Zella placed a consoling hand on Chari’s shoulder. “You preached from a cathedral. Yetinau hides in a cave.”
Chari shook her head; she saw no difference.
“That bothers me too,” Poe said. “I have seen the domains of gods, from a lofty estate to an ivory tower. Why does this one hide in a rugged mountain, one that is as homely on the inside as the out?”
“An ostentatious dwelling seems more his speed,” Chari agreed.
Zella shook her head. “He fears he’s being hunted.”
“By whom?!” Chari choked. “Taryl Renivar has a reputation for unmaking those who dare challenge him, yes, but he remains bound on Terrias.”
“I have heard stories that my father has agents who specialize in handling gods. What this means, how far it extends, I don’t know. It may be they are simply tracking their whereabouts for the day the Living God’s shackles break. It may be something more.”
Poe shook his head. “This does not pardon Yetinau’s cowardice.”
“There are some who see my father’s reign as a storm,” Zella replied. “You do not go into the open and challenge a storm. You weather it, wait for it to pass.”
“Then Yetinau is fulfilling his role to a T,” Chari replied. Before Poe could argue, she looked to him and added, “And in that, we may have no right to judge. How can we, so long as we’re hiding here as well?”
It was not a call to action, but a sorry admittance; the horrors they’d witnessed were still fresh in her mind.
* * *
As the weather turned more bitter, Zaja had to spend most of her time bundled up, for there weren’t many warm places in Chot Vot save for those that Yetinau’s devotees crowded. Outside the mountain, Zaja’s blue skin had alienated her; inside, it was fetishized, and so she spent most of her time avoiding them. No effort had been made by Yetinau to correct the misconception, and the sort of worship they partook in involved the kind of physical contact Zaja doubted she was ready for.
This led her to explore the passages of Chot Vot, and to her discovery of the mountain’s water supply: an underground cavern lit by luminescent moss, with a river whose water was nearly knee high. Upstream, worshippers filled clay vases with drinking water; downstream, they bathed and relieved themselves, with more concern for keeping their tails above the stream than any sense of modesty.
“Some sight, isn’t it?”
Zaja tensed at the male voice behind her, as much for being startled as for being caught watching. “Uh, yeah,” she admitted as she looked at Yetinau, who was kneeling down to wash his face. “Sure wouldn’t see that on Oma. Anywhere. Ever.” She cringed. “Hi … Yeti.”
“Hi…” he replied, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember her name. “You.”
“Zaja. DeSarah.” As Yetinau toweled his hands off with the hem of his shirt, she asked, “Doesn’t the cold bother you?”
He shook his head. “Not for years. Actually, that was one of the first giveaways that I’d stopped being just a mortal guy. Sometimes now, I walk outside naked in the snow. For fun!”
Zaja winced at the absurdity, but found herself in serious thought. An equivalent act would only hasten her demise. Time had effectively stopped for Yetinau Gruent, and if it could stop for her too, that might be the only thing left that would save her life.
“Have to say, Zaja, I figured you’d have come to see me by now. Been years since I’ve seen one of my own, and to be honest, I could use the variety.”
She eyed him warily; if he was suggesting she join his followers, there wasn’t a chance in hell. Her qualms with the role itself aside, she would never have the opportunity to accomplish anything of substance hiding in a cave.
“I have had some questions,” she admitted, before firmly adding, “Not ones concerning your harem.” Dejected, he nonetheless prompted her to go on. It was something that had been eating at her for a long time, and as she tried to find the words, she rubbed her finger in her hair. She unintentionally found the tiny spot on her head where her sickness had flared up and the hair had fallen out. A few strands came with when she pulled her hand back down. “Can I be fixed?”
Yetinau wore an odd expression as he studied her body. “You … look alright to me. I mean, you could fill out a little more up top, but all in all—”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I mean … sorry, I thought maybe you could tell by looking.” Zaja pulled up her shirt just enough to show; the blemishes on her stomach had enlarged and conjoined in the last few months.
