Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's Tamora Pierce's.
A/N: It was interesting working on this chapter. I discovered mistakes in the text I had never noticed before, including references to Gold-streak and Leaf by those names prior to when Daine gave them and the badger actually chuckling (I changed it in my version for continuity). There is also some conflicting dialogue for Numair that I had to struggle to work around. It's funny to realize that Tamora Pierce is human too (I tend to think of her as slightly ethereal). And I wonder if this chapter wasn't originally rearranged a bit.
WhyshouldItellyou: You can always look under your at my list of favorite stories and authors. I hightly recommend stories by Himura Seraphina, The Whisper, Purple-Eyed Cat, Narms Briton 44 and Sarramaks. All are fabulous authors and have amazing stories on here. I'm sure I forgot a few too. Just check my favorite authors list.
Nativewildmage: Gives "bless you" a whole knew meaning now, doesn't it.
Rauros Falls: Thanks, the scene you want is fast approaching. They two gods have to leave first though.
Animal Maglet: Thanks.
Purple Eyed Cat: Thanks. I'm glad you liked it.
Goldeneyed wildmage: I think I can get there in two more. But the chess game has to happen first and it is quite long
Bitterosemary: Well if I ever do anything completely outlandish, I hope you'd tell me. Thanks for all the compliments and for noticing all the little stuff. It's funny how much that little stuff can mean to the story. When I'm working on my own story in the next couple weeks I'm going to miss having all the instant feedback.
KnightbyDay: Hahaha. Tammy put the sneeze as his laugh, not me. Although there was a section in this chapter where she had an error. He actually chuckled instead of sneezing. In my version I fixed it. I was shocked because I never realized it was there before. It just goes to show how important a good editor is even to great writers. I hope if I find a publisher that I get an equally great editor.
Hoshi-ko88: Thanks
Alanna Cooper: Thanks
Silverlake: Thanks
Narms Briton 44: Nope I don't have anyone to publish it yet. But when you're just starting you have to have the story to offer, before you get to that part. I'm not sure if I'll find someone to want to print it, but I have to try. And as for this story – every time he thinks he's past that stage it comes back to haunt him.
Blackandwhiteroses: Spidrens are still a few chapters away
1reallyblue1: Thanks
Sarramaks: Thanks for the editing note. I did fix it. Thanks for the compliments. I liked the lovely, solid ground thing myself. And I couldn't resist the sneezes. It was too funny.
Chapter 18 – Birth of Darkings
Broad Foot had said he smelled water and fish, so they walked a little further until they came to a valley where a rapidly flowing brook dropped into a large pool of water. It was a nice clearing for camping. Broad Foot dived immediately into the pool and began hunting for the next frog or fish god to supply his supper. It had taken a while for Numair to get used to this. Since gods were immediately reborn into new bodies, a god was never actually killed in this way. He amused himself by contemplating that since gods didn't need to eat and couldn't die, it was their own form of barbarism. It was strange to think of gods as barbaric, but then, he had learned all sorts of things about gods on this excursion which he had never considered before.
They settled their camp packs and Numair directed Daine to go wash the cut on her head before he would treat it. In the meantime he began to gather firewood. To his surprise, he had a helper. One of the darkings tottered around on two liquidly formed legs and gathered wood in two stretchy arms until it carried what looked like more than its own weight in wood.
Numair piled the wood into a ring of rocks he had placed, and lit it with his gift. He removed the kettle from his pack and filled it with water for tea and when he returned to the fire to place the kettle there, he found the darking examining the flames.
"It's extremely hot," he told the darking. "It would be unwise to stick your…" it was too late. The darking had stuck a limb in the flames and gotten burned for his trouble. He squeaked from the pain briefly and then was silent again. The burned area caused a strange coloration in his body – if one could call it a body. He shook his head at the little creature. "All this time following Daine around and you never investigated fire before?"
The little creature nodded.
"You have?" It nodded again. "So you wanted to get burned?"
The darking pointed to the colored streak which seemed to ripple across its shape to cover more than the previously formed limb.
"If I stuck my head in fire so I could singe my hair to change how it looked, people would call me mad." He mumbled it more than said it. He began to prepare camp bread and soup.
Soon after, Daine returned from the pool of water. Numair sat on a log and ushered Daine to sit in front of him so he could inspect the wound and apply Sarra's healing salve. She sat and submitted patiently. He tried to be as gentle as possible as he sorted through her thick curls to reveal the wound. Then he applied the salve carefully. "Your mother makes some amazing ointments," he told Daine. "The skin is healing instantly when touched by the salve."
