Chosen Gods

by G. Bailey

  “Do you trust me?” Storm asks me, his purple eyes darkening the longer I don’t answer.

  “Yes, I do,” I admit, and I’m surprised how vulnerable that makes me feel to admit that. Storm takes me by surprise and kisses me, a deep and drawn out kiss that leaves me a little wobbly when he pulls back.

  “Good to hear, considering I’m keeping you, little one,” Storm says as I’m a little shaky on my feet. This sexy god needs to warn a girl that he is going to kiss her next time. I hope there is a next time.

  “Keeping me? I’m not little or your pet,” I eventually say after replaying his words.

  “You are little, and you’re not my pet. You are simply mine,” he replies and starts walking off, with me having no choice but to go along with him. Some things never change. Storm is still an arsehole, but this time, I’m pretty sure I’m beginning to more than like him.

  4

  It takes us about ten minutes to walk out of the ruins and start on the path to the castle in the far distance. Even from this distance, I can see that it’s much more well-maintained than the wrecked building where we arrived, and in spite of myself, I find myself craving a hot bath and a warm bed. Not that I’m necessarily expecting them to give that to me - for all I know they’re going to toss me in some dungeon and starve me until I give them what they want - no games required.

  I give Storm’s hand an involuntary squeeze at that thought, and he glances down at me with his gorgeous eyes. I’m still a little ruffled by his possessiveness earlier, but it would be a lie to say it didn’t turn me on a little. Most guys I’ve met have ended up having big heads but nothing to back that up. Storm, though… Well. Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind him scooping me up and tossing me onto a bed one of these days… not that I’m going to admit it to him, or anything. He’s full of himself enough as it is.

  The long path we walk down is made of gold stone, and high trees line the sides, so I can’t see what is on the other side of them. It’s still not clear to me where in the world we are, although I suppose that’s the point of this island. If we make it out, we’ll be the first group of gods to ever survive imprisonment here… although at this point, the idea of what comes after this feels almost as foreign as my newly found heritage.

  One moment at a time, I remind myself as we round a gentle bend. I can hear waves lapping against the shore in the distance, and the tangy smell of salt in the air reminds me of the times I went to a beach with my family as a child. It’s quiet here - almost too quiet, considering the chaos we’re now in the middle of, but it’s also undeniably beautiful. The footpath is lined with cat eyes all the way down the sides, illuminating our way like glimmering candles in the dusky darkness. Between those and the stars that twinkle down in the sky, we’re not short on light, at the very least.

  I feel on edge, even though I’m aware the higher gods can’t hurt me without hurting themselves. I feel like I’ve been drawn into something far bigger than myself, and I don’t like how small it all makes me feel. It’s not that I’ve ever wanted to be important - it’s just that I don’t like being used. I’m just a tool in these gods’ game against Storm, I know it and so does everyone else.

  Including Storm.

  If they kill me, he would never forgive himself - that much I know for a fact. I can’t say whether his feelings for me have progressed more than simple attraction (although his possessiveness indicates that they may well have), but it’s obvious that he has a personal stake in this, and if I ended up dead because of a feud between him and the others, he would rip himself apart.I don’t want him to feel that way. I resolve that I’m going to work out a way to win each one of these games... and make sure Storm gets the chance for his revenge. Make sure I get the chance for revenge.

  A question dawns on me as another gust of ocean air whips through the trees, mussing up my already tangled red curls and nearly sending Kit tumbling off my shoulder. “Where are we, exactly?” I ask Storm, turning to him as we walk. Even those who manage to escape the higher gods’ island unscathed are notoriously tight-lipped about the location of the island - no doubt due to being strongarmed into never giving away that information. Anything to help them hold on to power, right? Either way, what few rumours I’ve heard aren’t credible, and we could be anywhere in the world right about now.

  “The higher gods’ island,” replies Storm, giving me a cheeky grin. “Or had you not realized that yet, little one?”

