The Scarred God Read online

  The singer was immersed in the river, dressed in a flimsy white robe that had become more or less translucent in the water. The bather was working on a small collection of flowers that had been gathered near the base of a tree on the far bank. She was singing as she worked at her arrangement.

  Anya exhaled a breath she had not been aware of holding. The woman wasn’t Kurah. She could have cried with relief.

  It was all Anya could do to avoid running down to the stranger. Caution held her back. This was the gods’ territory. Though she couldn’t recall any goddess behaving in this manner, that didn’t mean that the woman was safe to approach with no caution at all or, indeed, that Anya was allowed to. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained …

  ‘Hello,’ Anya called out as she made her way down the bank.

  The woman stiffened. Anya slipped on the bank, sliding into the water, which was freezing and made her gasp. The woman turned to look at this person who had intruded on her solitude. From the water, Anya could see the woman wasn’t pale at all, she was see-through – made entirely of water, as if she had been sculpted from ice. The woman’s eyes were whirling pools of fury in the ocean of her face. She wasn’t a woman … She was nyad: a water spirit. Anya felt her belly flip at seeing another creature from her grandfather’s tales not more than ten feet from her.

  ‘I can go if I’m bothering you,’ said Anya, unsure what to do under this creature’s gaze that revealed little. ‘I just haven’t seen another person in … a long while.’

  ‘You should not be here,’ said the nyad.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ said Anya, raising her hands. ‘Are you a goddess?’

  The nyad moved quickly. She strode forward, bringing herself to within inches of Anya.

  ‘You have violated me,’ said the water spirit. She brought her arm round in a thunderous wet strike that stung Anya like an unexpected wave.

  Anya fell back, sitting down flat on her behind in the middle of the river, water pouring round her chest, her heart like a small ball of rock in her throat. Nyads weren’t supposed to be dangerous. That wasn’t how the stories went. However, she realised, if they chose to, they could kill you in silent fury before even the most attentive companion realised you had gone. Vedic didn’t even notice she was there most of the time. The nyad approached her again, leant back on her haunches and looked Anya over as if deciding whether to squash her. She traced an icy-cold finger down Anya’s face where her hand had struck. It sent shivers down Anya, her fear rising as the wet fingers made their way over her neck and down.

  ‘Now you will pay tribute to me,’ said the nyad.

  The woman’s hand stopped its descent, crawling back up to her neck, and as the nyad’s hand passed over her, Anya felt like winter was taking her in its grasp. The fingers closed on Anya’s neck. She was lifted bodily into the air and slammed down into the river with enough impact to push the remaining air from her lungs.

  Anya was going to die. She struggled as hard as she could, but she didn’t have the strength to move that ice-like arm. Her hands just slid off, and she couldn’t get a purchase on any of the rocks on the streambed.

  Anya struggled as fireworks exploded behind her eyelids. She was running out of energy with a speed that would alarm the coolest head: her legs struggled to respond to her command to kick, and her grip on the creature was falling looser.

  In the distance, she heard the sound of splashing water as someone else entered the stream, and the nyad’s hand was pulled from her without warning as if snatched away.

  Anya broke the surface, gasping for air. She gave silent thanks to the woodsman as she sought to recover her senses. The cool air struck Anya as she pulled herself from the river, her soaking clothes welded to her skin. She turned to look at the water where the nyad had been, but it wasn’t the water spirit or Vedic she saw.

  The person who’d saved her was a good deal shorter – barely taller than Anya – and he looked as dangerous as the nyad from whom she had been saved. The man stood in the river in goatskin leggings, anger etched on his face and power glowing from his hands as the water-woman sat at his feet, shaking her head in an effort to understand who had managed to best her.

  He hit her, thought Anya.

  ‘You go too far, lady,’ said the man. His tone was aristocratic, like her grandfather’s.

  ‘She is mine,’ said the nyad, her voice like fingernails on slate.

  ‘Where do your allegiances lie? With him or with your own flesh?’ asked the man.

  ‘My allegiances lie with me,’ replied the water spirit, making for Anya.

  The man went to draw the short blade at his side.

