The God Eaters

  Thelyan was surprised to discover that a fine tremor had begun in his hands. With an effort, he stilled himself. It wouldn't do to get excited. He still had to give orders to his people, predicated on the assumption that there would soon be a Burn here. All nonessential personnel would be evacuated. He would have the prisoners locked down; they could go hungry for a few days, if necessary. If they were killed, he could simply collect others later. Did he want to bring extra troops in?

  Yes, why not. They would probably die, but they'd weaken Ka'an in the process, lessening the likelihood that Thelyan would be harmed. Loyal men would be grateful for such an opportunity.

  Even if they didn't know what Thelyan was, they knew they were dying for their God.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ash watched warily as a stranger's senses spread out beneath his own. It was not quite like Empathy. There was a pressure building, a point of tension; nervously, he waited for this new thing to push through him, as he'd sensed Ka'an doing to Kieran. It didn't push him, though. It found a kind of tense equilibrium, and there it stopped expanding.

  At the same time, a memory was nagging at him. A scene: a beach. A green, wet place, dripping with mist, the sound of the sea. It invited him to daydream.

  He frowned. Was this a trick, meant to lull him so he could be taken over?

  The weird kid was watching him expectantly. Ash had to assume he'd been telling the truth about what this bubble thing was, at least in terms of it stopping aging. The kid's hair was longer than he could have grown it in his life, if he was the age he looked. And what he'd said made sense, in its crazy way -- about what Ka'an was, and the thing in Ash's own mind...

  And if Ka'an was harming Kieran, then there weren't any other options, were there? He had to know.

  He closed his eyes and let the scene open before him.

  Hazy at first, like remembering, but solidifying quickly into something more like a dream. Then something even more real. He stood on a cobblestone beach beside a cold sea, the surf sound rushing in his ears. Above, a steep hill thickly covered with oak and brambles. A thin drizzle was falling, chilling his naked flesh.

  He was so tired of being cold and wet and naked. It seemed he'd been some combination of those things for ages. Well, true vision or not, he believed he ought to be able to at least imagine he was clothed. Thinking back to the state of his closet before he'd been arrested, he took his favorite clothes and remembered what they'd felt like on his body. Trousers of heather-colored wool, a bit scratchy but nicely warm. Cream linen shirt, soft from many washings; the green and gray brocade vest; his elastic-sided boots, which were out of fashion but well broken-in. His winter coat, russet wool, with the collar that turned up, and -- why not -- the silly red scarf his aunt had made him, with the fringes all falling out.

  Despite the strangeness and sadness of everything, he smiled. He'd missed these clothes. It was so nice to be comfortably dressed, for once. He felt much warmer now.

  A footstep crunched behind him.

  Steeling himself, he turned to face --

  "Aunt Isobel?" He took a step back, incredulous.

  "I'm afraid not." She smiled, and it was the wrong smile. Aunt Isobel's smile was a toothy, crinkly thing, wry and cynical. This woman's was sadly serene. She held herself differently, too.

  This woman stood straight, head high, hands at her sides. His aunt was always in the middle of some movement, her hands never still.

  But there she was, dressed in her blue serge suit with the side-button skirt, collar wrinkled, hair coming down at the back, the way he'd last seen her. The lines of laughter in her face were just right, and the sparkle of her eyes, the same color as his own. Homesickness punched him in the gut.

  "I'm sorry," she said, sounding as if she meant it. "This was the only clear memory of a woman I could find in your mind. If it distresses you too much, I could construct a face for myself, though it would be a bit hazy."

  Ash shook his head. "I'll cope. You'd be this Medur person, then."

  "Yes." She inclined her head gracefully, like a queen.

  "What are you doing in my head?"

  "That's actually two questions, isn't it? What was I doing? -- I was waiting. What do I intend to do now? That's largely up to you."

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What does that mean?"

  "I'm not impatient. If you don't want to merge yourself with me, I can wait for another life. We should discuss this thoroughly before you make a decision, though."

  "There isn't time. That Ka'an thing is killing someone I love. I need to find out what's going on and get out of that bubble place."

  She raised a hand to stop him. The more she moved, the less she looked like Isobel. "Don't worry. This isn't taking up as much time as it seems. Like a dream, in which you might live a lifetime in one night. We have all the time we need. Shall we exchange questions?"

  "If I can go first."

  "Please do."

  "All right, then: what are you?"

  "The short answer is that I'm a goddess. Somehow I sense, though, from the flavor of your mind, that you're not inclined to awe."

  "That answer doesn't satisfy me, no."

  She gave him an approving nod. "It has never satisfied me either. I was born in the ordinary way, perfectly mortal, and what I became, I became through my own efforts. That doesn't taste properly of divinity to me." She stepped closer, reaching out to him. "Walk with me."

  He hesitated, but placed his hand in hers, and let her turn him along the shore. It felt strange. He hadn't held his aunt's hand since he was much shorter than she; now he towered over her. But this was not his aunt, of course. She didn't walk like Isobel, or smell like her, and now that he looked more closely, this version was younger.

