He changed neither shape nor size nor stance, but instantly he was a different man, no longer the eccentric, quizzical wanderer, but a focus of authority and power, with knowledge of and command over things seen and unseen. He gestured to Benayu, who gripped the staff, raised it a foot or so clear of the turf, struck it down and let go. The jar of the blow spread through the rock beneath with a steady roar, not the grinding thunder of collapse but a purposeful rumble as the rocks beneath returned to their places and rebuilt the tunnel between the universes.
The Ropemaker nodded and turned slowly, moving his arms in front of him as if he were coiling in an invisible rope, and Maja could sense the magic of the whole world streaming in once more as the ward that had protected them since they had returned to Angel Isle was taken away. When he had finished, Benayu touched the staff gently and stilled the thunder from below. The Ropemaker raised his right hand, palm forward.
“As Chief Magician to His Imperial Majesty,” he said, “I summon the Council of the Twenty-four to convene this day on Angel Isle.”
He used his ordinary speaking voice, as if confident that his words would reach the ears they were intended for anywhere in the Empire.
Twenty leagues inland the villagers of Obun were celebrating the departure of their new god. They had very little experience of gods, and perhaps this new one would have been better than the previous one, but they were happy not to have to find out whether this was the case.
They had met their first god a little less than a month earlier, when almost all of the inhabitants of Obun were trooping up the road to start the melon harvest. As they reached the melon fields a strange creature barred their way, a pink lizard with a body the size of a hay wagon and an absurdly small head with a human face that could have been male or female. It was wearing a golden crown.
“I am your god,” it had told them in a prim little voice. “You may worship me by the name of Slowoth. I like a quiet life, and will see that you get the same provided that you cater for my simple needs. All I ask is one human sacrifice every month at the full moon. Man, woman or child, in reasonable health and not already at death’s door. It does not need to be one of you. A passing stranger will do. That is all. It has been a pleasure to meet you.”
There were murmurs of discontent, but before anyone could speak the creature turned its head to one side and exhaled, almost deflating all its gross body. Only a few wisps of its breath drifted toward the villagers, but several of them vomited at the stench, and as for the field by the road which had caught the main blast, every plant withered on its stem and the unharvested melons collapsed into slime.
“I think you would be wise to do as I say,” said the creature, “or you will not eat well this winter.”
It turned and waddled away, leaving a slimy pink trail.
The villagers discussed the matter unhappily. Several of them were not especially popular, but none were sufficiently hated to be sacrificed without qualms. Two roads led into Obun, both of them joining the Imperial Highway at points several leagues apart, so passing strangers were not an option since nobody came to Obun who didn’t have business there, and there wasn’t any.
The obvious answer was to kill the creature. Tog remarked that it shouldn’t be too difficult, since it had neither claws nor fangs to speak of, and was at once thanked for volunteering to do the job. He was, in fact, the obvious choice, since he was a burly fellow and had neither wife nor children but did have a good axe.
The villagers woke next morning to find their god in the market square with Tog’s body on the ground beside it, drained of all its juices. In its chilly, polite voice it thanked them for their zeal in providing a sacrifice so promptly, but pointed out that the full moon had only just passed so it would take Tog as a late payment on that account and would expect another installment next month. It should be paid at noon, here, in the market square.
The days dragged miserably and rancorously by. A number of families tried to leave, rather than risk any of them being chosen, but the monster met them in the road and herded them back. On the eve of the full moon they agreed to draw lots next morning. It was already dark when the exhausted stranger staggered into the village, not coming up either road but down from the hills. He had been in a hurry to reach Barda, he said, and had taken a short cut.
The villagers welcomed him and offered him food and a bed for the night. The stew they gave him was pungent enough to conceal the slight tang of the powder that the herb-mother had added to it. He woke shortly before noon to find himself lashed to a stake in the deserted market square. Nobody had cared to stay in sight, in case the god rejected their offering and chose one of them instead, but many eyes watched through cracks in shutters and doors.
The stranger wrestled with his bonds, not in a mad frenzy but systematically. He loosened a wrist enough to be able to dip a finger into a belt purse, but withdrew it and wrestled some more. He had his left arm almost free and a knife in his hand when the god waddled into the square. The stranger glanced at it and sawed at a rope. If he had woken only a few minutes earlier he would have freed himself in time. As it was the monster reached him as he was bending to cut his ankles loose.
It paused a couple of paces from him, waiting for him to finish the job, and then exhaled delicately. He collapsed.
At that point the new god arrived. There was a minor mystery about how this happened. According to most accounts she simply swooped down from the east, but the only house in the village with an upper story faced in that direction, and the witnesses at those windows had a clear view of the sky. They all declared that at one moment there had been nothing to be seen but storm clouds, and at the next there had been a woman riding a winged horse immediately above the opposite roofs.
That is a minor matter. She undoubtedly appeared, gave a great shout, and as the god reared up to pour out its poisonous breath, lashed out with a fiery whip which curled around it, then swung her horse round and round it in the other direction, binding it, tighter and tighter. The gas squeezed from its lungs and ignited into a roaring flare.
She landed, leaped from the horse, heaved the inert stranger across her saddle bow, and mounted. The horse thundered aloft. She shouted again and hauled on the whip, and the god rose spinning into the air. At her third shout the cobbles of the market square split apart, the vanquished god plummeted into the roiling fires below and the cobbles closed neatly together as woman, horse and stranger sped away eastward.
As has been said, the villagers of Obun didn’t know much about gods, but they decided that it takes a god to vanquish another god, so the woman must be one. She seemed to have done them a good turn, but perhaps she had simply wanted the sacrifice for herself, in which case they didn’t want her coming back for another one. At any rate, they were relieved to see her go.
CHAPTER
21
Silence encased the island. Maja clutched Ribek to her and steeled herself for the arrival of the Watchers. She didn’t have long to wait. A group of five erupted through the turf and stood in a line on the far side of the little arena. Benayu, Zara and the Ropemaker turned to face them. The Jexes scuttled down from their perches and massed in front of them, carpeting a great swath of the turf with a protective barrier, all set to absorb and channel away whatever magic they might deploy.
The Watchers paid no attention, showed no sign of surprise. One of them stooped and laid a limp, pale object on the turf. Before he was upright it had grown to the thing Maja had glimpsed in the tunnel, a Watcher’s mask and robe, with a skeletal hand protruding from a sleeve. So these must be the Watchers who had been trapped on the other side of the touching point.