That’s not quite true,
Shadowstar said.
What do you mean?
It’s time for you to become a champion of Tymalous Shadowstar.
Wait, you mean you were serious?
Jig sat back down.
You really want me to fight Billa?
You fought her before, and you won.
I ran away before she could kill me,
Jig said.
It’s not the same thing. And I don’t think she’s going to let me shove another torch in her face.
I’ll help you.
How? By making me stupid again?
Jig shook his head.
No, thanks. I can get myself killed without your help.
I didn’t make you stupid,
Shadowstar said.
I made you unafraid.
Same thing,
Jig muttered.
Very well, Jig. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
Come to what?
Shadowstar’s silence was far more unnerving than anything the god might have said.
‘‘He’s mumbling to himself again,’’ Trok said.
The only response came from Braf, who asked, ‘‘Are you sure?’’
‘‘Yes, I’m sure,’’ Trok said. ‘‘Can’t you see his lips moving?’’
‘‘Oh. Well, if you say so.’’ Braf blinked, and it slowly occurred to Jig that he hadn’t actually been talking to Trok. His bleary eyes focused on Jig. ‘‘I’m sorry about this, Jig.’’
‘‘Sorry about what?’’
A burst of heat from Smudge was Jig’s only warning. And then Braf slammed the butt of his spear into Jig’s head.
CHAPTER 13
Even to a god, the universe was a place of mystery. The realm of the gods was an extension of the gods themselves, a universe built on grudging consensus, constantly evolving with the whims of its inhabitants.
Tymalous Shadowstar stared up at Noc’s star, burning black in the sky. The dark flames swallowed the light . . . even light from within. Certainly Noc would never think to search inside his own star. Even if he did, the odds of discovering the second, smaller star burning inside his own were slim at best.
Shadowstar’s temple was equally well-hidden, built within the black realm of Xapthlux, the Sleeping God. Shadowstar would have to leave before Xapthlux awakened, but since that wasn’t ordained to happen for another fifty thousand years, he didn’t let it worry him too much.
He didn’t worry about anything, really. Over the centuries, his power began to return. From time to time he reached out, spreading what little comfort he could without drawing the attention of the gods. Beyond that, he mostly slept. And cleaned. Xapthlux’s domain was a dusty place.
He wasn’t sure what had awakened him this time. Looking around, he sighed and plucked a rag from the nothingness.
A distant voice tore through his chest like a sword.
The bells of his garments betrayed his nerves as he tried to calm himself. The call had been so weak. A stammering, lisping excuse for a prayer, but after so many years of silence. . . .
‘‘I think it says Tymalous Autumnstar.’’ The speaker was a spindly blue creature with crooked fangs—a goblin, from the look of him. He sat in a hot cave, squinting at a yellowed tome. ‘‘It’s hard to read. That human bled all over the cover.’’
‘‘That book was supposed to go to the chief.’’ A much larger goblin waddled over, brandishing a huge stirring spoon. Her other hand clutched her swollen belly. ‘‘Though why he can’t use lichen when he visits the privy is beyond me.’’
The first goblin peered out of the cave. ‘‘He’ll need half the book, the way he’s gobbling down that adventurer.’’ He laughed. ‘‘Golaka, look at how—’’
‘‘Get up!’’ Golaka knocked the book from his hand. ‘‘Bad enough you did
this
to me,’’ she said, touching her belly. ‘‘If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to help! Otherwise you can go back to the distillery and play in your muck.’’
‘‘I carved that adventurer and served him to the warriors, didn’t I? Besides, I want to know how they made it all the way to Straum’s lair and survived. Can you imagine if we had magic like that? This one would have escaped too if he hadn’t succumbed to those lizard-fish stings in his leg. Imagine it, Golaka. If we could get their weapons and their magic, we could drive the hobgoblins back. We could fight off the adventurers. We could—’’
Golaka dropped her spoon. ‘‘Did you say lizard-fish stings?’’ She grabbed the smaller goblin by the arms and hauled him upright.
‘‘It looked like lizard-fish stings. A row of bloody holes that wouldn’t scab over. But I’m not sure. I don’t see too well, remember?’’
‘‘You mean you fed poisoned meat to the chief and his warriors!’’ Golaka shouted.
The smaller goblin paled. Outside, someone shouted,
‘‘Where is that miserable runt Jarik? His food’s making the chief sick!’’
