Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1)

by Philippa Ballantine

  The woman did not offer her own shoulder to assist, instead she gestured ahead. "Just hang on until we get to the inn. It really isn't too far."

  Was she that foul Violet could not bear to touch her? Amaranth felt a great sadness wash over her. Maybe this was how it was going to be outside the pits. She was a freak, broken, and unworthy of human acceptance.

  As she trudged on towards the promised rest, her head hung, and the only thing keeping her upright was her own creation at her side.

  The inn, when they finally reached it, was not some beacon of hope. It was ramshackle, with a sagging roof, and windows shuttered and unwelcoming. Amaranth suspected this was why it was in a back alley rather than on the main road.

  As Violet moved towards the inn, Amaranth grabbed at her arm with her hand, latching on tightly. Since losing her arm to the pit drivers, her other had grown surprisingly strong. The older woman glanced down in shock at the place where her companion's fingers squeezed her flesh.

  An expression of delight flickered over her features but was gone just as quickly.

  "You said you were once a priestess," Amaranth spoke softly but with some of the hardness she had learned in the pits. "I was a piece of meat for those vultures. The pit masters would have had nothing to sell if there wasn't a market."

  Violet looked away for a moment. "I am sorry...terribly sorry...for what was done to you, my...Amaranth, but I left the temple before my daughter was even born. The things I saw in Penance changed me forever."

  When she finally met Amaranth's eyes, they burned with a fervor the young woman understood, because it was in her. Her goal had always been to escape, so she wondered at Violet’s goal.

  Ceelut stirred at her side, pulling back his lips and exposing those long curved teeth Amaranth had given him.

  "I am not your enemy," Violet said, not even acknowledging the beast's hint of a threat. "Far from it."

  Trust was a rare and precious thing in the pits; love and attachment something that couldn't be afforded. Yet, when Violet's bright green eyes locked with hers Amaranth saw love. She might have only just met Amaranth, but already there was love there. It was completely inexplicable, but rather wonderful.

  The young woman opened her mouth, ready to accept Violet's emotion as she saw it, but then Cedejo standing over by the low wall snarled and began barking at the sky.

  Violet whipped around, her hand disappearing under her cloak, and she too looked to the sky. The rain came down hard, obscuring the tops of the buildings on either side of them, but Cedejo leapt high, as if he somehow expected to be able to get up there.

  Amaranth watched, her hand tightening around Ceelut's shoulders, as Violet pushed back her hood. Ceelut shivered, not with cold or fear, but rigid with readiness. Amaranth felt his contained hunger in her own head. The odor that caught both progeny dogs' attention was hard for her to interpret; the closest she could come was rotting meat laced with an unnatural scent of pine that made her stomach curl.

  If something was truly coming for them, Amaranth knew she was as exposed as any one-armed, exhausted, skinny girl could be—but she did have more resources than most. Silently the remaining scorpion-beetles moved out from under her hair and skittered down her arms. The mud was not their preferred environment, but they would still go there for her.

  She released her hold on Ceelut, and stumbled backwards into the shadow of the house at her back. It was best her creations not be encumbered by her.

  "Stay here," Violet whispered, her voice strangely cutting through the hiss of the rain now. "Once in the inn we could be trapped. When it starts, run and find my daughter."

  Amaranth was sensible enough not to call out or question Violet. The rain swirled around them, and she pushed her soaked hair out of her eyes. Her heart was beating in so hard in her chest she felt as though she was like a beacon in the rain and darkness.

  It would be a pity if this was to be her end, but at least she was not in the pit.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Point of Being

  Isobah sat up in bed, ran his hands through his short, curly hair, and wished he could go back to sleep. Leaning on his arms, he glanced over into the corner. In the shadows of the boardinghouse bedroom Feculent stood silent. If she hadn't blinked every so often, it might be assumed she was a corpse propped up in the shadows.

  It took some getting used to, sleeping with her eyes on him like that. No matter how Isobah asked, she always remained orientated towards him, awaiting orders. He tried throwing a blanket over her, like a caged canary, but she shook it off remarkably quickly. Whatever she was to the Lightkeeper, she was apparently under orders not to let him out of her sight.

