Tamora Pierce - The Realms of the Gods

Daine stared at the view. The ground here dropped away to meet a busy stream. There were no trees between stream and house, although the forest grew thickly on the far side of the water. In the oval of open sky overhead, waves of rippling pea green, orange, yellow, and grey fire shimmered and coursed.

‘What is it?’ she whispered. Numair took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘I feel that it means something bad, but it’s so beautiful …’

‘It means that Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, is fighting the Great Gods,’ said the badger. ‘That light is her magic and her soldiers, as they attack the barriers between our realm and hers.’

‘She has been at it since Midwinter.’ Weiryn put an arm around Sarra. ‘Normally the lights that burn in our sky reflect your mortal wars, but this is far more important.’

‘Thanks ever so,’ muttered Numair. Daine grinned at him.

Sarra looked at her daughter and said reproachfully, ‘Speaking of war, I never raised you to be always fighting and killing. That’s not woman’s work.’

‘It’s needful, Ma. You taught me a woman has to know how to defend herself.’

‘I never!’ gasped Sarra, indignant.

‘You taught me when you were murdered in your own house,’ Daine said quietly.

Sarra turned back into Weiryn’s hold, leaning on his chest, but not before the girl saw tears in her mother’s eyes. A hand patted her ankle; a broad head thrust itself under her elbow. Against her mother’s hurt, she set Numair’s smile and the badger’s approval.

‘Sarra, our war in Tortall may seem unimportant to the gods, but not to us,’ Numair said. ‘Daine and I must return to it. They need every fighter, and every mage.’

Daine nodded, and closed her eyes. She felt dizzy. Her bones were aching again.

Sarra glanced over and saw what was wrong. ‘We’ll talk of that later,’ she said crisply. ‘You both need to drink a posset, then sleep again. It will be a few days before the effects of your passage are over.’ She went to the hearth and ladled something from a pot into a pair of cups. One she gave to Numair, the other to Daine. ‘Drink.’

The liquid in the cup smelled vile, but Daine knew better than to argue. She gulped it down when Numair did, praying that her stomach wouldn’t reject it.

‘Back to bed, sir mage,’ ordered Sarra.

‘Good night, Daine,’ Numair said. The badger echoed him.

‘G’night,’ she murmured, eyes closing already. She sank back among pillows that smelled of sun-dried cotton. ‘Oh – I forgot. G’night – Da.’

She heard a deep chuckle; a hand smoothed her curls. ‘I am glad that you are here and safe, little one.’

Daine smiled, and slept.

Waking slowly, she heard familiar voices, and thought she dreamed them.

The speaker was a mage, Harailt of Aili. ‘—from Fiefs Seabeth and Seajen.’ He panted, as if he’d been running. ‘A Yamani fleet’s been sighted to the west. The bad news is, somehow the Scanrans knew they were coming. They fled overnight.’

‘Father Storm’s curses!’ That voice was Queen Thayet’s. ‘How does the enemy get his information? I’d swear on my children’s lives that there’s no way for a spy to report our plans – and yet the enemy continues to stay one step ahead!’

‘I’ll ask the mages to start using truth-spells and the Sight, and see if we can identify an enemy agent.’ Harailt sounded worn out.

‘Please do,’ replied the queen. ‘And when we find him – or her – I hope that person is good with his gods.’

Daine opened her eyes. The little room was silent, and bathed in sunlight.

What a strange dream, she thought, and sat up.

There was an even stranger animal on her bed.

At first she thought that someone had played a very bad joke on a young beaver; her visitor had that same dense brown fur. No beaver, though, had ever sported a duck’s bill. The tail was wrong, too. It was the proper shape, but it was covered with hair. As the creature, a little over two feet in length, toddled up the length of her bed, she saw that it had webbed feet. Reaching her belly, it cocked its head first one way, then the other, examining her with eyes deeply set into the skull, near that preposterous bill.

‘G’day, Weiryn’s daughter,’ the animal greeted her. ‘Glad to see you awake.’

Daine had stopped breathing – she made herself inhale. ‘Are you a – a god?’

‘We’re all gods here, except for the immortals,’ replied her visitor.

She sat up carefully. ‘Excuse me for asking, but what are you, exactly?’

‘I am Broad Foot, the male god of the duckmoles.’

‘Duckmoles? I never heard of them.’ His fleshy bill was the same shape as a duck’s, but with comblike ridges inside the bottom half. ‘May I pick you up?’

He nodded. ‘Mind the spurs on my hind feet, though. I’ve poison in them.’

She lifted him gently. The fur under her fingers was springy and thick. Examining broad, webbed feet armed with heavy claws, she handled the rear ones – and their venomous spurs – with care. ‘What on earth do you eat?’ she asked, putting him down.

‘My people eat shrimps, insects, snails – frogs and small fish if we can get any. I usually eat the same things as my people, though gods are more venturesome. Sarra cooks the best fish stew in the Divine Realms. I spend warm seasons here, just for that.’

‘You come here for Ma’s cooking ?’

His eyes twinkled. ‘That’s right. She sent me to tell you that she has food ready for you, if you care to dress and come out.’

Daine eased out from under the blankets, careful not to dislodge her guest, and saw that she wore a cotton nightgown. ‘How long have we been here?’ she asked Broad Foot.

‘Four days. See you in the garden.’ Silver fire bloomed; the duckmole vanished.

Four days was too long. What were Kitten, Tkaa, and King Jonathan doing now? Did they know that Numair and Daine weren’t dead? Frowning, she washed her face and cleaned her teeth; all that she needed to do those chores lay on a table.

Looking about, she saw a simple red cotton dress at the foot of the bed. Under it lay a pink shift, underclothes, and red slippers. She wished they were a shirt and breeches, but knew she might as well put them on. There was no sign of her old clothes, but even if she could find them, she doubted that they would be in very good condition.

Once dressed, she had to sit briefly to catch her breath. The weakness and ache weren’t as bad as they had been, but she was still shaky. Tidying her bed required another rest before she could leave the room. She did not see the pocket of shadow that separated from the gloom under her bed and followed her.

The main room of the cottage was empty of people. Looking around, she saw the things that she would expect in her mother’s house, as well as three heavy perches – as if very large birds often visited. She guessed that other bedrooms lay behind closed doors. Two doors, however, stood open. Outside one, a path led downhill into a forest. Going to the other, she looked into a walled kitchen garden. A small well, a table, benches, and an outdoor hearth were placed on the open grass. Her mother sat at the table, peeling apples. The duckmole sat on the table beside her, pushing a bit of peel with his bill.

Sarra beamed as Daine sat opposite her. ‘It’s long past breakfast, but I thought you might still want porridge.’ She filled a bowl from a pot on the hearth. Pitchers of honey and cream were on the table; Daine used both. The porridge was rich, with a deep, nutty taste that shocked her. It was stuffed with bits of dried fruit, each tasting fresh-picked. The cream and honey also were intensely flavourful. She ate only half of the bowl, and put it aside. Her mother drew a mug of water from the well. That was easier to swallow, although it was as powerful as if it came from an icy mountain stream.