Bound to the Battle God

by Ruby Dixon

  Omos just chuckles and pulls something from his belt. "He is who he is, Faith. Remember that. Do not expect him to be more or less."

  "Yeah, yeah." I'm still sad that I have to trade sweet, gentle Omos for Aron and his Big Dick Energy. Even now that energy is practically blazing with impatience, and he casts another look at the road, as if he were hoping we were already on it. His pack is twice the size of mine, but he's a bigger dude, and strapped to it are what look like a half-dozen homemade spears. On his lower arms, he's got crude leather bracers and has knives strapped there, as well. He's been busy while I slept and talked with Omos.

  He looks like he's going to war, and that gives me a chill.

  I turn to look at Omos again, and he sees the panic on my face. "It will be all right," he tells me in a gentle voice. "You are here for a reason, Faith. Remember that."

  "Yeah, to be a target," I mutter, but I hope he's right to a certain extent. I don't think I'm a chosen one or anything, but maybe the fact that my wagon's hitched to Aron's means something.

  Omos shakes his head and presses a pouch into my hand. "This is all the coin I have. It will do you more good than me."

  "Oh, Omos, we can't take this." I feel so guilty, because it's clear that he's stripping his kitchen to feed us, and now he's giving us all his money?

  "You can and you must. You have a hard road ahead of you, and if a little coin makes it easier, then it is the least I can do." He hesitates and then pulls out a scroll from within his robes and holds it toward me. "This is my letter to my goddess."

  "I hope we find her."

  "I hope you do not," he says in that same gentle voice. "I would rather you find your way home instead."

  My eyes fill with tears. "Me too."

  26

  ONE WEEK LATER

  I eye the piles of land-hippo poop littering the road and sidestep, only to end up in mud anyhow. "Man, these roads are terrible."

  "That means we are close to Katharn," Aron tells me. "Very close. It will get worse."

  "Let's pause for a moment so I can switch to my boots, then," I tell him, and sit down on a grassy spot off the edge of the road.

  Aron sighs heavily with irritation, but he follows me and waits nearby. I'm getting used to his surly personality, though, and his bitching and moaning no longer sets me off. It is what it is—just part of his “arrogance” personality. And, well, he's a god. Or part of one. I kind of expect him to be a dick to “mortals.” In a way, I kind of appreciate his griping, because it makes me remember that someone else hates being here as much as I do. It's funny, because this is his world, but he doesn't seem to appreciate any of it. I can understand my dislike of it given that it's so very different and crude compared to my modern world.

  Just like right now, I'm covered in mud and sweat and grime from a week straight of traveling, and Aron looks as fresh as a daisy. The traveling doesn't bother him, even though my feet blistered up and swelled like balloons. I glance over at his sandal-clad feet and he doesn't even look as if he steps in mud. I can't seem to keep out of it. He's just as cool and handsome as he was the day he first showed up…and that could be a problem.

  He doesn't blend.

  Our surroundings are muddy road and cottages that trail toward a distant walled city. Katharn, which we've been heading steadily toward for a week. The scenery has changed slightly from the Dirtlands in that there are trees and fields and pasture animals. We've passed a few outlying farms here and there, but this entire area is pretty quiet and settled…and poor. The few people we've seen working in fields as we walked looked tired and worn and hungry, shoulders hunched from long hours of labor. They stared at Aron, his strong, proud body, and then at me, and I felt acutely vulnerable.

  No one tried anything, of course, but they were farmers. Now, we're approaching the city and I'm trying to imagine all the horrible things that might be waiting for us. Thieves and cutthroats for sure. Worse, if there's another god Aspect nearby. I work on fastening my boots, which are too tight and uncomfortable compared to the sandals, but seem smarter if we're heading into the city itself. "Do you know much about this place?" I ask, trying to think of the best way to phrase what I want to say next.

  "Katharn?" Aron grunts. "Only that it exists. It is claimed by no god as a stronghold."

  "No? How come?" I wiggle my feet in the boots, trying to stretch the leather.

