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

by M. M. Perry

  She looked at Cass, who was also eyeing the shelf.

  “It is a long jump,” Anya said, “but…”

  “I’ll go first,” Cass said, cutting her off. She didn’t think the group needed it spelled out—that it was attempt the jump, or give up and die.

  She shrugged out of her cold weather gear and began heaving it into the air. The pieces dropped to land on top of the deathsglove with soft smacks, littering the ground roughly halfway between the group and the stone buttress.

  “You will need that gear later,” Anya protested.

  “Not as much as I need it now,” Cass replied.

  “Won’t it just seep through?” Nat asked. “I thought only specially treated boots and such are resistant to deathsglove, and even then it’s a bit of a gamble as to how long it keeps the stuff out.”

  “It’ll take some time for the neurotoxin to seep through the leather, and since it isn’t food, I hope, it shouldn’t try to engulf it. Those seconds might make all the difference if someone doesn’t make the crossing,” Cass explained.

  Gunnarr pushed the two woman aside and began peeling off his own clothing, tossed it out one piece after the other, where it landed just ahead of Cass’. Between the two packs, they had mostly covered the gulf between them and the shelf with their thick leather outerwear. The group moved carefully back down the passageway so that Cass could get a running jump, watchful for deathsglove and thankful to find it hadn’t yet caught up to them.

  Manfred watched with dread. If Cass died, he feared the prophecy would not be fulfilled now, and possibly not ever. He knew Timta would get the stone no matter what happened, eventually, but he was sure he had interpreted the scrolls correctly: the dragons had a vital role to play in the unfolding of the prophecy, as did Cass. It was Cass who had to ride them if the future he yearned for was to come to pass, of that he was now confident. As much as he wanted to right now, he knew he could not use his magic to help them for the same reason, the fulfillment of that vision. He would need every jot of power he could marshal for what was to come. Once again he was reminded that this was what it felt like to be mortal and powerless.

  Cass ran as hard and fast as she ever had—faster even than when she’d been running from the ogre all those days ago. She planted her final stride at the very precipice of the ledge the group occupied and then leapt. As she sailed through the air, everyone held their breath. She came down hard on the shelf, the force causing her to stumble, drop, and half-skid, half-roll into the wall on the far side. She got to her feet, turned around and put her hands on her hips as if to say, “no problem.”

  Gunnarr let go of the death grip he’d had, without realizing it, on Nat’s shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he said to Nat, who just grinned by way of reply but surreptitiously rubbed his shoulder once Gunnarr’s attention was back on Cass.

  “Who’s next?” she asked.

  “I will go,” Anya said.

  “Toss the torch across first.”

  Anya flung the flaming torch across the gulf underhand. It arced across the gap. Cass deftly snatched it out of the air, smoothly converting its centripetal momentum into one last flourish. She jammed it hard into a crevice in the wall behind her, wedging it firmly in, so she could keep her hands free. Anya jogged quickly back down the passageway. Now that the torch was with Cass, she knew that if she took too long the deathsglove could creep back in and she would not know it until her foot was pressing into it. Once she’d gone as far as she dare, she turned around and took one deep, steadying breath before pelting back down the passageway. At the edge, just as she leapt, she closed her eyes for a moment and wondered if the deathsglove’s toxin was numbing as well as paralytic. She opened them again in time to see Cass’ hands reaching out for her. She grabbed at them just before her thighs smashed into the wall below Cass’ feet. Cass pulling and Anya scrambling, they got Anya up on the shelf. She took a moment to massage her thighs—she was sure they’d be covered with broad purple bruises soon, if I am lucky enough to live that long, she thought—before turning around to see the rest of the group clutching their chests.

  “I am fine,” Anya said not completely truthfully. “You can do it too. I am not much of a jumper and it is not as wide as it seems.”

