The answer was instantaneous, though shy. Mama, someone whispered.
“What?” Chet jerked back, staring at the glowing magical relic in his lap.
“No one said anything,” Rory murmured. She was kneeling a short distance away, watching him closely.
“Just—something unexpected. Give me a moment,” Chet said, closing his eyes again. Maybe he could think at the Raptus to communicate with it.
Who is Mama?
The answer was clear, though there were no words. The voice—voices?—inside the Raptus were certain that he was Mama.
“But I’m a guy,” he mumbled aloud.
It didn’t seem to matter to the voices. The other parent was mean, harsh. The other parent, Dada, wanted to dominate and hurt, and he used them to do it. There was a distinct feeling of being trapped, forced. Violated.
Dada... is Fenimore? The Magician Tene? Chet thought.
There was an affirmation, though a little quizzical this time. The voices didn’t know names—they felt energy.
“That’s how you knew me. That’s why you wanted me, bound me to the others. You wanted me to protect you... to follow you.”
Yes. Mama, we’re tired. Please, we’re so tired.
Who are you? he asked.
Pictures formed in his head. The faces of little girls, and Chet knew those faces. He especially recognized the one from his dream. These were the girls he’d killed—by his own hand—for their blood, the energy to fuel creation of the Raptus. Oh, Pantheon.
“You’ve been trapped inside this whole time?”
The affirmation was more than instantaneous, it was loud. The girls were screaming at him, crying and upset. They were fully awake for the first time in centuries, and they were hurting. Chet wanted to cover his ears but couldn’t. The noise was inside his brain.
What did they want? Well, what did every small child want? They wanted Mama. Chet was the only person around whom they liked and trusted, despite everything. Fenimore had been the disciplinarian, demanding obedience from the Raptus as he would from any tool. Chet knew without question that the Magician Tene had never spoken to or interacted with these lost souls. Instead, he’d worked his will on the Raptus.
It was Foex’s way, wasn’t it? Foex had been a high-energy, economizing, misogynistic ex-general in a war that he’d eventually won. Foex, who’d drank himself to death when even being a god had lost its shine. Chet, as the Magician Zang, had been loyal to Foex. He’d been loyal to the end, though he’d experienced the same conditions Aureate had described; he, too, had been killed when he’d been born a girl.
Just like these children had been, their souls trapped for thousands of years. Cornered and forced to hurt people on a daily basis.
“Shhhh,” he murmured to the children—his children. His girls. “I’m here. Mama’s here.”
“Chet? Are you still... yourself?” Rory was gazing at him with a worried look. The Shadow Dancers around her were bristling with weaponry, all of it focused on him. They, too, looked worried.
“It’s okay, Rory.” Chet found that he was crying. “It’ll be okay. Please, just let me work.”
He could feel their little bodies clinging to him. Gathering in his lap. Some were sucking their thumbs. Chet sang them the first song that came to mind, an old lullaby. The Flame had guessed right, even in their ignorance. They’d chosen children’s poems and nursery rhymes to lock the Raptus, sending these girls to sleep in the best manner possible. At least some of the centuries had been bearable.
You’ve a right to be tired, babies. People have been so cruel to you. I was, too, though I didn’t mean to be. I’m very sorry for putting you in here. Now I’m going to set you free.
How? they asked sleepily.
Good question. Chet cradled the Raptus in his hands. He took hold of a spike and exerted pressure. The girl who had been slaughtered to create that spike sat up in his lap, her eyes round. He didn’t want to cause her more pain, but how to free her from this... this matrix? How had he and Tene created it in the first place?
An answer emerged from deep inside of him beyond conscious thought. Chet’s fingers began undoing the intricate, web-like magic that held the spike together. It was like a body memory, the way his feet recalled a dance long after his head had forgotten; some part of him knew exactly what to do. It's easy if you know which string to pull, a voice said from within him. Unmaking is always easier than making. Can’t reverse the chaos of the universe, you know.
