The God Engines Read online

  But you choose not to believe me, Stur said, and held up his hand. You are the captain of the Righteous, or will be soon enough. You will—and should—do as you will. But I ask you to consider a request from your predecessor, as a courtesy. Stur placed his hand back on the envelope. Before you open this, go to speak to the god.

  About what? Asked Tephe.

  About anything, said Stur. It hardly matters. The point is not the conversation. The point is to observe it, and to see how it observes you. Talk to the god as long as you can bear to. If when you are done you do not believe that the god represents a danger to you, your faith, or the Righteous, then open this envelope and read what it contains. But as a favor to me, speak to the god first.

  I will, said Tephe, and then the two of them moved on to matters of personnel.

  Two days after Tephe’s formal installation as captain of the Righteous, and after he had walked every inch of the ship and spoke to every member of his crew, the new captain stood at the edge of the iron circle that held the god and spoke to it for the length of an entire watch. No one was present other than the captain and the god.

  When the captain had finished, he returned to his quarters, took the parchment envelope that he had kept out on what was now his desk, and buried it as far back in the captain’s personal safe as it would go, unopened.

  Tephe had not thought about it again until now.

  The priest and the acolytes chanting became subtly louder, and the god closed its eyes and its face took on a look whose meaning the captain could not fathom. There was the moment of vertigo, and then the slippery flash of some indefinable emotion outside of the human experience, gone before it could be confirmed that it had been there at all. And then it was over.

  “It is done,” said Priest Andso, and for the first time looked up toward the captain. Tephe glanced at his robes and noticed something new resting on top of them; the Talent which Tephe had taken from the woman during the parade. The captain’s eyes shot back up toward the priest’s own.

  The priest fingered the Talent. “An experiment, captain,” he said. “To see how the Defiled would respond—”

  Tephe did not wait for the rest. As he turned, he saw the god’s gaze back on him, and its grin, silent, mocking, malevolent. The god’s name rose up again in his memory, oxidized ochre on vellum, and Tephe left the chamber before it could resolve itself any further.

  Chapter Eight

  Lieutenant Ysta frowned as the headman spoke, using his Talent as Gavril to decipher the burbles and clicks that came out of this other man’s mouth and render them into intelligible speech. Behind Ysta and the headman stood the leaders of the planet’s largest settlement, Cthicx, a village of perhaps ten thousand souls. Behind them, on a field the village used for games and ceremonies, stood the entire population of Cthicx, there for the ceremony to come. In front of Ysta and the headman stood Tephe, the priest Andso, and Kon Eric, commander of the Bishop’s Men.

  “This is taking too long,” said Eric, to Tephe.

  “Quiet,” Tephe said, and turned his attention back to Ysta and the headman. He would not know what the headman said until Ysta spoke, but courtesy demanded the appearance of attention. Tephe wanted to pay attention to the headman’s expressions and movements in any event. So much of communication was not what was said but how it was said. Eric, who was something of a blunt instrument, did not appear to understand or appreciate this.

  At the Tephe’s admonition, the commander fell silent and glowered. He and the rest of his men had assumed that they would be called upon to subdue the Cthicxians in battle, quickly and violently; Tephe had had a different plan.

  Ysta nodded to the headman, clicked something at him and turned to Tephe. “Headman Tscha says that they will willingly follow Our Lord,” he said.

  Tephe smiled and nodded to the headman, who nodded back. “That is good news indeed,” Tephe said.

  Ysta smiled thinly. “He does have conditions, sir,” he said.

  Priest Andso straightened in his finery, giving himself something to do. “This is not a bargain Our Lord is entering into, Lieutenant,” the priest said. “This little man is not in a position to impose conditions of any sort. He has seen what just four of the Bishop’s Men can do.”

