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When she was close, the wolf turned and trotted away.
“Wait!” Daine shouted, and followed.
Rattail led her down a long, dark hall, stopping at a closed door. When the girl caught up, the wolf held her paw to her muzzle, as if to say “Hush!” Daine knelt and pressed her ear to the door.
“Gainel, Uusoae’s power worries you too much.” While Daine had never heard that booming voice before, she knew that the speaker was Mithros the Sun Lord, chief of the gods. “We have always contained her. She has not the power to break through the barrier between her and us.”
“If she’s got no power, how is she holding her own against you for the first time in a thousand years?” Daine stifled a gasp. That was Carthak’s patron, the Graveyard Hag. “She’s using tricks we’ve never seen before, and I don’t like it. You’re fighting her the way you always have. What if she’s found a new way to overset us—a way that we’ve never encountered and don’t know how to defeat?”
“She will not consume us,” Mithros said flatly. “She cannot fight us all, and she has no allies in any realm but her own.”
The dream faded as Daine opened her eyes. She was still tired; her legs and back felt limp. Her nose worked as well as ever, though. She breathed deeply, enjoying the flood of good smells in the air. One was stew, the other bread. She was hungry.
Her dress should have been wrinkled from her nap, but when she flapped her skirts, the creases vanished. Quickly she splashed water on her face and combed her hair, then went outside, hearing voices from the garden.
There was a bit of sunlight left, but globes of witch-fire hung over the table, growing brighter as night fell. Three men stood when she arrived. Sarra, Broad Foot, Queenclaw, and the badger nodded to her. Weiryn gestured to the new male. “Daughter, this is Gainel, Master of Dream, and one of the Great Gods. Gainel, my daughter, Veralidaine.”
The girl looked up into a pale face framed by an unruly mane of dark hair. The eyes were shadowy pits that stretched into infinity. Staring into them, she thought that she saw the movement of stars in the distance—or was it Rattail? Cold hands took hers, jolting her back to the present. The god brushed Daine’s fingers with a polite kiss.
“He says it is a pleasure to meet you,” Weiryn told her. “You must excuse him—as the Dream King, he’s only permitted to speak to mortals in dreams. We gods hear him”— Weiryn tapped his skull— “but you won’t.”
Daine curtsied to the god. “I’m honored, Your Majesty.”
Gainel smiled, and took a seat at Sarra’s right. Numair was at Weiryn’s left; a place had been left for Daine between the mage and the duckmole. She stumbled, trying to climb over the bench. Numair caught her and braced her arm until she was seated.
As utensils clattered and plates were handed around, there was no way to avoid noticing that the company included a duck-beaver creature; a man crowned with antlers; and a lanky, pallid man who seemed to fade into the growing shadows even while his face shone under witchlights. More than anything Daine had observed since she and Numair were yanked out of that orchard, that dinner table said that Sarra Beneksri was not the Ma she had lived with in Galla.
The animal gods, her parents, and Gainel spoke mind to mind—she could see it in the way they turned their heads, moved their hands, or leaned forward. Daine concentrated on her food. She was fascinated by the variety. She hadn’t seen a cow, wheat field or grape arbor, but there was wine, bread, and cheese as well as the hare. Even knowing that the hare god lived on in a fresh body, she couldn’t bring herself to have its meat. When the wine pitcher came to her, she passed it to Numair without pouring any for herself. If the food and water of the Divine Realms made her senses reel, she didn’t want to think what liquor might do.
Numair asked Weiryn a question, keeping his voice low.
“Petition the Great Gods, for all the good it will do.” Weiryn’s reply could be heard by all. “They are too busy fighting Uusoae to ferry mortals back home. They won’t even reply to mind calls from us lesser gods.”
Numair looked at Gainel. “Forgive me,” he said, “but our friends are hard pressed. Might you send us home? You are one of the Great Gods, and you don’t look as if you are locked in combat with the Queen of Chaos.”
Gainel smiled, shadowed eyes flickering, and shook his head.
“He says you forget your myths,” Sarra told them. “Of the Great Gods, the Dream King alone cannot enter the mortal realms. He can only send his creatures to do his work there.”
“Forgive me,” Numair said politely. “I had forgotten.”
