Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1)

by Philippa Ballantine

  No one took notice of their arrival on a supanna, which felt a little strange, but then the Lightkeeper was not the only one who could create flying progeny. It was a good thing to remember, since Isobah's city could be attacked at any moment. Perhaps that was the Lightkeeper's reasoning for sending them. If alliances could be made it might ensure the survival of Diligence.

  As he set off, the memories began to wash over him, and try as he might he couldn't hold them back. Isobah turned a corner, orientating himself by the light leaking out from the God Void and telling him precisely where north was, and realized the smell wasn't there. She stopped somewhere behind him.

  "By the clouds, Feculent!" He turned on his heel and discovered she stopped stock still in the midst of the street.

  Even though his blood should have commanded her, the homunculus stared at an old man begging in the shade of a ramshackle house.

  "Feculent," Isobah called again, feeling his annoyance boil up. She did not move, and he was forced to stride back to her.

  In their short time together he had not observed the creation taking notice of anything...not even him. However, now she stood mere feet from the crumpled old man, peering at him through her white eyes, as if he were the most interesting object one could ever hope to find.

  Isobah paused for a moment to examine the person who had her so enthralled. He was missing a leg, clothed in rags, and looked very uncomfortable with the homunculus's attention fixed on him.

  Most people ignored such as the beggar, but Feculent's gaze traveled over him as if there was some secret to be learned. Isobah didn't see anything unusual about the man, except his extreme age, which was apparent in his vast array of wrinkles.

  "A groat to spare?" the beggar finally asked with a rattling wheeze. Maybe he hoped it would drive them away.

  Isobah fished in his pocket, produced five of them, and dropped them into the tin cup leaning against the man's remaining leg.

  The man grinned at him through a row of teeth that was sparse at best. Feculent did not stop staring.

  "He's not that interesting," Isobah grumbled, and, doing what he had wanted to avoid doing through all this ridiculous performance, he grabbed her hand and tugged her away.

  Her cold fingers were like five dead fish in his grip, and he had to swallow hard. Isobah had seen men disemboweled, the faithful fall to their deaths for their goddess, and children's heads cracked open in the name of sin, and yet the creature distressed him in a far more primitive way. The priests created homunculus and progeny to serve the will of their deity, but for some reason, Feculent did not seem right.

  The citizens of Penance did not appear to notice, but then those that lived in spitting distance of the God Void grew rather used to strangeness. Ploughing through the crush of people, Isobah guided them towards the temples, up the very slight incline of the plateau. The deadly waterfall naturally tumbled off the lowest point of the mountain, but the highest was the goal for every priest, priestess and pilgrim who reached the city.

  The smell reached Isobah first, and initially he blessed it for giving him relief from the stench of Feculent, but then as the odor of the God Void reached him, it began to hurt.

  It felt like nothing he ever experienced, not even really an odor as such, more a burning, stinging feeling in his nostrils and throat. It seemed like every moist portion of him was drying out. He had only come close to such a strange sensation once in his life. Diligence had been flying through a storm, and he was unlucky enough to have sentry duty in one of the guard towers that night. The impression of that event never left him.

  The only difference was in Penance there was no storm—only terrible memories. Despite all that, he forgot the effect the great height of the table-top had on human lungs.

  Isobah drew to the side of the street, Feculent following at his heels, and leaned for a moment against the wall of the nearest house. His breath didn't feel as though it reached his muscles.

  "Quite the sensation, isn't it?" The voice was so low that for a moment Isobah thought it might have been Feculent who spoke.

  He pulled his head up and realized it was someone else entirely. The woman who stopped wore a simple black linen dress, but she was anything but simple. It snapped Isobah out of his discomfort to find himself addressed by such a beautiful and exotic creature.

  Her hair was a deep shade of blue, knotted and tied in sections around her head, while her skin was dappled and stippled in a way that revealed her as one of the Thorn Islanders. No one knew why they looked as they did, but Isobah thought it suited her very well, as if she were a creature of shadow and moonlight.

