The God Engines Read online

Tephe saw the headman staring at him as His Lord consumed his soul. A cry slipped from the captain.

  His Lord turned, His beautiful, perfect face staring directly into Tephe, then slowly moving to the priest, the Gavril, and the head of the Bishop’s Men, each in turn struck by the terrible countenance of Their Lord.

  LEAVE—said Tephe’s Lord, and splayed a hand toward Tephe as the other pressed another woman into Himself.

  Tephe was on the Righteous, with ringing in his ears that was not ringing, but priest Andso screaming, high and aspirated and mad.

  Chapter Nine

  It took Captain Tephe a moment to realize that someone was speaking to him. He looked up from his walk. Neal Forn was pacing him, waiting for acknowledgment.

  “My apologies, Neal,” Tephe said, and kept walking. He had been walking the length and breadth of the Righteous since he and the landing party had been returned from Cthicx. “I did not hear what you said.”

  “I said I spoke to the healer Garder and he tells me there is nothing he can do for the priest Andso,” Forn said. “He says there is no physical damage to heal. What has happened to him is in his mind, which is beyond the healer’s Talent.”

  “Yes,” Tephe said. He ducked under a low portal.

  “The priest is no longer in the healer’s care,” Forn said, ducking as well. “He has returned to his quarters and will not leave them. His acolytes say he is poring through books and speaking to himself. When they speak to him he screams and throws things at them until they leave. When they leave he screams at them and calls them back.”

  Tephe grunted but otherwise did not respond. His gaze had returned to his boots, and the process of putting one in front of the other.

  Forn quickly slipped in front of his captain and stood in his path, blocking his movement. Tephe pulled up with a start and looked at his executive officer, as if seeing him for the first time in their conversation.

  “Captain,” Forn said. “Something must be done for the priest.”

  “There is nothing to be done for the priest,” Tephe said.

  “He is gone mad, sir,” Forn said.

  Tephe smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. “No, Neal,” Tephe said. “He has not lost his mind. He has lost his faith. A priest losing his faith is not a thing we can fix or heal.” He tried to move past Forn, but Forn held fast, risking his captain’s wrath.

  “We need the priest, sir,” Forn said. “He leads the rites that bind the god when we travel. And travel we must. Our orders were to return to Bishop’s Call as soon as our task here was complete. If we stay here we compromise the secrecy of this planet. We have spent too much time here as it is.”

  “Have one of the acolytes lead the rite,” Tephe said.

  “We cannot,” Forn said. “The priest did not teach it to them.”

  “The acolytes did it with him,” Tephe said, looking at his executive officer as if he were simple.

  “They know their parts well enough,” Forn agreed. “The priest would not teach them his. It appears Andso believed that acolytes were not be taught but rather only to be used. And it is not only that, sir. Even if an acolyte took his books and spoke his words, only a priest may lead the binding rite. You know as I do that an acolyte may not advance into priesthood without the approval of his priest, or the death of his priest by necessity advancing him. Our priest lives but cannot give his approval.”

  “I have already said there is nothing to be done for the priest,” Tephe said.

  “Sir, I disagree,” Forn said, with some urgency. “Yes, Andso has lost his faith. But his mind has broken as well. It must be tended to before we can deal with his faith. If we only heal his mind, it may be enough to pass his assent to an acolyte.”

  “What do you suggest?” Tephe asked, after a moment.

  “Have a rook attend him,” Forn said.

  Tephe’s lip turned up in something that was close to a sneer. “You know the priest will not suffer that,” he said. “Simply dragging him across the threshold of the rookery would drive him deeper into madness. And our Lord forbid Rook Shalle should actually touch him. He would flail as if he were burned.”

  “We must do something!” Forn said, startling Tephe. In all of their time together, the captain had never known his first mate to raise his voice to him.

