where there's life there's hope."
Chapter Twelve
Thunder stampeded. Silver lightning lashed the wine-dark clouds, cracked the umber sky. A mold-grey horde howled across a basalt plain, toward the golden chariots of the gods.
A figure stepped from the line, ten feet tall, polished ebony, naked, lifting each foot knee-high to the side, then swinging the leg forward and stamping down. The earth shook.
The figure was female, perfection but hairless, wore a girdle of children's skulls. Her face was protean, one moment radiant dark beauty, the next a nightmare of burning eyes and vampire fangs.
The figure seized a demon and devoured him, rending, tearing, flinging entrails. Demon blood spurted and sprayed. It burned holes in the face of the plain. The figure's jaws distended. She swallowed the demon's head whole. A lump ran down her neck like a mouse bulging a snake's throat.
The horde beset her. And could do her no harm. She devoured another screaming devil, then another and another. With each she grew and waxed more terrible.
"I am here, Daughter. Open to me. I am your dream. I am power."
The voice floated like gossamer in golden caverns where old men sat beside the way, frozen in time, immortal, unable to move an eyelid. Mad, some covered by fairy webs of ice, as though a thousand spiders had spun with threads of frozen water. Above, an enchanted forest of icicles hung from the cavern roof.
"Come. I am what you seek. You are my child."
But the footing was treacherous, making it impossible to advance or retreat.
The voice called, summoned, with infinite patience.
This time I remembered both dreams when I wakened. I still shivered with the chill of those caverns. The dream was different every time, I thought, and yet was the same. A summoning.
I'm not stupid. I've seen enough incredibilities to know the dreams were more than nightmares. Something had singled me out. Something was trying to recruit me, to what cause I couldn't yet guess. The method was ancient. I've used it a thousand times. Offer power, wealth, whatever the desire is, dangling the lure till the fish bites, never revealing the cost.
Did this thing know me? Unlikely. I was receptive so it was trying to pull me.
I wouldn't accept it as a god, though it might want to be thought one. I've met only one god, Old Father Tree, master of the Plain of Fear. And he's no god in the accepted sense, only a being of immense longevity and power.
This world has shown me just two beings stronger than I. My husband, the Dominator, whom I cast into oblivion. In a thousand years he may be remembered as a dark god.
And Father Tree, greater than ever I could have been, who has roots anchoring him. He can project his power outside the Plain of Fear only through his servants.
Croaker told me about a third power that lies buried under Father Tree, imprisoned while the tree survives. The tree is immortal by human standards.
Where there are three great powers there could be more. The world is old. Yesterday is shrouded. Those who become great in one age often do so by mining the secrets of ages past. Who knows how many great evils lie beneath this haunted earth?
Who knows but what the gods of all men in all ages are but echoes of those who followed a path like mine and have, nevertheless, fallen victim to implacable time?
Not a thought to soothe the soul. Time is the enemy whose patience can't be exhausted.
"Mistress? Are you troubled?" Narayan's grin was absent. He showed genuine concern.
"Oh." He'd come up quietly. "No. A bad dream that lingered. Nightmares are the coin we pay for doing what we have to do."
He looked at me oddly.
"Do you have nightmares, Narayan?" I'd begun to press him quietly, to weigh his answers to questions probing his flanks.
"Never, Mistress. I sleep like a baby." He turned slowly, surveyed the camp. The countryside was shrouded in mist. "What's the agenda today?"
"Do we have practice weapons enough for a mock
Chapter Twelve
Thunder stampeded. Silver lightning lashed the wine-dark clouds, cracked the umber sky. A mold-grey horde howled across a basalt plain, toward the golden chariots of the gods.
A figure stepped from the line, ten feet tall, polished ebony, naked, lifting each foot knee-high to the side, then swinging the leg forward and stamping down. The earth shook.
The figure was female, perfection but hairless, wore a girdle of children's skulls. Her face was protean, one moment radiant dark beauty, the next a nightmare of burning eyes and vampire fangs.
The figure seized a demon and devoured him, rending, tearing, flinging entrails. Demon blood spurted and sprayed. It burned holes in the face of the plain. The figure's jaws distended. She swallowed the demon's head whole. A lump ran down her neck like a mouse bulging a snake's throat.
The horde beset her. And could do her no harm. She devoured another screaming devil, then another and another. With each she grew and waxed more terrible.
"I am here, Daughter. Open to me. I am your dream. I am power."
The voice floated like gossamer in golden caverns where old men sat beside the way, frozen in time, immortal, unable to move an eyelid. Mad, some covered by fairy webs of ice, as though a thousand spiders had spun with threads of frozen water. Above, an enchanted forest of icicles hung from the cavern roof.
"Come. I am what you seek. You are my child."
But the footing was treacherous, making it impossible to advance or retreat.
The voice called, summoned, with infinite patience.
This time I remembered both dreams when I wakened. I still shivered with the chill of those caverns. The dream was different every time, I thought, and yet was the same. A summoning.
I'm not stupid. I've seen enough incredibilities to know the dreams were more than nightmares. Something had singled me out. Something was trying to recruit me, to what cause I couldn't yet guess. The method was ancient. I've used it a thousand times. Offer power, wealth, whatever the desire is, dangling the lure till the fish bites, never revealing the cost.
Did this thing know me? Unlikely. I was receptive so it was trying to pull me.
I wouldn't accept it as a god, though it might want to be thought one. I've met only one god, Old Father Tree, master of the Plain of Fear. And he's no god in the accepted sense, only a being of immense longevity and power.
This world has shown me just two beings stronger than I. My husband, the Dominator, whom I cast into oblivion. In a thousand years he may be remembered as a dark god.
And Father Tree, greater than ever I could have been, who has roots anchoring him. He can project his power outside the Plain of Fear only through his servants.
Croaker told me about a third power that lies buried under Father Tree, imprisoned while the tree survives. The tree is immortal by human standards.
Where there are three great powers there could be more. The world is old. Yesterday is shrouded. Those who become great in one age often do so by mining the secrets of ages past. Who knows how many great evils lie beneath this haunted earth?
Who knows but what the gods of all men in all ages are but echoes of those who followed a path like mine and have, nevertheless, fallen victim to implacable time?
Not a thought to soothe the soul. Time is the enemy whose patience can't be exhausted.
"Mistress? Are you troubled?" Narayan's grin was absent. He showed genuine concern.
"Oh." He'd come up quietly. "No. A bad dream that lingered. Nightmares are the coin we pay for doing what we have to do."
He looked at me oddly.
"Do you have nightmares, Narayan?" I'd begun to press him quietly, to weigh his answers to questions probing his flanks.
"Never, Mistress. I sleep like a baby." He turned slowly, surveyed the camp. The countryside was shrouded in mist. "What's the agenda today?"
"Do we have practice weapons enough for a mock
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