The Devil in the Details

11. The Samedi

Deirdre generally could abide teasing well enough, but it was some time before she made it back to their new campsite and began to help Isabel with preparing their meal. Not a word further was said about her appearance, but Isabel continued to smile and to give her looks that were far too knowing and sweet.

Not a problem. It was just a matter of gritting her teeth until she could steal away and corner the Fiend. There was far too much going on, and Deirdre felt she knew far too little about it.

It was nothing to worry about. Their guards soon returned, along with Sir Alexis and Mother Ignatia, and Isabel and Deidre took it upon themselves to feed everyone. The teasing—well, it hadn't really been teasing, more like flattery—had all but been forgotten.

Later that night, after everyone had eaten, the guards had been posted, and the rest of the party was abed, Deirdre slipped away from the fire and found the creature down near the horses. She somehow suspected he was waiting for her.

"Is there really going to be a battle tomorrow?" she asked after taking a seat on the grass beside him. As always when others might be about, she kept her voice low.

"After a fashion. I fully intend it not to be a bad one."

"You know where these raiders are, don't you? Is that why you're so confident."

"Yes, and yes. Though don't underestimate the skill of Sir Constantine. He may be past his prime, but he is cunning and resourceful. Besides, the enemy hasn't so many men in the area as our elderly friend thinks, and the good knight has raised nearly a hundred men, not counting the hunters and crofters who will lead the pursuit."

"The men they hanged said their leader is a landed knight named Villiers, one of de Margot's men."

"Ah, I've heard that name," said the creature. "The man has the reputation of a dullard and a bully. De Margot was a fool to make this sortie."

"Why so?" she asked. She was only just beginning to undertake her study of things military, but sending troops to raid and harass the enemy's rear seemed a perfectly good strategy.

It was as if the creature had read her mind. "Such a strategy is fine and good, a common part of warfare. But it only works against weak leaders leading ill-disciplined armies. Baron William will never fall for it, and the king, despite his many shortcomings, is no fool. By sending men raiding this deep into royal lands, de Margot threw those men away."

"We're not going to get involved in the fighting, are we?"

"Sir Alexis, you mean? ... It is expected of him."

"And the rest of us?"

"Tuppence, I can't tell you what to do. But I hope you will steer a wide berth when it comes to such shenanigans. War can be bloody unpredictable."

"Did you bring anything to drink?" she asked.

From out of the shadows, the creature produced a bottle that smelled of whiskey when he popped cork. She took the think happily.

"No warfare for me," she said in a hoarse voice after her first swig of the caustic liquid. "I'm a scholar, not a fighter."

"Good."

"So, what's a Samedi?"

"Ah, I didn't imagine my last explanation would clear up much."

Deirdre shook her head. It was not.

The creature said, "No, I tried to be too subtle. I didn't want you to get the wrong impression."

"Then tell me the right impression."

"Very well." Several moments of silence followed. "Do you recollect what I told you of the Walking God and his tribe, especially of how they survive in this realm of yours?"

"Of course, you said that they were able to survive in two ways. First, they dwelt within massive carapaces, designed to be beautiful and strong, like the comeliest of men and women. But such devices are forbidden under the gesh."

"Indeed. And the other way?"

A shiver ran up Deirdre's spine. "They take and inhabit a human host, using that person's body as their own."

"Perfectly correct. In times of old, the beings of that tribe often would gambol about in human forms."

"Even when they had a choice of using a carapace?"

"Yes."

"But why? ... I mean ... was it because ...?"

The Fiend nodded. "Because they enjoyed the sensation of inhabiting human flesh and experiencing all of the pleasures that derived from it? ... Yes, that is exactly true."

"Human bodies were just amusements for them?"

"Mostly. Some of the Walking God's kind became so enamored by such delights that they lived as humans, more or less, fulltime."

"Wait ... what does this have to do with ... you know ...?"

"Your new friend?"

She chose not to blush, but instead nodded her assent.

"Tuppence, there was a time when there were many of this Walking God's people on this world, many hundreds perhaps. And, as I've often said, Source magic has a strange effect on things it comes into long contact with."

"Even human flesh?" she whispered. "Wait ... is Driss one of the Walking God's people?"

"No. But many of those beings lived lurid and licentious lives. A great many fathered and mothered children, sometimes passing on to their progeny some of their gifts."

Deirdre for just a moment was speechless. "Samedi? ... You mean demigods?"

"I didn't know that you were familiar with that term, but yes. There once were a great many such creatures in this world. Now there are far fewer."

"What became of them?"

"Some were gifted with long lives; some are virtually immortal. But most simply grew old and died in the ages since the Walking God's people left this realm."

"So, some of them still exist?" she asked.

"I know of a small handful, but most have passed on."

She again needed a few moments to find her words. "But Driss doesn't look that old."

"He probably isn't, Tuppence. There remains one of that tribe on this world still."

"Wait ... Driss is the son of the Walking God?"

"One of many, I would imagine ... given the old goat's infamous libido. But most such offspring are indistinguishable from normal humans. Only rarely do they exhibit preternatural skills."

"Ahh ...," she whispered. "He is very strong, isn't he?"

"Very. And quick, with tremendous reflexes and endurance."

"Should ... should we be afraid of him?"

"Tuppence, I can't think why. Everything about him suggests he's a decent and honest lad. It's very possible, nay, probable, that the young man has no idea who or what he is. This Walking God is not exactly a nurturing parent. It's likely he doesn't keep the least track of his progeny."

"Ohh ... I need to sit down," she whispered.

"You already are."

"Oh. ... Can't ... can't one day be normal?"

She felt his arm slide around her and pull her close. The smell of Alexis was rough and comforting. "Once the new mounts are delivered, you never have to see him again."

"I do sort of like him." She barely was able to choke out those words.

"I thought you were against having a sweetheart."

"I am."

"Ah. Well. We'll sort things out, one way or the other."

"Promise?" she asked.

"We can only do our best."