Flynn’s face was fighting a losing battle not to smile. “You might change your mind if you knew me better.”
“Might not,” she countered. “Know you better than a few months back. Ugly deeds, right, but not cruel.”
“I can be cruel,” he admitted, “If there’s a reason for it.”
Shea tried not to be dissuaded. “Better than the sake of it, I guess. Say I want to know you: Innit on me to find out?”
He gave her no response, and Shea didn’t prod. They just watched the night sky together, looking at worlds so distant she had only begun to conceive of their existence. It still sounded so far-fetched, to think one day she might walk on one.
*
It was later in the night when Guardian Poe returned to Yetinau’s throne room. The chamber was vacant, and in the quiet Poe could hear the faint sound of running water. He approached the throne and caressed it, entranced by the possibilities it represented. It was crude and seemed uncomfortable to sit on, but meant liberation from mortality, escape from moral obligation. Divine right.
“Some seat, isn’t it?”
Yetinau had returned, cradling a fresh snifter of wine.
“The Yet-man,” Poe acknowledged with gravitas.
His host grew visibly disparaged. “Somehow, you just sucked all the pizazz out of that. Stick with calling me Yetinau, kid.” Poe wanted to take offense at being referred to as a child, but it was hard to find any ire at one who was so clearly his better. Yetinau leaned on the opposing armrest of his throne, examining Poe from head to foot. “First time I’ve met someone with the vim to become one of us and … and you can just see it, you know?”
“It is this I wish to speak of,” Poe replied. “I stand to inherit a lofty position. What council might you offer, from your own experiences?”
Yetinau jerked suddenly, snorting out the wine he was drinking. After a raucous cough, he pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Immortal, nigh unkillable, and it still stings when something goes out the wrong way! Anyway, I’m really not the best guy to get advice from. Didn’t even know I’d become a god until months after the fact.”
This rightly bewildered Poe. “How does one unknowingly ascend?”
“Well… ” Yetinau settled into his throne. “Used to be a machinist back in Stoten. Get off work one day and I’ve got a few hours left before the cold sets in. Stayed in the bar waaaaay too long when this broad walks in and—and something’s just off about her, you know? She’s eying me, comes up and tells me I’m ‘unique’ and she ‘needs me,’ and … actually it gets fuzzy for a bit after that. Wake up the next morning not nearly as hungover as I should’ve been. She’s gone and I’ve got no idea what she passed me while we were doing the beast with two backs.”
“She taught you nothing of your station, your responsibilities?” Poe asked incredulously.
“Left me like a newborn babe with a chunk of the universe in my hands.” Yetinau shrugged. “So how about you, kid? I know you’re not in my league yet, but how did you get to this point?”
“Three among my present company were sent as messengers by Airia Rousow,” Poe replied, pausing to see if Yetinau responded to the name. “She had uniquely chosen me to inherit her mantle, which has waited unclaimed for centuries. It is … it has been more complicated than I was prepared for. Despite my intended role as Taryl Renivar’s assassin, he and his followers wish me to take the power Airia intends I should claim.”
“To stabilize the trinity that his own divinity is tied to,” Yetinau concluded, to Poe’s relief. Not only was he following the story, but he wasn’t as ignorant as Poe had briefly feared.
“How they have interpreted this wish has fluctuated greatly—while as of late they have expressed content with allowing me to find my own way, my first encounter with the Reahv’li saw me bound and tortured.”
This sparked interest. “Tortured?”
“I was bound naked for days, strung up in the path of a caustic blue light.”
Yetinau approached Poe, examined him. “Hmm … yeah, I see it. There’s a blackness in you, like—like a storm cloud. But there’s light buried within and—just to guess here—maybe they were trying to bring that light back up.”
“And if that light extinguishes?”
“Not an expert here, remember?” Yetinau pointed out. “But … just to field a guess? I’d say you’d lose the stuff.”
“The stuff?” Poe asked.
“To become a god. You could only ever be, well … you.”
