Neutral: A Curse of the Gods Novella (Book 4.5)

by Washington, Jane

  I grabbed what I needed and then strode back to her, watching as she turned on her heel, whipping about to face me. I pulled the crossbow up, balanced it, and took aim.

  “Wait!” she screamed, holding both of her hands up, her eyes wide and terrified. I took a step closer. She took several shaky steps backwards. “Wait ...” she repeated, as though attempting to calm a crazed person. “Cyrus ... I don’t think it will work. Please don’t do this. I believe you, whatever you say, just don’t shoot me with that thing to prove your point. I swear, I believe you!”

  I frowned, glancing down at the crossbow. “Did I pick the wrong weapon? I figured this would be preferable. More comfortable, for a dweller.” I wasn’t actually going to shoot her, but she didn’t need to know that.

  For a fraction of a click, the snarl started to tip up the side of her mouth again, but she quickly managed to get herself back under control. Gods, she was cute.

  “It isn’t the nicest way to die,” she reminded me.

  I set the crossbow aside. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

  She relaxed then, the tension draining out of her shoulders, the anger flooding back into her face. I raised my right hand, directing my energy toward her.

  “I will do it this way instead,” I conceded.

  She started forward, as though to rush me, but had barely taken two steps before I willed her to faint. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, but I quickly caught her, pulling her up into my arms and carrying her over to the couch. I set her down, and then crouched beside her, waiting for her to wake up and be a little less argumentative about her new, godly state. I hadn’t actually killed her to prove my point, but she wouldn’t know the difference between fainting and dying at this stage—for a god in Topia, it was all more or less the same if they were mortally wounded. Unless one of Death’s weapons had been used, of course. I could hear Donald approaching behind me, her shuffle distinctive.

  “This is what happens to people who barge in on me while I’m in the shower,” I announced, allowing my voice to carry.

  The expected gasp met my statement—but it wasn’t one of abject horror, or fear. It had been a sound of ... disbelief. Excitement, even. My brow furrowed, and I turned away from Emmy, who had already begun to stir. Donald had dropped the folded towels that she had been holding, her wide eyes fixed on me, filled with wonder and gratitude. For a moment, I glanced at the folded towels now spilled over the ground. I had sent my own server away, safely out of reach of Staviti, but that meant that Donald had taken over her duties.

  “What?” I asked her. I wasn’t usually confused, and it irritated me to be unsure of the meaning of her reaction.

  “You would make me a Sacred One?” she breathed out in reverence. “Thank you, Sacred Asshole. Thank you. I will do exactly as you have asked.”

  She bowed, her waxy face caught in what threatened to be a permanent expression of ecstatic wonder. I watched her gather the towels and walk away, too shocked to take the time needed to clear up the misconception. I turned back to Emmy instead, slipping my hand beneath her head to prop her up a little. Her hair slid silkily over my wrist, and I was momentarily distracted by the way a curl tried to wrap around my arm. She murmured something and I leaned in closer to hear her, my attention riveted to her lips, trying to make out the word that she was forming.

  K ... i ... l ... l.

  “Kill,” she rasped, her eyes slowly opening, her pupils expanding as she locked onto me. “I am going to kill you!”

  I held up my finger again. She grabbed it. I grabbed her wrist with my other hand. She thrust her palm into my nose, breaking it almost instantly. I reeled back, propping myself up on the floor, holding my robe to my nose to stem the blood. It was healing already, but that didn’t change the fact that she had done it. And it had hurt. Sort of. Well, it would have hurt if my power hadn’t naturally risen to absorb the pain—a protective reflex I had developed. She seemed to be almost as surprised as I was, pulling her hand up in front of her face and staring at it incredulously.

  “I’m a god,” she muttered in disbelief.

  “That’s what I was trying to say.” I dropped the section of robe I had been holding to my nose, glancing down at the small patch of blood. Great, now I would have to change. “The only question is, what are you a god of?”

