Bound to the battle god

24

That day, we spend with Omos in his little church and make plans on what to do. Aron consults maps, trying to determine where his other “selves” would be so he can go murder their anchors. I don't like to think about that, but I suppose it's good to have a plan instead of waiting for someone to come find us.

Omos scuttles back and forth between his books and his kitchen, packing supplies for us. Even though he doesn't have much, he's determined to give all of it away, and I'm touched by his willingness to give us everything he's got.

Me, I get a crash course on Aosian money so I don't hand over our life savings, and I'm currently trying to memorize what I can of the gods in this world so I won't be so completely and utterly unaware.

"You can't stay here long," he tells us. "As much as I am thoroughly enjoying this, it wouldn't be prudent." And it is clear to me that he is enjoying all of this, oddly enough. His eyes gleam with excitement, and I suspect if the guy enjoyed this any more, he might burst into giggles. It's bizarre to realize that he's thriving on our misfortune, but he doesn't mean it in a cruel way.

I think he's lonely and bored and loves the thrill of excitement that our visit has brought. Of course he does. He's not the one in danger.

The moment I think that, I feel guilty. Omos has been the most helpful person we've run into so far. We'd truly be lost without him. He's even emptying out his little coin purse to give us money so we won't be in danger of starving on the streets. He probably doesn't have many visitors here in his sea of books. This is probably the most thrilling thing that's happened to him, ever.

"When we leave, why don't you come with us?" I suggest to Omos, ignoring the indignant look that Aron shoots my way as he pages through one of the monk's jillions of rolls of maps. "We can travel slow, and we can go looking for your goddess. I bet you'd want to say hello to her."

"Oh, all the stars, bless you for thinking of me, my dear." Omos just shakes his head at me and wraps cheese in a cloth, stuffing it in a bag. "You don't need this old man slowing you down."

"He is right," Aron says, unrolling another map. "He would be a burden."

I ignore Aron, because, well, he's Aron. "Yes, but you could meet your goddess. I wouldn't take that away from you. This is your one chance. I mean, how many Anticipations will there be in your lifetime?"

"Oh, no more, I sincerely hope," Omos says good-naturedly. "It is a time of great upheaval. It means there are problems to be found everywhere and the world will be a very dangerous place for some time. And…" He pauses and then gives me a gentle smile. "I do not wish to meet my goddess."

"You don't?"

"As she is? No." He runs a weathered hand down one of his braids. "I do not know which of the four flaws would be the least problematic to meet." His face colors, and I can guess which flaw he's thinking of.

Aron snorts. "It would take more than a bit of hedonism to make Magra interesting."

"Nevertheless, I would prefer to meet her when she is whole and she is herself. I will meet her when I cross over from this life and journey to her arms." Omos gives us a peaceful, sweet smile. "I am content to wait."

"Makes sense," I tell him, and flip another page I haven't read. I'm supposed to be studying a text on the Aosian gods, but my eyes are crossing with all the information they're trying to stuff into me. "Do you want to send a message with us, then? In case we run into her?"

"Oh." A look of pure longing crosses the monk's weathered face. His hands flutter over his braids. "Could I?"

"Dude, of course. I don't think we should leave until morning, anyhow. Take your time. Write her something heartfelt."

His eyes shimmer with emotion and he grabs his candle. He raises a finger as if to say something, then shakes his head and shuffles off. I can hear paper rustling at one of the back desks and I suspect that by morning, we'll have a small book of our own to give to Magra…provided we even find her.

Aron just shakes his head at me, his mouth pulled into a frown of distaste.

I stick my tongue out at him and go back to my book. I don't care what he thinks. Just because he's arrogance personified doesn't mean I have to be rude.

"We should leave this day," Aron tells me in a low voice, so low that Omos won't overhear. "Overnight. Travel in darkness."

"Yeah, sounds like fun," I tell him absently and study another page. This chapter's about Aron and I admit, I pause a little longer than I probably should to snoop. "Except he's being awesome to us and carrying a letter is the least we can do."

Aron stalks away from his maps and moves to my side. No, correction, he moves to come loom over me. "And if we stay behind, it gives assassins that much more of a chance to find us if we remain in one place."

Assassins? Damn. I hesitate. "Won't they just as easily find us in the dark, then?"

He grunts and rolls his eyes at me. "Are you done learning?"

“Done” learning. This man, I swear. "No. In fact, it'll probably take me all night to finish cramming." I carefully flip the page back so he doesn't see that I was reading about him. I don't want to seem like a creeper. "So it's a good thing we're staying. Besides, I'm hungry anyhow."

"You should eat," he agrees, moving to the supplies that Omos just packed and pulling out a small wheel of cheese. "Here."

