Freeing A God

A brown hand was pushed against the yellow stone, dirty nails and torn skin against the pitted rock. This young boy was leaning against the stone; sandals tied together around his neck, a torn tunic sitting oddly on his frame and a veil of sweat over his skin. The hand belonged to him, as did the pained breathing that echoed throughout the alleyway. Ragged breaths were being drawn up through his throat, tugging his stomach into a hollow below his ribcage.

“Doing alright there?”

The boy growled through his gritted teeth. His breathing was getting faster now. He could taste blood. “Fuck off.”

“Well that’s just rude.”

“You’re killing me, asshole.” He just wanted to be able to breathe again. The blood was metallic and warm. He swallowed hard. Why did that hurt so much?

“I just wanted you to remember to visit my temple.”

“It’s on my list of things to do.” He swallowed again. Saliva and blood chased each other as the faint bulge in his throat bobbed up and down. His chest was working hard, drawing in rapid shallow breaths. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget.”

“Alright, as long as you do it by sundown.”

The pain in his chest stopped suddenly, leaving a dull ache that would be there for hours. The lingering taste of blood disappeared as he swallowed until his mouth was dry. He collapsed to the dirt floor and gathered his legs in his arms. Pressing his forehead to his knees, he took in deep shuddering breaths to slow his heart down and restore his body to normal. Tears gathered in his eyes, but were brushed away sharply by the back of his hand.

“Fuck the gods.” He muttered to himself. It became a mantra, repeatedly muttering the same words. “Fuck the gods. Fuck the gods.”

He had a long way to go before the day was through.

***

Pillars towered above the heads of the crowd that surged past the building, their tips brushing the skyline. They were dented by the runes carved into them, and only those runes above the heights of most men retained any of their gold inlay. It was a hard time and no one could blame a man for stealing from a forgotten god in order to make his life easier.

Well, almost no one. My father was stood beside me, taking in the building the same way I was. He towered above me, easily a head taller than any other man I’d met. His broad body was wrapped in peasant garb; I was wearing the same thing. Itchy yellowing tunics over dark trousers. He wore it with the grace of someone that would soon be out of it, I wore it like it was a cage.

“Darius,” he didn’t look at me as he spoke, but he had my full attention, “don’t get lost. This is a dangerous place.”

If anyone else had told me this, I would have rolled my eyes and sighed at them. I’m not an idiot, despite what everyone may think. Instead, I nodded. There’s not really a response that isn’t heavily sarcastic, or at least not one that jumps to mind.

“Follow me.” He strode forwards, pushing through the crowd with his bulk. I had to duck and weave around the people hurrying by. I got barged into a few times before I made it, mostly unharmed, to the other side.

My father was already in the temple, having strode under the arch that the pillars held aloft. I swallowed hard at the thought of that height, even looking up at it made my gut twist. I powered through, following like I was told to do.

I had not expected a courtyard once through the arch, but that’s what I stumbled into. Rich green leaves sprouting from vines that crawled up over the marble walls were rooted in the ground, there was no flooring across any of the courtyard. Just beaten down dirt to form a path through it.

In the centre of the courtyard, facing the arch, was a fountain with a statue of a man as the main piece. The man was pissing into the water basin of the fountain, one hand on his cock and another raising his sword above his head. Kyus.

He was younger than I expected him to be, maybe only a few years older than myself. His face was still effeminate with youth, which seemed out of place to me. He was a god, and not only a god but a War God. He was the decider of battles and would take the lives of hundreds of men… but he looked barely old enough to enlist.

My father was already on the other side of the courtyard, so I sprinted past the fountain to catch up with him. I wasn’t going to get a beating for gawping at a statue.

The entrance to the temple was worn down by footsteps, the sandstone steps had dips where pilgrim’s feet had destroyed them. I followed my father carefully, taking care to step where he stood and nowhere else. I didn’t trust the temple; it was falling apart.

“Darius, this is the priest.” My father said, waving his hand to a figure further down the hall. I nodded respectfully; I’d worked out by now that any spoken response was probably the wrong one when my father was listening.

