Pen fell silent.
Raisa didn’t press the point. She didn’t like how Pen treated Palamedes, but Pen hadn’t known the full context. Granted, if she had bloody tried to talk to him in the first place, this might not have happened.
Then again, Raisa wondered if there really wasn’t a grander plan. She already suspected that Tyndareus was Maniodes; it would fit with Pen admitting that the gods wanted her to stay quiet about it. Stymphalia might be a part of it as well.
She preferred to stay out of politics, but divine intervention was something else entirely. She hated the manipulation.
“Pen?” she said.
She looked up again.
“If the gods were planning anything, would you tell me?”
Pen paused, but eventually said, “I think it would depend on what’s happening, and if it would really help you.”
“What?”
“If you’re in danger, then yes I would. If Drivas was in danger, then also yes,” Pen clarified, “but if they ask me to stay quiet about something, I probably should.”
Raisa sighed, “Okay, that’s better than nothing.”
They continued in silence for the most part.
Xenakis came into view a few days after leaving the Traveler’s Rest. The town was huge, known for its river ports and bridge complex, and the town was practically a city in its own right, having grown around the fork of a river. The bridges on that fork were wide enough to even have their own vendors; so they created an odd triangular central hub to the town.
Pen was paranoid about entering the town, worried about what happened in Kression, but Raisa convinced her with fresh food that they wouldn’t have to hunt themselves. They needed supplies anyway, and Raisa was glad they’d get one night in a proper bed before the mountain trek.
They spent the night in a small inn, debating which path to take through the mountains.
If they went directly east, they’d have to cross two ranges because they split. If they traveled north, they could go around the second range and would pass right through Phaos’s sanctuary. That path was longer, but it was better traveled.
The sanctuary at the top of the mountain might as well be a small town itself, built into the rock. The oracle of Myron was closer to the summit, and it was rumored that at the very top was the entrance to Phaos’s Palace.
It was the destination of the Followers of Phaos as well.
“I think we should just go east,” Pen said eyeing the map Raisa laid out on the table.
“You’re saying that to avoid people, aren’t you?” Raisa accused.
Pen shrugged, trying and failing to deny it.
“We’d be spending too much time climbing over rocks,” Raisa countered. “Going to the sanctuary then east is longer, but it’s an easier path.”
“But there are more cities between those ranges, like Dunamis and Chalcis. We wouldn’t have to sleep in the wilderness so much,” Pen said.
“You love the wilderness,” Raisa said. She realized then who Pen was trying to avoid. “Are you trying to bypass the sanctuary because of the Followers? You could have just told me that.”
Pen sighed. “I didn’t want to run into them again, but that way is the safer path. We’ll have to be cautious of mountain tribesmen, though.”
“They might see it as a divine plan all along,” Raisa said, rolling up the map. “The High Priest definitely will.”
“I’m sure several think I abandoned them.”
“Then you can prove them wrong.”
Stones crunched together under Raisa’s boots as they walked. Xenakis was a few days behind them now, and the sanctuary was only a few hours ahead. They had made good time; even Pen admitted it was a good idea going this way.
Foliage was sparse and the rocks were sharp as they climbed higher. The path wound up the mountain side, and caves dotted the cliffs. They steered away from the caves as much as they could. They were the preferred homes of the mountain tribes, and they weren’t always kind to travelers. They usually left people alone on the Sacred Way to the sanctuary, but there were unpleasant rumors.
The walls of the sanctuary finally came into view on the next cliff above them, and Raisa saw soldiers from Mikrosucros lined the walls and gate. They looked grave.
Each city-state took turns guarding the sanctuary and temples, rotating every two years. From what she heard, those years were easy. They probably only had to deal with a few angry rants, but this place was always neutral. So, any political rivalries or kingly feuds were put aside.
Now, though, the guards by the gate looked haunted.
Raisa saw the reason when they crested the final curve. Pen froze as well, equally horrified.
Bodies were strewn everywhere.
Chapter Sixteen
Pen
Dozens of blue cloaked bodies, stained in blood, were piled on top of each other in a shallow pit on a plateau of the mountain just outside the sanctuary. Rot was just starting to set in, but there was no smell yet. Waxy faces and glassy eyes stared in every direction, but Pen felt all of them on her.
The High Priest caught her eye. He was tossed on top of the pile but had slid down a bit. His kind, grandfatherly face was wrenched open in terror. His eyes angled her way, and she saw his sword was gone.
Pen heard Raisa’s voice, but it was distant. She felt like she was in the pit with the Followers.
Something touched her arm, causing her to flinch. She instinctively went to draw something, but she didn’t have any more open wounds.
Raisa stood next to her with a guard in steel plate armor. His hair and beard were black, though gray was streaked through the temples.
“What happened?” Pen demanded trying to gain air.
“Mountain tribe,” he said, plainly with grave eyes. “I don’t know which one, but they arrived last night as the Followers were camping. They were only about a day away from the sanctuary. Our patrol found them.”
