D’Argen and his three companions spent the following week walking around under the hot sun of the Oltrian plains to look for the cheetah. They came across many of the wild cats, but they had no way of telling if any one of them was the one they were looking for. Using both Abbot’s spells to make them invisible and Yaling’s to make sure they were unheard, they were able to approach each of the animals in turn.
Not one of them reacted to the scents of their mahee.
During the days, D’Argen reinflated his ego by making the cheetahs run after him and leaving them behind in the dust. During the nights, Abbot recited increasingly drastic prose about the heat before Yaling took charge of the conversation when they all got annoyed, allowing the sounds of their voices along with the scents of their mahee to help D’Argen restore his body. Abbot filled multiple pages in his sketchbook with the cheetah both at rest and in motion.
On the eighth day, Lilian announced that they were on the last of their food.
While D’Argen himself did not need to drink water or eat food, the sound his mahee consumed enough to replenish him completely, the rest of his companions were not the same.
“We should go back to Evadia, check the records for anything like this, prepare better, report, maybe bring somebody with us to help us figure out what this is,” Yaling said and looked to D’Argen.
The runner looked longingly at the cheetahs where the young cubs chased their mother around. “You’re right,” he finally said.
The others did not say anything else, clearly waiting for him to change his mind. When D’Argen started walking west, they scrambled after him.
It had been over four centuries since D’Argen last saw the white walls of the castle of Evadia. There was something inside him, tugging and coaxing, telling him to go back home. He knew it was his mahee, looking for the rest of its pieces and the one location where the most gods resided. He had been able to ignore it for so long but as his feet finally wandered in that direction and his mind settled on it as a destination, that tugging turned in a harsh yank that he wanted to follow. It was as if this entire time he was waiting for a reason to go back there. Back home.
“Let’s run,” he said to the others, the words coming out breathless. The idea of stretching his mahee so far was exhilarating. It had been a long time since he ran that far with his three friends. Usually, they would only run short distances because none of them actually enjoyed the experience and though he could not cover that distance in one go, he could definitely shorten their travel time.
Lilian was the first to touch him. “Let me take you home,” they said with a smile.
It had been too long since D’Argen allowed Lilian to guide him home. He smiled and nodded.
D’Argen closed his eyes and wrapped his mahee around them. He felt their long hair, every single strand and the dirt settled in it from their time out in the wild. He felt their eyelashes, their lips, the pores of their skin, and let his mahee seep into them. Lilian wore a jewelled clip in their hair and he felt that silver, every dent and curve and divot as it shaped the flowers that Lilian had an affinity to as the God of Spring. The seeds from those flowers were tiny jewels that lined their clothes; the silver dotted the scarf Lilian always wore around their neck, clipped the wide sleeves of their silk blouse at the wrists, turned into larger buttons that held together the soft leather of their waist corset, and hid in the trim of the corset’s skirt to weigh it down where it reached Lilian’s ankles. Lilian’s pack had a few crumbs of old bread in it along with the leggings and undershirt they had removed on the third day due to the heat. There was a pair of daggers on Lilian’s belt that had no engravings on them at all, but the leather of their boots was carved into tiny and intricate little designs of flowers and vines and leaves.
It was both overwhelming and familiar when he wrapped each and every aspect of Lilian with his mahee, feeling their breath as if it was his own and then reaching deeper into their core and touching their mahee. It felt like standing in the middle of a tornado until those winds recognized him and calmed, letting him in.
Yaling’s effects were much easier to wrap around, a single piece of dyed linen that covered her from breasts to ankle, her hips and sides were bare and the legs of her pants were wide before sinching together tight at her ankles. The detached sleeves she usually wore were in her large pack along with the skirt of her belt, the last of their wine, and the fur-lined cloaks each of their companions wore during winter. The hardest part to wrap his mahee around was always her headscarf, a seemingly simple cloth but one embroidered in intricate patterns with thin golden threads and two strings hanging from its knot at her ear, both of them lined with odd coins, beads, and the occasional feather. Her mahee let him in immediately, surrounding him in the twinkling of a thousand musical instruments before it all settled comfortably at the back of his mind.
