He had tracked Simultes for almost a day. He could smell His wounding on the wind. His bite had been enough to give Him a limp. Still, the other’s own horns had scored a mark into His own side. It wasn’t enough to keep Him from the chase, of course. To Him, the chase was all-encompassing. The chase and…
There was something else He was supposed to do. He couldn’t recall it.
A cry from the opposite direction of His quarry made Him jerk around in surprise, looking for the source of the muffled sound. His body went still, waiting, tense with anticipation… Then, He heard light footsteps on rock. Anticipation gripped Him. His eyes darted around before He leaped up into the trees, trying to find cover in their woven branches, claws scrabbling for some sound purchase on the leafless, fire-scorched bark.
Then He heard Simultes’s keening call.
Fucking pitiful; a wounded monster, crying out for help.
Beneath Him, He saw a maiden in white creep out of the trees and onto the game path cleared of foliage and debris. Her bloody hair stood out against the dead landscape, framing a gaunt face covered in soot and charcoal. Her dress too was stained with the dark marks of her journey.
She moved toward the call. He could hear her steady heartbeat; a measurement of fearlessness He thought strange. He attempted to follow after her, intrigued by this new development in the hunt, but there were only so many branches above her and He would quickly run out of stable real estate. Instead, He waited until she was a ways away before dropping silently back down onto the path, keeping His distance, stepping lightly in her footprints left in the ash and loose lava pebbles.
She roved with a single-mindedness, intent on finding the origin of the wailing. Did Simultes know of her approach like He did? Was the other warning her of His hunter with His cries? Or was He calling her to Him?
As for Himself, He was supposed to be doing something. The chase… and something else. He shook His head, trying to clear the uncertainty. Uncertainty had paid Him the wound in His side. He wouldn’t cry like His brother. He never cried like His other half. He didn’t use His weakness like a weapon. He would overpower. He would tear. He would consume. But he would never ask for mercy. In true beasts, there is no familiarity with mercy. Mercy is a man’s deceitful tool.
The girl was just like the deadwood about them. She too wanted for blood. She wanted her confusion and pain to end. The deadwood wanted Her own pain to end. It wanted to expel Her two sons, dead or alive, but She would bleed first. Was this maiden Her blood as flesh?
He shook His head, again overcome with a strange sense that there was something else that He was supposed to do besides hunt. What was so intrinsic to His survival beyond the slaying of the other before Simultes had His own chance to slay Him?
His eyes fixated on the girl.
Nothing is ever by accident. Everything has its causes and effects. Cycles give way to cycles give way to cycles. Notions give way to actions that give way to consequences that give way to notions to actions to consequences to notions… There was a purpose for this maiden. There was fearlessness in her. There was blood in her.
Patience… Patience… The beast, an agent of predictable chaos, is only ever patient; as reckless and as wild as the powers that promise seasons that give way to each other in timely increments. Pouncing on the girl would only upset His anticipation, and end the chase before it had begun. Instead, He would wait for the lady to face His other half… and then snatch Her up at the last moment, just to lord her over the other like a trophy. Look how He can hunt double His usual quarry! Look how He can mind more than one goal! A clever beast is a well fed beast.
Domination on His mind, He silently stalked the redheaded maiden.
The girl grunted as she pushed a log up and crawled beneath it to continue her way. He climbed over the log slowly, making sure not to fall and cause a ruckus. The girl jumped over a pitfall with a running start and almost tripped when she landed on the other side, but she took a knee to keep her balance and was soon on her way, picking up speed as she grew more confident within her limbo-like surroundings. He too leaped the smoke-breathing chasm with ease and picked up His pace.
He could smell her even from dozens of feet away. Opium and anise… The scents were familiar to Him. A third sign came unto Him and He remembered that His second task had something to do with going somewhere…
Again, He shook off the sensation and continued the hunt. A clever beast, He would be, but clever beast could still be distracted. He would not. He was superior.
At long last, she came to the edge of a clearing, where the dead trees gave way to a scarred meadow, the edges of which still burned with unnatural fire. It was a fire that could become an inferno if He wasn’t mindful. One of the beast’s few weaknesses was racing fire. He could outrun time itself, but He would not outrun the cleansing scorch of His mother’s never dying flames.
