D’Argen woke slowly with the sound of horses neighing as they were being saddled. He found a heavy blanket covering him that looked more suited for a horse but was incredibly warm and kept the chill of both the air and ground off him.
“You are awake,” Lilian said instead of their usual morning greeting. “We will be going up together. You fell asleep while we talked. Shaffi and the others had some stories to tell us about the mountain.”
D’Argen, still half asleep, squinted up at Lilian.
“Shaffi?” he finally asked.
“Yes. She is the one in charge, between the mortals,” Lilian explained. A quick glance behind them revealed the others were busy cleaning up their camp.
Lilian crouched beside D’Arge and said, “Isme and his brother Rimas also got Shaffi and Lith to come up with them. We will not be going down until they find enough of the herbs they need to restock for the winter. And a very specific flower.”
D’Argen shivered when a cold wind picked up a few strands from his long hair.
“Flower? The... merchant one?”
“Yes. It is a…” Lilian paused. Their face looked like they ate a lemon as they continued, “It is a lily. Dark purple, bulbous, bell-shaped.”
D’Argen could barely hold back the bark of laughter. “Are you sure Haur was not their travelling merchant?”
Every single Never Born knew that Haur, God of Intuition, had been courting Lilian for centuries by naming flowers after them and presenting them in beautiful arrangements. Lilian usually mocked him and gave away the gifts. D’Argen sighed wistfully because he knew the truth of their courtship was nothing more than entertainment for them both and gossip for the castle walls. Haur was not serious about Lilian and Lilian was not serious about anyone at all.
“Shut up. Your hair is a mess,” Lilian snapped out though there was a smile playing at the corner of their lips. They held out a thin cord of leather and once D’Argen took it, they stood up and left.
D’Argen noticed Thar standing near one of the horses and feeding it an apple. He quickly ran his fingers through his long hair, pulling at the biggest knots, then used the cord to tie it back into its usual ponytail. A few strands escaped and he felt more knots in it, but he knew it was presentable enough for the wilds.
Thar, as usual, looked completely pristine.
“Milord D’Argen.” A voice forced D’Argen to look away from the god in white and face one of the women from the party. He did not know which name belonged to whom, but he smiled all the same when she addressed him. One of the others must have told them who he was and his title. “The others said, you do not eat breakfast, but I have…” she trailed off as she unfolded a small cloth, revealing berries.
“Thank you,” D’Argen said with a wave of his hand. “They are right. There are not many of us like me, but I don’t actually consume food or drink.”
“Ah.” The woman stammered and blushed bright red.
“But thank you,” D’Argen repeated with a reassuring tone.
The stammering woman nodded and quickly folded up her cloth, turning away.
“Ah, excuse me,” D’Argen called out, stopping her. “I apologize for not giving proper introductions last night. And I never caught your names, either. It was a… long day.”
“No, no, no-not at all. I am Lith. That is Isme,” she pointed at the shorter of the two men, “and his brother Rimas. And that is Shaffi.” The last of their party was a sturdy woman with narrowed eyes that was saddling her horse with quick and jerky movements. “She is our most experienced hunter.”
“Milord,” Lilian called out his title loudly though D’Argen heard a tone of mocking in their voice. “We are almost ready, if you are ready to depart.”
D’Argen grinned at Lith. She blushed bright red again and quickly stepped away. Once she was no longer looking at him, he turned a glare at Lilian and pointed a threatening finger at them. Lilian responded with a roll of their eyes.
D’Argen finally got up and walked up Thar. “Thank you, for last night,” D’Argen said quietly.
Thar let out a hum without meaning and did not look at him, instead, letting the horse finish the apple in his hand before reaching over D’Argen’s shoulder. D’Argen did not even realize he had taken the heavy blanket with him until Thar took it off and rolled it up, placing it on the back of his saddle.
It was a horse blanket!
In retaliation for that sleight, D’Argen stole an apple for himself from the bag Thar had open at his hip and bit into it with a vicious crunch. Not that he liked it, but he enjoyed the annoyed expression on Thar’s face enough to continue chewing.
“Do not waste food,” Thar said but did not ask for the apple back.
“So… a purple lily and some herbs. This doesn’t seem like your… usual tasks, Thar.”