  "Yes," he said with a cough, unconsciously straightening to his full height, "I am not sure if I care for it much."

  "You'll get used to it," the woman replied with a soft smile, before holding out her hand. "Violet of Thorn."

  The guardsman clasped it, and found himself drawn across to press his nose to hers. The sharing of breath was a custom of her homeland he remembered, but it was still very disconcerting.

  "Ah, Isobah of Diligence," he finally replied after he stepped back.

  It was an unusual occurrence for him to be so disarmed by a woman. He was a guardsman and not without his charm when he wanted. Since Kiya's death he only shared his bed with women, never letting it become more than that. He never had any difficulty filling it, but looking at that attractive woman he suddenly felt strangely uncertain.

  She stared at him with an odd tilt to her head, and he realized her eyes were a clear, pale green like the first leaf of spring. Violet cleared her throat and her gaze darted to his side.

  With a start he understood she was waiting for an introduction to the patchwork at his side. "This is...Feculent...ah...also of Diligence."

  The homunculus miraculously preformed an attempt at a bow while her white eyes never left the newcomer.

  "An interesting creation you have there, Isobah," Violet said, after executing her own, far more graceful bow.

  "You're too kind," the guardsman replied with a twist of his lips. "She is a delivery I am making to the finger temple for my goddess." He looked at her askance. "And what is your business in Penance?"

  Violet gave a slight shrug. "Like most everyone here, I am a simple pilgrim. I have journeyed far to throw my sighs into the Void."

  He wondered what such a beautiful woman could possibly have done, but he didn't want to pry.

  Then she asked him, "And what brings you to Penance, gentleman guardsman?"

  His uniform was not well-known, but he appreciated she recognized its martial style. "I am here serving my Keeper, just like many others."

  Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Oh, but there are so few of your kind here compared to mine."

  For a moment Isobah wondered if she was making a jibe at the color of his skin. Many of the deities who made their home in Rahvas judged based on skin, sex, or indeed which sex shared a person's bed. Then he realized her own dappled tone was unlikely to mean that. She meant there were few guardsmen there. He knew there were limits placed on how many were allowed to be in Penance at one time. Again, that was a change that occurred because of the affair of the three mysterious girl children. The mob of priests and priestesses came close to destroying Penance in the aftermath.

  Violet's gaze flickered over Isobah's face, and he knew immediately from her reaction she read people well. "Oh no," she said softly, "I did not mean that. I am so sorry if I offended you..." She took a step back from him.

  He was just composing some new words that might make her linger a moment, when a horrifying cry rang through the streets.

  Without thinking, Isobah pulled Violet behind him and reached instinctively for his pack and the stash of bladed weapons stored there.

  Violet however pushed past his shoulder with a soft laugh. "They alarm everyone the first time...it is just the eaters."

  She tugged on his elbow, drawing him up the street and closer to the commotion. Isobah let her, while Feculent shambled
after.

  Three women arrayed themselves in a market square and were already drawing quite the crowd. They spread a bright red rug on the cobblestones, and laid themselves spread-eagled, face up to the sky on them. They lay head to head in a triangular formation with sacks next to their hands.

  It was something he had most definitely not seen last time he was there.

  As Isobah watched, the youngest one, who could have only been fifteen at the most, pulled out what looked like a ball made of broken glass. She held it aloft, and cried out, "Who has the sin of lust in their heart?"

  Apparently the citizens had seen it all before because one barrel-chested man shouted out, "To be sure, I am guilty of that sin!" The crowd around him laughed uproariously and Isobah felt a twinge; he knew all too well it was one of his sins. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and didn't look at the beautiful woman standing next to him.

  The man who admitted to it publicly did not look at all embarrassed. Instead, he threw a handful of coins down on the rug next to the girl.

