The Realms of the Gods

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.

Sarra frowned. ‘You should be hungrier, after all that sleep and the pain from crossing over.’

‘You forget how things tasted when you first came here.’ A fluffy orange-and-white-marbled cat leaped onto the table to sit in front of Daine. She stared at the girl with large amber eyes, pink nose twitching. ‘In the Divine Realms, you eat the essence of things, not the shadow. I am Queenclaw, goddess of house cats.’

Respectfully, the girl bowed. Queenclaw was an impressive creature. ‘It’s a very great honour, meeting you.’

‘Of course it is.’ The cat began to wash.

‘How’d you come to be here, Ma?’ Daine asked. ‘I thought the mortal dead go to the Black God’s realm.’

Sarra cut her apples. ‘So I did,’ she replied. ‘Your father came for me there. He petitioned the Great Gods to allow me to live with him. They decided it was well enough.’ She eyed Daine warily. ‘You blame me for not telling you about him?’

Daine looked at the cat, who was still washing, and at the duckmole, who was grinding apple bits in his bill. She’d forgotten her ma’s way of discussing private things before others. ‘It might’ve helped later, is all. Ma, we can’t stay, you know. We’re—’

Queenclaw hissed, and leaped off the table. Briefly Daine suspected her of creating a diversion, until she saw that a black shape, almost like a living ink blot, was tangled in the cat’s teeth and claws. It wriggled and shifted like water, trying to escape. Only when the duckmole jumped down to stand on one of the thing’s tendrils did it quieten.

‘What is that?’ the girl wanted to know.

‘I’ve no notion,’ replied Sarra, frowning. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Unless it’s one of Gainel’s – the Dream King’s. It could be one of his nightmares.’

‘No,’ Queenclaw said, looking up. ‘He’s strict with his creatures. They lose their power over mortals if they’re allowed to wander, so he keeps them close.’

‘We’ll hold it for Weiryn to look at when he returns.’ Sarra reached down, white light spilling from her fingers. When it touched the shadowy thing, Queenclaw and Broad Foot moved away from it. Kneeling, Sarra picked the creature up, using the white fire as a kind of scoop. ‘What manner of beastie are you?’ she asked, frowning.

The creature rolled itself into a small, tight ball.

‘I command you, give me your name!’ ordered Sarra. There was a crack, and a smell of blood. ‘Darking?’ She looked at the animal gods. ‘Have you heard of it?’

‘Never,’ Queenclaw said, washing a forepaw.

Broad Foot shook his head. Vanishing in a wave of silver fire, he reappeared on the table next to the girl. ‘Easier than climbing for a little fellow like me,’ he explained.

Daine’s mother shrugged, dropping the creature into her apron pocket. ‘That will hold you for now.’ She drew a line of white fire across the pocket’s opening. Seeing it, Daine was uneasy: Sarra’s magical Gift had always shown as rose-pink fire, not white.

‘Don’t fuss,’ the woman told her pocket as the darking began to thrash inside. ‘You’ll just—’ She fell silent abruptly and cocked her head as if she listened to someone.

When Daine opened her mouth, the cat placed a paw over it, silencing her. ‘Hush,’ Queenclaw whispered. ‘Someone needs her.’ Fur tickled Daine’s nose; she sneezed.

‘You are known to the Green Lady, Isa,’ Sarra remarked, oddly formal. ‘You seek aid for a breech birth? Who is the mother?’ She listened, then sighed. ‘Nonia. I see.’

Daine frowned. They had known an Isa and a Nonia in Snowsdale. Her mother had always claimed that Isa would be a good midwife, if she could ever stop having children of her own. Nonia was barely a year older than Daine herself.

‘Harken, Isa. You must turn the babe before it comes. No – listen to me, and I will help.’ Absently, Sarra walked into the cottage, looking at something very far away.

Daine was the only one who saw the darking – whatever it was – drop to the ground through a hole in its pocket prison. She thought, just like Ma to fix the opening with magic and forget there’s a hole in the bottom. She said nothing as the darking vanished into the shadows by the cottage wall. If Queenclaw and Broad Foot hadn’t seen its escape, she wasn’t going to tell them. After all, the darking hadn’t done any harm.

‘She’s not the same as she was back home,’ she whispered, more to herself than to the cat or the duckmole.

‘Of course not.’ Queenclaw stretched. ‘Only gods or immortals may dwell here.’

‘You’re telling me that Ma – my ma – is a god.’

‘There was a need,’ Broad Foot explained. ‘The northern forests had no one to watch over village gardens and childbearing – the Great Mother Goddess can’t be everywhere. It wouldn’t have worked if your mother hadn’t liked such things already. Since she does, she became the Green Lady.’

‘Is she my ma, then?’ demanded the girl. ‘Is she who she was, Sarra Beneksri?’

‘Are you who you were?’ asked the cat.

About to say that of course she was, Daine stopped herself. Daine of Snowsdale could no more heal animals – or turn into one – than the sun could rise in the west. She got up, ignoring a slight dizziness that overtook her. ‘Please excuse me. I need a walk.’