Monarch’s forest faded off to the northwest, and flat plains and farmland took over the landscape. Greg had become familiar with a few of Etheon’s native animal species. Admittedly, it was mostly those that were close to the ocean. He’d only noticed that the enormous rocks out in the fields weren’t enormous rocks when one curled up and started rolling around.

  One of the gigantic pillbug-like creatures rolled right up to the fence near the road they were going down and unfurled, sticking its little pink snout out between the barbed wire. He slowed as they got closer to get a better look. It’s face was mostly covered by the large segmented carapace, but stuck out just enough for its nose and mouth to graze, or in this case…receive pets.

  “Haven’t spent a lot of time outside the city?” Seraphae asked, kneeling on the floating disk and reaching out to stroke its snout.

  “Guess not. What is that thing?” Greg asked, squatting himself to set his hand on the wet nose. It huffed at him, flicking a thick tongue along his hand.

  “Leopler beetle.” She reached under the carapace and started scratching what sounded like hair. “You don’t know about leoplers?”

  He did. And putting a face to the name, so to speak, make his stomach turn. He’d eaten a number of dishes that used these things as meat. Isabella had said they were like this world’s version of cows. That…was no cow. “Just never seen one.” Greg swallowed hard to keep the contents of his stomach for rising and patted its nose before standing again.

  The city was just ahead. To say that Otella lacked the mystical grandeur of Rhobair would be a vast understatement. Where enormous walls, wrought iron gates, and a heavy magical fog greeted you before you saw a single building from Rhobair, Otella just started suddenly. They passed a farm house, then another about a mile later…and then they were on city streets.

  There was no order like the city rings he’d become accustomed to. A tavern sat surrounded by private residences, then around the next corner a general shop led directly into a bakery, which was connected to more homes. The next most stark difference was the fashion. People walked the often just dirt roads in basic workers clothes. Nothing that stood out, nothing with the flair he’d grown to expect. It was like everyone went to Brannoc for fashion advice.

  “Take a right here.” Seraphae leaned into him, warm breath dancing along the back of his neck as she pointed.

  The one spot that seemed to have some semblance of order was the worship square. Five utterly unique temples formed a pentagon with a fountain in the center. At least a hundred yards of space was given to each building in any direction of its walls, making the heavily trafficked area the most thought out spot in the city as far as he could tell.

  A sculpture carved from the same moonstone as Warden’s Keep dominated the center of the water fixture. Extending up and out, pointing to each of the temples, were the symbols of the five major deities of Etheon: a crown of Flame for Theron, the Emberfather, a tear carved into a spiral shell for Nareis, the Drowned Queen, a feather split by lightning for Veyru, the Stormborn, a downward pointing fist for Ruarth, the Mother Below, and finally a serpent wrapped in a figure eight devouring its own tail for Izael, the Hollow-Eyed.

  Greg brought the disc to a stop, and they both stepped off onto the rough stone walking path that led around the fountain. There was something surreal about hundreds of people walking around this fountain, all of them worshiping different gods, and yet living in complete harmony. He pushed the thought aside and looked over at Seraphae, whose eyes had locked on one of the temples.

  “She’s waiting for us.” He’d barely heard her over the passing conversations, but he followed her eyes to the temple. Architecturally, the worship centers could not have been different. Ranging from a vast gothic style cathedral to a single freestanding gazebo. Greg followed Seraphae across the grounds to a less ostentatious building.

  Heavy columns crafted from a dark stone held up the triangular roof of the otherwise open temple. Worshipers sat on stone benches or knelt around the center alter on a slightly raised dais. Seraphae paid them no mind, walking directly to the back of the temple where a set of stairs carved straight into the earth waited for them. The sharp turns of the staircase quickly snuffed out the light of the sun, leaving them to navigate by single sconces situated in the center of each flight.

  When the stairs finally stopped, they opened up into what struck him as a massive tradesman’s sanctuary. Directly to his left the temple had been fashioned into its own quarry, mining stone and providing it for the stoneworkers who worked it into manageable blocks and then passed it off to the builders and artists. Running along the right wall were dedicated worship areas, things he’d more expected to see out of a temple. Priests in clean but plain brown robes led worship, or walked among the people praying with anyone who needed individual attention.

  The center of the incomprehensibly large chamber was an easily hundred and fifty foot tall statue carved directly from the cavern’s own stone. It depicted a woman, who he assumed to be the deity herself, wearing a standard toga. She held a mallet at her side, and in the other had a harp pressed to her heart.

  Seraphae didn’t stop. After picking his jaw up off the ground, he pushed his way through crowds to catch up with her until they made it to the base of the statue. She stopped finally and bowed her head. When he slid around the side of her and gleaned what she was bowing at he was certain his eyes may have fallen directly out of his skull he’d rolled them so hard.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Mr. Norwood.” The blonde Deva hopped off the statue’s little toe and strolled over to them. “I figured I’d be seeing you again soon.”

  “I understand you and Brannoc are trying to help Maeve, but this feels truly degrading.” Isabella sounded off, and he couldn’t help but agree.

  “Here to talk to the big lady, not you.” Greg grumbled, surprising himself with how much like his mentor he’d sounded. “Can you get her on the line?”

  “I’m sorry, my lady.” Seraphae tried speaking for him. “He’s obviously not clear on the rules.”

  “Don’t apologize for me.” Greg narrowed his gaze, flicking it from the celestial to the Deva. “I’m not sorry.”

  “It’s quite alright, Seraphae.” The Deva stepped up to her and gently kissed the top of her head. “Mr. Norwood’s hostility comes from our shared history, not disrespect for our Lady. Isn’t that right, Mr. Norwood.”