Abbot was usually the hardest to wrap his mahee around. The man wore a lot of jewelry and different pieces stitched together for his clothes; a thick wrap crossing over his chest in both directions from shoulder to hip, at least five layers to his skirts each with different cuts to reveal his legs, an undershirt, a cape, and then there was his belt and pouches, all filled with different strands of dried tobacco leaves and medicinal herbs, and the wide metal collar he wore around his shoulders that was made from thousands of tiny beads strung together through thin wires. None of that, however, had anything on the man’s braids. They kept shifting and swaying as if trying to escape him. When he caught the last strand of hair under his mahee, he felt the light of Abbot’s mahee shine on him and he used that to light his way as he opened his eyes and ran.
The distance from the Oltrian plains where they were to Evadia would take a caravan around three months to cover. With his mahee wrapped around his three companions, it took them ten days.
Instead of sliding to a stop as he usually did when he ran alone, he slowed down over time, turning his run into a jog and then a walk, and then releasing his companions from his mahee. Right in front of them was an old stone tower, one that had been used as a lookout point long ago and only served as a marker for lost travellers in the last few centuries. It pointed them in the direction of the main trading route that led to Evadia.
Before they even saw the dirt road, they saw the tall white walls of the castle of Evadia. They were still faint and distant on the horizon, but D’Argen knew they could make it before evening as long as he opened his mahee for a few more steps once they were closer. He only needed to rest a moment before he did so.
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The small party crossed the grassy fields until they saw the dirt road, which was much busier than the last time D’Argen had walked it. There were groups of mortals of all sizes with carts and horses and mules, and even a jewelled caravan further ahead that clearly carried some sort of royalty. All of them were walking to Evadia and D’Argen had a horrible suspicion of why but decided against interrogating his friends.
A small group of mortals noticed them before they even stepped on the path and they visibly stumbled, bowed their heads, then slowed their steps and eventually stopped. D’Argen heard them whispering but did not bother to use Yaling’s spells to figure out what they were saying. The group in front of them was close enough to hear even though they had yet to notice them. Although the mortals’ sounds were not as easy to consume as those guided by the scents of the mahee, D’Argen could still replenish himself somewhat for another short burst of running.
“So, apparently, what everybody’s saying about the gods is true.”
The group had barely half a dozen mortals, all dressed in heavy wool that seemed impractical for the summer heat and they had a single mule pulling at a wooden cart. Two kids peeked out from the curtains at the back of it and looked at D’Argen and his companions with wide eyes.
“What’s everybody saying?”
“That they’re not really gods. That they’re only hoarding the magic for themselves. That we’ve been worshipping false idols.”
D’Argen wiggled his fingers at the kids. Both of them showed him wide, tooth-gapped smiles while waving back at him.
“Yet the sun rises every day and falls every night. Also, you’re still going to this thing.”
“Shut up. It’s good money. Also… it’s only a little magic. They’re not that special.”
D’Argen smirked and nudged at Lilian beside him. When they looked at him, he motioned with a chin to the small group ahead of them.
“It’s not only a little magic. The sun rises—”
“That’s not their doing. In fact, listen here. I heard a story about something else that has magic.”
D’Argen felt his smile drop and Lilian tensed beside him. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Yaling and the woman nodded subtly, releasing a faint scent of citrus as she used her mahee to listen in more closely on the two men talking in case D’Argen missed something.
“Do you remember that merchant that passed by last winter? The one that was telling stories to the kids and doing some weird light tricks with his hands? My son told me the other day about this story he had about some animal that nobody’s seen because it moves too fast, like that one god they have, but—"
“If nobody’s seen it—”
“—they’ve heard it! Anyway, it’s near some mountain, my kid didn’t catch the name, but everybody knows it’s there. It cries during the day and stomps around at night. In the months before winter, it howls in the night, circling the entire crown of the mountain. In the hottest summer months, it comes down to the foothills with the fog, taking caravans and eating the people.”
“You think merchant stories are true? Especially ones told to the kids? That’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah? So is praying to some guy who drinks himself to a stupor every night and then you thank him for the sun rising, but you don’t hear me ridiculing your beliefs.”
