A smile tugged at Rowan's lips. She couldn't possibly explain it to her erstwhile mother. Besides, it pleased her far more to keep her secret from the grasping mind of Gentian. Those little victories were all she had to punish the one she thought loved her.
Neither she nor Gentian said a word, but one of the butcher's finally spoke, his eyes darting between the hanging sisters. "You're killing them," he said, his voice actually tinged with something that might be sadness or fear.
If she had any faith left, Rowan might have counted it a miracle. She smiled faintly in his direction. It was hard to tell under his hood if she knew him or not.
Gentian spun around and was on him in a moment. "They are pieces of meat. No matter where they came from, they are no different to all those down there." She waved her hand in the general direction of where the stitchers and igniters were still working, just below their little balcony outlook. "If they die, then they die for the betterment of Serey." Rowan winced as Gentian's violent gestures sent splatters of her own blood across her face. It was still warm.
"Now, time to feed them." Gentian jerked her head at the butchers, and they gathered up the latest round of blood-filled jars. Without a backward glance, she led them away, presumably to the stairs down to the progeny-creation floor.
When it was just the two of them, Rowan looked across at Vervain. Her sister's head hung against her chest, trails of blood drying on her skin, and drips of sweat tricking down her neck.
That's what I look like, Rowan thought, her head still in an odd fog. Exactly. To the hair.
She licked her lips and managed to croak out. "Vervain..."
Her sister's body twitched, and her head rocked back and forward a little, but she did not look up. Rowan thought abruptly of the moment they touched minds, and she suddenly wanted to hold her sister's hand. It was a simple wish in that terrible place. She leaned into the shackles putting all of her weight into stretching out to her sister. Finally, her fingers connected with Vervain’s.
New voices bloomed in her head; the priests and priestesses with all their fears, hatreds, and longings. Gentian's mind rambled above them all, pushing them on with her relentless determination. Be the One True God!
Despite that, Rowan held the contact, and as she did more voices unraveled around her, but now they were different. Voices of the dead.
Lost loves. Lost chances. Terrible regrets.
When she dared to crack her eyes open, the ranks of them were back again. Not just the humans either; animals with horn, tusk, and impossibly shaped bodies stood near the back of the mass. They had sad eyes because Rowan didn't know what any of them were.
Lost beings, she thought. Tears ran down her cheeks, flooding her eyes until it was hard to see anything, but still she held the contact. Despite the pain of it, Rowan could not let go.
A single man pushed through the throng of death. He was tall, dressed simply, but he moved with the economy of a warrior. Rowan saw enough of them to know a danger when it walked towards her. His face was clean-shaven and his skin pale against his black hair. All those little details Rowan observed, but it was his eyes that gave her pause. He had gleaming eyes of gold, the eyes of a predator.
When the spines erupted through his body, Rowan let out a strangled scream. If she had not gone through such recent trials it would have been a hysterical wail. It was the shape she had been drawing since childhood; a man bisected by spines sharp as a deer's horns. They ripped through him, but he took no more notice of their coming than if they were his hair blowing around his face.
Whimpers rattled through Rowan, as the man reached the two sisters. He stood between them looking up at them, his pale lips twisted in a smile. If it were not for the vicious spines, he would have been a handsome figure.
"The Pierced Man," Rowan whispered, and at that Vervain finally stirred. Her eyes slid open, but her shock was not as her sister's was.
"The Sharp Wind?" She let a hacking laugh. "Now I know death is near...I'm seeing things...my imagination is seeking something to hang onto...but there are no gods, only lies and chimeras."
He didn't look offended by her pronouncement, instead staring up at them both with an implacable expression. "You are both near to finding out the truth of that, but perhaps you would instead like to search it out for yourself? After all, that is the only way to be sure."
Rowan clenched her jaw shut. Without a doubt, it was her moment of temptation: the time when other gods would come before a person and offer them safety. She would not say a thing and fall into damnation. Even if Gentian was a liar, Serey was not.
The Pierced Man smiled slightly, as if he knew what she was thinking. Instead, his gaze drifted to Vervain. "Put more simply, would you like to get down from there?"
Rowan tried to speak up, to stop her sister, who was unfortunately ignorant of such things. Before Rowan could get the words of warning out, Vervain responded. It was not her fault, she was a heretic, and such an innocent-seeming question caught her unawares. "Yes!" she said, gasping out the words, blood bubbling up from her chest.
It was too late. It was done. The Pierced Man shrugged. "Then let me give you my assistance. Everyone needs an igniter after all—even you."
She didn't know what he meant. Rowan looked around, desperate for someone to come save them, or at least come—even Gentian. The ranks of dead at The Pierced Man's back shrank away, becoming dim outlines in the shadows. Rowan wanted them to return, to bring back their dead eyes and demands—anything but the demon's comfort.
That was not what he offered at all. He moved swiftly, quicker than Rowan could even get a wail out. With a twist of his wrists, The Pierced Man stabbed up with both hands at the same time. The spines punctured both sisters at the exact same moment, entering their sides in the same instant. The pain he gave was greater than anything her mother could deal out.
