David Drake - The Gods Return

"You're afraid of it, Master Amineus," Cashel said, as polite as he could be while calling another man a liar. It wasn't something he often did, but he couldn't take the chance that Liane and Rasile would mistake what was going on before they spoke to the oracle. "It sticks out all over you. I'm sorry, but it does." Amineus stumbled but caught himself the next step. His face went red, then white. He didn't say anything or even look over his shoulder at Cashel. "He is right to be afraid, warrior," said Rasile calmly. "There is much power focused here, power that could turn this universe. Power enough perhaps to put the very cosmos into a spin." Her tongue lolled in laughter. Either she thought the priest was smart enough to understand she wasn't slavering for his blood, or maybe she didn't care. "When we came beneath the walls of this great place made of stone," the wizard continued, "I thought the great power I saw was the oracle. It made me doubt our success, for power like that would make nothing of such as me. It was too great for any person, of the True People or of the Monkey People. Who are true in their own way, as I now see." She cocked her head to look at Amineus. He must have felt her foxlike sharpness, but he didn't turn to meet it. "But it is not your tree that has the power, elder," she said. "The tree has grown here because of the power of the temple in its center. And you fear it." "The temple is very old," Amineus said softly. "Its walls were mud brick.

They've been gone, crumbled to dirt, from long before records. And the records of the priesthood of the Tree, the questions and responses, go back to the age before the age before the Old Kingdom." He stopped and turned to face the three of them. "I didn't lie to you, Master Cashel," he said. "We know nothing about the temple beyond what you yourself see. And if you prefer to think that I would not act respectfully to a site of ancient worship if I didn't fear it, then you go ahead and believe that. But you're wrong." Cashel felt uncomfortable. He wasn't sorry for having brought the business out in the open, but it now seemed that the priest hadn't had any bad intention in not wanting to discuss it. "I don't think that, sir," he said. "You've showed yourself polite to us, for which we thank you."

"Yes," said Amineus, "but perhaps less forthcoming than a man in fear of his life should be to his rescuers, eh? My pardon to all of you."

He turned again and gestured with his left hand. "Milady," he said.

"This is the oracle itself." Cashel hadn't known what to expect. There was an aspen grove in Cafardstown, three days north of Barca's Hamlet.

Folk said that if you slept in it, the Lady would speak to your dreams in the rustling of the leaves. Cashel had never seen the grove or cared about it one way or another, but he knew folk who'd made the journey. Some said they'd got their answer, too. Widow Bassera had asked the trees to pick between her suitors, then married young Parus or-Whin instead of a settled man her own age. The match had worked out well, but Bassera was a clever one who might've decided to get the Lady's support for the choice her own wits had made. Here at Dariada… A flat stone was set into the ground. It was polished black granite an ell across, not local limestone like the foundation of the old temple. Though the stone had been cut to be round, the surface was etched with many figures inside each other, from a triangle up to something with more sides than Cashel could count with both hands. Describing the Tree would make it sound like the stands of mangroves that Cashel had seen in his travels. That was nothing like what it really looked like, though, because these individual boles were as thick as the trunks of live oaks. Slanting up from the nearest trunk was a branch thicker than Cashel could've spanned with both arms. From it a seedpod hung almost to the ground in front of the granite slab. This pod was huge, bigger than Cashel in every dimension. Its casing had turned a brown as dark as walnut heartwood, and the seam running from tip to stem was almost black. That seam had started to split open at the top. Inside the pod was the face of a man with his eyes shut. It was the same deep brown as the casing around it. "I've brought you to the oracle, milady," Amineus said, turning his hand toward the pod. "The querent always asks his-or her-own questions. We of the priesthood merely make the administrative arrangements." "Thank you, Master Amineus," Liane said. She seemed a little taken aback. "Which… which of us is to do the questioning?" The priest shrugged. "That's up to you," he said. "I've already explained that the oracle refused to tell us-the priests of the Tree-anything beyond the fact that the Worm will come to Dariada regardless of what we wish or do." "All right," said Liane with a crisp nod. "Rasile, this is your business properly." To the priest she added, "Master Amineus, is there a form she's to use in addressing the oracle?" Amineus shrugged again. "The Tree will speak if it chooses to," he said. Rasile stepped onto the slab, placing both feet carefully within the triangle that was the innermost of the forms.

Before she could speak, the eyes within the pod opened. I thought it was a statue, Cashel thought. A carved statue… "What have I to do with a Corl?" said the wooden head. "Other than kill it as an affront to the world that is given to men, that is. Or do you think that because you are a wizard, you can force me to speak?" "If you know my heart…," said Rasile, standing as straight as the joint of her hips permitted. Cashel had seen the wizard's face when she confronted a wyvern that had just torn a muscular Corl chieftain to dollrags. Then too she'd shown a fierce certainty that though she would die, she would die fighting. "Then you know I claim no power over such as you." The face-the Tree-laughed. "I will not harm you," it said. "But step away, Corl. You have no part in my world." Rasile bowed, then hopped onto the bare ground without touching the slab again. Liane, delicately but without hesitation, stepped into her place. The Tree laughed again. Its voice was a deep baritone. It reminded Cashel of stormwinds booming through a hollow log.

"Greetings, Lady Liane," the Tree said. "Another time I would speak with you, but now as the world of men nears its end I will talk to your champion instead. Cashel or-Mab, come face me." "Sir," said Cashel, stepping onto the granite. He held the staff crossed before him at waist height. It wasn't a threat, but it showed he didn't intend to be pushed around. Cashel knew the Tree's sort. Hewas the Tree's sort; which he guessed was why it'd called for him. "My father's name is Kenset, sir," he said. "Not Mab." The Tree's laughter boomed. The carven face was handsome, but its lines were just as hard as the wood it was shaped from. "Your father was a weakling," the Tree said harshly. "He made bad choices and drank because he regretted them. Your mother Mab, though… she is not weak. Nor is her son.

Ask me what you want to know, Cashel son of Mab." "Sir," said Cashel.

Without really thinking about it, he pivoted the quarterstaff to stand straight up beside him, gripped in his right hand. "There's a Worm loose in the world, now. How do we kill it, please?" "No man living can kill the Worm, Cashel," the Tree said. Its words were rumbling like distant thunder. "In times more ancient than you can imagine-"

The eyes looked from Cashel to the women beside him, just like they were in a human face instead of a wooden one. "More ancient than even Lady Liane has read of in the oldest books. In those times lived a hero named Gorand. He was the champion of his people as you are of yours, Cashel. He vanquished the Worm when fools let it into the world of men." "Yes sir," Cashel said. He was speaking like the wooden face was another man; but it talked like another man, and anyway that was the polite thing to do. "Can you teach me to do what Gorand did? To beat the Worm?" The Tree boomed another peal of laughter. "No, Cashel, I cannot," it said. "That is a thing not even you can learn. You must rouse Gorand and convince him to banish the Worm for you. To banish it for mankind, as he did before." Cashel didn't say anything for a moment, making sure that he understood what he'd just been told. He caught Liane out of the corner of his eye: her mouth opened like she was going to speak, but she closed it again. Rasile reached out and touched her arm. Both women were looking at him. "Sir," said Cashel,