Book 2 The Gods of Light and Liars

Chapter 24: The Rising Flame

The Earth Archon had ordered the pavilion be pitched for rest and sleep, and to better assess the situation. That situation being the arrival of the Firemaster, Argos. The Light Archon explained it to Hawk. Argos was not with the Fire Pavillion, but His Archon was, and as soon as the three of them (his gesture included himself) had come to an agreement about who would become the head of the procession—which would be Fire, as they were both the patron of martial activities and war, and the only God present. The Light Archon insisted Hawk not be there for the invocation ritual. "Go, get your people situated and keep them as quiet as possible. I do not suppose this Willheim can be curbed?"

"If Alex were here, he would be. He'd be so irritable that Kaiser would have to focus on him, and not the Archon." She cringed at her next thought. "I could—"

"No." Her archon said. "I don't want you doing anything. You've made enough trouble for yourself—not entirely of your own making—and I'll not add to it." His expression softened. "If you were there for the Invocation, you would catch Argon's eye immediately. I recommend—strongly—that you avoid that as much as possible."

"What? Catching his eye?" She said.

"He's lusty, and I know his type. Fortunately, he likes the willing and respects the avowed celibate. Of your group, only you are female, and you have the look he likes. Can you pretend to be distinctly uninterested in a handsome man?"

"I'm basically a widow in mourning. I'd rather have a migraine than an orgasm."

Thus, when Hawk arrived to her little sitting area with the Archon of Light, she found it populated with pillows and a devian, with Kaiser sprawled across it with a glass of the sweet wine they kept giving everyone. He was not yet drunk, but he was certainly having the time of his life. Em and Dyson stood nearby. On the opposite side of the Earth Archon's fancy chair there was, quite literally, a throne. It was made of gold and red, covered in rubies and panels of scarlet silk. Beside this was a chair that matched the Earth Archon's. It, too, was made of gold with red silk, but was smaller and meaner. Opulence was tiered, apparently, with some grades of beauty reserved for the God.

"Do we...sit?" Henry Dyson asked Hawk.

She looked around. The Archons were doing whatever an Invocation required, and there was no one else to see, or care. "As long as you avoid the thrones, you should be fine. Sit with me?" She patted the pillows. Em and Dyson did, and she grabbed the first acolyte to pass by and begged them for water—"Water." She emphasized to the poor thing—and whatever they could bring her without incurring the Earth Archon's wrath. Then she began to describe the things she had seen since her arrival here.

She didn't get past the first sacrifice.

"Wait. Back the fuck up, Hawk. You stood there and let them kill someone?"

"Em. Keep your voice down." She said.

"I speak fucking English. They don't."

"It's considered the holy, sacred tongue around here. They learn it the way Catholic Bishops learn Latin. Half the people around you understand enough." She let her words carry, let Em see how many people turned in their direction. Let her see the comprehension in too many pairs of eyes. Then, in a bare hiss, she added, "Please, tell me what I was supposed to do."

"Get up and stop them!" Em said.

"And die," Henry Dyson said.

Both Hawk and Em turned on him. "What?"

"The guy's fucked either way. Like...we can't get out of this, right now. If these people decide we're dead, we're dead. They worship the murders they call sacrifice. They consider it a right, and a choice they get to make. So when you or I or Hawk stands up and says, you know, 'don't kill the poor bastard', we're giving their god the middle finger. It's not just themselves, it's everything they stand for. You try to stop anything in this place, you're gonna die."