Maker of Fire

Landa's godspace

"All roc eagles have magic," Landa explained in his aspect as a tall, hooded figure, taller than Moo. "It helps them fly despite their size. They can also read auras and tell when another sapient being is lying. Many have a form of clairvoyance that aids them in hunting."

No face was visible under Landa's hood – only two glowing green-gold eyes. All he needed was a scythe, and he'd be perfect as the grim reaper. He was miscast as the god of magic. He really needed to switch places with Gertzpul as the god of death.

Landa's godspace was weird. It was like a constantly moving three-dimensional space of buildings and landscapes that reminded me of the artist Escher. It was freaky and a bit disorienting.

"What makes Melk so special," Landa continued, "is that he has a form of short-term precognisance, which, coupled with clairvoyance, makes him invaluable on the battlefield. That combination is why the Eagle Tribe of the Tirmarrans captured him and have kept him all these years. The Eagle Tribe also uses Melk's skill for hunts. They kept his rider alive as a hostage for Melk's good behavior. His rider, Listayodas, has been under charms of befuddlement for twenty-two years. His mind will take one or two days to emerge from the confusion once you get him away from where he is confined.

"That's where you will be needed, young Moo'upegan. You must dismantle the roof and sides of the pole lodge where he is captive before approaching him or you too will suffer from those charms, which are embedded throughout the building. His captors deliberately broke his legs and set them badly, so he is lame. You will need to carry him to Melk when you leave, and you must help him walk once you are on your way. It will take three days to reach Foskos."

"Wait, Landa," I held up a hand to interrupt his flow of talking. "You're taking us to Tirmarra in your dragon form. So why can't you take us to Foskos in your dragon form? It will be quicker and you can be big enough to carry all four of us, plus the goodies from Mueb and Surd."

I don't know how I knew, but I could tell he was pleased. "Ah, little Emily, the trick is that you haven't asked me to."

I suddenly realized what he was hinting at. I was sure it had to do with this strange "Emily has to explicitly demand" thing the gods currently had going with me. I wasn't sure what was worse: the former non-negotiable Prophet gig or the new shaping-fate Prophet gig. Galt said it would only last for a rotation or two, but it was still making me crazy.

"Landa, old boy," I smiled the most saccharine smile I could manage and did my best to simper, "would you be so kind as to take the four of us back to Foskos once we spring Melk and Listayodas? In your dragon form? And because Listayodas will need some advanced healing, can you take us to the Healing Shrine in Aybhas? That's his logical first stop. Then, give me a day or two to catch up with my housemate, and after that, I'll head up to Yant for your revelation. Any chance I can receive it without the migraine headache?"

"Yes, little one," the darkness under the hood smiled, "I can do all that for you. But wait for your young man to arrive before coming up to the White Shrine in Yant. And bring Tom's friend, Gerta. She will be important in the coming years, so she should witness the revelation. Asgolt will bring you to Yant. I will meet you there.

"Now, before we arrive at Three Feather Camp, both of you need to be appropriately attired. Every piece of Tirmarran clothing has symbolic meaning. Every fringe, every piece of beadwork, every contrasting band of color, and every type of skin conveys a message of occupation and status in Tirmarra.

"You, Moo'upegan, are our divine warrior. As such, you will wear a suit of greater snow bear fur with inner garments of qiviut. I give you your favorite weapons: a bronze buckler heavy enough to punch block, and a single-bitted axe of sky metal. These will become heirlooms of your House.

"In Timirran mythology, the great snow bear is my totem, so wearing its fur is a symbol that you claim to be my warrior, which you are. To prove that claim, you must fight your way into the city of Three Feathers Camp and defeat at least ten of their warriors. That will gain you the respect you need for Emily to address the tribe members.

"It would be classy if you could defeat them without killing them, but that might not be possible. However, you do have the ability to do so. It will be up to you to puzzle out how.

