As much to see if she could as for any other reason, she formed the thought, Mother, where are we going?
Through you, dear.
Through—I don’t understand.
We are traveling through your essence, your past, what makes you who you are.
My genes?
Must you be so prosaic?
How are we traveling through my genes?
In large part, metaphorically. Physically, insofar as that means anything, we are adjacent to the Paths of the Dead.
Adjacent?
Close enough that I can play with time until I find—ah! There! It’s a girl.
What—
I’m sorry, dear, I must cut off your senses for a moment; you two can’t meet yet. I need to ask someone who doesn’t exist for an impossible favor.
This is bound to be good, thought Aliera.
* * *
And so the goddess, outside of time, planted something like a thought in the mind of one who did not exist, thus to bring her into being. Gods can do that. They shouldn’t, but they can.
This done, she called in a favor from one who, though not a goddess, held power that even the gods might fear; and had certain other skills as well.
“What is that?” said Tukko, staring at the paper spread out on the table.
“A rendering of Kieron’s bower,” said Sethra.
“Bower?”
“His home, if you will.”
“In the Paths?”
“Yes.”
“And you have this because…?”
“We need to duplicate it.”
“We?”
“The Necromancer and I.”
“Why?”
Sethra gestured at the small silver object on the table. “To plant that under the bed.”
Tukko started to ask why, but evidently thought better of it. He took the artifact, held it up, and studied it from every angle.
“Please be careful,” said Sethra Lavode. “Delicacy is not your strength, and if something happens to it, I’ll have to make an explanation I’d rather not.”
“To whom?” said the other. “The Easterner? What can he do?”
“No, to Verra.”
Tukko shrugged and set the item back on the table. “I don’t fear the gods.”
“It isn’t about fear,” said the Enchantress. “It’s about trust.”
“I don’t trust the gods, either.”
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean. I always know what you mean. What are you going to do with it?”
“Use it, then return it to Vlad.”
Tukko snorted. “What will he do with it?”
“I’ve no idea. But it’s his, at least for now.”
“I suppose. What are you going to use it for?”
“Verra has asked for a favor.”
“And in return?”
“A favor, not a bargain.”
“I don’t trust the gods.”
“We share a common enemy,” said Sethra.
Tukko didn’t answer. Sethra stood up and took the silver tiassa from the table.
“That isn’t much. What is all this supposed to accomplish, anyway?”
“Let me explain.”
“This is bound to be good,” said Tukko.
* * *
In the place between land and sea, between truth and legend, between the mundane and the divine—that is, in the place called the Paths of the Dead—there are four stone steps leading down to nothing. It’s probably symbolic—most things are in those climes.
A few paces to the right of the stairway to nowhere is what looks like an impossible geologic occurrence: in a clear meadow there is a circle of obsidian, taller than a man, some fifteen feet in diameter, broken only by a three-foot opening facing to the west—insofar as “west” has any meaning there.
Of course, it only appears to be natural, it was fabricated to look natural, perhaps because its designer believed the products of nature to be more aesthetically pleasing than the works of Man. Men often believe nature to have a better artistic sense; nature has no opinion on the matter.
Within the circle is nothing except a low, wide bed. As we look, there are two people on the bed, lying on their backs in a tangle of blankets, arms, and legs.
“Do you know,” said Aliera as she recovered her breath, “there are some who would call this incest.”
“Not to my face,” said Kieron.
“Nor to mine. But still—”
“How many generations separate us?”
“I’ve no idea. Hundreds.”
“And do you remember me, from then?”
“No. I’ve heard about you, of course. I’ve read. But I don’t remember. I’d like to.” She frowned. “Well, perhaps, now, I wouldn’t.”
“The point is anyone who calls this incest is being an idiot. And in any case, I’m more interested in how you managed it.”
“Managed what?”
“This place.”
“Oh. The Necromancer fabricated it. She said something about correspondence.”
“Who?”
“The Necromancer. A demon. I’m not sure from where. She created a place that matched yours then sent the one and pulled the other.”
“So, where are we?”
“Right here,” said Aliera, running her hand up Kieron’s chest.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean. I don’t know. Does it matter? We can be together.”
“It’s just that I feel different.”
“Different how?”
Kieron hesitated, then said, “Alive.”
“Oh,” said Aliera. “That, um, that isn’t because of the place.”
“What, then?”
“Let me explain,” said Aliera.
“This is bound to be good,” said the Father of the Empire.
SPECIAL TASKS
CHAPTER THE FIRST
How an Easterner Was Discovered
Under Unusual Circumstances,
Causing Some Degree of Consternation
Among the Authorities
It is well known among those who live to the north of the city of Adrilankha that as the great river makes its penultimate southward turn it creates pools, bars, eddies, and shoals. Moreover, as it makes this turn, it will often choose these pools, bars, eddies, and shoals as places to deposit any stray floating items it may have collected during its long journey from the far north. This flotsam may include an oar dropped by a boatman, a cake of soap dropped by a bather, a toy soldier dropped by a child, some spinnerweed flowers dropped by nature, or even, perhaps, a body.
The reader will, we trust, forgive the perhaps overly histrionic revelation of the particular object with which our attention is concerned. We hope, at any rate, that a life has not become such an unimportant thing as to render a small measure of drama inappropriate to the revelation of its end.
The body, we should say, was floating face upward, and turning in a slow circle in a channel separated from the rest of the river by a short, barren sandbar. It was seen first by a Teckla who was driving an oxcart toward Favintoe Market. This Teckla worked land that abutted the river a quarter of a mile from the sandbar; thus the Teckla, whose name proved to be Dyfon, passed by it every day. In the past, he had found an intricately carved doll, the tin cap of an ornate oil lamp, three feet of chreotha-web rope that he had thought at first was a pale yellow snake, a walking stick, and more than forty particularly interesting samples of driftwood, some of which he was able to sell. This, however, was his first body, and so he wasn’t entirely certain what he should do. After some few moments of contemplation he decided to pull it to shore—his work with hogs and poultry having left him without any special distaste for handling the dead.