  I roll my eyes. “Right, very funny. I mean where on Earth are we? It doesn’t look like Europe.”

  “It’s not,” agrees Storm. “The castle itself is in the middle of the Dead Sea. I was born here, and my parents before me. The island has seen better days, but the castle is magnificent… that is, if Xur and the others haven’t tainted it.” His expression sours, and he shakes his head.

  “How have the humans not found this place by now?” I ask. “Surely there have been ships, airplanes…”

  “The island is magically hidden from humans,” Storm answers. “Granted, I’m sure it’s gotten harder with modern technology, but the right wards could make it completely undetectable. Even most gods can’t see it unless they are invited in… or teleported in, as the case may be.”

  Huh. So the rumours are mostly true. If I weren’t in a life or death situation, I might even be pleased to have wound up in such a fabled place. But right now, the secrecy feels more ominous than charming.

  I look up at Storm as we make our way down the golden pathway, the castle continuing to slowly grow closer on the horizon. I try to picture him as a child, climbing the trees and scrambling among the ruins. Was he always this snarky, or did his dealings with his family harden him? It’s hard to imagine him without the rippling muscles and grizzled features.

  Storm catches me looking at him and raises an eyebrow. “What was it like growing up here?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  “Honestly? Perfect,” he tells me, a hint of longing in his voice. “I had a good childhood with my parents.”

  “What were they like?” I know I’m treading on thin ice here, but I can’t help myself. Storm is intriguing.

  “My father was one of those people who could light up a room the minute he walked in,” Storm replied after a moment’s thought. “And my mother…” He hesitated, looking around at the trees on all sides. “She was an old soul… gentle. She had an affinity for taking care of living things.”

  “In what sense?”

  He sweeps his free hand around us in a broad arc, and I look out over the rows and rows of ancient trees. “Do you see this forest?” he asks. “My mother grew all these trees from saps herself one day, and I remember watching. She was able to place her hands into the dirt and grow a tree from nothing more than a twig. She always used to say there was never enough life in the world. I used to spend hours playing in the forest she grew, climbing the trees, falling and skinning my knees…” He shrugs. “It was peaceful here. And beautiful. She made it that way.”

  “She sounds like she was lovely,” I say quietly, and can’t help thinking about my own Mum. Is she worried about me, I wonder? Did she come to me on my birthday knowing that eventually I would find myself on this journey? Did she ever come close to telling me the truth about my parentage?

  “She was,” Storm agrees, and nods. “I miss her, especially now I’m here. Back in the prison, I was pretty good at blocking out the sadness I felt for my parents. It was easier in there, I think - I had people there to take care of. They were my family. But now…” He lets out a long breath, not meeting my gaze. “I’m just glad she isn’t here to see the mess her adopted children have become. In that sense, maybe it’s a mercy.”

  “I remember you said she was the goddess of life,” I observe.

  “That’s right,” says Storm, looking over at me. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

  “Come on, my memory’s not that bad,” I retort, elbowing him playfully, and he chuckles.

  “She was cursed to on
ly ever give life to one child,” Storm continues. “That’s why she was so keen on growing things, adopting children…”

  “I didn’t know higher gods could be cursed,” I say.

  “It depends on your definition of a curse,” says Storm. “Our powers always have a way of cursing us in the end, you know? There’s always a downside.”

  I nod, humming thoughtfully, although I don’t know if I actually believe that. I’ve always thought that our powers are part of us and who we are. We are gods, here to defend the humans who need protecting - isn’t that enough of a tradeoff for the powers we have at our disposal? Our destinies are determined for us from the moment we’re born, but that’s the price we pay for being gods. I remember my mum telling me that when I was just a kid, confused about what it meant to be a god of karma. I spent my childhood railing against the idea of having a predetermined path in life, but now I find myself missing the straightforwardness of my world and job before.