He finished speaking, and suddenly Moo was dressed in a knee-length hooded anorak, pants, mittens, and mukluks of white snow bear fur. A lozengy pattern of ermine tails was woven into the bear fur. An axe and buckler hung from two magnificent beadwork baldrics of geometric patterns.

"You, Emily, will be the representative of the gods. For this role, you will wear spotted silver sealskin with qivuit undergarments and a cape of dragonscale. The silver spotted seal is an animal sacred to Vassu in Tirmarran culture. Wearing it signifies that you have been blessed by Vassu. The cape signifies that you are blessed by me. And the owl feather ornaments on your boots signify that you are the emissary of Erhonsay.

"The woven asbestos pouch with your striking stone and your matches signifies that you are the emissary of Surd. You will know what to do with those when the time comes. The fi'irsdeer pouch contains a magic scroll and stylus, so you can record Melk's revelation. It will fall upon you to translate it when you return to Foskos."

"What?" I squawked. "What do you mean by that? What haven't you told me?"

"Little Emily, please, let your gods have a little fun with this. It will be obvious when you need to start a fire."

Then, suddenly, I was dressed in the clothes he described: a hooded knee-length sealskin anorak, pants, mittens, and mukluks. A short cape of purple dragon scales hung off my shoulders.

"Oh, and before I forget, both of you now know how to speak Tirmarran."

He was suddenly a gigantic purple dragon. "Shall we go? We will be slipping in time, so more days in the world will have passed than in here. You will lose more than a rotation, so do not be surprised."

Moo picked me up and levitated both of us to Landa's neck, where we sat. Moo placed me in front of her and protectively wrapped her tree trunk arms around me. I know she meant well, but it still annoyed me. It wasn't as if Landa would let me fall.

Landa sprang into the air. We were instantly surrounded by mist. After a moment, we emerged from a cloud, thousands of hands over a forest. A thin dusting of snow covered the ground. I could see the sea in the distance.

Landa flew up a river. Every time he approached a village or a town, he would descend toward it, first roaring and then belching flames. He would pass over low enough to smash a stuffed animal-skin or bird-skin totem placed at the top of a tall pole, taller than anything else in each settlement we passed over. Then he would climb again until he assaulted the next community. Landa smashed the totems of eleven villages and towns until he came upon a small city. He circled the stockade-style wall seven times while roaring and belching flame. Below us, people dressed in anoraks and parkas either fled into one-story buildings covered in animal skins or formed up into units of fighters with large rectangular shields and pikes.

Landa finally landed in front of the city's wooden gates. I assumed this was Three Feathers Camp. Once again, Moo picked me up and levitated. When she alighted on the ground, Landa vanished. Moo placed me on her arm and carried me. She walked up to the gate, took out her axe, and used the butt of the blade to knock.

I studied the gate and realized it had no hinges. It was made of poles almost identical to those in the stockade-like walls on either side. The only feature that distinguished it was two rows of huge bolt ends halfway up. I couldn't figure out how it opened.

Damn Moo. She read that thought. "There will be a horizontal pole inside that acts as a pivot," she explained. "Those two rows of bolts fasten what should be brackets on the inside that allow the gate to rotate on the horizontal pole. See the divots in the ground in front of each gate pole? That indicates the bottom of the gate will swing upward toward us when it opens, while the top will swing downward away from us and toward the inside of the city. It's a gate design for places where metal is precious. Only the bolts will be metal. The brackets should be leather- or sinew-reinforced wood. It's a good design for defense because most attackers can't pull it open.

"What's taking these people so long?" Moo pounded on the gate again with her axe. "Hey, open up," she shouted in Tirmarran.

"The bear warrior who rides the flying flame beast should have no need for gates," an amplified woman's voice answered.

"So, what do you do, Moo?" I asked. "Should you fly over the gate?"