  Levering himself up from the bed, Isobah did not bother to suppress a ragged gasp of pain. The beds were not made for comfort, at least in the boarding house, which was all he could afford. Once again, he was reminded he was getting far too old for this. Forty had come and gone, and where once he'd been able to sleep on bare earth, wrapped in only a blanket, his bones no longer forgave him. He wondered if the Lightkeeper, connected as she was with the city, ever had to worry about the twinges of age. He supposed not.

  As he began to dress, he couldn't help glancing at Feculent. He had the feeling he had not been privy to how the piece of patchwork really operated. He wondered if the Lightkeeper was watching him through her even now.

  As much as she smelt and unnerved him, he had worse partners in his time—ones who couldn't shut up, for example. Isobah was not used to being the only one capable of conversation. He might be dedicated to his goddess and his Lightkeeper, but he enjoyed company—usually.

  "Today's the day," he muttered to her, as he drew on his shirt and began to button it up. "The finger temples and the God Void will open. I always wanted to see them, but..." he paused and shot Feculent a piercing look, before continuing, "...not like this..."

  Her silence made him realize how foolish it was to converse with a homunculus. He buckled on his guardsmen jacket, boots, and knives before leaving. It was his usual practice to eat before any undertaking. Once he'd been stuck in enemy temple territory with nothing to chew on but buck weeds and his own shoe leather—that was when he decided breakfast was the most important meal of the day, just like his mother told him.

  However, the combination of Feculent's rank odor, her crushed face, and her staring, empty eyes made him decide to get to the finger temple as quickly as possible. With her trailing at his heels, he went downstairs and out onto the street. The corpulent innkeeper grunted at him as he went, but it was impossible to tell if it was a greeting or complaint.

  Out on the street, the pilgrims flowed around him, chattering and excited—despite the fact it was so early.

  "Sargent Hezky!" Violet's voice sounded behind him. "Not sneaking off on me are you?"

  He jerked back, totally unused to anyone being able to surprise him from behind. Leaning against the side of the boarding house, she had obviously waited for him. It was nice to know she wasn't playing games with him, her interest in him gleamed in her eyes. Isobah appreciated that, since he was not fond of women who spent their time denying what was obvious. He knew he was attracted to the pilgrim too, and it was the kind of uncomplicated initial meeting he preferred. Complications were for later in a relationship—if it got that far.

  His lips spread in an easy smile. "Lady Violet, you are one of the great treasures of this city, so why would I do that?"

  Taking Isobah's elbow, she effortlessly relegated Feculent to trailing behind them, as they set off up the slight rise towards the temples. "I don't know you," she replied with a slight tilt of her head, "but I have heard of the dangers of temple guardsmen."

  "My Lightkeeper is a stern woman," Isobah said, in a mock serious tone, "but I am a simple man."

  Her fabulous eyes gleamed with mischief. "I like simple men." Her tone sent a thrill down his spine.

  They reached the main plaza, which was crowded with pilgrims and accompanying odors. Among al
l the people banners poked out, identifying the many gods and goddesses that were already assembling for the congress. Isobah blinked at so much compacted humanity. He liked his temple-city, but he knew it was one of the smaller ones—or at least the smallest that survived.

  "I don't see Myron or Ichilid," Violet murmured, as her gaze raked over the crowd.

  "Both destroyed by Serey, I think you'll find," he said, a deep frown settling on his forehead. "She has taken almost all of the east coast this summer."

  He saw his share of broken temples, haunted cities, and hollow-eyed refugees because of the heretic goddess Serey. Clenching his teeth hard, he admitted perhaps his darkest fear for Diligence could be a reality at the Stonekeeper's hands. So far, his temple-city only survived because it constantly moved and was difficult for the other deities to reach. However, he was also aware there were two other flying cities once. Honor had been brought down in the depths of the North Ocean, and Delight crashed into the Needle Mountains. , Diligence was not safe.