Poe didn’t know whether to feel relief or dread. He had clutched so firmly to this entitlement that he’d never before considered his innate qualification was something that could be extinguished. Though he did not understand the nature of it, he held some suspicion. Poe drew the Dark Sword, presenting it to Yetinau.
“This is the Dark Sword, which I tethered to my soul when I was a boy,” Poe explained. “Ever since my torture, it has become subtly heavier.”
Yetinau recoiled. “Keep that thing away. I don’t know why, but somethin’ about it bothers me.”
Though he found this reaction troubling, Poe sheathed the weapon and set some distance between them.
As Yetinau calmed, he continued their conversation. “I’d mentioned before that what’s-her-face passed her godhood to me without asking. After the stories I heard about Taryl Renivar, of the gods who challenged him and fell, I figured that was probably why. Rather than fighting an unwinnable battle, she chose to pass it on to some other guy and let him deal with it.”
“That sounds to be the case,” Poe concurred.
“So tell me,” Yetinau said as he approached Poe once more. “What if I were to retire here and now, and pass the burden of being the God of Neutrality on to you?”
The offer took Poe aback. He’d not forgotten Yetinau’s story of how he’d inherited the power in the first place.
“Would that mean we are obligated to…?”
“To sleep together?” Yetinau asked. “No. I don’t think so.” He didn’t seem bothered by the prospect. “What d’ya say?”
It was tempting. Poe’s quest to find Hapané Maraius had thus far proven fruitless, and if becoming a god was the only step necessary to assuage his guilt for the lives he’d taken, then his journey could end here and now.
“And to be honest, all this hokum about Renivar making a new world and getting rid of all the others—like this fine rock we’re all on right now—do you really think he can pull it off?”
Poe couldn’t deny it seemed far reaching, and hesitated to believe a man like Taryl Renivar had the nerve to follow through even if presented with the possibility. But why not just take this power then? Poe asked himself. Even as he wondered, he doubted Yetinau would so freely offer it up unless he was more afraid than he would admit.
“I cannot,” Poe at last concluded. “There is something out there that is intended to be mine and, in truth, I do not have the will to play the neutral party. I would be a poor god, in that capacity.”
Yetinau cracked half a smile. “Don’t think I would have given it up anyway. Like I said before, I’ve got a good thing going here. Why settle for less?”
*
Several days had passed. Yetinau’s worshippers did nothing to aid their stay, but could do nothing to make them leave. The group took up residence in an unused chamber and provided their own food; so long as they were safe here, there was no urgency to leave.
As Chari walked down the mountain corridor, a pair of Yetinau’s servants passed her by.
“…and they dress so strangely,” one was saying, her voice lowering as Chari approached. “Like that one who’s walking by—is she even wearing anything under those wraps? What if the beads she’s tied up in come loose?”
“Her hair’s weird,” the other added. “How does one have purple hair?”
“Don’t look back, she’ll notice!” the first hissed.
Chari shook her head but paid the two no mind. She stepped into their shared bedcha
mber, its dark recesses lit by the flickering of oil lanterns scavenged from an abandoned encampment nearby. Shadows danced across the walls, and across the faces of Poe and Zella, who were already engaged in conversation.
“They’ve no idea we can understand them, do they?” Chari asked.
“Most have assumed that because we do not look as they do, we cannot speak as they do,” Poe replied. “They have little interest in any of us, save for Zaja.”
“Whom they mainly bow their heads to in deference,” Zella continued. “I advised her to spare any protestations—they will believe what they wish to believe.”
As Chari walked past them to search her satchel for something to eat, Poe spoke to her. “Have we any notion when we are to move again? I’ve asked Flynn more than once, but he only ever tells me it’s for the group to decide.”
Chari sighed heavily before asking, “Yourself aside, Guardian, are any among us ready?” She stood up and turned to him to add, “Are you?”
Poe’s hand touched his left shoulder where he’d been injured. “These last weeks have been harrowing. We were bound to meet a breaking point eventually.”
