Polinia gestured for him to go on.
“What she’s trying to say, Astul, is he put us in a tough spot. Ripheneal oversees all of us. He is the god of life. Think of him as the general. Got that?”
“Sure,” I said. “General Ripheneal.” Couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“Lots of backroom deals happened for him to be where he is. Swindling, cheating, manipulation. Those who got caught up on the wrong side of all that nastiness were waiting for one single misstep. And they got it when he went farther and farther into violating free will to corner Occrum. He’s convinced the only way to save himself is to retrieve his book. I’m not sure it’ll work.”
“If it doesn’t,” Polinia said, “the Council will replace him. And I cannot promise his successor will be interested in continuing his creations as is.”
“The Council? What Council?”
“The Council,” Polinia said simply. “It is…”
“The universal court,” Kem explained.
Well. Huh. Vayle sure had picked a shitty time to profess her desire to get back to the core of who we were and run far, far away from playing save the world.
“All right,” I said, “break it down for me. How is this book supposed to save his ass from… what? A universal downfall?”
“He’ll point to its vast collection of achievements that his version of humanity has reaped. He’ll say his stewardship as the god of life has cultivated success beyond that of any other god of life in existence.”
I stroked my chin, trying to store all of this very strange and very new information. “Is he right?”
“Possibly,” Kem said. “But I still say it won’t be enough to spare him.”
“But you four,” I said, “think you have the answer to this conundrum, yeah? That’s why we’re at my lovely hilltop, holding a celestial court.” I laughed at the absurdity of it all. If only Kale was here to see this. He thought flying on a phoenix was magical and otherworldly. I couldn’t imagine his reaction to having a chitchat with four gods.
“Inside the book,” Polinia said, “lies all knowledge of this world, and with it, potentially knowledge of Ripheneal’s weaknesses. Ways in which to hopefully extinguish him.”
“You want to kill him,” I said blankly. Why did the prim and proper always dance around the subject of death, using silly words like expire and extinguish? You extinguish a flame to make it go away, but you don’t extinguish a life. You might crush a man’s skull with a hammer or stab a sword into his heart or rip open his stomach and let his guts spill out, but you sure as shit don’t extinguish him.
Or maybe you do extinguish gods. Maybe that’s the trick. You pinch them between your thumb and forefinger and they go poof into the night.
“More or less,” Kem said, “yes. We want to kill him. By doing so, we can claim we recognized the problem and resolved it.”
I created a little melody with the clicking of my teeth as I thought about Kem’s proposal. It was an interesting idea, although one I didn’t fully understand. After all, who exactly did they intend on going to with their claim? They vaguely touched on the idea of a large body of gods who seemed more or less like a king’s court, but I had a difficult time reconciling that with what I knew of reality. Granted, reality was increasingly becoming a spin-off of fiction, but still. A court of supreme beings overseeing the duties of lesser ones? Shit. I mean, what did that make me? A prawn in the ocean?
But a larger worry than figuring out my place on the cosmic scale needled me. You take Kem’s proposal at face value and it sounds fabulous. Taking corruptness to task and tossing its sorry ass out, while saving mankind? Fan-fucking-tastic stuff there. Here’s the issue. Few people — probably even fewer gods, I suspected — shoulder such an enormous burden purely out of selflessness. What did these four stand to gain by cracking Ripheneal’s skull? A promotion of some sort, maybe? Did they really care about humankind? These were answers I needed to find, because I’d be damned if I did their dirty work, only to find myself in shackles, tilling crops under the command of some evil motherfucker while miss goddess of nature and her pals become gods and goddesses of the stars, or whatever it was they were after.
Couldn’t well ask them those questions, though, could I? They’d become suspicious. The thought of meeting with that wispy bastard in Amortis… it was becoming more and more enticing.
“All right,” I said finally, after brooding for a while. “Let’s say Ripheneal and I cross paths in Amortis. What happens?”
“Nothing good,” Kem said. “Which is why it’s vital you do not linger there. Go, acquire the book, and return here.”