Eyes wide, Jarik twisted free of Golaka’s grip. He spun, reaching for a bread knife that lay next to a jug. Then he changed his mind and grabbed the jug instead.
‘‘Klak beer for everyone!’’ he shouted. As the first angry goblin burst into the cave, Jarik shoved the jug into his hands. ‘‘Golaka’s finest beer for our finest warriors!’’
It was a good attempt, and it almost worked. By the time the lizard-fish poison killed the chief, most of the warriors were too drunk to care.
Unfortunately, drunken goblins were violent goblins, and when poor Jarik ran out of klak beer, the results weren’t pretty.
Shadowstar sighed as he watched Golaka carry the bloodstained book to the privy. ‘‘Tymalous Autumnstar, huh?’’ she muttered. ‘‘Stupid name.’’
Shadowstar sat down on the edge of his temple, his legs dangling in nothingness.
They remembered him!
These weak, violent,
uncivilized
goblins could remember his name. Not that most of them seemed the type to care about the gods. Who could blame them? Autumnstar couldn’t think of a single god who would lower himself to take goblins as followers.
And the one goblin who might have cared, who might have actually made a connection with Tymalous Shadowstar, was now roasting over Golaka’s kitchen fires.
But perhaps his child. . . .
‘‘Nice to see you again, Jig Dragonslayer.’’
Stars filled the sky. The air was dry and dusty, though at least Jig had escaped the eye-watering smell of all those leaves and flowers. He sat up and touched his face. His spectacles were gone, but he could see perfectly well. The only time that had ever happened was in the temple of Tymalous Shadowstar. His
real
temple, not the little cave back at the goblin lair.
Jig turned toward the voice.
The god stood leaning against a broken wall, his arms folded over his chest. He was unchanged from the last time Jig had seen him. Still short. Still skinny. The wispy silver hair was still thin on the top. He could have passed for human, aside from those freakish eyes. Where eyeballs should have been, Shadowstar’s face held two spots of perfect blackness, each one broken by the twinkling of a miniature star.
Jig backed away. ‘‘You told Braf to kill me!’’
Shadowstar gave a sheepish shrug. ‘‘I told him to knock you unconscious. That’s not as easy as it sounds, you know. And . . . well, he’s Braf. Don’t worry, Darnak is doing his best to fix your skull. If it’s any consolation, Braf broke his spear in the process.’’
Oddly, that did make Jig feel a little better. ‘‘Does it give you a headache?’’ he asked. ‘‘Having stars for eyes, I mean.’’
Shadowstar shrugged. ‘‘I can see in the dark, which is fun.’’ He wore the same loose-fitting clothes of black silk, with tiny silver bells down the sleeves and trousers. Those bells jingled as he rubbed his eyes. ‘‘Though my vision is still a bit fuzzy from seeing the Rod of Creation explode. I may have to borrow your spectacles.’’
Jig frowned. ‘‘It didn’t explode.’’
‘‘That much pent-up magical energy, released with no spells to contain it? It was like watching a tiny universe form and implode in a single heartbeat. Just be grateful you don’t have a god’s sight,’’ Shadowstar said, chuckling.
‘‘What did it look like?’’
‘‘Mostly purple.’’ Shadowstar rubbed his eyes. ‘‘Jig, there are things you have to understand. Starting with the reason the Forgotten Gods went to war all those years ago. Haven’t you ever asked yourself why I fought alongside Isa and the others?’’
Jig shook his head.
‘‘The nameless twins, the two gods of the beginning, they’re all but mindless. Vastly powerful, but dumb as gob—Well, they’re dumb.’’
‘‘So you went to war because they’re stupid?’’ If Jig followed that sort of thinking, he’d have to declare war on half the lair.
‘‘Some did,’’ Shadowstar said. ‘‘They thought such power should be given to those wise enough to use it.’’
‘‘Themselves, you mean?’’
‘‘Of course.’’ Shadowstar picked up a fist-size chunk of stone and turned it over in his hands. ‘‘Isa was one such goddess.’’
‘‘Why did you help her?’’ Jig asked, honestly curious. Also, the longer he kept Shadowstar talking, the longer he could stay here. Broken and depressing as Shadowstar’s temple was, it was the one place Jig felt safe. Plus he kind of liked being able to see without his spectacles.
‘‘To understand that, you need to understand how the universe works.’’ He ran one hand over his head, flipping silver hair back from his face. ‘‘The universe . . . it has layers.’’