“Perhaps you should make the best of our time here,” Zella suggested. “You may not have another opportunity to safely share the company of a god.”
He fidgeted uncomfortably at this suggestion. “I … I feel I’ve learned all Yetinau wishes to impart, and I yet have no right to challenge his methods and experiences.”
Chari shook her head in disgust. “Disregard his status for a moment,” she requested. “I’d hear your opinion of the man himself.”
He faltered, and looked to Zella for help. “He was not born a god,” she reminded him. “He was a mortal man, once, as you are now.”
It was another moment before Poe at last admitted, “…He’s a philanderer. He has sequestered a cadre of young women away and nothing is done in this mountain that does not serve his own pleasures.”
Chari expected to feel some satisfaction in hearing someone like Poe tear a god down, but found none. Instead, a sense of familiarity and guilt pervaded her.
“He reminds me of myself,” she confessed. At her companions’ curious glances, she explained, “When I was High Priestess to the Goddess Hapané, all of Cordom revered me. That power came with privilege, and I felt no remorse for exercising it. I had my own lusts, yes, and I would use members of my laity to slake them. They were only a means to satisfy my own urges.”
Zella placed a consoling hand on Chari’s shoulder. “You preached from a cathedral. Yetinau hides in a cave.”
Chari shook her head; she saw no difference.
“That bothers me too,” Poe said. “I have seen the domains of gods, from a lofty estate to an ivory tower. Why does this one hide in a rugged mountain, one that is as homely on the inside as the out?”
“An ostentatious dwelling seems more his speed,” Chari agreed.
Zella shook her head. “He fears he’s being hunted.”
“By whom?!” Chari choked. “Taryl Renivar has a reputation for unmaking those who dare challenge him, yes, but he remains bound on Terrias.”
“I have heard stories that my father has agents who specialize in handling gods. What this means, how far it extends, I don’t know. It may be they are simply tracking their whereabouts for the day the Living God’s shackles break. It may be something more.”
Poe shook his head. “This does not pardon Yetinau’s cowardice.”
“There are some who see my father’s reign as a storm,” Zella replied. “You do not go into the open and challenge a storm. You weather it, wait for it to pass.”
“Then Yetinau is fulfilling his role to a T,” Chari replied. Before Poe could argue, she looked to him and added, “And in that, we may have no right to judge. How can we, so long as we’re hiding here as well?”
It was not a call to action, but a sorry admittance; the horrors they’d witnessed were still fresh in her mind.
*
As the weather turned more bitter, Zaja had to spend most of her time bundled up, for there weren’t many warm places in Chot Vot save for those that Yetinau’s devotees crowded. Outside the mountain, Zaja’s blue skin had alienated her; inside, it was fetishized, and so she spent most of her time avoiding them. No effort had been made by Yetinau to correct the misconception, and the sort of worship they partook in involved the kind of physical contact Zaja doubted she was ready for.
This led her to explore the passages of Chot Vot, and to her discovery of the mountain’s water supply: an underground cavern lit by luminescent moss, with a river whose water was nearly knee high. Upstream, worshippers filled clay vases with drinking water; downstream, they bathed and relieved themselves, with more concern for keeping their tails above the stream than any sense of modesty.
“Some sight, isn’t it?”
Zaja tensed at the male voice behind her, as much for being startled as for being caught watching. “Uh, yeah,” she admitted as she looked at Yetinau, who was kneeling down to wash his face. “Sure wouldn’t see that on Oma. Anywhere. Ever.” She cringed. “Hi … Yeti.”
“Hi…” he replied, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember her name. “You.”
“Zaja. DeSarah.” As Yetinau toweled his hands off with the hem of his shirt, she asked, “Doesn’t the cold bother you?”
He shook his head. “Not for years. Actually, that was one of the first giveaways that I’d stopped being just a mortal guy. Sometimes now, I walk outside naked in the snow. For fun!”
