[WOTA] The Road to Ruin - Chapter Seven
Oct. 6th, 2015 01:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsonTitle: The Road to Ruin
Series: War of the Animum, Sixth Story
Summary: With time growing shorter, Sleet and company make the decision to divide their forces in order to beat Balaam at his own game. But their enemy is no fool and will cause them to make one of their hardest choices yet.
They separated again, all the better to cover more ground.
Malach hadn't protested. The chance to have a moment to himself was not one he disdained. Well, alone except for Heimdal. Fortunately, he could endure his animus' presence without much irritation but Raven was abrasive and Tungsten too concerned. Malach didn't want his pity or his compassion.
He needed time to come to terms with his future himself.
More than that, he needed time to get a handle on all the noise. Voices, inside and out of his head. People thinking to themselves, singing to themselves. It clashed with what he heard echoing in his brain and through his ears. It was hard to keep track of a conversation when he heard the words from their lips and the unguarded thoughts that drifted free.
It was exhausting. Malach was exhausted.
“It will get easier,” Heimdal said beside him. “With time and training. Unfortunately, the deity best suited for training you is no longer of this world.”
“Who?”
Heimdal looked to the sky, blue as blue could be. “Tiamat.”
The name was unfamiliar to Malach. She was not one of the goddesses recognized by the Kurai. Though Malach had come to learn that didn't mean much. The Kurai were too isolated for their own good, refusing to acknowledge the obvious truth.
“Such would be my luck,” Malach said and fought back a wince. He rubbed his temple, trying to forestall the ache. One by one, he rebuilt the walls until the voices were a dull murmur.
Finding the animus was pointless. He could not focus. It was the task Raven had given him and a task he could not accomplish.
There were other things he could do to be helpful. Anything to keep his mind off what he had left behind.
“Malach?”
“I can't focus,” he admitted, though surely Heimdal already knew. Malach had been keeping to the edge of the crowd, the shadows of the stands. Not only were the voices too loud, but the stares too cutting. “I can't find the animus.”
“You just need rest.”
He shook his head. “Rest won't help. I don't need to sleep. I don't need to...” He trailed off, unwilling to voice the source of his reluctance. Instead, he braced himself, looking over the crowds. “What can I do to earn coin?”
He felt, more than saw, Heimdal's frown. “Usually a job of some sort is required. A special skill or craft. Coin is exchanged for work given.”
It made sense though also seemed strangely disproportionate. Malach was used to the barter system of the Kurai where nothing was wasted and useless items were just that, useless. They had no use for coins or jewels, only metals that could be mined and refined for weapons or tools or other comforts.
“Work,” Malach repeated. What kind of work could he perform in a town such as this.
“Yes. It couldn't hurt to look but I wouldn't hold much hope.” Heimdal gestured to the city at large. “This seems to be a city for tourism, not honest work.”
And Heimdal was right.
Malach walked for what felt like hours. He stopped to inquire at a few shops, but none were hiring for temporary work. Most of them demanded qualifications that he did not have. He spoke common but could not read it. He was unaware of the exchange rates of coin. His expression made him terrible for sales and customer service.
He was still in pain, still healing. Manual labor was out of the question. Nor did he have the time to wait for the next opportunity to come around. As it stood, no one needed help immediately.
Sleet would have resorted to stealing. Malach had far more honor than that.
Until he saw the sign. Men of all ages were crowded around it, half of them bearing weapons. Most looked to be warriors. It attracted Malach's interest, though he could not read the words, he saw the weapons drawn on the paper, clashing as though in battle.
“Heimdal,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice low. “What does that say?”
The deity stepped closer for a better look before returning to Malach's side. “It's a tournament to be held tomorrow.”
“Tournament?”
“Yes. There are several categories but the main event is a bout between warriors. First prize is more than enough to secure our voyage to Sanjara.” The deity folded his arms, looking contemplative. “Truthfully, second or third place would help.”
This, at least, appealed to Malach. “It is free?”
“No, there is a registration fee.”