The girl grew translucent as he worked. Then—as the spike disintegrated in his hands—she gave a little sigh and was gone. Chet sat on the cavern floor and worked, freeing each girl from the Raptus. He wept freely, snot running down his chin and dripping to his muddy, ruined clothing. The final girl, not by accident, was the charcoal burner’s daughter from Chet’s dream.
Oh, beautiful, he murmured into her hair. Maybe you’ll come back to Uos—to Mother Earth—in a new form, with a new mommy and daddy. I hope they’ll be good to you.
She smiled up at him, her expression trusting and open. Thank you, Mama.
He freed her as he had the others, the spike crumbling in his hands as she vanished.
The Raptus was less impressive now. Chet held it up and let go. It hovered in place. He breathed on the Raptus and it crumpled, growing smaller and smaller until it was a tiny, spiraling hunk of metal. Chet clapped his hands once, and it vanished. Winking out of existence.
Shadow Dancers applauded. People slapped him on the shoulders, cheering. Someone helped him to his feet. They were chattering all around him. But Chet couldn’t celebrate. He closed his eyes, tears still streaming down his cheeks.
Someone touched him gently around his waist, pulling him into a hug. He caught his breath, hoping it was Rory, but when he opened his eyes, Journey smiled at him. “Hi, sweetie. You just saved the world. What would you like to do next?”
Chet laughed at the unexpected question. He wiped his tears, which had turned the dry mud wet again—sort of. Non-water based indeed. “I’d like a shower.”
Chapter 29
Three’s a Crowd
Chet emerged from the second-floor bathroom of Knife’s house, wrapped in a towel. The Shadow Dancers had left a few minutes ago. Before leaving, they’d gone upstairs to the third floor with Journey, and they’d spent a long time up there. Chet assumed the Shadow Dancers taken care of Knife’s body—maybe they'd taken the body into their Cluster for later disposal.
Chet didn’t want to go to the third floor himself, not yet. He’d do it after he’d slept. He’d sit in Knife’s study and drink, maybe even shed a private tear or two. Chet had been able to say goodbye when Knife had been alive, but it had been an aborted goodbye. There hadn’t been time for every little matter. It still peeved Chet that Knife hadn’t trusted him enough to take him into her confidence back in Wetshul, instead of slamming him against the wall and making threats, but Knife hadn’t had a reason to trust him back then. Chet knew he’d miss Knife no matter what. Would Rory be there with him, or would he be drinking alone? A good question.
He found Rory lolling on the bed in a guest bedroom, wearing a plush bathrobe, her hair still glistening from her own shower. She was lying on her belly, looking into the roaring fire in the fireplace. Chet glanced that way, too—a figure was curled upon the lengthy andiron.
“How does Journey breathe in there?” Chet said.
“I don’t know, but she occasionally reaches out for another split log and places it in a strategic location near her body. I’m not hungry yet, are you?”
“I’m not sure,” Chet admitted. He was all tumbled up inside. Shaky. It had been the strangest week and a half of his life, and it wasn’t over yet.
“Chet... could you tell me what happened when you destroyed the Raptus?” she said, eyeing him with a worried expression. “When you were talking to it, it didn’t sound like you were fighting. It sounded strange.”
Chet settled beside her on the bed. He’d fought at Rory’s
side, but they hadn’t really reconnected, not in an emotional way. Though nothing was resolved, he felt fizzy, as if being in close proximity to her was a drug. Chet didn’t want to screw this up.
“It's difficult.”
Would she judge him his actions from when he was Zang? Why not? Chet did. He’d been Zang for umpteen lifetimes, and Chet Baikson for only one—a short one at that. Was he, Chet, a real person, or was he a mask for the long-gone Zang? I’m real, he thought, bristling at the thought. Young but no longer untested, he’d overcome the challenges in his path. Zang was more like a dead ancestor than a ghost living inside him, he decided. A famous, pushy kind of ancestor, sure, but dead all the same.
Now if only the rest of his past would settle down and quit bugging him.
“Tell me.” Rory reached up and brushed a stray hair off his forehead.