“Follow me, Maarav.” The priest said. Something in his tone meant I was to follow my father, too. I followed them, silently and obediently, just like a good son is meant to. Especially when that good son is forcing his father to break the law to visit the temple of an Old God.

My father and the priest walked ahead of me into the darkest parts of the building, down the stairs that twisted and turned their way into the bowels of the earth. Here there were no torches on the wall, no side passages with roaring fires to light the way. The noise of the agora outside was dampened, until finally I couldn't hear the hoards outside of the temple. A chill ran through the air down here, it was damp under the earth.

"Darius," the priest turned to me, "you swear not to talk of this?"

I nodded, a sharp jut of my chin. "I swear."

The priest smiled unpleasantly. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness in the temple and I could just about make out his face, the movement made it easier to see his features. He was a stern looking man; thinning hair and a gaunt face. His nose was hooked like an eagle’s beak, and his mouth was a mash of his thin lips. His eyebrows, I recalled, were bushy and framed his small eyes. I didn’t like looking at him.

He turned his back to me and pushed open a door that I hadn't seen. It was part of the wall - made of stone - yet it swung open with such ease. I’d never been interested in a building the way I was interested in this temple; nothing like this was allowed anywhere else, but these buildings were older than the laws we followed above the ground. It seemed even the laws of physics could be twisted in a temple to the Old Gods.

A light spilled out onto my feet, although down here it was near blinding. It was inconsistent, like the flickering of flames. Warmth spread through the cold air, too. It led the way into the room, where the priest waved a hand.

"Go." He said, the light illuminating his hawk-like nose and bushy brows.

I looked at my father, who said nothing; his expression hadn’t changed for the entire time since we had entered the temple. I swallowed hard, attempting to still my roiling stomach. The air around us was cold and damp, I could taste it in my mouth. Swallowing didn't work, I was still feeling nauseous and the taste hadn’t faded. Even so, I willed my legs to move me into the room and, surprisingly, they obeyed me.

As I stepped past the door, I examined the box I found myself in. It was sandstone, like the buildings outside, and lit by a fire-pit in the middle. Old stones had been laid in a circle; covered by ash and soot from many fires and a lack of cleaning. There was soot on the floor and walls outside of the circle, long burnt out embers scattered around the room. What had once been logs in the centre of the fire-pit were mostly embers and charcoal now – it had probably been roaring a few hours ago but no one had come to tend it.

Across from the door sat a boy, a skinny boy with soot painted on his dry skin. His skin looked like an alligator, like one of Sobek’s worshipers. The boy looked about my age, maybe even younger. He had dark skin, even under his soot stains, like one of the servants in the agora. His hair looked like wool, black wool that was matted. All he wore was a scrap of linen around his waist to hide his shame.

The door was pulled shut behind me. I turned at the noise of it closing, but the boy didn't move. He was still when I turned back to face him, almost more uneasy with having my back to him than I was in being locked in this box.

"Hello?"

He didn't even acknowledge me when I spoke. I stepped forwards, slowly and ready to jump back at any time. He still didn't move.

"Hello?" I tried again.

Nothing.

"Excuse me?"

He didn't seem to be able to hear me. It was only when I got to the edge of the fire-pit did he even look up.

Hideous was not enough to describe the mess that was his face. He was scarred from his left eyebrow down to his jaw with a design that looked too straight and carefully placed to be an accident. It was a Y that ran from the edge of his eyebrow, which split into two upturned prongs at the top of his cheekbone. One prong reached past his temple and into his hairline. The other cut though the tip of his eyebrow.

It was raw still, freshly cut. I swallowed the acidic taste of bile.

"You've come to talk to the gods?" he asked, his voice was as soft as a whisper.

I looked away from him, I couldn’t keep my eyes on him without staring at his scar. "Yes."

"Then talk." He sounded tired, weary even. More tired than I'd ever heard anyone. It was like the tiredness was part of his voice. He looked younger than I did when I glanced back at him, he should have been playing in the streets with the other kids.

"I... What do I do?"

