"That was the true meaning of the congress," she said, as different images flashed in her brain. Gods stumbling from the Void, devoured by the waiting cultists. Fragile and beautiful deities, that began to come less and less frequently. The congress happened as a way to divide up the spoils without too much bloodshed.
And then the gods stopped coming.
"You see," Croombe said, squeezing her hands, and drawing her closer to him. "They fear you, and as soon as they realize you have come into your power, they will come for you."
She imagined the valley before the mountain filled with the armies of the temples, all fighting each other, and then battling her for the right to take her flesh and power. It was too much. A tear leaked from the corner of Rowan's eye, and despite clamping down on the urge, she felt a storm of tears and despair waiting close by to engulf her.
"That is why you must secure your position now." Croombe brushed a strand of hair from her face with a gentle gesture she might not have expected from The Pierced Man. "The Mountain King's home is the perfect sanctuary for you. Here you could have a home, raise the dead to be your own army. They would be powerful, and so would you."
"I don't know," she whispered, uncertainty making her chew on her lip. "It's all so much...I'm just..."
Croombe cut her off. "You are not 'just' anymore, you are a living god in a world of corrupt temples and priests. It is your duty to do something, not just melt away."
She knew who he was talking about when he said 'corrupt', and she shot him a pained look.
Still, when he began to lead her down the path that would take them into the valley, Rowan did not resist. Apart from death, what other option did she have? At least Croombe cared about her safety—her mother obviously had not.
The valley was steep and rock-covered, and as they went Rowan could tell many battles were fought there. The long wind-bent shrubs and undergrowth was punctuated by weapons rusted and sticking from the ground. Then there were the bones. Rowan didn't need her powers to see the dead; they were all about. Some had been partially buried, others were lonesome piles against rocks, or with local plant life growing through them.
"The valley of nightmares they call this," he added, wiggling his fingers in hers. "The Mountain King has held his temple for generations, even though countless priests have tried to take it."
The dead were whispering to her, and there were so many it became a dreary background hiss. Though Rowan was not afraid of them, she kept her eyes focused on the gravel and stones before her, which seemed ready to try and break her ankle. That would be hilarious if she, as a new god, was to die there of something so simple.
"And what," she asked, keeping her tone light and not meeting his eyes, "makes you think any of these dead will be able to take it now?"
"Because you have all of them." He leapt down off a rock that had rolled into the path, and then turned back and held up his arms to catch her. When she stared down at him and crossed her arms instead he let out a dramatic sigh. "I don't think you have tried to count the dead around here. Over five hundred years of slain warriors, and you ask why I am certain."
Rowan didn't want to count them, but she began to see what he meant. "Then where do I point them exactly? I am no general."
Croombe waved his hands at her again, and she relented and dropped down into his arms. Luckily no spines appeared, but for a moment Rowan lost her breath. She hadn't really noticed how tall he was. Perhaps the spines distracted her.
His gold eyes and rather stern looking face were beautiful, especially so close up. She quite forgot how cold and miserable she was for a moment or two.
Not knowing what to do with that comprehension, Rowan stumbled back, knocked her heel against a rock and fell onto her rump with a squawk.
Croombe laughed, suddenly not looking quite so stern.
It was such a ridiculous moment, Rowan found herself doing the same, sprawled amongst the rocks, laughing until her tears dried. When she recovered herself, Croombe was watching her—examining her really—and she couldn't help the words that leapt out of her mouth.
"So this queen of the dead, is she all you hoped for?"
They laughed again together, that time, but eventually The Pierced Man helped her to her feet. "Well, she is a little clumsier than I expected."
Feeling flushed and foolish, Rowan found herself blustering. "So...what were you trying to show me anyhow?"
"The gate to the Mountain Lord's temple." Dropping his arm across her shoulder, he pointed Rowan's gaze to where a fold in the mountain at the end of the valley concealed a large doorway. It was tall and wide enough for a cart to pass through, and that was the strength of the lord.
