Authors: Glen Cook
“That’s Bogge. He’s Mom’s lover.”
“Bogge? You sure?” He looked a lot like Shinrise the Destroyer. “Gets around, don’t she?” I wondered if a god would lie to a mortal about his identity. Or if a mother would lie to her daughter. My thoughtless remark earned me a dirty look. I asked, “How about the redhead there? The one who looks like an ordinary mortal.” Ordinary, hell. All women ought to look so ordinary. She looked like Star might if she decided to conform to my peculiar prejudices.
“Not in that form.” There was a small catch in her voice.
“She got me into this. She was watching my house. I decided to follow her.”
“She isn’t Godoroth or Shayir.”
Indeed. But you do have some ideas...
Nog is inescapable.
Well, of course he was. He kept coming back like an unemployed cousin, Nog did.
I recalled a little old lady at the mouth of an alley and reflected that goddesses were not required to keep one look. “The name Adeth mean anything? Magodor said an Adeth was trying to trap me. I thought she meant that woman.”
Nervously, Cat said, “One of the Krone Gods is called Adeth...” and cut herself off.
“What? Give, darling. Look around. We don’t need to play games.”
“Adeth is one of a bunch of tribal deities from way down south. The people are fur traders and rock hunters. They’ve never had enough people here to win a place on the Street of the Gods.”
Now that rolled off her tongue so smooth it must have been distilled twice.
She said, “I don’t see why some primitives like that would get involved. Though her name does mean Treachery, I think.”
“There’s a lot of that going on these days.” That redhead was just too polished to be the wishful thinking of fur trappers still using stone tools. Those guys go for malicious rocks and trees and such. And storm gods. They love gods who stomp around and bellow and smash things up a lot.
Be right at home around here.
Nog is inescapable.
“That boy needs a hobby,” I muttered.
The thing itself oozed out of a valley, stopped, turned in place slowly for half a minute, then began to shuffle our way. “Oh, damn,” Cat murmured.
A spear blade twelve feet tall slammed into the earth in front of Nog, nearly shaving his nose off. It was slightly transparent but did have a definite impact when it hit. Clods flew a hundred feet. Lightning slithered down the spear shaft. Sparks played tag along the edges of the blade.
One of the very tall, very big-time gods had admonished Nog.
Fourteen was whimpering out loud now. He was down flat on his pudgy belly with his chubby, too short arms trying to cover his head. I said, “I’m beginning to wonder, Cat.” She grimaced but didn’t answer. Nog considered his situation, decided that since he was inescapable he could afford to wait. He resumed moving along a new course. He joined the rest of the Godoroth gang. Those swinging party guys had gathered at the foot of a slope opposite the Shayir. Both crews looked troubled. And angry, though no actual lightning bolts flew.
The last stragglers must have arrived because all of a sudden most all the gods tried to assume their worldly avatars. About a third were not successful. Maybe there wasn’t enough power to go around.
I had an idea. This happens on occasion. “Are the walls between the worlds thinner in the Dream Quarter?”
“Will you stop blubbering?” Cat stuck a toe into the cherub’s ribs. Then she looked at me almost suspiciously. She seemed reluctant to answer my questions now.
I said, “It seems reasonable to assume that they would cluster where it would be easiest to tap their sources of power.” Which, of course, added meaning to the struggle of the Shayir and Godoroth to remain on the Street. Cat grunted.
There was a change in the painful background racket gurgling down in the bottom of my mind. It faded. I caught the edge of what had to be one big guy really booming. There was no motion at all on the surrounding slopes.
The meeting had been called to order.
I thought about gods and points of power. Seemed likely that in addition to collecting where power was most accessible they would develop caste systems based on ability to grab and manipulate that power. Somebody like my little ankle-biting buddy Fourteen would be way down at the bottom of the pile.
If I have the innate ability to seize sixty percent of the power available and you can grab only thirty percent, guess who is in charge? Assuming we subscribe to the sociopathic attitudes generally ascribed to the gods.
Sudden anger surged along the thought stream I sensed so marginally. With the pure cold voice I had felt no pain, but this anger was a powerful blow, however glancing. It sent me to my knees. I ground the heels of my fists into my temples. I managed not to scream.