Rowan's eyes flew wide open, and that was the moment she understood why it was the dead had come for her. She was about to become one of them, and they were waiting to welcome her home. Rowan was about to join their ranks, and right before The Pierced Man who haunted her nightmares.
Chapter Twelve
Pointing to God
Where the Lightkeeper directed, Isobah would go, though not always with the lightest of hearts. It was a stain on his faith he kept to himself.
Collecting his traveling pack from his rooms in the temple, he immediately strode to the aerie at the north face of Diligence. Along the way, he tried his best to ignore Feculent following in his wake. It was near impossible when the eyes of everyone he passed, even those of the aerie-master, drifted in a concerned fashion to the ill-made creation mere feet away. Despite all the years he and Bayron, the aerie-master, knew each other, the man's weather-beaten face reflected the disgust Isobah felt just as deeply. He said nothing, but then he really didn't have to.
The only thing to do was focus on his mission as best he could. Isobah determined if it was a test, then he was going to pass it.
The Lightkeeper certainly gave him enough to contend with—not just Feculent following his every move, but Penance itself. With every priest and priestess of Rahvas in one place, all of them looking for advantage or a chance to stab him in the shadows, it was an assignment he would have wished on no one. He tried his best to arrange his thoughts, ready to face what he knew waited for him. He hadn't been back since Kiya's death, so there were bound to be plenty of memories at every street corner.
Isobah stalked down the aerie, peering into the stalls while Bayron watched with narrowed eyes. It didn't really matter too much, so Isobah picked the nearest progeny that would bear them to Penance as quickly as possible.
The progeny watched him, head tilted, avian eye somehow compelling. The supanna was a familiar creation to the guardsman. They carried him and his fellows to and from Diligence many times before, allowing the temple-city to keep up trade and contact with the outside world when it sailed near enough to traveler caravans or some of the smaller unaligned t
owns.
The stitchers, therefore, had much experience of making them. They put together the great wings of the eagle, the body of a horse, and the lion head almost seamlessly. Despite their wild appearance, they were easy for the aerie-master and his staff to control.
While they saddled the progeny for him, Isobah examined his pack, more as a way to avoid looking at Feculent than from any real concern he'd forgotten anything. He left his saber behind—such an obvious weapon would not be allowed on Penance—but he had several smaller knives stowed away. He would not be caught out like the last time. The cliff city was not a place to go unarmed and without a partner of some kind. Unfortunately, Feculent was worse than no partner at all.
Isobah knew he was about to spend some significant time in close proximity to the homunculus, and found he was steeling himself for it.
"She's ready," Bayron said, as the progeny screeched and stamped her eagle legs behind him. "Though she won't like that piece of patchwork you have there."
"She's not the only one," Isobah muttered, as he adjusted the stirrups.
He mounted quickly and tied himself into the saddle. It was better just to get it over with, so without flinching held out his hand to Feculent.
The homunculus stood there, her white eyes fixed on nothing, and Isobah wondered just how the creation had any movement at all. It was not sanguine that gave it mobility, but he didn't dare imagine the Lightkeeper giving any portion of her soul or spirit to that...thing.
It was not his place, he reminded himself. The Lightkeeper saw much further and deeper than he ever could. She would have her reasons.
Impatiently, Isobah shook his hand in her direction. "Get up here, Feculent."
The homunculus tilted her head sideways as if inclining her rotten brain in her skull helped, but then put her pale fingers in his. Isobah felt the stitching across her palm, and the icy chill of her flesh on his. He immediately wanted to fling it away, but he swallowed hard, and instead pulled her up behind him. Her hand in his was surprisingly strong and firm, but her stitching was so mediocre, Isobah half-expected that arm to tear off at the shoulder.
It was almost a disappointment when she slid into position behind him. The progeny beneath them shifted, wriggling, but apart from an ear-splitting scream, she did not try and shake them off. It had to be the Lightkeeper's influence.
As the skin on the back of his neck crawled, Isobah took up the reins of the supanna, and together, all three of them took to the sky.
They flew out into a shining sun. Usually the guardsman loved to fly, but the smell of the creation at his back and the unhappy twitching of the progeny under him rendered the whole experience more unpleasant than usual.
Diligence was not far from Penance, the Lightkeeper saw to that, but Isobah could only wish it were even closer.
The supanna was used to carrying one human and packages in their curved talons, and did not seem to approve of the homunculus on its back. The large furred head turned to look at Isobah and Feculent as if they offended the creation somehow. So, one of Feculent's own kind looked on it with disdain—what sort of homunculus was he saddled with? He felt a certain sympathy for the supanna. At least it would be able to return to Diligence very soon.
Feculent sat behind him, her hands limp around his waist, but it felt like a couple of dead animals draped on him. Isobah shifted slightly in the saddle as they descended through the clouds. The wetness on his cheek was not nearly enough of a distraction to keep his mind from the dead thing at his back as they flew for the next few hours.
The sun was just about to set when the supanna let out a low whistling cry, craning its head down, and for a brief moment Isobah forgot his homunculus companion. It was the guardsman's first time to the city by air—the last time they processed up with the other representatives of the deities. Despite his companion and his mission, he was curious to see it that way. Penance was the name of the city, but it had many others in many different languages; the City of the Void, the Waterfall City, the City of Fingers, and the City of New Gods.