  “I’m almost scared to see my family,” I quietly admit, nodding towards the castle. I don’t like admitting I’m scared of anything, but this has all rattled me, and right now Storm feels like the only person I can talk to about this. My family has always been my safety cushion - no matter how bad things got, they were always there to catch me in the end. Now I don’t know how to feel about them.

  My family lied to me my entire life, and that’s the horrible, unavoidable truth of the situation. I know they did it to protect me, and I know they love me unconditionally, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know who I am anymore. Am I Karma Kismet, or am I Karma Cyncus? Why would my mum lie to me? Xur said my real mother is dead, and now I find myself reeling: I know in my heart that my real mother is the woman who raised me, not the woman who gave birth to me, but I can’t get over the fact that the life I thought I knew was a lie.

  Mum always said honesty was the best policy, right? We grew up on that notion - she drubbed it into my brothers and I from the moment I was first able to understand the difference between the truth and a lie. But if what Xur says about my heritage is true, which I am starting to believe, then everything has been a lie. Would it have been easier to know who I was from day one? Or would it have been better to live in a fantasy?

  So many questions, and so few answers. I run a hand through my hair, a little embarrassed by my own confusion.

  “The great Karma Kismet is scared of seeing her family?” Storm softly teases. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when you were scared of anything.” I give a halfhearted chuckle, although we both know why I don’t want to see my family. This goes beyond everything I thought I knew about myself, and he knows it, too.

  Seeing the dismay on my face, Storm stops me, placing his hand on my cheek and turning me to face him. The warmth of his skin against mine is soothing enough for me to close my eyes for a few seconds, placing my hand over the top of his and basking in the silence of the moment. I can just pretend it’s me and him, and there is nothing else in the world to fear. That the truth is a story, and my family is who I’ve always thought they were. “Hey,” Storm says, stooping his head so he can look into my eyes. “The truth is going to be hard to hear, but you need to know it.”

  “I know,” I reply, biting my lip.

  “I will be there for you, every step of the way,” he tells me, and the sincerity in his voice is enough to make my insides turn to jelly. That classic, crooked smile appears on his face, and my heart gives a little flutter in spite of my best efforts. “You know, I’m quite addicted to being around you at this point, Karma.” I smile at Storm as I give his hand another gentle squeeze, because somehow he makes me feel safer and more loved than I ever thought possible. It’s not that he loves me - at least, I don’t think he does, and I’m not sure how I feel about him, either. This is all so complicated now, and I think he knows it as well as I do. If we get together, there’s the potential that it will be forever. We are both immortal, if this is all true, and that’s not a commitment I’m ready to make right now.

  “What if it’s all true?” I ask, turning back to face the castle and beginning to walk again. “I mean, part of me is in denial, and I don’t know how to accept any of it,” I admit to him. “I know that it might be true - probably is true - but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “Whatever the truth is, you are still Karma,” Storm reminds me, speaking slowly and deliberately. “The person you are is the person you are, and nothing about your past or family is going to change that. You’re Karma: a crazy Irish redhead who is terrible at delivering karma to your unlucky victims.” He tips me a wink. “You will still have those cute freckles on your nose and cheeks, and that fiery temper I’ve grown to like.”

  “Hey,” I say, and gently whack his chest, which makes him laugh. “You’re meant to be making me feel better.”

  “Considering you are smiling now, I think I won,” he replies, grinning at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips.

  “Only a little bit,” I say as Storm lowers his hand, linking our fingers together once more as we carry on walking to the castle. I hold onto Storm’s hand a little bit too tightly as we get to the entrance of the palace, and I stare up at it in wonder.

  For all that the ruins were old and destroyed, this palace is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s enormous, the sort of thing you might see in a fairy tale or fantasy book - a medieval style building with towering turrets and spires jutting up into the dark sky. Stained glass windows line the walls, and the metalwork is all gilded in shimmering gold. It’s almost a shame that it’s on an island in the middle of nowhere; people everywhere would no doubt want to see it.