  She nodded, smiled, and while Isobah watched in horror proceeded to stretch her mouth around the fist-sized ball of glass. It seemed impossible she would be able to either fit the construction in her mouth, or not be torn to shreds in the process. He started forward to stop it, but Violet's hand wrapped around his arm.

  "Wait," she whispered in an aside. "This is an everyday occurrence here."

  Looking around, the guardsman realized she was right; no one else in the crowd moved when the bizarre display began. The devourer's mouth stretched around the ball of glass in a way he never imagined possible, and no blood flowed from her delicate flesh when it closed.

  Isobah leaned in, taking an unconscious step forward, jaw clenched in almost sympathetic pain as the young woman finished her meal of broken glass. When she let out a soul-splitting scream, it did not seem to be one of pain but of triumph. Then she licked her lips and proclaimed, "Your sin is gone, go and sin no more."

  "Not likely, but I'll try!" The man grinned, turned, and shouldered his way back out of the crowd.

  The young woman turned her head slightly and Isobah heard her covertly whisper to her cohort lying next to her, "It won't last the hour."

  The three women shared a slight giggle until the next oldest held up her hand from their supine position. Her hand precariously held a ragged bundle of small blades. "Who has the sin of avarice in their hearts?"

  Isobah felt a shudder run across his skin, and he was glad when Violet pulled them out of the mob before he could see a repeat.

  "What was that?" he asked, as she led him back onto the main street and headed towards the temples.

  "The sin eaters have become quite the Penance attraction," she said, flicking one of her bright plaits of hair back off her shoulder. "They can really only perform their trick here, close to the God Void. You will find many such strangely beautiful things in evidence in this city."

  He did not let on that it was not his first visit to Penance, nor that he found her just as beautiful as anything in that damnable city. Feculent naturally chose that moment to let out a low groan, as if she were having all the air let out of her and from all the wrong orifices.

  Isobah felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him, even though it was not his body that did it. He was still supposedly in charge of the ill-made piece of patchwork.

  Violet only laughed. "I think you and your charge will fit right in here."

  They reached the edge of a broad square, thronging with people, and a variety of smells both pleasant and alarming.

  "This is the start of the temple district," Violet told him. "You will find a place to stay here; there are many convenient for pilgrims."

  "You're not going to show me the best ones?" Isobah asked, his brown eyes locking with hers.

  A small smile tweaked the corner of her full lips. "You look like a big boy...and besides, I am meeting some of my people in the tavern." Her eyes flicked towards Feculent, and he understood. No one would want the patchwork following them.

  It was a reminder of their differences, and it jerked him out of far more pleasant thoughts. Still Isobah smiled.

  "But you're not leaving Penance yet, are you, Violet?" he asked.

  When she shook her head, Isobah knew his attraction was not one-sided. "Oh no...I have many, many days to fulfil my promises." She tilted her head. "I am staying at the Priest's Oath boarding house. It's on the very edge of the cliff-face overlooking the waterfall. The views are quite spectacular. You should come see my accommodations sometime."

  Isobah did not tell her he knew it well; it was where he and his family stayed years before. He glanced sideways at Feculent, wondering if he could have someone leave her at the temple. Having her follow him everywhere would be rather unfortunate. "I'd very much like to. Perhaps tomorrow I can call on you?"

  Violet flipped up the hood on her pilgrim's cloak, so only her eyes gleamed from within the shadows. "Perhaps indeed, guardsman."

  With that she turned away, and soon enough she was lost in the crowd.

  Isobah smiled. He always loved a woman with an element of mystery about her. Perhaps his trip to Penance was going to work out better than he thought—maybe he could find a pleasant way to drown out all the memories.

  First however, he had to find his own place to sleep—hopefully one that would not complain about the patchwork. That would probably take some time.

  It would be another test from his goddess, and he would just have to make his way through it as best he could.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friendly Nightmare

  Amaranth was careful to stand very still and watch as Fleabane walked past her, back to the pools. After a moment she turned her head and observed the younger girl submerge herself briefly, washing off Ohian’s blood. The water darkened, sending bubbles of scarlet to the far edge of the pool.

