Gods of the Forevergreen
Part Two
Spar struggled as the guards dragged her into the darkened room. Kamara was waiting for her.
“So, little Redcrown, three escape attempts in three days. You’re consistent, if nothing else.” He indicated the guards to release her. “Leave her with me.”
One of the men hesitated. “Should we not let the Almighty deal with her?”
“You obey me! I am the voice of the Almighty to the people. Go. I will call you when I am finished.”
The guards withdrew, and the wooden door closed, sealing Spar in with the tall human. She looked up at his broad shoulders and his powerful fists and she shuddered. Unbidden, she remembered the countless times she had dismissed danger as “they’re only humans.” Oh, how she understood now, as she had not as a cub, how dangerous humans truly were.
“So... you are not happy here...” Kamara growled. “I wish you to be happy here, Redcrown.”
“You know I’m not. You hold me as a captive – as a pet! You claim to worship us ‘spirits’ and yet you keep me locked here as a prisoner. Is this how all humans treat their gods–”
“Be silent. You live because I allow it. Because your presence eases the madness of that old buzzard Door, and because I can use you to calm the rabble that chants for ‘Spirits! Spirits!’ outside the ziggurat. Yes, you are my pet, Goddess Redcrown, and you will obey me, as all others do, or I will break you as I would break a feral dog!”
He turned his back on her and began to pace restlessly. “For ten generations, the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho have worshipped the Almighty Door – the Doorway To All Things. And for ten generations, they have worshipped my line as well, the Geo’kali, the ruling priestly caste.” He spun back to face her. “Do you know the story of my people, spirit?”
“Some of it, yes. I know you worshipped our kind at Blue Mountain, before it fell. I know you left turns and turns ago, bearing your ‘Almighty’ on your shoulders as your guardian spirit.”
“You know nothing! My eighth-forefather Geoki was a fool, an idealistic child. Well I know the legends they tell of him. Look!” he pointed to a collection of carvings on one of the stone walls – real carvings, etched by human hands, not an elf’s magic. “The story of my people, carved in stone to live as long as the spirits themselves. Bah! Geoki the Wise. Geoki the Far-Seeing. He grew to manhood as he led my people south from the Dead Mountain. His son Brusha led the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho after Geoki died. And his son Jalma lead us when Brusha died. Endless years of toil and marching. Through forest and desert and mountains – here!” he pointed to a series of carvings as though he expected Spar could understand them. “Years of pain and misery while Geoki and Brusha and Jalma searched for just the right place to start a new life. Because they knew they would receive a sign from Door, the all-powerful sky spirit. Soon my people forgot there were other spirits who came before, bird spirits who lived in the Dead Mountain, and tree spirits who had the hearts of wolves.” Here he glanced at Spar menacingly. “As Jalma died and Tarka took his place, our people finally reached this world of eternal green growth. An abundance of food after years of famine. A land of plenty. And it was here, on this very spot that the sky spirit first spoke. He awoke from his trance and murmured ‘How beautiful.’ And Tarka took it as a sign and built our altar on this spot.
“There were other people here when we came. Small, weak, brown-skinned men and women. The Ulu-roa, they called themselves. They knew little of weapons and hunting, and less still of the spirits. Weak fools, they worshipped every tree, every blade of grass, every passing cloud. They sang songs of tree-maidens garlanded in flowers and bird-spirits who could transform themselves from songbird to eagle in a moment’s time. They spoke of werewolves that became men by day, and bouto – river dolphins that became men by night. Fools. Heathens, or so my father’s fathers believed. They could not understand that there was only one god, only one Door to All Things.”
“So you enslaved them.”
“We liberated them! Freed them from fear and ignorance! Gave them the honour of tilling their fields for a true spirit, not their heathen demons. Made them part of the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho, made them also honoured by the sky spirit. Promised them... eternal life... when the change came...” now his voice grew pained. “The change... the end of death... it was supposed to come... when we had proven our loyalty, when we had awakened the Almighty with our songs of worship. Tarka was the first to speak of it. ‘He is the door through which we must all pass. He is our life and our death. And one day soon, he will close the door to death forever.’”
“And you believed that?” Spar blurted out.
“Why not? We all knew the power of the sky spirit. We all remembered the legends, how the Almighty had made the Dead Mountain fall, because it was no longer a fitting temple for him–”
Spar shook her head. “You’re so wrong...”
“What was a small thing like old age and death to the Almighty? He never aged. He never died. Surely... he could gift us with such grace as well. So they prayed, my forefathers. They prayed and prayed. But they died. Tarka withered away and his son Leoka took over as high priest. Then Leoka died, and his grandson Lallar took over. Every year, the priests watched their youth gradually melt away, and every year they thought up new way to ease the growing doubts of the common people. Our prayers were not earnest enough. Our temple was not grand enough. So they prayed harder. They built more levels on our grand ziggurat. But still... they grew old.” He lowered his head. “They... died.”
“I’m sorry,” Spar whispered.
“Sorry? You... monster! How dare you look at me with pity? I never want your pity! You... abberations!”
Spar backed away nervously, and she bumped against the cold wall.
Kamara seemed calmer now. The outburst had taken the rage from his eyes. He reached for her, as if to touch her cheek, and Spar winced, twisting her head away. Kamara let his hand fall to his side.
“How old are you, Redcrown?”