  One by one the group took their turns jumping the gap. Nat had no trouble, as his time training and fighting with Gunnarr had brought him to and kept him at the peak of his physical condition. Viola proved that although she was small she was also very nimble, clearing the gap with more poise than anyone else. When Manfred turned to make his own attempt, Gunnarr stopped him. Before the Djinn could ask what Gunnarr thought he was doing, the colossus lifted the diminutive blue man and tucked him under one arm. He took an abbreviated run to the edge, compared to the rest of the group, and leapt. Manfred felt his fingernails dig into the huge man’s forearm for the long seconds the deathsglove sped by beneath them. The impact of landing caused Manfred to fold hard around Gunnarr’s arm, knocking the wind out of him. When Gunnarr set him on the ground Manfred did his best to scowl up at him, not quite achieving the pose of haughty disdain he was attempting as, at that moment, he was doubled over trying to catch his breath. His sidelong gaze only reached as high as Gunnarr’s groin, rather than meeting his eyes as he was trying to do.

  “I… could have… done it… myself,” he gasped, straining to reinflate his lungs.

  Gunnarr just smiled down at him.

  Suman stared at the gulf, then at Patch, the only other person still on this side, then back at the gap.

  “We all know a goat like you will hop across fine. I’ll go last. To draw out the tension,” Suman said, trying to joke.

  Patch shrugged. It made no difference to him what order he went in. Despite the rude way in which Suman had pointed it out, he was right. A nimble ease among rocks and mountains was one of the few skills his people could number as having gained when being turned into the creatures they were now. He took only a few steps back down the passageway for his running start. Suman crossed his arms and tried not to think about his own attempt as Patch began his run. When he saw Patch stumble, he didn’t really think. It was a moment he’d remember vividly in the days to come. Patch was going down, and since he’d already built up so much speed, there was no way he was going to be able to stop himself. He was going slide right off the ledge and land in the middle of the gunk between them and freedom. What Suman did next happened so quickly that thought wasn’t involved. He grabbed at Patch, grasping whatever parts he could as he slid by, then leapt, holding onto Patch with all his might. As he landed on some of Cass and Gunnarr’s gear he pitched himself forward and tossed Patch back up into the air. The satyr wobbled through the sky until he was close enough for Gunnarr to grab and hoist up onto the ledge.

  Suman felt his legs refuse to obey him as he tried to take a hurried step forward. The toxins had already seeped through the leathers. Unable to arrest his own momentum, he found himself slipping sideways onto the deadly lichen. His hands shot out instinctually towards the opposite ledge. Cass was trying to stretch out to him, but was being held back by Gunnarr. Even so she managed to shift the man’s bulk enough to just brush the tips of Suman’s fingers a moment before he collapsed into the lichen. He could feel everything going numb.

  “No!” Cass screamed.

  “It is too late,” Anya said fiercely. “He is gone already.”

  “No he’s not!” Viola shouted. “He can’t die! Midassa won’t let him! He’s alive! There must be some way we can help him! We just need to pull him out. The toxin will wear off eventually. It has to. He can’t die!”

  Anya looked down at Suman. His whole body was rigid. He couldn’t even speak. All he could move at this point was his eyes, which saw Cass’ grief stricken face. He could only imagine what she saw there that made her cry out again.

  “No!”

  The deathsglove was already slumping toward its latest catch.

  “He cannot be pulled out now. The grip of the d
eathsglove is absolute. Trust me. I know this all too well,” Anya said. “And more likely than not, you will only fall in yourself making the attempt.” Her voice was thick with grief.

  “When this happens to one of my people, we kill them as a mercy, so they do not have to suffer. But he...” Anya’s voice trailed off.

  Cass looked down at Manfred. He averted his eyes. He could save Suman, she was sure—the Djinn were, for most purposes, gods.

  “Do something,” she hissed.

  “You would give up your memories? Your life? You would make that choice for everyone here, despite all they have done?” Manfred muttered.

  Cass looked up at Gunnarr. The huge man gritted his teeth, his fists so tight his knuckles hurt from the strain. He closed his eyes and nodded. Cass turned back to Manfred.

