Aylin breathed deep of the air around her. It smelled pleasantly of damp stone, and of the earth after it rained. There was a word for it, she knew, but she couldn’t remember what it was.
“Petricor. The word you’re thinking of is petricor.”
Ah, that was it. It was a nice word, one that felt satisfying to say and that carried the feeling of depth and spring rain. Aylin rolled it around on her tongue, repeating it to the emptiness.
“Petricor.” She whispered the word, thinking back to the memories it evoked. Endless afternoons, spent running and playing with her brothers, in fields of grass cut short by the grazing of cattle and half flooded by pouring rain. Long trips to the city, her mother’s cart trundling along behind her horse, as dewdrops fell from the trees that lined the road.
“Such beautiful memories. Show me some more, before we begin. It’s always best to start these things with something to break the ice.”
The scent in the air shifted, becoming drier and thinner. It was like grass in the summer, when the heat was at its zenith and the town was silent until cool nightfall awakened it. Once again, the memories came. A crown of flowers in her hair, blazing torches casting a bright orange glow over tents and stalls, and throngs of people singing and dancing.
“How fun. But I think this concludes our introduction.”
Aylin sat in her dining room, a stranger across from her. The stranger had hair that seemed to change lengths every time she blinked, and skin that seemed to change colors without Aylin noticing the shift. Their face was sharp and at the same time gentle, and felt impossible to identify as either masculine or feminine.
“I find ideas of gender and race to be quite base, though you may not. Being human, you probably are quite attached to them.” Had she been thinking out loud? Aylin didn’t remember saying anything at all. The stranger let out a titter.
“You weren’t thinking out loud, don’t worry.” Aylin’s heart rate picked up.
“Who are you? Why are you in my house?” She began to process exactly what was going on.
“Your house? Oh, no, this is simply a projection. I thought a familiar place might ease your mind, given the obvious shock of this interaction.”
As if to demonstrate, the stranger snapped their fingers, and the walls and roof around them fell away like paper. Beyond them was simply… nothing. It wasn’t a nothing like the sky, or the dark. In the sky and the dark, you knew there were still things there. No, this was simply the end of anything. Aylin found she couldn’t concentrate on or look at the nothing for too long; her focus and gaze simply slipped back to her hands, neatly folded on the table in front of her. They were starting to shake.
“...So, who are you then? Some demon? A powerful spiritualist? A- a master?” Aylin’s voice quivered slightly at the last title. Shit...
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. If I was, I would have done so already. Probably. I suppose there are some of the sort who like to play with their food. But no, I am none of those things, for one reason or another. The first being that demons aren’t real.”
Aylin blinked in surprise.
“What do you mean they’re not real? I’ve seen them! They prowl around the woods and they kill cattle and-”
“No,” the stranger said, cutting her off. “What you have seen are magical beasts. They do not come from some purgatorial afterlife for the wicked, because no such place exists. Now, if you would let me finish, I am also not a spiritualist or a master. To even create a space like this one is beyond any of them. I am a demigod.”
Aylin’s jaw dropped. Like most common people, she wasn’t well versed in magic, and she wasn’t very knowledgeable about the different realms of power. But even she knew what a demigod was.
Shitshitshitshitshit. Aylin prostrated herself on the floor, knocking over her chair and banging her forehead in the process.
The demigod raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps early in my immortality I would have enjoyed the groveling, but that time is long since past.”
Aylin found herself sitting upright in her chair again, the pain in her forehead gone.
“It is better, I think, for you to understand the reason you are here,” the demigod continued. “I see a glimmer of talent in you, and I would like to see how far that talent can take you.”
Aylin’s heart leapt in her chest, thudding in excitement.
“So… I have been Chosen?” She could barely contain her shock. To be Chosen by a spiritualist or master was an incredible honor as it was; to be Chosen by a demigod would certainly be even better. And yet...
“I could hardly presume to decline your offer, but surely there are more promising students out there, prodigies more deserving of your tutelage-”
“No, no, I think you’ve misunderstood me,” the demigod said, cutting her off again. “You have not been Chosen, and there will be no tutelage. Demigods can, firstly, not meddle in the world of mortals, lest we risk the ire of true Gods. There are some things we can do, gifts that we can bestow and such, but to make a mortal my vassal would be far past the line. You have been selected because, to put it simply, I am bored. You are not special in any real sense – no one is – and you can expect no direct support from me. I am simply content to watch you struggle and attempt to grow.”
