by Ruby Dixon
"Ah, of course." He angles the book a little toward him and taps at one picture. "This is Aron of the Cleaver."
I look closer and nod, because I see it now. Dark hair. Bright red scar down side of face and an eyepatch. The guy in the picture is holding an axe flat across his chest like a shield, and I haven't seen my Aron do that, but maybe it's because he doesn't have one yet. “Eyepatch, huh?”
“His greatest legend is how he lost an eye to a dragon.”
"I see." Kinda looks like he found it again. Maybe gods regenerate that sort of thing.
"This is my goddess, Magra. She is the bringer of plenty." He taps a figure across the page, of a beautiful woman dressed in long, loose green robes with arms full of wheat.
Off to one side, I see another woman, this one holding a swirl of magic. Her hair is long and dark and her eyes are practically flashing as her robes fly about her. "Tadekha?" I ask.
"Goddess of magic," he agrees.
"I met her," I murmur, wrinkling my nose. More like horndog of magic.
Omos makes a sound of surprise in his throat. "You did? How was she?"
"Er…unpleasant. Let's keep going. So all of these gods are different…things?" I gesture at the book. It reminds me a bit of the ancient mythologies I studied back in grade school, the Greek and Roman gods with crazy stories told about them.
"Yes. This is Gental, god of family, and Kassam, Lord of the Wild." He points at a drawing of a man brandishing antlers. "Rhagos, Lord of the Dead. Anali, goddess of—"
I pat the book, interrupting him again or else I'm going to be subjected to the entire pantheon and their history. "That's great, but let's get on to the part about how there are forty-four people here in the mortal realm—on Aos—instead of twelve. How does that happen?"
"Like I said," he gently rebukes me, turning a page. "The twelve are eternal but not immortal. They are flawed, and sometimes those flaws become too great. The world shifts off balance and the gods no longer have the best interests of the world at heart. They grow greedy and selfish and lost in their own petty squabbles. That is when the High Father takes action. He casts them out and splits them into Aspects to teach them a lesson."
All right, now we're getting somewhere. There's that Aspect word again. "And Aspects are…"
"Incarnations of their flaws." Omos flips through the book again, flicking page after page. "There are four divine virtues and four divine flaws. Because the High Father wants to extinguish the flaws from his gods, he casts them out and fragments them into four copies of themselves. Each copy represents the flaw they are working to purge from their system."
It's weird to think of Aron as a fragment of a god. "What are the four flaws?"
"Lies, Hedonism, Arrogance, and Apathy."
Oh. I think of Aron. "And each Aspect personifies one of these particular flaws?" At his nod, my mouth twists a little. "I can guess which one Aron is."
Omos chuckles and gives his head a little shake. "It's easy to see that he's Arrogance. Even when he wants to be kind, he doesn't know how to be. That's why you must be patient with him."
That explains why Omos isn't ruffled by Aron's constant demands. I think of all the times I've wanted a kind word from Aron and got a douche comment. No, not douchey, really. Just incredibly arrogant.
Because that's who he is.
It feels like so many things are clicking into place. I think of Tadekha and how Aron wanted nothing to do with her. I think of her with her angel servant between her thighs. That would be Hedonism. Maybe that's why I rubbed myself all over Aron like a dick addict. God. I can feel myself blushing. "This makes sense," is all I say to Omos. “But your math is off. Twelve gods and four Aspects per god means forty-eight gods, doesn’t it?”
“Normally, yes. But the Spidae—the three fates—are never counted when the Aether is purged. Even the High Father must leave some things alone.” He smiles. “The other eleven gods are not subject to the same rules.”
It sounds like a damn mess to me. “But this Anticipation thing—it’s happened before?”
He nods. "Oh yes. At least twice in recorded history. The four Aspects of each god are scattered across the lands, never too close to one another."
Ah. It's happened twice before just like this, right. Still, this all seems kind of a strange thing to do. "Okay, but why split them and cast them out? So the copies can all learn life lessons and shake hands and learn how to be better people or something? This is all very After School Special and all, but it seems a bit convoluted if you ask me. I mean, if they're dicks, tell them not to be dicks."
