Temple of Cocidius

by Maxx Whittaker

Do I ride it somewhere? Is it a tool for the trial? Maybe a mount for the artifact- if I find her again.

  A big if. But the trial isn’t over, and I haven’t been sucked into oblivion, so there must be a way.

  Or maybe…

  I’m making a dangerous assumption, here. I don’t actually know who that girl was. She might be a distraction, wasting precious time. I cringe. Maybe the horse is the artifact.

  Resting a hand on its flank I peek around, self-conscious. Wait, what the hell am I embarrassed for? There’s no one else here, and I’ve seen weirder things. On a quick crouch I peek between the horse’s legs.

  Nope. Definitely not the artifact.

  The horse snorts, and I swear he’s laughing.

  “Here boy,” I run my hands down his muzzle, let him smell me. A horse has a personality all his own. I’ve ridden horses I could take home as a pet, and one sharp-hoofed bastard I wouldn’t turn my back on.

  He snorts over me in a hot, wet puff of breath and bristly hairs like he already knows me. I shouldn’t feel surprised. Magical trial, horse popping into existence, already used to me. Nothing should surprise me anymore.

  So...what next? “You seem to be from around here. Got any hints?” He snorts again, flicks his tail, and shuffles to greet me with his flank.

  “Well if that’s all you –“

  Screaming. The same scream that punctuated the wolf’s attack.

  It’s so loud in my head that I clamp hands to my ears. But it seems to fade as it grows closer. An echo more than a sound. I spin in every direction. Where is it coming from?

  Fragments of shadow flow over the ground like water, leaving blades of grass and cragged cliffs flat and one-dimensional.

  Air warps above the path, not five yards from where I stand. The horse backs away, eyes rolling in alarm. His reins tug in my grip, a limp grip with my teeth grit against the sound of screams that only I can hear.

  The shimmer becomes a flame. It sparks and there she is.

  She kneels on all fours, silent and still but her scream echoes like wind in the trees.

  I run to her, grab her arm ready to flee, to drag her away from shadows slithering into a pool behind us on the path.

  She shies from me, then strangles my arm - far too strong for how tiny she is. When she springs to her feet, the impact of her body and the tread of her arms around my waist nearly bowls me over. She’s soft, shaking, murmuring something over and over, her breath hot against a seam in my leathers.

  Hair on my neck prickles but I don’t see a thing. The only other living creature besides the girl, is the horse. It looks at me then wanders off, head down for more grass.

  I feel something, but I can’t see it. “Tell me.”

  She shakes her head.

  I wrap my arms around her. The top of her head barely reaches my breastbone. Her hair tickles my chin. Hair and something else. A hat? I crane to see her better.

  Ears. They come from sides of her head, just a little above where ears should be, but they arc from her mass of cotton-white hair and dangle softly around her face. They look exactly like…bunny ears.

  They’re bunny ears.

  Okay, maybe this place can still surprise me.

  She’s been back for less than a minute, but she’s repeated the same phrase at least a hundred times. I lean further back, hoping space will decipher her words.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Oh Gods, thank you.” Over and over.

  “Hey! Hey, it’s okay...”

  “So long,” she pants, and I’m glad to hear any other words from her. “It’s been so long. No aspirant ever makes it this far.”

  I take shoulders in my hands, step back. Her rosy-grey eyes are beautiful, luminous, shimmering with resolve, but there’s weariness there, too.

  “Does this happen for the full cycle?”

  She winces, and nods.

  She’s shaking like a leaf, her thick downy hair brushing her shoulders. Her clothes are made from the forest. Tan fibers woven into two pieces cover a lithe, athletic body out of necessity, leaving arms and belly bare. Her clothes and her shape are made for speed and flexibility. And her feet…they’re paws. They poke from beneath her leg wraps, short white hair spotted and sable. Her four toes are tipped in short dark claws. She bounces in place now, studying me but ready to erupt into motion at any moment.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s been so long since an aspirant made it this far. None this cycle. I thought I’d be stuck forever having my soul shredded and…” She trails off, shudders.