“Oh.” She had gotten her hopes up for nothing. Instead of a noble vassal, she would be the plaything of an idle demigod.
“I’ve just realized I haven’t actually introduced myself by name, by the way. I’m Kian.”
Aylin didn’t respond. Kian rested their chin lazily in their palm, waiting for a reply. The silence dragged on.
Fucking demigods.
"You know I can still hear your thoughts, right?"
Aylin's stomach clenched at the realization of how badly she'd just messed up. Raising her eyes, she met Kian's gaze and saw the amusement dancing in their ever-shifting face. I suppose the opinion of an ant wouldn't matter much to me, either.
"Well, I already know your name, so I suppose I should end this. I’ll give you... one day? Yes, one day to say your goodbyes and pack your things, and then your adventure will begin. Any questions?”
“No,” Aylin mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of the tablecloth. The nothingness around them began to fade.
“Wait,” she began, “you said to pack my things. Where am I going?” The fading stopped abruptly.
Kian nodded sagely. “A sound question. I’m sending you to the city of Phada, where I started my journey before my ascension.”
Aylin wracked her brain. She had never heard of Phada, so maybe it was on the smaller side?
“How far is that?” She asked. If it was more than fifty miles, she would have to pack heavy, and that would make for slow traveling.
“By your standards? Extremely far. On foot, it would take you perhaps a year.”
“A year!?” Aylin knew it was a bad idea to show disrespect to a demigod, but the words slipped out before she could bite them back. Fortunately, Kian seemed more amused than anything.
“Worry not, you will be transported there directly. Such a trip might be difficult by the standards of mortal mages, but eight thousand miles is nothing to a demigod.” Their smirk returned, this time self satisfied, as if she ought to be in awe of Kian's power.
Aylin let out a squeak at that. “Eight thousand?” A journey like that would take far more than a year on foot, at least for her.
“As I said, worry not. Any further questions will be answered tomorrow. In the meanwhile, prepare yourself for your new life and make your peace with those around you. There is a very real chance that you’ll never see them again,” Kian stood and gave a performative bow, flourishing their hand. “And with that, I leave you!”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Aylin woke up in her bed, morning light streaming through the window, and her heart pounding. Her whole body was covered in sweat, leaving her thin nightshirt damp and her skin clammy. She reached for the glass of water on her nightstand, drinking greedily to soothe the dryness in the back of her throat. That interaction…was it real? It had the hazy quality of a dream; even now, Aylin couldn’t remember what Kian had even looked like. Though, that may have been due to the demigod’s mercurial appearance.
She set the glass back down on the nightstand, a bit more forcefully than she intended, rattling the various trinkets that sat on it. One was a carved wooden medal, smooth save for a raised circle in the center, painted red for the color of the Harvest moon. She had won it when she was six, at the Harvest festival, for a flower crown she had woven. It was more of a consolation prize than anything – the true medals were made of hammered iron or copper, and had been won by the older children – but it had meant the world to her back then.
Other, similar medals and tokens sat stacked in a jar, won from the various games and stalls that were set up at the festival every year. One stood out, though, one that Aylin didn’t recognize. It was of a clearly superior make, a medallion of wrought silver with a stud of dark crystal in the center. Her eyes widened. She really had been visited by a demigod. And that meant she really was going to the other side of the world. Shit.
By the time midday came, Aylin was ready to go. It wasn’t saying much; she only had a few meaningful or useful belongings to pack, and she wanted as much time as possible before the three days were up to say her goodbyes. She looked at the items arrayed on her bed, nervous satisfaction mixing with paranoia that she had forgotten something vital. A sturdy rucksack that had belonged to her father, a money purse with a few copper pieces and one silver, clothes, dried food, some medicinal herbs, and a knife. In the money pouch on her side was her Harvest festival medal and the silver medallion, which had been much heavier than she expected. They rested against her leg, a reassuring weight in the face of her circumstances.
