The blurred world resolved into outline. Teo’s knife lay on the ground beside Caleb, its blade melted. Their attacker was human-shaped, broad-shouldered and massively muscled, clad in darkness and gleaming light; the air about him thrummed with ancient chants. One huge hand held Teo’s wrist. A forearm thick as a column pressed against her throat. Teo’s free arm clawed at her attacker’s face. Her nails drew sparks as they skidded over the steel-smooth dark.
Caleb recognized him.
“Father,” he said. “Put Teo down, or you’ll have to hit me again.”
Temoc released her and stepped back. Teo coughed, and straightened, cradling her wrist. Anger flushed her face.
Shadows passed from Caleb’s father like flowers closing for the night. His scars dimmed, and the man himself stood in Teo’s hallway: naked from the waist up, dark skin distended with muscles and old wounds.
“Son,” Temoc said. “I need your help.”
Caleb blinked. “What?”
40
“A group of fanatics is about to destroy the city,” Temoc said.
“I know.”
“They intend to use the Twin Serpents as a weapon. The last time Aquel and Achal were used this way, they broke the continent in half. I need you to help me stop them.” He blinked. “Wait. What do you mean, you know?”
“Mal, the woman who’s planning all this, she and I. We’re dating, I guess. I mean, we were.” Temoc’s eyes widened. “I’m not a part of the plan. I left as soon as I found out what was going on. About an hour ago.”
“You did not tell me you were seeing anyone.”
“I didn’t know I had to clear my romantic choices with you.”
“Caleb,” Teo said, massaging her throat, “I’ve never met your father. Please introduce me to this man who just broke into my apartment and tried to strangle me.”
Temoc looked at her. She glared back.
Caleb counted to ten and down. “Teo, this is Temoc, last of the Eagle Knights, high priest to All Gods. Dad, this is Teo. She’s a contract manager at RKC, and my friend.” He laid special emphasis on the last word.
“I apologize for hitting you.” Temoc bowed his head. “I do not relish striking women.”
“Thank you,” Teo said with a cold edge, “for your condescending, sexist apology.”
Temoc clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin, and waited, like a statue staring into the glorious future.
Teo knelt to reclaim her blast rod. “How can we trust you? You’re a theist, a murderer. You tried to kill the King in Red. You could be part of this whole plot.”
“I could have killed you both if I wished. I have not done so. Nor did I break your wrist when you shot me. These are signs of my good faith.”
Teo bared her teeth. Caleb stepped between them. “Swear you’re not part of this, Dad. Pick a god, and swear.”
“I speak truth, on the bones of Ili of the Bright Sails. Your woman and her comrades have betrayed us all. They have abandoned the keeping of the days and the marking of the hours.”
“Add deicide and murder to those charges.”
Temoc drew a deep, rumbling breath. “Then Qet is dead.”
“Yes. And some people, too.”
“Your woman’s master was a priest once. A good man turned sick. I discovered this planned blasphemy too late, when he tried to kill me, and killed himself. I recovered, broke into his house, found his journals, learned the truth. We must stop his student before others die.”
“Yes,” Caleb said. “But how?”
For a time, Temoc did not reply. He should have been a poker player, not a priest. He was immutable as a mountain. Eons could pass about him, civilizations rise and fall, without Temoc registering the change.
“First,” he said, “I would like you to tell me about this woman. Second, I would like a glass of water.”
Temoc, Priest of All Gods, sipped water from a blue coffee mug emblazoned with the words “World’s Best Daughter” above a picture of a goddess suckling a serpent. Caleb shifted in his seat. His wounds hurt, talking hurt, not talking hurt, sitting at a table across from his father hurt. Teo paced, tapping the tips of her blunt fingers together. She scowled as Caleb repeated the story of his relationship with Mal.
Temoc considered for a long, silent time, head downturned, shoulders sloped over the table like a rocky hillside. Since the Skittersill Rising, Caleb’s father had become a myth, to his son as much as to the rest of the city: a name shouted from newspaper headlines and whispered in dark corners. He was a legend, and a legend could not be a father. Nor could a legend sit in Teo’s white living room, surrounded by sensible Iskari furniture, drinking from a World’s Best Daughter mug.
“The Serpents are the great danger,” Temoc said at last. “If all she had were her Craftswoman’s tricks, we could defeat her. We cannot stop the Serpents while they are hungry. We must feed them with sacrifice—feasting, they will be sated, and sleep. The great altars are all destroyed, or under heavy guard, but lesser altars remain, used before the Fall for simple sacrifices, goats and cows, rarely touched by human blood. Two priests, working together, could purify one of these lesser altars and make sacrifice there. Caleb, you are not a priest, but you bear our marks.” The old man touched the scars on his arms. “You can help me.”
“I won’t sacrifice anyone,” Caleb said.
“Why not? No doubt one of the True Quechal will give his life for the city. Many would count it an honor to be asked. I will find one for us.”
“If your plan involves murder, walk out that door now.”
“You will not let one person die to save an entire city?”
“I won’t kill anyone. Teo and I covered this already.”
Temoc raised an eyebrow. “It is the only way. The Serpents wake when they are called, and will not sleep until their hunger is assuaged.”
Caleb searched the walls of Teo’s apartment, blank white, hung with paintings, but found no help. “There must be another option.”
“There is not.”
“Caleb,” Teo said, carefully. “Maybe you should listen.”
“No.”
“You are not being reasonable,” Temoc said.
“And you’re being disgusting.”
“Disgusting.” He laughed. “You are comfortable when violence is done by others on your behalf—when gods are imprisoned, when men are slain or reduced to slavery, you do not blink. But faced with the need to dirty your own hands, you shudder.”
“That’s not what bothers me.” He pointed to the battle-scape above Teo’s couch. Jewel drops of blood rained from an infernal sky. “People fought a war to keep us from doing this sort of thing. If we sacrifice someone to stop Mal, she’s won.”
“Sophistry. If we sacrifice someone to defeat her, she has lost. This city holds seventeen million people—surely one of them can assuage your wounded conscience in the aftermath.”
“You refuse to even try to think of a better way.”
“Do you not think that if a better way existed, we would have found it somewhere in three thousand years of history?”
“I could say the same about, oh, dentistry. Anasthesia.”
Teo leaned against the back of an empty chair. “Caleb, you’re not helping. Your father knows the Serpents better than we do. If he says this is our only choice, shouldn’t we believe him?”
Caleb’s bruised ribs and burned hand radiated pain.
“The Serpents,” Temoc said, “feed on the souls of our people. The human heart is a focus—the nobler, and more innocent the heart, the better, hence the preference for altar maids and altar men, who are pure in their own bodies. The ritual binds the soul into meat and blood. Death focuses the spirit, heightens its awareness.”