She ought to lie, she knew. But discretion was never her strongest suit, and she found herself telling him the truth. “I was born two years after your Dead Mountain fell.”
A funny little sound issued from his lips. A strangled chuckle. “Over five hundred years. And Door?”
“I am not certain. Somewhere... between ten and twenty times my age.”
“Thousands...” Kamara whispered. “Thousands of years... unchanging. Timeless as the forest... timeless as the mountains. My father... Maina... had such faith in our ways. He knew – he knew – that he would live as long as the mountains. The ones who came before lacked faith, he said. They did not truly believe. Not in their hearts. But he did. And so he knew he would not age. And when he did... well, it was because others doubted. And their foul doubt tainted his purity.
“When he found out that the Ulu-roa were secretly making shrines to their old gods, he punished them. When he feared his own family was beginning to doubt, he punished us as well.” Kamara indicated the puckered scar on his cheek. “From my father’s dagger, when I dared to question the divinity of the Almighty. He cut my face and rubbed ashes in the wound, then told me to be thankful that he chose to be so merciful.
“Oh, I was a loyal son. I served the Almighty faithfully. I devoted myself to his care. I sat at his side late at night when he dreamed and listened to the whispered words that left his lips. And my father smiled upon me before he died, because I had learned true faith.”
He smiled cruelly, and the scar distorted into an anger snake. “You know what I learned, little Redcrown? That the Almighty is no god who controls the doors of fate. That he was nothing more than a slave to some creature named Win-o-will, a spirit of such power and radiance that all were like worms before her. That he lives in perpetual fear that this Win-o-will will find him and reclaim him. That he fears! Fears – Redcrown! A god who fears! A god who cowers in terror and calls it ‘travelling within.’ And that’s where I realized: I need not be his slave. He can be mine! I can force him to give me what I desire most of all. Power over my people. Power over death itself.”
Spar shook her head, but Kamara only laughed bitterly. “But that fool old scavenger is too far gone! He is only useful as a tool to get the rabble quiet. I bring him out like a pet monkey every few years, and they cry and dance and sacrifice to him. And as long as he dozes, he is safe to handle, and he makes a perfect captive god.”
Now fear burned in his eyes. “But lately... the last year or two... he has begun to change. He whispers about loneliness. He whispers about flying free with the birds. He babbles about wanting company, another spirit to comfort him. What to do? What to do? There were no others. They could be no others. If the Almighty were ever revealed to be nothing but one of many... well, then we’d be no better than the heathen Ulu-roa! But he wanted a spirit. No, more human slaves wouldn’t work. Hah – gave him one of my better women once, a fine plump thing well-skilled in a whore’s arts. He never paid her more attention than another man would his donkey.”
“What do you expect?” Spar found the courage to retort. “You cannot cross a cat and a wolf. Why do you expect a... ‘spirit’ to desire a five-fingers?”
Kamara ignored her. “But then... then he told me that he was calling for more spirits, that spirits would come for him. And so you did! So you did! A little Goddess Redcrown for our God of the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho!” he laughed, and his mania frightened her. “But you did not come alone, did you?
“Do you have any idea, Redcrown, how you and your spirit-kin have endangered our most sacred truths? One Almighty and none other! That is our first tenet. Oh, we can expand it to two, easily enough. A man and a woman, two halves of the whole. Yes, that is easy enough. But more? The creatures Aina described – werewolves and bouto, bird spirits and tree spirits! Were the heathens right all along? Are their spirits in every tree, every flower? Are there?”
“Not in every tree, no.” Her bravado returned and she stepped away from the wall. “But there are many of us. And my kin will come for me, and you will not be able to stop them. You cannot keep a spirit in chains, Tall One.”
“Tall One!” he laughed again. “Are all spirits as small as you?”
“Not all.”
“Hah. Cities of spirits, I suppose, living in the treetops and at the bottom of the sea. Do you keep human pets, hmm? I wonder, will you bring your own armies of ‘Tall Ones’ to cleanse the forest of our sacriledge.”
“We want nothing to do with humans. All we ask of you is to leave us alone, let us raise our families in peace.”
For the first time Kamara was rendered speechless. At length he stammered: “Leave you alone? Leave. You. Alone.”
Spar saw something disturbing begin to glow in his eyes, and she backed up again, only to bump into the wall once more.
“No sacrifices. No prayers. And no rewards for our faith. You desire none of that? You desire none of us?” A dark veil seemed to fall over his eyes, and Spar realized her life was suddenly in real danger.
Spar tried to bolt for the door, but Kamara caught her and pinned her back against the wall. “Nothing for us? Nothing for me? My family have worshipped your kind for generations lost to time! Hundreds upon hundreds of years! Begged, grovelled, pleaded for something, some small gift! You greedy monsters – quick as lightning, ageless and beautiful, immune from time’s corruption – and you keep it all for yourselves! I’ve seen your magic. Door can shape the very bones of the rocks! You... you control the very trees! And the others – your kin, shapeshifters and sky-spirits! All this power, all this perfection! Surely it wouldn’t hurt you to share a little, just a little...” he was clutching her bare arms now, his thick fingers bruising her tender skin. “Just a little...”
“I’m sorry,” Spar said, and she was truly grieved to see him suffer for such a delusion. “We have no such power.”