He had no weapon right now and Malach keenly felt that lack. He had the bow Sleet's mother had gifted to him, but it wasn't suited for close-range combat. He would have to acquire a sword at the very least.
“Can we afford it?”
Heimdal made a contemplative noise. “That is a question you will have to ask Raven. I suspect he will want to enter as well. There may even be a way Tungsten can participate.”
Well, it wasn't work. But it was better than nothing.
Malach inclined his head. “All right. This will do.” Except that finding Raven meant opening himself to the influx of society.
Nothing was ever simple.
o0o0o
“Find the animus,” Raven had said as though Alaris had appointed him leader of their team. Which she probably had. Tungsten didn't have to like it even if it did make logical sense.
Raven could be so rude at times.
Tungsten sighed. At least Asclepius was having fun. Tungsten had lost count of the number of times she'd disappeared into the crowd, eager to sample some tasty treat or dance to the newest strain of music filling the air.
Find the animus.
Just where was he supposed to look in all this noise? There were people everywhere. Visitors and residents, crowding the streets, the booths. They jostled one another and were strangely okay with that. No one looked angry about the lack of space at least.
Plus, it was hot.
Tungsten was bathed in sweat beneath the layers of his robes. The ink on his forehead was beginning to run in gray trickles down the sides of his face. His hair stuck to the back of his neck. The sun grew higher, hotter, and his skin heated. It felt tight and he worried that he was burning. He wasn't used to this type of weather. In Nipon, it snowed for eight of the twelve months. It was cold and bitter and he missed that.
He missed home.
Being at Sleet's house had reminded him how much he missed his parents. He hadn't seen them in two years since leaving with Master Yuu.
Tungsten sighed and shielded his eyes from the sun. His head hurt from squinting and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to find the animus. Not that he could entirely begrudge Asclepius her enthusiasm. His anima had been oddly listless as of late and that concerned Tungsten.
And speaking of....
Asclepius bounded out of the crowd, cheeks flush with color and a smile on her face. She tackled him with a hug and bounced back, grabbing his hand.
“Come on!” she said with a giggle. “You're missing all the fun!”
“We're supposed to be searching,” Tungsten reminded her.
Asclepius rolled her eyes and tapped her head with her free hand. “I am searching, but no one says we can't have fun in the meantime.”
Tungsten was pretty sure Raven had mentioned something to that effect but Asclepius was not fond of Raven-san and probably ignored him.
“Have you found him or her?”
Asclepius sighed, squeezing his hand. “No,” she said, drawing out the vowel. “Not yet. I get the feeling that she, and I'm sure our missing animus is a woman, is around here somewhere.”
“Do you know who her anima is?”
“Yep!” Asclepius' smile broadened, eyes sparkling with happiness and she bounced in place. “It's my dad!”
Well. No wonder Asclepius was in such a good mood. Tungsten had heard bits and pieces about familial relationships between the deities, but Asclepius tended not to volunteer information. She would answer if Tungsten asked, but she wouldn't straight explain things. He suspected it never occurred to her to offer it.
Tungsten smiled at her. “That's nice. Who is he?”
She tucked his arm under hers and snuggled against his side, subtly pushing him toward a game booth. “Hmm. His name is Orthrus but I don't remember what mortals used to call him. He's been forgotten for a long time.”
The name was unfamiliar to Tungsten. Sleet probably would've known since his mother had made him study the old gods. Still. At least that meant Asclepius wouldn't shirk on searching. She was no doubt eager to find her father.
And speaking of forgotten deities... “Is that a temple?” Tungsten asked, getting a glimpse of a large, stone building out of the corner of his eyes. It was massive, towering and regal, constructed of a pale stone compared to the darker wood of the rest of the city.
He was interested for literary reasons but also, all Tungsten could think of was the shade and how much cooler it would be within. Sitting down for a moment was also not out of the question.
“Yes. Thessalia used to be one of the most devout countries in all of Lieve.” Asclepius frowned as though deep in thought. “This was a long time ago. Before the first war.”
“What happened?”
“I don't know. It was before I was born.”