“That easy, huh? So long as I don’t run into a bunch of Red Sentinels with veins nearly bursting through their flesh. By the way, what exactly were they? And who was the one-eyed gal with them?”
All four of the gods began talking at once. Then they paused, looking at one another sheepishly.
“Likely servants of Ripheneal,” Polinia said. “You’re the only one who can spoil his plan.”
That sounded about as convincing as a mother explaining to her daughter that all the creaking and moaning and whining coming from Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom was simply them jumping on their bed and having fun.
“One of you called her a lady of war. I remember.”
“Metaphors aren’t allowed?” Kem asked innocently.
“She supposedly asked for Patrick Verdan’s hand in Grannen Klosh’s conquest to take the East. Doesn’t sound like something a servant of Ripheneal would do.”
Laviel straightened her finger for an inquisitive butterfly. “They are his creations. He may twist and prod, but he leaves primary motivations intact.” She looked at Polinia scathingly and added, “Servants is a poor word.”
Laviel flicked the butterfly off and crossed her arms. She seemed ready for this meeting to be over. Harran was drawing designs in the mud with his bare toe. Had they expected me to put on a smile, clap my hands and run off into Amortis like a sedulous drudge? Never do a job without first asking all the questions — that had been my motto since the Black Rot was conceived. I’d had lots of mottos since then, such as never turn down a complimentary brothel visit, always look below for bystanders when you piss off a ledge, and book it the other way when you see a pair of bear cubs without their mother. But the first one had always stuck with me.
And I had lots of questions that still needed answering. Nature, structure, cadence and vision wouldn’t be getting their book until I got my answers. Which was why I bid the gods goodnight and descended into the Hole for a short rest before departing to Amortis. I had a bad feeling they were keeping secrets, and an even worse feeling that when I uncovered those secrets, the true breadth and complexity of the unfolding events would reveal themselves.
As I tried to toss and turn myself to sleep, an unrelenting pounding in my head kept me awake. After about thirty minutes, I rolled out of bed to get some water and realized the pounding wasn’t in my head at all. It came from the hallway.
Scratch that. It came from the far end of the Hole. A fist slamming against a door.
Chapter 5
In hindsight, failing to add slits to the Black Gauntlet — my fantastic name for the ebon door which kept curious recruits out of Amortis — was a poor choice. But to be fair, I hadn’t envisioned a scenario in which someone would appear on the other side, wanting in. After all, the dead cannot trespass into the realm of the living.
Or so I had been told.
“I don’t hear anything,” a very tired Vayle told me. “Go back to sleep. You were dreaming.”
“I’m telling you,” I said, “someone was pounding on the door.” Granted, the pounding had stopped forty minutes ago. “I’m opening it. By the way… where the hell are our recruits? Particularly Galmon?”
“All seven of them requested to break from the Black Rot. I believe they were scared. As for Galmon, Polinia claims he ran.”
“I should have figured. All right, you ready?”
Vayle drew in a deep, irritated breath and let it out with a curse. There was a reason I typically avoided her for the first hour or so after she woke.
“Stand here,” I said, stamping my foot into a moist patch of mud about three feet before the door. “On the count of three, yeah?”
She raised her brows, a silent yes.
“Liar,” I said. “You’re not ready. Where’s your sword?”
“Oh, for the love of…”
She swiped my hand into hers, wrestling with my fingers for the key. The only reason she pried it out was because I couldn’t get my other hand up there in time to lend assistance.
“Vayle!” I hollered, lurching for her.
She’d already inserted the key into the keyhole. One twist of her wrist later, and the locking mechanism clicked.
The heavy door moved inward like a lumpy slab of weighty mud sliding morosely down a hill.
I stepped in front of Vayle, ebon blade in guard position. I should’ve grabbed a torch, I thought. Too late now. With the summit of my sword as my lone beacon, I waded into the three-foot-deep room.