  “Your soul? Wait...what’s your name?”

  She smiles, and it’s like the sun erupting through storm clouds. She’s beautiful. Not pure seduction or angelic bravery. More grounded, earthy.

  “Kumiko,” she says. “I’m Kumiko. We only have a moment.”

  “Lir.” I nod to the darkness rippling now, seething on the path. “What the hell happened?”

  She bounces more urgently. “This trial is a cycle. It begins when I emerge and ends with my soul being shredded. And it repeats for as long as an aspirant remains in the temple.”

  This is so fucking cruel I can’t get my head around it.

  “You have to break that cycle.” Her words are flat, a script she reads from.

  “The wolf?”

  Her eyes widen. She looks ready to run. “Fenrir. A demigod of dominance and destruction. I am his prey, and my curse is to be taken. He does not tire and cannot be killed in his god-form.”

  Great. Sounding better and better. “Why would Cocidius do this?”

  “Cocidius saved me from it. It was much worse, before he added me to the temple. One god cannot break the curse of another- a curse’s conditions must be met - but Cocidius mitigated the horror, and through the aspirant, gave me many, many chances at breaking the curse. More than I had when my realm stood apart.”

  Sounds like a shite gift, but Kumiko sounds grateful.

  Around us, shadows gather beyond the path. They flow like dark rivers filling the pool.

  Kumiko’s breath comes in tiny gasps. “I have to run now. If you are hurt, or mortally wounded, you’ll appear next run.” She rests a hand on my wrist. “Do not fight him. Study the land, the clues. I don’t know how to break the cycle, but I know there’s a way. Cocidius promised me. Her eyes are haunted. “No aspirant has ever stopped this.”

  “Kumiko…”

  “No time!” Her words are panicked. She grabs my hand and forces something against my palm. “See what you can do with this; it isn’t mine.”

  She pecks my cheek and then she springs, disappears down the road with an arrow’s speed. This is what the horse is for. Every creature present, save for me, is impossibly fast.

  I dash to it, punched in the back by Fenrir’s roar. I vault into the saddle, and the horse doesn’t shy or rear. One thing in my favor, at least.

  The last shadows coalesce. They meet in a point and froth, billow into the air like smoke.

  Fenrir molds from the darkness, legs, torso, and head animating as shadows stream across the ground.

  All the while, I hear the echo of his rage and hunger pulsing in my head like a dark heartbeat.

  With a chaos that dances my mount, Fenrir becomes violently solid. His head raises to the sky, he takes a long sniff, an influx of air that sounds like a blade scraping across a gravestone.

  Stalking his prey.

  She said not to fight him, but how does that make sense? It goes against my every instinct so hard my gut twists.

  I have to try. If I reset like she did, then all I have to worry about is time. Which admittedly is short, but not desperate. I learned with Freya that taking chances in a place like this is sometimes the only way, no matter how potentially fatal.

  Sometimes the simplest solution is the best.

  Fenrir explodes into motion.

  I spur the horse, my blades trailing at my sides ready to strike. It’s like riding at a mountain, but I’ve outwitted a succubus, defeated a poison marsh, an
d killed a Goddess of death. I can fucking do this.

  I leap, slide across the ground in Fenrir’s path. The world is sharp animal musk and dark soil choking my breath. He can’t stop, or won’t. His claws till the earth beside my head. His taut belly hangs above me. I stab, a killing blow that should spill his entrails hot against my face.

  My swords shatter, chunks of blade embedding in my face.

  He doesn’t so much as stumble as he passes, but one massive back paw swipes, kicking me. I fly up, spin like a leaf and smash into one of the pillars. My spine snaps into individual vertebra, my ribs shatter, and blood oozes from my mouth on a gurgle. Blackness is immediate; it evaporates coherent thought. I slide to the ground, watch helpless as Fenrir rounds the path.

  I can’t moan, can’t breathe. The simplest option is not always the best. Remember that. Remember…

  Darkness.

  Light.

  I drop to all fours, moaning a low animal noise before I catch myself.

