Forged by Fate fotg-1

by Amalia Dillin

  “It was wonderful, Ethan. Thank you. Very kind of you.” Her mother was smiling at her son-in-law with an expression of absolute adoration.

  Eve frowned.

  Garrit sank to the couch beside her. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “What took you so long?”

  He shrugged, but his eyes were creased with stress. “Rien de particulier.”

  Nothing in particular, indeed. It had sounded completely particular and incredibly specific from what Adam had said. But her brother turned back to them before she had a chance to voice her disbelief.

  “You look radiant, Abby.”

  Garrit stiffened next to her, his eyes narrowing. Eve searched Adam’s face for some kind of barb, any hint that he was mocking her. But there was nothing. His expression was warm, and his smile wasn’t even all that charming. Just a smile. Almost brotherly. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, his eyes flicking to Garrit beside her so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. And then Adam turned to her father, and offered to refill his glass while he was getting his own drink.

  Garrit put his arm around her. She rested her head against his shoulder, trying to soothe the worst of his tension away. At this rate, sitting down to dinner would be a relief. She did hope René would be reasonable when he arrived. She wasn’t sure if she could take two DeLeon men waiting for an excuse to leap at her brother’s throat.

  Chapter Thirty-two: Creation

  As the sun rose, the lions drowsed, and Eve flicked a pebble into the grass near them. Barely an ear twitched in response. Perhaps it would be safe for them to leave the cave. She was starving with hunger, and she knew Reu suffered even more than she did. For her, it was only a mild discomfort, but for him it meant exhaustion and weakness as the days wore on. Adam had been right about that much; God had made her differently than the others.

  “We can’t stay here,” she whispered, though she knew he thought it too. “You need food and water. With the lions asleep, it’s the safest opportunity for you to go.” She reached for the hide, watching to be sure the noise and movement didn’t startle the animals outside. They didn’t move.

  He grabbed her by the arm, keeping her from rising. “I’m supposed to be protecting you, Eve.”

  She shook her head. “You said the lions can’t hurt me. If they can’t hurt me, you don’t have to protect me. I have to protect you.”

  He sighed. “It isn’t right for me to leave you.”

  “Either I’m safe or I’m not, Reu.”

  “I said they can’t kill you. You can be hurt like anyone else, even if you heal without difficulty.” He ran his fingers through his hair, staring out at the lions. “Either way, I don’t want to risk you. You’ll be trapped here if I disturb them.”

  “And if you don’t go first, and the lions wake, there isn’t anyone left to protect me when Adam arrives.”

  He set his jaw, and agreed with a stiff nod. She squeezed his hand and then wrapped the stones Michael had given them inside the fur, pressing it into his hands. “Take this. I’ll follow when it’s safe.”

  He crept to the mouth of the cave and waited to see if the lions would notice. When they didn’t even flick their tails, he stepped out into the sun and moved cautiously from the cave, giving the animals as much room as possible.

  The rocks shifted in the fur, clacking together, and one of the lions lifted its head, looking directly at Reu. He froze, and Eve held her breath, praying for the lion to close its eyes again and go back to its nap.

  The cat looked away. Reu crept forward again, moving around a boulder with a final glance over his shoulder. One of the lions rose to its feet and Eve could feel its interest in Reu.

  She stepped out of the cave where it could see her, and the lion flicked an ear, its nose twitching and golden eyes slitted. It started rumbling as it had earlier, and then it turned away and padded silently off into the grasses.

  The second lion watched her, too, ears following her movement. Eve strained to glimpse where the first lion had gone. It might yet circle back to Reu, where she couldn’t see. She turned her back on the second lion, relying on that curious other sense which allowed her to feel it, and followed after Reu. The second lion lost interest, too lazy in the heat of the day to bother.

  There was a steep path of loose rock and dirt on the other side of the boulder, and she could see where Reu had slid down the hill side. A curse rose from the stone outcropping below and she slipped down, her feet protesting every bite of the rough stone, her palms and knees scraped raw by the time she reached the bottom. She picked herself up and followed the sound around a pile of rock.

