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

The big man frowned. “Women can’t fight.”

Persephone shrugged. She wanted to disagree, but that was an argument for another time. “Okay, but there are female Fhrey in Alon Rhist, too. So if our women can’t fight, neither can theirs. Is it impossible to think a thousand men can kill a hundred Fhrey? And how many do the Gula have? If we all band together, we could overwhelm them with sheer numbers.”

“Not likely to happen.” The man shook his hairy head. “The clans would never join together. They’re more likely to fight each other.”

She let out more line to her fish. “I see your point. It would take a man like Gath. Someone renowned, someone everyone would agree was the bravest, strongest warrior among them. Someone who all the chieftains could kneel to and not lose the respect of their people. It would take a hero.”

Time to set the hook.

“It would take someone who’d already proved himself by killing a Fhrey,” she said.

Persephone and Malcolm continued ahead but stopped a few steps later. The Dureyan had halted. “You want this Raithe person to be the keenig?” he said.

Persephone nodded. “I think it might be our only hope to survive.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Doesn’t sound at all crazy to me,” Malcolm said.

I love you, Malcolm! He was practically holding out the net for her fish.

“You be quiet,” the man snapped.

“You are Raithe, aren’t you?” Persephone asked. “Raithe of Dureya, the God Killer, wielder of the copper sword.”

Raithe glanced over his shoulder at the pommel, sighed, and then glared at Malcolm. “I blame you for this,” he said, and walked on.

—

After drawing out Raithe’s identity, Persephone backed off, satisfied with her progress. The three walked on in relative silence. Ahead of them, Suri had stopped, Minna beside her. The girl seemed transfixed, staring off through an opening in the trees. When they reached her, Persephone realized they had climbed higher than she’d expected. Below them, the view was breathtaking, forest-covered hills stretched out for miles. The shadows across the landscape indicated the hour was later than she’d realized.

“That’s the home of Grin,” Suri told them, pointing at a rocky face where the sun revealed a large cave.

“We aren’t going up there, are we?” Persephone asked.

“No, ma’am,” the girl replied. “Magda is just ahead.”

“Magda?” Malcolm inquired.

“The old oak,” Persephone said. “Suri says it’s the oldest tree in the forest.”

“Who or what is Grin?” Raithe asked.

“A bear or demon or maybe both. She killed my son, my husband, and several other men from Rhen.”

“Sounds like a good thing to avoid, then,” Malcolm said.

They continued on, and Suri led them off the ridge and into a shallow basin. As tranquil a place as anything Persephone could imagine, the valley held a flower-filled meadow. In the center stood a massive tree. Lower branches, each as thick as any regular oak’s trunk, rested their elbows on the ground as they extended out hundreds of feet. Her gnarled and ribbed trunk, partially covered in green moss, was mammoth. A pair of huge knots gave the tree the appearance of a gentle, wrinkled face that looked down on them with sad eyes.

It was easy to see why Suri had described Magda as holding court. Nothing but flowers grew near her. That was Magda’s field, and her boughs extended the width of it like a fine gown.

Suri stopped under the tree’s leaves and knelt. Minna lay beside her. The others hesitated, unsure what to do. Slowly, Suri lifted her head to the leaves. “Say hello to Magda, the oldest tree.”

Malcolm walked to Magda as if in a trance and laid a hand on the oak. “She is indeed a very old tree.”

“Magda told me once she has lived for three thousand years,” Suri declared.

Malcolm continued to let his hands glide over the tree’s bark, which was thick and gnarled with deep lines of age. “She would have seen it all.”

“What do I do?” Persephone asked Suri.

“Just ask her what you want to know.”

Persephone stepped forward and, looking into the knots as if they were eyes, she inquired, “Are the Fhrey coming? Will they attack Dahl Rhen?”

She waited, listening, expecting to hear a booming voice.

All was silent, and she looked at Suri.

The mystic shrugged. “Try something else.”

Persephone glanced at Raithe. “How can I save my people?”

They looked up at the leaves, Raithe wearing a nervous expression. In turn, each of them, even Minna, looked at Suri, who scowled.

“What?” Persephone said.

Suri shook her head in irritation. “Magda’s being a beech.”

“A what?” Raithe asked.

“She’s being quiet.”

“Maybe she’s thinking,” Malcolm said. “Or she doesn’t know the answers. Those are pretty weighty questions for a tree that doesn’t, you know, travel much.”

“She talks to the other trees. They tell her all they’ve heard,” Suri explained. “That’s how she knows so much. She hears news from everywhere.”

“But how can a tree know the minds of gods?” Raithe asked. “Or the lay of the future?”

“The more you know about the past, the easier it is to divine the future.” Suri stood up. “Magda!” she shouted, causing Minna to start. “Wake up! You have visitors! This woman is an important lady. She needs to know what to do. She needs to know…” Suri looked at Persephone.

“How to save our race from extinction at the hands of the Fhrey,” Persephone provided.

Suri looked her way for a second, licked her lips, and then turned her attention back to the tree. “Yeah, that.”

Again they waited. Suri’s face scrunched up into an elaborate frown. “I don’t understand. Normally—”

A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, and Suri’s head snapped upward. Her eyes grew wide, and a smile spread across her face.

“Welcome the gods,” Suri said formally.

“What?” Persephone asked, but Suri held up a hand to silence her.

“Heal the injured,” the mystic went on.

“I don’t under—”

Once again Suri waved for silence. “Follow the wolf.”

The breeze died.

They waited.

Suri finally nodded with a happy look. “There you go. The answer to your questions.”

Persephone blinked. “That’s it? Welcome the gods; heal the injured; follow the wolf? What does any of it mean?”

Suri shrugged. “I have no idea.”





CHAPTER NINE


Tight Places




Life on the dahl was dangerous. We lived in fear of everything: spirits, sickness, famine, wolves, and bears. That spring there was less sickness and famine and more wolves and bears.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN





Raithe and Minna were friends from the moment they met, but then he’d always gotten along better with animals than people. In Dureya, some of the less aggressive wolves made a living off discarded scraps. The animals were tolerated because their yipping warned when trouble came to visit. As a boy, Raithe had grown fond of many of them, but few had been as friendly, and none so large, as Minna. In Dureya, animals didn’t grow big for the same reason the people didn’t smile—a lack of everything. Raithe held a similarly high opinion of Suri, who reminded him of his younger sister, the only sibling he loved. That she was a mystic despite her young age was astounding. Mystics were about as common as two-headed unicorns. The few who existed lived apart from the world of men, remaining untainted by influence and corruption. Having a wolf as her best friend demonstrated the sort of wisdom he appreciated.