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The man sighed and dropped his cloak over their packs. Black fire that sparkled with bits of white appeared around his body. “Give me that quarrel,” he said, holding out a hand. She obeyed, passing over the bolt that she’d been about to load. He closed long fingers around it, lips moving, then handed it over.
Daine placed the quarrel in the clip, then led him to their quarry. The Skinners had finished with the village of Greenhall and had entered a nearby peach orchard. Half of the trees were stripped of their bark. Even the green fruit had lost its skin.
Numair looked ill. “Is it all like this?” he asked.
“Worse. There’s acres of it, clean back to the hills.” She raised the bow to her shoulder, taking deliberate aim. The Skinners, in the middle of the orchard, turned to stare at them—if they could stare.
Daine shot. The quarrel flew straight, and buried itself in one Skinner’s head. Numair gestured; an explosion tore the air. The Skinner blew apart, showering its companions with pieces of itself. The others looked around in apparent confusion.
Daine started to grin, but stopped. Swiftly each of the Skinner chunks doubled, redoubled, and spread. Each sprouted a pair of stumps to stand on, and stretched. Now there were ten Skinners, five large and five smaller ones. Their attention fixed on her and Numair, they came at a run. Daine slipped another bolt into the clip of the bow.
The mage raised a hand. Black fire jumped away from him and swept over the monsters, pulling them into the air. The Skinners thrashed and broke through his control, hurtling to the ground. Slowly, they got up.
“I hope the owner of this orchard forgives me,” muttered Numair. Stretching out his hands, he shouted a phrase that Daine couldn’t understand. The ground before the advancing Skinners ripped open. They dropped into the crevasse.
Numair trotted toward it, Daine right behind him. “If I can seal them into the earth, that may be the end of it. I certainly hope so.” Halting at the edge of the crack, they peered in. “I hate simply blasting them with raw power like this. There is always a spell to uncreate anything, though the consequences may be—oh, dear.”
The Skinners were climbing the sides. Numair jerked Daine back, shouting a word that made her ears pound. The earth rumbled, knocking them down; the crack sealed.
“Please Goddess, please Mithros, let that stop them,” whispered Numair. Sweat dripped from his face as Daine helped him to stand. “Grant a boon on Midsummer’s Day—”
Daine heard something behind them and whirled. Ten feet away, crude hands erupted through dirt. “Numair!” she cried, and shot the emerging Skinner. Unmagicked, her bolt had no effect. The creature rose from the ground as if it climbed a stair.
Numair cried out in Old Thak. The creature that Daine had shot turned to water. The man whirled to do the same to another Skinner. Half out of the earth, it dissolved.
Five spots near them exploded as Skinners leaped free of the ground. Daine screamed. Numair reached to pull her closer, and discovered that someone else had the same idea. Two pairs of hands clutched the girl by the arms, dragging her into a patch of air that burned silvery white.
“No!” shouted the mage, wrapping both arms around Daine. The phantom hands continued to pull.
Sinking into white pain, Daine heard a man shriek, “Curse you, follow them! Follow, follow, FOLLOW!”
Unseen by her or Numair, an inky shadow leaped free of the grass to wrap itself around her feet. Girl, man, and shadow vanished into bright air.
Every inch of her throbbed. Hands gripped her; she fought. “The Skinners! They’ll kill Numair, they’ll kill the People, they’ll kill the crops! Let me go!”
A female voice, one that she knew, said, “If she doesn’t rest, she won’t heal. He’s just as bad. Both keep fretting about those monsters.”
“I’d best take care of it, then.” The second gravelly voice was even more familiar.
“Why?” The speaker was an unknown male. “Leave mortal affairs to mortals.”
“Nonsense,” barked the gravel voice. Whiskers tickled her face; a musky scent that she knew well filled her nose. “Listen, Daine. Numair is here, with you. He’s safe. I’ll fix those Skinners. I can handle them. Now rest, and stop fussing!”
