Maker of Fire

Emily after the Battle of Northport, 7th rot., 8th day, Souk time

After Landa made his suggestion, the gods vanished, leaving me sitting on the deck with Moo. She opened her eyes, blinked, and took a deep breath. She looked at me without turning her head, and her eyes grew wide.

"Beloved, Blessed One, you . . . your aura . . . your eyes . . . they're . . .," Moo's voice trailed off.

"Oh no," I groaned. "Not again. Let me guess. My aura is silver, my eyes are glowing, and the rest of the godmarks have formed a halo around my head, yes?"

"Yes, Exalted Beloved of the gods." Moo sounded afraid.

I sighed. "I hope it goes away soon, for your sake. I don't like it that the godmarks make all my Cosm friends fanatically subservient and overprotective."

Moo studied me. Then, she lifted a hand. She frowned as she touched her third finger to her thumb. "Exalted Beloved, what has happened?"

"I lost my temper," I felt tired at the prospect of explaining everything to Moo. "I got angry at the gods – in part because you were dying . . . and, well, because of some other stuff. It's complicated."

Right at that moment, something occurred to me, and I wondered if Galt would answer me if I asked for him in my head.

*Kitten? It's not morning yet.*

Yep, he was listening, all right.

"Can you please make the godmarks behave? It's just Moo here with me, and she's all freaked out by them."

*Done.* And then he was gone. After everything they had put me through, I had to wonder why they were now behaving better.

"Are my aura and godmarks back to normal, Moo?" I asked her.

"Yes, yes, they are," she shook her head. "That was strange. And I could feel someone powerful mindcasting to you just now, but no one here can do that besides me. Who was that, and where are they?"

I could tell this would be a difficult conversation. "You probably felt Galt speaking to me. I asked him if he could do something about the godmarks, and he said yes. Now they are back to normal and you probably feel like yourself again. Yes?"

She didn't answer my question. She asked one of her own. "You were talking to Galt with mind speech?" Moo looked nervous. "But you don't have any magic."

"I don't need magic," I explained. "Galt is a god, and I think he's always listening. He answers me when I ask. I don't do it often because, frankly, I find it unsettling and kinda scary. If you told me two years ago that I could address the gods and the gods would answer, I'd have thought you were a lunatic."

"Most of the time," Moo looked scared, "you're an interesting and fun person to be with, and then you do something that reminds me that you are a special and sacred being. Right now, I am in awe of you. I consider myself lucky that I was chosen to watch over you and protect you because you are a small and weak Coyn without any magic," she frowned but didn't give me a chance to express my embarrassment over the confession of her feelings.

"This is strange," Moo touched her finger and thumb together and clenched both hands. "Did that silverhair come and have a way to remove or reverse the poison?" Moo asked. "I wasn't sure it could be done but I can feel my hands and feet again. Where is she? I want to know what she did." Moo then sat up and looked around. "Beloved, why is the crew in the bow? All of their auras are green with fear. First, your aura, then my hands. Now, the crew is behaving strangely. Please tell me, what has happened?"

I had to sigh. "The silverhair didn't come. The cutter is still out to fetch her, assuming she's still alive. You were healed by Mugash. She appeared next to you and touched you, which means you will now have your own godmark on your shoulder as a revered one. That's what they call twice-blessed clergy and those touched by the gods in Foskos; I don't know what they're called on this side of the continent."

"Mugash was here?" Moo was gobsmacked.

"And Galt, Giltak, Tiki, Surd, Erhonsay, Sassoo, Vassu, and Landa," I counted them on my fingers as I recited the list of deities who appeared and spooked the crew. "The only ones who didn't visit were Gertzpul and Mueb. They might have shown up if I hadn't kicked the gods out for the evening."

"You what!?" Moo's appalled expression was a sight to behold.

"The crew is probably terrified," I related, "because nine gods manifested right next to you while you were unconscious. They were a bit rattled when Mugash showed up. Then Tiki appeared as a flaming mask, and the crew fled as far as they could get without jumping off into the surf."

I had a sudden irreverent thought: was a flaming mask one that has inflammation? If that were the case, would anti-inflammatories get rid of Tiki? I should save up that idea to harass Mugash the next time she appeared.