His heart beat harder at her touch; he realized he was hers to command. Chet bowed his head and explained. At one point he choked up, and Rory squeezed his hand. It gave him strength to continue.
“Wow,” she said when he’d finished. “That’s not how I thought it was at all.”
“Me, either. But I’m glad they’re free. I’ll always feel guilty about it, but at least they’re not in pain anymore.”
“It wasn’t you who killed them, Chet. You’re your own person with your own experiences and ambitions.”
“Yeah. Except everything’s a little too close to home, too many coincidences. I figured out how I knew Fenimore last time around.” He shook his head. “No wonder Knife’s explanation of how Fen ended up in lucid mud always seemed off to me, why Fenimore’s version was so different.”
“What do you mean?” Rory blinked at him, her expression bemused.
“I remembered just now in the shower. It’s like I’m a colander and information from past lives keeps trickling down through me. I think—no. I know I was the servant who accompanied Fenimore to Wetshul back in 7305. The one who betrayed him.”
“Huh. Clearly, I’ll have to get the full story some other time. Did you figure out you were Zang then, too?”
“No, I was an agent working for Prince Konstantine. His court really was hip-deep in spies. I remember pursuing Fenimore in that carriage we uncovered in the dust—I think I must have stolen it—before cornering him against the lucid mud pit. He went in and I didn’t. I’m the one who lied about it, years later, to Knife.” Chet vented an ironic chuckle. “Think about the course of events from Fen’s perspective. One minute he’s fighting me in the monsoon rain and darkness, then he loses and dives into lucid mud bearing his prize. Next thing he knows, Fenimore wakes up in the ambulance next to me—with a new face and body—three centuries later.”
Rory shook her head, lips pursed. “Crazy.”
“Yeah. I almost slipped in the shower because of it. I wonder if this sort of thing will keep happening.”
“Who knows? Look, all god affiliates deal with weird shit. The trick is to not let that stuff get in the way of living your life.”
“She’s right, you know.” Journey said, rising from the fireplace with a long, feline stretch.
Journey had changed to male, and he was absolutely gorgeous. Lithe with ropy musculature, a substantial penis and a sensitive, enduring face. Chet’s breath caught and his dick hardened at the sight. He put his hands in his lap to cover his erection, hunkering down. The towel wrapped around his waist felt way too small all of a sudden.
Rory, on the other hand, sat up and whistled. “Nice. You look hot enough to start a forest fire.”
“Thank you, Rory. I try.” Journey settled next to her on the bed, smiling. He didn’t seem shy about either his proximity or beauty. Well, he wouldn’t, would he?
Chet’s teeth clenched, his body tensing up. He was attracted to both of them, yet he felt intensely jealous of Journey. Ridiculous but true. What had Oak said about Journey? That he wasn’t exactly discriminating. This was moving too fast... he’d never imagined Journey might seduce Rory for Pantheon’s sake. It was funny because Rory had been on his mind all along, yet this contingency hadn’t occurred to him.
Rory, however, turned toward Journey like a flower following the sun. “You seem to be feeling better.”
“I will eventually.” He looked away, gazing into the fire. “We were both in trouble for a while there, weren’t we? You bleeding out, and me... under him.”
“I remember. No wonder you’ve turned male. Do you think... I mean, will you ever be female again?”
“Oh, of course. Just not right now.” They made eye contact, and it lasted a while. A long while.
Chet squirmed. Rory’s back was turned, and Journey wasn’t paying the slightest attention to him. Chet felt the childish desire to point out that he’d been in trouble, too. He also wanted to puff out his chest and claim that he was the one who’d saved them, except it wasn’t true. Rory was a fantastic fighter, and Journey had been impressive considering the tortures Fenimore had heaped upon his head. But as the eye contact continued—the moment was lasting forever—Chet felt isolated and left out.
Rory leaned over and kissed Journey on the lips.
Chet wanted to growl like an animal. Rory hadn’t kissed him on the lips yet, not even when they’d been going out. They’d been too shy and reticent, only holding hands and cuddling. Now she was kissing a Flame, and the Flame was kissing back. Journey stroked the back of her head, his hands meandering up and down her body. It looked fantastically sensual. Chet’s penis threatened to pop out of the towel entirely, which now resembled a pup tent. His face was blistering hot.