  A cool chill ran across his skin when he spotted the banner of the Rainbow Queen among the press of people. "A chimera flag," he muttered. "That shouldn't be allowed..."

  Violet craned her head. "Despite their heresy this city is a holy place, all can come." Her voice was tight with concern. It was the first time he heard anything but amusement from the pilgrim.

  Behind them Feculent let out a snake-like hiss, and Isobah whipped around. The homunculus stood in a clear space, since no one really wanted to get too close to the stench of the creation. Her eyes sparked with awareness he hadn't seen in her before. Her gaze fixed on the banner, and Isobah finally suspected the Lightkeeper was seeing what Feculent did—and did not find it to her liking.

  The Rainbow Queen had been the mortal enemy of Mariki, Mother-Sky. Her aspect of change and storms was directly against the warmth of the sun his goddess projected. Isobah's hand slipped to his arm, rubbing along the scar that stood out pale on his dark skin. It was branched like a bolt of lightning, a gift from the Rainbow Queen in the final battle.

  Seeing her banner now did not improve the guardsmen feeling of security, and he was reminded of his Lightkeeper's words; he was alone here, and Feculent was more a millstone than an aide. He wished fervently to have a saber at his side. Penance created a wonderful trap for all of the priests and priestesses; a place where they had to deal with each other face-to-face rather than in the battlefield. It was not only awkward, but also dangerous.

  Isobah tried not to think about the itch developing between his shoulder blades, nor about the rooftops all around the plaza. It was merely another example of his lack of faith. He had been sent here by his Lightkeeper, and he had to trust in the Mother-Sky that this was where he needed to be.

  The people bearing the bright banners began to push their way through the crowd, and Isobah realized with a guilty lurch he had not spotted the one he represented. Luckily, the Mother-Sky had already begun to take care of him.

  A young boy as dark as a starless sky with soft brown eyes and a gentle smile appeared at his side. Leaning against his shoulder was the banner for the Mother-Sky, her emblem a bright sun in a flawless sky, flapping in the slight breeze. Isobah guessed he couldn't be more than ten years old. He'd not been much older when he began his training as a journeyman in the guards. He knew carrying the Mother-Sky's banner would have been the highlight of his life, and he could tell it was the same for this young man.

  "Sir," the lad said, standing up even taller than he was. "I am Quene, banner man for the Mother-Sky. Would you follow me please?"

  Violet squeezed Isobah's arm. "I must find my own temple, but I will see you after?" The smile she gave him promised so much more, and then she slipped into the crowd and was gone. Only once she disappeared from view did he recall he hadn't asked her which of the gods was hers.

  Isobah with Feculent trailing in his wake followed Quene in the opposite direction towards the open area before the entrance to the finger temples. Here the banner men and the representatives were gathering in a rough semi-circle. Isobah tried not to look too openly at them, lest he begin something if he saw an old enemy. Instead he focused on the huge bronze doors of the temple. They depicted the schism in terrifying detail; the moment when the One God became many. It showed the huge figure ripping down the middle, and the smaller bodies of the other gods falling out of it. It was said the priests and priestesses of the world were always trying to recreate the One God in the bodies of the huge progeny. So far, they had failed.

  Somewhere deep within the curve of the temple horns sounded, and then a moment later the doors swung smoothly open. He wondered at the mechanism of it because inside was a tiny figure of a man. It seemed barely possible t such a wizened creature could move the massive doors. Glancing to each side of him, he noticed none of the other representatives seemed surprised, and he wished he'd been more prepared by his Lightkeeper.

  A flash of guilt ran through him. He had to hold onto that faith. Isobah concentrated very hard as the small figure, bent over in half, hobbled its way towards them, leaning heavily on a twisted wooden staff. It had been many years since Isobah had seen the Arbiter, but he was exactly as he remembered him.

  The guardsman had to swallow back bile, along with other bitter memories. When the man reached the step just above them he paused and spread his arms wide. He revealed he was wearing the same patch-worked cloak of many different colors and cloths he had back on that terrible day. At Isobah’s side, Feculent let out a low grunt and rocked from side to side.