  Anya would never forget what happened next, as long as she lived. The nyad hissed at him, then fractured – it was the only word for what happened – disintegrating into millions of water droplets, collapsing in a gush into the river.

  ‘I’d close your jaw before a bird flies in,’ said the man, turning.

  Anya looked at him in shock. ‘Did you see …? She just… that is to say… is she dead?’

  ‘She just ran away. You cannot kill water. What about you, Lady Anya? You are far from where you should be.’

  Anya was too surprised at hearing her name to notice that the title Lady had been added. The man was strange: he was present in a way that no one she had ever seen had been – like he was bending reality around him. He was familiar. He was not tall; he had a young face crowned with an unruly set of dark brown curls; his bare torso was bronzed from too much sun; and a light covering of chest hair, curly like that on his head, sat well on him. He carried one short sword at his waist and a small leather bag, with a set of pipes lashed to it, hung from his shoulders.

  ‘Who are you?’ said Anya, regretting the words at once.

  ‘Such a long pause for such a silly question,’ said the man, smiling.

  ‘I don’t believe it …’ Anya replied as her inner voice mouthed his name.

  ‘Ah, you wound me. Why do you not believe when you have seen the nyad and been given succour by my lady? Was I not always your favourite as a child?’

  ‘But you can’t be,’ said Anya, shaking her head. ‘I thought you were … We were told …’

  ‘That I was dead,’ sighed the god, folding his arms. ‘It takes a lot to kill me, and even then, I rarely stay where I am left. Death is overrated.’

  ‘You’re really him?’ said Anya.

  ‘Pan, in the flesh and at your service,’ said the god, bowing.

  Anya smiled. She had been told stories of the gods and what they were like since she was old enough to listen. This creature could have stepped from one of the legends. It was true that the trickster tales had been her favourite and her grandfather had called her a little goat as a way of teasing her over her choice. The memory of the village came back to her, and the invasion. Her smile faltered. Pan didn’t notice.

  ‘Now, lady, would you mind telling me why you are in the eastern reaches of the forest when you should be on your way north?’

  Anya’s anger bubbled up. ‘What are you talking about? We were chased from Vedic’s cabin to here. We barely escaped with our lives.’

  Pan looked startled, concerned. ‘That was not the plan. My message got lost. Where is the woodsman? Quick now – time is against us.’

  ‘He’s not going to show up as well, is he?’ asked Anya.

  ‘I hope not,’ said Pan, with a laugh that sounded forced. ‘He’s an insufferable bore.’

  ‘I’m here, Pan,’ said Vedic, rising from the long grass like a phantasm, bow drawn and tracking Pan’s heart.

  ‘Anya, step away from the god.’

  Anya froze. Her mind had gone blank the moment the bow had been pointed in her direction. Vedic had ceased to be the woodsman: she was back in the clearing with a Kurah pointing an arrow at her. She was going to die. There had been no escape. She was still in the forest, running, and death had come to take her down to Golgotha. She felt her jaw clench so tight that she feared her teeth
would crack.

  ‘Good to see you too, Vedic,’ said Pan, his tone flat but real enough to bring Anya back.

  ‘Quiet, trickster,’ said Vedic, his eyes refusing to move from the deity. ‘I do not need your honeyed tongue playing tricks on me.’

  Pan laughed. ‘Ah, you wound me, sir! Tell me what you hope to do with a bow against a god?’

  Vedic’s aim wavered. ‘Slow you down.’

  Pan raised an eyebrow. ‘Yet your bow is on fire?’

  Anya watched the woodsman look in horror at his bow, his eyes registering a fire that she could not see. The forestal dropped the bow as if stung, the arrow flying into the ground at an angle. Vedic cursed and fumbled for his machete. He never made it to the blade – his left arm stopped him. The woodsman clutched the limb, cursing in a range of languages, sweat beading on his forehead and his muscles straining like cables. He fell onto his back.

  Pan stepped over Vedic with his own sword drawn.

  ‘Your health is not what it once was. Now,’ said Pan, placing his blade point on Vedic’s chest, ‘why are you not on the northern path?’