Rory reached down and stroked Journey’s exposed cock, caressing up to the tip. “Oh, wow. That’s really soft, but it’s got this hard, springy core to it. Is it soft for all guys, or just Flame?”
Journey drew back from her. For a moment, Chet thought he was backing off entirely, and an intense spike of relief surged through him. Then he realized it was an invitation. Journey lay down, arms crooked behind his head. “I have what every guy has. Please, feel free to explore.”
“What if I hurt you?”
“I’ll let you know if something’s uncomfortable.”
“Um. Okay, then!” Rory grinned and started touching up and down Journey’s body. She seemed most fascinated by his cock and balls, playing with them intently.
It was too much. Chet shouldn’t feel this way. He liked Journey and had enjoyed his company this week. Journey had been his first and he’d always remember that, but by the Pantheon, Rory was different! He felt so possessive of her. Protective and jealous, too.
Who did Journey think he was, anyway? Anger rose in Chet, hot as the fire crackling in the grate. He felt dirty and sundered. He’d appeased Fenimore in the prostitute’s van, and no one had ever thanked him for doing so. He’d surrendered himself to the truck driver, saving Journey from having to submit to him. No one had acknowledged that sacrifice except Fenimore, who’d been an asshole about it, as usual. Now Journey was seducing his... well, his ex-girlfriend.
Rory would be the first person to point out that Chet had broken up with her, not the other way around. They were no longer going out. He had no right to feel this way.
“It’s so big," Rory said, her tone detached—an almost clinical observation—yet she was clearly delighted. Like an archeologist with a splendid find in hand.
“It doesn’t need to be, but I like it this way. Makes me feel all manly.” Journey snickered, his manner ironic and effeminate. His body—his whole self—seemed relaxed and comfortable.
Rory laughed outright. “Here’s to manliness.”
Journey looked up at Chet with a smile as if about to say something irreverent. He paused, frowning, though his eyes were still glazed with pleasure. “Chet, sweetie, you look like you’re eating a spoonful of bugs.”
Chet sighed. This was ridiculous. What was he, twelve? His victimhood felt a little extreme, even to himself. Hadn’t Journey just noticed him? Prompted him to talk about it? He wished Rory had said
something, but he couldn’t have everything.
Chet cleared his throat. “I guess I’m not sure what—”
“Oh, Pantheon!” Journey gasped and arched his back, making little mewling sounds. “Rory, don’t stop!”
“What, this?” She grinned from ear to ear.
Chet leaned over to look: one of her hands was firmly holding Journey’s dick and ball sack while her other hand was circling the tip. Any second now it would occur to her that she could use her mouth on him, too. Chet felt tears rise to his eyes, then blinked them away angrily. They didn’t want him, didn’t need him. He was undoubtedly contaminated anyway; Fenimore or the truck driver had, in all probability, given him a VD. Just what he’d always wanted.
Rory shot Chet a grin over her shoulder. “Looks like I’m pretty good for a beginner,” she chirped.
“He’s a guy,” Chet... yelled. His tone was so loud they stared at him with mutually shocked expressions. Chet lowered his voice self-consciously. “It doesn’t take any skill to do that.”
“I beg to differ,” Journey said from his reclined position, frowning.
“What’s eating you, Chet? You don’t need to bite me, you know.”
“Nothing.” He crossed his arms and looked away.
Journey said, “You want to come here, cuddle and tell us all about it, or do you want to go away and sulk? Because I’d prefer if you didn’t make a scene just now. We’ve all been through too much today for passive-aggressive nonsense like that.”
“It’s stupid.”
Journey sat up and Rory, in turn, backed away. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, still naked and looking good enough to eat. He gazed from Chet to Rory and back again. A corner of his mouth turned up. “Ah. I get it. I think I’d better let you talk this over yourselves. Want me to step out?”
The Artifact of Foex Page 31