"Beloved, please, why did the gods appear?" Moo asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Well, you were dying," I related in a calm and reasonable voice, "and I got angry, really angry, about it, so I told the gods the rest of this nonsensical trip was off and that I was going home – now, on my terms and not theirs. Apparently, that screwed up the progression of the future so badly that all possible futures vanished, and the destinies for everything in creation were reset. There's really no other way to describe it. It has to do with how time is constructed. Being able to screw with fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it – that's my only cheat as the Prophet, and I'm not even sure how it works. All I know is I've now done it twice. I had no idea either time that I would blow up the future until it happened."

"What's a cheat? I don't understand," Moo looked down at me in confusion. "Is this something like what you told me about how time is cubic and that magic affects it?"

"Kinda," I said. It was so hard trying to explain when no one knew the language of physics. It was like trying to describe the sound barrier and supersonic flight to people who didn't know what airplanes were. "Apparently, if I do something that's not included in any of the billions of possible futures that the gods can foresee, it causes all those futures to collapse into a single event whose outcome not even the gods can see. I find it hard to explain because I think I'm the only person alive who understands how this works – well, other than the gods. Even then, I know I don't have a full understanding because I don't experience reality like the gods do. They know and sense things that are far beyond what we can."

"I'm not sure I understand. You told the gods you will not continue on the current god-ordained quest. And because of that, no one knows what will happen in the future?" Moo's frown threatened to split her forehead in two. "But, Beloved, we don't know the future anyway, so does that really matter?"

"For the gods and anyone with precognisance, it matters," I replied. "Every mage with precognisance is probably suffering right now–the stronger the precognisance, the worse the suffering."

"And the gods?"

"Who knows," I shrugged and felt angry all over again. "They're probably enjoying the novelty of not knowing the future for a change."

"Beloved, what you're saying sounds insane to me," Moo sounded shocked and looked concerned. "The gods wanted us to rescue that old warrior and his eagle. Are we still doing that? Can you really refuse to continue on a divinely ordained quest? Will they punish you for disobeying them? What's going to happen now?"

"Nothing will happen today," I was beyond tired. My ability to keep talking was fading. I wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from the world. "I asked them to come back in the morning. To be honest, I thought they would punish me, but they didn't. Tiki asked me to keep doing prophet things and was very nice about it. Galt and Giltak apologized. Vassu didn't come out and ask me to take you to Foskos, but she wants you to go there so you can see how the Foskan Shrines operate. And she wants you to visit Sils'chk in Sussbesschem on your way home.

"Right now, Moo, I don't know what to think, but I have until morning to sort my head out after throwing a temper tantrum at the eleven deities. I guess we should take stock of what we did to the pirate base, see if there are any survivors, bury our dead, and take care of our wounded. There's at least one pirate silverhead left to deal with, and we need to figure out what we want to do to any living pirates."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Willis approached with tentative steps. When he heard me mention surviving pirates, his response was immediate.

"They're pirates," he said. "The punishment is to throw them into the water and leave them to drown or be eaten by sharks."

"Piracy also carries a death sentence in Mattamesscontess," Moo added somberly. "We tie up those guilty and hang them upside down by a long rope over the water. The rope slowly stretches so their head is gradually lowered so they slowly drown.

"That's creatively horrific," I said. "I'm not a fan of death sentences, but we can't exactly take any survivors home with us to punish some other way. The gods will be back in the morning, so we should try to take care of any pirates still alive before then."

"The gods will return?" Willis looked upset.

"I suppose I could take a stroll down the beach in the morning to make it easier on everyone," I offered. "I'm used to them, but I can appreciate that having deities drop in uninvited could be uncomfortable for other people."

"Beloved, the only thing that really scares me is when the gods show up," Moo said. "I find it unbelievable that you are not frightened or even awed by them."

"Yeah, I hear that a lot," I shrugged. "Let's start with what we need to do for the rest of today. We can worry about the gods showing up later. Moo, can you use your clairvoyance to see what is happening with the remaining silverhair and the sailors on the cutter? Can you also look for other survivors?"

