Steven heaved another of Nana’s heavy chairs onto the back of Farmer Dillain’s wagon. Dillan had had his eyes on them for years and had barely tried to chew Nana down from her asking price.

“There you are sir,” Steven said wiping his brow “I couldn’t interest you in anything else while you’re here could I?” Dillain gave him an insincere smile and whipped his horses into a trot. Steven watched him for a moment glaring at the man's back, “Bastard”.

Nana was having a yard sale. Steven had finally managed to convince her that she could not, as the saying goes, take it with her. That had been a blow to the old woman, who hoarded the misshapen, home brewed items gifted to her by her children and grandchildren. Much of it Steven knew they would never be able to sell, but there was no reasoning with her on it. Steven gave his shoulder a quick rubdown before heading back towards his grandmother's front lawn where Nana was locked in a heated argument with her neighbor over how much a cheap hat was worth.

“I told you I won’t go any lower than four Brass Nits for that hat, Gurtrude Fleaming, and you know it’s worth more!”

“Four Nits? Four whole Nits? For this rag, I’ll give you two, and you’ll be thankful for it!”

“Dammit you old biddy. Do you have wool in your ears? I said four!”

“Two”

“Four, you skinflint!”

“Two, you wizarding crone!”

“Grandma, Farmer Dillain took the table and chairs.”

“Put the money in the bag with the rest of it, boy. I said four, and I won’t take less.”

“Oh for the love of Great Nyn, I will give you two and five Copper Cogs for the damn hat.”

“Deal.” The two old women shook hands, then money changed hands, then the hat was handed over.

“How’s the grandchildren been treating you?” Nana asked as she pocketed the copper coins. Her friend heaved an old woman sigh, full of shoulder shrugging and loud expulsions of breath.

“Oh about as good as any youngling treats their Nan…”

Steven wandered away at this point. The two old women had been friends most of their lives, locked in a mutual relationship of annoyance and bickering. He wondered how Nana would fair without her. Although if last week’s meeting with Great Rylan had been any indication, she would soon find a new bicker-buddy. He wove his way through the stacks and piles of miscellaneous tables, chests, clothes, and assorted oddments Nana had decided she could live without. Originally she had tried to use her new found godly powers to somehow take it with her. But, after a few trial attempts to use her powers to shrink them down had left them scrubbing soot stains from the walls and ceiling, she relented to selling.

They needed the money, really. Steven opened the leather bag holding their earnings, tipped it out onto the barrel they were using as a table, and sorted through them. All in all, it was almost a Bronze Prince and a half in assorted brass Brass Nits, Copper Cogs, and Tin Pins. Let’s see, he thought, the mail cart charges five Nits per person to get to Mirefeild further back in the Scul forest. That was about a day's journey. The coast was twelve times farther away from them than Mirefeild. He let out a sign. That pretty much eats most of our money right there and we haven’t even gotten on a boat yet.

A hand came down heavily on Steven’s shoulder, causing him to jump nearly out of his shoes. He looked up to see his father, concern creasing every part of his face not covered by beard, mustache, or eyebrows. “ ‘S not much is it boy?”

“No, if she was staying here it would be good, but I don’t know how we’re getting all the way to Somerdon on this.”

“Ah,” Steven’s father managed to fit a lot of meaning into that one syllable. Enough so that Steven wasn’t surprised when he went on. “We’d, well, that is the family had, well... We’d kind of assumed you would, you know, talk her down.” He rubbed his neck, caught in the unfamiliar territory of verbally pointing the finger of blame at his son. “You see, well, your grandma isn’t getting any younger, and with all that, sometimes someone her age sort of, loses the marbles in her attic as it were. We thought you would have talked her out of going on this mad trip. I mean, she’s almost eighty six years old. She’ll likely not live the trip over. Then how will you get back?”

Steven looked deeply into his father’s concerned face and tried to think of something to say. That was exactly what he had tried to do, right up to the moment that the god of love had walked into his grandmother's house and outright said she was a god. Try arguing with that. How could Steven explain it to his father without sounding as mad as Nana had sounded to him? There was nothing he could do, nothing he could even say that would make his father understand. He simply had not been there. “We’ll manage somehow.” He said at last. Out of the blue, Steven’s mind handed him a fully formed idea.

