Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1)

by Philippa Ballantine

  The teeth were the tools of the cat killers, meant to slash the throats of their prey. They knew much about the acquisition of blood.

  Amaranth wove her essence around those things, changes that would make a valuable guardian for her and Fleabane. Her need to escape filled the space around life and death, and demanded it bend to her will.

  The pull of the void was strong, especially in that place. She felt its grip on her heart tighten for a moment, but she had been a child drenched in death and was an old hand at slipping away from it. Amaranth had more trouble avoiding the lure of life, which should have seemed a wonderful option. Except it was not. Instinctively, the woman knew it would burn her up, turn her into a seed of creation, and yank her from the thin line she danced between it and death.

  It was the space in between, Amaranth knew, that was the safest to occupy, but it was a knife-edge she dared every time she ignited her progeny. It would be so easy to topple one way or another.

  Amaranth managed that delicate act, and she felt the fire catch in the creation. Cautiously, she pulled herself away from both life and death, and back to reality.

  The first thing she became aware of was Fleabane’s hand on her good shoulder. Blinking, Amaranth sat up cautiously and looked over her shoulder. The progeny dog lying behind her was breathing, in and out, slowly and smoothly.

  When it raised its head and looked at her with gleaming gold eyes, they were empty of their own will. It was her beast as surely as the beetle-scorpions, but this creation was so much more. It would take a lot more from her.

  Fleabane drew in her breath and her legs, as if afraid the progeny would rip her limbs from her then and there.

  "Don't be afraid," Amaranth said, struggling to her knees. "I have more work to do yet." She wriggled her way over to the other creation, still lying empty in the gore. Despite her own exhaustion, Amaranth knew they would need more than one guardian.

  Once more, she laid down against the length of the beast and drew life and death back into the creation. When she sat up, the world was spinning, but the huge dog progeny clambered to their paws and stood over the women.

  For the first time, for just a moment, Amaranth felt a flicker of fear at what she made. They were huge beasts, strong, well armored, with teeth that could tear out a throat as quickly as thought. Immediately on the heels of that awareness came a surge of pride. She did these things, and she would make sure they were protected.

  Amaranth gestured to the progeny, and the dogs sat back on their haunches. Somehow she had done something different than with the beetle-scorpions. With these two progeny she did not need to put her mind into them, they obeyed her as trained dogs might with the faintest glimmer of their own consciousness.

  "What now?" Fleabane whispered, her gaze darting between the two towering beasts. "Shall we climb out?"

  "Now," Amaranth said, pillowing her head on the rock, "we rest. Tonight we will dare the wilds for good. I think we shall steal some horses from the town—surely riding can't be that hard, and then no one will be able to catch us."

  "What if someone comes to drop something into the pit while it is still light out?"

  Amaranth yawned widely and jerked her head in the direction of her new creations. "They will take care of them. Don't worry, Fleabane. We will need our strength tonight, so try and get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll steal some food." She didn't like saying the word because as soon as she did her stomach curled into an aching knot.

  She could barely manage any more words at all. Tiredness swelled and washed over her, and with the burning eyes of the canine progeny watching over her, Amaranth gave into it and let it carry her away from all her worries.

  When the cold nose of the dog progeny nudged at her, Amaranth almost rolled over to try and get comfortable. It was strange how the gore and rank awfulness of the pit became almost soothing. The second beast pushed her on the other side with its broad muzzle, and she reluctantly levered herself up.

  Above, the sky clouded over and the light dimmed. They would have no stars or friendly moon to guide them tonight. She woke Fleabane as gently as she could, but even so the girl leapt up with a strangled gasp, and Amaranth had to muffle it with her one hand.

  Her eyes were wide over the top of Amaranth's remaining fingers, but she soon came back to herself. Fleabane pushed the hand away, and swallowed hard. "Is it time?" she asked hesitantly.

