Amaranth stayed where she was, clutching the seat with her one hand and trying not to fall from the cart as it rocked sharply back and forth.
"This road is not really that smooth," she commented to Fleabane. "I would have thought with all the pilgrims they would have made it a bit more convenient."
Fleabane let out a laugh that was almost a bark. "They don't want it to be easy. Penance, you see. It is meant to be difficult and to stop most from ever reaching it." She gestured out to either side of them, to where the red rocks arched above them. "This is an old river bed, must have been wonderful once, now it's just another torture. From time to time there are storms up in the mountains, and the water from there rushes down here. Many pilgrims are killed; last time was only three years ago."
When Amaranth looked around her, she began to understand; life outside the pit was as tough as it was within it, there was just more room to move around in. It was a bitter thought.
Ceelut must have caught a little of her feelings because he let out a sound that might have been a sigh or a growl. Amaranth wiggled her fingers between the wickerwork and managed to scratch the top of his head, which seemed to calm him.
The sun beat down hard on the pilgrims, but the two pit escapees were used to it. They traveled in silence, keeping an eye on the pilgrims on each side of them. Amaranth did not want talk to her companion and risk getting another commentary on the pain around them. Amaranth hung on tales of flowers, lakes, and dark green forests. The outside world was a sore disappointment, since it looked no different than the area of Damnation.
Just as the sun began to slide towards the fake horizon of the riverbed, the stream of pilgrims up ahead let out a series of excited shouts. They stopped on the ridgeline and only moved when those behind them yelled and buffeted them to do so. Despite the situation, Amaranth caught some of the excitement, and got to her feet. Being on the cart, she had a better view than those on the ground.
As Fleabane urged their mare up the incline out of the riverbed, it came into view, the city of Penance. From the flat landscape the mountain rose almost straight up, like a platform a god might need to talk to the sun and stars. It commanded the horizon, demanding attention, not just because of its height and shape, but also for the wedge of green that stood out on its flat-topped surface. A sparkling shower of water cascaded from one side, adding movement and another color to the scene.
Some of the pilgrims stepped to the side of the road, and preformed a number of strange rituals. As they rolled past them, Amaranth couldn't help but stare. Two were preforming a dance where they linked arms and spun around incredibly fast. Another dropped to the dirt, and lay face down muttering some kind of prayer towards the city. Others just stood by the side of the road and cried hysterically.
Fleabane actually rolled her eyes, but explained at least part of their delight. "For many of the temples a pilgrimage to Penance is a must. Some demand the clergy travel here at least once in their lives to experience the joy of the God Void."
It was naturally hard to see a void; nevertheless, Amaranth looked for it. The area around the city looked like every other bit of the landscape, no more special than the rest of the dust and rocks.
When Fleabane clicked her tongue and snapped the reins, Hestia seemed to find some energy because she leapt forward in the traces. Thrown back, Amaranth grabbed hold of grab Fleabane's shoulder for support. She took her seat and found herself shaking.
Amaranth didn't say anything, but the closer they got to the city, the more she felt that tremble drive deeper into her bones. A voice nagged in the back of her mind, a voice that sounded like her own, telling her to turn and run, get away from Penance. She couldn't shake the feeling she was working her way deeper into a trap.
Jiggling her right knee, she tried to remain calm. She told herself it was because there were so many people around her, so many strange things.
Penance drew closer as Fleabane attempted to get the mare to go a little faster with jerks of the traces and many harsh words. It became obvious she was trying to make the city before dark, but Amaranth judged they were going to have to dare the corkscrew path after nightfall. That did not bother her overly—she was in no hurry to get to the city causing her pain.
The strange sensations were not done with her. When they got within the shadow of the city, Amaranth felt a strange lethargy run through her remaining limbs, and she slumped back in the seat of the cart. Even the murderous girl at her side and the looming city didn't seem to matter.
"Do you see them?" Amaranth muttered—though it was probably more to herself than her companion. She pointed out into the wild. Three small figures walked through the growing twilight towards the road. They were distant but very clear to her. "Over there, they look like lost children. We must go to them. We must save them!"
Fleabane glanced over her shoulder and then back at her with a frown. "There is no one there, Amaranth." She sounded neither shocked nor surprised.
Concentrating harder on the figures Amaranth made out their long dark hair, and that they were holding hands. "Sisters..." she whispered, "they are sisters..."
"We're nearly there," was Fleabane's only reply, and Amaranth dimly felt her hand pat her on the back somewhat awkwardly. "Just stay awake."
It was an odd thing to say, but Amaranth nodded. The cart moved at a quick pace, with the dogs growling and snapping at each other in the back. Maybe they saw the girls too. Reaching the start of the long climb up the path, Fleabane showed little regard for the pilgrims around them. She urged the mare off to the side, there was a set of stairs for those without a mount, but there was also a road up for those with wheels.
"Now really," she said, almost shouting over the drum of the mare's hooves, "we should dismount and climb the stairs to Penance for maximum divine reward, but we're not going for that are we?" She grinned wildly at Amaranth, once again giving the impression she knew more than her companion. Amaranth was beginning to distrust that smile. It reminded her far too much of a predator's. "You'll feel better once you get to Penance."