“Ugh, you’ve got Nyrikon’s!” Yetinau blanched and took a step back.
Zaja tugged her shirt back down, insulted. “It’s not like it’s contagious! And even if it was, how could a god catch it?”
He nodded reluctantly and slowly stepped back in. “Yeah, still … I’ve seen what happens to people who live long enough with that.” He shuddered before adding, “Wouldn’t want to hit that with a ten-foot pole.”
“Hence the question,” she pressed, to get him back on topic.
“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, no longer looking directly at her. “No question why you’d want to fix it, but there’s nothing I can do. I mean, would if I could, but I can’t … so I won’t. Which is why I don’t.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to,” she said, crossing her arms. “Just … I was told once, back in Yeribelt, that Taryl Renivar could, once he’s free.”
Yetinau smirked. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to laugh … but here, I’ll give you a few bits based on what I know. First of all, if he could do it when he’s free, he could do it now. Second, Renivar oversees creation, right? That’s his thing? Problem is … I could really use a prop.”
“Huh?”
“Hey!” he yelled. “Someone get me a chair!”
From the nearby passage, a voice piped up. “As you wish, my Lord!”
Yetinau stood patiently, smiling and saying nothing as the sound of running footsteps faded.
“You know, you could just explain—”
“Wait for the prop!”
Zaja sighed, and waited. Within a few minutes, a devotee hurried in, clutching a wooden chair in her hands. She set it before Yetinau, bowed, and left without a word.
“So, this is my favorite chair.”
“You have a favorite chair?” she asked, puzzled.
“No, I—this is just for demonstration, bear with me.” Yetinau picked up the chair and shattered it against the wall; a few of its pieces bounced into the river. “So, pretend for a sec that I’m Taryl Renivar, Creation Guy, and I have the power to fix that chair.” The pieces of the chair remained lifeless on the ground. “I’ll use all the same pieces since creation stems from repurposing existing matter, and we’ll get a chair that looks like the old one. But is it?”
“Would it matter?” she asked.
“Well … okay, for a chair, no,” he admitted. Then, to Zaja’s surprise, he turned somber. “But you’re not a chair, Zaja. You’re a person, and everything about you is wrapped up in more than just your body.” He started to point his finger toward her heart, but stopped halfway at the prospect of touching her. “That new chair might look the same on the outside and be full of, I don’t know, snails on the inside. But if it looks the same, it doesn’t matter.”
She was disappointed, but Zaja understood what he was saying. “Even if I get ‘fixed,’ whatever comes out wouldn’t be me. It might look like me and act like me, but information would be missing … or wrong. Is that it?”
“As I understand it,” he said. “Look, he might be able to make an empty husk or a really good copy, but nothing that guy can do can save you as you are. Even if there’s a way, it would take more than what he’s got.”
She nodded her acceptance. “Thanks for being honest with me.”
“Yeah, well … anything else? Sounded like you had more stuff on your mind.�
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“That was most of it. There is one other thing I was wondering about, though,” she said with a sly smile. “Chot Vot?”
“Right,” he said with a laugh. “Some of the boys I used to work with in Stoten liked putting on plays during downtime. Chot Vot was the first thing I thought of when I saw this mountain.”
Zaja tried to suppress her laughter as she asked, “I never actually read it … but didn’t Chot Vot turn out to be a shit-house by the end?”
“It did, it did!” he agreed with a boisterous giggle before quieting down and adding, “But don’t tell the girls. They think it’s a sacred word—would break their hearts to find out now.”
* * *
Stayed too long, was Shea’s first conclusion. She’d scouted the outskirts of Chot Vot to make sure, but there was nothing growing that could save her: her cigarette case was empty. She had gone days without a smoke, and the absence was becoming increasingly irritating. It was enough to overcome any feeling of guilt as she searched the mountain chambers; Yetinau, she hoped, was the sort of man who enjoyed a good smoke, and likely wouldn’t miss a few cigarettes from his stores.
