The big bright star was pinned to the sky like a firefly surrounded with shimmering specks extending to where the heaven met the earth. The capital city that night was gleaming with joy and liveliness. The marketplace was transformed into a road packed with stalls selling many celebratory goods but mostly traditional masks in all types of shapes, painted in various colours. A white lion face stood out between a majority of coloured ones. Two children argued in front of the booth as the salesman observed them with amusement. He held up the mask like it was the most valuable thing and noted something arrogantly. The kids gasped and directed their anger towards him.
Aside from the festive ornaments, plenty of stalls were filled with snacks from crescent shaped pastries with fruit fillings that made one ask for seconds and thirds to the boiled heads of sheep that gave off a strong stench. It was believed by the Pyrsan elders that the brains of a lamb granted sapience to the person consuming it. Thus it became a traditional dish served at birthdays and holy festivities.
A middle-aged woman encouraged the pedestrians to taste her delicacies. She grabbed a damsel from the crowd and shoved a skewer of candied crabs to her face. Erena let out a screech and pressed against the man alongside her, holding on tightly to his sleeve. Yuan snorted and disregarded her tantrum. He took the offered snacks with gratitude and munched on them.
The goddess distanced herself. "Eating shelled spiders is a normal occurrence now? My goodness, I should have stayed at my cave."
"Certainly, it is not too late to go back. Allow me to escort you, just to ensure your safe arrival." The man's suggestion sounded more like a threat.
They continued stealing menacing glances at each other as the smell of food dwindled in the rear. The bubbly screaming of youngsters jumping around entertained the elderly folks who were settled down to the benches of the plaza. A little girl struck her wooden sword to the boy opposing her, knocking the toy out of his hands. The children circling them laughed and threw crumbs of pastries all over the defeated kid. The girl raised the sword towards the sky and posed with a fierce expression, earning applauds from the crowd.
Yuan paused in front of a massive platform erected in the midst of the square, curtains draped from the wooden pillars, shifting at the erratic movements of the figures in the back. A few people were setting up planks dyed and shaped like clouds and nagged the kids that played with the props.
"If we must loiter around the fair, I prefer checking out the garment shops instead," she proposed with her arms crossed against her chest.
Yuan sighed. "Go and have a look then. I do not plan to be your nursemaid all night."
She looked at him like he had just spat at her face. "You are truly unbearable! The eastern peoples must be tremendously dull to worship a character as you."
"I, at least, have worshippers. Live ones, with skin and flesh over their bones and judgment of their own. Can you imagine?" he said with a fake amusement and took the dirt alley leading toward the Whitecliff Palace.
The roads of Al-Nasima seemed unfamiliar to him. They differed from the cherry blossom boulevards of eastern cities where he used to wander chattering with the elite powdered and attired in richest silks. Even the air tasted of sweet pepper and cinnamon instead of the bitter pollen of flowers. He found it strange how it had not bothered him. What did, however, was the goddess following behind, face red with anger. It was easy for him to ignore her blathering about purity and honour of her ghostly servants. He had done so many times in past.
"…and while men are the most wicked race of the three realms, as death strips them of their sins, it purges their souls of all vice. So do not tell me how your bodily followers have grater morals. There is a reason I keep a distance from the living."
The man disagreed. "The only reason for your detachment is that the Norse do not wish the goddess of death as their patron."
He saw as her face darkened at the remark. Erena stared at him for a long time, then she walked past him and muttered, "I trust Frey is done discussing with the king. Time to return."
Yuan offered her a hand which she brushed off sharply. "I shall walk back on my own," she said.
He gazed at her greenish brown hair waving as she disappeared into the crowd. Yuan chuckled and approached a stall selling ostrich entrails roasted with onions. He intended to taste this kingdom's every delicacy, even the ones that looked unappetising.
☾
The light from the candelabra bounced off the patterned walls as the young god paced down the hallway of the palace. His steps halted when he reached the entry of the throne room; a bulky guard positioned sternly led him inside.
Frey's eyes landed on the high officials sitting by the round table. They exchanged looks with each other and bowed at the boy. He was familiar with all of them. At the left side of the king sat Lord Zeke herald of arms, his bony fingers steepled over his mouth as had used to during heavy situations. He was a man in his twenties, the youngest in the room aside from the cupbearer. His bronze skin was oiled with rosemary oil, gleaming in the light of a hundred candles. The young lord gave him an awkward smile and Frey understood the meaning behind it.