Moo closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at me, "They are waiting with fire arrows and a line of shields. First, I want to put a barrier on you," she tapped me in the head. "And next, I will make an opening," she grinned and put her hand on the gate pole in front of her. "This is a variation of the fireball charm. It moves two sheets of fire sideways toward each other instead of throwing fire forward as a ball. It's one of the first charms I created on my own because my father believed it was dangerous to teach me more than basic magic. Foolish man. That reluctance to give me a complete education encouraged me to study on my own, and I discovered I had a knack for inventing my own charms, as you already know. Now, watch!"

A door-sized fire grew in the wood. It was slightly taller and wider than Moo. The glowing embers quickly consumed themselves and fell as ash, leaving a smoking opening into the city. Moo waved her hand, and a wind blew the ash away. Through the hole in the gate, I saw startled and gaping Tirmarran warriors.

"It occurs to me, Beloved," Moo smiled with malice, "that I really don't like people pointing fire arrows at me. She snapped her fingers, and all the bowstrings in front of us snapped.

"Well, little one, shall we go in?"

"Is there any advantage to having them come to us instead?" I asked, having no idea how fighting tactics worked. This wasn't a wuxia novel, after all.

"I doubt they would fall for letting me attack them one-on-one as they walked through the opening I just made. And if one warrior got through, I'd have as much room as I'd like to fight, which I consider an advantage. I move around a lot when I spar."

"Spar?" I found her choice of words odd.

"I've never been in a real fight before," Moo shrugged. "I've only sparred with my instructors."

"Surd save us," I shook my head. "Just what are those goofball gods thinking?"

"Don't ask me," Moo shrugged, looking a little worried. "I'm just following their directions."

"Dammit, we should have just gone straight home," I grumped.

"Is the bear woman a warrior or a pot cleaner?" the voice from inside spoke. From our newly gained knowledge of the Tirmarran language, we knew that being called a pot cleaner, a Coyn who collected and then cleaned necessary pots, was an extreme insult for someone in the warrior caste. The Tirmarrans used Coyn as livestock, literally. They actually ate Coyn in the Winter if their protein sources ran low.

Moo answered the voice, demonstrating her ability to respond quickly. "I fear only the gods who sent me and their prophet, whom I serve. I need no doors, but I see that the pot cleaners of this place need a gate to hide from one warrior, since it is not open."

Stolen novel; please report.

"That wasn't exactly polite, Moo," I marveled at her gumption.

"They started it," Moo sneered. "Oh, look. Someone's taken the bait."

A man dressed in a brown fur anorak and a mantle of eagle feathers strode through the smoldering hole in the gate. He carried a bronze sword and a thick, rectangular, wooden shield with a bronze rim and boss. Heads in fur-lined hoods started to appear along the top of the stockade wall.

"I am Storm Walker, champion of the blue eagle lodge. I would like to discover if this one can instruct me," the man said, using the traditional neutral words which neither acknowledged nor insulted another warrior. His shoulders and arms had to be massive underneath his anorak because he was much wider than Moo. Moo didn't match his bulk, though she was a head taller. She was more like Aylem in build: not beefy like Lord Katsa haup Gunndit, but still athletic. I didn't know how good a fighter she was. She probably knew enough for self-defense, but she had said she had never been in a real fight. I was getting scared and worried about Moo.

"If you would give me a moment to put my companion down," Moo bowed and walked to the right. She leaned her axe against her leg and then lifted me down.

"We can grill that marmot up for you after you fight," a woman's voice called out from the stockade.

Moo ignored the voice and the jeering laughter that followed. She waved her hand to magically clear the ground of the snow and then cast a barrier around me. "You can sit now, Beloved, while I take care of these asshats."

Moo addressed the warrior facing her, "Pray, give me another moment, honorable opponent, while I discipline the ignorant." She then pointed at the portion of the stockade where the heckler's head in a grey fur hood was peering over the top. The woman let out a strangled scream as she floated up and over the stockade wall toward Moo. She wore a grey wolfskin cape over her parka. Moo kept her floating in front of her. I could see the woman had white eyebrows, so she had to be a silverhair.