“Dad,” Steven leaned a little closer. His dad mimicked him, casting a look around to make sure they weren’t noticed. “ I don’t expect she’ll go far before she gets tired and bored. Then, when she comes back she’ll have to move in with one of the family, since she’s sold her house and her stuff. And there wouldn’t be any arguing this time, because she wouldn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Steven’s father leaned back. He gave his son a look of shocked admiration that made Stevens heart sink, how could he lie to his father like this? “I see, yes, that would work. Well done boy. I would have never thought of that.” He patted Steven on the back. “Well done.”

Steven’s father moved off into the yard sale. He even started dickering with the customers and collecting money from them. Steven could tell he had already worked out whoever took poor old grandmother in would naturally be given control of the funds left over from her trip. It was only right so they could more properly take care of their beloved mother. That thought, at least, made it easier for Steven to deal with lying. It would at least keep the family off his back until they left for Somerdon.

****

Rylan was in a foul mood. She sat upon her throne and looked out over the world, down to where the crone was selling off her possessions. She was actually coming. That, that hag was actually coming. Rylan raked her nails across the arm of her couch, leaving shallow grooves in the soft metal. No, this will not do. This will not do at all. Rylan stood in one fluid, menacing motion. She knew she could not be the only god that resented the idea of having a crone live amongst proper gods. Her hooves rang out on the marbled floor tiles as she crossed the cavernous throne room and pushed open the double doors that lead to the rest of her palace. Minor spirits of her domain glanced up from their errands and scattered. They were in tune with their mistress and knew when she was in a towering mood.

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Most managed to get out of her way, but she was still able to snatch up three before they fled. “You,” She said, not bothering to indicate which of the quivering spirits she was addressing, “Will go out and call forth the gods. We must convene.” Rylan dropped them and turned away down another hall.

The gods of Quin are not omnipotent. They are merely close enough that most would not dispute the point. They could easily move anywhere in the world without much in the way of effort, mastering length, width, and height of such a jump with ease. Time is simply another tangent on the same axis, and the gods could manipulate it with almost as much ease as the other three. By the time Rylan had walked down the hall to the amphitheater used when the gods gathered at her abode, the gods were already there.

There was row upon row of gods, stretching off into the darkness. Each responsible for some aspect of the universe. Each with at least a handful of followers to call their own. She wondered just how many people still followed Great Schul. Would they know he was dead? Rylan smiled to herself. The murmur of conversation died down as she entered the room, and the click of her hooves was the only sound in the amphitheater by the time she reached the pulpit at its focal point. Rylan stepped up and gripped the lectern, which was carved into the image of two men quite enjoying themselves, and regarded the crowd.

“My fellow deities, I have called you here today to discuss matters involving the disturbance that was felt not long ago. I am sure that we have all, in our own time, looked upon what has caused it and learned the truth. The once-god Schul has died, and his mantle of godhood has fallen upon his eldest daughter.”

A murmur sprang up in the crowd. Those who had bothered to look, informed those that hadn’t. Out of the corner of her eye, Rylan saw Nyn take out her damnable book.

Rylan waited for the noise to die down before continuing. “Many have seen the condition of said daughter. Many, like myself, have wondered if she is truly worthy to be among us.”

She heard a snort. She heard a damn snort coming from someone. Rylan restrained herself from trying to find the culprit. A voice from the front row boomed out.

“So you say Great Rylan, but I wonder if you might get more to the point. We know she is old, what of it?” There was no mistaking that voice. It blew into you with all the heat and power of the desert sun. It was the voice of the god-king Vomar, great god of the light. He sat in the front row on a carved stone throne. What little of his body that could be seen under his white robe was tanned almost black. Gold chains and rings festooned his arms and bound his garment to him. His face was covered by a gilded mask that itself was chained in place. His gaze was marked out by the searchlight beams cast by his eyes.

“The point, oh Lord, that I am making is that she will not change. I have visited her myself and discussed the matter with her. Instead of heeding my counsel, she chose instead to throw insults and threats at me. She displayed the sort of grace and bad manners that would tarnish us and sow strife amongst our ranks. I feel this insult, done not only to myself but to all of us, must not go unpunished. She cannot reach Somerdon without learning some humility. For if she will not heed my advice my Lord, how are we to know if she would heed your word any better?”

