by Sadie Moss
“Is this the same spring we drank from earlier?” I ask when we come to a stop on the slick rocks.
“It is. Though it’s a bit farther down on the mountain, so it isn’t as cold. The temperature will be bracing, but not intolerable.”
I laugh under my breath, thinking of the many times I cleaned off in the cold river nearby my village. “That sounds very familiar. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I may not look it, but I’m made of hearty stock.”
“Yes. I know you are, Sage.” He gives me a look I can’t quite read, then surprises me by bending to kiss my forehead. “I’ll leave you to clean up.”
My gaze follows him as he turns and walks away, my eyes devouring the sight of his muscled back and broad shoulders. He looks just as at home here in the mountains than he did in their fancy house back in Ironholde—maybe even more so. He’s as rugged, indomitable, and wild as the mountain itself.
Shaking my head to clear it, I strip and step quickly into the spring. The water is cold enough to make me shiver, but it feels good to clean off.
I scrub myself and wash my hair quickly, then clamber back out onto the rocky bank and slip into a fresh, clean dress from my satchel. I’ll come back to wash the other one later; it still has dust and blood on it from our fight with the hound.
Retracing the path Callum led me on, I find my way back to the cabin easily. The place has a strange feel to it, something I can’t quite put my finger on. As I pass through the open front door to the interior, I feel the familiar tingle of the weave against my senses, though on first glance, none of the three men sitting around the table are currently using magic.
A roaring fire in the fireplace has warmed the cabin to a comfortable temperature, and the open door allows just enough of a chill in to keep it from being too hot. There’s only one room to the building, consisting of a small kitchen area, a table and chairs, and a large bed in the corner.
I sit next to Echo, who also looks freshly washed. “Did you find this place?”
Callum shakes his head. “Paris and I built it from the weave.”
I gawk at him, then glance around me. I can’t believe they were able to use magic to create something so real. I can hardly do anything tangible with the weave, much less conjure a full homestead of thin air.
Paris shoves a bag of jerky across the table. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”
I’m not hungry, but I don’t argue. Life taught me early that the more starved I was, the harder it became to do anything at all. So I bite into a chewy, salty stick of meat.
“Would you like to talk about what happened back in the city?” Paris asks gently. “What upset you so much?”
“You don’t know already?” I ask, glancing at Echo.
“I didn’t think it was my story to tell,” he says. There’s warmth in his gaze that sets my heart racing.
It’s sweet that Echo hasn’t mentioned anything of our personal talk to the other men, but I hate to revisit those panicked feelings too deeply. I try to keep my explanation as short and efficient as possible. “Sierian cares deeply for her realm, and as a result, her people are healthy and happy. In contrast, Kaius and Zelus are so neglectful that their people are starving and dying. I got angry at the unfairness of it all, and I lost control.”
“For good reason, I think,” Paris offers.
Callum nods his agreement, but doesn’t speak.
“I just don’t understand how a god could treat their subjects so badly.” I twirl my half-eaten jerky between my fingers, watching the way the firelight glints off the shiny meat. “I’m afraid the bad gods are the majority, now. Maybe gods like Sierian are the exception, not the rule.”
“I hope that’s not true.” Echo blows out a breath, shaking his head. “For humanity’s sake.”
“You know, when I was alive, I had no love lost for Zelus.” I slouch back against the chair wearily. “My entire village would pray to him and sacrifice for him, and all the while, I blamed him for the state of our world. But even so, in the very back of my mind, I hoped I was wrong. I hoped he’d been sidetracked by helping places worse off than us. It wasn’t until I gave him my life and he didn’t reciprocate that I fully understood what kind of god he was. He has no honor. He has no heart.”
“I can’t pretend to know intimately what you went through.” Callum’s voice is low and gruff. “But I know now what an awful god Kaius is.”
Paris and Echo both look sharply at their brother, freezing like surprised statues at his admonition.
He grunts. “You feel the same way. Something changed when we defied him.”