At the other side of the ruler was perched a bearded man with an expression hard as steel. He had his father's eyes, dark and full of ambition, but unlike Salman's they did not have a single shred of warmth.
Prince Arslan had disregarded his arrival and instead kept his gaze on an old map spread out on the iron table.
Frey was greeted by the brisk voice of the Chancellor. "Such pleasure to be seeing you again, o dear Heavenborn. The court has missed you greatly."
He was an old plump man dressed in golden linen embellished with floral designs, his eyes became two lines whenever he smiled.
Lord Hassirian, Commandant of the guards spoke with an expression of contempt. "Iraj Vadat, must you tire us all with your false flatteries?" he then turned his attention towards the boy and said unpleasantly, "have a seat, child, you have kept us waiting already."
Frey approached the table but did not sit. The cupbearer boy rushed to pour him wine as he declined. "There is no need, Lucius, thank you."
Iraj Vadat chuckled. "It is not like you to refuse such fine red, your grace. Are you feeling all right?"
The king shifted in his seat.
"The servants informed me of your sudden departure. Is something troubling you? I was worried you had skipped the festival purposefully," he stated.
The boy nodded softly. "There is an issue that I need to speak with you about, alone if you don't mind." He looked at the prince, the other clicked his tongue.
"As the future king of this land, I am entitled to know the difficulties that involve my kingdom. You can speak freely." The man declared.
Frey eyed the king who in exchange shrugged with a smile.
"As you wish," he said at last, "I had a chance to speak with General Ig, he told me that the Salamander has sided with an Empyrean, a powerful one at that."
"Don't be foolish. General Ig is dead, I saw him go down with my own eyes." The prince seethed.
Frey took a deep breath, he had to muster his patience every time he spoke with the prince.
"If you think death is going to stop me from interrogating someone, you're mistaken." He held the man's gaze until the other finally looked away. "I haven't figured out how but that man is sharing his power with the Vulzan tribe. If those pledged warriors attack again… Pyrsa will not hold out. Not unless you let me help you."
The court had fallen silent. The king hummed. "I recall the Gods did not have such power a while ago. How is it then that one of your kin is now aiding those barbarians?"
The air around them became heavy, they were all looking at him now.
"Eighty years ago, the day that I asked you to grant me power you told me it was not possible. Why did you lie to me? Was it because I would not need your help otherwise?"
"You're wrong," Frey uttered, "every spell has consequences, for mortals and gods both. I can't simply share my power with anyone."
He saw the man's face contort with displeasure and regretted his words.
When word of the Gods' arrival on earth had gone round, people from all around the realm began to seek them. Many of them begged for blessings and protection for their families and loved ones, but many more demanded the Gods' power like they were entitled to it. One of them was Salman, a lad of sixteen and the last remaining grandchild of king Hilaal, who had lost the ten-year war against the empire of Darosea. The cockiness of the young heir caused Frey countless headaches as he pleaded for him to help free his nation. He could not reject the youthful eyes burning with persistence as they reminded him of his own self. And in less than a year the young heir had ascended to the throne. Salman was grateful and he kept him close ever since. But years had passed, and the king's court had gained other advisors. Men that mistrusted Gods with all their might.
The Chancellor spoke out. "We have lost over two thousand soldiers. Brave young bloods who died shielding the land they loved as a consequence of heaven's incompetence." He sighed and shook his head. "How long till the Gods stop tormenting the weaker."
"It is not the heaven's failure that has caused us loss, but our own misjudgements," said lord Zeke. "With respect to you, Frey, is it not morally unseemly to dominate a small tribe as Vulz with a God fighting in the vanguard?"
The smile had vanished from the chancellor's face. "If I heard correctly, you are defending our lifelong enemies, are you not, my dear lord?"
The young man held up his hands in defeat. "You have got me wrong, Chancellor. It is their rights as fellow men that I am defending. Why must we be the only ones who have the assistance of the heaven realm? Is it only acceptable for us to seek help to break free from the dominance of a bigger force?"
His contentious claim had left the room in silence before the prince broke it.
"What nonsense are you spewing? Fellow men? Barbarians is what they are. They wipe out our villages, butcher our men and rape our women, and you still view them as your equal?" He raged. "You must loathe them more than anyone, after what they did to your family. I hear the nightmares torment you still."
The lord's hands tightened into fists as Arslan continued.
"I wonder, is it the screams of you coward father that keep you awake at nights, or the cries of your mother as they ravish—"
"Enough of it," the boy's stern voice cut off like thunder and the walls around quavered.