  Tephe grimaced at this. Rather than bring down the entire host of the Bishop’s Men, he had made Eric choose three, along with himself, to be brought to the planet. Then Tephe had bidden headman Tscha to choose four of his strongest warriors, to attack the Bishop’s Men in any manner they chose, in front of the entire village. Two chose spears, one chose a bow and the last attacked with knife in hand. None of the weapons landed; the Bishop’s Men, each with a Talent of defense, knocked spears and arrows from their path and avoided the knife as if the warrior wielding it was no more than a minor irritation. Then they attacked, severing the arms that threw spears and shot arrows and the hand that held the knife, with a speed and viciousness that left the spectators screaming in terror and confusion.

  When the Cthicxians’ warriors were down, Tephe had healers Garder and Omll, now returned to the Righteous, tend to them. They stopped the flow of blood, eased their pain, and with their healing Talent, mended the warriors. The men had come off the field of battle weakened but whole, to the amazement of all.

  Tephe had shown all of Cthicx both the power and the mercy of His Lord, and having done, had asked the headman to ask his people accept His Lord as their own. It was a finely balanced display of power and grace, achieved without death or compulsion, and over the course of several days, this subtle negotiation had borne fruit.

  Tephe did not now appreciate the arrogant bravado of the priest, whose excitement at the fame that converting these newly-discovered faithless would provide him had made him impatient and rash. The Cthicxians could no more understand the priest’s words than the priest could understand theirs without the help of the Gavril. For all that they surely understood his aggressive posturing.

  “Perhaps they need to see some more of their warriors missing their arms,” Andso said.

  “Perhaps they need to believe their faith will be rewarded,” Tephe said, with quiet sharpness. “The commentaries themselves say that that faith given is more powerful than faith compelled. Surely you recall this, priest.”

  “Even so—” Andso began.

  Tephe held up his hand to silence him. “This is not yet your part, Andso,” Tephe said, and noted how the man bridled at the captain’s use of his name, unadorned. “This part of our task has been given to me. I suggest you let me do it.”

  Andso looked sourly at the captain but nodded.

  Tephe turned back to Ysta. “What are his conditions,” he asked his lieutenant.

  “He wants Commander Eric here to teach his warriors how to deflect weapons and kill quickly,” Ysta said.

  “Tell him that such powers come from Our Lord, and are given to the Bishop’s Men solely,” Tephe said. “Once the Cthicxians submit to Our Lord, I am sure some will become Bishop’s Men themselves.” From beside him Tephe heard Eric’s derisive snort but ignored it while Ysta translated his words.

  “He asks if Our Lord will help them destroy the Tnang,” Ysta continued, and was then silent as the headman spoke some more and with agitation. “They are a neighboring people some kilometers north of here, sir. Apparently there is a long-standing feud.”

  “Our Lord wishes for all men here to know his grace,” Tephe said. “That includes the Tnang. Tell the headman that as the First Called, the Cthicxians will always hold dominion, and they will take the news of Our Lord to all others. If these others submit to Our Lord, then the Cthicxians may rule over them, with kindness. If they will not submit, then they may destroy them, and no doubt Our Lord will see them to victory.” Ysta translated; the headman nodded vigorously, and spoke briefly to the other village leaders, who seemed pleased. Tephe assumed they believed that the Tnang would not submit to Their Lord, so it was all the same.

  The headman then leaned in close to Ys
ta, clicking and burbling rapidly but quietly. Ysta nodded and turned again to Tephe. “Headman Tscha asks if one of our healers will attend to his woman,” he said. “She has a sickness of the womb and he believes she is likely to die of it.”

  Tephe looked over to the headman, who was staring at him with some apprehension. A leader who a moment ago was happily anticipating the slaughter of his troublesome neighbors was now simply a man concerned with the fate of someone he loved.

  Power and grace, Tephe thought. There is a need for both.

  Tephe nodded to the headman, and turned back to Ysta. “Of course,” he said. “Our healers will do all Our Lord allows them.” Ysta translated, quietly. The headman bowed his head, and then turned to speak to the village leaders.

  Tephe himself turned back to see Andso and Eric, both dissatisfied with this agreement for their own reasons. Tephe briefly wished that Forn and Shalle had been there instead of the Bishop’s Man and the priest; it would have been nice if someone had appreciated the effort required to bring the Cthicxians into the fold without having to kill any of them. His Lord needed every soul, or so Tephe had been told. The captain intended to provide Him with every soul he could.