I mean, I've met Tadekha and she was a huge dick. A big, manipulative dick. Aron's a dick too, but in an entirely different way. I nibble on a piece of cheese as I wait, studying him.
Omos blinks at me as if I've said something puzzling. "What?"
"You know, agree to be better people? Meet up with each other, shake hands and walk away?"
"Shake hands? No, no. He's casting them out, my dear. He doesn't want them back. There are four Aspects and if Aron wants to return to the heavens, one Aspect must destroy the other three."
I stare at him in shock. "What?"
"In order to live, Aron must kill the other three Arons."
23
I wiggle a finger in my ear and then shake my head. "I'm not sure I heard you correctly."
"You did," Omos says with a sigh. "One Aspect must kill the others. Once that is accomplished, the other is free to return to the heavens at the High Father's side, where his dominant flaw will be tempered by the disposal of the other three."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. This is the most ridiculous, crazy thing. "So they split Aron into four pieces just so he can murder the other three?"
"It is a cleansing of the soul for a god." Omos inclines his head. "I can research and find which of the Aspects defeated the others on the last Anticipation, if you like."
I'm not sure I want to know. What if this Aron—my Aron—gets defeated every time? "But how…Aron fell from the sky when we left the Citadel. A long way, and I fell on top of him but he wasn’t hurt. I'm not sure he can die."
"He is eternal," Omos agrees. “He does not age, does not get sick, and cannot be killed by normal means.”
"Then how is it that one Aspect is going to kill the others?"
Omos gives me a gentle look that makes my stomach churn.
Oh no. Well, that explains why everyone keeps trying to kill me. “I’m the target,” I say flatly. “Not Aron. He doesn’t have to kill the other Aspects, he has to kill their anchors.”
Omos’s voice is gentle. "An Aspect is vulnerable only through his anchor. He—or she—is the tie that binds him to mortality. She must eat for him, sleep for him, and perform all mortal functions on his behalf since he cannot. He gets his strength through her. And if she is destroyed…" He lets his words trail off.
"No more Aron," I say faintly. I set my food down, no longer hungry at all. In fact, I feel dangerously close to vomiting. No wonder no one else wanted to volunteer to be Aron's anchor. The odds are three out of four that I'm going to die horribly at the hands of Aron. Not Arrogant Aron, but one of the other flaws.
Fuck me, this is such a mess.
"Aron said he didn't know. Was that a lie?" I look at Omos, trying to understand all of this. "He doesn't remember about anchors, but he knew to protect me from others."
Omos nods thoughtfully. He notices that I'm no longer eating and picks up the tray. "It's likely that his mind has shielded parts from him…or it has been so long that he truly doesn't remember. Or perhaps the Aspect of Apathy won out last time and he just didn't care." Omos bustles away with the tray. "Whatever it is, I don’t think he was lying to you. There are parts that he truly doesn’t remember, whether planned by the High Father or not. Let me put this tray away and we’ll see about getting you some shoes and fresh clothes.”
He heads off and I just stare blankly at his retreating back. I've just been told that the gods—bunches of
them, it seems—are going to try and off me. Shoes are a lot farther down on the list of things I want. I'd rather have a grenade. Or like, an automatic rifle.
Or a do-over. Yeah, I think I'd like a do-over.
Omos chatters from the kitchen, talking about how he has clothes that the occasional traveler leaves with him, but I'm not listening. I'm too absorbed in what I've just learned. I'm going to die. I want to cry, but I don't know that I have tears left inside me. There's a numbness that's spreading in my gut as I try to get used to the idea of death.
No, wait. That's hunger. I just ate and I'm already hungry again. Fuck.
She must eat for him, sleep for him, and perform all mortal functions on his behalf—that was what Omos said. No wonder I'm hungry all the time. No wonder I need water constantly. No wonder Aron doesn't know how to sleep. He can't. I have to do it for him.
