give the complex story of the Bastard more space than the rest of the Holy Family put together, but people had to be allowed their favorites. Despite herself, she was moved.
Dy Cabon returned to ritual and called down the fivefold benison, asking of each god the proper gifts, leading the respondents in praise in return. Of the Daughter, growth and learning and love; of the Mother, children, health, and healing; of the Son, good comradeship, hunting, and harvest; of the Father, children, justice, and an easy death in its due time.
“And the Bastard grant us . . .”—dy Cabon’s voice, fallen into the soothing singsong of ceremony, stumbled for the first time, slowing—“in our direst need, the smallest gifts: the nail of the horseshoe, the pin of the axle, the feather at the pivot point, the pebble at the mountain’s peak, the kiss in despair, the one right word. In darkness, understanding.” He blinked, looking startled.
Ista’s chin snapped up; for an instant, her spine seemed to freeze. No. No. There is nothing here, nothing here, nothing here. Nothing, do you hear me? She forced her breath out slowly.
It was not the usual wording. Most prayers asked to be spared the fifth god’s attention, the master of all disasters out of season as He was. The divine hastily signed himself, touching forehead, lip, navel, groin, and heart, hand spread wide upon his chest above his broad paunch, and signed again in the air to call down blessing upon all assembled there. The company, released, stirred and stretched, some breaking into low-voiced talk, some strolling away to their day’s tasks. Dy Cabon came toward Ista, rubbing his hands and smiling anxiously.
“Thank you, Learned,” Ista said, “for that good beginning.”
He bowed in relief at her approval. “My very great pleasure, my lady.” He brightened still further as the inn’s servants hurried to bring out what promised to be a very hearty breakfast. Ista, a little shamed by the excellence of his effort to have purloined the divine with false pretenses of a sham pilgrimage, was heartened by the reflection that dy Cabon was clearly enjoying his work.
THE COUNTRY WEST OF PALMA WAS FLAT AND BARREN, WITH ONLY A few trees clustering in the watercourses that broke up the long dull vistas. Grazing, not crop farming, was the main work of the thinly scattered old fortified farmsteads along the seldom-used road. Boys and dogs tended sheep and cattle, all dozing together in the distant patches of shade. The warming afternoon seemed to hold a long silence that invited sleep, not traveling, but given their late start, Ista’s party pushed on through the soft and somnolent air.
When the road widened for a time, Ista found herself riding with dy Cabon’s fine sturdy mule on one side and Liss’s rangy bay on the other. As an antidote to dy Cabon’s infectious yawns, Ista inquired of him, “Tell me, Learned, whatever happened to that little demon you were carrying when first we met?”
Liss, who’d been riding along with her feet out of the stirrups and her reins slack, turned her head to listen.
“Oh, all went well. I gave it up to the archdivine of Taryoon, and we oversaw its disposition. It is safely out of the world now. I was actually returning to my home from there when I spent the night in Valenda, and, well.” A jerk of his head at the string of riders trailing them indicated his unexpected new duty with the royina.
“A demon? You had a demon?” said Liss in a tone of wonder.
“Not I,” corrected the divine fastidiously. “It was trapped in a ferret. Fortunately, not a difficult animal to control. Compared to a wolf or a bull.” He grimaced. “Or a man, seeking to plunder the demon’s powers.”
Her face screwed up. “How do you send a demon out of the world?”
Dy Cabon sighed. “Give it to someone who’s going.”
She frowned at her horse’s ears for a moment, then gave up the riddle. “What?”
“If the demon is not grown too strong, the simplest way to return it to the gods is to give it into the keeping of a soul who is going to the gods. Who is dying,” he added to her blank look.
“Oh,” she said. Another pause. “So . . . you slew the ferret?”
“It is, alas, not quite so easy as that. A free demon whose mount is dying simply jumps to another. You see, an elemental escaped into the world of matter cannot exist without a