  She kept her eyes fixed on Fleabane as she came back and rifled in the bags hanging from the sides of Ohian’s cart. The young girl said nothing as she dried herself off.

  Realizing the silence might never end, Amaranth took matters into her own hands. When she spoke it was with a flat voice and hands clenched at her sides. "Where did you even get a knife?"

  The smile on Fleabane's face was enough to chill Amaranth to the bone; it was the kind of predatory grin she saw on the lips of certain pit drivers, and it was very different to the meek expressions Fleabane wore back there. "I found it in her cart. I found a lot of things in her cart."

  Gesturing for Amaranth to follow, she led the way to the rear of the vehicle, where the door had been locked but which now hung open. "I picked them," Fleabane informed her with another grin. She pushed open the door and stood back so her fellow escapee could see what lay within.

  It was a little nightmare. Amaranth ground her teeth together so she did not cry out in anger or horror. Shelves lined each side of the cart, and each shelf contained a tray with liquid within. Each tray of liquid contained something that had once been alive.

  Despite her outrage, Amaranth climbed into the cart and carefully examined the trays. Some were part of animals, skin kept moist in a preservative, eyeballs milky with death. Others were human, bits of hands, ears...

  Not able to take the display anymore, fearing she might start throwing things, Amaranth hopped down and stared at Fleabane.

  A look of realization crossed Fleabane's face, perhaps she was grasping her fellow escapee was not so pleased with what she had done. With a little frown she took the other girl's hand in hers. "She was no simple traveler; she was a customer to the drivers of Damnation as well as a chimera. She would have killed me and taken everything you are too."

  Amaranth felt her rage drain out of her, only to be replaced with the odd sensation of shame. "I should have known..." Cedejo pressed against her side, trying to provide support of some kind to his mistress.

  "How could you?" Fleabane asked, squeezing her hand. "You grew up in the pits. Chimera are not talked about there
."

  "But you knew." Amaranth pulled her hand back. "As has just been made plain to me, I need to know the people I travel with, and you are no simple pit creature."

  Fleabane sighed, her body somehow relaxing as if some great weight was removed. "No, I was not born to the pits, nor sold to them. I came willingly...looking for you."

  Amaranth tried very hard to make out if the girl was telling the truth or not. She didn't have much experience to fall back on, but something about Fleabane's expression made her think she was not only being honest, but she desperately wanted Amaranth to see it.

  "For me?" Amaranth paused, closing her eyes, and trying to steady herself. "I don't understand."

  Fleabane kicked a rock and strode away a few steps. "This is the hard bit...I can't explain why I came to find you. There is something I cannot tell you until we are in Penance. My history as well as yours began there."

  "You want me to go with you to this city," Amaranth said, pointing to the body of the chimera, "the very same one she wanted to take me?"

  Fleabane nodded with her lips pressed together into a straight, unhappy line.

  "And why would I go anywhere with you, knowing you are hiding something from me?" Amaranth demanded, her face flushing red.

  When Fleabane rushed over, the dogs snarled, but they subsided when the girl dropped to her knees in front of Amaranth. Taking her hand, she pressed it to her head. "I promise on my very life I mean you nothing but the best, and I am taking you there for your great benefit." She looked up, her eyes locking with Amaranth's. "If I be wrong may my soul be forever burned away."

  Amaranth did not know much about soul; it was a word she only heard screamed when someone was being dragged away. The idea that there was something beyond her own crippled and damaged flesh was an appealing one though.

  She yanked away her hand, and gestured awkwardly for Fleabane to rise to her feet. When the younger girl stood before her, Amaranth cleared her throat. "Very well, I will go with you to this place, but on one condition."

  "Name it," Fleabane said eagerly.

  "If you cannot tell me my story, then tell me some of yours. Tell me of your life before the pit."