Imar came out from the Godoroth team. Lang moved forward, too. They raced to see who could grow big the fastest. Each surrounded himself with all the noisy, dramatic effects demanded by mortal worshippers.
Since I was down already, I settled against a not entirely uncomfortable rock. I patted Fourteen’s bottom like he really was a baby and reflected, “I should have brought a lunch. This punch-out is going to take a while.”
I saw representatives of the Board called on the carpet while the mirror-image boss gods looked one another over. The mind stream had a blistery touch. The supreme busybodies seemed to want to give everybody a yellow card for unnecessary roughness.
Me, I thought they all deserved big penalties for unnecessary stupidity.
I kept one eye on Imara and another on her boyfriend, whatever name he was using. I kept one on the incipient ruckus out front and another on the redhead Cat was determined to keep mysterious. That didn’t really leave a lot of eyes for anything else.
51
Boy. Talk about a big bunch of nothing! There I was, all bent over and scrunched up expecting the Midnight of the Gods, or at least the little ones getting their pants pulled down and their holy heinies spanked, and all I got was a headache that left me nostalgic for my hangover.
“Nobody is doing anything,” I whined.
“There’s plenty going on. You don’t see it because you can’t listen in. The Shayir and the Godoroth are really upset.”
I did note a certain restlessness on the sidelines, reflected by the squared-off boss gods, who, I now suspected, were supposed to shake hands and make up. And I noted that Imara sort of drifted slowly throughout the midfield confrontation. She got smaller as she moved. And she assumed a whole new look.
Interesting.
Very
interesting.
“Cat. You keeping an eye on your mom?”
“Huh? Why?”
I pointed. “That’s her there. Sliding over to her boyfriend. She’s been changing her looks as she goes.” I assumed she was disguising herself on levels seen only by gods, too.
“Oh. She looks a lot younger.”
“She sure does. She’s turning herself into a dead ringer for you.” I kicked the cherub. I wanted him to stop whining long enough to get a good look at this transformation, too. “You got any thoughts about this, Cat?”
My suspicion was that Cat might not be as big a secret as she thought. I had a hunch she might be just another angle in a carefully managed escape maneuver.
Cat’s eyes narrowed. She glared at her mother. She glared at me. She didn’t have to be told that I suspected the worst. We both knew that gods and goddesses don’t cling to any wordly code of conduct.
Cat said, “Maybe we ought to leave.”
“That might have been a good idea a while ago. Before anybody knew we were here. But now? How far could we run? Could we run fast enough?”
“Nothing is settled here. The deadline still hasn’t come.” But she climbed to her feet and grabbed up her little buddy, plainly interested in quick relocation.
I got up myself. The whole situation had me thinking, which, according to some, doesn’t happen all that often.
And according to the Dead Man, not often enough.
“Cat. The world was here before the coming of the gods. Right?”
“Yes. Of course it was. Why?”
Because, then, these were not really gods in the way I had been taught to think of gods. Even the gods I had been told were the one and only real and they’re-gonna-send-all-them-infidels-to-burn-in-hell gods just belonged to the same bunch of transdimensional refugees. Or fugitives?
“Cat, did these gods come here by choice?”
“What?”
“It occurs to me they might be exiles. Thrown out of the old home for bad behavior or just excessive stupidity.”
“No. None of them want to go back. That’s what the fighting is all about.”
“Maybe.” I had some thoughts that included suspicions of setups. I surveyed the audience. More gods had settled into their earthly forms. I saw some really big names. Out here, though, they just looked luckier than bunches like the Godoroth and Shayir. Probably had better publicity wazoos.
What I didn’t see anymore was a goddess named Imara. What I didn’t see was a redhead maybe called Adeth hanging out with raggedy-ass jungle gods. I did see Shinrise the Destroyer — or maybe Bogge the Sucker — standing around stupidly now, looking like he had just lost something.
The ranks of the Godoroth and Shayir seemed short handed on females.
I checked some of the more successful gangs but couldn’t tell if they had gone shorthanded, too. They just looked more prosperous. A supply of believers surely helped, but maybe also a knack for drawing power from beyond this reality.