Those flames didn’t ask for blood, only annihilation.
Simultes had picked a good spot for a final confrontation. There was fire at His back and a one-way path to enter the clearing.
The beast at the maiden’s back wondered if the other had set this trap for Him or the girl. He wasn’t sure how He felt about either, only that He should come out on top of a fight… otherwise all would be lost.
Lost! Simultes would bring ruin to everything! He had to get out! He had to get out in order to trap Him! That was the other thing! He wasn’t supposed to be here, as much as the girl. He had to kill Simultes or He had to leave. He would be trapped here if He didn’t, and if He was trapped here…
Ruin… Ruin...
The girl froze when she saw Simultes in the middle of the clearing. He had a long, sad muzzle. His face and one of His forelegs was mangled and bleeding. He threw back His horns and let out a loud bugle call of pain, then got to His feet, dragging claws along the dead grass and brush, raking up dirt as He shouted at the girl.
The girl slowly walked toward Him, an open hand outstretched towards Him. Did she have any idea Who she was dealing with? Did she have any clue? Why did she seem so familiar? Why was she here? Surely not for Simultes!
His other half struggled to stand as the maiden cautiously approached. He stood up on His hind legs and regarded the girl with cold, calculating eyes. His irises were eclipsed in a ring of Their mother’s killing fire. He snorted once, then brought down His fore-feet in a rush, scoring marks in the ground before the girl before raising up again to re-measure His slashing blow.
He’s going to kill her, the beast thought suddenly and His hands dug into the earth as He sprang forward, ramming into the girl with His bulk and bearing her to the ground. Dirt and debris splashed over Him as the other god’s claws only just missed Him.
He left the girl and faced His other. Simultes screamed at Him, bull-face contorted with rage. He bared His own fangs in a bone-grating hiss and leaped on the greater other, dragging all two-dozen of His scythe-like claws across the pelt of His brother. But Simultes managed to grab Him from His back by one of His hind legs and the bull threw Him across the clearing. His lanky, lithe body rebounded off the rock and ash like He was made of sackcloth and grain. Something broke in Him as He rolled to a standstill, banging into a tree that crunched, but didn’t fall, as He crashed into it.
He couldn’t breathe for a small eternity. The orange and black sky overhead spun in dizzy spirals. He saw fire out of the corner of His eye, then blood. The girl! She stood between the two of them, holding a torch that swung between the two of them like a dowsing rod.
He slowly got His back feet under His hips and pushed up, but then collapsed against the tree, the wind huffing out of Him as pain lanced through His back. A dozen feet before Him, Simultes held one of His arms, smoke leaking between His digits. Simultes was just as weak to the killing fire as He was. The thought was little comfort in the beast’s current state. He couldn’t hope to wield such a thing on His own, not without understanding it.
The girl spoke in a shaking voice, her green eyes wild, flecked with the spark of power between her hands. “I s-stand for the Spice King! Who between You claims s-such a title?!”
“There is no Harvest here,” His other half sibilated through His fleshy bull lips. “Only His Harvester.” The girl’s eyes were riveted to Simultes. The bull looked away from her and said to the distant, encroaching fire, “Quickly, maiden-yet-made. Slay the beast that hunts us. Set Me free of this place!”
“Fuck You,” the beast growled, bloody drool leaking between His jaws. The girl turned to face Him this time, but didn’t turn her back to Simultes. The beast looked into the fire-ringed eyes of His brother and said, “He… remains the great liar… between Us…” He coughed again. Yes, He was broken. He was beaten because He chose someone over His own skin. He would continue making the same mistake into eternity. “We are both beast… but I herald renewal… He will only bring Winter trapped… in fire… like here… forever…” He knew the clever voice within Him was getting quieter, but He had to get the words out. He had to make Himself known to this girl. The choice was hers to make, in the end, wasn’t it?
The girl looked between the two of Them, a look of concentration pulling her brows together over her eyes, throwing her face into contrasting shadows. “The Spice King or Deathless Prince… Which is which then?” she said, perhaps to herself. “Others have chosen before… Many times before.” She looked at Simultes standing in the middle of the clearing and asked, “What is the name of Your palace, Great Bull?”