When Moo spoke, her voice reverberated with volume, so loud it was almost painful. "A wolf shaman should be wise, yet you chose to disrespect the chosen emissary of the gods. Are your eyes so poor that you could not see the cape of purple flame on this little one's shoulders? She is Emily, the Prophet, and I am her guardian, chosen by the Great Snow Bear Father to aid and protect her. I am her champion. I will not punish you further for your disrespect if you offer her geasgeld for your offense, as is your custom, for the crime of insulting the god's chosen messenger. I will give you until sundown to deliver geasgeld instead of my taking your life."

Moo made a gesture, and the woman fell to the ground, grasping at her throat. "Now go," Moo picked up her axe and gestured to the opening in the gate. "This is the ground of honor, and you defile it." The woman scrambled to her feet and fled into the stockade.

"The white eagle predicted a divine warrior and a godspeaker would come to take him and his rider," said the voice of the first woman to accost us. "We do not desire this, so we will challenge fate. We are the eagle tribe, the followers of the warrior goddess. The white eagle is our luck, so we will fight to stop you. This is our way."

"You will heed the word of the Prophet," Moo proclaimed, "for she speaks for the warrior goddess Erhonsay, the Great Owl. You know that we were sent by the gods. Defeat is your destiny. We have indeed come for Melk and his rider, Listayodas. Free them now and spare your tribe the gods' punishment."

"I will be the first to stop you, bear warrior," said Storm Walker, hefting his sword and taking a stance. "May I know who I am about to kill?"

Moo took her buckler from its baldric and picked up her axe. "I am called Moo'upegan nu Mattakwonk, ruler of millions across the sea, chosen of the Great Snow Bear Father, and guardian of the god-blessed Emily, Prophet. Because you have approached me with honor, I will try not to take your life."

"Arrogance and insult!" Storm Walker shouted.

"No. The god who chose me asked me to spare you if I can," Moo smiled with a face full of compassion. I was left in awe at her dignified composure. At times, she left me breathless from the weight of her charisma. The magnanimity of her character was almost unbelievable, though I knew that underneath she was desperately lonely. Why was this isolation the fate of those who ruled?

My thoughts were interrupted by the beginning of the fight as Storm Walker ran at Moo and shield-slammed her. He staggered back a step as the immovable Moo just shook her head. But his sword was already moving with a wrist snap to her head. Her left hand moved almost too fast for me to follow as she punched at his blade with her buckler.

Storm Walker let out a yelp of pain as his sword went flying out of his hand. In his moment of distraction, Moo stepped on his right foot and body-slammed his shield. He went over backward with his left leg folding under him. I heard a bone snap as he went down.

Moo turned and looked at me, smiling in relief. "Well, I wasn't sure that would work," she said to me in Fosk.

"Do you truly intend to disgrace me by not taking my fighting spirit?" Storm Walker wailed in distress.

"What?" Moo turned back to his defeated adversary.

"Moo," I interjected, "Tirmarran warriors make a ritual meal of the bodies of their defeated opponents. By not killing and eating him, you are making a statement that you consider his prowess to be so lacking that you refuse to absorb his fighting spirit."

Moo's head snapped back around to look at me in consternation, "Seriously?"

"Let me handle this," I said in Fosk as I stood up. "Can you cast that charm that will project my voice?"

"Of course."

I walked over to the downed Storm Walker and began by speaking to him in Tirmarran. "Storm Walker, as of this moment, the Great Owl has decreed that the tribes must change. Starting today, Erhonsay the Valiant forbids the assumption of spirit from any race that can speak. It is her will that the souls of those who can speak must go to the death god whole. The death god will punish those who take the spirit of others for any of the six races that can speak.

