Gambit of the Gods Read online

  They see my hesitation and look at me pityingly, which turns my confusion to sudden fury.

  “You are uneducated and wrongly informed,” I tell them, clenching my fists tightly at my sides. “The holy Ladies speak for the Goddesses, and when they do, they cannot lie. Or would you question the existence of the Goddesses themselves, as well?” I demand, my skin prickling with righteous indignation.

  This time Jaereth answers, while Kisto turns away and stirs what smells like stew cooking in a dented cauldron hung over the fire.

  “What proof do you have that the Goddesses exist, Lady Kella?”

  “They’ve been blessing the Queensrealm with peace and wealth from its humble beginnings until now. How can you doubt it?”

  Kisto returns from the hearth and sits down beside Jaereth.

  “In what ways are you superior to us, my Lady? Here you are, having an intelligent conversation with two ‘lesser beings’. In what ways are we lesser? I have the same blood flowing through my veins that you do. What makes me inferior?”

  He has a point, I reflect grudgingly. I’d always been taught not to waste my breath speaking to slaves for longer than it took to issue a command or a rebuke because slaves are ignorant, uneducated and animalistic. But looking around this tidy little hut, the signs of intelligent life everywhere around me, and looking into the earnest eyes of the two slaves before me who are arguing eloquently on their own behalf, I feel real doubt creep into my heart for the first time.

  Why must we procreate with them? And why on earth am I so drawn to Jaereth and aroused by everything about him?

  “There are things we’re not given to understand,” I answer at last, uncertainly, not meeting their eyes. I wonder why Jaereth doesn’t just use his gift to change my mind, and the minds of all the denizens of the Queensrealm, for that matter. He could take what he wanted, from me and anyone else. Why does he care what I think and seek to persuade me, instead?

  But the two slaves only look down, too polite to openly acknowledge the weakness of my response. These ‘lesser beings’ are too kind to press their advantage, I muse tiredly, humbled.

  “I must go,” I tell them, rising and casting about for my boots. “Mother will be worried about me. I don’t want you to get in trouble for kidnapping me or some such. And thank you, Jaereth, for helping me. I’m very grateful.”

  “Of course, Lady Kella,” Jaereth replies, mirroring my sudden formality. “Your boots are by the door, and there’s a horse tied up outside to carry you home. Be well.”

  They both bow as I slip on my boots at the door and tie the lacings swiftly. Jaereth’s face is carefully blank, his emotions firmly shuttered, but his eyes hold mine for just a moment too long before sliding away as he opens the door for me, then closes it behind me.

  The sun is sinking toward the horizon. I gingerly hold onto the railing, limping down the steps. I should arrive home just before sunset if I hurry. My sister Koral’s bay filly, Sparrow, is tied up at the well a few steps away. My stomach growls as I turn her nose toward home, chiding me for leaving the delicious-smelling stew behind us. But my pride keeps my back to the little hut, one of whose current occupants makes my heart pound at the mere thought of him.

  Sparrow and I reach the outer yard of my home as darkness falls. Karyl, who is sitting on the stairs looking worried, lets out a glad cry and bolts to my side as I dismount.

  “What happened to you? Where have you been?” she gasps, taking in the blood-soaked bandage on my temple. She puts her arm around me and helps me toward the house. Other cousins and sisters soon gather around us, exclaiming at my disheveled appearance. They’re in their finest dresses, ready to leave for evening temple services. My mother approaches, her face a mask of calm unconcern beneath her best hat.

  Loud enough for her to hear, I explain, “My horse was spooked by a bevy of quail, and I hit my head when I fell to the ground. A slave found me and bandaged me up. I’m just so tired,” I quaver, wobbling on my feet like one exhausted.

  Uncharacteristically, my mother speaks on my behalf.

  “Back away and give the poor girl room to breathe, you lot.” My sisters and cousins move away obediently, clearing the way to the door of our House. “Kella dear, why don’t you go straight up to your room and lie down.”

