Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire #1)

“Dureyans?” Konniger took a long breath. “None. Even the livestock were slaughtered.”

“How do we know it was the gods?” Delwin asked. “Maybe it was the Gula-Rhunes.”

The men near the door shook their heads. One with a black leather band wound around his forehead said, “The bodies were in neat rows as if they’d been lined up to die. And their weapons had been left. Nothing was taken, nothing looted. Everything was burned.”

More murmurs.

“So maybe it was the gods, but Dureya was attacked because Raithe, this God Killer, is from there. We haven’t done anything to offend the gods. We don’t bother them, and they won’t bother us, right?” Delwin said in a tone that sounded more like a wish than a declaration. He had an arm around his wife, Sarah, pulling her close. “This has nothing to do with us.”

“But what if it does?” Gifford asked. “What if the gods—maybe they don’t see a diff-wence between Du-e-ya and us?” Gifford using r-words in public indicated more than idle concern. “Tell them what you saw this mow-ning, Tope.”

Heads turned to the haggard farmer, who wiped his face with a grain sack he usually used as a hat. “I saw smoke to the northwest, right up the valley road. Looked like it was coming from Nadak.”

An ominous silence froze the room. The men from Nadak stared at Tope. Then the questions came.

“How much smoke?”

“When was this?”

“What color was the smoke?”

Each voice sounded more concerned than the one before.

“Was a lot of smoke, black smoke,” Tope said. “You can still see it if you climb to the top of the Horn Ridge.”

Hearing this, the strangers rushed out. The rest watched them go into a deceptively pleasant spring day.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Delwin said, but he pulled Sarah closer and placed a hand on his daughter’s head.

“Sounds like the Fway punished them, too,” Gifford said. “If they come, what we going to do?”

“What do you mean, do?” Konniger asked. “What is there to do?”

Several of the faces in the hall looked surprised.

Konniger hadn’t exhibited much intelligence over the years, and Persephone figured he didn’t understand the question. She pushed up to her knees. “I think they want to know what steps you plan to take to prevent what happened to Dureya, and possibly Nadak, from happening here.”

Her comment drew a sharp look from Tressa, whose lips pulled taut.

“There’s nothing to do,” Konniger replied. “It won’t happen here. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But if a Fhrey has been killed, then—” Delwin started.

“We didn’t kill him,” Konniger said, cutting him off. “They have no reason to bother us.”

Tressa smirked. “Dureyans have always caused trouble. Serves them right. I call it justice. They brought the wrath of the divine down on themselves. But we have nothing to fear.”

“What about Nadak?” Gifford asked. “What’d they do?”

“We don’t know anything about Nadak,” Konniger said, then nodded at his wife and drew himself up straighter.

Not the best way to start, Persephone thought. She knew firsthand how difficult it could be, making decisions while everyone watched. When people were scared and looking for someone to take that fear away, it was a mistake to leave them idle to speculate and worry.

“But there are still some things we can do, yes?” Persephone asked.

So much for being quiet and invisible. How long did that last, five minutes? But five minutes ago, Dureya and Nadak still existed.

All eyes shifted between the new chieftain and the old chieftain’s widow.

Just say yes. Say, Of course, and if you can’t think of anything, ask me later when no one is looking. But don’t leave them lost.

Konniger declared, “There are things beyond the control of men, and the will of the gods is one of them.”

Seriously?

“I agree. We can’t control what the gods will do,” Persephone said. “But we aren’t helpless, either. We could send a delegation to Alon Rhist explaining how we had nothing to do with the actions of Dureyans. And we could send messengers to the other dahls, like the men of Nadak who came here. We should let others know what’s going on. At the very least, we should send someone to Nadak to check out the smoke Tope saw. Maybe they weren’t attacked. Perhaps they just had a fire that got out of control. If Nadak has also been destroyed, that’s much different than if it was only Dureya. We need to know for sure, as that bit of information significantly changes what we should do.”

“Persephone”—Tressa interceded for her husband, straightening in the chair as she spoke—“we grieve for your loss. But Reglan is dead, and Konniger is the chieftain. I think your voice would best serve the dahl by being silent.”

Persephone would have ignored the verbal slap if Tressa hadn’t mentioned Reglan. At least that was what she told herself afterward. Instead, she said, “If you were paying attention, Tressa, you’d know I wasn’t speaking to you.”

Konniger patted his wife’s hand, probably to defuse the tension in the room. “And if we find out Nadak has been attacked? And if no one at Alon Rhist will talk to us. What then?”

“If this is true, if the gods have declared war and won’t negotiate a peace, we need to gather what we can and leave.”

“Leave?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before. “And go where?”

Having me give you all the answers in front of a crowd is no way to instill confidence.

Persephone had hoped Konniger could find his way if she pointed him in the right direction. Apparently, that was wishful thinking. “At this point, I’d say south is a good direction. I’d aim for Dahl Tirre to give us as much time as possible to—”

“To what?” Konniger asked. “In Tirre, we’d have our backs to the sea, without walls or food. And do you think Tirre would welcome us? Such an invasion would spark a clan war. And for what? If the gods are after us, what would a few more miles matter?”

“The time to organize and prepare.”

“For what?”

“For war,” Persephone said.

A collective gasp escaped from those in the meeting hall. For a few minutes, no one said anything.

Tressa was the one who broke the silence. “Are you listening to yourself? You want to declare war against gods?” She lifted her sight to address the assembly. “Do we take up spears against the Grand Mother of All for not sending sufficient rain? The finest warriors of this village couldn’t defeat a bear, and Persephone expects us to make war with the Fhrey?”

Konniger shot his wife a harsh glance she didn’t see, then said, “If the Fhrey are set against us, then there is nothing that can be done. Men can’t kill gods.”

“The God Killer did,” Persephone answered.

“That’s just a rumor,” Konniger replied.

“Why else would the Fhrey destroy Dureya? They use Dureyans to fight the Gula-Rhunes. What else could have angered them enough to turn against allies? If killing a Fhrey is possible, we need to find the one man who knows how to do it. Then, if we can draw all the clans together, including the Gula, we could—”

Konniger shook his head. “It’s impossible to unite the clans. The Gula hate us as much as we hate them.”

“It’s not impossible,” Persephone replied. “Ask Maeve. She’ll tell you. Generations ago during the Great Flood, Gath of Odeon united the clans, all the clans, isn’t that right?”

Maeve nodded but didn’t speak.

“Under his leadership, our people built boats,” Persephone said for her. “We filled them with supplies, and when the waters rose, we set sail and began a new life. Well, this is a new flood, a new disaster. We need to harness the combined strength and wisdom of all our people to survive. When we send messengers to the other dahls to tell them about Nadak and Dureya, we could ask other chieftains to bring their people to meet in Tirre as well.”