Comet Fall (Wine of the Gods) (4 page)

He grinned. "I suppose the Powers That Be have not talked much about us. We're the descendants of a large group exiled after World War five. We've little communication with you, so we haven't actually pinned down if we came from your World or one extremely similar. We've been here almost fourteen hundred years."

"We placed the
Hygiea breakup about sixteen thousand years ago." Milt nodded. "So there was probably fourteen thousand years of bombardment to partially clean up the neighborhood before you arrived. A big collision might account for why your days are four and a half minutes longer than Earth's."

Tim blinked. "And the air's thinner."

A young man knocked and looked in "Ambassador. Time."

"Ah." The tall man straightened, "if you'll excuse us, we've got to get ready for the official visitors. Do you need assistance getting out and back?"

Tim gulped, "We left our floater about six kilometers east, we'll go back to it, circle back to where we usually approach from."

The tall man stared into space for a moment. "They are watching the building very closely now. May I give you a ride six kilometers east? Not getting you into trouble is the least I can do for your assistance."

Milt nodded uncertainly, and Tim rolled up his portable. The man touched their shoulders and Tim staggered a bit and looked around at the green grass. He could hear Milt hyperventilating.

"Thank you for your assistance. My name is Wolfgang Oldham, better known as the Old Wolf. If you need help, ask for me."

Tim straightened. "Tim Jameson and Milt Howser, sir. I hope we have been of help."

The man shrugged. "Speed it up, push it south. We'll try, whether we succeed." He shrugged again and disappeared.

"Cup your hands and breath into them, Milt. I'll climb that hill and see if I can spot the floater."

"I didn't feel a thing.
No momentum shift, nothing!" Milt wheezed. "He dropped us about two inches, so we didn't overlap the grass or something."

Tim spotted the run of the creek and a clump of willows that looked familiar and led him off to the south.
"Yeah. It's enough to make you believe in magic, isn't it?"

1367 Summer

Ash, a small vill
age in the Kingdom of the West

Rustle could tell that Havi was up on the hills on the far side of Ash, with his friends. Three miles away from the winery, easy to speak to, mentally. Telepathy, the old books called it. Of course, they also said their tests disproved the theory.
Earth must have been a very strange world, without magic of any sort.

::  The comets are mostly water, we ought to get the mages involved. ::

::  Yes. If the light is just reflected sunlight, the wizards aren't going to be able to do much either. :: Havi was the strongest of the young wizards in the village. He sounded like he was frowning.

:: The books say they've got sand and dust and chunks of rock all through them, so maybe the witches can feel them. :: Rustle thought dubiously. :: I can see rocks about half a mile away, surely a Dark Crescent can see further. ::

:: Probably, but this is a little different than pulling rocks out of the fields before plowing. ::

:: Yeah. :: Rustle shelved the latest book with the re
st of the space books, lingered to pull out the book with the rockets . . .  She took it to the Auld Wulf's desk and wrote a quick note.
Can rockets be steered magically? Can we build one? Would blowing up the comet be useful
?

And a second note. Comets are mostly ice, sublimating. Can Mages handle them better than the rest of us?

Not that the mages necessarily would. One of the only three mages to survive the Auralian War had been killed while under the Auld Wulf's command. He'd been either father or grandfather to most of the rest of the mages. The mage compass had minimized their relationship with the god ever since.

Jerks. Should have had sense enough to at least blame the Earth people. She picked up the next two books in the stack. History and Chemistry. The history shelf was full. Time to shift books again.

***

But books and talk couldn't change anything.

Two days before the Winter Solstice, the children of the village were placed in protective bubbles, a few mothers with their babies. All the other witches packed for a few days of camping in the wilderness. The mages mostly discounted the whole panic, and only a few broke ranks with Beck Butcher and accompanied the other magic users to Africa.

Rustle looked at her father in exasperation. "First, this is a silly precaution, because the comet is small, and second I can do my own shield, and third, you are so determined that the shields be tight that
if something happens to you, us kids could be trapped in there forever.
And,
I'm strong enough to help."

Her father bent down and kissed her. "Sorry kiddo, you aren't going to argue your way out of this one. Your good buddy, the Auld Wulf showed me how to do this."

A flick of blackness.

"Daaad . . . " Rustle blinked at her exhausted mother, jumped up and hugged her. "Did it work?" She looked around anxiously, but there was Dad, too
, releasing Havi.

"Yes.
The Gods sped it up a little and we were able to break it up. Comets are mostly ice, so the small chunks that did hit burned up in the upper atmosphere. But still . . . it was hard to reach so far." She blinked back tears. "It was too much for Blissful. Her heart. And the Auld Wulf, I really thought he'd drained himself. He . . . doesn't look very good."

Rustle felt a cold core of fear, and hustled, g
ot dinner ready, got hot baths for both of them, tucked them both into bed, and checking on her little sisters, got them to bed and asleep. Havi yawned, he hadn't slept well the night before, and stumbled off to bed himself.

