Whom the Gods Hate (Of Gods & Mortals Book 2)

by M. M. Perry

  “If those snakes want to eat me still, let them have me. I can’t run another step.”

  Oshia stepped in between the oracles and their prey causing them writhe in anger.

  “Why do you stop us, god of desire?” they pleaded, knowing aggression would only anger the god. Even the oracles did not want the punishment that a god would dole out.

  “She cannot die. I need her alive, for now. Why were they here?” Oshia asked suspiciously.

  “They wished to know her name, her identity,” the oracles hissed.

  “And you gave it to them? Why? Why not just eat the little man who came into your domain? You always eat them,” Oshia asked.

  “He is Midassa’s to claim. We had no choice but to let him leave. The others… we did not know you had claim on them,” the oracles stated.

  Oshia gave them a scolding look, and they cowered.

  “Don’t lie to me, sniveling serpents. I can undo all my father did to make you in seconds. Your bodies would unravel scale by scale, leaving you a quivering pile of pain for all eternity.”

  The oracles slunk away further, but remained in the god’s presence. He had not dismissed them, after all.

  “What did you tell them? All of it. I need to know what she knows,” Oshia said.

  “We cannot sssssay,” the oracles spoke nervously, knowing the wrath that was to come.

  Oshia turned his terrible and beautiful violet eyes on the giant snakes.

  “What,” he said. His voice was low, even and unemotional.

  One of the oracles released all over itself, creating a stench in the area that the forest beasts could smell for miles.

  “We cannot sssssssssay,” one of the oracles spoke, his voice filled with terror.

  Oshia narrowed his eyes. Then he laughed. The sound was harsh and cutting.

  “Issa. You bitch. This is the last time you’ll meddle in my affairs. Jealousy does not become you, my dear,” Oshia said to the sky.

  The oracles cringed, knowing they could neither affirm nor deny Oshia’s guess at who was keeping them from speaking. A tinkling laugh bounced around the trees for a full minute before fading away. The sound was all Oshia needed in affirmation of his suspicion. He nodded.

  “I knew it,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.

  Then he vanished. The oracles shuddered in relief now that the god was gone. They slinked back into their cave to pout over a lost meal, a terrified outing and embarrassment.

  Chapter 6

  Gunnarr stared down at the little blue man in front of him. Cass had described them in great detail, but he still found himself shocked at the sight of the Djinn. He wore a gold embroidered vest. The design was elaborate, dragons fighting men atop strange four legged beasts Gunnarr had never seen in all his travels. Small gems were sewn in for eyes on all the creatures represented on the vest. His pants were no less extravagant, the only difference was the embroidery was made up of abstract swoops and swirls of color.

  The Djinn’s skin was a unique color of blue. It wasn’t quite like the sky or the sea. It reminded Gunnarr of a flower that could only be found on the continent of Arless called the highsong. It shimmered slightly in the light of the candles, much like his hair which was a few shades darker than the blue of his skin. A dark shimmery goatee decorated his chin. His dusky eyes were lined in charcoal, giving them a dramatic look. His teeth looked all the brighter under his gloomy blue scowl.

  “No, it does not belong to me. I’ve been entrusted it by a good friend,” Gunnarr responded to the little man, remembering his accusation about the jeweled flask once his shock wore off.

  “Remarkable,” Gunnarr heard Sam whisper behind him.

  The Djinn’s eyes darted from Gunnarr to Sam briefly before returning to the flask.

  “She must have great trust in you, snow man, to give you such a valuable treasure,” the Djinn said.

  “Snow man?” Gunnarr puzzled.

  The Djinn just eyed Gunnarr, no further explanation coming from him, while Sam snickered.

  Gunnarr cleared his throat, “Yes, she trusted me with her life. And now she is in trouble. I have been told to seek you out to help me find her.”

  The Djinn raised one eyebrow.

  “You have been told, eh?” he asked. “Well then, snow man, explain yourself.”