  "In my first life," she said, "I was a queen. In that time, magic was a sign of divine favor, even of divine parentage. For we had our gods, in the sea and in the wood. My people were poor, often hungry, often at war. I was determined to change that. Though the priests told me it was sacrilege to examine magic too closely, I made experiments, I studied my abilities. I discovered ways to help my people. I improved the soil; I improved the laws. I saw into their hearts and helped them to help each other. In this I was a great ruler.

  "When my time to die drew near, I was not satisfied that my sons would continue my work. My people still needed me. I told them I would remain nearby after my death, to guide them. They believed me. It was true. I must have been something like a ghost, at first, half-aware, for I recall nothing of it. I learned later that I had been called to give advice on many occasions, through ceremonies that grew up around that purpose. I must have answered truly, for my people prospered.

  "In time, I grew more aware. The devotion my people sent to me gave me strength. More often, I was able to help them even when I wasn't called. I watched over my line, as my little kingdom grew into a nation."

  "Yelorre?" Ash guessed.

  "Yes. Does it still exist?"

  "No. You're not done answering me, though."

  "True. Well, then, there came a time when all that remained of my descent was a blustering bully of a king, whose children were born dead, three in a row. The next time his queen quickened, I watched over the child, healing it in the womb, keeping it alive. But when it came near term, I saw that its mind had not developed. The people needed a ruler, and would not have one, if this child were not a fit heir. So I inhabited it. I imprinted my own pattern on its vacant brain, and I became the child. However, when that happened, I lost much of my context. A child's brain is not capable of holding the memories and thoughts of an adult, let alone one who has been aware for many generations' time after her death. It was not until after I had married and given up rulership to my husband that I remembered who I was.

  "I shouldn't bore you with the story of how I took my sovereignty back. I got children with several men other than my husband the king, in order to invigorate the line --"

  "Ceriamme? You were Queen Ceriam
me?"

  "So you know your history."

  Ash chuckled. "The racy parts, anyway. So you figured out how to take over babies in the womb.

  Then what?"

  "I did so only once more, in fact. In that case, the child was not destined to be an idiot, and I had to make my peace with the soul already there. We came to an agreement, however, and she was absorbed into my substance. It was necessary; a god from the south had spurred his people to spread his worship by fire and sword. The people called him Tellin."

  "Thelyan."

  She nodded. "Yes. In time, I met him in battle. I was defeated. He could have swallowed me, he told me, as he had many others, but despised me so that he would not have me in him. Instead he stripped me of my power and cast me adrift. From then on, I was born many times, lived many lives, as a passenger in many minds. I lived both male and female, good and bad, powerful and weak. Those who gave me shelter in their souls were always of my line. I saw little of the world; I have no idea how much time has passed. From your manner and the way you've clothed yourself, I suspect my descendants still retain some standing in the world, although -- forgive me

  -- I think you are not a prince."

  Ash laughed. "No, I'm not a prince. Well, ask your question, it's your turn."

  "Very well. Tell me about yourself."

  "That's pretty vague."

  She waved a hand, unconcerned. "Just a long view of your circumstances. Your name, your age, what titles you hold, whether you're married..." She gave him a thoughtful look. "Somehow I doubt you're married. This aunt of yours is the only female face you remember clearly."

  "You won't get any more of your line out of me. I'm only interested in boys. Only one boy, actually, and he's the one that Ka'an --"

  "That, later. You, now."

  "Well, at least you're not shocked."

  "I've lived a long time, child. Come now. Your name, at least."

  "I'd think you'd know. You really were asleep. My name's Ashleigh Trine. I'm eighteen -- no, I think I might have turned nineteen by now. I just realized I don't know what the date is. What was the rest of it? Titles?" He snorted. "There are no more titles. My aunt told me my great-grandfather had been something semi-important, a baronet or something, but none of that matters anymore. I'm an orphan; my parents were killed by Commonwealth soldiers when I was four, and I went to live with my mother's younger sister. She happened to be a member of the Resistance, and raised me to be a rebel too. We did propaganda. Wrote pamphlets, put up posters, spread rumors. I got arrested. They found out by reaming out my mind that Aunt Isobel was in on it too, but she got away. That was our agreement -- that if one of us got caught, the other would run." He took a deep breath, swallowed a salt taste. "That way, whoever got caught could know that at least the other one was free somewhere. I sort of made the same deal with Kieran, just a little bit ago, and I thought I could be glad he's free. But this goddamn Ka'an creature is -- look, it's my turn now, right? Tell me about Ka'an."

  Medur took his hand in both of hers and squeezed it gently. "Calm yourself, son. We have time, remember? Yes, I'll tell you. It will frighten you, if your lover is involved with him, but you must be calm."

  Ash set his jaw and nodded.

  "Ka'an is the oldest of us. He was the first to gather power after death; the first of the immortals.

