Pen quickly melted the blood back into her palm, squeezing her fist closed.
“You—” the soldier had to clear his throat and regain his composure. “The king would like an audience with you, Warrior. It would be an honor to escort you to him.”
“I can’t,” Pen said, trying to find the right words. “Tell the king I’m sorry, but I have to escort the Followers to the mountain, make sure they have a safe journey.”
“But the king—”
“The gods hold sway over all of us, even kings.”
Pen twitched at the new voice.
An elderly man came forward as the crowd parted around him. The High Priest held an air of a calm yet stoic grandfather, with his thinning white hair and beard.
The sword on his belt cinched his darker blue robe closed. Pen wondered again if he could even lift it in his age, but he didn’t look frail.
The soldier balked before the old man too, but stood his ground. Pen had to give him credit for that.
“Perhaps the journey could be delayed? Just a day or two,” he suggested.
“It cannot,” the High Priest said. “The road is long, and we must make it to the summit for the summer solstice. If Phaos has graced us with his Rival, then we would be honored to receive her.”
“Rival?” Pen blurted out before she could stop herself.
“An old name,” the priest said, “because Hamia was created as a rival to Phaos’s champion, Athanatos, in the first god’s war. They may have been on opposite sides then, but we would be grateful to have the Daughter of Maniodes travel with the Sons of Phaos.”
“Ah, yes, right,” Pen said. “Sorry about the … ignorance. I’ve been traveling a lot.”
The High Priest beamed, “And now you deem to travel with us.”
“Aye. Yes, we should probably go.”
“Of course.” He stepped aside and raised an arm, letting her go before him. “Please.”
Heart beating frantically with panic and nerves, Pen tugged on Raisa’s arm so she would follow close behind. Pen forced a smile to the priest and fell into step beside him.
The other Followers parted around them, and even bowed in reverence. When they reached the head of the group, past the gate now, everyone followed suit.
The pilgrimage to Mount Xiphos continued east with Pen at its point silently cursing herself.
Chapter Seven
Pen
Pen waited until she heard snores coming from the High Priest on the other side of the fire. After a full day’s walk, the group made camp for the night in a large clearing. Before they all settled down for a meal of stew, the High Priest gave a lengthy sermon about Phaos and his love. He even added the story of Hamia versus Athanatos, and Pen found it interesting to hear how he changed the end. He claimed that Hamia and Athanatos were equally matched but settled their differences. Pen was sure Hamia killed Athanatos with her blood magic. There wouldn’t have been another motivation for Phaos to concede to Nyx and Maniodes to end their war if she hadn’t killed his champion.
It was a good story regardless, and Pen appreciated the addition under the circumstances. It didn’t paint her in such a bad light tagging along with Phaos’s worshipers.
Sitting up, Pen saw Raisa was awake and watching her own campfire a small distance away. Pen strode over, trying to not wake anyone.
When Raisa looked up, blinking away the firelight, Pen said, “We need to find Palamedes and talk.”
Raisa stood. “I know where he should be. That checkpoint we discussed isn’t too far.”
They left the Followers sleeping peacefully and entered the woods just north of them. After a few minutes, they found a stream and a small cooking fire.
Palamedes came out of the shadows behind a pine tree.
“I was wondering when you would show up.”
“So, what did you need to talk about? You look worried,” Raisa said, ignoring Palamedes’s remark.
Pen sat by the little fire Palamedes had, picking at the new scab on her hand.
“About this journey—”
“Pen—”
“I’m going like you said,” she snapped at Raisa, “but I need to go to Malliae first.”
“Where is that exactly?” Raisa asked.
“It’s south of here. It’s not that far off. It would add just a couple of days.”
The scab on her hand gave way with a painful tear, but she tolerated it. What she couldn’t tolerate was the queasiness in her stomach. She hated the way the Followers were watching her. There wasn’t a hint of malice, only curiosity and reverence, and she didn’t want that attention.