Then I chuckled and relaxed, letting the sword fall to my leg. In the corner lay a pair of knees tucked up under a pointy chin. Violet garments adorned the tunnel dweller, silvery-threaded seams matching his salty hair.
I sheathed my sword and crouched down before him, putting my face right up next to his ear.
“Rovid!”
The reaper gasped for breath, recoiling with flailing arms and legs. Soon as my face resolved before his huge, wet eyes, he threw a hand over his heart.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Astul?” he said, taking a couple deep breaths.
Vayle and I laughed so hard we were wheezing.
Rovid scowled. “I should’ve expected dumb shit like that with this one, but you too, Vayle? I’ve been knockin’ on this door for near four hours now. Figured no one was home, so I’d sleep for a bit. What’s with this thing, anyhow?”
“It’s supposed to keep Rots out,” I said.
“And reapers in,” Vayle joked.
Rovid took my hand, and I helped him to his feet.
“Only in jest,” Vayle said, assuaging his well-known temper before the spark caught fire.
The reaper combed a hand through his peppery-gray hair. He stopped almost immediately and glanced at his hand, belching out a grumble as he noticed the wet mud on his fingers. They didn’t look so bad now that most of the dirt had been transferred throughout his hair. Speaking of hair, had his always been so frail and gray? And had he always had so many wrinkles? I remembered leaving behind a more youthful Rovid when I’d skedaddled out of Amortis four months ago.
“Unlike your greetings,” he said, “and now the appearance of my hair, I’ve got a message for you that’s not a joke. Lysa’s in trouble.”
So much for the laughs. “What kind of trouble?” I asked.
“The big kind. The bad kind. I’ll tell you on the way.”
Vayle was gone, already bounding back through the Hole to gather supplies. I told Rovid to hold tight and went chasing after her. She was nearly out of the Hole by the time I caught up.
“Vayle,” I shouted.
She stopped, considered me for a moment, then said, “We’ll need horses. Come.”
I jogged up beside her. “The gods, they chatted you up, yeah? Told you the same thing they told me?”
“That depends. What did they tell you?”
“Ripheneal’s a corrupt piece of shit. He’s attracting the wrong kind of attention. So on and so forth.”
Vayle came to a horse and took her by the reins. “Yes.” She faced me, brushing her chocolate hair from her eyes. “Astul, it may be best to split up. I’ll help Lysa while you get the book. We will meet once you return it to the gods.”
Sometimes you’re told something that, despite its sound logic, you immediately reject. Mostly it’s got to do with beliefs. Your idea of the truth becomes so ingrained that you can’t fathom the other side even exists. That was partly why I shook my head and told Vayle that no, under no circumstance would I elevate this bloody book ahead of Lysa in my numerical list of concerns. You start putting gods above those you love… that’s where the trouble starts.
But I had another reason for declining my commander’s offer, one that she probably wouldn’t have wanted to hear. Vayle had likely involved herself in this plan of uniting the gods and the book because she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t pull any funny business. She wanted to go back to the status quo, to exit the grand stage and become assassins in the shadows again. If I told her that book would remain in my hands until I got a couple answers to some difficult questions… she’d probably not be very enthusiastic.
I’d have to inform her at some point of my plans, but better later than now.
I led two horses into the Hole, behind Vayle’s mare. They went into the tunnel skittishly, uncertain of the dark, narrow path. Pormillia wouldn’t have cared. She’d jump into the ocean so long as I was by her side. But Pormillia wasn’t here. I imagined her running free in the North, finding and fitting in with a wild herd, a retirement of sorts from lugging my ass around this world. But I knew, deep down where the truth burrows, there had been only one horse still standing when the storm had cleared. And it wasn’t Pormillia.
Once I came to the ebon door, Wyly — a young girl with a silky blond mane — resisted. She threw back her head, stomped her feet, swished her tail.
“This one’s yours,” I told Rovid. “Good luck getting her inside.”
My mare went in without concern, placing herself next to Vayle’s. I told my commander I’d pack the essentials and asked her if she needed anything in particular.