“I have no need of wealth. I only desire the ending of all things.”
The girl mumbled, “If You wanted to convince me, I suppose You needn’t say more.” She looked at the broken beast. “But You… What would You call Your palace?”
He had to think… He had to remember. Why was a palace so important to this girl? What did it matter what a palace was--? Oh, fuck. That palace. The palace. My friend. My sanctuary. “Whatever that… troublesome star desires…” He said after a long pause. Then He managed to huff a laugh and say, “She changes her mind with My seasons.”
The girl blinked, squeezed a moan of indecision out, then twisted her body around. She took two quick, desperate lunges and stabbed Simultes with her torch. The great bull, not expecting the sudden onslaught, reared back and wailed in pain. The girl struck again, burning pelt and hair. She struck again and the torch stuck fast in His left eye, searing and steaming with bubbling heat. Simultes raked at His face, scoring raw slashes into His own skull, as if He meant to dig the offending weapon out.
The girl rushed to the beast’s side as His brother wheeled and rushed about, screaming.
“What do I do?” she demanded of Him harshly, pulling His head up to look at her. “Gaylord said something about maidenhood and payment, but I don’t know what she meant! You must tell me. What power have I?”
“You have helped enough,” He said. Then His eyes seemed to focus on her and He said, “I know you… How did you find this place?”
“There was a gate,” the girl said distractedly. Simultes was tearing up the clearing, its claws swinging wildly, blindly. “We have to get back to the gate! Come on! Get up!”
He shook His head, pulling away from her, recoiling. “I paid your price! To whom do I owe such a promise?” He tried to get His feet under Him again, but again he fell against the tree. “You have to escape this place… You’re not supposed to be here. This is a place for the unborn,” He said through a wheeze. “I have no power here.”
“Yes You do! You must take mine!”
“NO!” the beast yowled. “You don’t understand. Pitiful, simple thing… You're such a simple little thing.” He finally forged enough strength to get to His feet and took two tentative, tremorous steps back toward the clearing’s entrance. It was then that He noticed that the girl was braced up against Him, pushing Him up onto His feet like a walking crutch.
“Simple,” she agreed with him. “Let me lend You my strength then.”
They managed to escape the clearing without further contest with Simultes, but He heard the roaring of the killing fire draw closer, gaining in speed. It sounded like a distant waterfall now, but He knew it would soon sound like a never ending explosion… and the two of them would die in it.
“Leave Me here. I didn’t… I didn’t give You back Your life just to take it from You again,” he grumbled.
“I won’t pretend to know divine transactions, but Gaylord said--”
“Gaylord is a thing with no sense!”
“She cares about You. Is that so senseless?”
Lambasted, He sneered lamely, “You are not-yet-made! Nameless!”
“Better that than being named an ass like you,” she said calmly.
He debated about eviscerating her then and there, to save her from the fire’s consumption, but figured He probably didn’t have the strength of will or body to complete the task. “There will be a price even for this." The low growl turned into a whine.
“I told You, Gaylord told me the price,” the girl said tersely, losing her patience. “Just… be silent and show me the gate.”
They pushed and shoved their way through the deadwood. It took them nearly as long as the total of the hunt, or maybe it was only a moment more. All He knew was that by the time His eyes glanced off the gate, He was tired enough to die without struggle. Still He muster on, lumbering toward the sounds of light and shadow and ice, drooling blood that hissed against the ash-strewn ground.
The girl pressed against Him and He resisted for a moment. He looked at her and really studied her, committing her look of irritation to memory. Then, He let her pull Him into the net of swirling darkness and the sunrise of the world eclipsed Him with a whip-crack and a fizz.
Rowena slowly got to her feet, wiping ash from her face as she pushed back her hair. All around her was a thunderous applause. The gate was gone. Light poured in from a skylight above, illuminating a couple dozen figures, all unique and strange in their dress and manner. Her eyes were wide enough to make her head start hurting.
