Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1)

by Philippa Ballantine

  Rowan flinched as they trumpeted their new lives into the trembling temple. It was a primitive sound that thrilled her to the core.

  "You brought them back." With the beasts engrossing her and Vervain, they both forgot about The Pierced Man. He looked up at them, the spines hidden from view, but a grin on his face she did not care for.

  "You shouldn't be shocked," he said, glancing over to where Vervain hung as she let out a tremulous moan. Rowan's sister, the worker of life, abruptly sagged forward in her restraints. "Too much?" The Pierced Man asked almost conversationally before working the straps loose on her wrists. He did it with the casualness of a man buying fruit, or a child examining an injured insect, even though behind him the temple was in an uproar.

  Igniters and stitchers ran every which way, screaming and trying to protect themselves as the great beasts began to get their justice. Thick hunks of rock fell from the ceiling, crashing down. The temple was unstable from the removal of the bones and pillars were already falling. The beasts swung their tusks left and right, levelling stone and priests with impunity. The air hurt to inhale, full of dust and ancient musk. Rowan felt the edge of her own fear make itself known.

  "I think we should make our exit," The Pierced Man said, freeing Vervain and draping her over one shoulder. "You have brought more destruction than even I could have imagined. Impressive but quite dangerous."

  Now that the veil of death had left her, Rowan didn't feel impressive. Only in that moment did she realize that justice for the dead beasts meant the end of the temple. She'd grown up there, prayed on her knees to Serey, and now she was going to be responsible for its destruction. Perhaps there had been no true comfort there, but it was all she had clung to. Also it was more than just Mother she had condemned, she had friends and compatriots here too. Was Tagier going to be able to get out, or had she just killed her? Had she replaced the bones she raised with those of the people she cared about?

  "Too late for remorse," The Pierced Man continued, freeing her of her bindings. "You raised the tide of death, and that sort of power has many consequences." He was remarkably strong, because he was carrying Vervain with ease, and he made to do the same to her.

  Rowan shook him off with raised hands. She didn't want him touching her; everything hurt and everything was ruined. She dropped to her feet and staggered a little. It wasn't just her own weaknesses—the floor of the temple tilted.

  It was hard to think logically with the beasts trumpeting and thrashing around. For a brief moment she wondered where Mother was. It was ridiculous to be worried about their captor and yet she couldn’t disentangle her love for Gentian. She couldn’t simply push away all of her past that quickly. No time for that now, must get out.

  Rowan might know death intimately, but the desire for life filled her, even as a pillar crashed down next to the platform, knocking the supports out from under them. In a storm of dust and rocks, Rowan slid, eyes wide, hands grasping. The large jars Mother took such joy in filling shattered and broke, dousing Rowan with her own blood. She screamed in rage and horror, tumbling over the edge into another fall. She guessed she was about to learn all about death.

  The sudden jerk that ended her fall knocked the breath out of her, but also saved her life. The trunk of the beast was firm but not deadly around her. She caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the wise brown eyes before she found herself placed between the beast's front legs. Fur obscured much of her view, but there was protection to be had, so Rowan didn't run.

  A moment later, The Pierced Man and Vervain were carried in a similar way, and deposited next to her. Even the man looked surprised, and his unsettling smile completely lost. Their savior beast let out an ear-splitting trumpet that rose above the hubbub of the temple destruction. The beasts gathered to the sound. Rowan saw so many thick sturdy legs to the left and right of their own beast. Then he rose up on his back legs and let out another rumbling trumpet.

  It was a signal of some sort, for several of them snatched up the humans, and then they charged. Rowan couldn't breathe as she was carried along with the madness. The beast's hold on her was surprisingly gentle, but the speed they were traveling stole her breath.

  Through her own tangled hair, she saw the exterior wall of the temple loom up an instant before the beast carrying her tucked her under to be held against his chest.

  Perhaps being dead meant death no longer held any fear for the beasts because they slammed into that wall with little care for their own safety. Rowan let out a scream of her own, clutching onto the beast with both hands. Her cry was buried in the tumult of raging beasts, and displaced rock and wood. The wall could not survive such an assault, though it took many of the beasts with it. They were buried beneath a fall of timbers and stone. Rowan felt them join once more the ranks of the dead, yet the rest of the herd broke through into the dying sunlight.

  They climbed over the tumbled remains of the temple and ploughed on towards the beach beyond. Cradled in the beast's trunk, Rowan caught a glimpse of the temple crumbling in on itself. For a moment her thoughts darted to the book she had been working on so carefully. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  The rush of fresh salt air on her face made her dizzy. Tears shook from her eyes, and she didn't know if that was from relief, terror, or shame.

  The three humans were borne along, helpless in the wave of fur and outrage, until the herd had sand beneath them. The herd spread out, grown and babies alike, trumpeting, circling, stamping their feet; there was no other way to interpret it but as joy.