“Lemons,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. Bloody lemons. I wondered how much she’d spent on lemons in the past few months. Probably more than I’d spent on wine.
After rummaging through the Hole for supplies, I returned to the doorway with six satchels slung over my shoulders, two for each of us. Rovid was in deep conversation with Wyly, attempting to sweet talk her through the door.
“C’mon, sweetie,” he cooed, as if talking to a newborn. “It’s all right. Just… no, no! Don’t do that. Easy, now! Whoa, girl!”
Wyly thrashed her head about, probably stripping the skin right from Rovid’s hands where he was holding tight to the reins.
“You’re hopeless,” I said, squeezing past him. “She doesn’t respect baby talk. Be firm with her.” I equipped my mare with two satchels and dropped another two off at Vayle’s feet.
“I wasn’t raised with horses,” Rovid complained. “And the ones I rode as a reaper were well-trained.”
“She’s still in training,” I said, ducking out of the tiny room. I stole the reins away from Rovid. I clicked my tongue, gave a forceful a yank and said with a booming voice, “C’mon! Hop to. Let’s go!”
Like a rebellious adolescent, Wyly grunted and blew air through her nostrils, shaking her head.
“Miss Wyly,” I snapped. “Let’s go, now!”
After coming to an understanding that the only way out of her current predicament was to walk forward, she put her head down and did just that, grumbling all the way. Once she got into position beside the other horses, she received a disapproving glance from her mates.
“All right,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Back to the wonderful world of the dead. See you two on the other side.”
I walked my mare forward. Approximately six inches before we would have rammed our heads into the wooden sheet marking the end of the Hole, the darkness of my cavernous home was sundered by an abrupt transition between realms. Rather than a ceiling of dirt above and the smell of wet mud all around, there were the scents of bark and sweet flowers and sharp pine and candied sap. A tilt of my head revealed a blue sky hemmed in by a circular fence of narrow trees that looked like spears jutting high from the forest floor.
I swiped a gnat away from my eyes, only to be attacked by thr
ee more of the bastards.
“Summertime in Amortis?” I asked Rovid. “I wondered if they had seasons here.”
“Not predictable ones,” Rovid said, shaking his head, as if the transition disturbed the cobwebs inside. “Sometimes it’s hot. Sometimes it’s cold. Some places the snow never melts, others you grow to despise the heat. All depends.”
“On what?”
Rovid shrugged. “I don’t know. We’d better get to Crokdaw. That’s where I left Lysa.”
“Reapers after her?” I asked, mounting my horse. The thought had long concerned me, ever since Occrum’s death. I’d figured he had his sympathizers amongst the reapers. If some of them figured out that his downfall had come courtesy of me, and they learned about my connection to Lysa… well, that could prove disastrous.
“Er, not exactly.”
“Rovid,” Vayle interrupted, “were you followed?”
“What?”
Hang around Vayle long enough and you learn to decipher the vagueness of her questions. That was why my eyes fell to the floor of yellowish-brown leaves, detritus and mud.
“That’s a good number of hoofprints,” I said.
“Hmm,” Rovid murmured. “A lot of deer around here.”
“Deer,” Vayle said, “do not make tracks that come from horses.”
My commander and I looked at the reaper, who appeared offended.
“What do you want me to say? There wasn’t a soul around this forest when I came through, much less a bunch of horses. I think I’d hear horses trotting through the trees. And look,” he said, pointing at a track, “they’re coming from the direction of the tear. Not toward it.”
I reared my horse around and made a wide berth around the vicinity of the tear, ensuring I wouldn’t accidentally cross back over.
“What’s in this direction?” I asked. “Another village?”
“Never been farther this way than Crokdaw.”
I clicked my heels and met up with Rovid and Vayle. “Crokdaw’s exactly where these tracks are leading. Tell me, now, Rovid. What kind of trouble is Lysa in?”
An Assassin's Blade: The Complete Trilogy Page 71