On her foot, caught in a beam of light that fell between her and Numair, something moved. Reshaping her eyes to those of a cat, she looked harder. An inky shadow had thrown a tentacle over her bare foot. Was it the darking that Weiryn had shot?
“Pass the cheese?” asked Broad Foot, nudging her with his head. She obliged, forking slices onto his plate. As the duckmole happily mashed cheese in his bill, she glanced at her companions. Queenclaw mildly batted a piece of bread to and fro. Her mother seemed to be conversing with Gainel, while Numair tried to learn from Weiryn if a human mage might have better luck in approaching the rulers of the Divine Realms.
“I don’t see why you fuss about it so,” Weiryn snapped. “Come the fall equinox, you at least will be dragged back to your wars, and I wish you joy of them!”
“They don’t give me joy, and I didn’t ask for them,” Numair said, voice tight. “Would you prefer we let Ozorne and his allies roll over us?”
Daine palmed some cheese. Breaking off a piece, she let her hand drop to hang beside her leg, and offered the tidbit to the creature. Tentacles grabbed the cheese and pulled it into the shadow. Daine offered another morsel. The darking made that vanish, too.
“By the way,” Sarra told Gainel, “I think one of your servants might have escaped somehow and wandered here. It called itself a darking.”
Daine flinched. The shadow flinched, too, and slipped off her foot to hide in the darkness under the table.
The woman fumbled with her apron, then sighed, exasperated. “Look at this.” She lifted her hand. Her fingers stuck out of the hole in the pocket. “It got away.”
The pale god covered Sarra’s pocket with one hand. White light shimmered, and an image of the darking appeared. Immediately the Dream King shook his head.
“He’s never seen its like,” Weiryn told the humans. Gainel’s light faded; he withdrew his hand from Sarra’s apron.
“I told them you are strict with your subjects,” said Queenclaw, grooming her tail.
Rising to his feet, Gainel nodded to them all, and vanished.
“He’s terrible at good-byes,” remarked Broad Foot. “Worse than a cat that way.”
“I prefer to think he’s as good as a cat,” retorted Queenclaw.
Sarra got to her feet. “Well, no amount of wondering and chatter will see that the dishes are done. Let’s get started, Daine.”
The girl looked up at her mother, surprised. It had been a long time since anyone had told her to assist with cleanup. She wanted to say that she was tired, but if she did, her mother would fuss, and no doubt feed her nasty-tasting potions. With a sigh, the girl rose. Accepting a stack of plates from Sarra, she bore them inside. A wash-tub sat on a table in the common room, steaming faintly.
Daine set her burden next to it and turned. Sarra blocked the garden door, a bottle in one hand, a cup in the other. The girl winced—so much for fooling her ma.
“You overdid today, and you know it.” She poured dark liquid into the cup. “Drink this, and off to bed with you.”
Daine took the cup, but didn’t drink. “Ma, why am I so weak? Are you sure it’s because I’m half mortal, or might it be something worse?”
Sarra shook her golden head. “You came here long before it was time,” she said firmly. “The balance between your mortal and divine blood is delicate—a crossing like yours usually causes problems. They’re only temporary, I promise you. Now, d
rink, miss.”
It tasted as vile as she had feared. She kissed her mother’s cheek, went into her room, and closed the door.
A dull hiss filled Daine’s ears. Darkness covered her eyes.
Light dawned far ahead. It was impossible to tell if the scene that she now saw moved toward her, or if she flew to it. Within moments she was close enough to see two-leggers standing in a ring, arms overlapping, hands clasping their neighbors’ shoulders. In the middle of their circle a lump of material shifted and pulsed in the same colors as the Chaos vent had done. Daine turned her face away.
“It’s all right.” Rattail appeared beside her. “You can look. You must look.”
Daine obeyed.
At first the ring of men and women, and the thing at the hub, stood on black, empty space. One by one stars winked into being around them. With the added light, she could see the faces of those who formed the circle. Their names sprang into her mind as if she’d always known their true appearance: the Black God in his deep cowl and long robe, the Great Mother Goddess. Daine identified Kidunka, the world snake, lord of the Banjiku tribes, and even the K’miri gods of storms and fire. The large, powerful-looking black man in gold armor was Mithros himself. Looking from face to face, she saw that all of the Great Gods but one formed the ring.