"Moo'upegan the Chosen does not dishonor you. She is forbidden to assume your fighting spirit. The Great Owl and the Great Snow Bear Father have ordered her to spare you if she can, not to disgrace you, but to preserve your valuable life as a warrior and hunter who brings honor to your tribe. There is no dishonor in losing to the Chosen of the Great Snow Bear Father because she cannot be defeated."

I looked up from Storm Walker's confounded face and addressed the hooded heads peering over the top of the stockade. "I am the Prophet of the Great Breaking, chosen by the Eleven – every one of them. You shaman with eyes that can see more than can be seen, look at me. See the marks of the Eleven upon me, and know that my words are your doom. The Eleven have sent us to bring their will to the greater and lesser tribes. Ignore what I say at your peril."

"I'm amazed at what the gods tell you to say, Emily," Moo told me in Fosk with astonishment on her face.

"Sorry, Moo," I shrugged. "I know Erhonsay wants the cannibalism to stop, and I think I have an idea of what the gods want from the Tirmarrans, but I confess, I was making that up as I went."

"You what?" Moo made a fish face at me.

"Moo, I studied a few books on Tirmarran culture a couple of years ago and know that dishonored warriors get shunned and usually end up killing themselves. I don't want that to happen to this brave guy, or anyone else you face today. Maybe I need to say a few more words, lest Storm Walker or his friends feel the need to end themselves."

While I was speaking to Moo, several more warriors came running out of the stockade through the hole Moo made in the gate, led by a tall silverhair woman in a black and grey-striped fur anorak and the long eagle-feather cape of an eagle shaman.

"By defeating you and assuming your spirits, we will become you," the woman pronounced. "Then we will have the power to declare our own fate before the Great Owl."

"Beloved," Moo said in Fosk, "I got lucky with my first real fight, but how am I going to beat all of these experienced warriors? I'm Moo'upegan the klutz, not a veteran of numberless wars."

"Moo, Moo, Moo," I had to shake my head. "Landa made you his warrior. What is Landa the god of?"

"Magic," she looked at me with confusion, and then realization crossed her face like the breaking of dawn. "Oh!"

"Yes, Moo of the ten thumbs who invented a charm to bind cloth because you can't even sew a simple seam. I'm sure you just need to apply your gift for making up your own magic charms, and this battle will be over before they can even get near you. So get to it." I saluted her in the Mattamesscontan fashion with both arms, palms up, and then dramatically walked back to my bare patch of ground and sat to watch the show. I languidly waved a hand and said in Tirmarran, "You may proceed, Chosen of the Great Snow Bear Father."

"Are you ready to–" the shaman began speaking to Moo and screamed as she dropped her falchion. All the other fighters also dropped their weapons. Some yelped or screamed in pain. I noticed the dropped weapons melted the snow where they fell, as tendrils of steam rose from them. Then they melted. At the same time, each fighter had to rest their shield on the ground and had to drop it as if it were too heavy to hold up.

Moo held up her axe with a flourish, and every warrior except the injured Storm Walker started screaming. They fell to their knees or flat on the ground, writhing. I assumed Moo had cast something nasty on them, like the charm of a thousand stings. Moo and I waited for the screaming to stop.

One warrior, a bearded halfhair man, staggered to his feet and yelled at Moo, "If you fail at guarding the talking marmot, you fail as a bear warrior. The gods only favor the race of tool users with magic. We will not accept a geas from a magickless talking marmot." He came running at me before Moo had time to reach him or me. The kick he aimed at my head would surely kill me. I was blinded by the lightning from the black churning cloud that suddenly appeared overhead. My ears rang from the painfully loud thunder.

I opened my eyes to his charred and blackened corpse on the ground in front of me, and my nose was filled with the sickening smell of burning flesh. Multiple lightning strikes destroyed the gate, leaving smoking wood and twisted metal on the ground.