  I stand, stretch, the memory of agony still fresh, even if I can’t feel it. My body is hale and whole but the memory...agony is fresh. Fortunately Freya’s really prepared me for this.

  But I’m getting really fucking tired of almost dying.

  Each trial has its own rules, and in some of them, my blades are useless. It’s hard to accept, as a warrior.

  I turn to the sound behind me, lunge just in time to catch Kumiko. She falls against my chest again like a living memory but this time, she steps away.

  And she slaps me. Pretty fucking hard.

  “Idiot,” she snaps. There’s no malice in her face, just frustration. “I told you not to fight him. There’s no point. You’re just like the others, and now you’ve wasted one of our cycles. We can’t have much time left.”

  “I’m a warrior, a mercenary,” I offer lamely.

  “You’re a donkey. Stop thinking with your sword.” Her eyes flash, daring me to disagree.

  I rub my smarting cheek. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She knows her realm and her curse better than anyone.

  Kumiko’s mouth is open, already arguing. It snaps shut when she realizes what I said.

  Glad I can surprise her. I wonder how many aspirants have made it here before me, how many times they died pointlessly trying to fight that thing instead of listening to her.

  “Well...good,” she says. “I don’t want you to die again.”

  “How do you know I did?” My pride makes me say it.

  She rolls her eyes and points to her ears. “I heard it.”

  Right.

  Kumiko’s eyes widen, and she backs away a step, spins a quick circle.

  “Why is this happening?”

  “Because I spurned him long ago. But Fenrir’s hunger to possess can’t be reasoned with or denied.”

  “He can’t take my, body but my soul?” I can tell by the way she shivers which would be preferable.

  The shadows gather.

  She leans back to me, gives me a quick kiss to the cheek. “It was gallant. Even if was stupid.”

  “Thanks?”

  “Did you do anything with the orb?” she asks urgently.

  “The what?”

  “Oh Heijl and all the gods. The orb I gave you? The orb!”

  Then she’s gone, so quickly I can still smell her earthy sweet scent when she disappears around a corner far ahead.

  I can still feel her lips. Still see the fierce courage in her eyes.

  My revenge, my hatred, is still a burning core in my heart, but I’d have to help her even if she wasn’t an artifact. These incredible women are so much more than a means to an end.

  The shadows deepen, form.

  Time to go.

  I don’t wait around for Fenrir, this time. I scramble back into the ruins before he coalesces. The pounding of his paws shakes the ground, like an elemental force of nature.

  Kumiko’s orb was a dull colorless marble when she gave it to me. Now it glows warm and green like summer grass. What do I do with it? Where does it belong?

  I search the camp, taking rapid stock of everything. I poke my head into the tent, but I can’t see anything helpful; camp bed, writing table, some old leathers. Desperate, I peek beneath the cot.

  Nothing.

  Outside, cast about. In the distance their flight and destruction play out. They must be at least a mile away by now, but silt falls from the walls. Gods.

  Then I see it. I can read it now.

  Sound of a storm,

  Kiss of a goddess

  Breath of a fish,

  Roots of a mountain,

  Spit of hell,

  Thread of the delivered

  The wall inscription is decipherable. It glows with fey energy, green save one line that stands out in gold light:

  Kiss of a goddess.

  Kumiko’s marble? I pull it out. It still glows green. There’s a connection here.

  It must be a riddle, or a series of clues, but without context they’re useless. Could be a spell to resurrect the artifact, or a potion recipe erectile dysfunction. At the moment, it’s about as helpful as the latter.

  Tagan would say I need to do what a good general would do in a bad situation. I have to get the lay of the land. At the forest’s edge is a stand of massive pine, one larger than its brothers. The rocky outcropping behind it forms a natural set of rough stone steps. Perfect.

  The horse prances at my approach, eager. His aversion to the chaos and his need to run are palpable.

  Works for me.

  I mount, spur it toward the outcropping. It’s not far, but I let the horse gallop anyway. Every second counts, now. I palm the astratempus, the wind trying to rip it from my grasp.