One of the demifolk approached her and draped a ring of daisies around her neck, blowing kisses at her with the scaley pads of its feather-covered hands. A lady ravenhag?! she thought. Another person came forward and crowned her with a wreath made out of cinnamon bark and twine. It gave her a wink with its one blue eye. Goblin! she identified internally. As earthy smells overtook her, a slim giant broke through the clapping and whooping crowd of oddities, parting them like a sheepdog in its flock.
The Northern Star…
Gaylord stood as tall and thin as a sapling, her dress flecked with silver and filled with swirling patterns of blue and green Ancestor Light. Her limbs were slender and her silver and gold adornments accentuated their willowyness. Her almond face was split in half by a wide grin and it was crowned with a revolving halo of oak leaves and acorns, waxing and waning with their seasonal colors. She bent down and took a knee before Rowena, her black hair making dark waterfalls across her back and shoulders. She was still tall enough to meet the girl’s wide eyes. “You have succeeded, Maiden of Mine. Let us rejoice! Spring has come early!” She took to her slippered feet at the last word and the room exploded with unfettered jubilation. They filled the room and spilled out into the hall beyond. Rowena had never seen so many people before, let alone demifolk! Birds and bats wheeled above the lot of them, and a snow of rose petals and forget-me-not sprigs fell from their opened talons and claws. An elk’s bugle call rang out, overlapping the howls of a wolfpack, hidden amongst the magical crowd of palace denizens.
Rowena didn’t know what to do. She was clearly overwhelmed.
Then, a warm hand cupped one of her soot-covered shoulders and she started, staring at the figure that had risen up to stand at her side.
Now she knew exactly what to do: she should put her hands directly on the floor and then press her forehead on top of them! She knew this, but her body was as frozen as her village's lake, stuck in the dark of Winter’s grasp. She openly gaped at the hand on her shoulder and felt that muscle-tingling spell from before begin to untangle in her guts, spreading out to her limbs and her fingers and toes like the slowest bolts of lightning in all the universe.
The cacophony swelled.
“The Bringer of Spring lives again!”
“Herald of Thorns!”
“Honey of Queens, the King of Beast returns!”
“Gale of the South, bring us a bounty!”
The Spice King didn’t stand nearly as tall as His star, but His form was formidable and strong, stronger still than any man Rowena had ever seen, for certain. He was clothed in the skin of a multi-colored beast with ivory dirks for fangs. Ram’s horns curled about either side of the cat’s open maw, framing a shadowy face covered in green, bronze filigree. His dark-scaled baldrick was the breathing Ouroborus, slowing eating its own tail as it wound about its god’s breast. Rowena knew that within the serpent’s belly rested the Spice King’s sacred weapon, of which she knew very little otherwise.
The rest of His accoutrements she recognized from their descriptions found in the spineless book she had secretly read: the Talisman of Tempests, a crystal plate suspended about His neck by a leather thong; the Mantle of Duraghaste, a reddish-gold dragon skin wrapped about His shoulders and neck; Blitheguards of the Hag called Sefyrnn clothed His bare feet in wind; and the Wand of Eves, a needle-like bone, was openly strapped to His right greeve in its proper place of honor.
His eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors, settled on her and she dared to meet them. At once, she backed away from Him. She felt Gaylord’s very physical hands on either side of her, steadying her, as she tried not to fall down. Despite her surprise and her shock, she held her head high and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
The crowd about them quieted as soon as the Spice King held out a leather-wrapped palm. Even the animals and babbling fair folk stilled and fell silent. The Spice King intoned, “Price twice-promised. Price paid… but once. How long has it been?”
“Less than a day, my King,” Gaylord said with a bowed head.
The Spice King let His hand fall. He surveyed His constituents with a passionless face, devoid of anything but boredom. Then He grunted. “Slow… but sufficient. I will be the judge of your offering, Gaylord. Send your savior to My chambers when she’s ready to pay her price. I must return to my true form.”
While the crowd whooped with exultation, Rowena’s protest rang out in sharp contrast. “I have already paid You the asking, God! There was no second promise!” she shouted. She felt Gaylord’s fingers stab into her shoulders and collarbones, but she was too panicked to feel intimidated by her. There was a distant rumble down below, but she didn’t react to it.