He controlled all travel north of the peninsula. Rumor was that once there had been many passes, but the Mountain Lord and his progeny closed them all up. With only one way through, he could charge whatever he wanted to merchants and even other temples for passage.
So much money bought a lot of pieces to build more progeny. It was a cycle of money and flesh that had grown the power of the Mountain Lord. Still, he did not often come down from his high country to battle other temples. Rowan recalled her mother calling him a coward and a heretic for his lack of devotion to the great battle the rest of the temples were engaged in.
Standing on the slopes of the valley, Rowan saw that though he might be all those things Gentian once had claimed, he was also in a position of strength not many temples could be. She could not be sure if her mother would still make the attack on him in the Spring as she planned, since she had not seen how many progeny had been destroyed. However, she wondered if any of it would be enough to take this place.
"What do you expect me to do?" she asked, spread her arms and pointing to the mountain. "The dead cannot rip down stone—only she could do that." She dared to glance at Gentian’s dead eyes.
Croombe's eyes narrowed. "Do you really not know?"
The edge of disappointment in his voice stung, and she turned desperately towards the mountain again, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. Out in the valley there were plenty of dead, but as she turned her senses to the temple, she felt that like the temple-city of Serey, many died within it. In the tunnel through the valley there would be living guards, and she needed them to open their doors. What could possibly cause them to do that? Fear. Fear of the dead.
"I'm going to drive them out," Rowan muttered to herself. "I'm not going to kill anyone." She felt The Pierced Man watching every tiny movement, and she tried to keep that from putting her off. Glancing over her shoulder she realized there would be no putting it off. He brought her to that bleak location for one purpose. Behind all that was the knowledge that she needed a place of her own, a sanctuary where she might survive the ravages of what she was.
Putting aside Croombe, and all that she suffered, Rowan closed her eyes. Without her sister she could not make living bodies for the dead, but they could still walk for her. She stretched her hand forward and listened for their voices. However, she wasn't seeking the ones lying tattered and forgotten on the mountain-side, instead she grasped within the mountain for the beloved dead; the ones that the Mountain Lord had buried with honor.
Rowan heard them singing in their crypt. Generations of priests and priestesses who gave their lives to their god. Some were content in their stone shrouds, others still whispered of lost hopes and petty slights.
It didn't matter to Rowan. She would have them all.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Looking into the Void
The tied man laughed at her arrival, but it was not directed at Amaranth. She saw that his gaze was aimed at the homunculus and the chimera. Both of them turned towards her, even as Violet and Fleabane raced down the stairs to stand at her side.
Amaranth held out her hand to stay them. Walking closer, heedless of the wrapped monstrosities at the back of the temple, she did not flinch. They shied away from her, as they had not done the previous night.
Ignoring them, she watched
the chimera calmly, noticing the flicker of light in her tendrils. They were paler now, though the meaning escaped her. From the expression on this one's damaged face, she had not expected Amaranth's arrival. She expected to hurt the bound man and kill him when she was done, but this newcomer was an addition she had not calculated.
She almost felt sorry for the creature, but one who had to tie people up was no one she could forgive. She'd been bound enough in her life to hate it being done to others. The chimera's puzzlement as she stared back at the young woman almost made Amaranth laugh.
The homunculus was more interesting. A defender, that much was obvious, but also something else, something familiar to the man. Amaranth felt the creature with senses she used on her progeny, discerning the different parts that made her up, contemplating the strange soul within, and—
Now it was Amaranth's turn to be surprised. Her arm was there, right there, sewn into an otherwise unremarkable homunculus. She stopped in her tracks, for a moment losing her grasp on the situation. All that time thinking of her arm on someone special, someone with a life she would never have—and there it was tacked onto that creature.
Rage took over completely. Ceelut and Cedejo snarled and snapped, utterly beyond control—not that she wanted them to be. They lunged forward away from her, feeding on her boiling anger. Amaranth knew what they would do. They would rip apart both of the creatures; one for desecrating her temple, and the other for taking what was hers.