  I nod obediently. Addressing the servants helping them into their coats, she orders, “Please bring my daughter hot water for a bath, and her dinner. Come, Karyl, we must go now if we’re to make the service on time.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” I sigh, glad to be spared the need to lie further about the details of my misadventure, at least for now. Karyl gazes at me worriedly as if she wants to stay with me, but I wave her away gently but firmly. After some hesitation, she leaves with the others. She’ll be sure to pump me for more information later, but I’ll be ready for her by then. If I tell them what really happened, they’ll just think I hit my head too hard, I reason, imagining the improbable flaming eyes of those terrible beings once more. And I destroyed the creatures—how would I explain my sudden, unexplainable ability?

  No. All I can think about now is food, a bath, and rest. I need to regain my strength for the Horse-Dancing match tomorrow. Pushing all other thoughts from my mind, I climb the stairs to my room, falling into Maren’s arms as he opens the door.

  Chapter 32: Jaereth

  Kisto gives the signal—the call of a wood dove, low and throaty—and the men go quiet around us, their faces illuminate by the light of a single lantern. It’s the night before the uprising, and this will be our final meeting. Like all of our faction meetings, we’ve gathered next to the large boulder in the middle of the woods near our encampment, to ensure we won’t be overheard by our enemies.

  This is the third faction meeting I’ve led since Kisto stepped down as faction leader. It still awes me sometimes that men three times my age are willing to follow me, but I’m careful not to let it show. They need me to appear in control.

  They’re all looking at me now, waiting for me to say something inspiring, but for the first time in my life, the words stick in my throat. I look at their faces: some are longtime friends from House Beltarra, while others I only know from a few brief conversations, our neighbors from House Klia on one side and House Jemleyn on the other. They know what role they are to play in the coming confrontation, so I need not repeat their orders.

  These are all my brothers, I think. Suddenly, I know what I must say.

  “Brothers, tonight and tomorrow, we are all joined as one in our purpose. Our cause is just; we must take our freedom back from those who so brutally took it from our forefathers. We must fight for what is rightfully ours, fighting together, side by side or back to back, protecting one another, and perhaps shedding blood on the altar of Freedom together.

  “There are several Houses represented here, but tonight, tomorrow, and forever, we are brothers, reborn together in blood, strength, and unity. Our enemy has separated us, teaching us to distrust each other. But I tell you now that we are one—one in purpose, one in heart, and one in soul.”

  My brothers murmur in approval. Kisto stands to one side, pride evident in his eyes.

  “Look around, see your brothers all around you, prepared to fight and die for your freedom, as you are for them.” The men look at one another in the glow of the lanterns, nodding solemnly at each other as if to say, “I see you, brother.” I sense their emotions go from separate, frenetic worry about what tomorrow may bring to a group determination and unity of resolve. I’m not coercing them with my ability, either—this is heartfelt and real. They stand ready for whatever comes, together.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, brothers.” I reach for my ability now, because I need them to believe me. “About a Fifth-Day ago, I realized I’m able to do something unusual that will help us in our efforts tomorrow. Can I have a volunteer come forward so I can show you?”

  A brother from House Jemleyn steps forward, dressed in the typical dull orange work shirt and dusty
brown work pants. He appears to about sixteen summers old and looks up at me as if I hung the moon and stars, nervously shifting his feet and smoothing back his tousled hair. Tufts of hair stand right back up in places immediately afterward, as if they have a life of their own.

  “What’s your name, brother?” I ask him, smiling to put him at ease.

  “Iben,” he says quietly, looking at his feet.

  “Iben, all I want you to do is try with all your might to walk over to the boulder when I say ‘Go’. Can you do that, brother?”

  “Sure,” he says, bracing himself awkwardly as if I’m about to attack him.

  “Go,” I order him, then quickly reach for my ability and mouth the word —Stay— while looking him in the eyes.