  Amaranth nodded and let Fleabane help her to her feet. The older girl still felt worn out by the creation of the progeny, but she held out her hand. The remaining beetle-scorpions scurried up her arm and into her hair once more. They were very few in number now, but Amaranth would not leave her brave little warriors behind.

  After they pushed open the grating, the two young women crawled out of the carrion pit and emerged once more into the open. The new dog progeny leapt easily up to stand beside them. It was odd, Amaranth thought, the pit seemed such a vile place only the night before, but she felt exposed standing out in the open.

  "They need names," Fleabane whispered at her side. She was looking at the massive creations, and Amaranth could tell they still unnerved her. Maybe wanting to name them was her way of dealing with that fear.

  The two beasts swung their heads towards their mistress. Both were eye to eye with her, but there were differences. One had white front paws and a crooked ear, while the other was a shaggy grey beast, at least in the parts of dog hide that remained to him.

  "Ceelut," Amaranth said, touching the flank of the white-pawed one. "And Cedejo," she said resting her hand between the gleaming gold eyes of the shaggy haired one.

  They both performed a strange step back, as if acknowledging their new names. Amaranth frowned and shared a glance with Fleabane.

  The younger girl swallowed hard, her face folding into a concerned shape. They never talked of what Amaranth could do—too busy trying to formulate a way to use it to escape—but now they were enmeshed in it. Even though it was chilly with the sun setting, Amaranth felt a narrow trickle of sweat run down her back, disturbing the tiny creations that still clung to her.

  She would not—she could not—open that subject up. If she did, Amaranth feared the whole rock pile of realizations would come tumbling down on them both.

  Instead, she held out her hand for Fleabane, and the younger woman took it, squeezing it with surprising strength. They set off for the town once more with Ceelut and Cedejo trailing behind.

  Amaranth knew the whole group reeked—how could they not, after a whole day in the offal pit? —but if the town locked itself up at night, and used the wild dogs as deterrent for any would-be escapees or intruders, then the young women would not meet any human resistance.

  Off in the distance the howls came again, and Ceelut raised his head and snarled. It was a wet, guttural sound completely different from the noises he made when he was alive the night before. Cedejo joined him, and before Amaranth could say anything the two progeny bounded off into the gathering night.

  "Should we wait?" Fleabane asked, her voice hovering somewhere between relief and fear.

  "They have senses stronger than ours," Amaranth replied. As if on cue, a great cacophony of howls and unearthly screams echoed out to the right of where they stood. She knew her creations well; they were no longer beasts of the wild, they were hers, and they were killers.

  "Come on," she said as calmly as she could over the rising pride swelling in her chest. "Let us take what we need from the town."

  They entered once more, and all was as it had been the previous night. Fleabane soon located a stable off to the right, and showed her own brand of creativity by breaking the lock with a few heavy strikes from a stone. Inside was the musty, earthy smell of horses. Amaranth saw how very beautiful they were, almost as wonderful as the stories she listened to from the pit drivers.

  She could barely contain her excitement as she rushed towards them. The smell of blood and the sudden approach was definitely the wrong way to introduce herself to these creatures.
The pair of horses screamed and reared back on their hind legs, their eyes rolling all white in their skulls. Before either young woman could do anything, they tossed their heads wildly, and bolted from the stable, kicking their feet high in the air.

  Fleabane screamed in frustration, slapping her hand against the wall of the stable. It was a display Amaranth knew her traveling companion would be embarrassed about later, so she quickly scoured the stable for anything else useful. She found a couple of leather coats, and a saddle bag full of strange white lumps.

  Her stomach rumbled, and despite their odd shape, Amaranth dropped one into her mouth. The flood of sweetness nearly made her break into tears.

  "Try this," she said to Fleabane. The girl looked up at her, pulled her despair back, and slipped one of the lumps into her mouth.

  Both young woman grinned at each other, because there were no words to convey the simple joy of it. Fleabane flipped into one of the coats, and then wordlessly helped Amaranth wriggle into the other. They smelt of horse, but compared to what they lived with even before the offal pit, the odor was sweet.