Mother sat in her bed, as usual. She turned her head slightly when Aylin entered her room, a good sign. If it was any indication – and Aylin knew it was – she would be more lucid today.
“Hey, mom. I brought your lunch,” She indicated the wooden bowl in her hands. A sound, halfway between a hum and a groan. Acknowledgement. Stooping down by her bedside, Aylin raised the bowl of soup and a spoon to Mother’s lips, letting her sip it slowly. A shaky hand raised to cup Aylin’s, paper thin skin and frail bones pressing against the back of her hand.
“I made extra, enough for Willem to bring you for at least a few days. It’s in a pot on the stove.”
Gently, Mother took the spoon from Aylin, holding it to her own mouth and quickly slurping down what was left in it. A drop trickled down her chin, stopping at the jagged scars that traced their way across her neck. Aylin dabbed at it gently with a cloth, tracing its path back up to the corner of Mother’s mouth.
“It’s… I have to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Her breath had come heavy and fast as she pulled in lungfuls of air, even as the thick scent of blood clogged her nose. The grass in front of her was stained red, and its stalks trembled as heavy pawsteps shook the ground.
Mother looked Aylin in the eye, dark brown meeting gray. A silent understanding passed between them, and Aylin carefully surrendered the bowl and spoon, brushed off her tunic, and stood.
Mother lay just a few feet away, rivers of red running from her throat to where Aylin hid in the bush. Her eyes were blank, her skin cold, but her fingers twitched. Her cart, upturned and wrecked, had spilled its crates of vegetables across the road.
Quietly, she left the room, not allowing herself to cry until the door was shut behind her. Then she sat down on the floor and sobbed.
From somewhere outside of Aylin’s vision came a sharp crack, and then a series of muffled thuds and booms. A man, streaked with rapidly evaporating blue blood, dropped onto the grass in front of Mother, seemingly from nowhere. He put his hands to her neck, pushing at her wound as if trying to pinch it shut. The blood on the grass slithered back towards Mother and life returned to her eyes. The man stood, nodded once, and then he was gone.
----------------------------------------
Soha had never met a spiritualist before, and she hadn’t planned on that ever changing. Her father had been one, an errant wanderer who had met her mother one night and then disappeared, leaving her with the baby that killed her. So when a fucking demigod pulled her into a liminal space and told her she was going to the other side of the planet, she was understandably angry.
“Fuck you.”
Kian gave her a deadpan stare that only made Soha’s anger burn hotter.
“I understand that you might be frustrated, but there’s really no need for such language.”
“No. I’m not going to let you spirit me off to some random city just because you’re bored,” Soha slammed a fist on the table in front of her to accentuate her words. The dull thud shook the lacquered mahogany, which was easily the most ornate thing Soha had ever laid hands on. “I don’t care if you’re a demigod! I’m not some puppet to be animated when you need something to capture your attention.”
The demigod in question gave an idle sigh and tilted their head back.
“Oh, alright. You drive a hard bargain,” Kian waved, and a floating map appeared in the air. A small red dot marked what Soha knew to be her town. “I was going to send you here,” Kian pointed to a walled city in the far left corner of the map. “But since you’re so adamant about not being sent to a ‘random city,’ as you put it, I’ll send you here instead.” They pointed now to a city only a few inches from their dot on the map. Phada. It was only a few miles from her town, a place she’d visited many times as a child. If need be, she could easily make it back within a day.
“Just like that?” Soha asked suspiciously.
“Just like that.” Kian spread their arms wide and grinned.
“You’re lying. There’s some tricky bullshit you’re pulling here, I know it. There’s no way you would agree so easily otherwise.” The accusation hung in the air for a moment before Kian’s grin grew even wider. It was infuriating. And it wasn’t a denial.
Soha woke up on the pile of rags and straw she’d been using as a bed the night before, nestled in the corner of an alleyway. She sat up stiffly, stretching out her aches, and checked underneath the makeshift mattress for her belongings. All were there; her knife, the few coins she had to her name, and a small pouch of stale biscuits. Slowly, she reached into the pouch and pulled one out. It cracked as she bit into it instead of crunching, and it tasted like sand. Still better than going hungry, she supposed.
