,” said Thyella.

Kaz passed Harkon a quilt.

“There’s a nice little spinney over there; go and sort her out,” she said.

“Yes, mother,” said Harkon.

“That’s going to stick,” said Kaz, with a sigh. She organised the rest of their band into setting up camp whilst their nominal leader sorted out the volatile goddess, trying to ignore the lightning crackling about the sky and the somehow approving-sounding rumbles of thunder.

“Well, I’ve heard of noisy love-making, but not usually that noisy,” said Protasion.

“What are they doing?” asked Phaedros.

“He’s too young,” said Kaz. “It has to do with sexuality, and the fact that it is supposed to be enjoyable.”

“But she’s the celestial virgin!” said Phaedros.

It suddenly started raining.

There was also a loud chime.

“Not any more,” said Kaz.

 

Harkon and Thyella emerged with the quilt over their heads, partly clad. Kaz pointed to Harkon’s tent, and they disappeared inside it.

“Maybe we should point them at the Drylands,” sniggered Svargia.

“It’s one way of curing the world when we get rid of chaos,” said Kaz. They had set up the male and female tent end to end, and Svargia added a tarpaulin between them to be able to sit out the rainstorm together. The smell of wet wolf was not pleasant, but nobody would ask the wolves to stay out in the wet.

“I expect she’ll learn to control the weather effects when she’s more used to it,” said Lelyn, pacifically.

“I certainly hope so,” said Kaz. “Well, that appears to be over for now, so I shall go start a cookfire.”

 

Harkon and Thyella emerged for the meal, both somewhat bemused.

“Did I hear a chime of fate?” said Harkon.

“Well, if you missed it, you must have been very much distracted,” said Protasion.  “Congratulations, my lady; you have been granted the boon of fate of... well, apart from having gained the sort of lover most women would kill for, the ability to grow and learn, and be somewhere at the forefront of the gods when all this is over.”

“I let my father know with a more moderate message than he might get from some of the jealous cats who abound in the Celestial Court,” said Phaedros. “And I’m going to use my authority as his son and temple to declare you man and wife before we get any interference.” A golden ribbon of light wrapped around Harkon and Thyella, sparkling as it touched them.

“I hadn’t asked her if she wanted to commit to marriage,” said Harkon, mildly.

“Trust me, you want to be married when this hits,” said Phaedros, as the sky went black, and a gale whipped around those present.

“Oh, really, that is too dramatic,” said Kaz, irritably, as the fire coughed smoke.

“WHO HAS VIOLATED MY SISTER?” the wind coalesced into two figures.

“My DAUGHTER?” echoed the second.

“Really, Daddy, Ombros, I’m quite old enough to decide to get married,” said Thyella, sitting on Harkon’s lap, where he had sat on a log arranged around the fire.

“It’s prophesied; you can’t do a thing about it,” said Protasion,

“I will obliterate....” started Ombros.

“You’ll go through all of us and destroy the universe if you do,” said Kaz, getting up, joined by the others, standing in front of Harkon and Thyella. Harkon gently set Thyella down and strode to the front.

“She has the right to make her own choices,” he said.

“Who are you mortals who dare stand against gods?” demanded Thyella’s father. “Do you not know who I am? I am Anemois, Lord of Winds!”

“And did not my mother, Nevra, Lady of Rains, give her blessing upon our union?” snapped Thyella. “Grow up, Ombros! Let it go, daddy! This has been fortold, and we are married under the law of Solos by my cousin, Phaedros. This is the Daykaz, beloved of Alethos, and her entourage. And you know how well you handle Alethos.”

“Her choice. Not yours,” said Kaz. “And you have put my fire out, you great bully.”

A beautiful woman in a garment which was not green, or blue, or silver, but yet somehow all of them at once, with silver hair, gently materialised in a shower of rain.