*I AM WRATH. BEHOLD THE FATE OF THOSE WHO WOULD HARM THE PROPHET OF THE ELEVEN. I AM THE GOD OF FATE. NONE OF THE GREATER OR LESSER TRIBES MAY ESCAPE THE DOOM SHE BRINGS.*

From behind us, a tall matronly figure of a woman appeared in a hooded robe of sable fur, twice as tall as any Cosm. She strode past us and through the gate. Moo picked me up. "We should follow her. That's Surd in her aspect of the keeper of the hearth fire."

Moo had to jog to keep up with the gigantic figure of Surd as she walked into Three Feathers Camp. All the buildings were buried in the ground with sod-covered roofs and shuttered windows at foot level. In the middle of the community was a cluster of above-ground structures of stone with wooden roofs. The center building was round with one door. As we watched, the Great Owl Erhonsay landed on the roof and screeched. Everyone watching, except me and Moo, covered their ears. Some screamed in pain.

The giant Surd waved an arm, and the large door of the round building flew open. A fire burned on a round altar. Surd raised one huge hand and then brought it down, as if squashing something. The fire went out. Both Surd and Erhonsay vanished.

A woman in a shaman's cape of owl feathers came running out of the round building, crying, "The gods have cursed us. The sacred fire is out and the altar is cold."

I flinched as knowledge poured into my head from Erhonsay. I was just a bit put out over that. It would have been nice if the god had told me in advance, in person, instead of giving me another divinely inflicted headache.

"Amplify my voice, Moo?" I asked.

"Sure thing, little one. Have at 'em." Moo guessed at what was coming.

"Hear me now, children of the Great Owl," I addressed the crowd that had followed me and Moo from the gate. "I am Emily, the Prophet of the Great Breaking. I will now speak your doom. The goddess of the hearth has extinguished every fire in every greater and lesser tribe. They can be relit only after I relight the sacred fire."

"Impossible. How can a talking marmot with no magic light a fire?" the shaman from the hearth temple asked indignantly. "Someone, take that–" She stopped speaking abruptly as another woman in an eagle shaman's cape ran up to her and spoke urgently but softly.

The shaman from the temple swallowed nervously, "I beg your indulgence, godspeaker. I did not know that the Eleven had chosen... chosen, uh, one of you to be their emissary. But tell me, how can you relight the sacred hearth fire with no magic?"

"One of my titles is the Maker of Fire," I replied politely despite my ire at more Cosm bigotry. "I can make fire without magic."

"Unbelievable!" the shaman gaped.

"No, it is quite believable," Moo said. "I've watched her do it."

"Listen now to your doom," I said. "The greater and lesser tribes have strayed from what the gods desire. No more may you slay and eat others to assume the spirits of any of the six races that speak. And the practice of eating what you call talking marmots will cease. No longer will you pen the Coyn and raise them like the fi'irsdeer and the muskox. No longer will you use them as free labor to till your fields and clean your middens. You will free them, pay them, and respect them. And if you can't, you must let them go."

"Impossible!' The shaman from the hearth temple shouted in anger. "You ask us to stop being all that we are."

"I do not ask," I replied calmly. "The Eleven demand. And they chose me to bring their words to you because I am from the least of the six speaking races, to show you that they favor all the races equally."

"You are a weak, magickless nothing. Even if you do have a guardian, I could kill you with a thought."

Making sure of my balance on Moo's arm, I spread both of mine. "Try it," I said and smiled to taunt her. Above me, a dark, swirling cloud gathered, and the wind picked up. The hearth temple shaman looked up and visibly swallowed.

"I have been patient with you, but now I will tolerate no more interruptions," I stated, weary of idiot Cosm, who mistook their own prejudice to be the will of those goofy but still omnipotent deities. "The white eagle, whom you have held captive, will give you the new rule which the three walking races will follow from this day forward. She will recite what the Great Owl will reveal to her, but not until you release her rider from his captivity. Only then will I restart the sacred fire."

(to be continued in installment 3.51)