"She said the herbs she finds here are more powerful," Daine remarked, turning to look into his eyes. He felt compelled closer but he fought it. He patted her shoulder and moved to a seat a little further away.
The badger settled himself on the opposite side of the fire from the two mortals. The duckmole was already there, half tucked under a fallen log.
"Daine, what in the name of the gods was going on at that bridge?" the badger demanded. "It looked as if you were dancing."
Numair watched her take a sip of tea and rub her temple as though she had a headache. "It's these darkings. Just before the hurroks appeared I was struggling to separate them. Seemingly they were fighting or disagreeing." The darking with the discolored patch (which now looked gold) began to nod its head vigorously. "And then I saw Ozorne," she said before biting her lip. "There was another time, when the tauros almost got me. A darking was in the water – was that you?" she asked the darking with the gold streak. It nodded. "I saw Ozorne then too, inside him," she said, pointing to the blot.
Numair looked at her surprised, while his temper flared. "You never mentioned this," he remarked. If Ozorne sent the tauros after Daine – well it was something he would do. The horrid beasts were notorious for raping women. They were an unnatural immortal combination of men and bulls and they had no females in their species. The few victims who had survived their attacks were usually destroyed, physically and emotionally. Though many saw healers right away, the attacks left scars. He had, months ago, been asked to talk to some victims of tauros attacks to try to magically find the creatures and kill them. The victims were so traumatized that the mere sight of any male put them into hysterics and Alanna had ended up being called in to take over.
He saw Daine stiffen and felt immediately guilty. "I had other things to worry about!" she said defensively. "I thought maybe I saw Ozorne because the darkings are liquid, kind of, but they aren't, are they?" The gold streaked darking shook its head emphatically.
"We need answers," said Broad Foot. "Where is the spy – in your pouch still?" The duckmole pulled himself out from beneath his log and focused on the girl.
She nodded. "Oh -- and I've another one."
"Another--?" asked Numair. There were now three of the things and it looked like they were spies of Ozornes. He didn't like this at all.
"It dropped off the hurrok that cut my head," she said. "I think it deserted to our side." Deserter or no, Numair had the urge to torch it and the other two little things for the harm they had nearly caused Daine. He began to breathe meditatively to control his temper and appear calm.
Broad Foot waddled over to Daine and cut a circle in the ground with a claw. Before he closed it he told the gold-streaked darking, "Inside, you." The blot cowered away from him.
"It won't hurt," the badger said. "Getting answers in other ways takes too long." This was god magic and was fascinating to Numair. He moved a little closer to watch.
"But Ma tried that," Daine protested. "She only got its name."
"Because that was what she asked for," Broad Foot replied. "We're doing something else." He fixed a stern eye on the discolored darking. "Stop dawdling!" The creature flattened itself in a sulky fashion and trickled across the ground unwillingly into the circle. The duckmole looked up at Daine. "Where's this new darking?"
Daine fished around in her shirt until she had captured the deserter. "Go with your friend," she said to the thing. She put it on the ground and it rolled into the circle with the other darking.
"Now the third," said Broad Foot.
Quickly, Daine upended her belt purse over the circle. Her captive fell out with a plop and Broad Foot immediately closed the circle. The darking surged against the line in the ground and flattened as if he had met a wall of glass. Numair was spellbound. It was as if the creatures had been imprisoned and it all had come by simply drawing a circle in the ground without so much as a murmur of words, though he had no way of knowing if the animal gods had used a mindspeak. He wanted to ask but sensed that the questions would not be welcomed at this time.
"Stand back!" ordered the duck mole. Everyone complied. Then Broad Foot opened his bill and issued a strange sound. Silver fire bloomed in a circle over the darkings, who shrank away from it. The glittering light stretched evenly along the circumference of the circle and inside a picture began to form.
There was Ozorne, streaked with soot, cuts on his face and chest, a clump of braids singed. Numair could see that attempts had been made to kill him. He looked a little worse for wear. There was a piece of obsidian, the stone of creation, dangling from a frayed cord around his neck. His lips moved as if he might be speaking to himself. The picture spread until it was possible to see that he was standing in a cave with a pool of water at his feet. Beyond the visible stalactites, the opening of the cave could be seen and snow was falling thickly outside.