  Vedic looked up at the god with the closest thing to fury Anya had ever seen on his face. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about … Is this curse your doing?’

  Pan frowned. ‘A messenger should have come before I got here. You should have been asked to go north, but … I can normally tell if you are lying …’

  Vedic pushed the blade away and tried to sit up. ‘There was no message. Just this curse that I assume is from you.’

  Pan looked startled.

  The woodsman frowned. ‘No?’

  ‘I sent the message in a hurry – the magic I used was not … ideal.’ Pan sheathed his blade. ‘But the messenger I sent should have reached you. Instead, you have been bound to the girl using crude magic by who knows what.’

  Vedic shook his head. ‘No messenger. Why has Danu not come?’

  Vedic favoured his bad arm as he tried to sit upright in a more comfortable position, confusion writ on his face for both of them to see.

  ‘Where is she?’

  Vedic’s arm was hanging at a more natural angle now, Anya thought. Perhaps the pain had subsided? This silent thought was lost with the realisation that the god had not answered Vedic’s simple question. Pan was staring back at the river with an expression that could only be described as fear. Anya looked down at her own arm and realised she had come out in goose bumps. They weren’t from the cold of the stream.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Vedic, his voice cracking. ‘Where’s Danu?’

  Pan looked back at the woodsman, his normally bronzed skin pale. He shook his head.

  ‘She’s not dead,’ said Pan, lost in his own thoughts. ‘Not yet. But she is no longer the master of this forest.’

  Anya felt dizzy. She sat down before she fell down. In the distance, she thought she heard a wolf howl, but it didn’t really register in the quiet moment of shock. Who or what could defeat Danu? She looked over at Vedic to see the woodsman rising to shake Pan by the shoulders.

  ‘What happened?’

  Pan looked at Vedic as if seeing him for the first time. ‘The gods are dead. Only Danu, the Morrigan and I remain.’

  ‘Where is Danu?’ asked Vedic. He looked as if he might still try to kill Pan – for all the good that would do.

  ‘Danu is a prisoner. I was sent to bring you to help free her.’

  ‘Who could do this?’ asked Vedic, incredulous. His questions echoed Anya’s thoughts.

  Pan looked up at Vedic. ‘You know there are more gods than just those who walk in the forest. Many once strode out across the world from this place, and amongst them was the hunter, a god of the forest for a time until he was exiled, and nearly as old as Danu.’

  ‘The stag …’ whispered Anya.

  Pan looked at her. ‘You have seen him?’

  Vedic nodded. ‘He is with the wolves.’

  ‘He has grown strong to move across the woods with such ease,’ said Pan.

  ‘I have not heard of this hunter,’ said Vedic.

  ‘He is from the oldest Shaanti legends,’ said Anya, trying to recall the tale her grandfather had told her. ‘From the time of sacrifice. I can’t remember his name … Cern …’

  ‘Cernubus,’ said Pan. ‘The hunter. My cousin was banished millennia ago.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Vedic.

  Pan smiled sadly. ‘The old ways were bloody but powerful, and nothing drives belief like seeing your gods and killing for them. The hunter was not willing to give up the blood when the rest of us decided the price was too high. Danu sent him far from the forest and the trees, where his power would be weak.’

  ‘How has he managed to find his way back?’

  ‘Ah, he is no longer a god – oh, he’d describe himself as such, but he has corrupted himself with other magic. That’s what the tattoos are – dark magic,’ said Pan. ‘Anyone can reinvent themselves, isn’t that right, Vedic?’

  Anya ignored the jibe at her companion. ‘If this god is so powerful, I don’t understand what you expect Vedic to do.’

  Pan eyed the woodsman. ‘I confess I wasn’t sure …’

  Vedic frowned. ‘I find your confidence inspiring. Thank you, both.’

  Pan continued. ‘I imagine Danu’s plan involves belief. My sister asked for you both, but I do not understand to what end.’

  ‘Nothing straightforward about killing gods,’ said Anya. ‘You’re immortal.’