“Liar!” Kamara shoved her against the wall. He stepped back, and his eyes roamed over her scantily-clad figure. For the first time Spar was aware of her exposed flesh, of the golden collar that only partially concealed her breasts. For the first time it occured to her that round-ears could look at elves with lust.
“Look at you!” He pulled at the collar, snapping one of the delicate gold hoops. Suddenly he was groping her breasts, pinching her shoulders, pushing her down to the floor. He babbled, his words blurring together in a frantic cry. “All warmth and youth and perfection! One day soon Door will get you with child and we’ll have a triad of godlings in the ziggurat and everyone will cheer and dance and sing -- never mind that they will all wither away and rot while you and your mate and your filthy children will live on forever! And nothing for us? Nothing for me?”
Spar screamed for help, screamed for him to stop. Now his weight was pressed down upon her, pinning her to the stone floor. A hand clapped hard over her mouth.
“Well I won’t have nothing!” he was screaming in her ear as his hands tore at her flimsy skirt. His spittle fell hot on her cheek. “I know the Ulu-roa tales as well as anyone – I know how to take eternal life from a spirit-maid!”
Spar sank her teeth into his hand. Kamara screamed and his hand released her. She twisted her head and bit him hard on the neck. He staggered off her, his hands clamped hard over the bleeding wound. Spar leapt to her feet and ran for the door.
The human guards stared as she staggered out of the room. They saw Kamara within, moaning in pain and clutching his wounds. They saw Spar’s torn clothing and bloodstained lips.
“Take me back to my mate!” Spar ordered breathlessly. “Take me back to Door.”
Door was floating under the skylight as usual when Spar raced into his chamber to tell him of Kamara’s attack. He barely acknowledged her frantic sendings, and when he did, it was only to brush her away. The Ulu-roa women clustered around Spar sympathetically.
“The Almighty travels within,” was the only comfort Arua could offer.
**Door!** Spar’s mind screamed again. Again there was no reply.
Arua said nothing, but led Spar into the stone chamber reserved for bathing and the elaborate body decoration the women seemed to adore so. They stripped the wrinkled fabric and bruised feathers from Spar’s aching limbs, then drew her a bath of heated well water, perfumed with assorted spices and herbs.
Spar began to weep as Arua washed her hair. The women make little shushing sounds, the way a mother would soothe a cub with nightmares.
If only this were a nightmare...
“Do not think of it,” Arua soothed.
The brute human males Spar had observed at Thorny Mountain often joined with their women through force. Perhaps Arua and the others were often so enforced. Perhaps they thought it normal.
Yet for Spar it wasn’t only the idea of joining by force that held such horror.
No, there had been little genuine desire in Kamara’s eyes. Only cruelty, longing for power... the power to crush a weaker creature, like pulling the wings of a butterfly. Yes, she had seen human cubs do that once, for sport.
It was useless to ask the women for help, useless to turn to the guards. Outside the ziggurat the people might believe that the Almighty Door was the true ruler of the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho, but inside all knew better.
The women dried her hair and clothed her in a soft caftan that fell to her ankles. It reminded her of the woven cloth of Sorrow’s End, and she was grateful for that comforting memory.
They fed her a light meal of roasted meat and fresh fruit, and she was too weary to maintain her fast. The sun was setting as she waved the women away and collapsed on the bed. She did not expect Door to trouble her – in the three nights she had been held captive, she had not seen him sleep – not truly sleep. Thank the High Ones he seemed to have no lust for her either.
She wished she could send to the others, but she could not risk it.
What she wouldn’t give to talk to her parents, to draw strength from their sendings.
Exhausted and heartsick, she drifted into a restless sleep.
It was late at night when Spar awoke. Moonlight pooled on the floor and the bars on the windows cast sharp sharp shadows across the bed. She wished she had a blanket – hot as it was, she longed for another protective cloak.
She propped herself up on her elbows. Only then did she realize another elf was asleep beside her.
She regarded him curiously. He was a young elf, long-limbed but with a childlike face, fast asleep on his side as she had been moments before. Enshrouded in a long black caftan trimmed with blue feathers, he looked like a cubling in a leather tunic three sizes too large. His curling silver hair fell across his shoulders, aglow in the moonlight. His eyes seemed lined with kohl, so dark were his long lashes against his white skin. A hand was curled on the pillow next to his face, a little gesture Spar thought heartbreakingly vulnerable.
It took her a moment longer to realize the elf was Door.
How different he looked without his severe helmet, out of his god’s robes. He barely even looked like a Glider anymore, his long limbs hidden by the folds of the long caftan. A Glider child perhaps. Yes, a youth, still several summers from full growth, a cub of a mere two eights or so.
She thought of Ekuar, a Firstborn of the High Ones, but captured by trolls at such a young age that his growth had been stunted and his face remained round and owl-like as a cub’s. Had Winnowill sunk her claws into Door when he was still a child?
“He lives in perpetual fear that this Win-o-will will find him and reclaim him,” Kamara had said. No wonder he had thought of nothing but Winnowill when Spar mentioned Gliders.
Spar’s hatred of her captor dissolved, melting into pity and heartache. He slept so deeply, as if he had not truly slept for years. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps nightmares of Winnowill had haunted his mind until now.
You aren’t my enemy, Spar thought. You’re not a monster like Kamara at all, are you? You’re just... an elf... a wounded elf in need of healing.