Echo shrugs. “I thought maybe I imagined it.”
“It was like his hold over us broke,” Paris adds thoughtfully. “Our allegiance to him broke. And now we can see him for what he truly is.”
Echo scoffs. “Egomaniacal, vengeful, selfish—”
“For all his faults,” Callum cuts in, his gaze sweeping over the three of us. “He’s not lazy. He will be motivated by his goal: to find us and punish us. He’ll keep hunting until he finds his prey.”
“Then we shouldn’t dally any longer.” I shove the bag of jerky away and stand. “It’s time to go talk to a god who seems to actually care—Sierian.”
18
My cold bath and a few pieces of jerky for the road invigorate me enough to feel ready to return to the city.
We travel the weave back to Aeheamel and enter through the same road we traveled earlier. I’m in a better frame of mind this time, too focused on finding Sierian and getting the help we need to dwell overlong on the disparate nature of this city against my past.
With our path uninterrupted this time, Callum leads us deep into the bustling metropolis where the river cuts a swath through the roads and buildings. The surface of the water flows slowly, and the ribbon of it shines like quicksilver beneath the sunlight. There are many bridges that connect the two banks together, all up and down the river, but here in the very center of the city awaits a temple to Sierian.
The temple takes my breath away. It straddles the river on a kind of bridge of its own, a central pyramid reaching high into the sky, surrounded by a low building studded with vast stone columns. The pyramid is painted vivid, metallic gold and reflects the sunshine, while the columns are a pristine white. The whole magnificent thing casts a reflection in the silvery water that gives it an otherworldly look, as if it isn’t quite of this realm, but not of another either.
There’s a steady flow of worshippers going in and out of the temple, which shouldn’t be surprising. Since Sierian takes such good care of her people, it stands to reason they take good care of her too.
Some people carry small bags that presumably hold sacrifices, while others simply walk alone, quiet and contemplative as they come to praise Sierian. We join the worshippers on the steeply arched bridge and make our way toward the shadowed portico.
The structure is even more vast up close. We pass between columns wider than any ancient tree trunk I’ve ever seen and into the cool, dim interior. The covered portico runs the length of the bridge as far as I can see, curving off around the far edges of the temple. The walkway appears to be a part of the worship process, as an ocean of people move clockwise through the darkness carrying lit candles. They murmur a low melody as they walk—everybody singing the same words, but nobody singing together, so that it blends into a magical round of notes as if it’s meant to be sung that way.
We pass through the slow-moving current of people and continue to the pyramid. An opening looms in the facade, pitch black and flanked by burning torches.
Walking through and into the unlit tunnel beyond feels like walking into a different world. The ground pitches steeply upward, though it’s so dark beneath my feet I can’t see the adjustment, which nearly sends me to my knees more than once. I keep my fingers on the walls on either side of me, surprised by how narrow the tunnel is. It feels like we’re treading into Sierian’s womb.
Suddenly, the tunnel ends, and we enter a huge in
ner chamber. The pyramid’s interior soars overhead, four angled walls that meet in an apex far above, every stone sparkling with thousands of reflective threads. Quartz, I guess, though the mineral is so rare that this amount of it in one place seems impossible.
A central altar waits beneath the peak of the temple. The platform is raised up off the ground, and on it sits a circle of stone columns beneath a modest domed roof.
Inside, a shadowed statue of a woman holds vigil between two large white candles. The floor at her feet is littered with offerings. Though the altar’s interior is viewable, it’s apparently inaccessible to worshippers, who kneel before the structure to pray. As I watch, a couple approach the altar and toss a wreath of flowers into the dim haze beyond the columns.
Callum leads us around the altar, his gaze searching the smoky shadows before he appears to locate what he’s looking for. He motions for us to keep up, and the four of us pass down a narrow, empty corridor between the sea of praying subjects to stand before a white-robed figure at the base of the altar.