  I have encountered him several times. What I've learned of his origin is that he began so long ago that men had not even learned to make metal. All they had was bone and stone, wood and clay.

  Their houses were pits dug into the ground. In his mortal time, weaving was a new art, and sacred. That is how old Ka'an is.

  "How he came to be considered divine, he tells proudly, though it's an evil gift: he taught men how to cultivate the poppy to increase the potency of its sap, and use the plant to enter a trance, to dream."

  "He was the first junkie?" Ash gave a disbelieving laugh.

  "I'm not sure what you mean. In any case, he was a product of a desert people. They worshipped him, and he became very strong. He interfered directly in mortal matters. He constructed for his people an empire of great grandeur and great cruelty; slavery, vice, and human sacrifice were its foundations. Other immortals who stood against him were absorbed or destroyed; this is how he took dominion over death and storms as well as his first power of dreaming. There were friendships among immortals, if you can give that name to a communication as tenuous as ours, and I recall the names and patterns of many who also feared him. None of us were anywhere near his level of strength."

  "But -- then how come he was hiding in Kieran's brain, like you were in mine?"

  "Thelyan." She shook her head sadly. "When he first proposed to ally and defeat Ka'an, many went to him. You must understand that Thelyan represented justice, fairness. Retribution as well

  -- he arose from within a tribe of slaves, freed them by his power. Ka'an represented only evil.

  Thelyan convinced several of the younger and weaker immortals to weld themselves to him, and he swallowed them. Then he began to take us by force, still in the name of defeating Ka'an. His armies attacked our people, and he threatened to slaughter them to the last child unless we surrendered. Only I was left, because he didn't want me, and the Observer, the Silent One, Chaiel, who --"

  "Chaiel? That lunatic with the hair?"

  Medur raised an eyebrow.

  "He's in the bubble with me. He's been there a long time, his hair's about ten feet long. He's not what I'd call silent, either. So he really is a god?" Ash gave a wry grin. "I clocked him on the jaw."

  "Oh, dear." Medur sighed. "The poor child. You mustn't bully him, Ashleigh. He was never very strong."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said contritely. "Please, finish your story. You got knocked out, Chaiel's in the bubble -- I assume Thelyan put him there -- then what?"

  She spread her hands. "I don't know. I sensed a great battle. Thelyan must have won, if Ka'an is coexisting with a mortal mind."

  "You don't think he might have just decided to live there, the way you did once?"

  "Not Ka'an. He would have done as he always did. He would have destroyed the child's mind in the womb, driven its soul out so as to have sole possession."

  Ash shuddered. "That's what he's trying to do to Kieran."

  "My question, then. Tell me about this Kieran. From his name, he sounds Yelorrean, or perhaps Eskaran."

  "No." Scowling, Ash decided not to get off on a political tangent. "He's Iavaian. His real name is Kai. I love him more than life. I don't mean that as a sentimental expression. He's better than breathing and seeing and thinking. If I lose him -- I shouldn't tell you this. I'm relying on my judgment of you. If I lose him, you can have this body, and do anything you want with it, provided you make sure I don't have to live with missing him."

  Medur's smile was indulgent. "This is a new love, I suspect."

  "Yes, I see what you're getting at, it's fresh and raw, but it's real enough for all that. If you're going to belittle what I feel for him --"

  "I didn't mean to insult you. Please go on. What sort of man is he? A man grown, or a youth like you?"

  "About a year older than me. He's lived a lot more than I have, though. He's had a hard life. He's terribly strong, and terribly lost -- he's been fighting all his life just to survive, he's never had a moment's peace, and I want to be that peace for him."

  "A warrior?"

  "Definitely. Not a soldier, not in the sense you mean it. But he sure as hell can fight."

  "Is he strong in mind, or only with a blade?"

  "Blade?" Ash raised an eyebrow; then shook his head to Medur's questioning look. "Never mind, long explanation. Yes, he's strong in mind. He doesn't care what anyone thinks of him... or he didn't, before I got to him. Oh, hell. You don't think I weakened him so it'll be easier for Ka'an to beat him?"

  "I don't know, child. I think, if you love each other, it might strengthen him." Her look softened, becoming very gentle, a strange thing to see on his aunt's face. "
He must be truly kind, to win such devotion from you."

  Slowly, Ash shook his head. "Kind... no. No, he can be downright mean sometimes. He's had to be, you see. He can be cold, and rude, and thoughtless, and he's got the filthiest vocabulary you ever heard. But he's true. That's what you have to understand. He's -- he's pure, not in the sense of innocent, but in the sense of -- distilled, wholly himself. Pure iron, pure diamond, pure rage.

  There's nothing like him in the world, and never will be again after him, I think. To be near that, part of that -- do you see?"

  "I do. In a way I envy you. If I had not already meant to help you, I think I would have decided to, seeing how intensely you feel. Thelyan and his type believe emotion is a weak thing. But it gives strength, does it not, when it's honest?"