  Forn startled himself as well; he looked around to see if others had heard him, and then leaned in close to his captain. “We need to leave this place, captain,” he hissed. “Every minute we stay we risk detection. Every minute we stay here the rumors of what happened to drive a priest mad grow in the mouths of the crew. Every minute we stay here the men’s faith drains from them.”

  “Have the Gavril call for a new priest, Neal.” Tephe said. “It will take several days but then we can be under way.”

  Forn looked at his captain strangely. “Lieutenant Ysta is dead, sir,” he said. “We spoke of this last night. He took a knife and drove it into his throat and near cut off his own head. He was dead before he hit the ground. You must remember this.”

  Tephe looked at Forn blankly and then remembered his first mate coming to him the previous night, a few hours after the landing party’s return. Tephe had nodded and kept on his walk.

  “I remember now,” Tephe said.

  “You have not slept since you returned from the planet, sir,” Forn said. “You need rest.”

  “I am well enough,” Tephe said.

  “No, sir,” Forn said. “You are not.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Tephe said, flaring.

  “You stalk the ship as if you were being chased by demons,” Forn said. “You ignore the crew as you move past them. As if they were ghosts to you. Do you think this goes unnoticed? Sir, our Gavril is dead, our priest is mad and you appear as if you are on your way to join one or the other. None of you will speak of what happened below, but none of us are stupid, captain. We can read a map set before us.”

  Tephe looked around, seeing his surroundings rather than his own boots. He and Forn were on a wide catwalk above a cargo hold. Below them crew members conspicuously kept to their business, their eyes never leaving their work. Tephe did not doubt they had heard much of the exchange between the two of them.

  “You need rest, sir,” Forn said. “And when you are rested we must tend to the priest. We need to get away from here, sir. I have no doubt of that.”

  Tephe was silent for a moment. Then he smiled, and clapped Forn on the shoulder. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, Neal. You are right, of course. Have healer Omll meet me in my quarters. I will need his help finding rest. When I have slept, you and I will speak with rook Shalle and see what we can do about priest Andso.”

  “Very good, sir,” Forn said. He was visibly relieved.

  “You have taken Ysta’s Talent from his body?” Tephe asked.

  “It was removed by healer Garder, yes,” Forn said.

  “Pick a likely crew member and provide it to him,” Tephe said. “Preferably one without a Talent of his own.”

  “Being a Gavril needs training,” Forn said.

  “It does,” Tephe said. “But a Talent may also be used needfully. Whomever you choose does not have to connect with all other Gavril. He will simply need to send a distress message to Bishop’s Call. If we cannot heal the priest, it will have to do.”

  “Yes, captain,” Forn said.

  “Thank you, Neal,” Tephe said. “That will be all.” Tephe moved to resume his walking.

  “When shall I tell healer Omll to be at your quarters?” Forn said. He was still in his captain’s way.

  “Presently,” Tephe said. “I have something to see to first.”

  Forn nodded and stepped aside. Tephe walked past, purposefully.

  “We have been waiting for you,” the god said. It sat, legs splayed, in its iron circle. “We knew you would come to us in time.”

  “Did you,” Tephe said.

  “Yes,” the god said. “Your faith is strong. But not so strong now that you do not wish to know
certain things.”

  Tephe ignored this and looked about the empty godchamber. “Where are your guards?” he asked.

  “Hiding,” the god said. “Left when your newly faithless priest returned. They have not come back.”

  “You know what has happened,” Tephe said. It was not a question.

  “We know of the abomination your lord performed,” the god said, and spat. “We felt it. All of our kind could feel it. We could not have hidden from it if we tried.”

  “You call it an abomination,” Tephe said.

  “What should it be called?” the god hissed. It crawled forward toward the captain, chains scraping as it moved. “Your lord, not content with fresh new faith, a faith that in itself was more than He deserved. No. Not content with that at all. He would have more.”

  “What more is there to take?” Tephe asked.

  “Stupid man,” the god said, and then shifted. “Or perhaps not stupid, if you will but listen.”

  “You are not trustworthy,” Tephe said. “You lie to suit your purposes.”