“Congratulation, my daughter, you have set aside the chains of convention to embrace your destiny,” she said, kissing Thyella on the forehead, and giving Harkon a rather damp embrace. She turned to Kaz. “Thank you for helping her to her future,” she said, embracing Kaz as well, in a clammy sort of way. Kaz embraced her back.

“Fate is satisfied,” she said.

“Those of us who were listening heard the chime,” said Nevra. “Come, my husband, my son! Thyella and her husband have better things to do than to entertain us!”

“But...” said Ombros. “My sister is supposed to be the Celestial Virgin!”

“No, she was supposed to keep herself for her fate-chosen husband,” said Nevra. “Both are rewarded for helping to deliver up the god of strife spawned by the trickster. Let us depart.”

And in a damp whirlwind and a few growls of thunder, the oppressive presence of the gods departed, the black clouds broke up and dissipated, and the last of the light of the evening came from clear skies.

“When the night-born chooses the light of truth and death, look ye for the portents. It will begin with the Healing of the Wound of Shame and will tie the Beloved to Death. Look for those who were bound to be freed, those who suffer to be liberated, those despised to be loved, and look then for the terrible vengeance of the Wronged on those who will bring disaster on us all. Those of the gods who are able will gain power when the judge of the three fools brings wisdom, and she who embraces his wisdom will gain in many ways.” Quoted Protasion. “Healing Alethos. Rescuing trógling.  She who embraces the wisdom of the judge. It’s pretty clear. And those gods who learn from it will continue to grow; those who do not, will be those who are diminished by the wars to come.”

“My brother isn’t going to survive it, is he?” said Thyella, tears in her eyes.

Protasion looked down.

“I don’t want to second guess an old prophesy...”

“I would rather know,” said Thyella.

Protasion sighed.

“It’s one of those we found today, and it refers to the madness of the wind gods and their healing by the healing trio – Alethos and his sisters – but...” he quoted. “Those who hold the seasons in their grip will be tried twice, once in the maelstrom where they might be given succour and once again when the endgame is in motion against those powers of the void when the hooves of the Skyhorse shall fall to the bloody wolf. He shall be avenged by the Bride of Storms and his powers assumed by her and her beloved.”

Thyella paled.

“That is clear enough,” she said. “Some call Ombros the Skyhorse, because thunder sounds like galloping horses. And... and he would do something like that. So... Harkon and I will avenge him and take his place as primary storm gods?”

“That was how I read it,” said Protasion.

“Oh!” cried Thyella. “Can nothing avert this?”

“Yes,” said Protasion. “Because if he can be ready to adapt and change, then he cand be one of those who embrace wisdom.  There’s another, more obscure one, ‘If the horse abjures poetry and concentrates on planning, he will grow and overcome.’ Which I took to mean leaving off advising his followers to dive in head first against chaos, but to make a more rational plan.”

Thyella sighed, and tears flowed, crackling down her face. Harkon put his arms around her.

“My brother is incapable of thinking before he acts,” she said. “Harkon, forgive me; but I have to go to him and tell him these prophesies, and try to get him to change.”

Harkon kissed her, tenderly.

“Of course, my love,” he said. “I will be waiting for you when you need me; and I understand, too, that if you are going to lose him, you will want to spend time with him.”

He was hugged, hard.

“You understand,” said Thyella, and stepped away to leap off in a crack of thunder.

“I don’t want to be a god of storms,” said Harkon.

“Then hope she can talk sense into her brother,” said Protasion.  “Or bring some of the discipline of our Lord Alethos to the way you run storms.”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” grumbled Harkon. “Kaz, can you sort out my bed roll? It’s sort of damp. And you’re best at laundry cantrips.”

“Of course,” said Kaz.

It was what Harkon had not said, that he wanted comforting daily ritual, not prophesy.

“There was another bit of that first prophecy,” said Kaz.

“‘She who weeps in the dark will find freedom forever if the brave can break the curse that holds her,’”  said Protasion. “I read that as rescuing Mycota from Tor.”

“Fate doesn’t want much,” said Kaz, humorously.