She put on her grubby riding clothes, then, and walking boots.
The sun was just clearing the mountains. She couldn't take one of the horses from the stable, Dad or Havi might hear the sound of shod hooves on the hard rock of the yard. But she took a halter and lead rope before she trotted downhill half a mile to where the trees thinned out leaving the grassy hills empty except for their flocks and herds. A nicker greeted her, and galloping hooves. Rusty Junk, so named because as an angular foal that was what she'd looked like, was
hers,
not just a family horse that she rode, but
hers
. She was also not quite three and not broke to ride, so Rustle was relieved when her dam followed her over. The old black mare was easy to catch, and steer with just a halter. They trotted over the hill into the main valley where the village of Ash had started. The streets were empty, in the dawn light. She shivered and steered around to the east, up to the winery. She slid off at the ravine and released Inky. She'd wander home, most likely, but Rustle wasn't worried about getting home. Only being here. Seeing that the Auld Wulf was all right.

She walked quietly up the pat
h, listened with her inner senses. No one was here. They'd left him. Then she wondered if maybe he wasn't here. It would make sense that they would keep him close, take care of him.

But she'd never been able to sense him at a distance. So she checked, and there he was. Quiet and still, sh
e could barely see him breath. If she woke him, would he speak a name? Some love from long ago, now long dead?

The god was over a
thousand years old. He fascinated her. She knew it was silly to have a crush on such a person, to think of him like that. To think about him and sex.

He shifted slightly, opened his eyes, and chuckled. "I might have known you'd slip in."

"Are you all right?"

"We gods do th
is periodically, Rustle. I'll sleep a great deal over the next year, maybe longer. But then I'll be young and energetic again, so don't you neglect your sword lessons."

She took his hand. "Should you be alone?"

His hand tightened on hers, his thumb rubbed over her knuckles. "We tend to be mentally open and both vulnerable and dangerous at times like this. I need to be alone. You are very quiet and private, so check on me if you need to, it won't hurt. But most people need to stay away."

She leaned over the bed and kissed his cheek, or that was her intension. He turned his head and kissed her mouth
, put a hand around her . . . and withdrew suddenly.

"Sorry, too open. Go away, Rustle. I'll be fine."

She put a hand to her lips, and had to force herself to leave.

The God of War was not seen that year, his vines grew wild and his absence grew familiar. Rustle visited, but found him
usually asleep, like an unlikely princess in a fairy tale, or nearly sleepwalking, eating and returning to bed. At first he looked older, then he started looking younger. She didn't kiss him, to see if it would wake him. She'd save it, in case he got too young. Then it would be time for stronger measures.

Unfortunately
her mother's father's family took an interest in the illegitimate country cousins, and pulled her away before he awoke.

1369 Winter Solstice

Karista
, Capital City of the Kingdom of the West

"Witches should not have comings-out. Or should that be coming-outs?" Rustle fussed with the tight bodice. She really hated the light blue color 'suitable for a young maiden' and had embroidered deeper blue all over it. A geometric pattern. Not the sissy flowers that Aunt Fussy, err, Lady Florence, had said were more appropriate.

Lady Florence wasn't actually her Aunt. She was some distant relative of her grandfat
her's. And Grandfather—General Prince Rufi Negue—had sent the poor woman out to Ash to 'educate' his doubly illegitimate granddaughter in the ways of civilized society. The last six months had been hard on the poor woman.

And now they'd all been dragged to Karista, to be put on public display.

"This isn't a proper 'coming out' at all. It's merely your first appearance in public. If you were legitimate, you'd be the
cause
of a party."

Rustle rolled her eyes.

In two weeks King Rebo would be celebrating his one hundredth birthday, and wanted
all
of his family present.

It was even worse for Leopardite. Technically she was Rustle's aunt, but since she was younger than Rustle by two years they usually just ignored silliness like that. But at fourteen, she'
d just be introduced—presented—and then expected to disappear like a nice child. Poor Leppie wouldn't even get to dance.

The dancing
might even be worth this ridiculous bodice. Padded to lift her 'modest' bosom. Low to display cleavage. Light blue for innocence. Old Gods, they really ought to make up their minds.

"Hold still," Aunt Fussy frowned, powdered puff in hand. "You are so pretty! I just know you will be very popular!"

Why some people considered being the illegitimate granddaughter of the country's War Prince a privilege escaped her. And the only man she was interested in being popular with was back in Ash and probably thought she was still a baby. She could only hope that he'd think twenty-five or so was old enough, when the time came for her to advance.

"The only reason I wi
ll be popular is because these city fools think witches are promiscuous. We're going to get treated like whores invited to a fancy ball."

Her mother shrugged. "Just be utterly proper, not even a kiss or hug from anyone. The muttering will die down after the other young women figure out y
ou aren't trying to marry any of the men they—or their mothers—have set their sights on."