The temple looked better than Tungsten could have expected for having been abandoned. There was evidence of weathering on the structure. One of the towers had crumbled. But otherwise, it was intact. The front doors were either open or missing and the passing townsfolk gave it a wide berth. A few people stopped to stare, but then went on their way.
“Can we go inside?”
Asclepius blinked at him. “Why would you want to?”
“Because it's interesting.” Tungsten shrugged and shielded his eyes again. “And I would be grateful to get out of this sun for however long we can spare.”
“You are looking a little red.” Concern replaced some of her exuberance. “I don't think it's forbidden. Though people might give you a strange look.”
Tungsten almost laughed. “I'm used to that. Let's go.” It was his turn to drag her, though Asclepius came along much more willingly.
No one stopped him. If anyone looked twice, Tungsten didn't notice. He climbed the steps and hurried inside the temple, noticing that the doors were indeed gone. He had no doubt that if there was anything valuable within, it was long since gone. But it was blessedly cool. His shoulders sagged in relief.
“Better,” Tungsten sighed and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim.
There was a small atrium directly inside the entrance, empty of furniture. He could see empty hooks, spaces where items had once been. There were footsteps in the dirt, but they weren't fresh. Above him, lanterns with melted candles hung listlessly.
The noise of the crowd beyond was muffled even with the open doorway. And he could just make out the nave ahead, the dim broken by light streaming in through broken windows or locations where the boards had fallen.
Tungsten walked carefully, choosing his footing. It was difficult to tell whether the floor was stone or wood, given the detritus covering it. The last thing he wanted was to fall through the floor to his death. The temple smelled of must and disuse. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling in wispy trails of white.
There were no pews. Whether this was by design or they'd been removed, Tungsten didn't know. There was an altar, however, and he headed toward it. A massive mural took up the entire back wall, cracks running through the painted effigy and water damage obscuring at least two-thirds of it. In fact, as Tungsten turned slowly, the walls themselves were covered in images. Some artist had painstakingly applied paint to these walls.
He moved closer, inspecting them. There were symbols, interpretations of the gods. One was easy enough for Tungsten to pick out. Sybaris, the blood of Lieve, goddess of water. She danced in a stream, water rising around her in elegant swirls.
“I remember Father telling me that the fall in Thessalia was the beginning,” Asclepius said, her voice soft but easily carrying to Tungsten. She was on the other side of the nave, looking at a different image. “He said that Thessalia used to be the center of mortal worship. That they had the closest relationship to the gods, though back then there were fewer of us, our magic and abilities more concentrated. But when Thessalia turned their backs on their beliefs, that was the beginning of the end. Of course, Balaam's war didn't help.”
Tungsten frowned, moving on to the next image in an attempt to decipher it. “You think that there's a connection? Between Thessalia and Balaam?”
“I don't know.” A small chuckle escaped the goddess. “History never was my strong suit. I remember that we weren't prepared for the first war. No one ever thought that one of we gods would turn on the rest of us.”
Tungsten turned around, watching her as she studied the walls. “How did you defeat him?”
“How else does anyone do the impossible? Someone makes a choice. And someone else makes a sacrifice.” Asclepius reached up, fingers brushing the symbol in the center of the opposite wall. It looked familiar to Tungsten, though he wasn't sure how he'd seen it before. “We were all punished for Balaam's actions. And what little faith the mortals had left all but dissipated. We are forgotten.”
“Not entirely.” Tungsten offered a small smile, one hand touching the casting rod in his pocket. “We magic-users have never forgotten the old ones. And I gather that Alaris and her fellow clergy haven't either.”
He felt, across their bond, the affection that Asclepius sent to him. “Yes. There is that.” Her chuckle carried to him before she gestured to the mural in front of her. “Do you know who this is?”
“He feels familiar but I can't place the name,” Tungsten said.
“It's Heimdal.”