  Reu was cornered by the other lion, stretched out in the grass. The cat stared at him, something she couldn’t make out struggling in its paws. The lion lowered its head, trapping the wriggling mass, and bit. The crunch and snap of the bone sent a shiver down her spine.

  The lion rose, dropping the rabbit, now dead and limp, at Reu’s feet. It rumbled and then turned away, walking toward her. She didn’t move, not sure what to expect. But the lion only rubbed its head against her hip as it passed her, the rest of its body following with such force that she stumbled sideways.

  It disappeared into the grass again and she looked back at Reu. His face was white with shock, and it was several heartbeats before he lifted his gaze from the rabbit and met her eyes. Then he was moving, and his arms were around her, hugging her tightly. She wasn’t sure if the tears that came to her eyes were from fear or joy, but she cried, and he held her until she stopped and then wiped away the moisture from her cheeks.

  “We should find shelter. And water.” He let go of her only to pick up the rabbit from the ground. “And we’ll build a fire and eat.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand what happened.”

  He stared at the rabbit in his hand. “I thought when that lion found me again it was over, but it just laid down with the rabbit and stared at me until you came around the rocks. It was as if it was waiting for you.”

  She frowned, looking after the lion. “Do you think it left the gazelle for us by the river yesterday on purpose?”

  “God wouldn’t have sent them from the Garden if they couldn’t harm us. You saw how easily it killed the rabbit. One bite to the back of its neck.” His fingers moved over the body of the animal, feeling the bones where they had been snapped.

  She had never seen anything killed before, and it wasn’t something she could have imagined doing herself. “Would you have known what to do with it if the lion hadn’t killed it for us?”

  He grimaced and said nothing, moving from gap to gap between the rocks, looking for a suitable cave, but she felt his discomfort. The idea of taking a life was upsetting to her, too. But not as upsetting as the idea of losing Reu, watching him die like Adam had said she would.

  Adam said the world had been made for him. For the two of them. All creation, all the animals and plants, made to serve him and give him pleasure. Made to serve them both? If Adam could impose his will on Lilith, a woman, what could he do to animals? To a lion? If he wanted something badly enough, would they obey, even without his conscious command?

  What about what she wanted?

  “Here, Eve,” he called. She followed his voice and found him on a rise, standing in the mouth of a cave. He smiled and took her hand. “There’s water in the back, and several more chambers on either side. Large enough for the others, if they want to join us.”

  The others. Adam. Adam with an entire pride of lions at his back, obeying his every thought. Her stomach knotted as she walked through the cave. There was a crevasse in the ceiling of the largest chamber that allowed more light than just what the mouth could provide.

  Fire wasn’t going to be enough. Not to save them from Adam if he could command armies of beasts. She had to know what she was capable of, what Adam was capable of.

  “Eve?”

  “I’ll bring back kindling.” She left the cave before he could respond.


  The lions were still sleeping in the sun. But there were more of them now, including one that was much larger, with a heavy mane around its neck and head. It yawned, showing teeth that made her heart race. She wondered if they could feel her fear the way she could feel their indolence.

  She pushed away the worry and focused her mind on what she wished to accomplish, though she had no clear idea of how to go about it. Adam had used touch when he had attempted to manipulate her, but that was before they had eaten of the fruit, and clearly she had not needed to touch these lions to compel them to hunt for her.

  It didn’t help that she questioned the rightness of her desire. If she forced these lions to obey her, was she any better than Adam? Should not the animals have wills of their own as well? She thought about going back to speak with Reu, but she didn’t want to admit she might have forced the lions to act on her behalf. She didn’t want to admit she might share that ability with Adam—not just to read minds, but to control them.

  None of this would stop Adam from acting, if he thought he could regain control. She was sure of it. But she did not want to control the others or these beasts. Nor did she want to lead, though that seemed to be what she had been made to do. Why had God not given her the desire for it, if it was his intention? Why did Adam seek control and power so fiercely, while she, who seemed meant to lead these people, wanted little to do with any of it?