‘‘Like ogres?’’ Jig asked.
Shadowstar stopped with his mouth half open. ‘‘Excuse me?’’
‘‘After we fought the ogres last year, we had lots and lots of leftovers. Golaka made up a dessert that has a layer of ogre meat, mushroom gravy, rat liver, and another layer of ogre. You sprinkle blue fungus flakes on the top, to give it that sweet aftertaste.’’ His mouth watered at the memory.
‘‘The universe is
not
like ogres,’’ Shadowstar said, his voice stern. He set the stone on the floor between them and brushed his fingers over the rough surface. ‘‘You mortals see only the upper layer. It’s rare that any of you notice the depth between you. Rarer still for one to reach down and touch those depths.’’
‘‘So you’re saying we’re like the blue fungus on the top of Golaka’s dessert?’’ Jig asked.
Starburst pupils rolled skyward. ‘‘Sure, why not. And we gods can be the mushrooms. The important thing is to realize that you fungus flakes—’’ He grinned. ‘‘I think I like this metaphor.’’
‘‘Do you have anything to eat here?’’ Jig asked, glancing around.
‘‘Nothing that would be safe for you. Sorry.’’
Jig checked his cloak, but the pockets were empty. Smudge hadn’t accompanied him, not that Jig had expected him to. But the leftover rat he had saved was gone too.
‘‘The point is, you fungus flakes live in a universe supported by mushrooms. I mean, by gods. You may not see what happens in the realm of the gods, but what we do affects your world.’’
‘‘Like if the pan is lopsided and all of the mushrooms slide to one side?’’ Jig licked his lips. ‘‘Then the top layer of meat sinks, and somebody gets stuck eating all mushrooms and no meat.’’
‘‘If you don’t stop obsessing about food, I’m going to throw you into the void,’’ Shadowstar said, his voice light.
Jig swallowed, then nodded.
‘‘The two gods of the beginning have fought one another since the universe began. Imagine living things struggling at the base of your dessert. Think of what that would eventually do to the surface.’’
Jig nodded. ‘‘Sometimes Golaka adds—’’
‘‘I don’t want to know!’’ Shadowstar said quickly. ‘‘The point is, their battle will one day consume the universe. Your world, ours, all of it will be destroyed.’’ The light in his eyes faded slightly. ‘‘I thought . . . I believed we could stop them. That we could save the universe from destruction.’’
Jig glanced at the sky. ‘‘How long do you think it will be before—’’
‘‘Nobody knows. The universe is vast and deep. It could survive for millions of years. Billions, even.’’
‘‘Good.’’ Jig still kept one eye on the stars, though.
‘‘What I learned is that I’m really bad at being a warrior.’’ Shadowstar gave a sheepish shrug. ‘‘I’m the God of the Autumn Star. I help maintain the progress of time, the changing of seasons. I ease the terror of death, and I create the opportunity for new life. I’m a minor god, Jig, but I’m no fighter.’’ He stood and folded his arms. ‘‘That’s why I need you to be my champion.’’
Jig gestured at himself. ‘‘Have you forgotten I’m a goblin?’’
‘‘But you’re mortal. I’m a god. What I was is what I am. What I am is what I will forever be.’’
‘‘Huh?’’
Shadowstar sighed. ‘‘Mortals can change. Gods can’t. I can help you move beyond your fear, Jig. You have the opportunity to become more than just a goblin.’’
Jig shook his head. ‘‘I don’t want to be more than a goblin.’’
‘‘Your people need you,’’ Shadowstar said. ‘‘You have the chance to protect them, both from Billa and from the humans. Stop Billa and you save them all. The goblins, my son, everyone.’’
Jig shook his head. The Rod of Creation was destroyed. If Theodore hadn’t been able to stop Billa, how was Jig supposed to?
Shadowstar grabbed Jig by the arms and lifted him into the air. For one terrifying moment, Jig thought he was about to be flung out into the darkness beyond Shadowstar’s temple. But the god set Jig down ever so gently by the archway. ‘‘Isa is stronger than me, but I have strength of my own, Jig Dragonslayer. For thousands of years I rested, gathering my strength. Rebuilding myself. Rebuilding this place.’’
Jig glanced at the edge of the floor, where the stone seemed on the verge of crumbling into nothingness.
‘‘I never claimed to be a very good builder,’’ Shadowstar admitted. ‘‘But what strength I have is yours. I can’t fight Billa for you, but I can protect you.’’