  Their savior beasts carefully placed Vervain, Rowan, and The Pierced Man down on the beach. Rowan staggered on her feet slightly before pushing her bloody, dirty hair from her face and staring up at the one who had carried her. He blocked out the sun with his magnificence. He flapped his ears slowly, trunk twitching as he examined her. Rowan wished she had a name for the animal, but that too had been taken away from them. The priests had not even bothered to write about them, and looking at them, Rowan knew that for a travesty. She smiled, and reached out her hand, but it was too much. The beast that carried The Pierced Man, a female, with shorter tusks, bellowed out a call, and the herd turned.

  Rowan stood, feeling strangely bereft as the beasts moved away from them as quickly as they moved from the temple. The three of them watched the flood of beasts make their way along the shoreline where they found a path, and climbed to the top to the cliff. It was a beautiful sight Rowan did not want to tear herself from, especially being aware what was at her back. When they disappeared from view, she sent a little prayer after them. Plenty of other temples would want such flesh and bone for their own creations, but the southern mountains were not far, and there were still some patches of wild places.

  She turned around to face what they had done; there was no use denying the destruction, and she had been part of it. The temple was ruined, not destroyed completely, but caved in on the beachside. Where it once towered over the ocean, presenting a smooth, flat face towards the waves, it looked as though that face had been beaten. The place where the beasts claimed their freedom was a tumble of rocks with a gaping hole.

  Rowan wondered how many of her fellow priests and priestesses died within. Immediately she knew she didn't have to guess; if she only stretched out her new power she would know everyone. If she called to them, they would line up for her and tell her their names. Unlike animals, humans could do that.

  She didn't want to know, and she didn't want to have that power. Vervain stood with her back to the ocean, hair blowing in the wind, her arms wrapped around herself, and her sister guessed she was thinking the very same thing. Only The Pierced Man seemed content with the outcome.

  Rowan narrowed her gaze on him. Was he really a god? She learned the name, but he was one of the defeated. His temple had been destroyed a century or more ago, so how was he still there if he was a god? She swayed on her feet as the realization hit her; what she did could be considered the power of a god. Raising the dead, and then her sister
bringing them back to life—that was the work of the gods.

  Rowan slowly slid to her knees on the sand. Her old life was as broken as the temple, and blowing away on the sea wind. What was left?

  The man stood over her, looking down. "I know this is all very confusing...but if you look deep enough you will be able tell your so-called Mother is not among the dead. So we should be leaving, I have heard her anger is not a very pretty sight."

  Rowan frowned. She was most certainly was not going to try and find her mother, but if she was alive, then yes, they could not stay. It was Vervain who helped Rowan up. It might not have been very long since they met, but they shared something profound; they pushed back death and gave life to beasts lost centuries ago.

  That didn't mean they couldn't be killed themselves. They were weak gods indeed who needed saving by The Pierced Man.

  "So what do you suggest?" Rowan asked him finally, leaning into Vervain and staring at the smoking ruins of the temple with eyes that felt dry and painful.

  "Well, if it was just me disappearing would be no problem," he rubbed his cheek, "but luckily, there are still other options." He glanced at Vervain. "You feel them close, so bring them to us."

  Vervain sighed slightly, but seemed unable to speak. Finally, she raised her head and looked to the north of the beach. On cue three horses emerged from the rocks and galloped towards them. They were not the kind of horses Rowan was used to. The temple had cart horses, mules and donkeys, but the three that approached were entirely different. They were tall, much taller than even her mother's stallion, and they carried themselves with a proud arch to their neck.

  They were beautiful, wild looking, and had no kind of saddle or bridle.

  "Life listens to you and obeys, my lady," The Pierced Man said with a slightly sarcastic bow towards Vervain.

  Her sister looked stunned. "I don't know how..."

  She was a Zoeker, magic was different for them, so how she could possibly process it all Rowan could only guess. Her own belief systems were as crumbled as the temple at their backs, so she had nothing to offer.

  The three of them scrambled up as best they could. The horses had wide backs, which was a good thing since Rowan's experience was riding a donkey in the wake of her mother. When they set off, Rowan had to immediately lurch forward and grab hold of her horse's mane. Strangely, for a wild animal, the horse stopped until she had regained her seat. Then when it moved off it was at a pace she was able to tolerate. It had to be some of Vervain's magic making the creature so considerate.

  Glancing to her left, Rowan saw how The Pierced Man rode his horse with amazing grace, while on her right Vervain sat with just as much confidence. They followed the path the beasts of fur and trunk had taken, but once on the cliff top the Pierced Men led the way north towards the forests. For a while, Rowan was only able to concentrate on keeping her seat, and not on anything else. Truthfully, it was a blessing to have her brain occupied.

  They trotted into the pine forest, and though there was no road, the man seemed to find a path acceptable to the horses. They slowed even further, and Rowan, feeling a little more secure, began to replay all that happened to them in her head. It still didn't feel quite real, but the dust and hair on her seemed to deny that hope.

  Also, her new senses confirmed how much she changed. She felt their presence; the dead were close here too. Rowan felt the eyes of the dead foresters following her. Animals had been torn apart by each other and humans. Even in that remote spot, death was present in life.

  Rowan glanced at her sister again and wondered what Vervain was thinking. From the outside she looked an icy statue of normalcy, and Rowan wondered what the forest felt like to her. As much as there was death in the trees, there was layer upon layer of life in it too.