Tungsten blinked. He couldn't see the resemblance in the slightest, especially since this image was surrounded by those more related with the healing arts. “But--”
“We've gone by different names. Or should I say the older gods since I'm still pretty young.” Asclepius turned away from the image, carefully crossing the floor to rejoin Tungsten. “Not only different names, but different magic as well. Heimdal was once Fenris and before that, Fafnir. Fafnir was once Efret before returning to Fafnir. It was a translation error.”
Tungsten gave her a fond look. “So you remember their names but you can't remember the history? I believe you have selective memory, my dear.”
Asclepius grinned. “More like I didn't pay much attention to Rian.”
“Rian?”
“It's what we call the mortal plane like our home is called Elysium.” She glanced past him, at the mural, before shrugging. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I wasn't really looking for anything. I was just curious. And overheated.” He swiped at his hairline, trying not to disturb the already ruined lines. “By Asherah, I am not fond of being hot. I miss the snow.”
Asclepius linked her arm with his. “No wonder you liked Toran so much.”
“It was comfortably similar to home,” Tungsten agreed, letting her steer him back toward the door, though he had no interest in returning to that sweltering heat. “In fact...”
He trailed off. Someone was standing in the entryway between the nave and the atrium, leaning against the frame. Their face and body was bathed in shadows thanks to the lack of light, but Tungsten was certain there was someone there.
It was then that Asclepius gasped.
Unease rippled through Tungsten.
“You are very poor at concealing yourself, daughter,” came a voice from the dim, stepping out next to the person in the entryway, nearly as tall but radiating power in much the same way as Hephaestion and Heimdal.
But not Erebus, Tungsten reflected. Or Asclepius. They were undeniably deities, but not as powerful, perhaps. They did not have the same ageless quality.
“Yeah. We found ya long before ya would have ever found us,” another voice agreed, female, filled with amusement.
Asclepius bounced in place before extracting herself from Tungsten's arm and bounding across the floor. It shuddered ominously but held as she threw herself at the first voice and Tungsten didn't need more than one guess to say it was Orthrus, especially with Asclepius' happy exclamation of “Father!”
“Hello, my child,” said Orthrus, his soft baritone amused and affectionate all at once.
The animus laughed at them. “She's adorable,” said the woman before she pushed herself off the wall and approached Tungsten, sticking out a hand in greeting. “Hi. I'm Mira. I do believe we've met.”
Tungsten all but gaped, belatedly accepting her hand. “You!” He did, in fact, recognize her. “You helped me pick up my bags.”
“That I did. And you made for quite an adorable lost tourist.” Mira laughed, a rich sound, her brown eyes twinkling at him from behind eyeglasses. “The voice in my head was quite insistent that I find you again.”
Tungsten smiled. “You accepted him?”
“We agreed it was in my best interest to pretend otherwise until an opportunity came for me to reveal m'self.” And then she flushed, taking in a slow breath, choosing her words carefully. “By that I mean, he told me you were coming. All I had to do was wait.”
Interesting. Her voice was soft, her accent cultured. But every once in a while something else would slip out, betraying the truth.
“You even hid from Malach!” Asclepius chirped, bouncing up to Mira and introducing herself by way of an embrace that was just shy of awkward. “Then again, he's still not used to actually using his talent so no wonder.”
Mira inclined her head, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “I have learned how to hide,” she answered, and there was a wealth of implication in her words.
“It is a good skill,” Tungsten said, ignoring the awkward creeping between them. “And you are willing to involve yourself in this conflict?”
“Don't see where I have a choice otherwise.” Mira shrugged, the effect casual but something in her expression speaking of deeper issues. “And there's nothing here I'd miss.”
Tungsten stopped himself from frowning, but only just. Asclepius, too, was concerned, her eyes meeting Tungsten's.
“We should reunite with the others,” Orthrus said, resting a hand on Mira's shoulder. “I understand that time is limited.”
“Yes,” Tungsten agreed, ready to change the subject for now. “We were supposed to meet at an Inn. I'm sure Asclepius can find Heimdal-san and Malach-san. We'll go from there.”
It was nice, Tungsten thought, that this would go so easily. He hoped that the others were having much the same luck.