Her search was disrupted by a sound coming from one of the rooms. It was muffled, repetitious, and wholly familiar. Someone sobbing and trying desperately to hide it. Shea peered in and found a girl, one of Yetinau’s devotees, crying into a pillow. Shea paused, unsure what to do. Instinct said to comfort the girl, but she had no clue how.
The girl, realizing she had company, looked up. For a moment, she looked alarmed, and whispered something incomprehensible.
“What?” Shea asked, and got the same uncertain plea. It was no use—they were far from Tryna, and the local dialect was wholly different from her own. “So–sorry,” Shea muttered weakly before escaping to the halls. As she clutched her cigarette case, she found herself in the path of another of Yetinau’s flock, and was desperate enough to try anything.
“Oi, listen. Any smokes down here?” she asked, rapping the case emphatically. The girl protested, held her hands up, and said something foreign. It could as easily have been denial as confusion. Shea tapped the case again and staggered her request. “Smoke. I. Need. A. Smoke.”
“Is there a problem?” Flynn intruded, and the worshipper spoke with him, quickly and nervously. “No, it’s nothing bad,” he said to her. “She’s just asking for a cigarette.” The girl said something back to him, and Flynn looked to Shea and relayed her response. “She says they don’t have any here. Yetinau doesn’t approve.”
“That so?” Shea replied. “Bugger.” After the girl left, she glanced at Flynn. “You talk plain as day—how’s it she understands you?”
“I’m not speaking her language, or yours. I just understand you, and you understand me. Same with her.” He smiled, and added, “It’s a benefit to having traveled around. When we leave Keltia, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Nice to have it now,” she huffed. “Damn bints chat nonsense or ignore my crossing by. Rather not be seen like I’m about to rat out some hidey-hole.”
“Who … looked at you like that?” Flynn asked, bewildered.
Shea shook her head. “Just one. Forget it. Saw one crying, few minutes back. Not so happy family as it looks, right?”
He thought about this for a moment, then asked. “Can you show me?”
“A’ight,” she said with a shrug, and led Flynn back the way she’d come. She could still hear the girl sobbing, and there was another voice now. They were exchanging words, but it was still empty rhetoric to her. Flynn leaned in close. “What they saying?” she whispered.
He gave no answer at first, then whispered back only sparse phrases. “Keeps asking for me,” he translated the crying girl. “Not the deeds that sicken … debased myself in the past … it’s how I have to act. Loyal. Fawning. Not just during…”
The other girl shushed her companion, and Flynn picked up again as she spoke. “Done well. All knew what we were getting into. No one made us.”
The sobbing girl again. “Didn’t expect to be one of his favorites. Every minute spent … can’t help his believers … they pray to him … never known a better god.”
“It—” Flynn stopped, and paled.
“Spit it,” Shea prompted.
“They’ve gotten word,” he said. “The Reahv’li are near.”
“The Reahv—” she stopped. From what she’d been told, the Reahv’li had numbers, and the last thing they needed was to get cornered by another army. “Good as anything to get us off our arses,” she said as they hurried back down the hall.
“I’m going to warn Yetinau,” Flynn said as he broke off for the main hall. “He needs to know what’s coming for him.”
“Do your bit,” she confirmed. “Get the others set on my end.” While Flynn took off toward the throne room, Shea dashed off to find the rest of their party.
* * *
A cadre of worshippers was stepping out of the throne room, some still adjusting their attire as they passed Flynn by without a single glance. Yetinau was draped across his throne, wet with their sweat, and content, until his eyes met Flynn’s and his expression turned to disappointment.
In the moment after eye contact and before Flynn could speak, a series of questions fired through his mind. Even if Flynn warned Yetinau, what good would it do? The hedonist on the throne wouldn’t take the threat seriously, or would handle it ineptly. Moreover, if a deal could be cut, he would likely sell them out to be spared what misfortune the Reahv’li assuredly promised.
A change of plans was in order.
