Part 23 (1/2)
”I know.”
”And the answers are all in this place called Brothe?”
”Unless the Old Ones change their minds. Now shut the f.u.c.k up. We've got a long walk ahead. And most of the time we'll need to stay out of sight of the natives.”
”Why?”
”The Old Ones don't want us noticed. They didn't say why. Same old s.h.i.+t. We're supposed to be thrilled to be used like a pack of dogs.”
Each hour left the six less sympathetic toward their G.o.ds.
THE G.o.dS OF THE ANDORAYANS REFLECTED THE NORTHERN folk themselves. Which meant that they were rowdy, drunken, not too bright, drunken, violent, drunken, and short-sighted. While often drunk.
Those were values their culture had accreted over the ages.
They were not the values of anyone in the world where the Andorayans found themselves now.
”We'll find the man.”
The others scowled but readied themselves for travel. With less enthusiasm than ever.
The serious grumbling started a week later, as s.h.a.got tried to sneak past Antieux unnoticed. Finnboga snapped, ”What the f.u.c.k are we doing, Grim? We were supposed to catch some a.s.sholes that killed Erief. But I ain't heard Erief s name come up in a month.”
Sigurdur grumbled, ”I'm ready to go home.”
s.h.a.got reminded him, ”Home ain't there anymore.”
”Whatever is there, it'll be a lot more like home than this is.”
Even Asgrimmur was restive. ”I'm thinking maybe it's time the G.o.ds looked out for themselves.”
s.h.a.got drew a deep breath, released it. He did not know how to fight this creeping defeatism. He had trouble enough motivating himself.
He slept longer now than he had while they were part of the Arnhander army. He could not help it. He wanted to pursue a normal waking cycle. He wanted his band out of this country where they could be held accountable for the bad behavior of their former Arnhander companions.
That was the worst. The sneaking. The creeping along, trying to get by unnoticed.
Hallgrim wanted to know, ”Why the h.e.l.l are we doing this, Grim? These people don't know who we are. We should get down on the regular road. Just be some guys headed east.”
Hallgrim's argument made sense. But the G.o.d voices inside s.h.a.got would not let him acquiesce.
”This is bulls.h.i.+t,” Finnboga insisted. ”I'm about ready to take off on my own.”
”It'll get easier once we get to the country they call Ormienden.”
It seemed to take forever to get there, though, because s.h.a.got spent so much time asleep. And, after they reached Ormienden, s.h.a.got still refused to travel normally.
Svavar, Hallgrim, and the others became increasingly mutinous. While s.h.a.got became more and more unable to be anything but ”a huldrin mouthpiece for a gang of lunatic G.o.ds who ain't relevant no more,” according to s.h.a.got's own brother, Svavar.
A week into Ormienden, s.h.a.got wakened to find himself alone except for his brother. The way Svavar hunched as he cooked told s.h.a.got that something was seriously wrong.
Horses were missing. ”They left, Grim. They couldn't take it no more. But they left all the stuff.”
s.h.a.got could not get an emotional handle on what had happened. ”I don't understand.”
”You won't listen, will you? They been telling you and telling you.”
”You're still here.”
”I'm your brother. But if I thought you could keep yourself alive on your own for a week, I'd be gone, too.”
s.h.a.got did not resume traveling that day or the next, sure the others would recover their senses and return.
Svavar did not push. Svavar no longer believed in any mission from the G.o.ds. But s.h.a.got was family.
Svavar had concluded, after all he had been through since Erief's murder, that it might not be a bad thing if a few G.o.ds died, too.
In time, s.h.a.got pulled himself together enough to get up on his hind legs and start traveling again.
”Where are we headed, big brother?” Svavar wanted to know.
”For now, the Old City. Brothe. I don't know why. That's where they want us to go.”
s.h.a.got was puzzled with himself. He had no drive left. But for the nagging of the G.o.d voices in the back of his brain he would have headed home himself.
Asgrimmur, for his part, began to see his brother as a holy madman. Those were rare in northern tradition but the notion of the insane having been touched by the G.o.ds was entrenched. In s.h.a.got's case there was no doubt.
THE G.o.dS OF THE NORTH WERE SPITEFUL, CHILDISH, AND PETTY. A great many G.o.ds, across the earth, went way long on the famine, pestilence, and war, but came up short on characteristics their wors.h.i.+pers would find congenial.
Finnboga and Hallgrim, Sigurdur and Sigurjon, encountered the malice of the Instrumentalities of the Night just two evenings after abandoning s.h.a.got and Svavar.
They were sheltering for the night beneath an old stone bridge spanning a stream less than six yards wide. The river was low because of the season. It had snowed that afternoon. Now a brisk and bitter wind muttered around the old bridge. Gusts whipped their little fire, threatening to kill it.
This shelter had served travelers for centuries. Numerous fires had burned on the same spot, surrounded by the same blackened stones. Another fire burned on the north side of the stream, where half a dozen southbound travelers huddled against the cold.
Hallgrim grumbled, ”I'm getting old. Ten years ago this would've been a spring breeze. Now I'm thinking about emigrating to Iceland.”
His companions grunted. None had visited Iceland but they had heard about the geysers and hot springs and magical vents that defeated the most ferocious winters. When the cliffs of ice crossed the Ormo Strait to begin devouring the New Brothen Empire, Iceland would still be warm.
Sigurjon observed, ”Things could be different out there, though. If it's part of one big kingdom and those black crow priests run things.”
Finnboga inquired, ”How hard could it be to kill a few priests?”
”How hard?” Sigurdur snapped. ”Look at us.”