"I don't know about that...shouldn't we?" she asked, trying to lift her limbs. The waves of exhaustion seemed insurmountable. Turning her head, Amaranth saw her dogs pressing their heads against the wickerwork, and baring their teeth in silent snarls. Their eyes, dead only days before, lit up like the gold of the sun.
She moved her hands towards them, but when she went to touch them, reassure them, they suddenly thrust themselves in concert together against the wall. Fleabane let out a wild whoop, and the dogs threw themselves against the door once more. The wicker was not made to contain such creatures, so with the second attempt they burst through in a shower of straw.
Amaranth flinched as they leapt from the cart and trotted alongside. She had not willed them to do that, and that concern wiggled its way past her lethargy. They were creations like the beetle-scorpions, but the growing intelligence they displayed made her fearful. She no longer needed to force part of her will into them, and they made decisions of their own—almost as if they had some kind of intelligence.
"Amaranth?" Fleabane tugged lightly on her sleeve, drawing her attention away from the dogs. When she turned her eyes on the young killer, the wicked smile was gone. Now her face was twisted into concern. "Could you walk?"
"Could I?" She whispered, as if asking her own body. Amaranth judged her condition, and found it wanting. Whatever the city Fleabane led them to had in store, it already cast a long shadow on her. The mere idea of the vast array of stairs before them made a weary shudder pass through her body. Penance would have none of her sweat today. She shook her head. "I don't think so. Besides I don't really care about earning anything from any so called gods."
Fleabane pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, and then let out a piercing shriek. It must have been one of delight. Though she tossed the reins for effect, their horse was already surging forward in the traces. Luckily, the walking penitents already siphoned themselves off behind the cart
, beginning the long struggle up to the city. When the stolen horse and cart bounced forward, no pilgrims were trampled.
Instead, Amaranth clutched the side of the cart as it swayed violently from side to side. The road might lead up to Penance, but it didn't seem very well looked after. The wheels of the cart alternately bounced into a deep hole, or found a mound of unremoved horse shit to splash through.
They raced past a palanquin with sweating, determined-looking men carrying the loa, and the passenger hidden behind a pale green silk curtain. They shouted in rage as horse sweat and dung hurled in their direction. Amaranth was fairly sure the climb to Penance was not meant to be done at such speed. However, one glance at Fleabane bent maniacally over the running board of the cart, whipping the horse while calling out a whole stream of obscenities, told Amaranth she better hang on and offer no advice.
The dogs kept pace with the cart, their ears pressed back against their heads, and their mouths open. Even while being undead, apparently they still felt excitement, or at least the wild release of energy.
By the time they rounded the first of the turns leading upwards, Amaranth began to feel it too; the energy of their mad dash for the top. It began to overwhelm the unusual lethargy that stole over her. Amaranth couldn't help giving out a yelp of delight as they closed the gap on a carriage in front of them.
It was painted a dark and rather ominous blue with strange sigils that made her think of water on the side. However, there was no time to stop and examine it further, because Fleabane was urging their horse on harder.
Whatever her slain mistress had been, she seemed to have endowed her carthorse with incredible speed and stamina. Amaranth was no judge of horseflesh, but she could only admire how Hestia strained in the traces. She wondered idly if the beast could keep up that pace or if it would die in the service of the grinning Fleabane.
They approached a narrowing of the road, where the incline began its second turn, and Amaranth yelled out, but it made no difference. Fleabane snapped the reins, and their cart pushed through to the left of the carriage, its wheel bouncing against the side of the cliff. The other conveyance was so close in those brief, heart-pounding moments, Amaranth was able to get a glimpse inside the carriage as its curtains flapped in the breeze.
A tall man with a hawk-like nose regarded her, impossibly calm in such a terrifying moment. She even had a chance to see his pale blue robe embroidered with more symbols she did not understand.
As insane as all the moments were, she still felt a chill pass over her, as if she recognized the man. His eyes locked with hers, and she caught a flicker of recognition in him too.
However, there was no time to exchange words, or find out how that curious feeling could possibly be. Fleabane called out again, and Hestia surged forward. The cart bounced on two wheels for a moment, and Amaranth was sure they were going to topple into the other carriage. It would be impossible then to find out the reason for her certainty they had met before.
Luckily, the driver of the carriage lost his nerve, or perhaps more accurately was slightly less insane than Fleabane, because he called out and pulled his horses back.
They reared on their hind legs, perhaps angry to have been denied a good race with a worthy competitor. Amaranth worried the carriage would topple over—they were, after all, on the outside edge of the road spiraling up.
"Do you want us to be killed?" she screamed over the rattle and bang of the cart's mad dash. "What's so important that we have to go so fast?"
Fleabane looked back at her and gave a feral grin. "Death has no finger on me—not with you here."
Amaranth didn't know what to make of that statement. It was probably another facet of Fleabane's sudden insanity.
Leaning out of the cart just a little, she looked back to find out the fate of the carriage. It was a relief to see the skilled driver managed to hold his pair of horses and prevent them in their outrage from careening off the road and into the abyss.