The boy's eyes focused on me. "You talk, and when the gods feel they can answer you, they speak through me."

I thought for a second, then a few more. I knew what I had been brought here to find out. "My father wants me to be something amazing in the future, something grand.”

"Dull." This voice was not the boy's. I looked at him. He was leaning back on his elbows with his feet crossed at the ankles. "So what? You’re being pushed to be famous, or wealthy, or somebody to remember. So is everyone else. Some people will be. You won't."

I stared at him, at the utter transformation. This voice was that of a spoilt brat, some kid from a rich family. But it had a mocking tone to it, the words were clipped. The boy was laying back, elbow on the ground. One hand was playing with the cold embers, smearing them between his fingers.

"I can see all, kid." He smirked at me, "and I know you're nothing special."

I gaped at him. The change was remarkable. He looked like a king even among the ashes.

“Who are – which God is this?”

The boy shook his head. “You’d think anyone would recognise the best of the gods.”

“Kuh…” I swallowed, fear resting in my chest, “Kyus?”

“The one and only,” he announced, climbing to his feet and brushing the embers in his hands over the linen around his waist, “nice to meet you. Want to help me break out of here?”

I balked. “What?”

“This body, this boy, he’s dying because of the way they treat him.” He pointed to his cheek, at the raw scar, “This was done to make access to this body easier for us, for me.”

I nodded, slowly. I dragged my eyes over the body the God was wearing – his ribs were sticking out, as were the mountain ranges of his hips. The bones of his body was all that held his shape; he wasn’t much more than that and shadows.

“Can you get us out?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know…”

“You have, what’s it called?” He paused, looking at his hands. “Money?”

“I don’t have money,” I protested. “I don’t have- I don’t have any money.”

“But you can barter, can’t you?” Kyus looked at me, uncut eyebrow quirked. “You can buy this body somehow.”

“Yes? I… he’s a slave, right?”

Kyus nodded. His nod was grave and sharp, his mouth quirking with disgust. “Yes, he is. But to you, his name is Seth.”

“Seth?” I asked, the name tasted strange in my mouth, so I said it again. The name sounded foreign, weird, outlandish. He was definitely not from around this area of the world. But I’d guessed that when I looked him over earlier. “Seth.”

“Don’t sound so much like an idiot when you say it, it irritates him.” Kyus snapped. “Seth is a nice kid; you know? Kept me company for years before these assholes found him and locked him up.”

“You… can talk to him?”

“We’re just temporarily sharing his body, until I can find a way to get the fuck out of here. They cut this thing,” Kyus pointed at the cut in his face, “so that I could access his body easier. But then they cut this,” he turned his back to me, “so I would have to stay.”

His back was a tangled mess of knotted scars that were shiny under sweat and soot. A circle cut into his back with straight lines was crossed with a six-pointed-star. It looked like it had been cut recently, but also looked like it had been made a very long time ago. I stared at it until he turned back to face me.

Kyus shrugged, looking at the abject horror on my face. “Priests, eh? But, Seth… He’s nice. Not many people are, and not like him, you know? I don’t want to take up too much of his life.”

“I can buy him… and you, too, I guess.” I shrugged, “Have you ever shown them – the priests – you?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Kyus frowned, “Of course not. They just think I’m here, they don’t know. Go out there and make them think you didn’t get anything from us.”

“I- I can do that.” I nodded.

“Good.” Kyus smiled. His face softened and the scared boy flashed across his face again. Seth. As soon as he was there, he was gone. Kyus nodded. “Looking forwards to working with you, Darius.”

I blinked. I hadn’t told him my name. “How do you-”

“Know your name? I’m a God, moron. I know a lot of things no one else does, anything I don’t know is not worth knowing.”

The door behind me scraped. Kyus left. Seth collapsed into a ball in the far corner of the room. My father and the priest were stood, waiting for me. My father looked over the boy, a flicker of disgust crossed his face, but the priest’s expression didn’t change.

It was time to lie, to save a boy from the priests of the God that had asked me to do it. Not a big issue really.