  She sat down in the grass with a clear view of the lions as they lounged in the sun. It was not a blistering heat, yet, but Eve imagined she would be grateful for the shelter and shade of the caves before long. She wondered if the lions, too, would seek some kind of shelter. She plucked at a piece of the tall grass, ripping it into pieces with her fingers. Maybe that would be a good way to test things. They certainly didn’t seem to want to do much in the heat. She focused on the largest lion, the one with the big mane of darker fur, and pictured it standing up and walking to the shelter of the shallow cave where she and Reu had spent the night.

  The lion sat up, looking back over its shoulder at the cave. She felt it consider the idea. Although, consider might have been too human a word. She pictured the lion moving again, imagined the coolness of the cave, out of the sun. She remembered how good the stone had felt against her skin in those first days. How much more comfortable it would be than sitting in the sun.

  One of the other lions rose to its feet, padding the short distance to the cave and throwing itself back down on its side. It rumbled with what seemed like pleasure. The largest lion followed, sniffing around the cave and what was left of their fire before lying against the stone in the shade.

  There were two more females. Eve repeated the same images. Moving into the cave. The coolness of the stone. The relief from the sun. Their tails switched and their ears flicked before each, in turn, rose and moved into the shade of the cave.

  The sun beat down on her, and she gathered some of the dryer grasses for kindling. Maybe they could make the fire outside, to keep it from heating up the cave. But it was cooler on the edge of the mountains than it had been in the valley, and there were more trees and bushes, though none seemed to bear any fruit. She decided to take her own advice and find shelter from the sun and heat. This first attempt had been successful, and she didn’t think the lions were hurt by it, perhaps they had even been helped. Maybe all she had to do was provide suggestion and encouragement. Maybe these animals would learn to trust her, and from that trust they could work together, and bond not just with her, but with Reu too.

  She went back to the new cave. Reu was sitting just inside, working the sharp edge of the stone against the fur from the rabbit to scrape the flesh from the skin. The rest of the carcass was tied around a thick branch, suspended between two larger stones.

  He looked up when he heard her and nodded to the kindling. “I was beginning to worry you’d been caught by something.”

  She sat down next to the carcass and laid the grasses in the middle of the stone circle, picking up the angel’s stones to strike sparks. “I don’t think they’ll hurt me.”

  The grass caught and flared. She felt his eyes on her, but she kept her focus on the flame, feeding more grass, and then smaller sticks.

  He came to sit beside her, turning the meat of the rabbit so it was closer to the fire. “I hope you’re right, Eve. That they will be our friends and not our enemies. But I don’t think they were made to be.”

  “I think I can find a way.”

  She felt him watching her again. “You feel them, don’t you?”

  She nodded, and looked up at him. “I don’t want to force them to do anything. But maybe I can find a way to ask them?”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.” His expression was serious.

  “I’ll be careful,” she agreed.

  He sighed and looked away, out at the grass and the bushes. She felt the conflict in his thoughts, between asking her not to, and encouraging her to do more. He looked back at her face, and his eyes searched hers.

  “If I can do it, Reu, there’s no reason Adam can’t.”

  His eyes darkened and his mind cleared. He nodded. “Tell me how to help.”

  Chapter Thirty-three: 172 BC

  Thor bowed respectfully to the immense statue of a seated god, hewn from the rock. The stone scraped as the massive head inclined.

  The god was everywhere in his lands as Brahman, taking many forms, but it was only respectful to address him in a manner which allowed response. Bhagavan had been the first to join Ra in the world, and between them, they had created the Covenant, by which every god was now bound. Every god but Elohim’s twins, Adam and Eve.

  “Bhagavan-Shiva,” Thor said, “I beg your forgiveness and your indulgence for my intrusion, and thank you for allowing my passage.”