“You all right, Pen?” Raisa asked sitting next to her.
Pen felt Palamedes watching her as well.
“I’m fine, but I need to see my father’s grave.”
“Wait, Maniodes was buried?” Palamedes asked, taken aback.
“His name was Tyndareus!” Pen snapped again. “He was a regular human who died from a stupid rusty nail in his foot.”
“Maniodes isn’t literally her father,” Raisa hissed at him. “He’s a distant relation.”
“Which is enough for this High Priest of Phaos to let me join them,” Pen said. “He’s been nice, but I don’t think he’d want me to leave now. He’s got a literal demigod, Phaos’s niece, in his pilgrimage. That’s a big story.”
Raisa sighed seeing the dilemma.
“Is going to Malliae really necessary?” she asked.
“I’m being followed by someone with the same mannerisms as my father, so I need to be sure that he’s really dead. The paranoia is eating me alive.”
After a pause, Palamedes asked, “You’re going to dig him up, aren’t you?”
“No!” Pen shouted. “No, I just need to see the grave, make sure he’s there. I’m not going to desecrate it. I just … I don’t … fuck, I might have to.”
“Okay, hold on,” Raisa said. “It’s morbid, but if we need to, then we’ll see. For now, we need to break away from the Followers. Pen, talk to the High Priest in the morning before we move out. Convince him you need to go on your own mission. I’ll follow you but not right away, we don’t want others thinking they can too. Head directly south from camp and I’ll find you, just leave an obvious trail.”
“Okay,” Pen nodded, feeling a little better with a plan in mind.
She focused on the pain in her hand as a distraction as they headed back to camp.
“Um, sir?” Pen asked.
The High Priest looked up from tightening his belt and smiled.
“No need to be so formal. What can I do for you?” he asked.
The camp of Followers around them was slowly waking itself. People were rolling up blankets and extinguishing fires. Pen felt their eyes, filled with curiosity and caution. Her hands shook at the feeling, but she managed to hide it in her cloak. She didn’t want to be rude, so she forced herself to smile back, but she couldn’t wait to be rid of them.
“I needed to get out of the city quickly, and you helped perfectly with that, but I’m on my own journey south of here.”
“And you couldn’t bring this up last night?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d say, so yeah, I stalled.”
He sighed, clearly disappointed. Pen swallowed her nerves and reminded herself that, yes, this man was kind, but he wasn’t actually her grandfather that she had to please.
“I’ll be with you in spirit,” she found herself saying, rather awkwardly.
The High Priest grinned and nodded. “Then that is all we need. Perhaps, I can provide you with an escort on this mission. I’m sure there are more than a few willing to help you.”
“No, but you have my thanks. I hope your journey is a safe one.”
“It will be with Phaos guiding us,” the High Priest said with a hand on the sword hilt. “And may yours be safe as well.”
Pen gave a small bow to the priest who returned the gesture. With that, she left the pilgrimage behind, and Pen rushed off away from the cr
owd. As she entered the tree line south of the road, she heard someone call out.
Pen kept walking and couldn’t look back. Once she was behind the trees, she finally felt safe again, away from the eyes.
Picking at the scab on her hand again, Pen let the blood flow but didn’t form it. She left smears of blood at shoulder height on the bark of birch trees. An easy trail for Raisa and Palamedes to find.
After a few minutes of walking, Pen settled under the canopy of leaves.
When Raisa and Palamedes approached, Pen knew they hadn’t seen her yet. She unfolded herself from the pine’s branches, making enough noise to draw their attention.
Raisa shrugged. “All right, but let’s get moving. How far is Malliae?”
“From here, maybe two or three days’ walk.”
Pen started weaving through the trees heading south. Raisa and Palamedes fell into step with her, but she was more concerned about the potential third follower. The man at the lake hadn’t been a hallucination. She had to catch him, even force him to talk if need be. She needed answers.
