Wine of the Gods 1: Exiles and Gods (21 page)

"In theory, every winter we should be sweeping up the small debris, and altering the orbits of the larger chunks. Eventually we’ll have cleared the orbit of all the comets." Simon had a glass of wine in one hand, a tiny plate with two hors d’oeuvres in the other, leaving him with the usual party dilemma of how to eat the goodies.

The God of Art sniffed dismissively. "And we should waste our time helping the astronomers, why? We couldn’t do anything about it if our own doom was bearing down on us."

The other god raised his eyebrows. Art was a good looking man. Peace was drawing the eyes of every woman in the room, irrespective of age or marital status.

"We could raise shields, for a brief period. Or perhaps those dimensional bubbles would be useful. But all things considered, that’s not the route to peace I’d like to see."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Peaceful coexistence of city-states seems to be working for the most part. Although I really wish Kroll or whatever his name is, would have moved further away from everyone else."

Art snickered. "Kelso. Only a university professor would say something so foolish to the God of Peace. What do you say we turn him into a toad for the evening, Pax?"

Simon stiffened, but Pax gave him a look of utter disinterest. "Why bother?" He turned away, nodding to a tall boy. "Richie, I didn’t know you were in town."

Richie? The God of Eternal Youth?

"Just got here a couple of days ago." He looked around the room. "Edmund’s here, but not Barry? Do you suppose he finally killed his brother?" His eyes tracked toward a slinky platinum blonde and he left without so much as a wave.

"Never did have any manners." Art curled a lip and turn to bow to an exquisite little woman. Colorful silks shown against her deep tan complexion. "Mercy, so good to have you back for the summer."

Simon stayed where he was, trying to be unobtrusive and overlooked.
Five gods here tonight. At least.
This was the first time he’d seen any of this batch up close, and an opportunity to listen in as they spoke . . . Richie was getting excessively friendly with his pale blonde, but she seemed to be encouraging it. Simon choked faintly. The three young women watching the scene were Sally, or rather River, and her two fellow witches, Flattered and Amused. And River looked a whole lot like Richie. He hauled his attention back to the nearer group with an effort.

"The main problem with Zapolo, is that he thinks he’ll be in control. His plan to put everyone, worldwide, under one government is excellent. We should support him, and once he’s got everything together, take over." One corner Peace’s mouth turned up. "Oh, I know you don’t like the idea, Art, but think long term. You’re much too limited."

Simon boggled a bit. Quietly. Zapolo was a nut case in Scandia, trying to organize a world government while campaigning to be elected President of the World, himself. Kelso paled in comparison. He had simply founded a town and crowned himself king of it.

"Don’t like it! That’s understating the case by several orders of magnitude." Art scowled. First at Peace, then across the room.

Mayor Brigham was the center of a swirl of people. He looked belligerent, and not at all in a party mood.

"I’d like to hear from him about it, though. Man’s got a nasty tendency to call the city his. Bet he'd like the idea of a President of the World."

Simon’s attention drifted again. A big red haired man with two young men, obviously his sons, in tow, had approached Richie.

The three redheads were notable for their leering attention to the young witches. Richie stiffened. One arm around the platinum blonde, he turned her away from the group.

The older redhead stepped up close to River, and she retreated. His laugh boomed out. The younger men and the other two witches seemed to be finding each other interesting.

River kept retreating, and the older man stalked after her.

The tiny Mercy looked over her shoulder. "About time you showed up, Edmund. We need an update on your side of the world." She walked over to him, the other gods trailing along. Simon found himself standing alone, with no reason to follow.

River retreated right through the group of gods and kept going. She did a double take when she spotted him, and veered his direction.

He looked at her, his heart sinking. "That was a fast retreat. Know him, do you?"

"The God of Vice? I regret to say I know him well enough to run at first sight. And keep going. Excuse me." She turned and he caught her elbow.

"And the other one, that was Richie, the God of Eternal Youth, eh? Perhaps I should ask you how old you are."

"Eww. No. I am not on those sorts of terms with him."

"That blonde is."

"That’s not blonde, it’s gray. White.
That
is my mother." She pulled her elbow from his grasp and slid off behind a crowd of people.

Her mother. And no doubt Richie is her father.

He felt a faint pang as he realized the young witch was solidly in the enemy camp.
Girl’s lucky she hasn’t been pushed into being a little god, she must have double witch power genes and at least one complete set of the rest of the magic genes. No wonder she’s so damned attractive. And I need to leave her completely alone.

He closed his eyes in pain.
Or use her. She might be a valuable information source.

It was one thing to realize that you’d be using people in the course of your espionage career, and quite another to use a woman you were pulled to. Simon braced his shoulders and looked around for more interesting people.
I’d better get to work, I’ve got another unpleasant duty later tonight.

***

Amused and Flattered seemed quite taken by the brothers. Her mother’s admonitions swirled around her head. Witches could mate with mages. Which is what these two would be. Probably nothing on their X chromosomes, since they hadn’t been pulled into little god roles. But they'd have at least one complete set of magic genes from their father. So long as they didn't slip her triad some sex selection potions, they were a pretty good choice.

She shrugged and slipped down the stairs to check the second floor. And here was the supposedly virtuous brother, holding court with some other gentlemen. River stayed on the far side of the room, edging toward the stairs that continued down on the far side of the room. A trio of men mounted those stairs with haste and hustled across the room. The man who strolled up after them had hair so pale it was nearly white, and eyes so blue they looked artificial. She didn’t look around at the tinkle of broken glass. That was pretty much inevitable around the God of Just Deserts.
Mr. Instant Karma, himself.
He nodded politely in the general direction of Virtue and sauntered across to the next stairs. At least he’d left his dogs at home. Probably. River eyed the stairs down. A trip to the buffet was in order. She loaded a plate with meatballs, dribbled on a bit of sauce in case she wound up eating them herself, and descended the stairs.