The Spice King’s eyes fell on her like an Autumn leaf, lazy and unimpressed. His words sounded empty, but their meanings were filled with daring: “And what was asked?”
“Nothing! My life was paid for Your renewal,” she said, her voice only wavering at the start.
“And My life was paid for your renewal,” He countered smoothly.
“But I did not ask You to pay that price. Gaylord did,” she said just as flatly. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel heat burning in the tops of her cheeks. Her hands had balled themselves into fists, though she wasn’t sure if striking anything would do her any service. “I was sacrificed by my people--Your people--to bring You back to life! I was chosen by Wolf to be eaten by You in the afterlife so You could bring them Spring! That was the purpose I was born for, or wasn’t it?!” There were angry tears in her eyes. She wiped at them in frustration, hoping no one thought of her less.
Gaylord’s fingers would leave bruises on her flesh. The star must have realized this, because she suddenly let the girl go and gave her a gentle push forward. “It is indeed my doing, King,” Gaylord said softly. Within the room, the demifolk could have heard a pin drop. Someone in the hallway coughed awkwardly. The star behind Rowena said, “You wanted the killing to stop. You said You were willing to pay any price. I told You, Clever Beastmaster, You could spend the last of Winter to craft a new form for her. We took a gamble, You and I. You knew the price… and I knew that this maiden had it in her the power to bring You back.”
“So she speaks the truth,” the Spice King finally said. He said to Rowena, “We are without bond… and yet I am stuck in this bastardized form.”
“Seperated from beast,” Gaylord said in agreement.
“Why?” The word was an angry accusation.
Rowena glanced at Gaylord over her shoulder to see that the star had gone pale in the face, even terrified.
“You have caged Me, Star,” the Spice King said quietly. Then His voice boomed in anger: “LEAVE US!” The demifolk struggled to scatter out of the room. “GO!” Dryads and satyrs and zephyrs and goblins and fair folk all clambered over animals and walking fungus alike, just to get as far away from their god as possible. “BE GONE!” He grabbed the massive snake about His chest and Ouroboros’s hiss rang out in warning.
Rowena considered sneaking out in the wake of the crowd, but Gaylord had already clamped a spider-like hand around her arm. When the doors shut, the girl swallowed noisily. Then her attention snapped back to the room as the walls spun away, leaving her dizzy and confused, like in a dream.
The gate chamber changed shape in a dazzling display of shifting walls and extending ceiling. Lights and furniture grew along walls and from the pine flooring. Plants and trees sprouted from spaces between functional areas, blooming with flowers and bulbs. The Spice King walked toward the center of the spawning place and where He walked, a babbling brook spilled over exposed rocks and finally shot upwards in a backward waterfall, at the top of which, a throne grew out of two crossed rowan trees. The wet rush disappeared under the throne with a spray of crystal clear water, pouring up and out of Rowena’s line of sight.
At the bottom of the rocky rise, the Spice King bent and took one step, leaping ten feet to the top of the backward-flowing waterfall in one lazy bound. There, He sank into His throne and Ouroborus spit up its tail and unwound from him, slithering its thirteen-foot length into the twin trees, before curling around and resting its huge head on the dragon skin wrapped about his King’s throat.
The Spice King rested His chin on His fist as He regarded the garden that Gaylord and He had created together. It seemed He approved, because He nodded down at them neutrally.
Rowena was only still standing because of Gaylord’s hand gripping her, but she marveled at it all herself, a wide smile stuck on her face.
She was overcome with the casually incredible power that these beings possessed. Who had she been to shout at Him? Who was she to question these cosmic entities? Did she really have powers beyond that which she understood? How did Gaylord know?
“Star,” the Herald stated. “You lied. Renounce yourself.”
Surprisingly, Gaylord let Rowena go and took a knee before the maiden not-yet-made. “I’m sorry, Kid. I didn’t tell you everything.”
“Tell her what you lied about exactly.”