  "Welcome to the God Void, worthy representatives." His voice was strong given that tiny frame. "The finger temples are prepared for your use and reflection. You may stare into the God Void and commune with your deity. Then with the rising of the next full moon, congress will begin, and the world arranged in a way pleasing to the One God...whoever that may be."

  Isobah frowned. The Arbiter made it sound holy, but really it would be a time of forging alliances and deciding whom the pack of hungry clerics would turn on first. He could already feel the eyes turning on him.

  He hung back, watching as the other delegates began to filter past the Arbiter between the doors, and to their sacred places. The banner men did not enter, but took places on each side of the door. The delegates and their proctors bowed, genuflected in their own style, and disappeared into the darkness.

  It was not his usual role, but Isobah assured himself the Lightkeeper must have seen this was where he was needed. He nodded to Quene, and the boy went before him, holding the Mother-Sky's banner. They reached the Arbiter and Isobah glanced down. The knurled old man's eyes narrowed. .His gaze flickered over Isobah with a hard gleam of recognition and skimmed over the form of Feculent. The first time he came there the Arbiter cast a different but also unhappy glance his way. Back then, he knew it was the color of his skin that caused it. The Mother-Sky's children were blessed by her touch, perfectly suited for their life there, and yet there were bigots everywhere. That dismissal was tinged with hatred; he obviously recognized Isobah as one of the 'trouble makers' that day.

  Isobah didn't know what it meant for his time in the temple, but he thought it did not bode well. Another test for his patience, but he had to concentrate on what lay ahead. The Arbiter would have to hold onto his own prejudices and assumptions—hopefully they wouldn't get in the way of Isobah's mission.

  Keeping his eyes fixed on Quene's back, he followed him closely until he turned and took his place next to the other banner man. Last time he was there, it had been Kiya who went to the temple, and now on the threshold of going in there himself, he found his palms sweaty and his heart racing.

  Behind them, the pilgrims began to sing and chant the various names of their deities. Some even began to clap and stamp their feet. It was actually quite beautiful—if you didn't know how they would kill each other without any hesitation. To the accompaniment, Isobah and Feculent climbed the final stairs to the atrium.

  Ahead there was nothing but dark
ness. He pulled his jacket down, straightened his back, and hoped no one waited in those shadows for him. The atrium might be pitch-black, but leading off were many narrow tunnels, some with lights burning at the end of them. The dark ones he understood immediately; they were for the dead gods, the ones whose followers had been slain or converted. For some reason he felt a twinge of sadness for those lost gods—even though they would have slain his Lightkeeper without thought.

  As he stood there contemplating that, it was Feculent that broke his foolish reverie. She touched his arm lightly, a strangely intimate gesture, and tugged him to the left towards a pale white light. Once his eyes locked on it, he was convinced that was where he had to go.

  It was so beautiful, and Isobah could have sworn somewhere music was playing. He once wished to have the calling to the priesthood, once hoped for that certainty of purpose they seemed to have. Now, as he walked towards the tunnel, he felt a little hint of it once more.

  The tunnel grew brighter, but did not open up. It remained narrow, tall enough to allow Isobah to walk, but not wide enough for he and Feculent to stay side by side. As she went before him, the light flared bright so he flinched back from it, but after a moment it faded slightly.

  Looking about, Isobah realized they reached the end of the tunnel, and now he understood why they were called finger temples. Wind caressed his skin, blowing in from the open sides of the straight structure. Above was a roof, below was a floor, but there were no walls, only pillars holding the floor and roof apart. Isobah stood there swaying, with Feculent between him and the God Void. It was strange that a guardsman from a flying city should suddenly feel a fear of heights, but there it was.

  Forcing himself, Isobah hesitantly went closer and stared out over the plain. The cliff city faced the Void, aimed at it like an archer, in fact. To his right and left were finger temples of other deities pointed in the same direction, each of them wanting something from the place where gods were born. They might look accusatory, but they were pleading.