The sun had started to come up over the tops of the squat houses and shops around her, dappling the ground with golden sunlight. This had always been Soha’s favorite time of day, when the sun started to warm the earth and the street gangs remained mercifully asleep. She reached for another biscuit, propping her back up against the alley wall, and considered what she would do when the demigod made good on their promise. The biscuit that Soha brought to her lips did not crack, nor did it crunch. Her teeth met solid, unyielding metal. She pulled it away hurriedly. Did she drop a coin in her biscuit pouch by accident? No, not a coin.
She stared in disbelief at the glimmering medallion in her hands. It was made of a hammered black metal that carried an almost unnatural gloss, with a smooth orb of fiery yellow amber in the center. It caught the morning sunlight and seemed to sing in Soha’s hands, making her bones buzz and her spine tremble with anticipation, promising a power far beyond anything she had ever known.
Soha swiftly tucked it away in her coin pouch, shoved that into the pockets of her trousers, and then wrapped her shoulders in the thick cloak she had been sleeping on, shaking loose the pieces of straw that stuck to it. She cast a surreptitious glance around, checking if anyone had seen the medallion. She knew there wouldn’t be anyone awake at this hour, much less roaming the streets, but she checked anyway. It never hurt to be cautious.
Soha walked briskly out of the alley, sinking into thought. Returning home immediately after the demigod magicked her off to Phada seemed like the best course of action. But the way in which Kian had just… agreed to send her there was strange. They were up to something, though what exactly, Soha didn’t know. Nervousness chewed at her thoughts and she tried to banish the feeling, but it stayed, niggling at the back of her mind.
She rounded a corner and froze. On the wall in front of her was a wanted poster for a thief, describing a girl with rusty red hair and bronze eyes who wore a heavy cloak and men’s pants. She tore the poster down, balled it up, and buried it in her pocket before looking around for other posters and doing the same.
Maybe she would spend a little bit of time in Phada. Just until things here were safer.
It had started drizzling by the time the sun was fully in the sky, now partially hidden behind the clouds. Soha pulled up the hood of her cloak, letting the rain patter on the heavy wool. The market was buzzing with activity, despite the weather. Vendors put up tarps and tents of colorful fabrics to protect their wares from the rain. From where Soha stood, leaned against the wall of the plaza the market sat in, she picked out her mark.
A pair of teenagers, perhaps siblings or friends, walked slowly through the market, absentmindedly perusing through arrays of jewelry, fabrics, and street food. Both were clad in fine clothes that marked them as part of the town’s wealthy merchant class. Soha would have no qualms about lightening their pockets.
As she walked up behind them, they both made an almost concerted effort to ignore her, though she could see them looking at her out of the corners of their eyes as she approached. The first time she passed them, she took nothing, and gave no impression that she had any interest in them at all. Instead, she paused at the stall in front of them and bought a skewer of grilled meat. The innocuous purchase seemed to set the pair at ease, and she could see one – the boy – relax his shoulders.
Soha mentally rolled her eyes. Rich people always assumed that any street rat was out to rob them. Rich pricks. That she did, indeed, intend to pick their pockets didn’t matter. The assumption pricked her pride anyways.
She bit into the snack she’d just purchased, savoring the richness of the meat and the depth of the spices. This was good. Maybe she’d buy another with her soon-to-be-acquired wealth. She grinned at the stall keeper.
“This is great! What’re the seasonings?”
The stall keeper grinned right back at her, evidently happy that someone took interest in their recipes. They rattled off a list of spices and herbs, scribbling it down on a scrap of paper that they shoved into Soha’s hands.
Finishing her skewer, Soha licked her fingers and tossed the stick, thanking the vendor and continuing at a languid pace through the market. Looking briefly behind her, she saw the rich boy wrinkle his nose, sharing a look with his friend. Again, Soha felt her pride well up, along with a healthy dose of anger, but she forced it down. No need to get angry and let them get skittish. She’d have her petty vengeance soon anyways.
She meandered through the market for a few more minutes, keeping her marks in the corner of her eye. As it became evident they would leave soon, she made sure to step out of the plaza before them, to not make it seem like she was following. She wanted their guard down till the very last moment.