Five
The floorsof the pantheon were like ice on Creation’s bare feet.
Landing on the great balcony he had descended from hours, days, perhaps months ago—he knew of the passage of mortal time, but tracking it was unimportant to him—Creation was met with an oddly foreign world. The Light’s throne was dim, the god’s attention elsewhere, and Creation found it to be an unexpected relief.
This should be his home, but all Creation could muster was a cautious ambivalence toward it.
As Creation walked in the main room, his suspicions only grew. None of the divinities seemed to be present. Could they perhaps know his plot with Hunt?
Slight movement from behind had Creation leaping forward toward his would-be attacker. He nearly lost his balance.
“Your own shadow will begin to startle you if you stay so on-edge.” Hunt leaned against a large column, not unlike how he first met her. Her wolf paced back and forth between them.
“He’s restless, too,” Creation observed softly, more musing to himself. But Hunt surprised him with a response.
“So you can feel it then.”
“Pardon?” His eyes returned to the goddess.
“Chaos. You can feel the havoc she’s reaping.” Hunt frowned and pushed away from the pillar, heading toward the balcony.
“What’s happening?” He followed close behind on her heels.
“She’s made a rather big play,” Hunt said grimly, referring to Chaos, “and anomalies are popping up everywhere; the other gods descended to try to find her and pin her down . . . but she’s just making sport of them.”
“Has she found Destruction?” he asked quickly, his heart racing at the thought of Chaos taking the woman he loved so soon after the first taste of her.
“If she had, we would know.” Hunt buried her hand in her wolf’s fur, giving it a rough scratch. “I’m headed down there now to join the fight.”
He watched as she poised to take flight to earth, toward whatever madness Chaos had wrought. Uselessness settled on his shoulders, weighing him down. “What can I do?”
“The fact that Chaos hasn’t found her yet may be your doing already.” Hunt paused at the edge. “Your magic is a counterweight to Destruction’s. It may be helping reign her in, keep her tethers from running out so far that Chaos could easily pursue her.” The goddess tilted her head, as if ruminating on the idea. “Perhaps that’s why Chaos is beginning this assault. If she can’t hunt Destruction as she used to, then she may just be trying to burn her out like a fox in a den.”
This was the reality; Creation had no strength to refute it. Now he needed to search for usefulness beyond merely chasing Chaos like the rest of the pantheon. “Your weapon. I could make it now, while everyone is distracted. You could have your champion use it—”
“We don’t know where Chaos is, just where her magic has been wrought. I couldn’t navigate my champion there in time, and she is still being trained. However, you are speaking some sense . . ..” Her wolf gave a small huff and sat heavily on its haunches, as if frustrated with the holdup. “Come, I think I’ve found a suitable workshop for you. That is where we can begin working on the weapon.”
“Where is it?”
“Your kingdom,” she teased.
“My . . . kingdom?”
Hunt laughed. Without another word, she stepped off the balcony and disappeared, leaving Creation scrambling to catch up.
He landed on light feet at the edge of a great city (by mortal standards) made of stone and wooden shingled rooves. The air was thin and cool, a light breeze ruffling familiar trees. Creation turned, trying to place where he knew it from.
“This is—”
“Aristonia,” Hunt finished for him, beginning to walk. Once more, Creation followed without question. “It’s where you first found her. A town to the northwest of here is where you performed your first miracle for the mortals alongside Light, setting them to speak wonders of you.”
Back on the earth, he sensed Destruction once more, though vaguely. One kiss, and their bond had deepened enough that he felt he could find her nearly anywhere without Hunt’s help. But he resisted the urge. She desired him to let her go . . . for now.
“The king of the land lives here, in the capital city of Goddik, and he has decreed that the ‘Prince of Gods’”—Creation recognized the moniker the mortals had used for him—“will be his family’s patron divinity. They even repurposed a temple to you.”
“A temple?” Creation paused mid-step. “To me?”
“Sometimes I think mortals have little else to do than revere us. As if we will be able to truly do anything to help them. We can barely do anything to help ourselves right now.” Hunt came to a stop as well.
