Jay Lake - Endurance

Iso: “Not as such. Just place limits on a fractious god.”

“Erm.” That noise was somewhere between a growl and a purr.

Osi spoke again. “If you can stand against the force of a temple ward, or a shielding prayer, we could make use of your powers in pursuit of Mistress Green’s project.”

The three of them grew close and began to speak of the mechanics of blocking a god’s will, of invisibility and boundaries and how to hold the edges against an eruption. I listened closely, for of course this touched much on me. Their vocabulary and common experience passed quickly outside my knowledge. They descended into a deep discussion of threaded souls and power flows and ritual boundaries. The Rectifier had no trouble at all with the twins’ strange style of conversation, and seemed quite comfortable addressing them both as one.

The worth of my strategy of neutralizing Blackblood continued to nag at me, especially in the light of the Rectifier’s words about human gods for human needs. Was I making the right choices? Wisdom was slowly returning to me.

I cradled my belly-and truly, it had grown larger, as if my tumble outside was not evidence enough-and thought on how best to approach the problem of setting the Selistani embassy against the pardine Revanchists. Could I simply buy the attentions of the Dancing Mistress’ new sect with the Eyes of the Hills?

No. She would not play that game with me.

I considered an appeal to her loyalty, but our bond was strained almost beyond credibility, let alone the passion we’d shared not so long ago. Choybalsan had damaged my old teacher badly. She was not the woman who’d spent years training me; neither the one who had passed a few hot, strange weeks being my silken-furred lover.

The baby fluttered at that thought as well, as if she could read my memories. “Hush, child,” I whispered. “Your day is far, far away.”

Even if I could turn the Dancing Mistress toward me, that said nothing of the intentions of her followers. I doubted she could bind the Revanchists to my needs.

What if I took the Eyes of the Hills back to Mother Vajpai? I dismissed that idea as well. Whatever game Mother Vajpai was caught up in served as an extension of Kalimpuri politics. That she’d fought to lose in our contest at the Tavernkeep’s place was enough for me. I knew I should accept her passive support, but could not lean upon her given her active and official betrayal of me.

What had the embassy hoped to buy from the Revanchists with those gems? That was the true price and prize, and I simply could not see it yet. Neither group held anything in common with the other, except a very tenuous thread winding through me and my experiences in both Kalimpura and Copper Downs. Well, and whatever Endurance might symbolize to each of them. The pardines had played a hand in the birthing of the god. Their long-stolen power had been embodied in the ox.

Which implied that the Revanchists wanted to cast down Endurance and restore that pent-up power to their own people. The Dancing Mistress had all but said as much. She had not called for such a violent vengeance, though, only asked for their idol’s gems to be restored.

Likewise, the Selistani embassy was here for me. Or so they alleged. Plausible enough that someone might send Samma or even Mother Vajpai across the Storm Sea on such an errand, if the need were large enough or the call sufficiently urgent.

But Surali? And the Prince of the City?

Not for me, not as their sole end. Even Surali’s anger with me could not justify this expedition of theirs. Some greater game was afoot, that the entire Temple of the Silver Lily was enmeshed in, or Surali would not have whatever hold she already kept on Mother Vajpai.

It was up to me to free my Blade sisters.

This whole affair coiled round and round, though I could not see the center. I had forced Samma to give me the Eyes of the Hills. I did not yet know what purpose the gems filled for the pardines, nor did I comprehend what deeper thing might be guarded beyond that purpose.

Something essential was hidden from me.

And did that matter?

What if I just forced the two groups to open conflict? They would fight until even the Interim Council could not ignore the trouble. Let the twins and the Rectifier neutralize Blackblood, then bring my real enemies to force of arms. Copper Downs possessed no army as such, and no real law enforcement since the disbanding of the Ducal Guard, but the Interim Council now had Lampet’s Lads. If motivated, the guilds here could muster quite a few men under arms even without a renewed effort to raise the vacant regiments. Chowdry quite possibly could conjure up elements of Federo’s old bandit army just by trolling taverns and chophouses and dockside flops with the right words in his mouth.

If Jeschonek and the others wanted the Selistani and the Revanchists gone, they had the power to force the issue. All I really needed to do was create enough of a ruckus to call down that official wrath.

Creating a ruckus happened to be something I was very, very good at. Yesterday’s fight in the Tavernkeep’s place wasn’t a bad start. I would continue the effort by sending a note to the Selistani embassy and informing them anonymously that the Revanchists had taken possession of the Eyes of the Hills. Whatever bargain Surali had meant to make with the gems was already overset with my seizure of them from Samma. This would make public what only she and I knew.

As for that, I was certain Samma had not yet betrayed herself. If she had, the affair yesterday would have run quite differently. Surali still played like a woman who controlled the highest cards. It was time she knew her hand had been stolen away.

I discarded the reflection and turned back to my allies at their work.

They squatted on their heels, drawing diagrams upon the blackened floorboards with dust and an old stub of chalk. Squinting close, I recognized a version of Ashton’s Ladder of the Divine, a classic theological illustration I’d encountered during my time of enforced education in the Factor’s house. They worked together to annotate it with notes that looked as if the Rectifier were propounding his notion of the utility of godhead.

Pardine theology meeting with, well, whatever rite the saffron-robed twins practiced. With a nod, I left them to it and slipped back out into the city’s burgeoning day.

It was my intention to head for a scrivener’s and procure the needed letter to the Selistani embassy. I did not want the missive written out in my own hand, for surely Samma and Mother Vajpai would recognize my script. It was possible that Surali would as well, depending on whether or not she had made a study of me in pursuit of her vengeance. With a small grin, I wished her ill of her injuries. I hoped that her own writing would always have a shiver in it to remind the vicious woman of the cost of crossing me.

The morning was still bright and quite cold. I found myself drawn toward the Temple Quarter. That impulse I followed despite my earlier plan, though I had no intention of marching up the steps of the Algeficic Temple. Blackblood would be fine without me, until he wasn’t. That thought made me check my backtrail for signs of Skinless, whom I thought I’d spied the previous day. There were no nine-foot-tall flayed corpses rambling the streets behind me.

I could not wait to be well and truly shut of these gods.

Soon enough I was standing before the ruined Temple of Marya. The site was a jumble of joists and fractured bricks, just as I recalled. Whatever activity the recent rescue had stimulated was long gone. Scavengers had not yet crept in to clear the rubble for salvage or fill. Offerings had been left behind, too. A few flowers-in winter?-scraps of food, a little girl’s smock.