Someone re-enters the room and I look up. It's not Omos, but Aron. He's got a scowl on his face and his red tunic is covered with grime and dust and old blood. He looks pissy as hell and searches the room with his gaze, obviously looking for Omos.
I burst into tears at the sight of him. Guess I have tears in me after all.
Aron sighs. "Why are you crying, Faith?"
"B-because I just l-learned what a fucking anchor is," I tell him, sobbing. "And I'm going to d-die." I bury my face in my hands and weep, feeling helpless and full of despair.
He sighs heavily again. A second later, the cot creaks and shifts as he sits down next to me. I'm surprised to feel a big arm go around my shoulders. Aron's…hugging me. Comforting me. I look over at him in tearful astonishment.
"I know you are afraid, but I have a plan."
"A plan?" I wail. "How can you have a plan when you don't know what's going on?"
He frowns at me. "I remember more as time passes. And the monk has shared information with me." He nods at Omos, who is hovering in the doorway nearby, a bundle of clothing in his arms. "Leave us, mortal. I would have a word with my anchor."
"Of course, Lord of Storms," Omos says in that gentle voice of his. He disappears and I hear a clatter of pots in the kitchen, probably deliberately loud.
Aron strokes my hair and then gives me a focused look. "You will stop this weeping, Faith. I do not like it."
"I don't like being told I'm going to die," I say indignantly to him.
"And I have told you I have a plan. You are not going to die because I am going to defeat the others."
For some reason, that just makes me cry harder. Of course he'd think that. He's Arrogance personified. I shake my head, fresh sobs piling up in my throat.
He pulls me against his chest and hugs me, stroking my shoulder. "Trust me. I will not let anything happen to you. You are not leaving my sight. Am I not the best fighter anyone has ever seen? If anyone can protect you, it is me."
I lean against him, letting him comfort me. "Why are you being so nice?"
"Omos says I am Arrogance. That does not mean I am heartless." He squeezes my shoulder and leans close, whispering in my ear. "You have my word that I will let nothing happen to you."
I know it's because it'll nuke him, too, but it's still nice to hear.
24
That day, we spend with Omos in his little church and make plans on what to do. Aron consults maps, trying to determine where his other “selves” would be so he can go murder their anchors. I don't like to think about that, but I suppose it's good to have a plan instead of waiting for someone to come find us.
Omos scuttles back and forth between his books and his kitchen, packing supplies for us. Even though he doesn't have much, he's determined to give all of it away, and I'm touched by his willingness to give us everything he's got.
Me, I get a crash course on Aosian money so I don't hand over our life savings, and I'm currently trying to memorize what I can of the gods in this world so I won't be so completely and utterly unaware.
"You can't stay here long," he tells us. "As much as I am thoroughly enjoying this, it wouldn't be prudent." And it is clear to me that he is enjoying all of this, oddly enough. His eyes gleam with excitement, and I suspect if the guy enjoyed this any more, he might burst into giggles. It's bizarre to realize that he's thriving on our misfortune, but he doesn't mean it in a cruel way.
I think he's lonely and bored and loves the thrill of excitement that our visit has brought. Of course he does. He's not the one in danger.
The moment I think that, I feel guilty. Omos has been the most helpful person we've run into so far. We'd truly be lost without him. He's even emptying out his little coin purse to give us money so we won't be in danger of starving on the streets. He probably doesn't have many visitors here in his sea of books. This is probably the most thrilling thing that's happened to him, ever.
"When we leave, why don't you come with us?" I suggest to Omos, ignoring the indignant look that Aron shoots my way as he pages through one of the monk's jillions of rolls of maps. "We can travel slow, and we can go looking for your goddess. I bet you'd want to say hello to her."
"Oh, all the stars, bless you for thinking of me, my dear." Omos just shakes his head at me and wraps cheese in a cloth, stuffing it in a bag. "You don't need this old man slowing you down."
"He is right," Aron says, unrolling another map. "He would be a burden."