“The purple bell lily is exceedingly rare,” Shaffi spoke up from behind him, and he quickly turned around. The woman startled only for a moment before visibly steeling herself. “It is really good medicine for cough and fever. Last winter, our village was ravaged by disease and only that helped save our people. We were told to prepare for the same this winter, but—”
“A storm hit. You lost your medical stores. Yes. Shabir told us,” D’Argen interrupted with a smile. “And the other herbs you are looking for?”
“Basic medical herbs,” Isme finally joined the conversation, though his voice was timid. “Stuff to make poultices and teas, mostly. Fight off infection, fever, help keep wounds clean. Although we are a farming village, accidents happen.”
“And babies are born,” D’Argen added in with a sharp smile.
Isme visibly flinched and looked away. D’Argen had not meant it as a reprimand but he did not correct the assumption. Instead, he waited to see if any of the mortals had something else to say before turning back to Thar. “And you are here to help them pick flowers?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“The stories are not good,” Thar responded quietly.
“Ah yes, a mind sickness,” D’Argen recalled what Amastas had told him.
“A what?” Yaling asked from where she was standing by one of the horses.
“Ah, yes. You were already asleep. Anyway. Amastas told me that a few from the village have tried to climb the mountain before. In the clouds. Of those that tried, only a handful returned and died shortly after. A mind sickness took them and made them forget their own families and eventually, how to breathe.”
“Yes, yes,” Isme nodded quickly.
“Superstitions,” Yaling scoffed out quietly, but not quiet enough to not be heard. Isme looked physically wounded.
“Now, now,” D’Argen started, ready to keep the peace. “Even if they are, every tale has a base of truth in it. We know that better than most.”
Isme smiled at him and when D’Argen smiled back, the man blushed so bright that the heat was practically visible coming off of him. Yaling saved him from overheating by putting a hand on his shoulder and using it as a boost to climb onto his horse.
“We should go,” Thar spoke with a commanding tone. A quick glance back at the mortals and then he looked at D’Argen and lifted his chin in a form of respect. Although D’Argen knew that Thar respected him, he also knew that it was only a show for the mortals to reveal his lower rank and defer to D’Argen as the highest power in their small party.
D’Argen nodded and tried to keep his smile from twitching into a frown.
The others mounted, doubling up, then Thar mounted his horse and turned to D’Argen, holding out a hand.
“Oh, thank you!” D’Argen quickly grabbed it and used it to pull himself up on the saddle behind Thar. “Here.” He held the apple over Thar’s shoulder to return the bitten fruit and turned back to face Shaffi. “So? Tell me more of these stories of Sky Mountain. I only heard a few the other night from Amastas, but they were… strange. She told me of some sickness of the mind and birds made of mist with fangs?” He heard the harsh crunch as Thar bit into the apple.
“Yes.” Shaffi nodded and kicked her horse into moving. She was the only one sitting alone, the other mortals all sharing a saddle with one of D’Argen’s companions. The horses started moving and though Thar remained quiet, he kept his horse in pace with Shaffi’s so D’Argen could continue their conversation.
Shaffi said, “We have a lot of stories of the mountain. It has been a long time and this story has been passed down from many generations, but… uh… when the Great Demon War happened many of the demons came from the mountain.”
D’Argen was already enthralled, even if Shaffi did not have the best speaking voice and hesitated on a few words here and there. He was used to it. D’Argen had all of his attention on her and knew it could be overwhelming for some mortals.
Shaffi cleared her throat and then continued with more confidence. “The story goes that the demons lived in the clouds. When they came down, they brought their home with them. But, the demons, the air they breathe is different from ours and it was poison to us. So, the clouds they brought down got us all sick and many died. Then, one of you came to fight them off. The demons ran away and took their clouds and have been hiding on top of the mountain ever since. The birds with fangs, the mind sickness, the bear that speaks, and many more… all of those stories are old but renewed with every new visit to the mountain. And then there are the screams.”
“The screams?” D’Argen asked, Amastas had told him of the mind sickness and D’Argen had tried not to yawn through her stories of the mist birds, but she had said nothing about screams.