Gaylord glanced once up at the throne, but then said to the girl reluctantly, “Hey Kid… I lied to you. I told you that you were supposed to bring the King back to life, because that was your duty as the sacrificed maiden. I told you you had to pay with your maidenhood to bring Him back. But you chose to rescue Him by lending Him a different kind of strength… What I failed to mention--and by not mentioning, made myself a liar, according to some people--”
A growl resonated from deep inside Ouroborus, echoing the discontent of his emoteless master.
Gaylord rolled her eyes, then said to Rowena, “He could have gotten out Himself… probably. I mean, He normally does… but you brought Him out, and so He was separated from His beast side… which is… actually… not exactly… how He is supposed to be, normally.”
“YOU NEUTERED ME! YOU TRICKSTER!” The Spice King roared, standing to His feet. Translucent feline claws rolled out of the tips of His fingers as He raked a hand through the air. “I expressly ordered you to keep her out of the Deadwood! Now, not only have I been trapped in this fucking pathetic form, but Simultes knows of her! RECKLESS! Feckless even! You all but conspired against Me! I AM YOUR GOD.”
Gaylord winced with every word, but when He all but called her a heretic, she stood to her feet and stabbed her own accusing finger at Him. “AND YOU ARE STILL A BEAST!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. The walls shook with her words. The waterfall wavered, spraying droplets across a meadow to the east. Her halo’s leaves frosted over blue and a black acorn fell into her hair before rolling to the dying grass at her feet.
Rowena put her hands to her mouth as her eyes locked with the Spice King’s looming figure.
The god crossed His arms, claws disappearing into flesh.
Gaylord gestured with frustration. “Change must come! You are the Herald of change! You should appreciate what I have done for you! Call me Trickster, but also call me Matchmaker!”
“What have you done?” He demanded coldly.
Gaylord smiled proudly. “I’ve brought You a wife who can choose.”
“A what that can what?” Rowena asked numbly.
The Spice King grimaced. “You torture me, Star.”
“Yes, I do,” Gaylord said succinctly, but then she paid Him a serene smile. “You deserve someone who can choose. Someone immortal. Someone who can lend You their strength. You are beholden to her if You want your precious power… but don’t pretend like you’re totally cut off from that part of Yourself. You are still Beastmaster. You just can’t change shape without her say-so.”
“And I am made weaker for it,” He growled.
“You want power?” Gaylord gestured at Rowena. “Ask her for it.”
Rowena gave the tall star a sharp look. “What are you saying?”
The Spice King jumped down from His perch and approached the maiden with purpose. Ouroborus slipped into His absent seat and regarded the scene, curious tongue flicking in their direction.
“Strike her or take her against her will, and You will never get that form back,” Gaylord warned quickly. “I have written it in the sky.” The words themselves held power outside of the two entities. Rowena could feel that truth down to her marrow.
The angry god froze a step away from Rowena, His gaze melting the ice off Gaylord’s halo. He slowly turned His head to regard the maiden not-yet-made before Him. “If you are lying, Gaylord, I will destroy you.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before,” she said boredly. Then she smirked. “Take this as a lesson in humility.”
“More like humiliation.”
“Have you forgotten your purpose?” Gaylord asked Him quietly. “You were brought into being by the beliefs of ancient peoples. Those same people came from my people… or have you forgotten? You serve a purpose. You have neglected that purpose for too long. You have taken that which was never given. You have been gluttonous and slothful. These things are not in your nature. You are not stagnation, Spice.”
“I have not forgotten,” the Spice King whispered, His eyes never leaving Rowena’s face. Then He asked, “Does she have a name?”
“Ask her yourself,” Gaylord said, winking at Rowena. “She’s the one with your sack.”
“And you are her Lucky Star,” He sneered scornfully.
“I’m not holding her leash, God. She is beholden to no one, thanks to my tricky conspiracy. If not for me, you would be a shapeless thing and she would still be dead.”
He spat at her feet and a daffodil unfolded out of the spot. “Poison from the mouth of a poisoner,” He sibilated.
“Make all the accusations you want,” the star said with a sigh and a shrug. “I’m outta here…” Over her silver-draped shoulder, she grinned and addressed Rowena. “You’re in charge of the spoiled little growler while I’m gone, Darlin’. Give ‘im a hard time, will ya?”
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