  "Look around you. Do you think the sight of this would make anyone proud?" He sweeps an arm through the air at the distant buildings. "This is a poor place. A place for pickpockets and mercenaries. There are no grand temples or manicured gardens, no noble houses or anything of the like. It is the armpit of the mid-lands, necessary but foul."

  I stand again and tuck my sandals into my bag. "Thought you didn't know much about this place."

  "Do not try my patience, mortal."

  I just roll my eyes at him. "Oh, I'm not just trying. I'm succeeding."

  He makes an irritated sound that I ignore. We're fond of pricking at each other, he and I. Or at least, I'm fond of pricking at him, since I'm stuck at his side and he can't do anything about it. In a way, it's the most fun I've had all week, knowing I'm driving him crazy. I sling my pack back over my shoulder and move closer to him. "So what's the plan?"

  Aron narrows his eyes at me. "I thought we had discussed this already. We enter the city, get supplies and weapons, and listen for news of other god Aspects. Katharn is the hub of the mid-lands and we can find our way to other countries if we must. Adassia is to the east, Yshrem to the north-east, and—"

  I raise a hand before he lists off the litany of small countries once more. He's told me this a bunch of times this week already. Off to one side, I notice a distant man in a field that's staring at us—probably because we've been paused on the side of the road for too long. I grab Aron's arm and move him under the nearest tree so we can have a little privacy. "I know that part of the plan. That wasn't what I meant, big guy. I'm talking what is the plan for this?" And I gesture at him, drawing a little circle in the air and indicating his proud, handsome face. "You don't exactly look like one of the locals."

  He crosses his arms over his chest again, bracers practically bristling with weaponry. "Why should I?"

  "Let's talk about low profiles and what a good idea it is to not be noticed," I tell him brightly. "In fact, let's think about this. Let's say you've heard that the gods are walking the mortal plane again. Let's say one of the gods put a bounty on the head of a rival, because why not?" When Aron frowns, I continue. "And then let's say you and I saunter in. I might look like another dirty woman fresh off the road but you, my friend…you do not blend. From your eyes to the scar to the way you hold yourself, you're not exactly a low-key individual."

  Aron scowls down at me. "You do not look like a camp follower."

  Is that a compliment? "Why, thank you, Aron. I think."

  He grunts. "You merely sell yourself short. For a mortal, you are passably attractive."

  "You are positively killing me with flattery here." I can't help but smile, though. Lately I've started trying to determine how Aron's words would sound if he wasn't “poisoned” with arrogance, and I bet that would be something nice after all. "You're not so bad yourself. But let's stay focused. You don't look mortal, either. You're big and beefy and you practically radiate otherworldliness. If they did a police lineup, you'd stick out like a sore thumb." I gesture at his face. "The coloring doesn't help. The scars sure don't help. You might as well wear an axe atop your head and scream to everyone that you're Aron of the Cleaver and you've come to steal their wives and eat their children."

  Aron's hard mouth twitches with a hint of amusement. "I want no one's wives. I have a hard enough time with you at my side."

  I just laugh, because that is something so very Aron, and I'm getting used to him.

  He rubs his jaw, studying me. "So you tell me I am too handsome to mingle with these people."

  "Well, you are a god." Suddenly it feels like the co
nversation is turning, and I’m getting flustered. "But I, ah, meant the scars and the coloring."

  "Of course." He doesn't sound like he believes me though. "I cannot change the scars, I am afraid. I won them in battle against the dragon One-Tooth who took my left eye before I found another."

  Okay, that’s weird and I’m not going to ask, because I’m not sure I want to know more about dragons. We’ve got enough problems in this world. "Maybe we start with a cloak and see how these things progress."

  Aron grunts and pulls the hood over his head, hiding his jet-black hair. It's in a messy braid and most of it has fallen out of said braid, and I realize that he might not know how to braid it himself. How do the gods function if they can't do simple things like this, I wonder? Or is it just a matter of waving a hand and being perfect? Either way, it reminds me how shockingly vulnerable Aron is. If I wasn't with him, he'd probably just wander into town, demanding people give him information…and he'd end up murdered right away.

  Or wait, I'd end up murdered and Aron would die because of it. Neither one sounds good. I frown to myself as I reach up and pull his hood on a little deeper, completely hiding his features. "Keep this on at all times."

  He tilts his head back and gazes down at me. "How am I supposed to see anything?"

  "You're not. You're supposed to hide and let me handle things." I pat his chest, and then wonder why I keep touching him. Dammit, Faith. "Just in case, though, I should give you some of the money. In case we get split up."

  "If we get split up, we have bigger problems than money," he says, and catches my hand when I pull it away. "I am going to be watching you closely. If you feel threatened or worried, simply invoke my name and I will slaughter all close to you."

  I stare at him, eyes wide. I shouldn't be flattered by that. I shouldn't. But it sounds protective and in a bloodthirsty way, kind of sweet. A weird thought comes to mind: Is this the way a god of battle flirts? Surely not. But all I say is "okay."

  Aron pulls one of the makeshift blades—a shiv, really—off his leather bracer and offers it to me. "Put this in your boot and do not be afraid to use it."

  "How bad is this city?" I ask him, but do as he says.

  "How bad is any big city? Better to arm you in case someone decides you should be a slave again."

  Okay, he has a really great point. "Let's just go before I freak out and decide we should keep going to the next city."

  "All outlying cities lead to this one. Katharn is a necessary evil."

  Lucky us. "We stick to the plan, then. Get in, listen for rumors, find what we need, and head out from there." When he nods, I take a steeling breath. "All right. Let's do this."

  Showtime, Faith.

  27

  We walk for maybe another hour before we get into Katharn proper. The scattered streets grow increasingly dense as we move forward, and then lift up, surprisingly enough. They change from rutted, muddy roads to paved bridges and cobbled, wide roads, and I see why soon enough—Katharn has a big river running right through the middle of town. Of course, just because the streets are better doesn't mean that the buildings themselves are. The small, crowded houses look to be made of clapboard wood and push against each other like dominos just waiting for the right strike to topple. They crowd all the way along each street right to the massive sewer tunnels and up to the water's edge, where the stink of people turns into the stink of dead fish and people. The water itself is a brown, toxic-looking sludge that looks foul and smells worse, and I'm reminded of a history lesson from high school that said the river Thames in London was once so filthy with waste that you could walk on it. I couldn't picture it at the time, but seeing just how nasty these docks are and the river itself is, I believe it. The massive sewer system that runs underneath the crowded streets of Katharn dumps right into the water, and as we move along the wharf, between the small boats lining the edges of the docks, I can see waterfalls from where the pipes empty out.

  There are people everywhere, too. They crowd around us, pushing their way through the streets as if they own them. There are fewer horses—land-hippos, whatever—here, simply because there's no room. There are tons of rats, though, and long-eared cats that chase after them.

  And there's filth everywhere. It's piled up in the streets, against buildings, and everyone looks so damn dirty.

  I'm really not liking the look of the place, but I didn't expect it to be so nasty. The little farms we passed were crude, and Omos's library was small but clean. Aventine was dusty but orderly. Heck, Tadekha had a glittering crystal palace floating in the air, so I know these people can be clean.

  It's clear that Katharn just chooses not to be.

  I study the piles of buildings, all falling onto each other, and move a little closer to Aron as I do. He's quiet, but the hood is pulled over his head so far that it's not exactly conducive to conversation. Still, I wish he'd say something. I feel better just hearing his voice, even if he is making sourpuss comments. A man with a dead chicken hanging from his hand leers at me as he walks a little too closely and I move closer to Aron. "So, uh, what's an inn look like in this dump?"

  "You ask me as if I stay here often."

  Good ol' Aron. "It's your damn world, not mine."

  "This is not my city. Were it my choice, we would never set foot here.” He pulls the hood down lower.

  Well, that makes two of us. I avoid chicken man and walk a little faster, and I'm relieved to see that Aron stays close to my side. We turn down a side street and find a marketplace, and before we can leave, Aron drags me over to a small tent where someone’s selling knives. Aron points at one, so I buy it. Then he points at another, and another, and a short time later, we’re light on money and loaded with weapons. I want to gripe that we need to save our money for better things, but then Aron will just gripe back at me, and he’s at least staying quiet.

  And if we need the weapons? We’ll be glad to have them. So I shut up about it.

  After that, I flag down a woman who's got an enormous basket of laundry on her hip and ask her where the closest inn is. Her answer is friendly enough, but there's a hard glint in her eyes as she looks us over, and that makes me think I should hold our money a little closer. She instructs me to look for a building a few streets over with a red roof, and I hold my belongings tightly to my chest, worried I'm going to get knifed in the back, as we walk there.

  But we make it, and I'm so damn relieved to see the red tiled roof of the inn itself. The sun is going down and I didn't want to be out on the mean streets of Katharn after dark. The inn doesn't look so bad, I decide. The building's a big two-story that only sags a little. The windows have shutters and little pots of herbs outside each one. There's boisterous laughter and light pouring out from inside, and it smells like hot food. My stomach growls despite myself, because it's been days since I've had a hot meal and I'd really, really love a bowl of stew. I head to the door and then pause, glancing over at Aron. "We ready to do this?"

  "Going inside?" He peers out from under the hood with a scathing expression. "Did you plan on standing out here all night?"

  I bite back my snotty retort—arrogance, arrogance, arrogance, he can't help himself—and push the inn door open, heading inside.

  The inside of the inn is about what I expected. The ceiling is low, the floor is old, creaky wood, and it's smoky and poorly lit. One side of the wall is nearly taken up with a massive fireplace, and there's a pot of something bubbling over it that smells fucking delicious. My mouth waters and I don't even care that there's a roaring fire going and it's about ten degrees warmer inside than it is outside. I'll sweat a little if I can get a bowl of food. I glance around, and while there are several long tables, they're crammed full of people. I can't help but notice that they all seem to be men, and they're staring at me.

  I pull my cloak a little tighter around my clothes, even though it's warm. I feel naked despite the layers of clothing. Naked and unsafe. Maybe this was a bad call. There's a real rapey vibe to this place. Goo
dy.

  Aron nudges my shoulder, and I glance over at him. He's still got the hood pulled down heavily over his face, which is good. He's waiting on me, though. Right. I look around for someone that might be in charge, and when I see the bar off over by the enormous fireplace, I head there.

  A big bearded man stands behind the bar, and he's the first person that doesn't leer at me in this building, so I like him already. He nods at me. "Travelers?"

  "Yes. We're looking for a room." I give him my brightest, most businesslike smile.

  "Three drabs a night," he tells me. Omos walked me through how money works here, and so I know what coin that is.

  I feel around in my money pouch furtively and then toss the coins down on the counter. "One night."

  "One room, then?"

  I grit my teeth. "Yup."

  This time the man smirks and takes the coins. "Room two's open tonight. Bowl of stew and tankard of ale included with the room. More than that and it'll cost you."

  "Thank you," I say politely, and then glance around the dirty, poorly lit room. "Sit anywhere?"

  "Anywhere ya want. Inside, outside, all the same to me." He pockets the money and turns away.

  All right, I'm guessing this doesn't work like most restaurants back home. Fine then. I glance at Aron and gesture over at the fire. "Let's get some food and find a seat." I move forward without checking to see if he follows me, and by the fire, there's a stack of earthenware bowls. I manage to ladle my own stew without burning myself and grab one of the big wooden spoons tossed in a shallow basket. Not very clean, but I'm starting to think nothing in this town is. "You grab a bowl, too," I tell Aron, and then I survey the tavern area for two empty seats.

  There's room at the end of one of the longest tables, but there's also a very gross-looking man I'd have to cuddle up next to, and the thought makes my stomach curdle. His dark hair is greasy, his face is several days unshaven, and he's missing half his teeth. He keeps looking over at me and rubbing his crotch, and I swallow hard.