Gorel and the Pot Bellied God by Lavie Tidhar Page A

suddenly still. ‘I was shot at over Black Tor –’ the Avian again.
    ‘Too bad they missed.’
    And later still, Gorel repeating the same recollection to Kettle, and Kettle saying, ‘You have a good memory, friend.’
    ‘I don’t know about that,’ Gorel had said, ‘but I can recognise shit when I smell it, and call it by its name.’
    ‘I’m not sure I get your meaning…’
    ‘If you came from anywhere, Avian, it would be from the Black Tor, I would say. An agent of this mysterious new mage I keep hearing about?’
    Somehow, Kettle had contrived to look both bored and amused. ‘It’s a possibility,’ he agreed.
    ‘You, a sorcerer ?’
    ‘It’s a living,’ Kettle said, and he shrugged. ‘I’m good at it.’
    ‘A dark mage?’ it seemed preposterous. Kettle shrugged again. ‘Mages come in all colours. Or shapes. What were you expecting, a whiteskin human with purple stars on his robe and a long big staff in his hand?’
    There was something lewd in his smile. Gorel tried to shake the feeling stirring inside him. He said, ‘So that’s how come you talked to Jericho?’
    Kettle smiled. ‘He mentioned you, and where you were going. Spoke of you in glowing terms. Also, thanks for the load of Buried Eyes. They made taking Ankhar a little easier.’
    ‘You sacked Ankhar?’ How long had it been since he left there? He had heard no news, but then…
    ‘My forces did, yes. They’ve been travelling up-river steadily. Most of Tharat is in my hands. And now I will take Falang-Et.’
    ‘But what about the falang god? The frog god?’ Who was he asking these questions of? And what did he care, he, Gorel of Goliris, whether a sorcerer, whoever he was, should sack this god-awful city?
    Yet somehow he did. He looked down at the girl Tonar, still motionless, crouching before the Mirror. He cared for her, he realised. She had been damaged by the city, yes, but she was not yet lost, she could have a future yet. And perhaps they were all like her in the end, damaged things but not yet broken, not yet so useless as to be thrown away.
    Kettle said, ‘Tell him.’ He was speaking to the Mirror.
    The woman in the water said, ‘He will rise and fight you.’
    Kettle laughed. ‘I think not,’ he said. ‘Tell him.’
    ‘He is asleep. He will rise again.’
    Kettle made a gesture with his hands, and the face in the water twisted in pain. ‘I am the god,’ the woman in the water said. ‘He is in me. I am his, and I am him, and he is me.’
    Gorel stared, horrified, at the woman’s bloated stomach, and for a moment thought that he could see the cold pale skin growing translucent, and a grotesque round figure peeping from inside the stomach, a fat, frog-like foetus, and he almost gagged.
    ‘You are mine now,’ Kettle said, and he made a gesture again, a small one, and the woman spasmed in pain and said, ‘I am yours,’ and Kettle smiled and said, ‘That is good, because, though you may not realise it now, you will help prevent the unnecessary bloodshed of your people –’ and the woman began to echo his words, and Tonar collapsed beside Gorel, no longer in the Mirror’s spell, and Gorel stared again at the, the thing, the god inside the woman’s womb and without conscious thought his gun was out of its holster and in his hand and he aimed and pressed the trigger once, twice, and again, until there were no bullets left and the hammer kept hitting an empty chamber. The thing in the water splashed and the water churned and turned a dark green colour, like embers and jade, and someone shouted, ‘You idiot!’ and something hit him in the kidneys and he fell to his knees and heard the sound of wings beating. He gasped for air. Raindrops began to fall. He saw a dark graceful shape sailing on the winds high above and felt nothing. Somewhere in the distance voices were shouting. At first he could not understand the words. He crawled to Tonar and held her in his arms. He put his fingers against her throat and felt