  "We'll find another stable," Amaranth said. "There will be other horses."

  They left through the broken door and snuck out into the streets once more. With the surge of sudden energy that odd food had given them, even Amaranth felt enlivened. They could not find another stable; instead following the flow of the streets they reached a central plaza.

  Amaranth's eyes widened at what she saw. The building in the middle of the central square wrapped around three sides of it, and it had more windows gleaming with lamplight than she could have imagined. Around it stood a tall, fancy iron gate, which obviously protected the front entrance from wild dog intrusion. It was the only sign of practicality in their beautiful building. When she was little, her mother whispered stories of priestesses and progeny, and lost sinners who found love. They were impossibly handsome and lovely and lived in palaces made of white stone.

  To Amaranth's eyes, the building looked like one of those places. Glass windows. She heard the words from her mother's lips but never imagined seeing them herself. They shone and sparkled and made Amaranth feel as insignificant as the creations hiding beneath her dirty hair. Her newfound pride drained away from her.

  As her gaze raked over the square, taking in the fine cobbled streets, and even a gushing fountain in the middle of it, she realized she was seeing all the things the pit drivers' trade had brought them. Everything within sight had been supplied through the commerce of blood and pain.

  She should have wanted to smash it, but all she felt was the dull ache of resignation. It was all so much bigger than she imagined.

  "Let's at least drink from their fountain," she whispered to Fleabane, but just as she lurched to her feet, Fleabane's strong fingers dug into the older girl's arm and tugged her back.

  Tears of frustration sprung up in the corner of Amaranth's eyes, but she hunkered down in the shadows. Fleabane patted her arm as if she knew it was the right thing to do to provide comfort, but had no idea how to actually perform the gesture.

  They heard the men coming long before they saw them. They were laughing loudly as they came down the main steps towards the iron gates, and they were certainly not making any effort at stealth. Everything from the swing of their legs to their broad grins said this place was theirs, and they were completely at ease.

  These were not regular pit drivers. Amaranth realized that as soon as they came into view. They had strange metallic plates over their chests, legs and arms, and they glittered almost as much as the windows about them.

  "Did you bring your wife's jewelry then?" one with a thick red beard asked his companion with a sly smile.

  "What do you think?" his friend asked, and fished out a thick collar of gold from a bag hanging from his shoulder. "I told her if the child in her belly wasn't a boy this time, then she would be sorry. She didn't listen, so time to pay up. About time she realized who is in charge."

  They laughed at that, and Amaranth felt her mouth go dry. The world was a more dangerous place for her than just being an escaped spare parts creature. She was a woman, and if those two were any example of how they were treated beyond the pit, then she and Fleabane would have to be careful.

  The two escapees watched from the shadows, pressing themselves against the rough stone of the house as the men opened the gate and sat down on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the square, thus making sure Amaranth and Fleabane would be getting no respite from their thirst any time soon.

  They had long swords and perhaps that was why they appeared unafraid of the dogs. Amaranth reached out, feeling Ceelut and Cedejo nearby, and called them to her. When they bounded out of the night and stood next to the young women, she felt more powerful. Their gold eyes gleamed when they settled on the men, but unlike mortal dogs, they did not growl, although Amaranth felt them straining to tear them limb from limb.

  Something about the men gave her pause. Though their talk became cruder and louder, and it was all of women and their place in the world, they exuded purpose while they sat there, and it made Amaranth curious just what that might be. The night was moving on, and soon enough it would be light. Her interest began to wane, even as her thirst turned her throat into a dry pit. Did they have nothing better to do than stymy her plans?