"I can do that," Moo replied. Then she got that half-lidded look of a silverhair trancing. She took longer than I anticipated. Her expression was somber when she finished. "On the hill west of the anchorage, two trebuchet crews are dead, and the trebuchets destroyed. Three surrounding trebuchets are also wrecked. Their crews have successfully used the hiding holes you had them dig, so they are safe. Five longhouses are gone; there is a crater filled with smoldering rubble where they once were. The remains of the other three are still burning. Three damaged ships are still afloat, with one silverhair, three halfhairs, and seven nohair pirates aboard. They are shooting arrows at the cutter, which is fleeing. I need to take care of this before the crew in the cutter takes damage."

Before Captain Willis or I could say anything, Moo stood up, cast levitation on herself, and flew away.

"I hope she doesn't sink the pirate ships before we can salvage their cargo," I said to Willis.

Sidros Arkalkin, Singing Shrine, 7th rot., before the dawn of the 8th day, Foskos time

For the last ten days, Sidros helped carry the bodies of dead Coyn to the city's parting grounds, an amphitheater of white stone made from solidified spider silk from the magical monster named Ud. Sid wondered if he would ever see the legendary monster who appeared in Black Falls last year. Wondering about Ud was one of the things Sid pondered when he woke up too early and couldn't fall back asleep. The Revered Twipdray told him she would cast sleep on him when his insomnia acted up, but he felt guilty over disturbing her slumber.

As a result, once again, Sid stared at the ceiling and pondered the strange situation he was in, living in a shrine in the heart of the kingdom responsible for his family's demise, where his closest friend was the daughter of the king who was overrunning his home. To add to his bemusement, a god had marked him as a sacred person. He was both awed that he had spoken to a deity and confused. He certainly didn't feel like he had any saintly qualities or special abilities worthy of Sassoo's blessing. He didn't see himself as especially virtuous. Yet, he had been touched by the Lord of the Winds, and now there was a godmark in his aura, according to the adult silverhairs at the shrine.

The sight of the neatly laid-out bodies of the dead Coyn wrapped in white and blue shrouds haunted his dreams for the last several days. He found their deaths tragic and infuriating. The Foskans gave their Coyn valuable charm gems of health, gems that would cost hundreds of silver pieces in Impotu – but the ungrateful slaves destroyed them or threw them away. He found it incomprehensible that the rulers of Foskos did not universally compel the foolish, stupid Coyn to bear an embedded health gem behind an ear like every Cosm.

Today, as he was helping to lay out the bodies on the burning stones of the cremation pits, the shroud of the small corpse he carried came undone, revealing the face of a blond Coyn child, probably no older than six or seven. He didn't understand why, but her tiny, jaundiced face, with its expression full of pain, haunted him. How did this child lose her charm gem? Her death was so unfair, having lost all of the life she should have had ahead of her.

The two breeding farms in Black Falls enforced the wearing of the charm gems, so she probably wasn't from either of them. She couldn't have been from the Surd Home since the priestesses there enforced the wearing of the charm gems for those under their care. She probably came from a household or petty holding where Coyn were permitted to have children. She had a family, and now she was lost to them. He knew the pain of losing a family and shared that unknown family's grief.

He only knew a few Coyn, none of whom had sickened, but all the Coyn deaths in the city left him sad. He watched the faces of the little people who gathered every day at the parting grounds. The sight of their sorrowful faces followed him back to the shrine. He recalled the words of the Consolation of the Prophet that the priestess of Gertzpul recited at the ceremony. He took some solace in the words and prayed that they were true.

He learned the passage was a new addition to the bidding farewell rites. He hoped words were comforting to the unknown parents of that dead Coyn child. Whenever he heard the Consolation of the Prophet, he desperately wanted to believe that he would see his grandmother and his brother Kasir again after he died. He was told that the Prophet said those words to a friend who had lost her husband in the Aybhas riot. People said she really did talk to the gods. He didn't know if someone had made that up or if it was true. He suspected the former and prayed it was the latter.

Regardless, the words were beautiful but didn't scan properly enough to be used as a hymn. Sid gave up trying to sleep. He got up, sat down at his work table, and picked up a pencil. He liked pencils. A writer could fix mistakes on paper using a thing called an eraser. He wondered why he had never seen pencils, erasers, and paper in Impotu.