  Staring down at her hands, Rowan tried to recall the pattern she'd seen Vervain wield. Had she done that same thing when she called death to her? Suddenly there were far too many questions in a world where she thought her mother had all the answers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  One of the Pilgrims

  Fleabane drove the cart with utmost skill and calmness, even though everything around them was anything but calm. Amaranth clutched onto the cart and fought the urge to clamber to the back and hide. Instead, she kept her head down, not because she was afraid of being recognized as a child of the pit, but because she did not want to meet anyone's eye.

  Pilgrims crowded around the cart, pushing and shoving each other and banging against the side. Their shouts rang out as Fleabane drove, and the words were most definitely unkind. Amaranth had been forced to shut the dogs into the cart, since she was afraid they would eventually rip someone apart for being so close to her.

  It was not just an aural assault, however, there were smells as well, odors so unfamiliar Amaranth was not sure if they were pleasant or not. Up ahead a man on a beast—which Fleabane informed her was a camel—carried a silver case on a chain. It smoked and billowed out perfumed clouds as he swung it back and forward. It was quite an amazing feat how he managed to hold onto the beast's back with his knees while doing it. Others had cattle, which dropped their dung liberally on the road just ahead of Fleabane and Amaranth.

  To top the whole experience off, her stomach rumbled, but the combination of odors made it impossible for her to contemplate food. The closer they got to the city of Penance, the less in control she became, and the more power she ceded to Fleabane. When they were in the pit, Amaranth felt in charge, telling the younger woman what to do, planning the escape, making it happen. Now, their roles were reversed and she did not like it one little bit.

  Ceelut growled behind her, peering through the wickerwork of the cart door. Glancing back, Amaranth felt a little better; she was not the only one unhappy about the situation.

  In order to take her mind off it all, she tried to engage Fleabane in conversation. "So you seem to know this road pretty well."

  Fleabane kept her eyes straight ahead, but gave a little shrug. "I've traveled it a few times with my mother. It is very busy this time though. So many pilgrims leave it until the very end to try and reach the start of congress."

  "This congress thing you told me about, it is happening soon?"

  Fleabane gave a terse nod. "The clergy are already in Penance, but it will be another month until the negotiation and competitions begin."

  Amaranth almost asked why Fleabane and her mother went there at such a difficult time, but she knew it would be a wasted breath; her mysterious companion would only dance around the question.

  She tried to find some easier, more banal queries. "Tell me about this God Void."

  Fleabane's eyes lit up at the mention of it. She slapped Hestia's reins and guided her around a knot of pilgrims on foot who stopped to gulp down some water. "It is the place the gods come from...or did. They say it is many generations since a real god left there..."

  " Why don't people go in and look for them?" Amaranth asked the question half-jokingly, since it seemed such an absurd idea.

  When Fleabane turned, her face was extremely serious. "Oh, no mortal can go into the Void. It would tear the flesh from their bones and their spirt from reality. Once in the Void there is no afterlife, no reincarnation, nothing. They wouldn't get two steps."

  Amaranth was not really sure how much she believed. She had no stock in the gods before because they apparently had no stock in her. When she was in the process of being sliced up, none of them came to save her. However, the fervent glow of belief gathered so tightly around Fleabane, it made her uncomfortable.

  She shuffled on her seat and turned away for a bit, pretending to examine the pilgrims around them. The sun dragged itself slowly towards the horizon, and the bleak desert landscape began to turn beautiful shades of scarlet and gold. Even in the pits this time of the day was beautiful. The scorpion-beetles still hidden in her hair moved, rattling their pincers. She wasn't sure if they still harbored memories of their home, but Amaranth found herself more alert, as if in
response.

  "Mother will be so glad to see you." Fleabane's murmur was so low Amaranth nearly missed it. Still, she turned and stared at her companion.

  "I've never had anyone glad to see me...even the pit drivers." They shared a hesitant smile, and she got the distinct impression that beneath it all Fleabane was excited to see her mother. It must have been a long time since she had. It was hard to be accurate, but Amaranth was sure her companion must have been in the pits for nearly a year.

  A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she frowned. "You called yourself Fleabane, but that can't have been what your mother named you. What is your real name?"

  Her companion grinned almost as bright as the disappearing sun. "Fleabane. You gave me the name, so that is what it is."

  Horror washed over Amaranth. "I didn't mean to, and you don't need keep it."

  Fleabane nodded. "Well, you did. You saw I had no fleas that first day in the pit and that's what you called me. It's my only name now."

  Amaranth was aghast—not just that she inadvertently gave the other girl a name, but also that she would cling to it so stubbornly. She wanted to yell at her that it was simply ridiculous, but a truth was becoming apparent: Fleabane was mad.

  Though she claimed Ohian was the insane one, Amaranth was sure the same could be said of her companion. What was she going to do about it? It wasn't as if she could jump down into the mob of pilgrims and find her way in the world with someone new.

  They would know, or they would find out, she was a pit child. Soon enough someone would sell her back to them.