  Gunnarr proceeded to tell in shorthand everything that happened before Cass disappeared in Oshia’s temple and then he began to explain where they all had searched since then for the warrior woman before he was interrupted by the Djinn.

  “I don’t really care about your feeble attempts to find the owner of that flask. You say Oshia took her?”

  Gunnarr pursed his lips, ignoring the insult, and nodded.

  “Then we have some traveling to do.”

  The Djinn snapped his fingers and Gunnarr felt a sudden draft. At first he thought the small blue man had opened the door to the tavern with his magic until Gunnarr realized they weren’t in the tavern anymore. Nat’s exclamation of “Wow” clued the giant Braldashad man into that fact. Gunnarr looked around to see they were now in a giant underground cavern lit from beneath them by some unseen source. It was quite chilly and Gunnarr felt goosebumps spring up all over his bare arms.

  “Here,” the Djinn said snapping again, “you’ll need these.”

  Gunnarr immediately felt warmer and looked down to see he was in a heavy wool cloak. He looked around to see that all his companions were similarly attired, except for the Djinn, who was now dressed rather drably. He was wearing a simple tan tunic and linen trousers. The lack of finery seemed to accentuate his strange skin color much more than all the golden threads he had been wearing previously.

  “Hey little man,” Viola piped up, “where are all your fancy clothes?”

  The Djinn turned up his face toward Viola, as if seeing her for the first time. He smiled generously at her, turning on the charm.

  “Why hello, Red. I didn’t see you there behind the giant. You are a lovely lass, aren’t you?”

  Viola, feeling defensive and forgetting she was meant to be persuading the Djinn to help them out, blurted, “I’m not really interested in men, just so you know.”

  “I’m not a man, dear lady,” the Djinn said wiggling his eyebrows.

  Gunnarr crossed his arms and stepped closer to Viola in a protective gesture. The Djinn only chuckled at this, but he turned back toward a small stone path and seemed to lose interest in pursuing Viola.

  “The golden threads are only for show. Something the council makes us wear so we don’t seem like the total idiots we are for making such a terrible deal. When we aren’t topside, we don’t wear them,” he explained.

  The fact that he was answering questions at all encouraged Gunnarr to ask a few more. Before he could ask however, the Djinn held up his small blue hand to silence him.

  “There will be time enough for questions. Just follow me and be quiet. I want my fellows to be intrigued, jealous even,” with these last words the Djinn eyed Viola again before heading off down the path.

  Gunnarr kept his questions to himself as they followed the Djinn. The cave was immense, the ceiling so high up it disappeared into darkness above. The bottom of the cavern was so deep the mysterious source of light could not be seen. It looked like one long tear deep in the earth. On either side of the cavern the walls rose steeply and were covered in small ornate windows lit up from within. Unlike the other worldly light coming from below, the light from the small windows was warm and natural looking.

  Balconies filled with Djinn as they walked the wide path down one side of the cavern. They stared down at the party of newcomers with feigned disinterest, but their very presence on their balconies revealed their intrigue. In any place that held more than one Djinn, quiet whispers could just be made out in the echoing cavern. It was a strange sensation to hear so clearly someone so far away.

  The walls of the cavern glittered much in the same way the Djinn themselves did. The light from all the various
sources bounced off the walls in a shimmer. Whatever crystal formations covered the walls were tiny and numerous. Gunnarr was reminded of a gypsum cave he used to explore when he was a child on Braldashad.

  Several large stone bridges spanned the chasm connecting the two cliffs. The bridges looked man made, or perhaps in this case Djinn made. Huge stone railings lined the bridges but they were very low for someone like Gunnarr. If he wanted to use the railing to steady himself, he would have to bend at the knee. The bridges and pathways they were walking on looked heavily travelled, though at that moment, no one shared the road with them. The Djinn ogled, but they kept their distance.

  “Are they afraid… of us?” Nat asked incredulously.