  “Do something!”

  Manfred turned to her, his face purple with anger.

  “No! This is not just about you! This is not just about him! He has two months, maybe a few days more, to suffer. But my people have suffered for thousands of years, and might continue to suffer for all eternity if I do what you ask. We don’t know where our wives, our daughters our sisters are… For all we know they lie in limbo, suffering like he does, unable to die. Unable to live. For all time. And that is too high a price even for the payment we received, for the power of gods. We don’t want our power. We don’t want to live on for eternity. We want to die, to leave this world. To be human again. And this, this is our only chance! The prophecy must be fulfilled for us to be free! I will not make a decision that damns my entire race because you want to cut this man’s suffering short. He chose to come. He knew the danger. If it were you down there, if your roles were reversed, would you want us to save you, no matter the cost or consequence? Or would you want us to go on?”

  Cass turned away, unable to look at Suman, or at anyone, and instead pressed her forehead against the cool cave wall. Her balled hands hammered against the rough stone in frustration. When she felt in control of herself again, she turned back around and looked down at Suman.

  Suman tracked her with his eyes as best he could, but even they were beginning to move sluggishly. He wished he could comfort his friends, to tell them to move on without him. It wasn’t so bad as they thought, after all. He couldn’t really feel anything.

  I wish I could talk to you, one last time. Suman thought. As it turns out, the inevitability of it has made me comfortable. I could never bring myself to admit it to anyone before, but I was always terrified how Midassa would take me. I mean, I knew the day, but not the method. Oddly, knowing exactly when you are going to die isn’t much of a comfort. But knowing when, but not how, is perhaps worse. I don’t have to wonder anymore. And as it goes, this seems less bad than a lot of ways to check out of life.

  Cass stared down at Suman. She could read nothing in his face, the muscles all having been paralyzed. The lichen had engulfed his lower body, and started creeping up his arms, starting at his fingers.

  “I’m sorry, Suman. I’m sorry this is how your story ended. I promise you, though, that your bravery will never be forgotten,” Cass said. “They will sing songs about you.”

  Viola sobbed quietly.

  Manfred could not bring himself to look at Suman any longer, now almost completely immersed in the lake of goo. He turned away.

  Gunnarr looked down at Suman, casting about for something to say that might ease the man’s suffering. Then, he lowered himself down on one knee.

  “May Midassa have mercy on you,” Gunnarr said, head bowed, “brave warrior.” He remained in that pose for a long moment, then he got up and walked away without saying another word.

  Nat could not think of anything appropriate to say. He’d only known Suman for two days and hadn’t tried very hard to become his friend, which now made him feel both regretful and petty. He took Viola’s hand and led her down the passageway. Manfred quietly followed them. Anya was already moving ahead, hoping she could get the rest of them out of the caves without further casualties if she hurried. Only Cass and Patch remained. They both continued looking down at Suman. All but his face and one hand that had fallen to rest beside it was now completely covered by the lichen.

  Cass put her hand on Patch’s shoulder before moving off. Patch knelt down to get a better look at Suman’s face.

  “Stupid human,” he said, “you should have let me die. Why didn’t he let me die? I could have understood that. But this I…I...”

  Patch’s voice broke as he spoke. He sprawled out on the stone, leaning dangerously far out over the deathsglove to reach out and grab Suman’s as yet un-submerged hand. He held it between his rough fingers for a moment. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. So many of his people had fallen prey to humans. He himself had been hunted like an animal on more than one occasion. Patch found he simply could not jettison the balance of his ill will towards them, despite this ultimate sacrifice that Suman had made for him. He did know, however, that he could say something of comfort to the human.

  “If I find myself in Morte’s realm someday I will look for you, human. Perhaps then, we can start over. This time as friends.”

  Patch stood, surprised to find that he really meant what he had said. He might never trust humans, he thought, but maybe this man had been something more than human, something more like a satyr.