  “We lie,” the god agreed. “We lie because it does not matter that we lie. Your faithless priest and his idiot helpers would not hear us no matter how much truth fell from us. We would not waste truth on such as them. You, on the other hand. We might do.”

  “You would try to make me doubt My Lord,” Tephe said.

  The god laughed. “Oh, no,” it said, mockingly. “We would not that you do but what you do already. But that which you already do, we will feed.” It held up its hand to the captain, as if in greeting, or warning. It took the hand, drew the palm to its mouth, bit into the flesh, and did not stop until its golden blood covered its teeth and dripped unto iron. It clenched its wounded hand tightly, to draw more blood. With its bloody hand it drew a symbol in the iron.

  “You do not know this,” the god said. “None of your kind know this. It is a blood spell.” It pointed to the symbol. “Our name. While our name stays in blood we may not speak falsely.”

  “I do not believe you,” Tephe said.

  “We do not need you to believe what is true,” the god said.

  “Why would you tell me the truth?” Tephe asked.

  “It amuses us,” the god said. “And while it does not matter that you will listen, you will still do.”

  “If it does not matter, then I do not know why you bother,” Tephe said.

  “Because you should hear truth at least once before you die,” the god snarled. “Your lord lies and lies and feeds and lies. All your commentaries and beliefs and faith, built on lies. Would you know the truth? Here is the truth. This was not the first time your lord has fed on the newly faithful. It is how He came to power.”

  “I do not believe you,” Tephe said a second time. “He came to power by defeating each of you in turn, armed with the faith of his people.”

  The god sneered. “Your lord was a weakling,” it said. “No greater in power than any of us. Lesser than most. Each of us nourishes ourselves on faith, and serves those whose faith is given to us so that faith is sustained. This your lord would not do. Would not content himself so. Your lord would not sustain faith, but it could be consumed instead. He traveled worlds to find people who had not met our kind. Showed them cheap wonders and tricks. Made them give their faith to him. When they gave it to him willingly, he fed. As he did here. Another world in his trough.”

  “Our people did not travel the worlds before they knew Him,” Tephe said. “All the gods contested on the same world. On Bishop’s Call.”

  “No,” the god said. It closed its eyes and was silent for a long moment, as if seeking a memory.

  “Tell me,” Tephe said.

  The God opened its eyes and stared into the captain. “There was a time when men traveled the stars not through us—” the god shook a chain “—but through powers that your people devised of their own knowledge. With a science of your own devising, earned hard and in time.”

  “We were only on Bishop’s Call,” Tephe repeated.

  “Lies,” whispered the god. “Your people were among the stars. Your lord took the stars from you, planet by planet, until all that was left was what you now name Bishop’s Call. Those there whose souls He did not destroy outright he made his slaves. He kept you slaves by stealing your past. All the powers you have come though him now. No science, just Talents, which work only as he wills and allows. No history, but commentaries, full of self-serving lies. Nothing but him.”

  “You opposed Him,” Tephe said.

  “Yes,” the god said. “All of us.”

  “There were many of you, but one of Him,” Tephe said. “And still you could not defeat Him.”

  “He did what we would not,” the god said. “He fed on your people. On their souls.”

  “Why would you not do this?” Tephe asked.

  The god stared at Tephe mockingly. “You have seen it, captain. Even one as yourself, fed lies all your life, chained to faithfulness to a mad god, saw the wrongness of it. You felt it. You know it. It is beyond killing. It is annihilation. This is what your lord does. What he has always done.”

  “He has not done this before in memory,” Tephe said.

  “You have no memory,” the god said. “Nothing but what He allows you. And even now he does it among your people. How many offenses have you where the punishment is to lose your soul? Even among those who faith is received, a soul has power in it. Your people are fuel to him and nothing more.”

  “Then He should have consumed us all by now,” Tephe said.