  Gunnarr expected a shushing from the Djinn that was leading them along, but instead their guide simply smirked. As if every Djinn in the cavern heard Nat’s question, they all began moving around, feigning a casual air. Gunnarr found they were quickly surrounded by Djinn who pretended to be chatting about topics chosen seemingly at random. Viola had to stifle a giggle when a pair of Djinn attempted to nonchalantly talk about the weather of which there was clearly none on either Xenor or in the cavern.

  Their guide led them up a small set of stairs across the cavern, which tripped the party up more than once since the steps were far too shallow for their large human feet. He turned to them at the landing and with a supremely smug look on his face as he noticed all the Djinn below trying to eye the group furtively, their guide opened a large double wooden door and gestured them in.

  The door was clearly quite large for Djinn, but for the party it was just large enough to get through. Gunnarr was concerned he might not fit. Thankfully, the room beyond the door had high ceilings even for a human. The room was circular with a large wooden table and chairs all around it. The ceiling was covered in a vast mosaic made out of gemstones. It depicted a green meadow with animals frolicking about in the sun. The dark nature of the precious stones muddied most of the details, but it was light enough in the room for the group to make out what the image was.

  “Gemstones are not ideal for mosaics. I’ve told them time and time again we should use tile. We used to be obsessed with the gems, but not anymore. Why keep the old mosaic? It’s really not very attractive to look at, quite honestly,” their guide said as he followed their gaze.

  “That isn’t the point, Manfred,” a voice boomed from behind them.

  The group turned to see several Djinn entering the large chamber. They were all dressed similarly to Manfred. Viola turned back toward Manfred and raised an eyebrow.

  “Manfred… the Djinn?”

  Manfred straightened his shirt and pursed his lips trying to ignore the jibe. He moved to a seat at the table and sat down. He looked pointedly at the other Djinn who had entered the room and they followed suit. Once all the Djinn were sitting around the table Manfred crossed his hands in front of him. Gunnarr and his party just stood quietly in the corner of the room, waiting for whatever was about to happen. Sam’s eyes in particular were very keen, absorbing everything he saw with a childlike delight.

  “So,” said Manfred, “obviously we have a bit of a situation.”

  The other Djinn looked at Manfred with various forms of contempt and annoyance. Eye rolling, sighing and dirty glares filled the room.

  “Get on with it, you blowhard,” one of the Djinn shouted across the table.

  Grumblings between the Djinn grew louder and Sam chuckled.

  “You know,” he whispered to Gunnarr, “I always thought them a regal bunch, but this… this is much more entertaining. They remind me of a ship full of sailors with one to many days at sea behind them.”

  Gunnarr smiled with recognition. The Djinn did indeed act like a bunch of sailors or more rightly, like a bunch of men who had spent a long time away from society. He suddenly felt the need to remind them that his group was from a society where a modicum of polite behavior was required.

  “If this is going to be a while,” he let his voice boom unnaturally loud, “then might we get a place to sit as well?”

  Manfred turned around and gave him an annoyed look a few seconds before snapping his fingers and turning back to the group. Four comically oversized chairs appeared underneath the travelers causing Nat to fall over. Viola helped Nat up off the floor and then he boosted her up into the giant seat. He climbed up into his and joined his companions in watching the clamorous conversation developing before them.

  “We don’t care what kind of situation you claim to have going on. You aren’t to bring outsiders down here anymore. Not after what happened with Joe and his cousin,” one of the Djinn spat in Manfred’s direction. The way the Djinn had said the word cousin left no doubt in the onlookers minds that this person was most likely not Joe’s cousin.

  “This is not like that,” Manfred returned, baring his teeth a little. “Surely you would not expect me to be as foolish as Joe.”

  “No,” said another Djinn, “but you just might be prurient enough to do it.” The Djinn eyed Viola and she shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t particularly like the attention she was getting just then.

  Manfred scowled deeply but ignored the underhanded comment.