“The Yet-man!” Flynn bellowed with garish confidence.
“Hey … you. Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk—having you guys around for a while was novel, but if none of the girls are planning to join in my worship, it’d be great if you got going.”
“Actually, we were already preparing to leave,” Flynn replied coolly. “Occurred to me though, you and I haven’t really talked since that first meeting. Thought I owed you a proper ‘thanks’ for being such a great host.”
Yetinau softened a bit. “I can be pretty great. I mean, sausage quota around here has been up three hundred percent, but I didn’t say a word.”
“Trust me, I know what you mean,” Flynn replied. “Used to have another guy on my team, lost him a few months back. Once Poe gets what he’s after, though, it’s just me and the ladies. I think you see where I’m going with that.”
Yetinau nodded knowingly. “I do. I do. But you don’t have the whole godly edge backing you up. I’m just saying, don’t expect Yetinau Gruent levels of success.”
Flynn smiled subtly. “I still have a way of getting what I want.” Before Yetinau could read further, Flynn perked up. “Still, Yet-man! I’ve gotta say, it takes some balls for the God of Neutrality to hide out in a war zone.”
His host rocked cheerfully. “Yeah, thought there was a nice bit of poetic irony in that. I do my little service to humanity by making a safe space, let some of them live here and do a little service to me. Worked out pretty nicely, really.”
Flynn paced around the chamber as Yetinau spoke. There was a level of craftsmanship to it all: the throne and ledges carved into the mountain wall, the way the chambers had been hollowed out. There was the sound of running water from the far corner of the room, but no river to be seen.
“Gotta say though, place like this,” Flynn started. “You’ve got to have something cool hidden away here. I mean, why stop at the walls and the rooms and that big, bitchin’ throne?”
“Well…” Yetinau squirmed in his chair. He wanted to brag. His whole identity was invested in this mountain. “It’s all a man really needs—”
“But you’re more than just a man,” Flynn reminded him.
Yetinau chewed on that for a moment before gradually conceding. “Okay, okay, but only ’cause you’re leaving and—by the way? Don�
��t tell the girls. I banished the workers who carved this mountain up for me a decade back, so this is strictly between you and the Yet-man.” Flynn nodded his assent. “Okay, so the main corridor was the only way in when I found it. And I’m thinking, what if there’s trouble? What if the Yet-man needs to get Yet-gone?”
Flynn laughed, realizing, “You have a back door.”
“Secret passage,” Yetinau corrected. “You don’t build something like that and call it a ‘back door.’ And anyway, nature did half the work for me. There were partial tunnels, so I just had the workers carve the stuff between. The underground river, you see, connects to the outside, but the cavern ceiling ducks too low to wade through. There’s a second passage, though, like the river erodes it bit by bit every time it floods, but never finished the job. My guys did.”
“Secret passage,” Flynn repeated, making sure to sound impressed. “Damn.” He nodded, satisfied. “And don’t worry, my lips are sealed. It’s time my friends and I got on our way.” Flynn walked backward toward the exit, and gave Yetinau a nod and a wink. “See you around, Yet-man.”
* * *
A thin layer of stone was all that concealed Yetinau’s secret passage, and it only took a single strike from Jean’s mace to collapse it. Beyond that, she and the others would have to rely on Flynn and Shea to lead the way; the tunnel was dark save for what light seeped through the cracks above. They were passing under Chot Vot’s many chambers, and could soon hear the voices of the intruders, which Jean ignored until she realized some were familiar. A narrow breach in the upper corner of the tunnel offered a view into the throne room. While the others carried on, she and Flynn stopped to watch and listen.
“Before we begin, one moment.” Crescen stood at the fore of a group; it was difficult to count how many through the crack, but she saw several Reahv’li, as well as Arronel. Her fist tensed at the sight of him, but a gentle touch from Flynn was all the reminder she needed. “Gaspar, make sure everything’s in order.”
Killers, Traitors, & Runaways Page 31