  Iben looks surprised, staring down at his feet as if willing them to move. He reaches down and tries to physically lift one into motion and comically fails, huffing and puffing like he’s run a long distance, garnering a few chuckles from the crowd. Gritting his teeth, he tries with all his strength to move, his face bright red with effort, but his feet refuse to heed him. At last, after several moments, he gives up and wilts a little from his exertions, looking like a startled lamb at its first shearing.

  “I’m going to release you now,” I explain gently, watching the relief flood over his face when his body once more responds to his commands.

  “Thank you, brother. You can rejoin your friends now.”

  Iben straggers away weakly like a newborn calf taking his first steps, amid more chuckles.

  “Now I’m going to do the same thing very briefly to you few in the front row, so I don’t use up too much of my strength. I’m going to need everything I can muster for what I have planned tomorrow.”

  The men in the front row, several of which I grew up with, look back at me doubtfully.

  —Don’t move— I tell them, trying to fix each of them with my eyes. I don’t know how many I can coerce at a time since I haven’t exactly felt comfortable practicing much.

  I can see from the intent, focused look on their faces that they’re all trying to move, and failing. Like Iben, they look almost comically shocked, unable to move even a finger or blink their eyes. Old Arn, who stands farthest away from me, manages to blink once—the distance between me and those I’m coercing must be a factor, I conclude.

  I release them, and they move their arms and legs gingerly as if making sure they still work. The crowd behind them gives a few ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, impressed.

  “I don’t know how or why I’ve been given this ability, brothers,” I tell them, “but it couldn’t have come at a better time. It seems like maybe someone greater than you or me wants to help us. But I have two favors to ask of you.”

  I hesitate, afraid I’ll lose their respect with what I have to say next, but I have to. I must try. Reaching within for some mild coercion, I worry about how far back into the crowd it will reach.

  “First, if I freeze someone, don’t hurt them. I have them under control, and it’s not fair to hurt someone who can’t even fight back.”

  The men nod in agreement, some more quickly than others.

  “Second, I need you to leave the House Klia Ladies to me.”

  No one is nodding now. Reaching for as much as I dare of my ability, I say it again, looking as many of them in the eye as I can, desperate to make this work.

  —Leave the Klia Ladies to me, except if you must protect yourself or a brother—

  Most of them are nodding now. All I can do is hope the coercion will hold through the next day. Thankfully, Kella can protect herself with her own ability, but since I didn’t dare to warn her about the uprising for fear she might sound the alarm, she could be caught off guard and overwhelmed. Kisto has promised to keep an eye on her tomorrow in case she needs help, but it’s killing me knowing I can’t protect her myself until the uprising is well underway. My brothers are counting on me to lead them into battle, and I can’t let them down. Not even for love.

  I never thought I could see a Lady as anything other than my enemy. I still shake my head ruefully sometimes, thinking about it. It began with her smile, lighting up her face, then lighting up my life, like a beacon flaring up out of a long darkness. Then it was her mind, sparring with mine, fighting my ability with her strength of will like no one else I had tried it on had been able to.

  She’s stubborn and proud, yes, sometimes most annoyingly so, but also kind, sweet and loyal, as well as passionate. My heart had no chance once I witnessed her headstrong beauty. Kisto taught me that men and women used to mate for life, and it just feels right holding her in my arms, as if she belongs there.

  I would gladly die for her. I’ve been so afraid for her safety after those creatures attacked her, but no one has reported seeing any more of them. Maybe those three were the only ones of their kind. Maybe after tomorrow, I’ll be free to make her mine and keep her safe for the rest of my life.

  Looking up at the moon, ghosting through the clouds above us as we walk quietly through the trees, back to our huts, I pray to whoever or whatever is watching over me to watch over Kella tomorrow. Please keep her and her loved ones safe until I can get to her.

  Chapter 33: Artan

  The soft sound of the river greets us as we leave the long hut and circle around the fire for our morning meal. I rub my temples and yawn, trying to ease the ache behind my eyes. I slept poorly the night before, my head throbbing in time with my heartbeat. Rolling my neck on my shoulders doesn’t help either.