She sneezed. “All right, Badger.” If her old friend the badger god said that things would be taken care of, she could believe him, even if all this was only a dream.
The woman’s voice was fading. “I’ll tell Numair.”
The next time Daine woke, the pain gnawing at her had turned to a dull, steady ache. Cloth rustled nearby; the faint odor of sweet pea and woods lily filled her nose. Like the female voice she’d heard, she knew that scent well. She opened her eyes.
A blurred face hung over her. Daine squinted, trying to see. The face became clearer: blue eyes, a dimple at the corner of that smiling mouth, creamy skin, straight nose, high cheekbones. The whole was topped with a braided crown of heavy golden hair.
In a second the girl forgot the last four years. She was twelve again, and in her bed in Galla. “Ma?” she croaked. “I dreamed you was dead.” With a frown, she corrected herself—she knew how to speak like cultured folk nowadays! “I dreamed you were dead.”
Sarra Beneksri—Daine’s mother—laughed. “Sweet-ling, it was no dream. I am dead.”
Some of Daine’s confusion faded. “Well, that’s all right, then.” She tried to sit up. “Where am I?”
Sarra moved pillows to help her. “You’re in the realms of the gods.”
Moving dizzied the girl. “How’d I get here? And why do I hurt so?”
“We brought you. Sadly, passage between realms was fair hard for you. Here’s something to drink against the pain.”
“Talk about familiar,” Daine grumbled, taking the offered cup. With each swallow, she felt an improvement; by the time she’d swallowed all of the liquid, her pain was nearly gone. “Your messes have gotten better,” she remarked with a grin.
“It’s the herbs here.” Sarra pinched Daine’s nose gently. “They’re stronger. Open your eyes wide.” She used her fingers to pull back Daine’s eyelids. “Where were you born?”
“Snowsdale, in Galla. Why are you asking?”
“To see if your mind’s unhurt—though it being you, I wonder if I’ll be able to tell.”
“Ma!” squeaked Daine with laughing outrage.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” Memory returned in a rush. “Where’s Numair? The Skinners—”
Her mother stopped her from getting up. “Easy. Master Numair is here, and safe. The badger took care of those skinning monsters. He turned them to ice, and they melted. They won’t trouble anyone now.”
“So I didn’t dream that.” Daine sank back against her pillows gratefully
, fingering the heavy silver badger’s claw that hung on a chain around her neck. “Where did they come from, do you suppose?”
“You know as much as me,” was the reply. “I’ve never seen the like of them.”
“Sarra?” The voice coming from the next room was deep, male, and unfamiliar.
The woman’s face lit up. “In here, my love. She’s awake.”
The door opened, and a man dressed in a loincloth entered. Although the doorway was unusually large, the crown of antlers firmly rooted in his brown, curly hair forced him to duck to pass through. He was tan and heavily muscled, with emerald eyes. Daine was unsettled to notice that there also were olive streaks in his reddish brown skin.
“So.” He touched his antlers uneasily as she stared at them. “We meet at last.”
“This is your father,” Sarra told Daine. “This is the god Weiryn.”
TWO
MEETINGS WITH GODS
He looked so—odd. No one else’s father had antlers, or went half-naked. What was she supposed to say? “Hullo, Da.” She hid trembling hands under her blankets.
“Daine!” Sarra cried. “Is that the best you can do? He’s your da!”
The girl couldn’t begin to describe her feelings. Only months ago, she had learned that the horned man she saw in visions was her father, and that he was a god. She had tried not to think about it ever since. “It’s not like you ever told me who he was, or what he was,” she reminded her mother. “Not even a hint.”
“I thought we’d have time later,” replied Sarra. “I never meant to be killed by bandits!”
“Daine?” Numair came to the door, looking pale and tired. “You know that the badger destroyed the Skinners, yes?”
“Ma told me. You don’t look so good.”
He smiled. “I’ll survive. Are you all right?”
“I hurt a little.” She couldn’t help but note, with some amusement, that except for the tips of his horns, Weiryn was shorter than her friend.