The woman is human, but power radiates from her anyway. She’s young and bald, with ebony skin that glows in the torchlight. A sash is draped around her white robe—deep blue and covered in symbols I don’t recognize. She wears no makeup like the rest of the women in Aeheamel, but still, she’s more beautiful, more ethereal than any woman I’ve ever seen. She regards us from beneath thick, dark lashes, her face giving away nothing.
Callum greets her with a small bow. “We request an audience with the god of this realm.”
The robed woman blinks slowly, taking her time before she says, “And who are you to request an audience with the almighty?”
“Messengers of the god Kaius, requesting amnesty on our visit.”
I think I see a spark of surprise in the depths of her dark eyes, but she hides it well. “Welcome, messengers. Your audience has been granted.” She steps aside, revealing a small, carved wooden door set into the base of the altar platform. With two long fingers, she disengages the three locks holding the door closed, and then opens it, standing back so that we can pass through.
A stairway awaits us inside, walls and ceiling pressing tight around it.
The woman—who I suspect is a priestess of Sierian—closes the door behind us, shutting us into the dark.
We carefully navigate the steps one by one. Though the staircase isn’t long—I can see the silhouette of the statue just ahead—the passageway is extremely narrow. I have to bend to move through it, but my men have to bend, twist, and grunt their way up.
The stairs spill us onto the platform, directly behind the statue of Sierian.
When a long moment passes wherein nothing happens, I whisper, “What now?”
Callum shoots me a quelling look, but before he can speak, the statue moves.
Stone grates on stone as the statue rotates, though she doesn’t move as I would expect from a statue. Her movements are fluid and soft, as if she’s a human body trapped within white marble.
My heart skips faster. Even though I know it’s likely magic operating the stone, making it seem so lifelike, it’s unnerving. Especially when the statue finally finishes her rotation, and opens wide, blank eyes that seem as if they can truly see me.
It lifts two marble fingers.
The air around us shimmers, a riot of colors that reminds me of the way the world passes when we’re traveling a portal from the human realm to the gods’ realm. The shimmer builds in intensity and begins to swirl around us like a funnel cloud, blocking out the sight of the marble statue with her fingers still held aloft. For a moment, I’m disoriented, and if it weren’t for the solid stone beneath my feet, I would forget which way is up and which way is down.
Then the shimmering fades away as quickly as it began, and we’re no longer standing on the altar platform inside Sierian’s temple.
We’re in Sierian’s palace in the afterworld.
The massive throne room evokes the same temple feeling we just left behind. Walls formed of that same quartz-threaded stone soar on either side of us, lined with flickering torches. Upon closer inspection, the torches aren’t lit by fire but by weave magic—I can feel the energy waving through the room. A thick red carpet runs beneath our feet and trails up a short staircase to a large, intricate golden throne.
Sierian sits upon the throne, her long legs crossed as she leans one elbow on the arm of her seat. She’s equal parts warrior and beauty, with raven-black hair that skims her waistline and bronzed skin decorated in golden swirls and sigils that reflect the firelight.
If I thought her priestess ethereal, Sierian is most definitely not of this world.
Echo grabs my wrist and tugs as he sinks into a low bow, one knee falling to the floor. I follow suit, dropping into a curtsy that nearly lays me flat on the plush carpet.
Sierian narrows fathomless dark eyes at us. “Messengers. How fascinating,” she says in a deep contralto, eyeing us each one by one as if she were a predator marking her prey. “I’m curious why messengers from Kaius are requesting amnesty in my territory.”
The growl of distaste in her voice as she says Kaius’s name leaves no room for interpretation—Sierian doesn’t like my messengers’ old god.
Hope flares inside me. Maybe she dislikes Kaius enough to help us. She might even stand up to Kaius on our behalf. Zelus too. I let myself cling to this little shred of hope as Callum begins to speak.
“Great god Sierian, we humbly thank you for the privilege of your consideration,” he says, making no move to stand from his bow.
“You played my curiosity well.” Sierian leans back in her throne, looking down her nose at Callum. “Your thanks are accepted. Now tell me how you came to be here.”