D’Argen visibly flinched and threw another glance over his shoulder. Abbot was packing his pipe, clearly ignoring the conversation.
Abbot was known as the God of Light and he had been a huge fixture in many mortal religions and traditions all over Trace, but especially those to the east where the sun rose first. Over the millennia, he had taken the time to visit each and every mortal settlement that prayed in his name. Unfortunately, he was not what many of them imagined; he enjoyed the wine too much or focused too much on the female form, and he took too much of his time drawing or smoking, setting a bad example for kids that grew too indolent to work the fields.
Thousands of years ago, many of the mortals had stopped worshipping him, calling him a false god and turning to worship the sun itself. Acela, recently crowned as Queen of the Gods, had bent the mortals’ whims and took away Abbot’s title and rank. Both of those meant nothing to the gods, given to them by the mortals, but the insult still stung.
“Maybe it’s the Demon Mound?”
The second voice drew D’Argen back to the mortals’ conversation, having missed something but not sure what.
“The stories that come from there are always so over-the-top and ridiculous. You never know what’s true and what isn’t.”
“What Demon Mound?”
“Apparently, that’s where the gods first fell to the mortal realm. It’s somewhere near the southern coast. When they fell, they cracked the mountain open and the demons of the underworld spilled out. The first demon wars were waged not that far from there thousands of years ago. Though nobody’s sure if the original mountain still exists at all, and the Demon Mound isn’t something else completely.
“Maybe the bodies of all the people that died during the wars? But it’s all stupid stories. Hah, demon wars? Demons?”
“We have the gods walking among us, but you think demons is taking it too far?”
D’Argen could not stop the grin from growing on his lips when he heard that. A quick glance at his companions revealed that they all found it as funny as he did.
“Your gods. Plus, the gods is one thing. Winged lizards that breathe fire? That’s just ridiculous! Also! Your gods? I doubt we’re even going to see any of them, even at this thing. Last I heard, many of them found the whole event—”
“Excuse me!” D’Argen interrupted, jogging a few steps to walk alongside the two men.
The moment they noticed him, the entire group of mortals stopped, stumbling over themselves to keep the mule and cart from going on without them. All of them looked at D’Argen with wide eyes and open mouths, instantly recognizing him as one of the gods even if they could not tell which one. Sometimes, D’Argen loved the way his mahee brought attention to him.
“You said something about an animal that uses magic? Near some… Demon Mound, was it?”
“I… uh… eh…” They both started stuttering, unable to get a single word out.
“Ah, never mind that. This merchant you mentioned? He’s the one telling the stories?”
Another set of stuttering syllables that made no sense at all.
D’Argen rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “What is the name of your village?”
“Badal,” a woman from the back of the group answered immediately.
D’Argen turned to face her when he asked again, “This merchant?”
“Ah… he… I don’t know. He never stays long.”
“And you’re sure he said Demon Mound? Some mountain to the south?”
“No,” one of the men that had been talking earlier finally broke his spell to answer. “No, milord. I… uh… I’m sorry, deity… umm…?”
“Not the Demon Mound?” D’Argen stumbled over the man’s efforts to find his title.
“No. Just… a mountain. Didn’t catch the name.”
“To the south?”
Both men nodded quickly.
D’Argen thought it over and though the description rang something familiar, he was not exactly sure what it was. A quick glance back showed Abbot smoking his pipe without a care, Yaling glaring at the group with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, and Lilian holding their scarf over their mouth, clearly hiding a smile. D’Argen opened his mahee to reach for them, touching them even without the physical contact that made it easier.
“Should we—?”
“No,” Lilian interrupted. “Evadia first. Check the records. Maybe there is something in there about this merchant if he is going around spreading rumours about demons.” Their words tasted like fresh raindrops when D’Argen wrapped them up in his mahee.
“You’re right.” D’Argen turned back to the mortals with a grin so fake that it hurt his cheeks. “By the way, you know that you’re the ones who came up with the terms ‘Gods’ and ‘Mortals’, right? Not us. Don’t blame us for not fitting into your neat little stories.”
Without another word or even letting the mortals say anything else, he finished wrapping Abbot’s braids in his mahee and he pushed himself to run once more.