"Er, okay." I take the cheese but don't chow down on it. Not yet. Feels strange to gnaw on something the size of a plate anyhow. "In all seriousness, let's think about your other selves for a second. You know you the best, right? So let's consider how your other Aspects are going to react. How they'll strategize. And then we can determine the best way to go forward."

Aron stares at me for a long moment and then grunts approval. "A good idea."

I feel like I was just awarded a trophy.

He merely gazes at me, watching, and I can't tell if he's trying to figure me out or waiting for me to talk. My skin prickles with awareness at his stare and I rub my arm absently. "So? Let's think about this. We know the three Aspects that are left because you’re, ah…”

How do you delicately tell a guy that he’s arrogance personified?

"Arrogance." A thin smile curves his mouth. "You can say it. You think I am unaware? There is no hiding what an Aspect is, no more than Tadekha could hide her nature."

I blush at the mention of Tadekha, thinking of how I rubbed up against Aron like a kitten in the middle of her audience chamber. A really, really horny kitten. "Oh, I remember." I toss my hair and avert my gaze, staring at the cheese wheel to try and collect my scattered thoughts, because now I'm remembering how he touched me…and how very detached he was. Gah. "So okay, let's think about the slutty Aspect, then."

"Hedonism," he corrects. "Gorging oneself on all the pleasures that the mortal world has to offer."

Splitting hairs, but okay. "So the biggest things are food, drink, and sex."

"And battle."

I frown at that. "Why battle?"

"Because I am a god of battle and war. The spilling of blood pleases me." His smile is rather chilling. "Another Aspect of me would seek out pleasure—any of them. Preferably all of them at once."

I try to picture what it would be like if I'd met that Aron instead of this one and for some reason, my stupid brain goes back to when I slid my hands under his kilt and caressed his dick. Something deep inside me clenches pleasurably, and I can feel my cheeks heating. When I meet Aron's gaze, he's studying me and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

I clear my throat and gesture at the map in front of him. "You're the expert on this world. You tell me where you think you'd head."

He glances down, his dark hair spilling over one hard, muscled shoulder. All that pale skin and long hair should make him look gothy. He's anything but. There's a powerful air about him that makes one sit up and notice, and he's so muscular and imposing that there's no way anyone would think he's old. Ageless, sure. Withered? Never. Not with those cheekbones and piercing eyes. His colorlessness just seems menacing instead of ageing, and the scar on his face stands out that much more.

Aron's gaze flicks to me, and our eyes meet. For a moment, I feel flushed again, but then his eyes narrow at me and I realize he must have said something and I'm just sitting here, creeping on him. "Well?" he demands.

"Sorry, you were saying?" Sometimes I really hate myself for being such a perv.

“I was saying it does not matter where we think an Aspect will go. It depends on where they arrive during the Anticipation. After all, I arrived in Aventine, and it was supposed to be a city loyal to me.” His lips thin with distaste. “We might as well point at a spot on the map and head there. It’s as good a guess as any.”

“Okay, well if you were Hedonism and you wanted to head someplace specific, where would you head?”

He thinks for a moment. “Mephis, I suppose. They are fond of nose-spices there.”

Drugs. "It's as good a guess as any other," I admit, because I don't have any ideas of my own. I don't know this place like he does. "And it's somewhere to start, I suppose. Is Mephis far from here?"

"Is Mephis far?" He snorts. "Is Mephis far? What a foolish question. Are you human?"

"Wow, are you a huge asshole?" I retort. "I was just asking."

"Everything will be far. Every place we travel will be grueling. Do you think the High Father sent me here so I could trot gamely between two neighboring cities and then return to him with my tail tucked between my legs, lesson learned in a day?" He straightens and crosses his arms over his broad chest, the look on his face downright scathing. "The High Father means to break me to his will. He plans to remake me and to teach me lesson after lesson until I come crawling to him, begging for forgiveness. So yes, it will be a long journey. It will be terrible. It will be dangerous. My other Aspects of self will be doing their best to purge my existence from this world to ensure their own survival. So no, it will not be a pleasant little voyage."

I gape at him for a moment as he bends down to study the map once more. "Wow, I think I really, truly hate you."

Aron shrugs. "I do not imagine I came to the mortal plane to make friends. It is no concern of mine what you think."

Yeah, he made that pretty clear from the start. For a moment, I glare hatefully at his shoulders, wondering how one person can be so damn unpleasant when a moment ago, I was blushing at the thought of him. I'm the idiot here. He's just being who he is—Arrogance. It doesn't mean I have to like him.

I really, really want to go home. For a brief, despairing flash, I think about packing up my things and abandoning him. Better yet, sending him on his way to Mephis or wherever the fuck he wants to go and staying behind with Omos and his cheese and his goats and his books.

Except…I can't. I remember the wracking pain when Aron and I were separated. I'm stuck with him.

And everyone's going to try to kill me because of it.