They all looked at him with fear drawn to their faces. All but the prince.
"You dare shout at your future king?" he asked.
"A simple title does not make one king." Frey said calmly. "You act as if you care about this land, it's people. In truth you only worry about the crown. There is no king without a kingdom, is there?"
He had warned Salman about the intentions of his oldest son many times before. But he could not change the mind of a father blinded by the love for his children. The king never saw anything wrong with his heir's actions, he thought he had raised an ideal son, a perfect heir who would succeed his throne. And he could not be more wrong.
Arslan leaned over the table with his eyes cutting through him like daggers. "And what do you care about, Heavenborn? Are Gods still Gods if there are no people to worship them?"
He saw Frey tense at the question and grinned. "Me and you, we are both alike. We are nothing without the love of the realm."
The young God shook his head. "No. I do not fight for the adoration of men."
"What do you fight for, then?" The king probed. "You had no obligation to defend this kingdom, so why did you? Why would a god forsake heaven just to help some poor mortals? You never demanded anything in return, but perhaps you wish to rule the earth, since the heaven's throne does not belong to you. Truly, what is your intention?"
There was desperation in the boy's voice. "You know my intentions! Why is there a need to question kindness?"
"Because the Gods are not kind, Frey! They do not care about us, the lowly humans. In times of drought and famine, we prayed for them to help us. Where were the Gods when the empty bellies of my people were stuck to their ribs, when families boiled their new-borns for dinner." Salman rubbed his forehead, recalling memories he had buried deep in his mind. "And what was their response after so many years of pleading? They graced us with a naive child who has never lived true struggle."
Frey stood still, the king's words felt like a jab to his stomach.
"You need me in order to win this war, be careful of what you are saying."
"I have seen you in combat, boy. You do not fight to kill. Your sentimentalities have no place at war. I have been grateful for your support, but it is time for us to take back our dignity. We will defeat those barbarians and your kinsman, and prove humanity is not as powerless as Gods believe." The man gestured at the doorway. "You should enjoy the festival. The citizens have put a lot of effort to satisfy you."
Frey clenched his fists and stomped towards the entrance, thrusting the heavy wooden doors with such force, they smashed the walls of the hall. He gave a last glance at the man and the rest of the council. Prince Arslan now leaned in his seat with a satisfied expression. Frey drew his fingers to his mouth and whistled. A white shape emerged from the hallway nearby, stripping the adornments off his mane. The boy had avoided the customary ritual of bedecking the hero of the day but Asfrid was more than delighted by such attention. He bent down to let the boy mount him and dashed into the candlelit hall.
The king sighed and watched in silence until the white figures faded into the darkness of the palace. He noticed a flash of black outside a window and went to observe it.
"Is something wrong, father?" asked the prince.
Salman looked at the starry sky. "No, nothing at all," he muttered blaming his old mind for playing tricks on him.
But the black creature flying in the distance was no illusion. It gave a low croak and scoped the lit city with its abysmal, emotionless eyes.
The blackbird landed on a building overlooking a crowded street, its eyes darted in every direction before they ended up on a small pub.
A chanting arose from the crowd gathered around the windows, they peeked at the commotion inside with humorous expressions.
Frey sat across a heavy man, keeping an intense eye contact with him, however the other's glossy eyeballs struggled to focus on him. Empty barrels of ale and a crowd of civilians surrounded the wooden table.
The man gripped a mug and brought it to his mouth, the amber liquid trickled down his neck as he chugged the ale like a madman. His eyes stayed glued to the ceiling while he kept the emptied mug over his lips. The crowd around held their breaths and some of them whispered a few encouraging words. The man suddenly growled and knocked the cup down; the watchers rejoiced.
"Oi pighead!" Frey scrambled over the table and grasped the man by his collar, shaking him as he laughed through hiccups. "Stop drinking, will you? You want to meet your maker this bad?"
The man let out a lengthy belch and the crowd burst out cackling. Frey staggered down, he picked up a heavy barrel and guzzled the remaining alcohol, receiving praises from the folks. The man stood up and pointed his hand at the boy, a few seconds later he collapsed on the floor among the wooden mugs.
The boy laughed along with the crowd, he kept laughing even after the crowd around him had disbanded. He wiped the tears of his eyes when he felt a sudden grip on his cape. The look he was met with when he turned around was grimly familiar.
"You have the nerve to enjoy yourself after all you did." The soldier said, tightening his grasp. "To think the folks glorify an immortal boozer instead of grieving the ones who sacrificed their lives for them. Makes me fucking sick."