An image formed in the water before him of Daine reading a book. Ozorne reached for her. When his outstretched wing touched the water, the image disappeared. Though this vision was soundless, they could see him shriek baring silver teeth. Veins in his chest, neck and face stood out against his skin. He spun, and came to an abrupt halt, a sudden look of cleverness on his countenance.
Ozorne's lips moved, but Numair could not guess what he had said. A thick serpent of gold edged, scarlet fire slithered from his lips and hung in the air before him.
"So he'd mastered stormwing magic by winter," Numair murmured. "Possibly even before the barriers between the realms collapsed." He had suspected that Ozorne had been there to gather the magic in the air at the collapse of the barrier. Though he had never had the evidence to prove it, he had always believed Ozorne guilty of the forest displacement chasm which had swallowed Daine in the Spring. Numair wondered too, if he could have mastered stormwing magic as fast as Ozorne obviously had. Perhaps that was the motivation behind the magical menagerie the former emperor had kept. He might have desired to understand their magic well enough to control them. Now, of course, the madman had even better reasons.
"This is months ago," said the badger. "I remember this blizzard. We don't have that many, even here in the colder climates – it was the first full moon after midwinter, the Wolf Moon."
Neatly, Ozorne cut his cheek on a razor-edged feather. The fiery serpent flew to the cut, affixing to his face as a leech might. Ozorne spoke again. The serpent fell away, transforming into a bowl as it moved back. It brimmed with dark blood. It was a sight that sent shivers of warning into Numair. Magic like this was something a mortal should never attempt and years of schooling left him nervous at the sight of it.
Lurching to the pool, Ozorne drank. When he was finished his eyes were bright and he grinned malevolently. Returning to the magical bowl, he breathed a red-gold mist over the surface of the blood. The mist sank into the depths of the blood and swirled, making wavy patterns. Quickly, the stormwing cut both lips, flicking the droplets of blood into the bowl.
"For speaking," Numair guess aloud. It made sense. As in all magic, this still needed the activity and connection to its subject. "Blood also for life, and to bind the fruits of the working to him. He couldn't have done it as a mortal, but here –"
"Here magical laws are what you make them," Broad Foot said. "He seems to have learned that better than most who are born immortal.
Numair raised an eyebrow doubtfully. Ozorne had never been one for study. He was an immensely talented mage when he was mortal, but only by sheer force of will. "I doubt that he learned that at all. He merely wanted to do the thing and so he forced it to happen Subtlety has never been his strong suit."
The vision of Ozorne continued to do what seemed predictable when creating spies. He made cuts over his ears and over his eyelids, each time adding the droplets of blood to the creation. Then he slowly raised his wings, pointing toward the ceiling of the cave, and as he did the liquid surged. When he lowered his wings, a protrusion remained in the surface of the contents of the bowl. Twice more, Ozorne repeated the motion, and after the third time, the protrusion had become a black and red column nearly 18 inches tall.
Ozorne was perspiring, as if the working had taken a great deal from him. He shouted a word that Numair again couldn't guess and the bowl disappeared. Its contents dropped, shattering into what appeared to be 30 or 40 blobs. They turned black and the stormwing's face was mirrored in each newborn darking. The sheer number of them astounded Numair. He could not imagine why Ozorne thought he needed that many spies to keep track of Daine.
The vision dissolved and only the trio of darkings remained.
"There you have it," said Broad Foot. "Your enemy made them to serve as his voice, eyes and ears." He broke the circle to release the darkings from their small prison.
Free, the darkings did not try to escape. They created heads for themselves and nodded. The one who had scorched himself still had the streak in his inky body. Another of the darkings had picked up a leaf while in the circle and was wearing it like an absurd hat. The other remained naked and quivering.
"So you are Ozorne's spies," Daine said.
The gold-streaked darking nodded, then the one with the leaf followed suit. The other shrunk away, trembling violently.
Numair could see an air of penitence about them, but he knew magic and the binding nature of blood. "You showed Ozorne we were on the bridge," he reminded them coolly.
The one with the gold-streak pointed an accusatory tentacle at the one wearing the leaf.
"You'll do it again when he summons you," growled the badger. He could be down-right frightening when he wanted to be.
The answer was emphatic head shakes from the gold-streaked and leaf-wearing darkings. The other one shrank against the other two in fear.
"But he created you," Numair said.
The one with the gold streak began to shake violently as if he were trying to morph himself into something different.
"Don't be afraid," Daine said. "You needn't –"
"I don't think its fear," Numair interrupted her.
"It's trying something new," said Broad Foot. "Wait."