  Little Squirrel’s mouth tightens when she sees the two squirrels crisping over the fire, shaking her head in mute refusal when offered some. She must know that neither is Naira, though, because her eyes are calm and bright. She stares meaningfully at me. I can tell she wants to tell me something. I know her so well, I can almost read her mind sometimes…almost. She looks away when she sees I’ve noticed, clearly not wanting our captors to catch on, but no one is watching except Stone Drum. I don’t like how he’s always watching her.

  Stone Drum sits down beside her and begins to rummage around in his skin bag. Pulling out a small pottery jar, he dips a finger within and spreads a white paste on the cut over her eye. She winces, but doesn’t pull away. The wound appears to be healing nicely, and I feel grateful despite everything for his care of her.

  “Stone Drum,” Whisker says when the squirrels are nothing but bones, “I want you to take Little Squirrel and Moon on Water a little ways into the trees to relieve themselves. Then I’ll take Shy Mouse and Darting Mink. Red Feather and Curving Claw will take Artan. We should reach the Queensrealm sometime this evening if we only stop once, so that’s what we’re going to do.” The others nod, unsurprised.

  All of them have traveled by canoe to the Queensrealm before, of course; it’s part of the reason he chose them. The water folk, as the other Clans call the Bear, Raccoon and Fox Clans, make this journey every year to trade with the Ladies of the Queensrealm. The Ladies refuse to deal with the men, so the Clanswomen are the ones who barter with them, using the Common Tongue to make themselves understood. One brightly-colored hair ribbon from the Queensrealm has more value among the People than a haunch of deer meat. A new cooking pot is treasured by an entire Clan for generations, paid for with all the goods they can spare, saved up carefully over the span of many summers.

  Stone Drum takes Little Squirrel by the arm and walks over to the closest stand of trees, Moon on Water trailing behind them. The People attach no shame to public nudity, often bathing together; they also remove their clothes in front of each another when they Change into their Spirit Animal before a group hunt. But men and women relieve themselves in private, not because they’re ashamed, but because it’s considered unclean and uncouth.

  After everyone has returned, they drag the two canoes we’ll be traveling in over to the river. Each is the length of five men and the width of one, with six wide wooden benches spaced within. Inside each are long-handled paddles. The canoes are works of art, masterfully carved with detail
ed bears, raccoons, foxes and fish chasing one another over the sides, painted in vibrant colors. In happier circumstances, I could have admired their beauty and craftsmanship for hours.

  “Stone Drum, you and Little Squirrel will ride in my canoe,” Whisker orders, pointing to it. “I will sit in the back with Shy Mouse. I want you and Little Squirrel in the middle, and Moon on Water, I want you to sit in the front. Red Feather, you sit in the rear of the other canoe. Curving Claw, you sit with Artan in the middle, and Darting Mink, you will sit in the front.”

  The lovers and siblings appear distressed to be separated, but they know better than to argue. Resigned, they go to their respective canoes and begin to load their belongings and the remaining supplies inside.

  The rest of us move to our places. If we’re going to fight our way free, now would be the time, before the others can pick up their weapons. Little Squirrel looks a little ill as she approaches the canoe, but she shakes her head slightly at me, recognizing the question in my eyes.

  Whisker stands next to Shy Mouse, knife in hand, ready to slit her throat. For a moment, I consider ignoring Little Squirrel’s wishes, knowing I can probably make a vine sprout from the ground next to him quickly enough to wrap around his arm and immobilize the blade, but if I’m wrong, I know Little Squirrel will never forgive me.

  It might be worth it if I could be sure Little Squirrel would be safe, but just then, Curving Claw catches my eye. In my moment of hesitation, he’s taken up his bow, perhaps recognizing the look of calculation in my eyes. Slowly and deliberately, he nocks an arrow and aims it, not at Shy Mouse this time, but at Little Squirrel’s back.