  Luckily, just before Amaranth began to seriously consider using her progeny to fix the problem, another sound echoed through the quiet streets; the creak of wheels and the rattle of many little metallic objects. From a street to the right, a brightly painted little cart pulled by a high-stepping white horse appeared. As it made its way out of the darkness, she saw it was driven by a woman the kind of which Amaranth had never seen before. She was tall, but the little clothing she wore displayed an array of well-muscled limbs, and she was so white she appeared to glow in the half-light. Her long blue hair was thick and curled down around her like a cloud as she drove the cart. It seemed to move on unseen winds, or as if it had a life of its own, like the stories of the sea creatures Amaranth's mother frightened her with.

  The men seated at the fountain straightened up as she drew near, and all their talk of women's flesh stopped.

  Amaranth shifted in the shadows, and her progeny, both dog and beetle, moved nervously, waiting for her command. Fleabane caught her eye and shrugged. They could afford to wait a moment and see what was unfolding before them.

  The woman pulled her brightly painted cart to a halt right in front of the fountain and leapt down. When the men got to their feet, Amaranth abruptly understood how tall the driver of the cart was. She stood at least half a head higher than the men, and by the expressions on their faces they did not care to have to look up at a woman.

  "You have trade?" she asked in a soft whisper. Amaranth and Fleabane in the shadows leaned forward to catch her words.

  "Yes," the burly man said, thrusting forward the necklace. "I want my next child to be a boy... make him a boy..."

  The woman's blue hair turned and twisted on itself, as if thinking of an answer, but she took the bauble from the man without a comment. When she held it up to the light, the gems in it flared bright. It was an odd effect Amaranth did not understand at all.

  "It is acceptable," the blue-haired woman said conversationally before turning to the man, "but you are not." Her fingers ran along the line of his chin, and Amaranth could have sworn she saw a shudder pass through his body. "You will go home tonight and thank whatever gods you believe in for your healthy children, and the wife who gave them to you. When she bears you more girls, you will know the true joy the feminine can give you and rejoice."

  The man nodded, as if in the midst of a delightful dream, but the friend at his side was not so impressed.

  "That was not what was agreed on!" He darted forward, buried his hand in her vibrant hair, and made to yank her head back. After that Amaranth knew full well what he meant to do, but it seemed he chose the wrong person.

  The rest of the female driver's hai
r grew darker, and even at a distance the women in the shadows felt the sizzle of the moment before a storm danced over their skin. Amaranth's progeny scampered from her back, down her arms and pooled at her feet, waving their antenna and pincers in some kind of frenzy. Ceelut and Cedejo crouched down, ready to spring if Amaranth commanded it, muscles bunching to take down whichever of those actors she didn't like.

  Amaranth, however, did not move at all, her eyes fixed on the action by the fountain. The balance of power changed because the strange woman moved as fluidly as rainwater. Her hair was held in place by the man, but her body could still move. She pivoted on his grip, swinging around so she ended up behind him. Somehow she ended up with one of her hands pinning his wrist against his back. That remarkable hair of hers formed into a collection of tentacles, the thin strands whipping together. One of the tentacles was tight about his throat, and Amaranth heard the man's ragged gasps easily even from across the square.

  As she and Fleabane watched, entranced, the woman's tentacle hair flashed white and blue as she whispered something into her assailant's ear—something that made his eyes go wide.

  A heartbeat later, she released him. He dropped to the ground like a sack of meat, and it was a long moment before he scrambled to his feet, rubbing at his throat. He and his friend wobbled their way back through the iron gate, locked it behind them, and then staggered up the stairs they so confidently strode down not so long before.

  The woman shook her head, and her feral smile sent shivers down Amaranth's spine. The cart owner tossed the jewels in her hand thoughtfully, and then turned in the direction of the escapees as if she knew their exact location all the time. "You can come out now, little ones."

  Amaranth's beetle-scorpions chittered among themselves, shifting their carapaces in nervousness or delight; it was hard for even their mistress to decide. Ceelut and Cedejo let out strained whines of confusion, while the two young women shared a glance. In the end, it was Amaranth who staggered to her feet and emerged first.