The other darkings leaned against the one with the gold streak as if giving it strength. An image formed in the gold-streaked darking's depths, growing to cover its surface. There was stormwing Ozorne. He glared at the darking on the ground before him.
"Obey" whispered Ozorne. His victim began to shrill and the other darkings joined in, their tiny voices rising and falling. When the image vanished, they stopped.
"He hurts you," Daine said. "Is that why?
The darking with the gold-streak showed a fresh image: a red-clad female giant – a blot's eye view of Daine – as she tugged an arrow shaft away from the onlooker's vision. That picture blurred to form a fresh image.
"Your leg, isn't it?" asked Numair, grinning. "From the foot up?"
A large hand came into view, cheese in the fingers. It dropped the scrap and pulled away. Numair chuckled silently to himself. She had been feeding a darking under the table that evening.
"You fed it." The badger sighed. "Sometimes I think you'll feed anything." Numair stifled a laugh.
"You were trying to warn me, in the pond?" asked Daine. The visions disappeared. The discolored darking nodded. "And on the bridge? Your friend here – Leaf, and you're Gold-streak, and this little fellow –" She scratched her head, looking at the trembling creature. "You'll be Jelly."
The darking's shivers slowed, though they didn't stop. It rose a bit in the middle, no longer trying to merge with the ground.
"So on the bridge, Leaf was reporting to Ozorne," Daine continued. "Gold-streak, you tried to put Leaf in the pouch to keep Ozorne from seeing where I was, but it was too late – Ozorne had already sent the hurroks. You hadn't told Leaf not to do as Ozorne bid you." Both Gold-streak and Leaf nodded.
She turned to Jelly. "And you abandoned the hurrok when you saw I had Gold-streak?"
A bump that might have been a head lifted in Jelly's mass. Stiffly it shook its new head.
"Or did Gold-streak call to you?" Daine guessed. Jelly nodded.
The badger sneezed. "Ozorne mastered stormwing magic, but he created the darkings here."
"Are you sure?" Numair asked, although he was already fairly certain it was true. "That cave may have been in the mortal realms."
"He did it here," Broad Foot said firmly. "We gods can always tell the difference."
"Here, life is forbidden to remain a slave of its creator," explained the badger. "It's why so many children and servants of gods act against the interests of those who gave them life. The darkings are forming their own ideas and ways to communicate, and they're getting names."
But could they really afford to take this chance when it had already nearly harmed Daine twice. "They're his blood," Numair argued. "Blood will bind anything. How can they refuse when he commands?"
"I don't know, but they can," Daine said. "This morning I heard Ozorne say, 'Number 14 report.' I thought I dreamed it, but I didn't. Gold-streak was still in my pack then so Ozorne couldn't see where we were. Gold-streak refused to tell him!" Gold-streak nodded vigorously.
"That's why Ozorne sent Leaf, because he couldn't make you tell, and Jelly chose to be with you, not Ozorne," she said to the darkings. Both Leaf and Gold-streak nodded.
Daine picked up Jelly. "You were brave to jump off that hurrok," she told it gently. "Why don't you talk to Leaf and Gold-streak a bit, and hear what they have to say?" The darking nodded and then rubbed its head against her thumb affectionately before she put it down. The three small creatures merged together in a shadowy pool.
Numair had to admit he was impressed. Daine's loving personality had drawn spies created by Ozorne away from him. He knew which side he'd pick if he were a darking. He studied the girl and saw that heavy eyed expression Daine always wore when she was very exhausted. "We'd best turn in," he suggested. "We've had a long day."
"Doubtless tomorrow will be longer still," Daine said gratefully and she began digging in her pack.
"We will stand guard," the badger said. "Broad Foot and I have things to discuss." No doubt those things included precisely what the Great Gods had said and why Broad Foot suspected they were barely holding their own.
It was a long time before Numair could sleep. He wished again that he had just set Ozorne ablaze in the menagerie where he was turned into a stormwing. Life would be so much easier if he had. Humans spent so much of their lives wishing to relive moments. He wondered if gods ever felt like that when they watched over someone, only to see them turn into a monster. Weiryn's own son was evil and he wondered if Weiryn wished he had snuffed the boy at some point earlier. It was wrong to question though and Numair knew it. He had too many things in common with Ozorne. As teens the two had even been good friends. It would be so easy for Numair to become what Ozorne had if he allowed himself murderous thoughts. There had to be something that separated them – otherwise he was no better than his enemy. And though he may not be perfect, he knew of at least one point that put him above Ozorne -- the ability to show mercy.
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