  “For now,” Greg shrugged. “We’ll see how this conversation goes.”

  “Greg, you really can’t speak to her that…” The Deva’s hand lifted and silenced Seraphae, even as a bright sourceless light shone down on her. The Deva’s head snapped up, mouth agape in a silent scream as the light forced itself into her eyes, mouth, and nose. The noise from the worship center stopped, and when Greg looked around, he found that all but he, Seraphae, and the now brightly glowing Deva had been frozen in time.

  “Mother.” Seraphae dropped to her knees, pressing her hands and face to the cold stone.

  “Rise, child.” The whisper came out in the Deva’s voice, but behind it echoed a different sound. It was warm, but firm and powerful. “My champion has graced my halls. I’ve heard your prayers, and yet you come to speak with me personally.”

  The pure white light that shone from the woman’s eyes made it impossible to see them, but he could feel the god’s gaze. It peered right past him. Through the man people thought he was, even the one he thought he was, directly into his soul. He had been a life long atheist. Even after arriving on Etheon, where evidence of the gods’ power was everywhere…he never thought he’d be face to face with one.

  Any bravado that he’d walked into this room with…was long gone.

  “M-maeve Grimjaw.” Greg croaked out through his suddenly bone dry mouth. “We don’t know what’s wrong with her. N-none of the healers we’ve called can help.”

  “And you want me to help bring her back to you.” The god mercifully finished his request for him. “I understand that you are not particularly devout, Greg Norwood.” Despite the soft whisper, her voice seemed to echo through the chamber, filling it completely. “You are aware that death is one of my domains, however.”

  “I am.” Greg nodded. “She’s not dying anymore. She’s just not getting any better.”

  The corners of the Deva’s lips turned up just slightly before she paced in front of him a few times. Her gaze never left him, making nervous sweat start to slide down his spine. “There is one man who can help. I will give you his name and where to find him, after you finish clearing up the Frost issue. In the meantime, I will ensure that Maeve Grimjaw stays safe and perfectly healthy.”

  Greg blinked. She couldn’t be serious. A god just gave him an ultimatum? “You’re holding the information over my head until I finish this Frost nonsense? We’re talking about a woman’s life here.”

  Ruarth nodded through the Deva, “And if the Frost continues to spread, it will take many more lives. The abominations you fought in Monarch’s Forest.” He felt the cool gaze shift to Seraphae for a moment. “They will not stop at the Gifted. They’ve been designed to attack indiscriminately.”

  “Mother…” Seraphae kept her head bowed, though she’d rose from the floor. “If there is any more information you can give us…”

  “My knowledge is boundless, child.” The Deva’s long slender fingers reached out and cupped Serapahae’s cheek. “You need only ask the right question.”

  Seraphae nodded and then looked over at Greg.

  What was the right question? He wasn’t going to get anywhere else until they dealt with the Frost. So how to stop that? He pursed his lips, then spoke. “The Frost problem won’t stop until the head of the snake is cut off. Who is it?”

  Seraphae’s head turned back to the Deva, though she did not lift her gaze.

  The god smirked at him, but nodded. “That’s a cut you’re incapable of making, at least for now. I will consider the task done when the immediate threats have been handled. Kael Vireth is a part of the machine, but you already know who funds it.”

  Greg nodded. Of course he did. “Is it just Horatio, or does it go further than that?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you. Horatio Rillon, and to a lesser extent a few of his cousins, are the only ones with knowledge of whats occurring. There is a saying from your planet I quite like that describes the situation, however. Their money doesn’t fall from trees.”

  “Close enough.” Greg sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I am still a little unclear as to why. Why are they doing this to begin with?”

  Ruarth tilted the Deva’s head slightly. “Because someone more powerful than them told them to.”

  “More powerful? What kind of scale are we talking about?” Greg asked.

  “Much closer to my level than yours, Greg.” The Deva cleared her throat with the sound of grinding stone. “My time in this vessel runs thin. Final questions?”

  “You’re certain this man will help? The healer you said could bring Maeve back?”

  “I never said he was a healer.” The god clarified. “But he will help. He’s annoyingly helpful.”

  “What do you—“ Greg’s question was cut off when Seraphae reached over and placed a hand on his chest.

  “If we’re to take on such a powerful foe, I’d ask a boon from My Lady.” Seraphae lifted her head finally. “To deliver your divine judgement.”

  “You’ve both already been blessed with my power.” The goddess’ voice remained warm and inviting even as she questioned her daughter. “You would ask more of me?”

  Seraphae glanced over at Greg, her throat shifting as she swallowed hard, then back to her mother. “I would. You’ve provided us with tools to build ourselves up, but the path ahead is wrought with powerful enemies. We don’t have the time necessary to build up to that level.”

  The light that was the Deva’s eyes started to dim in the silence, and for a moment Greg thought they were losing whatever connection had been made. The Mother Below nodded finally. “Very well.”

  Her body inhaled the white light as the Deva’s hands rose, planting firmly on Greg and Seraphae’s chests. His body was suddenly lifted and adhered to the hand, like he’d become magnatized somehow by blinding white that radiated from her palm. A viscious, biting cold spread through his body making him stiffen and groan as pain took over. It was like he could feel is frozen bones grinding against each other for a split second…and then it was gone.

  Greg dropped to the floor, Seraphae and the Deva crumbling at his sides.

  You’ve been granted a Divine Boon!

  The Mother’s Burden

  Boon: Divine

  When an ally within one hundred feet of you would take damage you may prevent it entirely by taking it on yourself in the form of a Burden. Each Burden will affect you in a different way, depending on the amount of damage prevented. These effects can range from a slight slowing effect to instant death.

  Permanently increases constitution stat by 10