  One massive arm stretched out, grinding rock against rock, acknowledgment and invitation both. Thor bowed again, and entered the temple.

  The dampness of the jungle around them brought sweat to his brow, but the temple was cooler, if not dryer. Thor followed the path of recently trampled vines, and unlike his last visit, it led him upwards. Crumbling staircases seemed held together by vegetation, and Thor had no choice but to trust that Bhagavan would not let him fall.

  He had visited the god before, of course, while journeying for Odin, and found Bhagavan to be a most understanding and excellent host. But this trip was different, made for Eve’s sake, and he hoped, without the knowledge of his father. This far east, and shrouded in the veil of the jungle, itself a part of Bhagavan’s power so near to the temple, Odin would have difficulty seeing them, even from Hlidskjalf.

  At last the corridor led into a large room, with wide, open windows, and Thor bowed again to the gods already present. Ra and Athena, of course, but also a second statue, this one of blue-skinned and four-armed Vishnu, the most omniscient of Bhagavan’s aspects, and beside the stone figure stood elephant-headed Ganesha, the most wise, in the flesh.

  “Thor of the North,” Buddha greeted him, returning his bow. “It is a great honor to meet you at last.”

  “The honor is mine, Siddhartha.” None of the western gods were certain where Buddha had come from. Some called him an Avatar of Vishnu, merely another aspect of Bhagavan himself, but Thor was not so certain. He did not have the same flavor within his aura as Ganesha and the others Thor had met. “Rarely have I heard of a god spoken of so highly by so many.”

  “Then you have not heard how the others in this world speak of you, Odin-son,” Buddha replied with a serene smile. “Bhagavan-Shiva begs your forgiveness for not meeting you as well, but I am certain you will be satisfied by Ganesha’s counsel. His decision will be binding for all of the Brahman.”

  Thor nodded to the Elephant-headed god. Ganesha’s supple trunk curled, his ears flapping idly in something like a smile, judging by the god’s eyes.

  “If it would not be too much trouble,” Thor said, avoiding Athena’s eyes, “might I see her?”

  “Ra suggested you might wish it.” G
anesha’s ears flapped again, and he gestured toward the windows. His voice was deep and brassy yet, oddly distant. “I have, ah, removed the obstacles between you, in a sense. The windows look out upon the village, rather than the temple grounds. You must forgive me for not offering more, but it is safer for everyone this way.”

  Thor crossed the room, finding a lush river where the courtyard should have stood, and a village set back upon its bank. The scaled back of a crocodile surfaced in the water, green-gold eyes slitted as it searched for prey. The children played far enough back to be safe, dogs chasing them with wagging tails. A girl’s voice rose in a curse as a monkey darted off into the trees, some prize caught to its breast. Thor smiled. It seemed a peaceful place, thieving monkeys or not.

  “We have your vow, then,” Ra said, behind him. They had not the time to wait for him to look his fill. A gathering of gods such as theirs would not go unnoticed if they lingered, if not by Odin, then another, and few gods were known for their ability to keep a secret. “As long as she remains within your lands, you will keep her from harm?”

  “We have no reason to do her harm, and every reason to wish her peace,” Buddha said. “She is safe here.”

  “And among the Brahman as well,” Ganesha agreed. “But if the Council moves for her death, even Bhagavan cannot protect her for long.”

  A woman knelt by the water, skin like cinnamon and hair like ink. She bent to draw water, dipping a large earthen jug into the river. The crocodile’s tail twitched and it submerged, invisible while it hunted. Just as Odin had shielded his own motives, holding Thor out as proof of his good will and claiming the Trickster acted alone. Had he always? Thor could not be certain, looking back, but he knew what Odin wanted, now. His father would call for Eve’s death.

  “Then we must stall the Council,” Athena said. “Even under the best of circumstances, it might take a century, but the longer it waits, the less urgency they will muster. By the time all the gods have been gathered, Loki’s work could be undone. And there is still the question of their godhead to be decided before any judgment is passed.”