**Sunstream,** Spar risked a lock-sending.
**Spar? Are you all right? Why do you send – has something happened to Door?**
**Yes... and no.**
**We’ll find you, Spar. We’ll break you out of that stone cage.**
**I don’t think I’m in any danger... not from Door. Take your time, Sunstream. Keep a leash on Dart and Windkin – don’t let them do anything foolish. I’ll be all right. Just find a safe way inside... and a way to heal Door. He needs our help more than our hatred.**
Sunstream hesitated, weighing her words, trying to figure out the vaguely sour feel to her sending, a telltale sign of hidden thoughts. **All right. But be on guard, Spar. Don’t send again unless you have to.**
**Be safe,** Spar sent, before breaking the connection. Just then Door stirred in his sleep, and Spar stiffened, fearing he had overheard her sending. But he only rolled on his back and settled again.
Her unease rekindled in that moment, Spar considered taking a pillow and sleeping in the corner. But at length she decided it was safe enough to sleep at Door’s side. She stretched out on the bed anew, and slowly the tension left her muscles and she drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Sunstream led the party around the outer defenses of the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho city as the first rays of dawn crept through the Forevergreen. Windkin was still a little unsteady as he floated through the trees, and he put up little resistance whenever Sunstream ordered him to draw back and hide himself in the foliage.
The farmlands spread out around the rock walls, framed by irrigation channels that radiated like spokes in a wheel. Before Windkin’s flight had been spotted, they might have been able to slip through the farms. But now everything was guarded by sharp-eyed scouts. Yun and Wavecatcher had snuck up on a cluster of guards the night before to observe their rituals. The humans squeezed a white sap from one of the many flowering plants into their eyes, and though they groaned in agony, their nightvision was improved by it. Windkin had run afoul of one of these drugged humans in the early morning light and was very nearly shot down again.
“There’s no way we can scale those rocks without being seen,” Sunstream brooded. “There are just too much round-ears, and with that cursed sap in their eyes they have the eyes of wolves.”
“If we can’t go up over, maybe we could go under,” Quicksilver said. “Pity we don’t have a rock-shaper.”
A light appeared in Wavecatcher’s gray-blue eyes. “Maybe we don’t need one.” He climbed up to a taller branch and pointed through a break in the foliage. “Look at all those channels they’ve dug. They’ve diverted the water from the river to feed their fields... it stands to reason they have something like that inside the walls. Maybe we should be looking for a stream... or maybe an underground river.”
Dart chuckled. “That’s the closest thing to a plan I’ve heard since we got here.”
“All right, let’s not do anything rash,” Sunstream said. “Quicksilver, Kimo, Dart, Windkin, you four go south. The rest of us will continue north. We’ll circle the city and meet on the other side. Look for canals, wells, any sign of water that might extend under the rock wall.” He locked eyes with Quicksilver. **Keep them in line, Khai,** he locksent. **Especially Windkin. He’ll be flying off to see Door before long.**
She smiled. **You just hang on tight to my sister before she can run at any round-ears.**
The lifemates clasped hands in a quick farewell, then the two teams parted ways and continued on through the trees. Now the smaller, darker-skinned humans were emerging from their ramshackle homes and beginning to work in the fields. The broad-shouldered guarded continued to prowl the dust lanes and canal banks, blinking repeatedly now as the sun’s rays irritated the nightsight sap in their eyes.
Spar slowly awoke to a feather touch against her cheek. She stiffened instinctively, and had to force herself to relax, as if she was simply stirring in her sleep. Again she felt the hand brushed against her cheek, fingertips gently gliding up to her forehead and into her hairline. Four fingertips.
She tried to ignore the touch, tried to feign continued sleep. But the muscles under her skin kept tensing and flexing under Door’s touch. Even an elf as... distant as Door would surely realize she was awake.
She summoned a weak moan of wakefulness, hoping it might make Door’s hand withdraw. But it did not. Finally Spar could not delay any longer. She opened her eyes slowly, again fluttering her eyelids repeatedly, hoping to scare him away. The hand finally withdrew just as she opened her eyes.
Door was leaning over her. He was still dressed in the loose caftan, and his silver hair fell over his shoulders, casting shadows that softened his cheekbones. He gazed down at her, whether with wistful desire or sadness, she could not tell. Vulnerability was written across his face. She could not bear to turn away. But she could not lie there, every moment holding his stare a moment of implied consent.
She was not his mate, whatever he believed.
At last she rolled over on her side. She felt the bed ease as Door got to his feet.
She felt a stab of guilt in the pit of her stomach. But she could not face him. Not now.
The women came for her after a morning meal of fruit and fragrant porridge. Once again she was stripped, bathed in scented water, and dressed in exotic finery. She recoiled as they painted symbols on her bare breasts and decorated her hair with a feathered crown. “These are the sacred markings of the sky spirit,” Arua explained patiently.
“Can I not cover my breasts?” Spar asked, remembering Kamara’s attack. “I don’t like the men looking at me.”
“You should not fear the gazes of your servants, Goddess Redcrown,” one of the other women said. But Spar looked at Arua pleadingly, and the leader of the women nodded. “We will find you something to wear.”
“Kamara insisted–” the other woman hissed, but Arua shushed her. After a few moments, Arua returned with a shoulder-cape of feathers that effectively covered Spar to her ribcage.
“Why are you dressing me like this?”
“Kamara wishes the people to see their new goddess,” Arua explained.
