Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1)

by Philippa Ballantine

  "Creators?" Amaranth thought the word sounded ominous.

  Ohian opened her mouth to reply, but a loud trumpeting noise broke the moment. It was a beast, Amaranth was sure of that, but on instinct she ducked down into the water, and kicked off to the rim where Ohian was just turning.

  Fleabane crushed in against them, as they all looked out towards the horizon. Amaranth was nearly sure she was dreaming...or at least having a nightmare. A massive creature, taller than the buildings she saw back in Damnation stalked across the landscape of broken red rocks.

  It had eight long jointed legs, like those of her beetle-scorpions, but they punctured the ground like her needle. The great furred body above those legs was not natural; Amaranth could almost see the stitches. The head was a triangular nightmare. As the progeny stalked forward, its eyes swiveled in its head, peering in different directions. Amaranth was intrigued but noted how they were mounted on the bulging cones sewn onto its head. The sound came again, a wheezing bellow that sounded pained.

  "Insects need more power than grander creatures,” Ohian said, leaning her head on her hand. "They are no good at that massive size. See, the body is probably some kind of feline, but the eyes of the spider."

  "We should run," Fleabane said, ignoring Ohian’s relaxed attitude. Her fingers dug into Amaranth's remaining arm.

  "If you run, you will die," the traveler said to them, the hint of a smile on her lips. "My protection has its limits."

  Amaranth felt a chill invade her belly, even though the pool was so warm. "Protection?"

  Ohian’s hair curled up from the water, and began to sway slowly from side to side. Her eyes—now a piercing green—narrowed, while the strange gleam on her skin grew a little brighter. "Let us just say I am prompting our new friend here to look elsewhere."

  The progeny stood at the bottom of the hill, though because of its great size it seemed closer. Amaranth observed the swiveling eyes were indeed not swiveling in their direction. She wished the rocks would open up and swallow them.

  Fleabane stopped tugging on Amaranth's arm and stared at Ohian with a face devoid of emotion. It was as if the danger of the progeny wasn't even real to her anymore.

  "Besides," Ohian said, her voice cool, "could you really run anywhere, Amaranth?"

  That struck deep; she meant the bits that had been cut from her. Running was far out of her capabilities, but she had not mentioned that to Ohian. The progeny trumpeted, perhaps in frustration, and with the dust swirling around it stamped away from the pools, and the three women.

  Without comment, Ohian rose from the water. The liquid streamed off the lean muscles, and she looked supremely confident as she began to dry herself on the linens.

  Amaranth slowly followed suit, her mind whirling. If their new guardian knew so much about them and still protected them, maybe they were supremely lucky. Two girls from the pits could not hope to survive in the wide world without some kind of guardian.

  "You can't put those back on," Ohian said, nudging their foul clothes with the very tip of her foot. "I have something far more suitable."

  Amaranth tried to catch Fleabane's eye, but the younger girl would not look up. Devoid of the dirt, shit, blood, and sweat of the pits she looked vulnerable somehow, as if it had been a protection against the world.

  Following Ohian back to her cart, they waited as she opened one of the many bags hanging from the roof of the vehicle. "There you are. Those should fit."

  She tossed Amaranth a bundle of dark blue fabric. Unfurling it, she found a long tunic and some flowing pants. They were so smooth and slick against her hand she hesitated.

  Ohian laughed softly at this. "Put them on. I don't want you to stand out among all the other people at Penance."

  Amaranth shot her a look, as she carefully slipped into the clothes, still not quite believing her luck. "Penance?" She heard some of the pit drivers mentioning the word, but she had no idea what it might mean.

  "Penance, the city on the edge of the God Void." Ohian had her back to them, digging around in another bag. "It is a grand city, and probably the safest place for you to be. I have a friend there who will protect you. Once we meet up with her, then you'll have all the protection you need from the slavers of Damnation."

  Amaranth had a vague concept of the outside world, picked up here and there; she knew there were temples constantly fighting, and she knew they were the main buyers of spare parts creatures like her.