***
a/n: Quickly approaching the end of The Road to Ruin. I hope you're still enjoying!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)
Series: War of the Animum, Sixth Story
Summary: With time growing shorter, Sleet and company make the decision to divide their forces in order to beat Balaam at his own game. But their enemy is no fool and will cause them to make one of their hardest choices yet.
War of the Animum -- The Road to Ruin
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
They separated again, all the better to cover more ground.
Malach hadn't protested. The chance to have a moment to himself was not one he disdained. Well, alone except for Heimdal. Fortunately, he could endure his animus' presence without much irritation but Raven was abrasive and Tungsten too concerned. Malach didn't want his pity or his compassion.
He needed time to come to terms with his future himself.
More than that, he needed time to get a handle on all the noise. Voices, inside and out of his head. People thinking to themselves, singing to themselves. It clashed with what he heard echoing in his brain and through his ears. It was hard to keep track of a conversation when he heard the words from their lips and the unguarded thoughts that drifted free.
It was exhausting. Malach was exhausted.
“It will get easier,” Heimdal said beside him. “With time and training. Unfortunately, the deity best suited for training you is no longer of this world.”
“Who?”
Heimdal looked to the sky, blue as blue could be. “Tiamat.”
The name was unfamiliar to Malach. She was not one of the goddesses recognized by the Kurai. Though Malach had come to learn that didn't mean much. The Kurai were too isolated for their own good, refusing to acknowledge the obvious truth.
“Such would be my luck,” Malach said and fought back a wince. He rubbed his temple, trying to forestall the ache. One by one, he rebuilt the walls until the voices were a dull murmur.
Finding the animus was pointless. He could not focus. It was the task Raven had given him and a task he could not accomplish.
There were other things he could do to be helpful. Anything to keep his mind off what he had left behind.
“Malach?”
“I can't focus,” he admitted, though surely Heimdal already knew. Malach had been keeping to the edge of the crowd, the shadows of the stands. Not only were the voices too loud, but the stares too cutting. “I can't find the animus.”
“You just need rest.”
He shook his head. “Rest won't help. I don't need to sleep. I don't need to...” He trailed off, unwilling to voice the source of his reluctance. Instead, he braced himself, looking over the crowds. “What can I do to earn coin?”
He felt, more than saw, Heimdal's frown. “Usually a job of some sort is required. A special skill or craft. Coin is exchanged for work given.”
It made sense though also seemed strangely disproportionate. Malach was used to the barter system of the Kurai where nothing was wasted and useless items were just that, useless. They had no use for coins or jewels, only metals that could be mined and refined for weapons or tools or other comforts.
“Work,” Malach repeated. What kind of work could he perform in a town such as this.
“Yes. It couldn't hurt to look but I wouldn't hold much hope.” Heimdal gestured to the city at large. “This seems to be a city for tourism, not honest work.”
And Heimdal was right.
Malach walked for what felt like hours. He stopped to inquire at a few shops, but none were hiring for temporary work. Most of them demanded qualifications that he did not have. He spoke common but could not read it. He was unaware of the exchange rates of coin. His expression made him terrible for sales and customer service.
He was still in pain, still healing. Manual labor was out of the question. Nor did he have the time to wait for the next opportunity to come around. As it stood, no one needed help immediately.
Sleet would have resorted to stealing. Malach had far more honor than that.
Until he saw the sign. Men of all ages were crowded around it, half of them bearing weapons. Most looked to be warriors. It attracted Malach's interest, though he could not read the words, he saw the weapons drawn on the paper, clashing as though in battle.
“Heimdal,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice low. “What does that say?”
The deity stepped closer for a better look before returning to Malach's side. “It's a tournament to be held tomorrow.”
“Tournament?”
“Yes. There are several categories but the main event is a bout between warriors. First prize is more than enough to secure our voyage to Sanjara.” The deity folded his arms, looking contemplative. “Truthfully, second or third place would help.”
This, at least, appealed to Malach. “It is free?”
“No, there is a registration fee.”