Sidros quickly rewrote the Consolation of the Prophet as a three-stanza paraphrase, with five lines in each stanza. He could fit each line of the paraphrase in four equal measures of music:

The souls of our loved ones go to Gertzpul,

where they walk with him in his gardens,

under the stars as cherry blossoms rain down.

The grass is soft, the breeze is warm,

and the music of ring bells fills the air.

In that place, there is no pain or hardship,

nor hunger, nor sadness, nor suffering.

Under flowering trees, our loved ones rest

with amiable company, in a peace

that passes all understanding.

Our beloved dead are not lost to us.

We will join them one day on the journey of souls.

I know this is true, for I am the Prophet

and have spoken with the souls of those I love

as I walked with Gertzpul in his gardens.

Sid pulled out his prell and played the seven-in-twelve and five-in-twelve scales in all the modes. He settled on the five-in-twelve thoughtful mode. He considered the sorrowful mode but discarded it because the words were not those of sorrow but of promise that loved ones would once again meet under Gertzpul's flowering trees. He built the simple tune as a round. By the third line of each stanza, all three melodies of the hymn were in play, ending in the waiting chord resolving to the triumphal chord. On the fifth line, the waiting chord resolved to the pius chord instead, breaking the five-in-twelve pattern. The ending was strong but in an understated way, appropriate for a bidding farewell ceremony. He added an accompaniment for lithophone, carillon, or chimes of repeating descending note pairs, written as a counterpoint to the sung parts.

Sid was pleased with the results. The three-part piece was solemn, sad, and hopeful – all at the same time. He wondered how it would sound on the lithophone and then realized it would take two to play the complete round plus countermelody. He heard the third night bell toll at the citadel and wondered if he could sleep. He wanted to find Opa and have her play the tune with him on the lithophone. He sighed because he knew she slept the undisturbed sleep of the righteous. He resigned himself to waiting until morning.

The next thing he knew was that the Revered Twipdray was shaking him awake from where he had fallen asleep at this work table.

"Huh? What?" He was half-asleep initially, trying to make sense of why the healer was in his room when he didn't ask for her.

"You, child, woke up in the night and couldn't fall back asleep, didn't you?" Twipdray pulled the music manuscript out from under his arms. He had fallen asleep on top of it. "So, instead of fetching me to help you sleep, you stayed up and wrote music? Is this a hymn? To Gertzpul?"

Sid yawned, "It's the Consolation of the Prophet set to music. I couldn't get yesterday's bidding farewell ceremony out of my head, so I rearranged the words to fit a proper musical structure and set them to a three-part round."

"Well, mister half-night composer," Twipdray shook her head and rolled her eyes, "Opa asked me to wake you because morning repast is halfway over. If you don't throw some clothes on and get down to the dining hall, you will need to wait until the fourth bell to eat."

"Oh no!" Sid leapt out of bed and ran to his clothes press, flinging underwear, trews, chemise, and overtunic on the bed. He never noticed Twipdray leaving. Hastily dressed, he ran to the dining hall, clutching the music. He slid onto the bench at the table where Opa was eating.

"About time you got up, young master bed bear," Opa teased.

"You gotta come with me," he gasped for breath after running through the hallways. "I have something that needs four hands on the lithophone." He grabbed two morning buns and barely chewed before he swallowed.

"Slow down, Sid," Opa laughed at him but took the music out of his hands before putting a bowl of porridge in front of him. "Eat, or you'll be twice as hungry at mid repast."

"But, Opa, you–"

"Eat," she was suddenly stern and glowered at him. "No talking until you finish eating." She glanced at the music and started humming the notes on the paper. "Oh, this is interesting. Are these the new words in the bidding farewell rites? Is this a round? That's clever. In the thoughtful mode on the five-note scale? Yes, let's go play this on the lithophone. Where did you get this?"

"Wote itph," he said around a mouth full of food.

"You wrote this?" Opa's eyes grew wide, along with all the other students at the table.

"I didn't know you composed," Ekvi said. "You're a killer prell player, you can play the lithophone, and you compose too? Damn, Sid, you are just too talented. Are you sure you're just eleven?"

"I wish people would quit asking me that," Sid said, reaching for a third morning bun.