  Pan sighed. ‘You already saw my dead cousin beneath the falls, did you not? We are immortal only while our hearts beat. If you take our heart and sever our heads, we disappear just as effectively as if you trod the paths of Asphodel in Golgotha to the Soundless Sea.’

  ‘Then he can be defeated,’ said Vedic.

  Pan looked at him. ‘I said gods can be defeated. Demons such as he has become, I have no idea.’

  This time, the sound of the wolf was unmistakable.

  ‘There is no time,’ said Vedic, gathering his bow and snares together. ‘We must leave at once. Can you help us reach the glade?’

  Pan shrugged. ‘I cannot be certain. The power he has is unlike anything I have ever encountered. But the alternative is death, and so what choice do any of us really have?’

  ‘You always have a choice,’ replied Vedic. ‘Sometimes they’re just all shit.’

  ‘Follow me,’ said Pan, heading up the hill away from the falls and their hiding place.

  Anya watched Vedic head after the god. She wasn’t sure about Pan: in her grandfather’s tales, he was the trickster. This creature was more imp-like than she had imagined, and more serious. She didn’t want to be dependent on him. The alternative was to try to find her way on alone and forgo any chance of Danu’s aid falling on her. She increased her pace after them.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I won’t let you kill us!’

  The woodsman was holding the god by the shoulders, shaking him like a rag doll and shouting to be heard over the driving rain. They were all soaked. The raging storm made it next to impossible to hear anything. From time to time, the sound of the wolves howling carried on the wind, drawing ever closer. Anya thought of the stag and the once-god that the beast had transformed into.

  ‘This is the only way,’ Pan yelled back.

  Why is he taking this assault? Perhaps he is afraid his magic will bring them down on us quicker?

  They were on the slope of one of the mountains that rose up in the centre of the forest as if a giant were buried beneath, clawing at the sky to escape. The trees had gone from oak to pine, and if the suns had been visible, all would have been light and airy – but the storm had put paid to that. Pan wanted to go further up towards the top of the mountain, which was called Ragged Top, but Vedic had other ideas.

  ‘We can take the Tream lands!’ Vedic shouted. ‘At least some have returned from there.’

  ‘Hogarth will never let us leave!’ Pan countered, pushing the woodsman away. It had been inte
nded as a gentle shove, but Vedic was standing on slick mud and he fell, rolling, covered in the wet dirt, down the slope to the next tree. He looked up at the god, and Anya was sure that if Pan had been a man, the woodsman would have killed him with his bare hands.

  Anya stepped between them.

  ‘The wolves will be here any minute if you carry on,’ she shouted. ‘What is on the other side of Ragged Top Mountain?’

  ‘No one knows,’ replied Vedic.

  Pan shook his head. ‘We do not know for sure, but we call this the Cordon because there are ancient statues that guard the eastern and western edges. The wolves will not go into the boundary they mark.’

  ‘There’s no way we can do this,’ said Vedic.

  Anya silenced him with a look. ‘Why can we not take the Tream lands?’

  Vedic looked at Pan with accusatory eyes. ‘Yes, why not, goat?’

  Pan flushed. ‘The gods have long fought with the Tream. They dislike our presence in their lands.’

  ‘Surely you have shared the forest since the start of the world?’ Anya asked, confused.

  Pan shot Vedic a look before replying. ‘It’s not as simple as that, Anya. We must move. The wolves will not respect Hogarth’s border, and Hogarth, the king of the Tream, may be hostile to us or even in league with Cernubus.’

  ‘Anya, no one has ever returned from the Cordon,’ countered Vedic.

  Anya hesitated. ‘That is why this will work.’

  Vedic cursed in Kurah.

  ‘Don’t use that tongue again,’ she hissed. ‘Or I’ll remove yours.’

  Vedic blinked. ‘You wouldn’t get near me. Your hand shakes at the thought of killing.’

  Anya smiled. ‘I didn’t say I’d kill you, now did I? I’m not a nice girl either …’

  Vedic laughed.

  ‘I am Shaanti,’ said Anya. ‘I remember how we won the last war. Our warriors used this forest when they had been taught no one ever returned, and won the day.’