Pen brushed her hand over a bush casually, hoping Raisa wouldn’t notice the streak of blood she left behind.
A brown hawk flew overhead on their second day. Pen watched it perch in an oak tree, and it studied them right back.
Her father enjoyed watching birds. She never shared the allure, but she admired the combination of grace and power from the hawk.
Turning back to the road at hand, Pen was glad Raisa had taken point this morning.
“So, you don’t talk much.”
Palamedes ripped her attention away from the hawk.
“I didn’t realize I had to,” she replied.
“Well, you don’t,” he shrugged. He pulled out a coin from his pocket. “But it passes the time.”
“I suppose,” Pen gave. “Why did you decide to come with us?”
Palamedes fixed the coin between his first and second fingers and flipped it to the next space with a twitch.
“I just thought I could help,” he said. “Provide another set of eyes for a nightly watch, help hide our tracks while we camp.”
“So, it has nothing to do with my Warrior name?” Pen asked, not bothering to hide the bubbling annoyance.
“Of course it did,” Palamedes said. His voice grew harder. “I wasn’t going to pass an opportunity to travel with one of the most iconic—”
“Stop. Stop right there, just shut up.”
The coin vanished into his palm. Pen was surprised by how hurt he looked.
“I’m not some iconic figurehead who grants divine favors or safety,” Pen snapped.
“I didn’t say that,” Palamedes barked back. “But fine, I’ll leave you alone.”
He pocketed the coin and caught up to Raisa.
From what Pen saw, neither of them spoke, but Raisa glanced back to her.
Pen looked away, mad at herself as well as Palamedes.
“What did you say to Palamedes?” Raisa asked as she sat next to Pen. “He’s been distant all day.”
They sat on a rocky plateau cooking a rabbit Raisa had caught. Pen glanced around taking note that Palamedes had gone.
“I basically told him to leave me alone,” Pen said.
“You really need to learn to be nicer to people. Especially now if you want to mend the Warrior’s reputation.”
“I don’t need anyone breathing down my neck because they think I’m some kind of demigod.”
“But you are one.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter anymore,” Raisa bit back. “I know you’re only helping Aethra because you feel guilty about Tellus, but everyone else is going to see you as the demigod intervening.”
“Aethra?” Palamedes’s voice sounded.
Looking up, Pen saw him walking back with extra firewood under an arm.
“Queen Regent Aethra?” he asked, tossing the wood by the fire. “That’s your friend who’s high in the food chain that you’re helping? What happened to not getting involved in politics?”
Pen held her tongue, a little surprised at his outburst, and the fact that he was directing it at Raisa instead of herself.
“I took the job from her because I was one of the few who knew Pen even existed,” Raisa defended.
“How did the queen know that?”
“Because I saved her from Arus on Pen’s behalf,” Raisa snapped.
Palamedes deflated at the name.
“Wait,” Pen interjected. “You know who Arus is? How bad was this guy? Raisa hardly talks about him and yet—”
“Pen!” Raisa shouted.
“You carried his child,” Pen snapped back. “And I helped you raise her, but you never talked about Arus to me or Drivas. I told you about Arch.”
“You left when Drivas was three. Don’t make it sound like I owe you. And my past shouldn’t be the topic at hand right now.”
Raisa stood, clearly agitated. Palamedes took a step back when she did.
“What should we be talking about, then?” Pen asked glancing to Palamedes. “We might as well talk to pass the time.”
Palamedes glared at her. “Don’t you start mocking me, I was trying to be nice.”
“Shut up, everyone!” Raisa held her arms out as if holding them off.
As Pen stood, feeling awkward being the only one sitting, Raisa pointed at her and grimaced. As if silently holding off another argument.
Pen folded her arms.
“We’re starting to argue for no reason,” Raisa said diplomatically. “But we do need to talk about Malliae.”
“What about it?” Pen asked.