Art’s museum home was an upside down step pyramid. This level was the smallest of the three layers. But not small. A group of four bronze horses galloping, tails high, necks ached in high spirits. A bull, menacing and huge, horns lowered. Two young women, heads together, arms around each other’s waists, giggling. All bronze, no marble. River turned to the double glass doors and pushed through to the warm twilight spring air.

Movement from the side. Large low shapes, about the size of ponies . . .

"Ah, he brought all four of you? Would you
nice
doggies like some meat balls?"

They would. She shared them out, got sniffed a bit more thoroughly than she would have liked, then they drifted off into the deepening shadows. She hunted around the garden, veering at the sight of a couple of very realistic statues, and found a bench to sit on. Mother, Amused and Flattered would be along eventually. But they weren’t who she was waiting for. What was Simon doing, in the gods’ inner circle?

As if she didn’t know. The question was, which one was he working for.

A gust of magical potential swirled.

Edmund Vice again? Perhaps she ought not have isolated herself. She looked for a line of retreat as a tall form materialized out of thin air.

"What are the odds that the World will be hit by a large meteor next year?"

River looked at the man cautiously. Not Vice. Chance. This was the real god, the inspiration of all the lucky ladies in the casinos. "Low, I hope. But I don’t know. What are the odds?"

"We don’t know either, but we’re collecting data. We're getting so many premonitions, we’re worried."

She straightened. "How large? How much damage? Next year!" Her voice sharpened as his meaning sank in.

"Half a mile, in my dreams. It will kill everything in a ten mile circle, at least. There will be serious damage, deaths, out a hundred miles, further. Once the observatory has cataloged the asteroids, the dark pieces, Logic and I will refine our numbers as it closes in. That’s all I can do, but the others say we should do something, not leave it to chance." His smile went crooked, and he walked away.

She heard giggles and male laughter, going the other direction. It seemed the rest of her triad had found what they wanted.
Mother will be furious, to have attracted the attention of the God of Vice. Or maybe not, she ought not have brought them along if she didn’t want them to meet gods and their children.

River sat, disinclined to move for long enough to recognize the unnaturalness of her state, and hunt down the tiny delicate spell. She memorized it first, then snapped it.

She looked around. The garden was empty, a few of Art’s guests walking away down the driveway. And there was Simon, now. Bowing his head politely to Art as he stepped out the doors. He walked briskly, some destination in mind.

River slipped quietly after him. Her pale dress blended into the local stonework; she hardly needed the unnoticeable spell.

Simon was easy to follow, never looking back. She wondered about his tense shoulders and tendency to stomp. He passed through a middle class neighborhood into one with the slightly larger houses of the educated professionals. He stopped dead in the middle of a block, shoulders hunched and hands jammed in his pockets. She studied the houses beyond him. Prosperous, large, well landscaped yards. One stood out as larger than the rest, but not to the point of being odd. That was the one Simon finally approached.

River backtracked, found an alley and walked down it. From the back there was clearly a connection between four of the homes. There were no dividing fences, the lawn she caught glimpses of between the tall fence slats, ran the length of the four houses without restraint. There were children running around, playing tag in the dark.
Up at midnight? Not much parental supervision around here.
The large house was the northern-most of the four. A cross fence divided it from the next, a quiet place with a neglected looking garden, and a few fallen fence boards. She slipped through a hole and staying close to the fence, crossed to the narrow side yard between it and the large gray stone house. She eyed it wistfully. Dare she trespass further?

"I wouldn’t recommend it."

She spun around. The voice had been quiet, with a bit of a shake to it. The stooped gray haired form was barely visible through the netted window, a tiny shape in a big chair.

"Er, sorry. I was, well . . ."

"Wondering what really goes on with those people? I’ll bet you’re one of those new professional women reporters, aren’t you?" The old lady leaned forward. "Well, let me tell you, those wizards are sick. Child abusers, in my opinion. They want the boys to get the girls pregnant when they’re young – when the boys are young, they don’t really care about the girls. Then on the boys’ sixteen birthday—they cut ‘em!" The grey head bobbed. "Eunuchs, every one of them. That’s what gives them their power. The old ones marry the pregnant women, and raise the children as their own, but most likely they’re grandchildren, through the boy or girl, or both. They don’t really seem to care." She pounded her fist on the arm of her chair. "It’s evil, I tell you, evil, what they do." She leaned forward and glared. "Now you get! I don’t want those evil people to notice me. Get!"

River retreated. Wizards. Simon Golan, Golian Wizards. Why hadn’t she made the connection? She slipped through the hole in the fence and walked away.

So. There it was. A connection between The God of Art and the wizards. Which got her nowhere. What could the wizards do that Art and his Little Gods couldn’t? Of course Art was also collecting the witches' support.
So he's lining up
all
the magic users
.

Perhaps she should do a bit of research. If that little old lady was right about the castration enabling the wizards’ power . . . what a hideous choice. In the unlikely event the boys were given a choice. But would it explain why the Golians were as powerful as most witches? A fourth organized group of magicians. Gods, witches, mages and now wizards. With the little gods scattered about, and about to find themselves used by their older but less numerous Archetypes.

Simon. Well, if he was a wizard, and not an ordinary go-between, she could just stop thinking about him, couldn't she? Damn. He hadn't acted like a eunuch.