  The castle is surrounded by high stone walls on all sides, which slope gently upward to accommodate the hill it’s situated on. The walls are broken up by a set of enormous iron gates in the middle, which contribute even more to its imposing appearance. The gates stand wide open now, and the guards who stand on either side of them do not look our way as we walk in. I eye them in spite of myself, taking in the gold shiny armour that covers most of their bodies. If they’re paying any attention to us, I can’t tell; their helmets make it impossible to see their faces. I suddenly feel a little self-conscious as we pass through into the palace walls, glancing down at my weather-beaten, bloody clothes and wishing I had a charm to clean myself up. Storm doesn’t seem the least bit put off by the palace, however, so I try to follow his lead and stand up tall. The last thing I want is for my nervousness to show.

  The stone pathway leads us through three courtyards, each one full of guards. I catch glimpses of fountains and flowerbeds, as well as perfectly-sculpted hedges and rows of tall trees. The grounds are enormous, and I could easily see how someone might get lost in here.

  Eventually, we arrive at the entrance to the main part of the castle. It’s a set of big stone doors with polished wooden accents, all gilded with that same shimmering gold leaf. I start for the doors, but Storm holds me back, nodding instead to the left. “What is it?” I ask him. “They already know we’re here.”

  “I know,” Storm replies. “I thought you might want to see your family first.”

  My eyes widen and I feel a rush of fresh butterflies as I wonder what it’s going to be like to see them again. All I can do is hope they’re okay and trust in Storm, who wordlessly leads me off the main path and over to a side door that might be used by servants or visitors. Storm pulls it open, turning the handle in a way that suggests he’s done this a million times.

  We find ourselves in a stone corridor with no windows that seems to run parallel to the grand entrance hall. There are electric lights lining the walls in little lamps, and I’m surprised that the wall sconces aren’t enchanted like the ones in the prison. Either way, they keep the corridor pretty bright, and we have no trouble navigating it. We walk past dozens of doors before we get to one at the end, and Storm knocks the big brass knocker as he lets go of my hand.

  “I’m not sure which room they are in
, exactly, but—” Storm is cut off when the door creaks open, and my eyes light up when they come to rest on a familiar head of red hair.

  “Peyton!” I cry, and fling myself into his arms before he can say a word. I might have been scared to find the truth, but I missed my family more than I could have ever realised. Just seeing Peyton now - the brother who has always been there for me, who has saved me more times than I can count, who I joke and pull pranks with - is enough to make me cast all those worries aside. Peyton is my big brother, no matter what Xur and the others might say.

  For a moment, Peyton is speechless, which is rare for him. “How are you here?” he exclaims, pulling me back and placing his hands on my face as he looks me over disbelievingly.

  The changes in my brother are clearly visible, and they startle me a little into silence. Dark bags are under his eyes, his skin is paler than before, and his face is lined with worry. His eyes look a little bloodshot - no doubt the result of many sleepless nights. The strangest thing, though, is that he is now sporting a small ginger beard. It doesn’t suit him one bit, and I can’t help but point it out.

  “We should be talking about why you’ve grown a beard! You look like a ginger Santa Claus,” I say.

  There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Storm bursts into laughter along with my brother. This lasts only a second before Peyton seems to realise that we aren’t alone, and he turns to look at Storm.

  “Who are you?” Peyton asks, lowering his hands and stepping a little in front of me like Storm is a threat. Storm notices straightaway, and he doesn’t look impressed. I go to say something, but Storm beats me to it.

  “Storm Cyncus,” Storm says, offering his hand out with a big grin. Peyton pushes me back out of the way, and before I can stop the idiot, he punches Storm right in the middle of his face. Storm doesn’t move much from the punch, mainly as he is built like a rock wall, though his lip does bleed. Pey holds his fist, swearing under his breath. Okay, maybe my big brother is an idiot.