  “That’s not the only gods-damned question!” she protested, jumping to her feet. I waved my hand casually, forcing her legs to buckle so that she fell back down to the couch again. She growled out a sound, but didn’t try to stand again. “That’s not the only question,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes on me. “How is it possible for Willa to do this? How did this happen?”

  I slowly rose until I was standing before her, taking the two steps needed to box her legs in against the couch.

  “How Willa managed it isn’t anywhere near as important a question as how Staviti is going to react when he realises what has happened—if he doesn’t already know. We need to figure out what your power is before that happens, so that you’re not left completely defenceless.”

  “I didn’t bring myself back from the dead. Shouldn’t we be making a plan to protect Willa?”

  “You are the evidence,” I explained, leaning over a little—since she was too preoccupied with our dilemma to remember that she didn’t want to be anywhere near me. “Staviti’s war against Willa has already begun. Abil and Adeline, Pica, and myself—we have all joined the fight. Staviti didn’t retreat because he was beaten. He retreated because he’s intelligent, because he realised that Willa has an army at her back, and if he’s going to defeat her, he will need an army of his own.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Her voice had softened, confusion riding her tone. I inched closer. She didn’t seem to mind, so I planted my hand against the couch beside her head.

  “If Willa can show people that she can do this—this thing that only Staviti should be able to do—there’s a chance that the other gods will choose her side.”

  This seemed to stun her for a moment. It was noticeable, because she always kept up with our conversations, and I never had to explain things to her over and over. Like most dwellers.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I continued. “You becoming a god might have been because of Willa’s power, but your own inner strength would have had a hand in the process. The process is not an easy one to survive. You are special, for a dweller, so … you should be proud, Emmanuelle. You are immensely strong. Again, for a dweller.”

  Her stunned expression tipped back into annoyance at my failed attempt to compliment her. “Why thank you, Sacred Asshole.”

  A trickle of amusement washed through me. I should have known Donald’s new name for me didn’t come from the server herself. “You’re welcome.”

  She attempted to shove me back—and while her push was stronger than it used to be, it was still no match for my strength. I wasn’t a god who used my muscle without reason, however, so I stepped back to give her the room she desired.

  “You’re so arrogant,” she bit out, jumping to her feet. “If I annoy you that much, why the hell are you always around? Every time I turn the corner, there you are.”

  “I –”

  I had no fucking idea how to answer that. I didn’t consciously search her out, that was for sure, and yet … she was right. I followed her around like some kind of besotted pet, insulting her at every chance and kissing her whenever she let her walls down enough for me to push through to her.

  I had no idea what I was doing.

  “Are you ready for me to take you to Willa?” I deflected. She lifted one eyebrow at me, but she didn’t comment on my obvious discomfort with the subject.

  “Yes, I need to see my sister.”

  “Give me a click to change,” I said shortly, my temper rearing its head again for some unknown reason.

  Before she could say another word, I strode from the room. By the time I’d changed into another set of robes—dissolving my blood-stained ones
with a flick of my wrist—I had myself under control again. For sun-cycles, I’d been walking on the edge of losing it. From the moment I’d found myself standing before Staviti on top of Champions Peak, something had snapped inside me. I had been too slow to stop him killing Emmy, and that realisation managed to spin me completely out of control. I couldn’t even remember much of what happened during the fight. A white haze had flashed over my vision, pushing my need to deal justice to the forefront of my awareness. I had been compelled to reverse the death that Staviti had caused. Normally, my power would be unconcerned with the death of a dweller, but I was no longer the emotionless man that I had once been. Emmy had become as important—in my mind—as the Creator. Something crucial to the worlds had been snuffed out, and my energy rose in response, completely overpowering my normal control.

  I couldn’t figure out if my emotions were driving the shift in Emmy’s importance, or if she really was important to Topia somehow. Was it possible for Willa to shift the balance so drastically? To make the people important to her also important to Topia?

  “Let’s go,” I said, striding back into the living room and pushing the thoughts from my head.