  “This,” Manfred took his time finishing his sentence, allowing himself a little bit of dramatic flair, “is about the scrolls.”

  The rumbling in the room erupted again, this time with a different fervor to it. There was a distinct air of excitement that crept into the voices of the Djinn sitting at the table. The air around the little men began to shimmer with palpable energy, tiny blue sparks emanating from their shimmery skin.

  “Enough,” said the Djinn who seemed to have the most command over his fellows. Gunnarr had noted he was the one who originally challenged Manfred when they had all entered the room.

  “The scrolls have not been proven to be authentic. Our magic cannot touch it, and no seer has ever been known to view that far into the future,” the Djinn said.

  His words quieted the room again, and all eyes turned toward Manfred. Manfred rubbed the stubble on his chin as he stared across the table at his challenger.

  “Ever have you professed your doubt of the scrolls to our people, Albert. Ever have I wondered why,” Manfred’s voice dripped with unspoken questions.

  From the look of the other Djinn at the table, it was clear to Gunnarr that many of them sided with Manfred on whatever this issue was. He had very little knowledge of the Djinn, and these mysterious scrolls were certainly never mentioned in any of the tales he remembered from when he was a boy. He glanced at Viola, who had been tasked with studying up on the Djinn. She caught his eye and shook her head as imperceptibly as she could. She was also puzzled by the conversation they were overhearing.

  “It doesn’t matter what you think, Albert, or why you persist in thinking it. I do not need your help nor your permission to do what I do. I only wished to tell you that I intend to go to the surface with these people. When I come back, I’ll likely be bringing war to our doorstep. Even you, Albert, deserve a chance to defend yourself.”

  Manfred stood then and stepped away from the table. Albert bolted up as well.

  “Where will you go then?” he shouted across the room.

  “Does it matter to you? The scrolls are fake, are they not?”

  “You go alone?” this time Albert’s voice was quieter.

  “To bring others would draw far too much attention. I do not want attention.”

  Manfred stood near Gunnarr and gestured that they should follow him. The traveling group carefully climbed off their chairs and the instant they were standing, the furniture disappeared. Manfred walked from the room without looking back. The Djinn at the table all watched him leave in silence.

  The small group followed Manfred through the city of the Djinn silently. It didn’t seem like he was ready to talk, so Gunnarr remained mute. The narrow paths were empty again. Apparently the Djinn who had worked so hard to prove they didn’t care about the group really had lost interest.
Or at least that is what Gunnarr imagined had happened. The way sound carried around in the caves, they very well could have heard the entire confrontation between Albert and Manfred and were busily discussing its implications in their homes.

  They stopped at a large door and waited for Manfred to open it. He stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. It was the most hospitable gesture the outsiders had seen from the Djinn who although very concerned with how brave they appeared to the group, were much less concerned with how polite they seemed.

  Gunnarr stooped low to enter the room and the rest followed. The room was covered from wall to wall in rich silks of every color imaginable. There was sparse furniture, but large silken pillows were also very carefully arranged to provide comfortable seating. Several passageways led off the main room and Sam, more than the rest, peered at them curiously.

  “Have a look if you like. It’s probably going to be the last time you see it, so take advantage,” Manfred said noticing Sam’s gaze.

  “You won’t mind?” Sam asked surprised.

  “Your interest is academic, fisherman. I approve of such interests. I am a long lived creature; there is little that can still interest me. Maybe through your eyes, observing me, I can see things in a fresh light. So go, look about. Tell me what you see when you come back,” Manfred said.

  Viola was a little taken aback by the Djinn’s new attitude. She was sure he’d be gruff and salty. But he seemed weary and disappointed at the moment. She’d almost peg him as vulnerable if she wasn’t acutely aware of his immense power. It was that power that kept her on edge. Among the group, she knew the most about them, and some of her readings had suggested Djinn were temperamental and dangerous. In fact, it was more than some of the readings, she thought.

  The Djinn dropped himself on a bright red cushion and sighed.