Zaja winced at the absurdity, but found herself in serious thought. An equivalent act would only hasten her demise. Time had effectively stopped for Yetinau Gruent, and if it could stop for her too, that might be the only thing left that would save her life.
“Have to say, Zaja, I figured you’d have come to see me by now. Been years since I’ve seen one of my own, and to be honest, I could use the variety.”
She eyed him warily; if he was suggesting she join his followers, there wasn’t a chance in hell. Her qualms with the role itself aside, she would never have the opportunity to accomplish anything of substance hiding in a cave.
“I have had some questions,” she admitted, before firmly adding, “Not ones concerning your harem.” Dejected, he nonetheless prompted her to go on. It was something that had been eating at her for a long time, and as she tried to find the words, she rubbed her finger in her hair. She unintentionally found the tiny spot on her head where her sickness had flared up and the hair had fallen out. A few strands came with when she pulled her hand back down. “Can I be fixed?”
Yetinau wore an odd expression as he studied her body. “You … look alright to me. I mean, you could fill out a little more up top, but all in all—”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I mean … sorry, I thought maybe you could tell by looking.” Zaja pulled up her shirt just enough to show; the blemishes on her stomach had enlarged and conjoined in the last few months.
“Ugh, you’ve got Nyrikon’s!” Yetinau blanched and took a step back.
Zaja tugged her shirt back down, insulted. “It’s not like it’s contagious! And even if it was, how could a god catch it?”
He nodded reluctantly and slowly stepped back in. “Yeah, still … I’ve seen what happens to people who live long enough with that.” He shuddered before adding, “Wouldn’t want to hit that with a ten-foot pole.”
“Hence the question,” she pressed, to get him back on topic.
“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, no longer looking directly at her. “No question why you’d want to fix it, but there’s nothing I can do. I mean, would if I could, but I can’t … so I won’t. Which is why I don’t.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to,” she said, crossing her arms. “Just … I was told once, back in Yeribelt, that Taryl Renivar could, once he’s free.”
Yetinau smirked. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to laugh … but here, I’ll give you a few bits based on what I know. First of all, if he could
do it when he’s free, he could do it now. Second, Renivar oversees creation, right? That’s his thing? Problem is … I could really use a prop.”
“Huh?”
“Hey!” he yelled. “Someone get me a chair!”
From the nearby passage, a voice piped up. “As you wish, my Lord!”
Yetinau stood patiently, smiling and saying nothing as the sound of running footsteps faded.
“You know, you could just explain—”
“Wait for the prop!”
Zaja sighed, and waited. Within a few minutes, a devotee hurried in, clutching a wooden chair in her hands. She set it before Yetinau, bowed, and left without a word.
“So, this is my favorite chair.”
“You have a favorite chair?” she asked, puzzled.
“No, I—this is just for demonstration, bear with me.” Yetinau picked up the chair and shattered it against the wall; a few of its pieces bounced into the river. “So, pretend for a sec that I’m Taryl Renivar, Creation Guy, and I have the power to fix that chair.” The pieces of the chair remained lifeless on the ground. “I’ll use all the same pieces since creation stems from repurposing existing matter, and we’ll get a chair that looks like the old one. But is it?”
“Would it matter?” she asked.
“Well … okay, for a chair, no,” he admitted. Then, to Zaja’s surprise, he turned somber. “But you’re not a chair, Zaja. You’re a person, and everything about you is wrapped up in more than just your body.” He started to point his finger toward her heart, but stopped halfway at the prospect of touching her. “That new chair might look the same on the outside and be full of, I don’t know, snails on the inside. But if it looks the same, it doesn’t matter.”
She was disappointed, but Zaja understood what he was saying. “Even if I get ‘fixed,’ whatever comes out wouldn’t be me. It might look like me and act like me, but information would be missing … or wrong. Is that it?”
“As I understand it,” he said. “Look, he might be able to make an empty husk or a really good copy, but nothing that guy can do can save you as you are. Even if there’s a way, it would take more than what he’s got.”
Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II Page 30