He speaks quickly and succinctly, laying out the events of our time together—from a brief history of my life and death to the day they found me wandering in the Unclaimed Expanse until this very moment. I’m astonished by how clearly he recalls every detail, even the details of my story from before I came into his life.
In the quiet moments after his voice rumbles to a close, Sierian doesn’t move. She sits as still as the white marble statue that transported us here, her dark eyes just as blank and unreal.
Finally, she shifts minutely, one hand curving around the arm of her chair. “I’m sympathetic to your plight, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Despair seeps into my bones. I drop my curtsy before I tumble to the floor on a wave of melancholy. As if I’ve given them some unspoken sign, my messengers rise around me.
“I can’t force Kaius to listen to me, or to grant you special privilege because I say it’s the correct thing to do,” Sierian continues, her deep voice gentle. “I’m not above him in power. We are equals.”
“You can’t say anything?” I ask, unable to keep the desperation from my tone. Echo touches my hand as if warning me not to speak out of turn, but it’s too late for that. “We came all this way. You’re clearly a benevolent and kind ruler. Surely you would have an interest in doing what’s right.”
Sierian’s gaze lands on me, and I have to fight not to cringe beneath that predatory look. “My child, you have been fully wronged by two of my brethren. I can admit this. But I have to think of my people first and foremost. I’m unwilling to go to war to stop Kaius.”
“Would you have to go to war just to speak to him?” I press, my heart thudding in my chest.
She shakes her head. “You are as aware of his dark nature as I am. Surely, you understand that nothing with Kaius is simple or without bloodshed.”
I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“My people are more important than any feud or wrongdoing that happens outside my realm,” she continues. “Humans die in droves when the gods war, and I won’t risk my subjects to save four who owe me no fealty.”
“If Kaius and Zelus war, their people will die,” I say, my voice echoing sharply off the walls. “You don’t care for human life unless it resides in your rea
lm?”
“Sage,” Echo murmurs softly, touching my hand again.
Sierian lifts a finger at Echo. “No, let the girl speak her mind. I will not harm her for being brave enough to stand up for what she believes in. Though it will hardly change my mind.”
Callum speaks up beside me, but I don’t hear his words.
All I can think of is that my people will die if the gods go to battle. In trying to help my family, I may have made things a hundred times worse.
By sparking a war between the gods, I may have condemned them to death.
19
I don’t even realize I’ve fallen to my knees until my messengers draw in tighter around me, as if trying to give me the strength I need to hold myself together. I’m certainly not doing that very well myself. Sierian looks so powerful, so elegant and unbothered on her golden throne, while I’m shattering into a thousand fragments on the floor at her feet.
“Please, great god,” I beg, hating myself for the plaintive note in my voice, but willing to crawl on my knees if I have to for my people. I clasp my hands in my lap almost as if in prayer. “Please help us. You’re our only hope.”
Sierian’s dark brows pull together in a look that is reminiscent of concern, but only in as detached a manner as a god could allow. “I’ve given my answer, child. No amount of pleading will sway my decision.”
The coldness in her tone sends another stab of pain through me. I came here believing Sierian to be the most benevolent of the gods, only to find she’s as particular and cruel as the lot of them. The realization hits me with a ferocity that threatens to make me fall apart. Sierian is no better than Zelus, the god who neglected me, or Kaius, the god who wants to extinguish me for daring to show mercy for my people. They’re all horrid, with their own agendas and their own idea of what’s necessary.
But on the heels of my pain comes another, more welcome emotion—anger.
“How are we supposed to stand up to Kaius?” I burst out, rising to my feet. Echo wraps a hand around my arm again, but I tug away from his grasp, too infuriated by this god’s coolly ambivalent face to want his help or his guidance. I know I’m being foolish, risking everything, but the words won’t stop pouring from me. “How are we supposed to stop his reign of terror if you won’t look past your own ego for five minutes?”