“He’s dead. Dead people don’t generally get up,” the servant said.
Reluctant to take his eyes off the god, Raithe ventured only the briefest glance at the servant, who was bent and struggling to catch his breath. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I want to know how long we have before he rises. If I cut off his head, will he stay down longer?”
The servant rolled his eyes. “He’s not getting up! You killed him.”
“My Tetlin ass! That’s a god. Gods don’t die. They’re immortal.”
“Really not so much,” the servant said, and to Raithe’s shock he kicked the god’s body, which barely moved. He kicked it again, and the head rocked to one side, sand sticking to its cheek. “See? Dead. Get it? Not immortal. Not a god, just a Fhrey. They die. There’s a difference between long-lived and immortal. Immortal means you can’t die…even if you want to. Fact is, the Fhrey are a lot more similar to Rhunes than we’d like to think.”
“We’re nothing alike. Look at him.” Raithe pointed at the fallen Fhrey.
“Oh, yes,” the servant replied. “He’s so different. He has only one head, walks on two feet, and has two hands and ten fingers. You’re right. Nothing like us at all.”
The servant looked down at the body and sighed. “His name was Shegon. An incredibly talented harp player, a cheat at cards, and a brideeth eyn mer—which is to say…” The servant paused. “No, there is no other way to say it. He wasn’t well liked, and now he’s dead.”
Raithe looked over suspiciously.
Is he lying? Trying to put me off guard?
“You’re wrong,” Raithe said with full conviction. “Have you ever seen a dead Fhrey? I haven’t. My father hasn’t. No one I’ve ever known has. And they don’t age.”
“They do, just very slowly.”
Raithe shook his head. “No, they don’t. My father mentioned a time when he was a boy, and he met a Fhrey named Neason. Forty-five years later, they met again, but Neason looked exactly the same.”
“Of course he did. I just told you they age slowly. Fhrey can live for thousands of years. A bumblebee lives for only a few months. To a bumblebee, you appear immortal.”
Raithe wasn’t fully convinced, but it would explain the blood. He hadn’t expected any. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have attacked the Fhrey at all. His father had taught him not to start a fight he couldn’t win, and fighting an immortal god fell squarely into that category. But then again it was his father who had started the whole thing.
Sure is a lot of blood.
An ugly pool had formed underneath the god, staining the grass and his glistening robes. His neck still had the gash, a nasty, jagged tear like a second mouth. Raithe had expected the wound to miraculously heal or simply vanish. When the god rose, Raithe would have the advantage. He was strong and could best most men in Dureya, which meant he could best most men. Even his father thought twice about making his son too angry.
Raithe stared down at the Fhrey, whose eyes were open and rolled up. The gash in his throat was wider now. A god—a real god—would never permit kicks from a servant. “Okay, maybe they aren’t immortal.” He relaxed and took a step back.
“My name is Malcolm,” the servant said. “Yours is Raithe?”
“Uh-huh,” Raithe said. With one last glare at the Fhrey’s corpse, Raithe tucked the jeweled weapon into his belt and then lifted his father’s body.
“Now what are you doing?” Malcolm asked.
“Can’t bury him down here. These rivers are bound to flood this plain.”
“Bury him? When word gets back to Alon Rhist, the Fhrey will…” He looked sick. “We need to leave.”
“So go.”
Raithe carried his father to a small hill in the meadow and gently lowered him to the ground. As a final resting place, it wasn’t much but would have to do. Turning around, he found the god’s ex-servant staring in disbelief. “What?”
Malcolm started to laugh, then stopped, confused. “You don’t understand. Glyn is a fast horse and has the stamina of a wolf. Meryl will reach Alon Rhist by nightfall. He’ll tell the Instarya everything to save himself. They’ll come after us. We need to get moving.”
“Go ahead,” Raithe said, taking Herkimer’s medal and putting it on. Then he closed his father’s eyes. He couldn’t remember having touched the old man’s face before.
“You need to go, too.”
“After I bury my father.”
“The Rhune is dead.”
Raithe cringed at the word. “He was a man.”
“Rhune—man—same thing.”
“Not to me—and not to him.” Raithe strode down to the riverbank, littered with thousands of rocks of various sizes. The problem wasn’t finding proper stones but deciding which ones to choose.
Malcolm planted his hands on his hips, glaring with an expression somewhere between astonishment and anger. “It’ll take hours! You’re wasting time.”
Raithe crouched and picked up a rock. The top had been baked warm by the sun; the bottom was damp, cool, and covered in wet sand. “He deserves a proper burial and would have done the same for me.” Raithe found it ironic given that his father had rarely shown him any kindness. But it was true; Herkimer would have faced death to see his son properly buried. “Besides, do you have any idea what can happen to the spirit of an unburied body?”
The man stared back, bewildered.
“They return as manes to haunt you for not showing the proper respect. And manes can be vicious.” Raithe hoisted another large sand-colored rock and walked up the slope. “My father could be a real cul when he was alive. I don’t need him stalking me for the rest of my life.”
“But—”
“But what?” Raithe set the rocks down near his father’s shoulders. He’d do the outline before starting the pile. “He’s not your father. I don’t expect you to stay.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
The servant hesitated, and Raithe took the opportunity to return to the bank and search for more rocks.
“I need your help,” the man finally said.
Raithe picked up a large stone and carried it up the bank, clutched against his stomach. “With what?”
“You know how to…well, you know…live…out here, I mean.” The servant looked at the deer carcass, which had gathered a host of flies. “You can hunt, cook, and find shelter, right? You know what berries to eat, which animals you can pet and which to run away from.”
“You don’t pet any animals.”
“See? Good example of how little I know about this sort of thing. Alone, I’d be dead in a day or two. Frozen stiff, buried in a landslide, or gored by some antlered beast.”
Raithe set the stone and returned down the slope, clapping his hands together to clean off the sand. “Makes sense.”
“Of course it makes sense. I’m a sensible fellow. And if you were sensible, we’d go. Now.”
Raithe lifted another rock. “If you’re bent on sticking with me and in such a hurry, you might consider helping.”