He had no weapon right now and Malach keenly felt that lack. He had the bow Sleet's mother had gifted to him, but it wasn't suited for close-range combat. He would have to acquire a sword at the very least.
“Can we afford it?”
Heimdal made a contemplative noise. “That is a question you will have to ask Raven. I suspect he will want to enter as well. There may even be a way Tungsten can participate.”
Well, it wasn't work. But it was better than nothing.
Malach inclined his head. “All right. This will do.” Except that finding Raven meant opening himself to the influx of society.
Nothing was ever simple.
“Find the animus,” Raven had said as though Alaris had appointed him leader of their team. Which she probably had. Tungsten didn't have to like it even if it did make logical sense.
Raven could be so rude at times.
Tungsten sighed. At least Asclepius was having fun. Tungsten had lost count of the number of times she'd disappeared into the crowd, eager to sample some tasty treat or dance to the newest strain of music filling the air.
Find the animus.
Just where was he supposed to look in all this noise? There were people everywhere. Visitors and residents, crowding the streets, the booths. They jostled one another and were strangely okay with that. No one looked angry about the lack of space at least.
Plus, it was hot.
Tungsten was bathed in sweat beneath the layers of his robes. The ink on his forehead was beginning to run in gray trickles down the sides of his face. His hair stuck to the back of his neck. The sun grew higher, hotter, and his skin heated. It felt tight and he worried that he was burning. He wasn't used to this type of weather. In Nipon, it snowed for eight of the twelve months. It was cold and bitter and he missed that.
He missed home.
Being at Sleet's house had reminded him how much he missed his parents. He hadn't seen them in two years since leaving with Master Yuu.
Tungsten sighed and shielded his eyes from the sun. His head hurt from squinting and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to find the animus. Not that he could entirely begrudge Asclepius her enthusiasm. His anima had been oddly listless as of late and that concerned Tungsten.
And speaking of....
Asclepius bounded out of the crowd, cheeks flush with color and a smile on her face. She tackled him with a hug and bounced back, grabbing his hand.
“Come on!” she said with a giggle. “You're missing all the fun!”
“We're supposed to be searching,” Tungsten reminded her.
Asclepius rolled her eyes and tapped her head with her free hand. “I am searching, but no one says we can't have fun in the meantime.”
Tungsten was pretty sure Raven had mentioned something to that effect but Asclepius was not fond of Raven-san and probably ignored him.
“Have you found him or her?”
Asclepius sighed, squeezing his hand. “No,” she said, drawing out the vowel. “Not yet. I get the feeling that she, and I'm sure our missing animus is a woman, is around here somewhere.”
“Do you know who her anima is?”
“Yep!” Asclepius' smile broadened, eyes sparkling with happiness and she bounced in place. “It's my dad!”
Well. No wonder Asclepius was in such a good mood. Tungsten had heard bits and pieces about familial relationships between the deities, but Asclepius tended not to volunteer information. She would answer if Tungsten asked, but she wouldn't straight explain things. He suspected it never occurred to her to offer it.
Tungsten smiled at her. “That's nice. Who is he?”
She tucked his arm under hers and snuggled against his side, subtly pushing him toward a game booth. “Hmm. His name is Orthrus but I don't remember what mortals used to call him. He's been forgotten for a long time.”
The name was unfamiliar to Tungsten. Sleet probably would've known since his mother had made him study the old gods. Still. At least that meant Asclepius wouldn't shirk on searching. She was no doubt eager to find her father.
And speaking of forgotten deities... “Is that a temple?” Tungsten asked, getting a glimpse of a large, stone building out of the corner of his eyes. It was massive, towering and regal, constructed of a pale stone compared to the darker wood of the rest of the city.
He was interested for literary reasons but also, all Tungsten could think of was the shade and how much cooler it would be within. Sitting down for a moment was also not out of the question.
“Yes. Thessalia used to be one of the most devout countries in all of Lieve.” Asclepius frowned as though deep in thought. “This was a long time ago. Before the first war.”
“What happened?”
“I don't know. It was before I was born.”