“Like a 'painted whore?'” Spar asked. She had heard the term thrown about the day before by Kamara’s snivelling pet Aina, and she guess its meaning quickly enough. When she saw the women avert their eyes, she knew she had not misinterpreted.
Strange. Elves did not believe in such taboos. Any one of her tribemates could see her bathing and think nothing of it. Yet she knew that among the humans there was something... lascivious connected with baring and adorning the female body, and she knew Kamara was intentionally dressing her like this for his own amusement. And try as she might, she felt as uncomfortable as a human woman might, knowing she was being judged by human standards.
And yet until the other day, she had imagined that desire between humans and elves was about as likely to happen as between elves and treewees. But now she saw leers in every man’s eyes. And she wanted to hide herself from their gaze.
All dressed in reds and blues, she was escorted by guards to the main chamber where Kamara and Door awaited her. She refused to meet Door’s gaze. Once again he was hiding behind his helmet and feathered robes. Like a pet monkey, Kamara had said, and Spar shared his scornful view now. How could he stand there, so... passive? Had Winnowill so destroyed his mind that he could be nothing but a slave?
Kamara turned, and Door followed meekly. Spar hesitated, and the guards jogged her into line behind Door. She kept her eyes to the floor in a sullen expression as they marched down the corridors. Her gaze turned to Door’s leather boots, and she watched how they rose and fell in slow, drugged movements. He was sleepwalking again. Did he imagine himself going somewhere – was he dreaming? Or was his mind completely closed, his steps purely instinctive?
The humans were beating on leather drums and hollow logs. The din pounded in her ears – these five-fingers had no sense of rhythm.
Suddenly they stood on a terrace, one of the many levels of the ziggurat. Spar’s eyes burned at the sudden sunlight, but she squinted and surveyed the wide expanse of the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho city. Men and women stood on the lower terraces, clustered around incense burners that smoked with coloured vapour. They were dressed in bright colours and decked with gold jewelry – clearly the members of the elite caste. Down the ramps and steps stood other fair-skinned humans in more modest linen clothes, and legions of scantily-clad drummers. Dark-skinned Ulu-roa filled the streets below.
**Door. Listen to me. We could fly away. You and I. Right now. Away from the humans.**
His sending was calm, maddeningly composed. **Why would I want to leave?**
**Don’t you see? You’re nothing but a pet to them.**
**I am their god. And so are you, Sohn.**
Spar looked up. No, escape was impossible after all, she realized. Guards were everywhere on the parapets and towers, all armed with bows and blowguns.
She glanced at Kamara. He had read her thoughts, and he smiled smugly. “You see, little spirit,” he called over the sound of the drums. “You are mine. Look, the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho are gathered for you. They wait to hear your words... but only through my lips.”
He raised his hand and suddenly the drums fell silent. Kamara stepped forward to address the people. Guards behind Spar jogged her into position, while Door calmly stepped up to the edge of the terrace.
“See, my people!” Kamara shouted, and his voice boomed over the city. “A new era has begun. A new way of life! For ten generations we, the Chosen People, have worshipped the One Spirit, the Almighty Door! Long has he reigned over us in silent contemplation, in solitary majesty. But now – rejoice, my people! For even as he has guarded us, protected us, and inspired us, the Almighty has long been on a journey within himself, within the spirit realm, searching for a companion, a consort with whom to share his existence. And now, behold – his call has been answered!”
The guards nudged Spar forward again, and she heard a great unified audible gasp rise up from the crowd. “Behold your Goddess Redcrown, descended from the clouds above to be a comfort to our Almighty. No longer shall we be the Chosen People of the One, but of the Twin Spirits! And rejoice anew, for one day soon, I pray, we will worship three gods, father, mother and son! See what our god has given you, my people! See what I have given you!”
The crowd cheered as Kamara slowly stepped back, out of sight. Spar caught snatches of “Hail Kamara” and “Hail Almighties” among the cries. She glanced up at Door, but his face was impassive as ever.
With sudden inspiration, Spar dashed to the lip of the terrace parapet. “People of the Hoan-G’Tay-Sho–” she began, but immediately Kamara made a wave of the hand, and the drummers began their refrain anew. “Listen to your goddess!” Spar shouted, but no one could hear her over the sounds of the drums.
She whirled on Kamara. He only chuckled.
“I could kill you right here, in front of them all,” Spar growled, baring her canines.
Immediately the guards clustered around Kamara, weapons drawn. “Then you would die too, little spirit. Is enlightening the rabble worth your life? I think not.”
Spar looked at all the humans clustered around the high priest. Full-blooded Hoan-G’Tay-Sho, Ulu-roa, and mixtures of the two bloodlines, all bowing their heads in submission. “Is there no one here who is willing to stand up?” Spar demanded. “Will no one do his god’s bidding and slay this false chief?”
No one looked up, no one met her gaze. Kamara laughed deep in his throat. “You see, ‘Spar.’ You are mine.”
“And you?” Spar turned back to Door. “Will you stand by as he lays claim to your own mate?”
“Of course he claims you,” Door replied distantly. “They worship us, you know. We are their gods. They cannot live without us.”
Kamara laughed again. Spar looked out over the city helplessly. No one on the lower levels had seen what had just happened – and even if they had, they would have only spun their own self-serving explanations. And every guard who was stationed high enough in the ziggurat or on the surrounding wall of spires was Kamara’s pet.