“Is there anything specific we need to do or know? Anything we need to be careful of?” Raisa asked. “Because I went there first when I started looking for you, and one of the farmers I talked to wasn’t happy when I mentioned you.”
Pen swallowed the anger. It stayed there in her stomach.
“You talk to a lot of people there?” she asked.
“A few, but almost all of them were elusive at your name.”
“One of the farmers was probably Arch’s brother,” Pen said. “Given the circumstances, we should probably avoid his family.”
“What circumstances?” Palamedes asked.
“That I killed his brother, my husband.”
“What?” he balked.
Not such a high and mighty icon to follow now, huh? Pen wanted to say.
“It was an accident,” Raisa clarified for her.
“Doesn’t matter. I still killed them,” Pen said.
“Okay,” Palamedes said slowly, as if trying to buy time to let the information sink in. “So we avoid people. Probably go in at night. Do you know where your father is buried?”
“The graveyard is a little outside of town,” Pen replied.
“Well, that’s something.”
“We go in at night,” Raisa said. “We’ll reach the town by midday tomorrow but we’ll wait.”
“We will need shovels,” Pen added. “I need to know my father is there, and that means seeing the evidence.”
Chapter Eight
Pen
The night was colder than it had to be. Pen knew it was a ridiculous thought, but it was like the moon goddess, Zein, sensed her intentions. The sliver of the moon watched them, accusing them of the future crime.
Pen didn’t like it either, but she had to know. Someone was following her, someone who knew her. The idea of her dead father stalking her was just as ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake the idea. She had to see his bones.
Pen swallowed the bile and hatred and pointed at their intended target.
“Milanos stores his tools in that shed,” she explained to Raisa and Palamedes.
“I don’t think robbing your brother-in-law is a good idea,” Raisa said, hiding behind the tree line with her.
“I know, and there are probably dozens of other shovels in this town, but we can’t waste time looking for them. I know there a
re at least two or three in there,” Pen argued.
She remembered the second winter here, the one after her father died. It was a harsh season, and she wanted to help dig out a path from the house to their barn and the road. Milanos was snowed into the tavern that morning, so there was an extra shovel. Arch and his father, Sallis, went to dig them out, but Arch insisted Pen stayed in the house. Granted, she had been six months pregnant with Alard at the time.
Sallis was gone now too, last she heard, and Milanos inherited the farm with his own wife.
“All right,” Raisa sighed. “Palamedes, you have stronger eyes than I do. Stay here and be our watch. Call like a barn owl if you notice anything. Let’s go.”
Moving fast but silently, Pen and Raisa made it to the shed in the dark. Pen felt the house looming over them to their right. They were lucky no windows faced the shed, but she knew the one just behind them was looking to the main bedroom. It was probably Milanos’s now.
Pen took the lock in hand and drew a thin tendril from her right palm. Her cut had nearly healed, so she had to break open one end of it. The tendril snaked forward into the lock. Focusing on the tumblers, she could tell it was a rather simple lock, but she didn’t want to break it completely.
The lock gave almost immediately, and Pen wrenched the door open. The shed was small, only about three feet deep, but it was packed with farming tools. A barrel sat in the corner, reeking of fertilizer. Several rakes, hoes, and a pitchfork leaned against the wall to Pen’s right, along with two shovels.
Pen took one and handed Raisa the other. She then hung the lock in place but didn’t close it.
Pen ran back to the tree line with Raisa beside her.
The call of a barn owl sounded as they were halfway through the clearing, causing Pen’s heart to skip a beat.
“What happened?” she panted when she reached Palamedes a minute later, safe in the trees again.
“Movement in one of windows,” he said watching the house, “and candlelight but it’s gone now.”
Pen controlled her breath and watched the house as well. She didn’t see anything, but Milanos was a light sleeper.
“We need to get moving,” she said. “The graveyard is on the other side of town, and we need to return these before dawn.”
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 5