The temple looked better than Tungsten could have expected for having been abandoned. There was evidence of weathering on the structure. One of the towers had crumbled. But otherwise, it was intact. The front doors were either open or missing and the passing townsfolk gave it a wide berth. A few people stopped to stare, but then went on their way.
“Can we go inside?”
Asclepius blinked at him. “Why would you want to?”
“Because it's interesting.” Tungsten shrugged and shielded his eyes again. “And I would be grateful to get out of this sun for however long we can spare.”
“You are looking a little red.” Concern replaced some of her exuberance. “I don't think it's forbidden. Though people might give you a strange look.”
Tungsten almost laughed. “I'm used to that. Let's go.” It was his turn to drag her, though Asclepius came along much more willingly.
No one stopped him. If anyone looked twice, Tungsten didn't notice. He climbed the steps and hurried inside the temple, noticing that the doors were indeed gone. He had no doubt that if there was anything valuable within, it was long since gone. But it was blessedly cool. His shoulders sagged in relief.
“Better,” Tungsten sighed and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim.
There was a small atrium directly inside the entrance, empty of furniture. He could see empty hooks, spaces where items had once been. There were footsteps in the dirt, but they weren't fresh. Above him, lanterns with melted candles hung listlessly.
The noise of the crowd beyond was muffled even with the open doorway. And he could just make out the nave ahead, the dim broken by light streaming in through broken windows or locations where the boards had fallen.
Tungsten walked carefully, choosing his footing. It was difficult to tell whether the floor was stone or wood, given the detritus covering it. The last thing he wanted was to fall through the floor to his death. The temple smelled of must and disuse. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling in wispy trails of white.
There were no pews. Whether this was by design or they'd been removed, Tungsten didn't know. There was an altar, however, and he headed toward it. A massive mural took up the entire back wall, cracks running through the painted effigy and water damage obscuring at least two-thirds of it. In fact, as Tungsten turned slowly, the walls themselves were covered in images. Some artist had painstakingly applied paint to these walls.
He moved closer, inspecting them. There were symbols, interpretations of the gods. One was easy enough for Tungsten to pick out. Sybaris, the blood of Lieve, goddess of water. She danced in a stream, water rising around her in elegant swirls.
“I remember Father telling me that the fall in Thessalia was the beginning,” Asclepius said, her voice soft but easily carrying to Tungsten. She was on the other side of the nave, looking at a different image. “He said that Thessalia used to be the center of mortal worship. That they had the closest relationship to the gods, though back then there were fewer of us, our magic and abilities more concentrated. But when Thessalia turned their backs on their beliefs, that was the beginning of the end. Of course, Balaam's war didn't help.”
Tungsten frowned, moving on to the next image in an attempt to decipher it. “You think that there's a connection? Between Thessalia and Balaam?”
“I don't know.” A small chuckle escaped the goddess. “History never was my strong suit. I remember that we weren't prepared for the first war. No one ever thought that one of we gods would turn on the rest of us.”
Tungsten turned around, watching her as she studied the walls. “How did you defeat him?”
“How else does anyone do the impossible? Someone makes a choice. And someone else makes a sacrifice.” Asclepius reached up, fingers brushing the symbol in the center of the opposite wall. It looked familiar to Tungsten, though he wasn't sure how he'd seen it before. “We were all punished for Balaam's actions. And what little faith the mortals had left all but dissipated. We are forgotten.”
“Not entirely.” Tungsten offered a small smile, one hand touching the casting rod in his pocket. “We magic-users have never forgotten the old ones. And I gather that Alaris and her fellow clergy haven't either.”
He felt, across their bond, the affection that Asclepius sent to him. “Yes. There is that.” Her chuckle carried to him before she gestured to the mural in front of her. “Do you know who this is?”
“He feels familiar but I can't place the name,” Tungsten said.
“It's Heimdal.”
Tungsten blinked. He couldn't see the resemblance in the slightest, especially since this image was surrounded by those more related with the healing arts. “But--”
“We've gone by different names. Or should I say the older gods since I'm still pretty young.” Asclepius turned away from the image, carefully crossing the floor to rejoin Tungsten. “Not only different names, but different magic as well. Heimdal was once Fenris and before that, Fafnir. Fafnir was once Efret before returning to Fafnir. It was a translation error.”