  She jumped, spinning around with wide eyes. “For Topia’s sake, Cyrus, could you wear a bell or something?”

  “A bell …” I repeated. The dweller inside of her definitely made an appearance at times. “Gods do not wear bells like domesticated beasts. If we don’t want you to know we’re coming, you won’t know it. Be grateful I gave you notice at all.”

  “Notice of what?” she asked, crinkling her brow.

  “This,” I said, reaching out and attaching myself to her arm. In a flash of energy, we were pulled from my home to a nearby platform. The air was clear and crisp, the sky bright with light and energy. I felt it fill the centre of my power, which was drawn from this world.

  When I released Emmy, she leaned forward, huffing and puffing with her hands resting on her knees. “Asshole,” she wheezed out.

  “You need a new word,” I told her dryly.

  She spluttered at me for a moment, before sucking in a deep breath and straightening. “Willa’s here? This is Pica’s platform?”

  Her composure appeared to have returned, her tone even. I took a click to look around Pica’s platform.

  “She’s in there.” I pointed toward the smaller of the marble structures. “Being cared for by Abil’s sons and a crazy goddess.”

  “I heard that, Snow-flake.”

  I shuddered as the sickly-sweet voice of Pica washed over me. Fear wasn’t an emotion I felt often, but Pica definitely sent unease through me. I was hit with a blast of her energy when she appeared from behind a fluffy, cloud-shaped magenta bush. Her plants didn’t come from the God of Nature, that was for sure. There was nothing natural about Pica and her obsessions. Most of her plants were made to be fluffy, in varying shades of bright, too-intense colours.

  “Who do we have here?” she asked, looking beyond me. She stepped closer, her robes dragging across the ground. This sun-cycle, the hem was edged in lace. The next sun-cycle, it would probably be edged in knives.

  For some reason, I stepped in front of Emmy, hiding her from the sight of the Goddess of Love. “No one you need to concern yourself with,” I snapped, drawing Pica’s attention back to me. “We need to speak with Willa.”

  What the hell was I doing? We needed the other gods and goddesses to see Emmy, to realise the power that Willa had, to see the proof of it. I tried to calm the protective surge that ran through me. Unsuccessfully. Pica clapped her hands together before she spun around in a circle, her arms windmilling back and forth in some sort of dance.

  “Willy, my favourite daughter!” Her voice was all dreamy.

  I felt Emmy stir behind me and I hoped that for once she would keep her mouth shut. Most of the gods didn’t appreciate a mouthy dweller.

  Except me, apparently, I thought sarcastically.

  “She’s not your daughter, Pica,” I reminded her. “You don’t own her. Remember that keeping her here is permitted because you’re keeping her safe, not because she belongs here. She is not a prisoner.”

  This was a reminder I had been forced to repeat almost every sun-cycle since our stand-off on Champion’s Peak.

  Pica stopped twirling, and when her eyes met mine, they were tinged with ruby tones. “I do not keep prisoners, Cyrus.” Her voice grew deep, and while my first instinct was to smack her into the platform because she was seriously pissing me off, I managed to restrain myself. “I love everything I have,” she continued. “I love it more than my own life. This is their sanctuary.”

  Love and obsession. Pica had blurred the lines between the two to the point that she couldn’t even keep it straight any more.

  “We need to see Willa,” I reminded her.

  A bright smile tilted up her cheeks. “Right! Follow me.”

  As we walked, I continued to manoeuvre myself between Pica and Emmy, trying to block her completely from view. Her damn robes were too bright though, they drew attention, the blues and greens shifting as she walked, almost like the colour couldn’t decide what colour to be. All the gods had one solid shade, that was how it was. Except for the creator, of course. He had two colours.

  Emmy’s robes were going to cause a stir, and the last thing I needed was for Staviti to catch wind of her reappearance after he had killed her. Or for Pica to want to add her to her ‘sanctuary’.

  “I’ll just pop in and see if she’s awake first,” Pica told us, pausing outside the room Willa had been taken to.