I ignore Aron, because, well, he's Aron. "Yes, but you could meet your goddess. I wouldn't take that away from you. This is your one chance. I mean, how many Anticipations will there be in your lifetime?"
"Oh, no more, I sincerely hope," Omos says good-naturedly. "It is a time of great upheaval. It means there are problems to be found everywhere and the world will be a very dangerous place for some time. And…" He pauses and then gives me a gentle smile. "I do not wish to meet my goddess."
"You don't?"
"As she is? No." He runs a weathered hand down one of his braids. "I do not know which of the four flaws would be the least problematic to meet." His face colors, and I can guess which flaw he's thinking of.
Aron snorts. "It would take more than a bit of hedonism to make Magra interesting."
"Nevertheless, I would prefer to meet her when she is whole and she is herself. I will meet her when I cross over from this life and journey to her arms." Omos gives us a peaceful, sweet smile. "I am content to wait."
"Makes sense," I tell him, and flip another page I haven't read. I'm supposed to be studying a text on the Aosian gods, but my eyes are crossing with all the information they're trying to stuff into me. "Do you want to send a message with us, then? In case we run into her?"
"Oh." A look of pure longing crosses the monk's weathered face. His hands flutter over his braids. "Could I?"
"Dude, of course. I don't think we should leave until morning, anyhow. Take your time. Write her something heartfelt."
His eyes shimmer with emotion and he grabs his candle. He raises a finger as if to say something, then shakes his head and shuffles off. I can hear paper rustling at one of the back desks and I suspect that by morning, we'll have a small book of our own to give to Magra…provided we even find her.
Aron just shakes his head at me, his mouth pulled into a frown of distaste.
I stick my tongue out at him and go back to my book. I don't care what he thinks. Just because he's arrogance personified doesn't mean I have to be rude.
"We should leave this day," Aron tells me in a low voice, so low that Omos won't overhear. "Overnight. Travel in darkness."
"Yeah, sounds like fun," I tell him absently and study another page. This chapter's about Aron and I admit, I pause a little longer than I probably should to snoop. "Except he's being awesome to us and carrying a letter is the least we can do."
Aron stalks away from his maps and moves to my side. No, correction, he moves to come loom over me. "And if we stay behind, it gives assassins that much more of a chance to find us if we remain in one place."
Assassins? Damn. I hesitate. "Won't they just as easily find us in the dark, then?"
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He grunts and rolls his eyes at me. "Are you done learning?"
“Done” learning. This man, I swear. "No. In fact, it'll probably take me all night to finish cramming." I carefully flip the page back so he doesn't see that I was reading about him. I don't want to seem like a creeper. "So it's a good thing we're staying. Besides, I'm hungry anyhow."
"You should eat," he agrees, moving to the supplies that Omos just packed and pulling out a small wheel of cheese. "Here."
"Er, okay." I take the cheese but don't chow down on it. Not yet. Feels strange to gnaw on something the size of a plate anyhow. "In all seriousness, let's think about your other selves for a second. You know you the best, right? So let's consider how your other Aspects are going to react. How they'll strategize. And then we can determine the best way to go forward."
Aron stares at me for a long moment and then grunts approval. "A good idea."
I feel like I was just awarded a trophy.
He merely gazes at me, watching, and I can't tell if he's trying to figure me out or waiting for me to talk. My skin prickles with awareness at his stare and I rub my arm absently. "So? Let's think about this. We know the three Aspects that are left because you’re, ah…”
How do you delicately tell a guy that he’s arrogance personified?
"Arrogance." A thin smile curves his mouth. "You can say it. You think I am unaware? There is no hiding what an Aspect is, no more than Tadekha could hide her nature."
I blush at the mention of Tadekha, thinking of how I rubbed up against Aron like a kitten in the middle of her audience chamber. A really, really horny kitten. "Oh, I remember." I toss my hair and avert my gaze, staring at the cheese wheel to try and collect my scattered thoughts, because now I'm remembering how he touched me…and how very detached he was. Gah. "So okay, let's think about the slutty Aspect, then."