Spar turned and stalked back into the shade of the temple chambers. Kamara motioned for the guards to follow her. Door lingered on the terrace a moment longer, staring up at the clouds slowly passing overhead.
“Almighty,” Kamara said softly.
“Hm?”
“Your mate awaits you inside.”
“Oh... yes... of course,” Door smiled to himself. He turned and retired inside the ziggurat. Kamara glanced over at Aina, everpresent at his side.
“Keep an eye on them both,” he growled. “Our Goddess Redcrown has many new... notions. I would not want the Almighty troubled by her strange dreams.”
“Listen to the drums,” Kimo breathed. Quicksilver called a halt to the party and they waited in the trees silently, listening to the sounds of revellry inside the city.
“I wonder what’s happening,” Kimo said.
“I don’t know,” Quicksilver frowned. “But Father always told me that human drumbeats meant death for our kind...”
“Maybe in the old days–” Dart dismissed.
“They’re not so long ago!” Quicksilver snapped.
“Who are you to talk like an elder, ‘Silver? You weren’t there at Father Tree,” Windkin said.
Quicksilver glared at him. “Maybe not,” she answered sharply. “But I’ve studied the Scroll with Sunstream and Father and I know something about humans and our kind.You might be happy to live in the Now in your moth-fabric world at Sorrow’s End, but I’ve seen the cycles of hatred and fire repeat themselves over and over throughout the history of this world! We can never relax around five-fingers, not even the tame ones in the Great Spur. And certainly not around these ones – descendants of those who made war with our kind for thousands of years.”
Dart smiled wryly, and Quicksilver glared at him. “What?”
“You’re your father’s daughter when it comes to humans,” he said, and Kimo and Windkin chuckled as well. They all knew the stories of Savin’s many exploits in and around human camps in the Great Spur.
“Don’t think Mother wouldn’t do the same thing, if she were here in untested waters.” Quicksilver looked towards the rock wall. “And with Door there too... a few nuts shy of a pouch...”
“More than a few, I’d say,” Dart said.
“Maybe I could send to him,” Windkin offered. “I’m his kin – the closest kin he must have these days. Maybe I could–”
“Don’t you dare! The last time you went off all reckless you almost got yourself killed.”
Windkin glowered. “You know, I can put up with Sunstream’s lectures – just barely – but…”
“Deal with it.” Quicksilver glanced back towards the city. “I wish I was in there... instead of Spar. You know her temper. I’m afraid what will happen to her... with the humans, with Door – if we don’t get her out soon.”
“You are nothing but their slave!” Spar snapped at Door. “Can you not see that? Are you blind, you old bat? He manipulates you at every turn. High Ones – didn’t you hear him when he threatened to kill me?”
Door was once again sitting calmly in his throne, his eyes half-closed, his gaze distant. Spar paced about in front of the throne, her rage growing by the minute. Her temper was her downfall, everyone knew it. Her temper and her recklessness. She ought to retreat into the bedroom and sleep away the afternoon heat. She ought to put some distance between herself and Door until her rage cooled. But she could not stop herself.
“You live on his charity, like a near-wolf begs for scraps around a human campfire.”
“They worship me. They see to my every need–”
“All you have is what Kamara has seen fit to give you! He is using you. Listen to me, Door: you know things are wrong! You told me. You said you need my help to put things back in their place. You want a restoration of the old ways, don’t you? That can’t be accomplished with Kamara sitting in power. Don’t you know what he thinks of you? You’re nothing but a pet to him – and all the Geo’kali.”
Door shook his head. “No... no... they love me.”
“The people love you, Door. The ones in the streets, in the lower levels. Not the temple-dwellers and the priests. Not the guards. They imprison you. They’ve made you a god in chains.”
“You are wrong, my precious Spar.”
“Then prove me wrong. Take me for a flight. I want to know what it’s like to fly like a Glider. Let’s go, right now, out of the temple and into the clouds.”
A light appeared in Door’s eyes, and Spar’s hopes rose. But then the light faded and his stare became empty once more. “No...”
“Why not?”
“It would not be right... I am needed here... my duty...”
“Oh yes, Door!” she burst out angrily. “Your prison needs you, how right you are!”
Arua rushed to Spar’s side. “Be careful, dear spirit. The walls have ears.”
“I don’t care!” Spar shoved Arua’s hand away. She glared contemptuously up at Door. “The great Almighty Door – slave to Kamara as once he was slave to Winnowill. How little the world changes.”
Door blinked, but gave no other sign that he had heard her. It infuriated her. “You don’t deserve the love I felt out there on the terrace today!”
“Love...?”
“They love you, more fool them! Oh, how they would weep to know what a weakling they praise in song and prayers. They’re as blind as cave slugs – but they’re better than you, because at least they know they are slaves of the Geo’kali. You, you might as well be back at Blue Mountain, opening and closing doors for the Black Snake!”
“Black... snake?”
“I won’t be mate to a spineless worm.” She turned on her heel and stalked towards the bedroom.
“Won’t...?” Door frowned. “No... No!”
Spar felt a sudden coldness against her feet, and a cloying stickiness like wet clay. She looked down in horror as the rock floor rose up around her ankles.
“No one leaves until I bid!” Door boomed. The rock tightened at her ankles, forming stone manacles that pinned her to the floor.
“I am the Sky Spirit!” Door rose from his throne. “I am the One, the Almighty! I am all that remains of the Black Snake!”