  “Goodbye, satyr-friend, until we meet again.”

  With that, Patch pulled himself back to his feet and hurried to catch up with the rest of the group.

  Suman watched him go, and wished more than anything he could smirk. He’d seen the look on the goat’s face. It wasn’t just words meant to soothe him. He’d finally gotten the old satyr to like him.

  Suman fell asleep at some point, but woke when he heard voices approaching. He didn’t recognize them, nor understand what was being said as the language was unfamiliar, but the accent made it clear enough who they were—they were Anya’s people. The cave was dark, which Suman surmised meant night had fallen. The deathsglove lit up bright blue, however, as the pursuers entered the cavern with their vecada oil torches.

  “By the gods, how’d it get so big?”

  “Must have been feasting for a while. We should come back and cover that hole as soon as we’re done. If we leave it open, who know how many creatures might fall or wander in. If it gets much bigger, we won’t be able to use these caves anymore.”

  “Look, it’s gotten one of them. Mother of Morte, he’s still conscious! He’s watching us! Look!”

  “It’s an illusion, a trick of the light. No one remains conscious once they’ve succumbed to the grip. He’s been there for hours. The glove’s got a good grip on him by now. Just must have gotten paralyzed too fast to close his eyes, poor bastard. Besides, Anya wouldn’t leave someone that’d been caught like that alive to suffer.”

  “They brought this on themselves. They are trespassers and blasphemers. They deserve this and more.”

  Suman stared at the men as best he could, which wasn’t very well in the gloom with his limited range of vision. As they passed in and out of his field of view, he noted that a couple were dressed as Anya was in warm, simple clothes. But there were ten other men who marched by wearing bright green armor. The color shone even in the gloam created by the deathsglove. The armor was all points and spikes, and the men wearing it were all large and burly, though not as imposing as Gunnarr. They carried long spears of dusky metal. Suman wished he could do something to stop them. Then he had a thought. He wondered if he could un-nerve them somehow, scare them enough to turn away. He put all his energy into blinking. He knew he had to be able to do it. He had managed to close his eyes to sleep, after all, and then to open them just now when he awoke.

  “He blinked!”

  “You’re mad.”

  “HE DID IT AGAIN!”

  Several of the guardians took an involuntarily step back. They looked around anxiously at the deathsglove.

  “Is it keeping him awake? Does it do that now? Tortur
e its victims? What perversion is this?”

  The men were quite clearly shaken; their body language alone told him that. His plan had worked. Suman would have smiled if he could. Even in this little way, if he could help, he was going to.

  “We’ll need to jump across, as they surely did.”

  “No way am I jumping,” one of them said, followed by a chorus of “me neither”s.

  The heavily armored men were backing into the passageway.

  “I will not be stuck here staring at the ceiling while I slowly die,” another said, and hurried to catch up with those already retreating.

  “Cowards! Do your duty!” the one apparently nominally in charge of the expedition shouted. When, after a moment, it became clear that none of his men were going to do that, he stormed off after them.

  “Never mind!” he shouted after them, “we’ll go round one of the other ways.”

  As they retreated down the passageway the glow from the torches followed, leaving the room cool, dark and, save for the smell—which Suman found he had almost become used to—relaxing. He closed his eyes again.

  This will be the longest lie-in I’ve ever had, he thought, and imagined himself grinning.

  Chapter 13

  Gunnarr and Manfred trudged along behind Anya, their minds focused on the task at hand. It was the best way they knew to minimize the grief they felt for their fallen companion. Nat walked alongside Viola, holding her hand in the hope that the contact would bring her some comfort. Cass and Patch brought up the rear. No one had spoken for over an hour—not even when, minutes before, they had finally exited the caves into the valley of the sanctuary. It was Cass who finally broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed voice, her words for Patch alone. Despite his duplicitousness, he was the only one left besides the Djinn that she felt she knew and, because of that connection, despite the obvious foolishness of doing so, trusted. She knew his motivations and understood them.