"Cheers to that, brother," said the boy and raised a cup.
The man slapped the drink from his hand, spilling the liquid on the dirty floor.
"Why would you waste perfectly good ale, ah, so aggressive." Frey whirled towards the exit when the man grabbed him and pushed him to the ground, rubbing his face in the spillage.
"Here, don't let it go to waste."
The amused chortling of the boy enraged him even more. He lifted him up and punched his face, knocking him to the tables. Frey faltered and supported himself on the wood scraps.
"Is that all you can do? No wonder you couldn't protect your friends—" He grunted as the soldier kicked him in the abdomen and dragged him by the hair, throwing him at the dusty street.
The boy noticed the dirty glances and whispers of the bystanders, the upset expressions of children hiding behind their parents. He struggled to pull up in front of the man and spread his arms wide.
"What's wrong? Are you going to weep like a baby again?"
The soldier growled and landed another blow, punching and kicking him over and over again.
"Come on…" He gave a pained laugh. "Your brothers are dead because of me, don't you want revenge? Perhaps you could kill me, if you tried hard enough."
He braced for another strike when he noticed a little girl sprint from the crowd and jump between them. Pointing her wooden sword at the man, she shouted with a tremble in her voice.
"D-don't hurt the great Heavenborn! He… he did nothing wrong!"
The soldier fumed, he snatched the toy from her hands and broke it in half, casting the pieces away. She whimpered as the man aimed his palm at her.
His arm stopped mid-air, his eyes flashed on the hand with a fingerless glove squeezing him tight. A face of a horned monkey came in his view.
The masked stranger tilted his head, the freaky expression drilled at the man. The soldier tried to pull away but the slender fingers dug deeper into his flesh.
"What the… piss off fuckhead! This has nothing to do with—."
The stranger twisted his arm and shoved his head to the pavement in a flash, pressing his boot on his cheek; the man glared with the corner of his eyes.
"Don't stare at me like that, I'll get all stirred up." A muffled chuckle came from the mask. He pushed him harder, causing him to groan in pain.
"That's enough," said Frey and released the girl from his arms. She trembled ever since he pulled her away from the soldier's wrath.
"Thank you for protecting me, brave warrior." He beamed and kneeled in front of her. "I shall never forget thy kindness."
The little girl was overwhelmed by the God's bright but bloody smile, she opened her mouth to speak but was distracted by a cackle.
The masked youth now sat on top of the soldier and stared at Frey with his hands pressed to the monkey's cheeks. He leaped towards him and reached out.
"What an honour to meet you in person, oh Great Heavenborn, defender and protector of the human realm."
Frey accepted his handshake and was taken aback by the sudden pull. The stranger pushed his pale locks away with his free hand as if to study his features more closely.
"I appreciate you stepping in," the boy muttered and rubbed the dried blood off his nose with the sleeve of his tunic, not worried to soil his clothes more.
"No need to thank me for I am just a humble admirer. Of course, I could not let this fiend harass your grace."
Frey struggled to figure out what was humble in the young man across him. He scrutinized the attire that was too dark to be worn even to a funeral, yet strangely, it befit his sculpted physique flawlessly. His eyes fell down, attached to his leather belt was an elegant bullwhip, its black heel knot decorated with precious red stones. He doubted a youth of such poise would ever hang around livestock, with an opulent tool at that.
The boy's thoughts were disturbed by the sudden appearance of the guards. The commotion had already reached their ears as they were scouting the city, keeping an eye out for anything that would disrupt the celebration. He remembered the accident in the palace and took a step back. The guards would probably urge him back to the palace so his attendants would prep him for the great banquet. He was unwilling to deal with the hassle of servants anxious to suit him up in ridiculously colourful and heavy garments. It would be quite the spectacle if he simply showed up in his current state.
He felt a hand grab him. The masked youth dashed in the opposite direction and pulled him along without notice. Frey felt the tipsiness from the alcohol fade away when the cool wind hit his face. The stranger chuckled as he ran, not minding the curses of civilians whom they had bumped into. They stopped as they reached the fair and mingled with the crowd.
"Why did you run?" He asked. "Could it be you are in trouble with the law?"
The stranger laughed. "Me? You're the one who looked like you had seen a beast. Are you in trouble?"
Frey looked back, realizing the guards had not followed them and breathed a sigh of relief. But there was another creature that followed him without his knowledge. A black shape that had finally found its prey and stalked his every move with all four of its eyes.