Spar fought against the pain in her ankles as she turned around to glare at him. “So you are. ”
Door flinched at her words, and the rage faded from his eyes. “I am... all that remains...” he murmured. “All that remains...”
He lowered his hand, and the stone melted back into the floor. Spar stumbled loose of the restraints, no worse the wear, save for a dull ache in her bare feet. Somehow she found the courage – or was it only foolish bravado – to murmur, “You’ve learned your lessons well, I see.”
“Spar...” Door whispered.
Spar turned and limped back to the bedroom. Door sank back into his throne, his head in his hands.
Arua crept closer to the throne. “Almighty Door...”
“Get out.”
“My lord–”
“Out! All of you! Get out! Leave me!”
The mild women scattered. The ever-present guards hesitated, but when Door rose from his throne anew, holding his hand out, they too abandoned their posts and left their god alone. Only Aina remained, concealed in the shadows behind the woven tapestries, watching as Door bent his head and wept.
Spar lay down on the bed and covered herself with a cotton blanket, sealing out the daylight and plunging herself into a blessed gloom. It was hot inside her little cocoon, but she didn’t care. Heat brought exhaustion and forgetfulness. She lost track of the time, and eventually drifted off into a miserable half-sleep. When she awoke it was to the sound of muffled sobs.
Spar slowly sat up, shucking her blanket. Door was crouched on the floor at the foot of the bed, his head bowed, his metal helm just touching the edge of the bed.
“Door?”
Door raised his eyes, and Spar winced to see the grief written in them, the pain.
“Where is she?”
“W-who?”
“The Black Snake. Where does her spirit dwell? Is she trapped under the very rocks of Blue Mountain? Does she suffer – does she suffer as she made me suffer?”
Spar hesitated.
“Tell me. Tell me the truth.”
**The truth won’t comfort you.**
**Tell me.**
Spar could not resist his sending. **She lives in the Palace of the High Ones, with the souls of all the Gliders. She barely remembers the evils she did. She sleeps and dreams, mostly. Now and then she awakens, only if someone powerful calls her. Sunstream... or Two-Edge. She answers him sometimes.**
Door looked away. “Then he lost his chance for revenge.”
“They have made peace since her death. She is... very different now. She was already dead before I was born, but they say the difference is like night and day.”
Door scowled and bent his head. He hunched his back and Spar saw his shoulders knot up in anger. “Door?”
Door let out a raw howl, and the entire room – no, the entire ziggurat – shook as his powers flooded through the rocks. Spar leapt back further up the length of the oval-shaped bed and looked around in horror as the tapestries swayed against the walls and the delicate clay bowls fell to the floor and shattered.
But as soon as it begun, the shock wave ebbed. The tension left Door’s frame and he crouched on the floor miserably, weeping anew.
“Door...” Spar reached for him. He flinched at her touch.
“I... I remember... long ago... things I wished to do, places I wanted to explore... within. The Black Snake. She said – often – that she would help.”
He looked up, and his eyes seemed hollow, shattered somehow. “And she did. How she did, through her cruelty. Oh, yes, my Lord Winnowill, I learned so very much, sitting, watching... marvelling at the games you played – with my people, with your own son... and with all your fragile little human pets. And with me! Especially with me!”
“Door,” Spar tried to touched his shoulder. Again he withdrew.
“By the High Ones – you were an excellent teacher, my mother’s father’s twin! Yes! I may have forgotten much – but I remember that! We were close blood, you and I. It amused you to work on your own flesh and blood. And how you were amused!”
He sagged back against the edge of the bed, and Spar gently reached for him again. Carefully she removed his helmet, freeing his long silver hair. Once again she found she couldn’t hate him, couldn’t even fault him. “Shh, shh,” she soothed.
His hands seized her arms, and he clung to her so tightly it hurt. But Spar ignored the pain and hauled him onto the edge of the bed. She brushed his hair back from his tear-streaked face and gently turned him to look at her. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me what happened.”
At first Door could only weep. Gradually fragmented sendings pierced Spar’s mind. **Took me... from my brothers... sisters... mother... said I... be her pupil – her best student – “He has promise” – “he will do well” – “You are mine, you know. To do with as I please” – “You are Door! You are Door. And you are mine.”**
Again he broke down, and words failed him. Spar continued to stroke his hair and shush him softly, now humming snatches of the lullabies she remembered as a cub.
**Can’t move...** Door’s sending resumed, and it seemed that his inner voice was that of a little child. **Tired... I’m tired, Winnowill.... too tired to move. No, no, it’s all right... why should I need to walk... when I can fly. Within.**
His inner voice changed again, became cold and grating, like the voice of brittle rock. **You’re weary of my body now, aren’t you, my mother’s aunt. You’ve taken what you want from my limbs – now you want my mind!**
And now the child spoke again. **I’m so tired... hurts... Winnowill, it hurts to move my arm.**
And gravelly again: **Then don’t move your arm, fool!**
The broken sendings continued, and Spar shuddered to hear the slow deterioration of Door’s body and mind.
I can escape... within...
But she’s always there...
Be quiet, fool.
So tired... better to just forget...
Forget your body... forget your name...
It hurts... to remember... Winnowill, I’m afraid.
Door tore away from Spar. “What is my name, Winnowill?” he cried. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Shh, shh,” Spar soothed, even as the tears welled in her own eyes. “It’s all right.”