Tungsten gave her a fond look. “So you remember their names but you can't remember the history? I believe you have selective memory, my dear.”
Asclepius grinned. “More like I didn't pay much attention to Rian.”
“Rian?”
“It's what we call the mortal plane like our home is called Elysium.” She glanced past him, at the mural, before shrugging. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I wasn't really looking for anything. I was just curious. And overheated.” He swiped at his hairline, trying not to disturb the already ruined lines. “By Asherah, I am not fond of being hot. I miss the snow.”
Asclepius linked her arm with his. “No wonder you liked Toran so much.”
“It was comfortably similar to home,” Tungsten agreed, letting her steer him back toward the door, though he had no interest in returning to that sweltering heat. “In fact...”
He trailed off. Someone was standing in the entryway between the nave and the atrium, leaning against the frame. Their face and body was bathed in shadows thanks to the lack of light, but Tungsten was certain there was someone there.
It was then that Asclepius gasped.
Unease rippled through Tungsten.
“You are very poor at concealing yourself, daughter,” came a voice from the dim, stepping out next to the person in the entryway, nearly as tall but radiating power in much the same way as Hephaestion and Heimdal.
But not Erebus, Tungsten reflected. Or Asclepius. They were undeniably deities, but not as powerful, perhaps. They did not have the same ageless quality.
“Yeah. We found ya long before ya would have ever found us,” another voice agreed, female, filled with amusement.
Asclepius bounced in place before extracting herself from Tungsten's arm and bounding across the floor. It shuddered ominously but held as she threw herself at the first voice and Tungsten didn't need more than one guess to say it was Orthrus, especially with Asclepius' happy exclamation of “Father!”
“Hello, my child,” said Orthrus, his soft baritone amused and affectionate all at once.
The animus laughed at them. “She's adorable,” said the woman before she pushed herself off the wall and approached Tungsten, sticking out a hand in greeting. “Hi. I'm Mira. I do believe we've met.”
Tungsten all but gaped, belatedly accepting her hand. “You!” He did, in fact, recognize her. “You helped me pick up my bags.”
“That I did. And you made for quite an adorable lost tourist.” Mira laughed, a rich sound, her brown eyes twinkling at him from behind eyeglasses. “The voice in my head was quite insistent that I find you again.”
Tungsten smiled. “You accepted him?”
“We agreed it was in my best interest to pretend otherwise until an opportunity came for me to reveal m'self.” And then she flushed, taking in a slow breath, choosing her words carefully. “By that I mean, he told me you were coming. All I had to do was wait.”
Interesting. Her voice was soft, her accent cultured. But every once in a while something else would slip out, betraying the truth.
“You even hid from Malach!” Asclepius chirped, bouncing up to Mira and introducing herself by way of an embrace that was just shy of awkward. “Then again, he's still not used to actually using his talent so no wonder.”
Mira inclined her head, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “I have learned how to hide,” she answered, and there was a wealth of implication in her words.
“It is a good skill,” Tungsten said, ignoring the awkward creeping between them. “And you are willing to involve yourself in this conflict?”
“Don't see where I have a choice otherwise.” Mira shrugged, the effect casual but something in her expression speaking of deeper issues. “And there's nothing here I'd miss.”
Tungsten stopped himself from frowning, but only just. Asclepius, too, was concerned, her eyes meeting Tungsten's.
“We should reunite with the others,” Orthrus said, resting a hand on Mira's shoulder. “I understand that time is limited.”
“Yes,” Tungsten agreed, ready to change the subject for now. “We were supposed to meet at an Inn. I'm sure Asclepius can find Heimdal-san and Malach-san. We'll go from there.”
It was nice, Tungsten thought, that this would go so easily. He hoped that the others were having much the same luck.
a/n: Quickly approaching the end of The Road to Ruin. I hope you're still enjoying!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)