Penance, despite all its problems and dangers, was still one of the most impressive cities in Rahvas, and completely unique because of what it lived in the shadow of. Isobah sat up in the saddle and let his eyes wander first to the horizon, and where the strange white expanse of badlands that was the God Void lurked. It was the place where gods were born and mortals only trod if they longed for death.
Just at that moment, the supanna darted downwards towards the tall, steep-sided mountain that was the dominant feature outside the Void. Dying sunlight lanced through the clouds and lit the massive waterfall pouring down the side furthest from the God Void. However, the sight of the table-top river turned Isobah's gut into ice. Even now, he could only see Kiya clutching the strange girl, falling—but unfortunately not forever—over the edge. He remembered scouring the river at the bottom of the table-top for days, hoping for a sign of his wife's body. However, Penance had not given her up.
It was the city that grew up around the temples, clustered around the one water source on the flat top of the mountain and looking away from the God Void, which even priests found disconcerting.
Feculent's fingers tightened on Isobah's back, and the stench of her snapped him back to reality. He had been spared witnessing Kiya's death, and during his visit he had no one he loved or cared about to worry over. Hopefully, that would make things easier.
He redirected his eyes to the other side of the cliff, where the famous finger temples of the gods speared out horizontally towards the God Void. From that approach it was only a vague white blur on the horizon, just a bending of the light as there might be in the midst of summer.
Isobah clenched his fists around the reins of the supanna, and they swooped lower towards the top of the mountain. The creature circled, seeking a landing spot, and as she did the guardsman had a wonderful view of the rest of the people making a far more difficult arrival in Penance. Three large sets of stone stairs carved into the face of the rock, and many traders and penitents labored up them. One of the spirals actually went under the waterfall, which at least would have provided a little coolness in their difficulty.
It was the way he, Kiya, and Nyennoh journeyed to Penance all those years ago. In their company it was a joyful trip—though perhaps that was only because of the horror that came after.
At the time he recalled being somewhat annoyed their Lightkeeper could not supply supannas to get them there, now he was grateful for that extra time chatting and laughing on the narrow backs of donkeys.
They saw many palanquins with four men at each corner, carrying sinful priests from other temples to Penance up all the stairs. As they flew past, he saw not much had changed; the sweating servants still labored to get their masters up the steep steps. Isobah curled his lip as he caught glimpses of them shoving aside pilgrims on their panting ascent.
Once the city was a place of holy retreat, where sinners came to retrieve their good graces in the eyes of their deity. Now it was ripe with pagan priests bickering and planning alliances.
He feared his arrival would only begin another round, as the Lightkeeper had not sent a representative to the Congress since Kiya's death. She chose to keep Diligence literally above all that after the debacle with the girls. Her choice of Isobah's companion was not the only puzzling thing about the mission.
Behind him, Feculent let out what might have been a sigh, or merely the air running over her slack lips. It was a perfectly timed reminder it was not his place to speak for the Lightkeeper. She chose her mouthpiece, and it was not his place to question.
The supanna screamed once, like an eagle spotting her prey, and finally dove down toward the edge of the City of the Void. The light gleamed and twinkled in the mist, and Isobah's face felt the waterfall's wet kiss as they landed on the cobbled street.
The supanna shifted from one leg to another, her feathers rising from her neck, and Isobah got the distinct impression the creation liked the place even less
than she enjoyed the homunculus on her back.
He slipped down off the beast and by instinct turned to help his fellow passenger down. Feculent stared directly ahead, making no sign she would ever get off.
A strained sigh escaped Isobah. It was going to be a very long, tiresome assignment. Bodyguard to a shambling piece of meat was looking less and less like a reward for his hard work.
"Feculent," he said, reluctantly holding out his hand. "Get down."
She dropped more than dismounted, for a moment looking as though she might tumble over. Isobah imagined for a moment catching the creation, and having her fall apart in his arms.
Luckily, she managed to rise to her feet, though she turned to face him, which was somehow worse. The way her pupil-less eyes fixed on him was deeply upsetting. He did not know what the Lightkeeper gave to animate this creation, but whatever it was, it seemed to be not quite enough.
He cleared his throat. "Follow me."
The supanna flexed back her wings and leapt into the sky, and he was alone in the most holy and dangerous city in all of Rahvas. Slinging his pack over his back, he took in his surroundings. From ground level, not much appeared to have changed.
The waterfall city from that vantage was no different to any other he'd visited. Low one-story buildings made of the local stone—probably since hauling any other building material up to that height was not practical—dominated the street, while lush tropical plants grew when and where they could. The mist kicked up by the impossible waterfall at least made the local plant life happy.
It was very different to the conditions of the arid landscape to the south and the God Void to the north.
The city serviced all the pilgrims and priests of the plateau, but it was not Isobah's final destination. He needed to find the finger temple of his goddess. There, at last, he was supposed to find some answers. The idea of going there again however, gave him pause.
Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1) Page 13