It was strange indeed how their carthorse kept up such speed, and how Fleabane knew to guide her so well over the oddly curved ramp. It felt like it might go on forever, the rush of wind, the horse hooves pouring and sliding on the road, while the cart shook like a great hand gripped it.
Exhilaration and fear warred inside Amaranth. It seemed that she had not thought out their escape well enough. Once clear of Damnation, she thought that life would be simpler, but it only felt like it was getting worse.
Finally, and somewhat miraculously, they reached the top of the road. Amaranth caught a glimpse of tall stone gates carved with all kinds of twining progeny and homunculi. It would have been nice to have an opportunity to examine such wonder, but the cart leapt over the final rim and onto the flat of the mountain top. The impact of it rattled both young women inside; Amaranth gasped, but Fleabane let out a cry of delight.
Hestia in the moonlight stood tossing her head, as if the race only energized her. The chimera had done something to her carthorse; that had to be it, Amaranth concluded, even as she slumped back in the seat. Her breath was hard to catch and for a long moment she almost panicked she wouldn't find it again.
In that time, she was vaguely aware of Fleabane driving the cart onward more slowly towards the line of houses near the gate. The sound of water and the glimpses of a river running behind the houses were certainly strange on a flat mountaintop.
Amaranth closed her eyes for a moment. Something about the water unnerved her, and for some reason it did not help her catch her breath. The sound of it made her whole body tremble. It would be cold, and she imagined it closing over her head. Amaranth never liked the idea of vast stretches of water, but it was a visceral reaction she hadn't anticipated. The water would carry her away, smash her on rocks, beat her head until—
"Welcome to Penance, Amaranth." The voice stopped all of her imaginings immediately.
Jerking her head around, she looked down at the woman standing by the step of the cart. She had a serious, but kindly face, dappled with shadow and light. It was a beautiful effect only highlighted by bright green eyes. Amaranth didn't know how she could possibly judge what kindness looked like, but somehow she saw it in this woman.
In the pits she had been looked at as a piece of flesh with a price on every portion of her. She was not human to any who saw her, yet in that woman's eyes Amaranth saw herself reflected and acknowledged as a living being.
"Amaranth," Fleabane whispered into her ear, "may I present my mother, Violet of the Sisters. It was she who sent me to you."
When the woman dropped unheralded to her knees in the street, it began to rain on them all. Amaranth looked into her upturned face and saw utter adoration, as if the sun had come out behind her eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
The Price of Life
She couldn't tell Rowan. Vervain rode the horse at her sister's side through the trees and couldn't tell her a thing. The mental connection they shared in that mad moment under the temple subsided, and she had no way to reignite it. She would have to speak the words, but then he would hear.
What the temples created was bad enough, but chimera stitched the dead onto themselves. The necrotic flesh would drive a human mad. The belief they were gods was the terrifying result, and then everyone suffered. They were to be killed wherever they were found, both Zoeker and theist at least agreed on that point.
Vervain stared at her fingers wrapped around the reins and tried to calm her breathing. Night was drawing in, and they were with a chimera long thought slain. Who knew what he might do to them under cover of shadow.
As Vervain stole a glance out the corner of her eye at him, she saw the spines were gone, and he looked relatively normal again; nothing more than a tall young man. Unlike most chimera it was impossible to see the stitches on his form. Whatever he did to himself to achieve his powers was bone deep and that much more terrifying.
She knew he couldn't have rescued them both out of kindness, and she suspected the real reason was far more cunning. Gui
ding her horse around a tree, she was able to slow down enough that she ended up behind him and Rowan. From there she had a better chance to observe and think. He looked confident enough, and was happily talking to her sister.
Rowan was nodding, but staring at a point on the ground with wide eyes. Vervain didn’t need their connection to understand the other woman was shattered. Zoeker she might be, but she had witnessed faith enough to know its removal could do that.
The Pierced Man inclined his head towards her sister, smiled slightly, and softened his posture. He was being far too charming, but then that had to be part of his plan. Rowan was not an experienced young woman; the Stonekeeper of Serey kept her close. Her interaction with men was that much rarer than for Vervain. The Zoeker felt a chill run over her skin. Without his spines in evidence, he was an attractive man, and he had power—that drew women far more experienced than Rowan.
Clenching her teeth together, Vervain thought of the last person she'd known who had thought a chimera charming. Stripped of skin, she found young Belock's body on the beach, infested with hundreds of tiny flesh eating crabs. The previous week the young Zoeker claimed to have discovered a chimera in the south, wandering and crying. He'd written to his superiors that he sensed an opportunity to learn more about them. A wonderful chance to find out what made them tick. Setna dispatched Vervain immediately to stop him, but she arrived too late.
When the chimera cut out his eyes, she hoped he saw the error of his ways. Chimera thought themselves the embodiment of gods. They were fanatics of the worst order, who used humans merely as part of their rise to power. They gathered lost souls around them, telling them what they wanted to hear and casting them aside when they were no longer useful.
Vervain continued to let herself drift far behind the other two, thinking of what she could do to alert Rowan to the danger. The night was pulling in around them, and she admitted her fear was growing with the shadows.
Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1) Page 19