Maybe gods are like sausages and politics and should not be examined closely.
I always expect the worst. That means I can be pleasantly surprised sometimes. This didn’t seem to be one of those times. Circumstances appeared to support my most cynical suspicions.
There were thousands of gods there, though most were hangers-on, many even smaller than Fourteen.
The cherub seemed to have settled down. Maybe he realized that nobody was paying him any attention. I
knew
I was invisible but still felt naked to every divine eye.
There was some subtle movement out there, and tension rising. The hair on my arms tingled.
52
There was big anger in the air again, much worse than before. Fourteen whimpered. Something had happened. The crowd around Lang and Imar were all in a rage.
“We need to leave now,” Cat said. Her voice squeaked. “A ruling was handed down. The Shayir and Godoroth refuse to accept it.”
Holding hands, in step, each laboring under the weight of a garbage-mouthed curse, we headed for our horses. “Explain,” I squeaked. My throat was tight, too. I noticed Magodor drifting through the mob. She seemed intent on tracking us. I wondered why.
“Because of their behavior in town, the senior gods have banished the Godoroth and the Shayir from the Street of the Gods
and
TunFaire.”
“And our boys won’t go quietly?”
“Imar and Lang pretty much said, ‘Stick it in your ear!’”
“Can they do that?” Of course they could. Anybody can tell anybody anything, anytime. The tricky part is surviving the aftermath.
“There may be a confrontation.”
Oh. “Uh-oh.”
“And this is definitely the wrong place for that. This is where the gods originally arrived. It takes a lot longer than ten thousand years for wounds like that to heal. The walls here are tissue.”
Which might explain why the little guys thought they could thumb their noses, except that I didn’t credit them with sense enough to consider that subtle an angle.
“Keep hiking, girl. Runt, you stop sniveling or I’ll kick you out of here.”
Fourteen sneered. He wasn’t afraid of any mortal. I was too busy staying in step with Cat to follow up.
I glanced back. I didn’t see Magodor anymore. I did see a whirlwind of black paper chips and a mist of golden light around Lang, who raised his left fist and pumped his thumb in and out of his clenched fingers in a classic obscene gesture directed at the big boys. Then he struck suddenly right-handed, swinging a sword of lightning at Imar’s throat. Just as suddenly, you had Jorken streaking around, the ugly guys looking for throats to crush, Imar flailing around with his own lightning. Trog went berserk with his hammer. Torbit, Quilraq, and others went wild. Black Mona galloped in with her hounds, her weapons flying everywhere.
“Hang on, Cat. Just a second.” I watched as the fray disappeared inside a cloud of dust, then a light storm as those incredibly brilliant pops began ripping the fabric of reality. In seconds it began to snow. And Cat and I were moving again, faster than ever.
“Why did you stop?”
“Wanted to make sure I’d seen something right.”
“What?”
“None of the females are in that mess, except Black Mona. And she’s got more hair on her ass than anybody but Trog.” Not even Magodor was involved. Maybe especially not even Magodor. What’s an end of the world dustup without a Destroyer?
53
The temperature plummeted. My headache worsened till Cat had to help me stay on my feet. Numerous top god types tried to break up the fight. The Godoroth and Shayir went on like fools with nothing to lose and a complete willingness to take everybody with them. And they seemed to get support from some odds and ends of petty pewter types from other pantheons, mainly of the strike-from-behind, score-settling sort.
We made good time despite being inside the bag. We were behind the knee of a hill when the Bohdan Zhibak lit up with the grandaddy of all light pops.
I went down. “Bet they saw that back in town.” My headache grew so intense I blacked out.
I recovered in seconds. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get us out of this.”
Trying to take a powder, actually. Hell. Give her the benefit. Say she was trying to scram because I was out and she couldn’t move the sack with all that dead weight in it.
My head didn’t hurt nearly so much now. I found the knot, got us out in seconds. Fourteen went catatonic with terror. I restored my cord to normal, wrapped it around my waist again.
There was a lot of noise from the other side of the hill. Cat told me, “We’ve got to keep going.”