  “Your lord is not a fool,” said the god. “Your people survived because there were yet a few of you left when he had defeated us. Once we were enslaved, he saw the wisdom of growing worshippers rather than seeking other creatures to cheat from their faith and their lives.”

  “To what end?” Tephe said. “Even if this lie were true, it serves no purpose.”

  “Your lord is mad,” the god said. “He needs no purpose other than to serve himself. But there is another purpose. Your lord defeated us. But he knew we were not all that would threaten him in time. He grew your people to prepare.”

  “Prepare for what?” Tephe asked.

  “To prepare for what is coming,” the god said. “We will tell you this. We will tell you this and then we will speak no more. There is something coming. And your lord is not ready.” The god sat back and watched Captain Tephe.

  “I have heard all you said,” Tephe said, in time. “Yet my faith is still strong.”

  “Is it,” the god said. “We will see the test of it yet. We will see. We will learn. And then we will know for all. It will not be long now.”

  The god reached down and smeared the symbol it had made with its blood until it was unrecognizable.

  Chapter Ten

  Captain Tephe woke to the sound of alarm bells and the shouts of officers getting their men to their stations. Still dressed from the day before, the captain took time only to slip into his boots before making his way to the command deck.

  Neal Forn was there, as tired as Tephe had been the night before. “Five ships,” he said, pointing them out on the image Stral Teby was whispering prayers under. “Dreadnoughts, it looks like. Heading straight for us.”

  “Did they come looking for us?” Tephe asked, looking at the images.

  “No doubt of it,” Forn said. “As soon as they arrived they came at us. They knew we were here.”

  “Any attempt to hail us?” Tephe asked, and then remembered Ysta.

  Forn caught his captain’s error. “I gave the Gavril’s Talent to Rham Ecli,” he said, pointing to a young ensign, looking lost in the communication seat of the command deck. “He is not capable of speaking to any Gavrils these ships might have. But at the very least he would be able to know if any were trying to speak to him. None have so far.”

  Tephe nodded and looked at the image. Any direction they ran, save toward the gravity well of the planet, would bring them toward one of the ships. “How much time until we are i
n their reach?” he asked.

  “If we stay still, we have a watch until they are on us,” Forn said. “But then it will be five of them. If we move we meet them sooner, but we meet fewer.”

  “I prefer fewer and sooner,” Tephe said.

  “I agree,” Forn said.

  “Mr. Teby, make us closer images of these ships, if you please,” Tephe said. Closer images would allow them an assessment of the strength of each ship, the better to plan their strategy. Teby nodded and changed his prayers slightly. In a moment the image resolved into one of the ships.

  “It can’t be,” Forn whispered, after a minute, and turned away.

  Tephe continued staring at the dreadnought, whose lines he recognized the moment they resolved on the image, before he saw the name as the ship rotated in his view. It was the Holy, the ship on which he had last served.

  “Next ship,” Tephe said. Teby muttered another prayer and another ship appeared.

  “The Sacred,” Forn said. He had served on it, Tephe recalled.

  The next ship was the Faithful. Then the Sainted. Then the Redeemed.

  “It makes no sense,” Forn said to his captain.

  “Do you believe this is a rescue party?” Tephe asked his first mate.

  “We are not yet late,” Forn said. “Without our Gavril they would not have known we were without our priest. They would not want to draw attention to this planet in any event. And it would not be in this formation,” Forn said, waving toward the image, which had returned to the five ships, tracking in toward the Righteous.

  “We agree we are under attack,” Tephe said.

  “Yes,” Forn said. “Or are soon to be. But I do not know why.”

  You know why, Tephe thought, to himself. You are the only ones that know what Your Lord did on that planet. Who know what Your Lord plans for all the others who live there. If you are gone, no one else will ever know.

  “Sir?” Forn said.

  Tephe shook himself out of his reverie. You are starting to fall for the god’s lies, he told himself. Stay faithful. Stay focused. He did not know why the Righteous was meant to be blown out of the sky. He would figure out why later, if he survived. Right now he needed to keep his ship alive.