“Why are they just lying in a pit?!” Pen nearly shrieked.
“We just finished collecting the bodies,” he snapped. “I have men gathering kindling for the pyre as we speak.”
“This just happened?”
He nodded. “Last night.”
Pen felt like she was going to vomit. Last night, her and Raisa had been curled up in a shallow, dry cave of their own. Meanwhile, everyone here was being slaughtered.
“You two should go inside,” the guard said. “We’ll take care of everything.”
“No,” Pen said. “No, I’m going to help.”
“There’s no need, lass.”
Pen ignored him. She was glad Raisa didn’t try to stop her either when she took the path down the east side a bit towards a thicker brush of trees.
Her mind was in a haze, and she felt numb. The High Priest’s eyes stared at her, not accusing, but just scared, searching for the savior who never showed up. She could have helped. She could have done something. They could all be alive right now if she hadn’t gone chasing ghosts.
She hardly bothered talking to the other guards she found amongst the trees. She took note of their positions but had to remind herself that they were allies.
Raisa walked back to camp, both arms cradling large bundles of firewood.
They needed a lot, plus kindling to set between the bodies. Several people at the sanctuary asked if she had known any of the Followers. Pen would just shake her head and walk away, not trusting her voice. Raisa stayed talking to a few people.
It took several hours to build the two pyres, and they had to divide the Followers. Given the angle of the plateau, it was difficult to get the bodies to the top.
Pen stood by the pyres as the sun set, still in a daze. She saw the original guard approach with a torch and set the pyres alight.
He stood next to Pen as they burned. She didn’t care why. The stench of cooked meat and burnt hair made her want to vomit again. She clamped her teeth shut and tried to breathe shallowly.
“Did you know any of th
em?” he asked her.
She was getting sick of that question.
“No,” she replied this time, hoping the detail would shut him up. “I did travel with them for a bit.”
He nodded but said nothing. Pen was thankful for that.
“Is there any place my friend and I can stay the night?” she asked.
“The Pandokeion is open to everyone. You’ll find a space there.”
“Thank you,” she muttered before leaving.
She left the guard there to watch over the pyres as she went to look for Raisa.
She hadn’t found Raisa but knew they would find each other in the morning. Raisa might still be talking to the guards anyway.
It took a while for Pen to find the Pandokeion. Exhaustion was setting into her bones, and there was no moon to light the way. There were a few building and small temples along the winding way. Eventually, she found a wide building with columns lining the front.
She stopped when she saw the people sleeping inside the Pandokeion. The dozen people huddled in the corner bore a resemblance to the grave pit in the darkness. She had to swallow bile at the reminder.
The wide, empty room could have housed the entire fellowship of Followers rather tightly, which made the bundle of them in the corner look all the more lonely. Most of them still had their blue cloaks over bandages, stained with blood and dirt.
They were the survivors, the last of the Kression Followers.
A chill shot up her spine at the sight of them. She hugged herself but it did nothing.
She took a half step back to sleep outside and leave them, when one of the survivors looked up. Pen knew she hadn’t made a sound, but he must have sensed her presence as she stared at them.
Pen met his eye, his single eye. The other was covered by a stained bandage around his head. That one eye watching her widened.
Pen recognized him too. He was the one who had run to get the High Priest back at Kression.
He stood, using the wall for support, not taking his gaze off her. Pen’s mind was telling her to run, to just leave them be, that they would be better off, but his eye held her there.
His expression hardened, turning from disbelief to confusion to outright rage.
“You left us,” he growled.
The others beside him stirred now.
Pen tried to reply, but her voice faltered. Everything faltered.
“You left us to be slaughtered!”
He staggered towards her. His entire left leg was bandaged, and blood was seeping from his knee.
“You abandoned us!”
A young woman who was laying on a robe with one arm in a sling also stood. All of them were watching her now.
“I didn’t—” Pen tried to explain.
He took her shoulders. “Why did you leave us?!”
There wasn’t much power behind his grip. He was too weak to hurt her, but his words cut through her hazed mind.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, and her voice trembled with him.
His rage faded, but he kept staring. His frame shook, mainly from his leg. Pen carefully took his hand off her, but still supported him.
A sob escaped as his eye closed.
Not sure what to do, feeling just as exposed as him, no doubt, Pen helped him back to the group.
She noted that there were only nine of them, including the one who confronted her.
“Warrior?” the woman with the sling whispered. “Did Lord Phaos plan for this?”
“No,” Pen replied immediately, not caring what Phaos’s intentions were. “No god would want this.”
“Leander would,” an older dark-skinned man said.
“This was hardly a battle for war,” the one-eyed man said.
“What exactly happened?” Pen asked, sitting with them.
“We were camping outside the walls about a day away,” the woman said. “Waiting to enter at the next sunrise, but they just …”
“A group of tribesmen came out of the trees. They seemed to unfold from the rock too, and started slaughtering people. There was a huge brute who didn’t even use a weapon, just his hands,” the older man said when the woman’s voice died away. “They took any gold we had and hauled off a few women.”