  “Sir,” Ysta was suddenly at Tephe’s side, with the headman. “Headman Tscha says he wishes to ask a question of you alone, away from your priest and general.”

  “Very well,” Tephe said, and nodded to the headman. The two of them walked some small distance away with Ysta in tow. When they stopped, the headman began a stream of clicks and sounds.

  “Headman Tscha says that he wants you to know that he knows that you could have conquered Cthicx with little effort,” Ysta said. “He appreciates your restraint.”

  “He is most welcome,” Tephe said. But the headman had continued talking.

  “He says he appreciates the restraint, but he also knows that restraint comes from you, sir,” Ysta said. “He says both your priest and your general would have been satisfied to make his people obey Our Lord at the point of a spear. The headman suggests that to him this means that force may be the way such obeisance is usually made.”

  “I am not sure I understand the question, or if there is a question here,” Tephe said.

  The headman spoke again. “Headman Tscha says that ruler who compels allegiance is not always the good ruler, just the strongest, the most able to make others fear him,” Ysta said. “He says that the way you have approached the Cthicxians shows you are a man of honor. And as a man of honor, he wants to know whether you believe that Our Lord is good. Whether He is a good lord, or merely a strong one. He and his people are pledged to follow either way. But he wants to know for himself.”

  Tephe smiled in understanding and opened his mouth to respond. Nothing came out.

  The headman cocked his head slightly and Tephe for no reason he could place found the movement extremely upsetting. He closed his mouth.

  “Sir?” Ysta said.

  “The Lord is my Lord,” Tephe said, too suddenly. “Tell the headman that I am a reflection of My Lord. That which He is perfectly, I am imperfectly so.”

  Ysta translated while Tephe calmed his internal agitation. The headman nodded and turned, clicked loudly. A young man came forward out of the assembled mass and stood next to the headman.

  “Headman Tscha says that this is his son, Tschanu,” Ysta said. “He says his son has asked to be the one to carry the Talent through which Our Lord will find His way here to appear. He is eager to show his loyalty and faith to his new Lord, and to help his people welcome Him as their god. He says he is not afraid.”

  Tephe smiled at the boy. “Nor should he be,” he said. “Tell him he shall indeed have this honor.”

  The thin chain which held the Talent slipped over Tschanu’s head, catching slightly in his hair. Tephe pulled it gently and it came to rest around the young man’s neck, the Talent itself hanging mid-abdomen. The youth and the captain stood in a small clearing in the center of the gathering field, surrounded by the Cthicxians, all of them waiting for their new lord.

  “Tell the boy that using a Talent is often tiring and that he should not be surprised if it saps him,” Tephe said to Ysta, who stood nearby. “Tell him to be strong; it will call Our Lord sooner.” Ysta translated; Tschanu smiled at the captain, who smiled back, and then turned to the priest Andso.

  “You know the rite,” Tephe asked the priest.

  “I have it here,” Andso said, placing one hand on the heavy codex he carried in the other arm. “The words are simple.”

  “How will Our Lord manifest?” Tephe said. “I imagine you have seen this done before.”

  “I have not,” Andso said. “Nor do I know of any alive who have. There is not much call to make Our Lord appear to newly faithful. This is an old rite, captain.” Andso said the words with a sort of joy. Tephe recognized the priest’s excitement in performing a ceremony none in memory had performed, as well as the awe in calling forth Their Lord, who was so rarely bidden, and never by a priest of Andso’s rank. Andso’s faith was at its peak, Tephe observed, combined as it was with a near-certain assurance of his own personal advancement.

  “Do the rite well, priest,” Tephe said.

  Andso looked at Tephe. “Captain, this is my part in our task,” he said. “As you bid me let you do your part, I bid you allow me do mine.” He turned away from the captain and opened the codex.