  Its arrow has slipped inside the dark pinks of sunset. I have maybe an hour to solve this puzzle.

  I vault from the horse, hurtle and land with a grunt. Climb like a monkey the Tiger Mountain monks kept as a pet.

  The pine is a long stretch from the rocks, further than I realized at a distance.

  I don’t slow, fear and adrenaline powering my legs. I hit the edge and leap, hanging a long moment in midair.

  From the ruins comes a scream.

  Fuck.

  I hit the tree, hands grasping at a thick branch even as Fenrir cries his rage across the land. It echoes from the trees, sending a panicked ink stain of birds into the air nearby.

  I cling to the branch and wait to reset. How can I ever make progress like this?

  Long moments pass. I don’t disappear, don’t pop into existence with Kumiko.

  Interesting.

  As long as I don’t die, I don’t reset with everything else?

  Things are looking less desperate.

  I clamber up the tree, the smell of the forest and pine reaching through my memory, pulling things forward I don’t want to remember, don’t have time for. The scent reminds me of my youth, running through the woods on our estates with my brother, playing knight and highwayman, or swearing allegiance to the King of the Forest, an oak hundreds of years older than the trees that surrounded it. He would lift me onto his shoulders so I could climb the King, and then I’d pull him up and we’d spend hours up there, laughing and making grand proclamations about things; how many pies on a feast day, who could piss further, and who would marry Marin Corbitt. Things that seem terrifically important when you’re ten.

  My throat closes, tears blur my vision. Taran is dead, and that forest is burned, along with our estates.

  Sacrifico.

  And I will kill the people responsible.

  I climb faster.

  Kumiko has just restarted her run, a sleek white line far below, moving so fast that I lose her against the road before spotting her as she darts between a copse of trees.

  Fenrir comes on, but when he hits the trees he doesn’t dart or lunge. He simply goes through them.

  Enough gaping. I climb well above the forest’s crown. I get my bearings, setting landmarks in my mind as quick as I can.

  The bowl belo
w is roughly circular and cupped by mountains on all sides, peaks that fade into low, tree-topped cliffs close to the camp. To the west all that seems to bear the weight of the mountains is a lattice of roots from trees I can’t name, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Their roots jut through cliff walls, fingers reaching through the earth to find moisture below.

  The camp is south. I know this part of the realm. The pillars, high as the cliff tops should be visible from anywhere. North swirls a small lake fed by a roaring waterfall. This cut in the rock is the only thing remotely like an exit and the lake has no outflow.

  I might have found this fascinating, days ago. Now, it’s just another common impossibly.

  There’s nothing else noteworthy, aside from the path. It curves in places, not a perfect circle. It reminds me of the royal racetrack at the capital, where men the size of children ride horses that have never seen war and the rich froth and throw money at each other. A rise here, a hairpin there. Not especially unique.

  Okay. Temple, south. Cliff with exposed roots, west. Pond north. I have no idea if the directions are true in this world, and don’t care. I slide down the tree bouncing branch to branch, nimble, and drop the last ten feet. At the apex of my roll a hidden rock scrapes a path up my exposed arm. I suck a breath through my teeth. The wound will slow me down.

  Instead, it knits closed.

  Yes! Thank you, Freya.

  Throwing myself into the saddle I realize I have no idea where to go. The land, unnatural as it is in ways, gave me no ideas. It looks like a simple, pristine oasis of life and nature. Gorgeous trees, sparkling water, verdant forest. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  The inscription. That has to be it.

  My horse dashes with a tap from my boot heel.

  A scream rings over the fields, Fenrir catching his prey. I wince, urge the horse faster. Judging by the last two times she was caught, there’s three minutes between runs. Incredible, considering how fast they run what must be several miles. And horrifying. I can’t imagine how many times this has repeated, how many times she’s been pierced

  The words and are unchanged, glowing faintly in midday sun. The language plain. Whoever carved this didn’t bother to couch it in flowery language or poetry; they wanted to get their point across. And quickly. Obviously.