“Yes. It usually happens on foggy days and, sometimes, when someone gets too close to the mountain trail. We’ve all heard them. Day and night. It’s the demons torturing their prey.”
Thar harrumphed and though D’Argen felt much the same, he did not voice it. It was a much shorter story than he had expected and it made no sense to him at all. After all, all Never Born knew the origin of the demons and knew exactly which mountain they crawled out of. It was not this one. D’Argen did not want to destroy what had been a story passed down for generations, so he decided against contradicting Shaffi and instead asked, “And the clouds? Have they ever lifted or fallen more?”
“We have never seen the top of the mountain, no. But we have seen it shrouded in even more fog during the harvests.”
D’Argen hummed. Thar, in front of him, finished the apple with a final crunch and threw the core into the woods on the side. D’Argen was distracted for a moment and thought it would be interesting to return and see the apple tree that would grow there if the seeds took root.
“Have you…” Lith’s hesitation was obvious as she joined the conversation. Once D’Argen was looking at her, she blushed and stammered through a new question. “Do you know which of the gods saved us?”
“Here?”
Lith nodded quickly. “We do not know who it was, otherwise, we would have known their name and built a temple in their honour. One story speaks of a whip made of lighting, another of a storm made of arrows, another yet of hair the colour of sunlight and eyes the colour of fire…” she trailed off.
Clearly, there were many more stories and speculations. Though D’Argen had seen each of those characteristics more than thousands of times before, he did not know of any one Never Born that had them all.
“Well, I can tell you it wasn’t me, but I can assure you that you’re safe now. Missirs Lilian, Yaling, Abbot, and Thar. They’re all very strong and though not on the first pages to be learned, they’re all powerful gods. And then there’s me! I am the runner. If there are any demons here, I swear it on my bow that I will vanquish them.”
Thar growled out something but the words were indistinguishable. D’Argen smiled at Lith then leaned closer to the other man to ask quietly, “What is it?”
Lith did not seem to notice it at all because she smiled brightly and turned to her companions. “You hear that? We have Lord D’Argen, the runner himself, the God of Discovery, helping us out! Praise the gods! We will be safe.”
Safe. Gods. In recent years, the mortals only called them gods when they refused to call them Never Born or could not pronounce their true name. The Chasvee Ellesai. It translated exactly and perfectly in every mortal language to people who were never born. That was a name that was, apparently, an insult to the mortals.
And then again, just because they were Never Born did not mean they could never die. So many of them had died during the demon wars. There were less than half of them now than those that had originally fallen to the mortal realm.
Gods.
Even he, a minor god in the pantheon the mortals created of them, had worshippers like those in this small village and the children that ran around screaming his name.
With that thought in mind, D’Argen faced forward once more and tightened his grip around Thar’s waist. When he felt the man hum, he asked quietly, “Sorry, what did you say earlier?”
“I said,” Thar whispered back, “Do not make promises you cannot keep.”
D’Argen was surprised by those words. “You really think there’re demons up there?”
The other man shrugged but he urged his horse a little faster until they were walking alone.
“I think there is something up there,” Thar finally said after a long moment of silence. “Whatever it is, Shaffi’s village is not the only one to have suffered because of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“There used to be more villages. At least a dozen. Now, between Sky Mountain and Kaariai… Ambi is the only village left.”
Now that he mentioned it, D’Argen remembered how hard it had been for Yaling to find the small village at all.
“But demons?” D’Argen hissed the words out quietly. “They’re all gone.”
Once again, Thar only shrugged in response.
“It has been almost a millennia!” D’Argen argued though Thar had not contradicted him.
“And it was more than a millennia before that.”
“But that is because we made the mistake of letting so many go during our attack on Kaariai during the first demon wars.”
“And even longer before that.”
“That’s because they had not—” D’Argen quickly cut himself off. A habit, ingrained after thousands of years when Acela voiced the decree that none of them should ever speak of the origins of the demons ever again.
“Forget it,” D’Argen waved it away. “Whatever’s up there, I’ll find it and I’ll end it. I’m not afraid.”
Thar only hummed, the vibration running up D’Argen’s arm and settling deep in his chest, almost reaching into his mahee. D’Argen was not sure if it felt comforting or mocking.