  The captain said nothing to this but motioned to Ysta. The two of them stepped out of the clearing, to the edge of the assembled mass. Headman Tscha stood a small distance away, watching his son with an expression Tephe found unreadable. Tephe turned his attention away from the headman and back toward the priest, who had found the rite and was reading it silently to himself. Eventually the priest nodded to himself, looked at the headman’s son, and began to speak.

  The words came in an older version of the common tongue, recognizable but inflected strangely, repetitious and lulling. The priest settled into an iambic rhythm, and over the long minutes the Captain Tephe felt his attention drift despite his own excitement in bringing these souls to His Lord, and having His Lord come to receive them.

  The headman’s son screamed.

  Tephe snapped out of his reverie to see the young man contorted, back arched and tendons strapping themselves out of alignment, bending the body back as if they were being cranked by a torturer. The youth’s body should have toppled over but it balanced on one twitching foot as if dangling from a string.

  Tephe’s gaze turned to the priest. The codex had slipped from Andso’s hands, but the priest still mouthed the words to the rite, eyes wide at the youth before him. Neither the priest nor the captain could seem to move from their place.

  The youth’s scream strangled itself as his jaw pushed unnaturally forward. The muscles that attached the boy’s jaw to his skull bunched and pulled downward, snapping the bone and sending a spray of blood into the face of priest Andso. Tephe heard the crack as the headman’s son twisted and then folded backward, as if on a hinge. A second font of blood arced up and out of his mouth. The scream that had been choked out of the boy was taken up by his father.

  The body formed an arch, stomach to the sky, fingers and toes snapping like sapling branches as they drove themselves hard into the ground. The skin on the youth’s body went taut, as if being pulled hard from below. The boy’s forehead touched the ground, tendons and muscles in his neck contracting in spasms, twisting the young man’s face toward Tephe as they did so. The captain could see Tschanu’s eyes. They were terribly aware.

  The air was a storm of screams and howls, Tephe’s own slipping into the gyre. No one moved. What power was folding the boy into himself pinned every soul into immobility. No one could run or turn away.

  Red lines bisected every limb of Tschanu’s body; Tephe realized the boy’s skin was flaying itself. Beneath the skin red muscles uncoiled like fraying cable and then stayed themselves into the ground, pulling off impossibly stiff bone. In seconds, the arch of the headman’s son�
�s body was an x-shaped spine over a space tented by skin and sinew. With the small strength left to him, Tschanu forced breath past his ruined jaw, offering up a final scream.

  A hand surfaced from the rope of Tschanu’s intestines, spilling them to the ground. It held for a moment, as if scenting the air around it and then grasped for body’s edge, where the tented skin met the abdominal wall. A second hand rose and made for the other side.

  A creature in the shape of man pulled itself up and out of the ruined youth, its shape stained by the youth’s blood, lymph and bile. Tephe stared at the beautiful, streaked form, delicately setting its feet to avoid the visceral coils trailing on the ground.

  My god, thought Tephe.

  Tschanu’s body, released from its gateway spell, collapsed softly. The eyes that had been so aware stared, mercifully blank. Tephe’s god seemed not to notice the pile through which He had traveled, choosing instead to gaze with dispassion at the now silent assembly. Tephe watched His Lord grow and brighten. The stink of the boy’s body steamed off Him, until He was clean and fine and twice the height of a man.

  The god blinked and looked around Him at the mute and immobile mass of people, those who would be His worshippers, head angling down as He was then three and now four times their height and size.

  Tephe saw His Lord reach down, take a woman from crowd, and draw her to His chest. He crushed her into Him.

  Her body dissolved into His like a spun sugar poppet dropped into water.

  Without looking He reached down and picked another of His newly-faithful, and consumed him as he consumed the woman before.

  Consuming their souls, Tephe thought, and despaired. His Lord never intended these souls for worship. He needed their allegiance to feed from them, and from the purity and power of their brief new faith.

  His Lord reached down and picked up Tscha, headman of Cthicx.

  I am a reflection of My Lord. That which he is perfectly, I am imperfectly so.