It was a calculated shot, and one that was rewarded with a slight nod of Vomars head.

Another voice rang out in the theater. Hath, the god of wisdom, shouted to be heard from his seat. “What do you intend, Great Rylan?”

“I intend nothing. I simply ask. Let us unite against this upstart, and bar her entry to Somerdon until she has learned humility, and is more willing to listen to reason.”

“And what exactly do you consider ‘willing to listen to reason?’” This came from Nyn, god of luck. She had her betting book open on her knees and had, until now, been busily writing. Rylan shot her a glance full of daggers, but Nyn pretended not to notice.

“My terms, Great Nyn, is that she should follow our advice. Starting with the request I have made to her that she change her countenance to that which is more godly, and that in the future she should know her place.”

If Nyn noticed the emphasis, she, again, chose to ignore it. In any case, she seemed satisfied and continued to write in her book.

“Who among you will join me in defending our realm from the ungodly and base?” Most did not raise their hand. In total only Vomar and his wife Llosul seemed ready to assist Rylan.

“Right, and who’s siding with,” Nyn flipped back a few pages in her book, “Nana Dismas it would seem.” Not a single hand came up. “Alright, I’ll put that down as a one thousand to one odds against Nana Dismas. Do I have any takers at this time?” Before a hand could go up another voice cut in.

“What?! Are y’ all spineless? That’s just sick that you would rather sit back and bet instead of put your head into this. Where are your balls, men? What must y’ followers think of you sitting around betting, betting, instead of getting off your asses and doing something?” This came from the blood soaked god Turogoth, god of war.

Rylan couldn’t stand Turogoth. He resembled a steel golem, except steel golems tended to have more restraint when it came to spikes and blades. He stood up, making a sound like a percussionist falling over his equipment and pointed a finger at Rylan. “She wants you to help her fight a fledgeling! Th’ woman’s got no followers, she’s got no power and Great Rylan wants you to help her smack the poor woman down!”

“I did not see you put your hand up when aid was called for” snapped Rylan.

“I wanted to see who else was willing. But since the answer is no one, I’ll do it alone.” Turogoth took off his mighty helmet and threw it over the gods. When it landed on the marbled floor in front of the dais, it took a large chunk out of the stone.

“There” He said mockingly “I’ve thrown my hat into the ring, and damn the rest of you for the cowards that you are.”

The lights of Vomar’s eyes illuminated him as the sun god turned around. “Turogoth, that is enough, sit down.”

Turogoth huffed but sat. A moment later his wayward helmet was back in its rightful place on his head.

“So that changes things a little,” mused Nyn as she redid her sums in her book. “Odds have been readjusted to five hundred to one against, please log any side bets with me as well, and remember: both participants must be present to sign before anything becomes official.” She snapped her book closed and stood up. “This will be fun, good luck to everyone involved”.

With that, the meeting broke up. Or it had never taken place, it’s hard to tell when spacetime is played with. The gouge Turogoths helmet took out of the floor was gone as well.

Rylan looked around the deserted space and frowned. That had not gone as she had hoped. Still, getting Vomar and Llosul on her side was good. Vomar was a traditionalist, and Llosul tended to follow him. Turogoth had been unexpected. She should have known the god of war would want to turn this into a fight.

Rylan traced her fingers around the edge of the lectern and examined its woodgrain thoughtfully. By now Nyn would be collecting side bets and wagers on how this would play out. With most of the gods tied down in betting, she may not need more support. After all, only Turogoth had seemed willing to back the fledgeling god. She may not need to even do anything. Vomar himself liked to take charge in situations like this. If he wanted to lead, then let him. Turogoth might kick up a fuss, but the gods who bet against that crone would back up Rylan's victory. If for no other reason than to protect their own interests.

Five hundred to one odds though. Nyn must be really confident in Turogoth making a difference to halve the odds like that, better to be sure. Rylan strode out into the corridor and called to a passing spirit.

“Yes, my Lady?” The shade asked.

“Go out, and find out all you can of this, Nana Dismas.” After a moment's pause she added, “ And her grandson too.”