Tiassa

CONCEPTION (An Interlude)

“I have an idea,” said the goddess.

“Which one is it?” asked the god.

“Which one? You’re saying I only have two ideas?”

“Two kinds. The kind that frighten me, and the kind that annoy me.”

“Oh.” She considered. “It might be both.”

“Right, that kind. All right, let’s hear it.”

“I want a grandchild.”

“That,” said the god called Barlen, “isn’t an idea. It’s a desire.”

“You figured that out on your own?” said Verra.

“You’re adorable when you’re sarcastic.”

Verra sniffed.

“All right, so what’s your plan to acquire one?”

“I was thinking I could get my grandchild to arrange it.”

“Verra, if you are going to play with time again, I beg you to remember that there are laws about that.”

“Why?”

“Why do we have the laws? If I recall, you were the one who first proposed them, when we started to understand—”

“Yes. Why?”

“You said something about paradox causing the utter destruction of all of time.”

“You have a good memory.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“So then, why should I worry about it when no such risk applies?”

“And how can you be certain there is no such risk?”

“Because if I find my grandchild, then it clearly works, and there is no paradox.”

Barlen stared at her. Eventually he said, “I don’t even know how to begin to respond to that.”

“Well, you might ask me how I intend to find my grandchild.”

“All right. How do you intend to find your grandchild?”

“That will take some explanation.”

“This is bound to be good,” said Barlen.

* * *

Aliera lowered herself into a white chair in a white room. She picked up the white goblet from the white table and drank. The wine was red, which she was sure was intended as a joke.

“Hello, Aliera.”

She turned her head. A chair that hadn’t been there before was occupied.

“Hello, Mother.”

“You don’t seem excited to see me, dear.”

“I don’t yet know what scheme you need me for, Mother.”

“Maybe I just want some family time.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“But it’s true.”

Aliera’s eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. “Family time?”

“Yes. In a manner of speaking.”

“Ah,” said Aliera. “In exactly what manner of speaking?”

“Have you ever thought about having a child?”

“Not seriously. Eventually, when I meet someone worthy.”

“You haven’t met anyone worthy? Ever?”

“Not worthy to father a child with me. Well, once, I suppose. But—”

“Ah.”

Aliera stared at her. “You do not mean that.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“Mother, this is meddling beyond all reason and propriety.”

“Now, now. I’m just giving you the opportunity. Whether you take it is up to you.”

“I can’t believe you’re serious about this.”

“Of course you can.”

“Aside from everything else, he’s, well, dead.”

“Trifles.”

“Mother!”

“Care to take a walk with me? Oh, stop looking so suspicious.”

“Is suspicion unreasonable?”

“Oh, no. It’s entirely reasonable. And justified. I just don’t like the look. Come.”

Aliera rose without another word and followed the goddess into the suddenly appearing swirling mists that filled the room, and then her lungs, and then her mind, so she was no longer walking through mist, but she was mist, and she didn’t move, but was pulled by the vacuum like a black funnel ahead of her, moving always forward, though Aliera knew that direction didn’t mean what it felt like here.

As much to see if she could as for any other reason, she formed the thought, Mother, where are we going?

Through you, dear.

Through—I don’t understand.

We are traveling through your essence, your past, what makes you who you are.

My genes?

Must you be so prosaic?

How are we traveling through my genes?

In large part, metaphorically. Physically, insofar as that means anything, we are adjacent to the Paths of the Dead.

Adjacent?

Close enough that I can play with time until I find—ah! There! It’s a girl.

What—

I’m sorry, dear, I must cut off your senses for a moment; you two can’t meet yet. I need to ask someone who doesn’t exist for an impossible favor.

This is bound to be good, thought Aliera.

* * *

And so the goddess, outside of time, planted something like a thought in the mind of one who did not exist, thus to bring her into being. Gods can do that. They shouldn’t, but they can.

This done, she called in a favor from one who, though not a goddess, held power that even the gods might fear; and had certain other skills as well.

“What is that?” said Tukko, staring at the paper spread out on the table.

“A rendering of Kieron’s bower,” said Sethra.

“Bower?”

“His home, if you will.”

“In the Paths?”

“Yes.”

“And you have this because…?”

“We need to duplicate it.”

“We?”

“The Necromancer and I.”

“Why?”

Sethra gestured at the small silver object on the table. “To plant that under the bed.”

Tukko started to ask why, but evidently thought better of it. He took the artifact, held it up, and studied it from every angle.

“Please be careful,” said Sethra Lavode. “Delicacy is not your strength, and if something happens to it, I’ll have to make an explanation I’d rather not.”

“To whom?” said the other. “The Easterner? What can he do?”

“No, to Verra.”

Tukko shrugged and set the item back on the table. “I don’t fear the gods.”

“It isn’t about fear,” said the Enchantress. “It’s about trust.”

“I don’t trust the gods, either.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I always know what you mean. What are you going to do with it?”

“Use it, then return it to Vlad.”

Tukko snorted. “What will he do with it?”

“I’ve no idea. But it’s his, at least for now.”

“I suppose. What are you going to use it for?”

“Verra has asked for a favor.”

“And in return?”

“A favor, not a bargain.”

“I don’t trust the gods.”

“We share a common enemy,” said Sethra.

Tukko didn’t answer. Sethra stood up and took the silver tiassa from the table.

“That isn’t much. What is all this supposed to accomplish, anyway?”

“Let me explain.”

“This is bound to be good,” said Tukko.

* * *

In the place between land and sea, between truth and legend, between the mundane and the divine—that is, in the place called the Paths of the Dead—there are four stone steps leading down to nothing. It’s probably symbolic—most things are in those climes.

A few paces to the right of the stairway to nowhere is what looks like an impossible geologic occurrence: in a clear meadow there is a circle of obsidian, taller than a man, some fifteen feet in diameter, broken only by a three-foot opening facing to the west—insofar as “west” has any meaning there.

Of course, it only appears to be natural, it was fabricated to look natural, perhaps because its designer believed the products of nature to be more aesthetically pleasing than the works of Man. Men often believe nature to have a better artistic sense; nature has no opinion on the matter.

Within the circle is nothing except a low, wide bed. As we look, there are two people on the bed, lying on their backs in a tangle of blankets, arms, and legs.

“Do you know,” said Aliera as she recovered her breath, “there are some who would call this incest.”

“Not to my face,” said Kieron.

“Nor to mine. But still—”

“How many generations separate us?”

“I’ve no idea. Hundreds.”

“And do you remember me, from then?”

“No. I’ve heard about you, of course. I’ve read. But I don’t remember. I’d like to.” She frowned. “Well, perhaps, now, I wouldn’t.”

“The point is anyone who calls this incest is being an idiot. And in any case, I’m more interested in how you managed it.”

“Managed what?”

“This place.”

“Oh. The Necromancer fabricated it. She said something about correspondence.”

“Who?”

“The Necromancer. A demon. I’m not sure from where. She created a place that matched yours then sent the one and pulled the other.”

“So, where are we?”

“Right here,” said Aliera, running her hand up Kieron’s chest.

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I don’t know. Does it matter? We can be together.”

“It’s just that I feel different.”

“Different how?”

Kieron hesitated, then said, “Alive.”

“Oh,” said Aliera. “That, um, that isn’t because of the place.”

“What, then?”

“Let me explain,” said Aliera.

“This is bound to be good,” said the Father of the Empire.