  Backing away, she glanced right and left to see which was the best way of escaping. Ohian turned, a second bundle of clothes in her hands, presumably for Fleabane. Seeing Amaranth's expression, she let out a soft sigh. "You can't possibly see what you are, can you Amaranth? These priests and priestesses have abilities like yours." She gestured to the dogs still crouched down not far off. "It is not an easy thing to do what you have done, and once they know that you will be welcomed. You don't need to be just spare parts."

  Amaranth felt the reality of the situation wrap itself around her.

  Ohian tossed the bundle of clothes at Fleabane's feet. The younger girl did not make a move for the clothes, but the traveler didn't approach her; she walked up and embraced Amaranth instead. For a moment the girl didn't know what to do. She stood rigid as a piece of wood, but as Ohian began to rock her, she softened. The unexpected gesture touched memories of her own mother, rocking her to sleep before she'd been taken away.

  "Did you imagine hiding out in the wilderness?" Ohian whispered. "You must find a safe place in this world, and no place is safer than with my friend. She will take good care of you."

  Amaranth found herself dangerously close to crying, but she looked up at Ohian. "Do you really think she would want me?"

  The traveler's hair gleamed in the sunlight, swaying in time with Ohian’s rocking motion. "You are a marvel, Amaranth, and you don't even know it. She will help you nurture that special part of you."

  The girl smiled nervously, hoping the traveler was right. She'd never felt special before, and only had vague memories of her mother to warm her. Perhaps she could build her own family...

  When Ohian staggered, at first Amaranth thought she stumbled. Then the traveler clutched her side and wheeled around. That was when Amaranth saw what pained her; Fleabane was latched onto the taller woman's back, naked but stabbing her again and again like she was mad.

  Amaranth only had a moment to cry out before Fleabane yanked back Ohian’s head and slit her throat.

  They tumbled together to the ground, but the young woman was the only one to rise from the heap. She stood there, naked and covered in their rescuer's blood. She didn't even look winded by the encounter. Certainly, there was no guilt on her face, just a fierce expression.

  Amaranth was in such shock she didn't know what to say. Her dogs, smelling blood, rose to their feet, but did not attack. The beetle-scorpions on the rock face made little rattling noises in their place, but stayed calm.

  Fleabane wiped her hair out of her eyes and looked at Amaranth with such ferocity she wondered if she had ever known her pit mate. The older girl felt her blood run cold, and she couldn't have said who she was more afraid of in that moment, the progeny stalking the wilds, or the murderer before her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Power and Destruction

  They were talking, Mother and her butchers, discussing how much more blood they could take from both Rowan and Vervain. From where the group huddled over by the shelves, Rowan could not see their faces, but she didn't need or want to. To her their voices were like the hissing of snakes, and she turned her head away as best she could.

  Gentian Stonekeeper, the person who had been her mother as long as she could remember, observed, arms crossed, face bereft of any emotion at all, as they cut her. She watched the blood flow with those same blue eyes that watched Rowan grow. Perhaps her mother had not been the most emotional of parents, but there were smiles, laughter, and hugs in those many years. Now those blue eyes were washed clean of any kindness. How could it be
that only a few days before they looked on her with pride?

  When she struggled back to the battlements after the heretic progeny, her mother smiled warmly and told her how well she had done. Rowan couldn't believe the woman who watched her bleed was the same person at all.

  Prayer didn't seem to help either. Squeezing her eyes shut and sending her thoughts to Serey brought nothing, no change in circumstances or her mother's expression, no stop to the bloodletting. Rowan felt herself teetering on the edge of the darkness again.

  As she struggled to understand why it was happening, she also fought to remain conscious. If she slipped into unconsciousness, then she might miss the moment her mother's expression changed. Rowan held on, even as the world swam in and out of focus in rhythm with the loss of blood they took from her. It felt as though her very essence was flowing out in surges like the heretic progeny brought with it. Surely speaking to one prisoner should not have earned her such a punishment? How could anything be so awful as to deserve this?