“My parents... my sisters... why can’t I remember? All their names... all gone!”
Spar could think of nothing to ease his pain. It was said Dewshine had never lived a day without fear during those three years that Winnowill held her soulname. And now Spar lived in fear as Door held hers.
But at least she still knew her true name. Door did not even have that.
“Can you remember nothing?”
“I’ve tried! How I’ve tried! Years and years – searching, searching within. How I tried to use this long dreaming time... to find myself... or what I was...” he bowed his head. “Nothing. Scars too deep... can’t see what they cover...”
“Door. Listen to me, please.”
He lifted his head and his eyes seemed to focus on her for the first time in days.
“We have to leave here. It’s not safe. It’s as sick in here as in Blue Mountain... it’s... a festering sickness. Come with me. We can go to my home – the Great Holt – the Palace. You can see Aurek – Egg – and the others. And you can be healed. We can help you. We can help you remember. But I can’t help you by myself. I don’t have the power. And as long as we’re here we’re nothing but the slaves of Kamara and the Geo’kali.”
“I can’t go. I can’t.”
“You have to. Don’t you understand – this place is killing you.”
“But I can’t leave.”
“Why not? Don’t tell me it’s your duty, don’t tell me you belong here.”
“I’m safe here.”
“No safer than you were with her!”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me. Tell me why.”
**Because!** he exclaimed, and once again it seemed she heard the child speaking. **It’s safe here. It’s all rock and walls and safe! Grey stone and shadows. Outside – outside I’ll fall apart! I’ll fly apart. No – no – out there – too many voices, too many sights. Covered with green and brown scum and crawling with vermin. No!** He pulled away and got to his feet.
“Door!”
“No!” he snapped, and again the entire room shook with his anger. He did not look back, and stalked out of the room without a word. Spar slowly sat back on the bed.
Some ground had been gained. So little... but a small victory nonetheless.
It would take time. Door’s chains were heavier than she imagined.
Where was Sunstream? Where was Quicksilver? They always knew what to do. They had managed to pacify Haken of all elves.
Maybe she ought to wait, and do nothing until Sunstream arrived.
But her friends were trapped outside the rock wall. Who knew how long before they could break into the city?
And she couldn’t sit back and let Door continue to suffer. Somehow, she would find a way to reach him.
“...And then he dismissed all of us... but he did not see me. And he wept, for the longest time. He wept, and moaned ‘Spar’ under his breath, and more rarely, ‘Win-o-will.’ And then I saw him stagger into his private rooms, and while I did not dare follow, occasionally I could hear him and the goddess speaking.” Aina swallowed. “A-and then I heard him roar – a wordless roar – and that was the first tremor. And then he was silent a while, and then he shouted: ‘What is my name, Win-o-will?’ And a few minutes later he shouted ‘No!’ and that was the second tremor. And then he was silent again, my lord. And then... then I heard nothing more, and I came to you directly.”
Kamara scowled as he gazed out over the city. The sun was setting now, and he could hear the chorus of night birds warming up in the distant jungle.
“I-I did not dare intrude further, my lord,” Aina’s voice trembled.
“No, you did well. We all felt the ziggurat shake. And he sealed Redcrown’s feet in stone, did he?”
“Yes, m’lord. When she said she would not be his mate. But he let her go, and then he began to weep.”
“She is proving most difficult,” Kamara muttered under his breath.
Aina continued as if he had not heard him. “The Sky Spirit is indeed awakening. I have never seen him like this in all my years of serving him – o-of serving you, my lord. Perhaps... perhaps the time your fifth-forefather foretold is at hand. The Change. Perhaps now at last... our generations of worship will be rewarded–”
“You don’t believe that drivel, do you, Aina? I thought you better than that.”
“My lord? I-I don’t understand.”
“No. You wouldn’t.”
“My lord?”
Kamara turned away from the window. “I think I may have made a mistake. Redcrown... perhaps she is a false goddess... a heathen spirit – a demon like the bouto and the werewolves... sent to lead our god astray.”
Aina shuddered. “Lord Kamara?”
“Think of it, Aina. A demon... a false god to bewitch our One Spirit... and then – then to whelp a demon-child... a false savior to enslave the Chosen People. Perhaps... perhaps she’s not even a real spirit, but a witchery conjured by some heathen Ulu-roa sorceress. Perhaps all the spirits you saw were mere illusions.”
“Is that possible?”
“I would put nothing past a dark-skinned savage. Your people have never fully submitted to the yoke of divine rule, have they?”
He bristled. “My lord, I am a loyal servant of the One Spirit. Though my blood may be forever tainted, my soul is pure – I claim no kinship with the heathen dogs who worship their godless idols!”
Kamara chuckled. “No, Aina. You have always been a loyal servant.”
“What must we do, my lord?”
“I think... we must watch her very closely. If we have indeed made a mistake, we may have to act... swiftly. No one must be allowed to disturb the sacred contemplation of the Almighty. We must not allow that to happen! Do you understand?”
“You mean–”
“I mean we may have to send Redcrown back into the realm of the spirits.”
“My lord!” he lowered his voice to a mere whisper.
“Don’t be a fool, Aina. What good are spirits that will not be gods? And if this ‘Spar’ does not prove to be the goddess we have awaited... then I promise you, I will rid us of this false spirit myself.”
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts