by Ruby Dixon
“Markos would never,” Yulenna protests immediately.
Interesting that she mentions Markos out of all four. “And Kerren would never, either. But Vitar and Solat might not care.”
She laughs and nods. “I thank you, Faith. You’ve been good to me.” And she huddles up against me again.
I feel like a jerk as I share warmth with her. She’s been nothing but nice to me and I was terribly, horribly jealous of her when we first met. I’m learning a lot about myself and maybe Aron’s not the only one that had a touch of arrogance that needed to be eradicated. I hug her close, determined to be a better friend.
Vitar builds a fire in the center of the road, and then small folding stools are produced for me and Aron. Aron—who hasn’t lifted a finger—immediately sits and pulls me into his lap. I don’t even protest. It’s too cold, and he’s far too warm. I wrap my cloak around both of us and snuggle close. His big hand closes over my inner thigh, and for a moment, my girl parts get excited, thinking they’re about to get more attention. But all he does is hold me, one hand splayed over my lower back.
And really, it’s kind of nice to just cuddle.
Yulenna stands near the fire until Markos grabs the stool and indicates she should sit. She does gratefully, putting her hands out toward the flame for warmth. Kerren puts a pouch of water over the fire to boil, adding vegetables and hunks of dried meat as he goes. I notice Solat avoids Aron (and me), and he’s unusually quiet. Poor Solat.
Vitar crouches near the fire, putting his hands out. “Never thought the edge of the world would be so cold.”
“You thought it would be warm?” Kerren asks, surprised.
“No, of course not. Just…not quite like this. My balls are about to shrivel into coins.” He glances over at me. “Apologies.”
I just shrug. I like hearing the conversations, because it lets me glean more about this place that I’ve landed. Aron’s not much help since he’s as much a stranger here as I am. “So this is the edge of the world? Really?”
“Of course not. Mortals are fools,” Aron murmurs into my ear.
“It is not,” Markos says, nudging Vitar as he crouches next to him. “We’re simply far north. That’s all.”
“Edge of the world,” Vitar says again. “And we’re heading to the edge of time, where the spiders dwell. Just like the stories say.”
Solat snorts.
“It’s true,” Vitar protests. “When you were a boy, didn’t your mam tell you stories about the gods of time that lived in a tower made of webs and rode spiders? Who could kill with a jerk of a thread? And how if you step on a spider, you have to apologize to the Spidae so they don’t remove you from the weave?”
“Children’s stories,” Markos protests.
Vitar tilts his head. “You mean like the Anticipation?”
No one answers him.
Vitar turns to Aron. “Is it true, my lord? You would have the answers.”
“To which question?” Aron’s hand smooths up and down my back under my cloak, and I’m two seconds away from purring with pleasure. It should not be this delicious to be cradled in a man’s lap, damn it.
“Is it the edge of the world, truly?” Kerren asks, his eyes wide. “Will we fall off the edge?”
“No edge,” Aron says, his focus on my face and not theirs. “But the Spidae do exist. That’s where we are headed even now.”
“I knew it,” Vitar crows, launching to his feet. He stabs a finger at Markos. “I knew they weren’t just tales!”
“You’re pleased that we’re to meet spider gods?” Markos gives him an incredulous look, batting away Vitar’s finger.
“They really are spider gods?” I ask Aron, surprised. I remember Omos’s scrolls, but only vaguely, and I remember something about a triad of fates, but not that they rode spiders. I’m pretty sure I would have remembered something as creepy as that.
“They are not spiders. Just like I am not made of lightning and thunder is not my displeasure.” His mouth curls with derision.
I say nothing to that. Does Aron not realize it thunders every time he gets pissy? It’s the easiest way for me to tell his mood. He’s so oblivious sometimes. Still, I’m glad they’re not spider gods, because I’m really not a fan of insects. “So we’re visiting them. Are they expecting us?”
“Does it matter? They will know where my other Aspects are. I intend to find out what they know. Gain the advantage over my foes.” His fingers slide lower, stroking over my backside, even as the fingers on my thigh move slightly, grazing my skin in the most ticklish way. “We will find where my other Aspects hide and take our fight to them.”
“Without an army,” I point out.
“How quietly do you think we can move with an army?” Aron asks, amused. “And as the god of battle, I know which warriors I want to go into battle with, and it is not the Novorans.”
That elicits a chuckle from the other men. Okay, maybe Novoro isn’t known for its soldiers. He’s got a point. Still, a shit army beats zero army, doesn’t it?
“The Cyclopae,” Markos says. “They would make a worthy army.”
Aron nods. “That they would.”
“And already dedicated to you,” Vitar adds. “I’ve heard they remove one eye in your name when they reach adulthood.”
“More tales,” Kerren begins.
“It’s true,” Solat interrupts, speaking for the first time. “I rode with a Cyclopae barbarian for a time. They remove their left eye to honor Aron’s fight with the great dragon One-Tooth, and to prove that they only need one eye to best any man.”
“Well, that’s fucked up,” I announce.
Aron arches an eyebrow at me, the scarred one. “You do not approve?”
I lean in. “Can I just point something out to you, almighty lord of storms? Because I’m seeing two eyeballs in that face of yours. Your Cyclopae are gonna be mighty disappointed to realize they plucked out their eyes on your behalf and you didn’t do the same.”
He throws back his head and laughs, utterly pleased at my retort. His hand slides higher on my thigh, and he’s smiling as he looks over at the men. “One of you tell her.”
Kerren clears his throat. “Faith, have you not heard the story?”
“She has never asked,” Aron says, utterly amused.
Oh. He’s right, and I feel silly. Maybe I should have asked. All of his statues and his worshipers talk of a one-eyed Aron, but the man I’m with has two eyes. Aron’s smirking with pleasure like I’ve missed something obvious all along. “Am I going to hate this story?”
“Bah. It is a glorious story,” Aron says. “You will love it.”
“Thanks, Arrogance,” I tease, but I like his hand on my thigh. I want to shift my weight so that hand can slide a bit higher up. It’s so hard to try and stay still. “Okay, let’s hear it, then.”
Kerren pauses, then begins. “It happened many, many years ago, back when Old Suuol ruled the mid-lands.” When Aron nods, he continues, gaining confidence. “The great Lord of Storms was at war with Kalos, god of darkness, who had claimed the kingdom of Sollist for himself and enslaved their people. Old Suuol fought a glorious war against Sollist and the armies of darkness, but they were no match for Kalos and his ghouls. Aron led battle after battle, but the people of Suuol begged him to end the war. He went to the god Kalos and demanded that he free Sollist, but the dark god said he would end the war if given an ancient magical sword called Brightblade, which was once carried by the finest of heroes in the land.
“It seemed simple enough, but what Aron did not know was that the sword was hidden deep in the mountains, in the lair of Old One-Tooth, the most ancient of dragons.”
“Oops,” I say, and take Aron’s hand in mine. “And the dragon…temporarily blinded him? What?”
“No, I defeated him,” Aron says proudly, taking over the story. “Slew him with a single blow of my mighty axe. But then Rhagos interfered.”
“Rhagos?” I echo, then mentally go through the list of go
ds in my head. “God of…the Dead?”
“And Kalos’s brother,” Kerren adds. “He brought the dragon back to life and it attacked Aron once more.”
“Damned hard to kill something that won’t stay dead,” Aron says, all grumpiness. “That was when I lost my eye.”
I stare at his handsome mien, at the scars that crisscross the left side of his face, over the bright green eye. “How…”
“It is a lesser known legend, because Rhagos does not like for it to be told.” Aron grins fiercely. “After I delivered the sword to Kalos, I went to the underworld and took one of Rhagos’s eyes in repayment for the one I lost.”
I stare at Aron in horror. Is this why he’s got two different colored eyes?
“You did not know this?” He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand.
Wordlessly, I shake my head. For some reason, I don’t find the story funny or clever. It makes me ache for him. How hard it’s been for him. No wonder he doesn’t trust the other gods. Not after the loss of an eye…and stealing someone else’s. Yikes. “If other gods have treated you like this, how can you expect the Spidae to help you, Aron?”
He holds my thigh tightly, as if to reassure me. “Not all of the gods are enemies. Many would not dare to cross me.”
I think of Tadekha, and how she coyly suggested an alliance with Aron and he shot her down. He didn’t trust her in the slightest. “But you trust these gods? The Spidae?”
“They do not take sides.” He shrugs. “They will give me the answers I seek.”
“And that’s great, but what if your other Aspects have the same idea?”
Aron’s mouth forms a hard, hard smile. “Then we are all in the same place at one time.”
I push his hand off my thigh, because I’m suddenly no longer feeling very cuddly. “I really hope that’s just the arrogance talking, because I really, really don’t want to die, Aron.”
To my surprise, his eyes practically blaze with emotion. He hauls me against him, tighter than before, and the look on his face is fervent. “No one will touch you, Faith. I will never let you come to harm.”
I gaze up at him. “You can’t promise that. You have two other Aspects out to take you down. You can’t promise I’ll be safe, Aron. Not if I’m the target.”
His jaw clenches. I think for a moment that he’s going to argue with me, but instead, he jerks to his feet. Before I can protest, he’s carrying me away from the others and into our tent. Inside, it’s just as frosty, but a bed has been made for me on a linen tarp to protect from the mud, and it’s here that Aron sets me down gently. Aron kneels so we’re both on the ground, and then he cups my face, forcing me to look up at him.
“Faith,” he murmurs. “I know you’re worried. I know you feel isolated and alone. But I will never, ever let anything happen to you.”
“Because I’m tied to you,” I joke, nervous.
“Because you are mine,” he corrects. His fingers skate lightly along my cheeks. “My companion. My woman. My anchor. My Faith. I will protect your life with my own.”
“Aron.” I press my hands over his because I feel like he’s not grasping just how out of place I truly am. “My life is your own. It’s been tied to you since the moment I put my hand in yours. If I die, I don’t know what happens to me. You go back to your heaven, your Citadel of Storms, and I go…where? I don’t even know if my afterlife exists in this world. If you die, you’re just one step closer to your ultimate goal, but I’m destroyed utterly.”
He shakes his head. “Faith, you don’t understand. I will cease to exist if I die. All of who this Aspect is”—he gestures at his chest—“will be removed from who I am.”
“But you’ll still exist. Aron will still exist.”
“I won’t be the same. He won’t be the same. He won’t know what it means to make the rain stop for a starving farmer and his wife. He won’t know what it’s like to race away from a crumbling citadel and have glass picked out of his back. He won’t know what it’s like to hold you close.”
My breath catches in my throat.
He caresses my face. “I told you once that you’re my heart, Faith, and I mean it. You’ve shown me a different way of looking at things, and not just because you like to argue.” His hard mouth curls into a hint of a smile. “I learn from you. I learn to think about how my presence affects others. I think of how I can be a better god to my faithful. Every day that I am here on the mortal plane with you changes me, Faith. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.” He smiles. “That’s why I’m going to win.”
For some reason, I’m equally terrified that Aron will die. I thought he was eternal…but Liar Aron got wiped out, and I know he’s different from this Aron.
My Aron could die.
“Well,” I say after a moment. I clear my throat. “I guess we’ll just have to fucking beat their asses into the ground.”
He laughs, pleased. “Now you sound like me.”
I’m pretty sure I don’t, but I’ll take the compliment anyhow.
I can’t sleep that night. It’s not the cold. It’s that every time I close my eyes, I see Aron dying. Aron turning into a wisp of sparks, Aron fading out like a bad polaroid. I saw it happen to his rival right in front of me. Liar Aron had his hands on me, was looking me in the eye…
And then he was just gone.
Ceased to exist.
I’m terrified of that happening to my Aron. Of course I’m worried about my own safety. That’s a given. But it’s a fear I’ve lived with for so long that I’m comfortable with it. It’s not new. It’s not fresh. My own safety is old news; Aron’s is increasingly worrying me.
If we don’t succeed, we’re both screwed.
Aron’s arm tightens around my waist. “Go to sleep, Faith. You need your rest.”
I do need my rest, because I’m his anchor. I’m his mortal tie to this plane. I have to keep myself healthy for the both of us. Even so… “I’m scared, Aron.”
He strokes my arm, comforting me. “If you were not, I would say you were a fool.”
Huh. No over-the-top declaration there. No arrogant posturing. Somehow, it makes me feel better. When I’m at his side, I feel safe. Like everything’s going to be okay even if we’re looking certain doom in the eye.
He makes me think maybe we do have a shot at this. We just have to be smart.
57
Three days in the mountains feels painfully long. It’s three days of cold camping, three days in the saddle, three days of damp clothing and relentless wind. My lips feel chapped. My ass feels chapped. My everything feels chapped. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this world, it’s that I am not an outdoorsy type.
I regret ever complaining, though, because the moment the landscape changes, I realize I’d rather stay in the mountains.
It’s late afternoon on the third day of travel when I catch a glimpse of a distant plain. It disappears from sight as we go around a bend, and then returns again a short time later. It’s a dismal gray plain, and utterly flat as far as the eye can see.
And rising up behind it, in the distance, is a slim, pale needle.
“Is that it?” I ask, pointing. “Is that the tower?”
Aron grunts. “I have never approached it over land, but I suppose yes, that is it.”
There’s something eerily familiar about it, the flatness that stretches for what must be miles. The stillness. “Is it like the Dirtlands?” I say, thinking of Tadekha’s Citadel and how it pulled all the life from the land surrounding it. “Everything’s dead?”
“This is a lake,” Aron corrects.
“But other than that, it’s the same, isn’t it?” I recognize just how…dead everything is.
Aron grunts. “It is. Mortal things cannot live where gods dwell.”
Which makes me worry about my future, since I’m tied to Aron. One problem at a time, Faith, I remind myself.
The path eventually descends out of the mountains, and as we get closer, I can see that it
is, in fact, a massive lake. It’s completely and utterly flat, as gray as a storm cloud, and starts almost immediately where this side of the mountains ends. Across the incredible distance, on a small island, is the delicate tower itself, stabbing high into the sky.
Our woales pause on the shore, twitching and uneasy. Markos, Vitar, and the others watch Aron carefully, waiting. They look just as uneasy as the land-hippos.
Aron says nothing. He simply gazes out at the gray, dead waters.
So I poke him. “What now, o leader?”
He grunts, gesturing at the water. “We cross it.”
“Like…swimming? It’s too damn cold.”
Aron makes a sound of pure arrogance. “Of course not. We make a raft of some kind. Surely there are materials somewhere.”
“I see no trees, my lord,” Kerren ventures. “What shall we build a raft from?”
“There will be something,” Aron says bluntly. “We simply have to find it.”
And because there’s no arguing with a god, the men dismount and start to head down the shore. It’s clear they’re uneasy. I’m uneasy, too. Everything feels unnatural here. Awful. Even the water that laps on the shore seems to have an off sound to it. I’m sure as hell not going to drink it or get into it if I don’t have to.
Aron dismounts and then helps me down. Nearby, Yulenna holds the reins of her woale, watching us. The god gives me a hard kiss on the mouth, surprising me, and then storms down the shore.
“Wait,” I call out. “Where are you going?”
He turns around and looks at me. “To find the materials for a boat, of course.” And then continues to walk on.
I stare at his retreating back, surprised. Aron is…helping?
“Is he supposed to do that?” Yulenna asks, her voice hushed. She sounds just as baffled as me.
“I have no idea.”
She turns and looks over at me, a speculative look on her face. “He’s different around you, you know.”
“Aron?” I’m surprised to hear her say that. Surprised…and strangely happy. Flattered. Because if he’s different around me, it means he was very different from Liar Aron, and I don’t like to think of them as the same man. “Different how?”