In that brief moment, the chimera's eyes widened in shock. She had to see death coming. However, as the progeny dogs bounded towards her, she spun away, and grabbed hold of the homunculus. Then she drew out with her other hand a long dark spike of some kind.
Amaranth had only a moment to see it before the chimera jammed the thorn in to the top of her thigh. It was a mad thing to do, and the consequences were mad as well. The world burned hot and white for a moment, and there was a great rushing of air that nearly knocked Amaranth over.
When it had gone, so had the chimera and the homunculi. The bound creatures screamed in horror at their mistress’ going, and scuttled away. They knew Amaranth had changed since the previous night, and they both knew what would happen to them should they attack now. They chose retreat, scuttling up into the stony recesses of the temple, and disappearing like insects hiding from the light.
All that was left was the man, still lying bound on the temple floor, his eyes still fixed to the spot where they had been. She heard him whisper a name. It sounded like "Kiya."
The progeny dogs were at his side, whining rather than biting. They looked back and forward between her and the man, and she got the idea. Bottling up her rage as best she could, Amaranth untied the ropes and helped him to his feet.
He was tall, handsome, dark-skinned, and very familiar to her. She had grown a little, and he acquired some grey in his beard, but she would never have been able to forget his face. Despite what just happened, Amaranth smiled brightly, and hugged him. His back stiffened at the unexpected gesture, and then she heard him say, "Violet?"
Amaranth glanced over her shoulder at her companion, who was quietly watching all this unfold. "You know each other?"
Violet nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "We have met."
Amaranth looked up at the man. She didn't know his name, but she did know one thing. "So have we."
He rubbed his beard and stared at her for a time. Amaranth understood his confusion; she had grown, lost an arm, and spent a great deal of time in the sun since last he'd seen her.
When recognition dawned on his face, he stuttered out, "You...you and your sisters..." He took a couple of steps back, and shook his head. "I don't understand...how..."
"Maybe not," Violet said, her arm going around her daughter, in an unexpected display of affection, "but you do feel it, Isobah. You are her apostle as much as I am."
It was not a question, and the guardsman seemed to understand that too. Amaranth squeezed his hand, but already something else had her attention. Stepping away from the others, she walked toward the end of the finger temple.
Violet draw in her breath, probably to say or explain something, but Amaranth raised her hand once more. "It's alright...I know what is out there."
The finger pointed out from the table-top, directly into the heart of the God Void. Amaranth had never heard it talked of, not in the pits, and not from Fleabane, yet she knew, this was the reason that the pilgrims came; to catch a glimpse of the place where gods were born.
Looking towards it was hard at first. The glare of it burned at her eyes, and made her feel such a tangle of emotions, it was hard to understand. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and abruptly she couldn't feel the loss of her arm. In the light of the Void she felt whole for the first time in many, many years. It was the first time she had ceased to notice what had been taken from her.
Staring into the God Void, Amaranth remembered everything. She felt the hands of her sisters in hers as they walked from the desolate place. She heard their voices whispering in her head what must be done. How they could save the world and set things right.
Gods were fragile things; full of power, but trapped in mortal bodies that would be hurt if anyone knew what they were. They went in the bodies of children, to learn the ways of the people they would save. They had not foreseen the cruelty of the world and the avarice of the clergy.
"My lady," it was the guardsman's voice. It was Isobah's voice. Standing on the doorstep of the world of the gods, she could feel everything much more keenly, and his concern felt like a warm blanket going around her. "Don't look too long at the Void, it will drive you mad."
Amaranth let out a little laugh. "No fear of that. This has made everything clear to me. I know what I must do. What we must do."
When she turned to them, Fleabane, Violet and the guardsmen she saw them flinch back. Her eyes were different now, full of the future. Everything would be different now. They would make it so.
Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1) Page 29