  I’d checked on her a few times because I knew Emmy would want to know, when she eventually woke. And … because Willa had grown on me. She was like a walking hurricane, but somehow I enjoyed watching her cause chaos wherever she went. Of course, Willa came with a set of five asshole gods that I had to deal with, so Emmy was my preferable dweller companion. If I had to have one.

  “Has she woken at all yet?” I asked.

  She’d been unconscious the last time I saw her as well, asleep in the bed with all of Abil’s sons. They hadn’t left her side for a moment. I admired their loyalty, even while I couldn’t really imagine ever feeling like that about anyone. Pica didn’t answer me; she just disappeared. My hands itched to force her back with my energy, but then I’d have to deal with her insanity, and I really wasn’t in the mood.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to Emmy. “What?” I snapped, my emotions escaping me again.

  She paused, examining me. “Have you been drinking again? You’re acting very … volatile. You need to be careful, you’ll get addicted.”

  I closed my eyes for a beat, trying to regain my control. “No, I haven’t been drinking,” I bit out. “Gods cannot become addicted to drugs or alcohol. We can stop any time we want. I’ve been completely sober since I’ve been back in Topia, now that I don’t have to supervise the insect farm that was Champion’s Peak anymore.”

  Staviti had punished me by placing me on Champions Peak. He’d done it because somehow, he knew that I had helped turn Willa into whatever she was now. It had also been a power-play, of sorts. He had wanted to remind me that even though I didn’t have to obey him, he was still the most powerful god in existence. Topia had created me a long time ago—a full-grown being born into white light. Initially, I had been a simple force: a judge, a mouthpiece for what was right and wrong, my only purpose to keep the balance in Topia. Staviti couldn’t have wiped me from creation, though I had a feeling he had wanted to, and had probably even tried. Instead, he had been forced to allow me to exist. So, I existed, and as I did, I grew. I learned. I watched the dwellers and the sols and gained an understanding of their mortal emotions. I judged the gods and became acquainted with the many variants of magic and how the energies of Topia formed into powers. I watched as those powers twisted the personalities of their hosts. Love into obsession, Trickery into deviance, Creation into madness. And eventually … I became one of them. My power twisted me into a cold judge of
character. An immortal being disgusted by imperfection.

  It wasn’t until Willa fought her way into my life that something began to change. Her imperfection set off some kind of chain-reaction inside me—a trigger mechanism that tripped my mental processes and began a transformation in my personality. The only logical conclusion was that she was linked to Topia.

  The balance had been unsettled, but instead of righting it … Topia was righting me to suit … well, Willa-Fucking-Knight, apparently.

  Staviti was going to figure out what I had figured out eventually. Maybe he already had. The drinking had helped me get through multiple situations, but I couldn’t indulge anymore. Things had escalated more quickly than I could have ever anticipated. I also didn’t want to dull the sensation of being around Emmy anymore. It had helped, initially, but I was quickly switching from one addiction to another. Namely, the faint scent of vanilla that lingered on her skin. Her presence was both irritating, and somehow … interesting.

  “Why did you take the position at the Peak?” Emmy asked, breaking up our long silence. “You don’t strike me as the sort of god who usually follows orders,” she noted, in her far too observant way.

  “I almost didn’t.” I stared pensively out across the land of Topia. “No god can control me, because I was not born of Staviti. Until you and Willa, I was the only being here who wasn’t created from Staviti, in one way or another. I was created from the world itself, like the panteras.”

  “So why didn’t you just refuse to go to the Peak?” she pushed.

  At the time, I hadn’t been able to refuse. The urge within me was too strong.

  “A need,” I admitted. “I was drawn there, to an important event. I didn’t know what, at the time, but it was to prevent Staviti from destroying everyone on Champion’s Peak. He initiated that program under false pretences, convincing the gods that it was in the best interests of both the sols, and the gods. He lied. He was trying to single out the strongest sol in each energy group. He wanted to shave off the fat—to keep them weak.”