  As she hung there, Rowan tried to frantically search back through her memories for something she might have done. Had she been bad as a child? As the memories ran past her, sweet and painful, she began to see something. Hugs had not really been that many, and those kind words she recalled came from other priests. Even only a few days before, when she finally made it to the battlements, she had not seen clearly. Her mother's smile might have been on her lips, but it was never in her eyes.

  The terrible realization went through her like one of the butcher's knives. Rowan let out a low groan and let her head drop. Recognition of her own foolishness made her wish for the release of unconsciousness. All those things, all those memories, were empty. Gentian had been pushing her towards something all her life and she just hadn’t seen it. Lurking behind the façade of a kindly mother had been a priestess trying to wring the truth out of her.

  The shadows came rushing back, and Rowan suddenly hoped the cutting would finish her. How could she have been so contemptibly idiotic? Death would be just punishment for her weakness.

  "Rowan..." The voice at her side was soft, but insistent. "Rowan..." When she finally looked up, Vervain's leaf green eyes caught hers, as the woman with her face leaned toward her as much as she could. "We all see what we want to see...there is no shame in being a child wanting love..."

  Rowan almost forgot to breathe. "How..." She paused, as the words almost choked her throat. "How did you know I was thinking..."

  Her voice trailed off, and Vervain tilted her head, a half-smile on her lips. "They told me..."

  Rowan felt a cold jolt of fear and excitement run down her spine. Suddenly thoughts of Gentian were chased from her mind. Vervain heard the voices like she did, and they were there with them in the darkness of the dungeon. There was no jumble of words she couldn't make out, and there was definitely no fear in them. In those terrible moments, hanging like a side of meat under the temple-city she had known as home, Rowan made out sentences and picked out individual voices from the crowd.

  "You hear can hear them too," she said. It was no question. They smiled at each other; Rowan triumphant, Vervain more uncertain.

  Turning their heads, both women glanced over to the where the Stonekeeper was conversing with her butchers.

  "Concentrate." Rowan wasn't sure if it was her own voice, Vervain's, or someone from the shadows, but she did as it demanded.

  Finally, a chance. Finally, a way to use the worthless child. Two gods means so many chances. So many pieces.

  The voice was not spoken, it wasn't carried on the cold air of the dungeon, but it was unmistakably the tone of her mother. A gasp escaped Rowan, and she feared she would slide into madness. If she was hearing Gentian's thoughts, then why was she thinking of gods? Only one real god existed, and it was Serey.

  No, don't fall back into the ignorance they forced on you. The voice in her head was so similar to her own she wondered if it was her own thoughts...at least for a moment. She glanced across at Vervain. The other gave a little nod, and Rowan felt her strength return.

  Those are just Gentian's surface thoughts, a new voice said, growing in power as it went on. It did not feel like it belonged to either her or Gentian, and it seemed to get stronger as it went. Go deeper still, it commanded.

  Somehow she knew what it meant and how to achieve it. Rowan pressed down through Gentian's mind, past the swirling need to win, and through the layers of determination, to the very core of the one she called Mother's existence.

  Fear.

  For a moment Rowan couldn't believe what she uncovered there. Like a pulsing and fetid thing, Rowan brought to light the real motivator within her mother: Fear. Gentian Stonekeeper was afraid of so very many things: losing control, being a failure, not being remembered, death.

  Of all the things she could have found, this was the one Rowan would never have expected. Gentian was the rock upon which all the rest of her life broke, and yet her once-daughter could see it now; she was no different than any other mortal. Everything she did, she did because she feared death. It was as if by moving constantly forward she could avoid it.

  More. She's afraid of more than just that. She was almost certain the voice belonged to both Vervain and herself. Look again.

  Peering deep one more time, Rowan understood. She's afraid of me. Afraid of us. No terrified.

  Vervain raised her head and smiled again, this time broader—almost victorious. "You know how she thinks of you now."

