Violette Malan - The Sleeping God

“The Lens has dissolved, perhaps, like the godhood we were; unnecessary now.” Dhulyn swung herself into the saddle. “The gods blow fair winds on you, and warm. Farewell, my Doves.”

They had passed over the crest of the first hill, and looking back no longer showed them Gun and Mar standing side by side. Not, Parno thought, that Dhulyn had looked back.

“The God’s gone, then?” he asked her.

Dhulyn frowned, her blood-red brows drawn down in a vee over her narrowed eyes. “The Sleeping God is gone. Perhaps forever.” She looked up, her brow still clouded. “If its only purpose was to oppose the Green Shadow, then there is no further need of the Sleeping God.” She thought for a moment, until her face cleared. “We can’t know. As Mar said, Gun will write it all down, in case the God is ever needed again. Lenses will be tested for, like the other Marks-though, thank the Caids, I don’t have to create the test, for I’ve no notion what it might be.”

“But for us, it’s over?”

“I won’t forget. Shape and form has been at the root of this, and part of me will always remember what it was to be the form of the God.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Parno threw up his hands. “My Partner is a god. I’ll never hear the end of this.”

A half moon later they were in Gotterang. They found that Karlyn-Tan could have accompanied them after all, as Dorian the Black had docked his ship in Gotterang’s harbor, the better to oversee the rebuilding of Mercenary House.

“The maps are safe, thanks to your warning,” he told them, once they had been found seats in a half-restored room and been served with mugs of hot ganje. “Though we’ve told the Tarkina that they were destroyed in the fire.”

“Thus setting any fears of us to rest,” Parno said. “So we’ve only to present ourselves at the Carnelian Dome, collect our wages, with, it’s to be hoped, a nice bonus, and be on our way.”

Dorian shook his head.

“Bet-oTeb Tarkin, on the advice of her Guardian, Zelianora Tarkina, has sent you your wages here, and begs that you not present yourselves at the Dome. Though it’s been proclaimed that you found and killed the assassins of Tek-aKet Tarkin, awkward questions may yet be asked. Bet-oTeb Tarkin suggests that you may wish to find employment elsewhere until interest dies down. Zelianora Tarkina suggests her sister, the Queen of Berdana, may have work for you.”

“Essentially, take your wages and leave the country-better yet, the continent?”

“Essentially.” Dorian’s smile was very white in his dark face. “There’s a ship just now in the harbor, leaving tomorrow at dawn. The Horse’s Mane . A good omen if ever I heard one.”

As they walked down the staircase to the sound of carpenters hammering, Parno looked around.

“Well, at least we’ve been paid this time.”

“Do you realize what our expenses have been? Replace at least one horse? Two thirds of our weapons gone and the expensive two thirds at that? A capital city is not the best place for good prices. And now we’re to buy passage on a ship at the height of the season?” Dhulyn stopped, her fingers tapping out a now familiar rhythm on the railing. “Did Dorian say the ship leaves at dawn?”

“What of it?”

She gestured at the carpentry work around them. “We can’t sleep here, so that means an inn, and where there’s an inn there’s a taproom…”

“And where there’s a taproom there’s gamblers. Do you think they’ll let you use your own tiles?”

Violette Malan lives in a nineteenth-century limestone farmhouse in southeastern Ontario with her husband. Born in Canada, Violette’s cultural background is half Spanish and half Polish, which makes it interesting at meal times. She has worked as a teacher of creative writing, English as a second language, Spanish, beginner’s French, and choreography for strippers. On occasion she’s been an administrative assistant and a carpenter’s helper. Her most unusual job was translating letters between lovers, one of whom spoke only English, the other only Spanish.

Visit Violette’s website: www.violettemalan.com.