Gorel and the Pot Bellied God by Lavie Tidhar Page B

her pulse, and it was there but very weak. He looked back for Sereli but she had gone. He held the girl Tonar in his arms and rocked her against his chest, while the shouting grew louder in the distance, and at last he could tell they were saying: ‘The river. The river is flooding.’

    He was with Tonar when the first soldiers came, riding in from the west, entering the city. Some came by air, on garuda birds or wings of their own. Avians, though they were few. The flood had abated by then, leaving the city a ruined swamp-land. Gorel saw families wander in a daze through the flooded streets, and corpses that came floating past. Tharat had flooded, and taken many to serve him in the other place.
    He was in the garden when the flood hit. The water broke the walls and surged in, but he had the sense that, somehow, they were controlled: the water flowed from all sides towards the pool, flooding it, and the corpse of the woman in the water was swallowed by the flood.
    After a while the water subsided. The earth shook as at the anger of a god. And he thought he saw, from the corner of his eye, a faceless figure standing at the far end, staring at him, and he heard a roar of anger, as of water crashing against jagged rocks, and he smiled.
    She was dead, and not by water. Tharat could not claim her for himself. The woman in the water, who might have once been a princess playing by the stream, was at peace at last, and safe.
    He carried Tonar through the streets, watching debris float past, pots and pans, pillows, a toy graal, a painting of a woman whose face was erased forever by the water, a barrel, the corpse of a young falang boy, a vellum-bound book, a belt without an owner, green-fleshy leaves the size of people, flowers, a bottle of local whiskey… carnival had come and gone. What was left in its place was an eerie quietude.
    Tonar never spoke. She had opened her eyes, but there was nothing visible inside them. Her body was loose in his. Her pulse was strong but she did not waken. Her eyes stared into nothing. The soldiers ignored them.
    At night he came to the Sorcerer’s Head. Lights were burning. Voices were raised in song. A figure rose from the canal (now washed clean by river-water) and came to him, and a familiar voice said, ‘Gorel!’
    It was Jericho Moon.
    ‘Man,’ Jericho said. ‘It’s good to see you.’ He was only half-dressed. Two Merlangai girls in the canal called out to him and he grinned. Gorel said, ‘It’s good to see you too,’ but he spoke without conviction; he felt empty and hollow inside.
    Jericho grinned. ‘Come inside! Share a drink with me.’
    Gorel said, ‘Kettle here?’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The mage.’
    ‘The mage?’ Jericho grinned and stuck his thumb at the longhouse. ‘Inside. New headquarters. Must say I like it.’
    ‘I’ll see you, Jericho.’
    ‘Sure,’ Jericho Moon said. The grin left him; he looked concerned. Gorel shook his head, and Jericho nodded, and turned away. The girls called to him again from the canal and he ran and jumped into the water. The girls giggled.
    Gorel went inside. He was not challenged. The long corridor was full with mercenaries. The same bartender was keeping bar. Gorel walked past.
    He stopped outside the second to last room at the end, and walked in, and for a moment it was as if nothing had changed. Kettle was standing by the window. Sereli was reclining in a chair, naked and watching him. ‘Welcome back,’ she said.
    Kettle turned. Gorel went and laid down Tonar, carefully, on the beddings she had slept on only the night before. Still she did not move, or speak.
    ‘You promised her to Tharat,’ he said, not turning from Tonar. He felt Kettle move behind him.
    ‘Did you really have to kill her?’ Kettle said, and he put his hand on the back of Gorel’s neck, the long fingers massaging him, warm and sure.
    ‘She was dead a long time ago.’
    There was a silence in which only Kettle’s fingers seemed to move, massaging Gorel’s