The door opens, and the pair of them slink into the dark and sit down.
There’s a heavy silence, and then Mordecai reaches out, passing me the letters.
“I’m sorry.”
He sounds as though he means it.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to where I was told to look for the exit,” Jarek snaps at them.
“We’ll go with you.”
The hostilities ease, but we sit in silence, all of us listening to the sound of drums beating in this ancient city, knowing that the worst is still to come.
Chapter 23
Omega, what have you done?
Mordecai
Alpha God of the Hunt
Thousands of years before the Night of Falling Stars
I gallop through the dark and eerie forests that are my ancestral lands, and I leave nothing but silence in my wake. Mist curls over the ground; very little light reaches the forest floor. Everything flees before me, bounding for their lives. Nothing can touch me, hurt me, or kill me. My power stretches across the expanse of the forest, through clearings and into the sparse wilds.
I am the Alpha God of the Hunt. Ancient even among gods. Feared. Almost forgotten.
Bored.
Something is missing, has been missing for more years than I can count. The contentment I used to feel has been leaving me at odds because all the familiar pursuits doesn’t bring back the peace. I have chased many answers to this riddle, but only one truly resonates with me.
There is no one to share the world with. No one to hunt with, no one to walk side by side with. Not a soul to spend an hour talking or listening to silences with.
The gods fear me, those that remember I exist. The ones sitting in the Hall of Petitions have heard of me, but few have even seen me. Years ago, I stepped into the forests, and most think of me as nothing more than a myth.
I guide my horse without reins or saddle, just using movements of my legs. The horse isn’t an ordinary one. Even among gods, I recognise a spirit of the forest. They decide to help me on occasion, but it’s a wary tension. Only the bravest of souls will come to spend time with me, and most rarely more than once.
I suspect he’s here more out of curiosity than any sense of familiarity.
The silence is interrupted by a freezing breeze. If I’m a recluse, then the Alpha God of Winter is a myth, but his temper these last few years has been a sight to behold. I don’t know what has got him so riled, but his winters have been frigid. Except this one just past, it was surprisingly soft, almost gentle.
The horse stops and shivers, a sign that it’s starting to panic. Something walks in the forest towards me.
I’m more curious than perturbed. I leap off the horse, and it disappears with the ice breeze. Winter is lingering longer than usual, but it lacks the bite of temper it normally has. I turn in the cool air until I sense the direction the disturbance is coming from. The walk is short and long; time bends; the forest parts; and there she is.
Her hair is silver. She’s old, and I bow respectfully to her, recognising her ilk as one even older than mine.
“Omega.”
“Do you know me?” she asks in a voice that is both ancient and young, innocent and terribly wise.
The question rattles the answer loose in my mind. “All-Seer.”
She inclines an ageless, beautiful face. “I would tell you a story, young Alpha of the Hunt, then ask a favour, a sacrifice, and I will give you a promise of something far more valuable than anything you’d ever dreamed.”
I wave my hands, and my black armour turns to robes. A wooden table with granite cups filled with the purest water appears. Bowls of berries and seeds sit on rock slabs. I sit on the wooden throne and steeple my fingers.
“I will only promise to listen and consider what you say.”