  Gentian had never truly considered Rowan to be her daughter—Rowan could see that—she was just a thing to her. Whatever the Stonekeeper planned on doing with all that blood, she obviously decided Rowan was no longer her daughter.

  It hurt more than the cuts of the knife. Losing a mother was no easy thing, and peeling away her layers to get to the rotten core was even harder. In fact, it would have been easier if Gentian had fallen under the tentacles of the heretic progeny.

  Rowan let out a long breath, exhaling the loss. Throughout it though, her eyes never left Vervain's. Her sister. Her twin. Whatever she was, there was compassion in Vervain—even if she could do nothing to help. They would at least die together.

  Just as she reached out into Gentian’s mind, Rowan grappled out instinctively for the mind of Vervain—not to steal anything, but as any human would do for another when pain came calling. The other captive's eyes widened with shock for an instant, but then her shoulders relaxed, and she gave a little nod. Rowan linked her mind to Vervain's as easily as taking a breath, and somehow the pain of what happened washed away; there were only the two of them.

  It felt as though they were swinging together, floating in the joy of nothing; just the pair of them and the insignificant space in between. Vervain. Rowan. It felt as though neither of them ended or began. They spun around each other’s minds, dancing in a circle and the empty point between them.

  Rowan—if she was still Rowan—never felt more complete or understood. Her fears drifted away from her, suddenly seeming silly. That which troubled her didn't matter at all, even when her eyes drifted open and saw into the shadows behind her sister.

  When she saw what lurked there, she was not frightened—or even very surprised. Ranks and ranks of dark creatures. Lines upon lines of people mixed in with the various shapes of animals, and every one of them looking towards Rowan. They wanted something, she sensed that immediately, but what exactly it might be she couldn't quite yet grasp. Whatever it was, she wanted to help them.

  Their voices were what she heard alone in her room, and in the darkened corners of the temple. They whispered to her, yelled at her, pleaded with her. Gentian Stonekeeper said they were demons sent to test her and dosed her with many potions to keep their words at bay—but that was the wrong thing to do. Not listening to the shadows only hurt her—and them as well.

  Seeing them, Rowan knew they did not mean to frighten or endanger her. She looked into their once-gleaming eyes, filmed over with death, and felt the wrongs perpetrated on them. Though they
brought knowledge and power with them, their words were the calls of the unjustly slain dead. Their eyes, like still stones, fixed on Rowan.

  She thought the temple-city was built on solid rock, but the truth was it was constructed on the bones of men, women, children, and countless poor beasts. The dead were heedlessly stacked up, creating Providence like some dreadful hill.

  As Rowan felt their gazes on her, a strange, warm maternal feeling rose within her. All of the dead around her were only visible to her, so they had no one else to speak for them and to tell their tales. She almost started forward as the desire to gather them all up and tell them she understood filled her. Their hollow gazes fixed on her—not with hunger or malice—but with longing and hope. No one wanted to be forgotten, not people and not beasts. Some of the creatures, great lumbering figures even she couldn't name. However, Rowan saw them all and counted every one. No one was forgotten or missed in her gaze.

  Suddenly her pain and despair seemed a very small thing.

  When her eyes flicked back to Vervain, she could instantly tell her sister did not see them as Rowan did. Her gaze was fixed in another direction, but what she saw she did not tell. Before she could ask, a voice cracked through the shadows, a voice very much alive and just as demanding.

  "Rowan!"

  At first she did not heed the angry voice, but then she was jerked around by the manacles, breaking the gaze between herself and the creatures of death. The world she snapped back to was a far less comforting place than the one she finally saw in the shadows.

  "Rowan!" Gentian’s hand connected with her cheek in a slap no doubt meant to sting. The pain didn't even reach her. Nothing Gentian did could reach her anymore, but the ranks of the dead faded back into darkness, driven back by the presence of the Stonekeeper. Her mother's hand locked around Rowan's chin, forcing her to look her into those deceitful blue eyes. "What do you see?"