Pen shivered again, it was just blind robbery and slaughter. That had probably been why the High Priest’s sword was gone, it was taken. She wondered if he even had the chance to draw it.
“Why did you leave us?” the one-eyed man asked again, kinder this time.
“I had my own journey,” Pen replied, not wanting to explain anything about her father. “I still do, unfortunately, so I can’t stay.”
She didn’t want them building up any hope of her protecting them this time. It hurt her to say, but it was true, and she didn’t want to mislead them again.
His gaze dropped but he nodded.
“What are your names?” she asked.
“Danaris, miss,” the one-eyed man gave. He gestured to the elderly man and the woman. “That’s Orrin and Karenae.”
He told her the names of everyone, but the last few slipped from her mind. She was never good with names.
“I’ll stay the night,” Pen told them, “but my friend and I are leaving in the morning.”
“Warrior?” Orrin asked. “Does Lord Phaos know what happened to us? Does he know our plight?”
Pen could hardly bear the hope combined with misery in his soft features.
“I’ll make sure he does,” she promised. “And I’ll stay up while you sleep. I won’t let anything else happen.”
Chapter Seventeen
Pen
Raisa found them the next morning. She had been with the Mikrosucros guards in the barracks apparently, learning the same story of the attack but from the soldiers.
Several of the guards came with her to the Pandokeion too, bringing enough bread and cheese for everyone. The dark-haired main guard came and asked to meet them outside.
The three of them left, and Pen followed him to the well in the central path. Raisa introduced him as Stamatis when they stopped, and Pen hoped she would remember his name given her sleepless night.
Pen saw the Temple of Shining Phaos farther up the mountain. It was a huge temple of white marble with columns around the entire thing. Remembering the entrance to Skiachora again, a single cave mouth tucked away into the rock, she wondered if the way to Phaos’s Palace was nearby. It was rather populated here, so she didn’t know where it could be hidden.
Stamatis was kind and offered them an escort down the mountain side. Raisa refused it, thankfully, so Pen didn’t have to talk much. Once their provisions were topped up, her and Raisa left the sanctuary, and Pen was all too aware of the eyes staring at her back.
At one point, her right leg gave out then over some loose gravel, but Raisa managed to catch her before she fell over the cliffside.
Pen cursed as she straightened herself again. The cliffs were sharper here, and the drop could easily kill her.
“Are you all right?” Raisa asked, helping Pen regain her balance. “You seem very distracted right now.”
Pen sighed. “I’m fine, but I met the survivors of that attack. So, yeah, I’m a little distracted.”
It took two full days to climb down the mountain and longer again to skirt around the north side of the eastern range. Pen watched every cave they passed, almost hoping some tribesmen would appear. Her thoughts circled around revenge as they walked.
As night fell, they found a shallow cave only deep enough to hold a handful of people. They made camp and took turns keeping watch.
Pen couldn’t help but be disappointed that no one came. She kept thinking of Danaris, Orrin, and Karenae, along with the other survivors. She knew they were safe at the sanctuary now, but they deserved better. They needed some semblance of peace.
They traveled along the eastern range for ten more days. They passed a few other travelers, along with another caravan of Phaos’s Followers. Unease settled over her as they passed, but she
didn’t draw attention to herself. She did warn them about the tribesmen and about the other survivors at the temple. They accepted the advice and caution, seemingly grateful, and moved on.
Pen was aware of Raisa watching her then too, but she didn’t say anything until they were out of earshot.
“What are you staring at?”
“I thought you were going to volunteer to go with them,” Raisa said. “I didn’t want to convince you otherwise, but I would have too.”
“Part of me wanted to go with them,” Pen confessed, “but Stymphalia is too close now.”
She let the idea die in her mind. They would have to fend for themselves.
Eventually, the rocky outcrops smoothed out and grass returned. The rolling plains took over the horizon, and Pen could make out the darker buildings of the city in the distance.
They only had to camp outside for one more night before reaching Stymphalia. Raisa practically hummed while gathering the firewood.
Pen tried to swallow back the trepidation. Few here would recognize her, even the queen, as they’d never actually met. She’d avoided this city after returning Tellus’s body. She wondered now where he was buried.
The orange terracotta roofs of the city inside the walls shone as dawn broke. The main keep and castle stood on the highest hill overlooking the people. Pen had to admit it was a beautiful and imposing sight.
What took Pen by surprise was the town that had grown around the city walls on its southern side. She remembered a few houses and stables being there before, but now thousands of people milled about in this thrown together town.
It didn’t have the richness of Stymphalia either. While most houses within the walls were stone and terracotta, these were wood and thatch. Any space that might have been a path was sunken by water and churned into mud by the constant traffic. People had tried to lay down straw and boards over the worst patches, but it hardly made a difference.
“What happened here?” Pen asked as she and Raisa avoided a coughing man. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly.
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 9