“That was a bloodlust thing,” I protested. “And it was more about Arach going a little crazy than about desire. I was doing dragon damage control.”
Odin cleared his throat.
“Iwas.” I turned to look at Odin and finally noticed the man standing beside him. “Oh. Hello.”
The man was tall, thin, sleekly muscled—very apparent since his chest was bare, and had skin in that stunning deep brown that was nearly true-black. The kind of skin that looks polished when it perspires or—as was the case with Mukasa—when it was on a god. His hair and eyes were as dark as his skin—the hair short and the eyes full of delight. His full lips swept up in a smile.
“You must be Vervain,” Mukasa declared in a rich, melodious voice as he opened his arms to me.
Being raised in Hawaii, I was totally okay with strangers giving me hugs—it happens there all the time. But it rarely happened with gods. So, I willingly went forward to hug Mukasa but did so with a little confusion. He was warm and gave a good hug—squeezing me just enough to convey a welcome. Then he stood back, taking my upper arms in hand, and smiled again.
“I am so very happy to meet you,” he said. “You gave me back my friend.”
“I did?”
“You did,” Mukasa affirmed. “Odin was lost for many years. So very angry. Not the man I knew. Then you returned to him and look.” He waved a hand at Odin. “There he is. He even shaved that awful beard.”
“It's good to see you, Mukasa.” Odin laid a hand on the god's shoulder and squeezed it affectionately.
“You as well, Odin. And you have brought me so many new people to meet.” Mukasa stepped forward to shake every god's hand.
I looked at Odin while the introductions were made and he grinned at me. Odin really liked this man, that much was obvious and it was also obvious why. The guy was likable. I couldn't stop smiling just from hugging him. He had that kind of rare charisma that sets people at ease and makes them happy. He radiated kindness and acceptance.
“Now, why have you summoned me here today?” Mukasa finally asked.
“We're hoping that you will take us to see Adroa,” Odin said. He explained what was happening, in great detail, then waited for Mukasa's answer.
Mukasa's face had slowly sunk into sorrowful lines as he listened to Odin. When the report was over, Mukasa bent his head and took a few minutes to think. No one interrupted him—he looked too pensive and sad.
“I will take you,” Mukasa said at last. “Adroa will be pained to hear this but he needs to know and if he can help you stop Adro, it will be worth it.”
“Thank you,” Odin said gravely.
“I cannot imagine how he can help you, though,” Mukasa added. “The two halves are completely separate. I don't think he can find Adro for you.”
“Still, we need to try,” Odin insisted.
“Yes, I agree.” Mukasa held out his hands. “Form a circle, if you would.”
We gathered around his fire—the flames of which I inhaled to extinguish—and clasped hands. Mukasa nodded crisply when we were in place, then closed his eyes. The Aether opened to us and drew us through—a shivering rush of magic and intention. I became pure thought and yet, I was still connected to the others, hurtling through that in-between realm and into another.
We reformed in open air. It was a little startling but it wasn't the first time that I'd entered a god territory in the sky. The difference was, this one didn't have a path, it was just clouds and more clouds. I peered through the collection of cumulus, searching for something solid.
“Adroa!” Mukasa called. “I have brought some friends to speak with you about Adro. Will you receive us?”
In seconds, the clouds dispersed and solid ground was revealed—ground and a lush landscape. The sky retracted up to where it belonged and a crescent moon illuminated a gleaming path.
“He welcomes us.” Mukasa grinned, then led the way down the trail.
The pebbles of the path had the look of glass and barely shushed when walked upon. A few feet away from the silvery road, trees that resembled those on Mukasa's island formed a solid wall, but they grew taller than those on Bubembe and every leaf looked perfect. The grass looked just as pristine, without a single spot of brown showing through its vibrant green, and the flowers that sprouted among the glossy blades looked painted. The air didn't hold their scent, although it was fresh, and no breeze cooled our skin, though it was the perfect temperature. It felt... fake. As if picking a flower would reveal a lack of roots and a plastic stem. I've seen a lot of strange god territories but most of them—even the horrific ones—had at least the appearance of reality.
The path curved and took us through several gardens, each one different but all with that odd unreality to them. No animals rustled through the underbrush or flew overhead. No cries or caws came in response to our passage, not even the buzz of a tsetse fly. It was like walking through an art installation; I wouldn't have been surprised to see a plaque with the name of the piece. The trail ended at the steps of a white, stone building. Not a temple, just a mansion with its front door wide open. Within the arched doorway, backlit by light, stood half a man.
The half-man was as white as Adro had been black—a pure white devoid of any hint of another color. He wore half a robe, belted around his waist, and the vivid crimson of the fabric was shocking against his skin. I could see his features clearly, as opposed to my glimpse of Adro, and they added another layer of surrealism. My mind tried to register him as Caucasian because of that skin, but he wasn't. His features were definitely African: full lips, wide nose, and generous cheeks. Or cheek, rather. I would have called him an African albino except that his eye was a deep brown. His hair, short and tightly curled, was as pale as his skin and grew over the side of his face where his other half should have been, going down to about ear level. From there down, was only smooth skin.
He gave me the creeps.
Then Adroa smiled and the creepiness disappeared. He exuded as much joy and kindness as Mukasa did and when he held his single arm out, Mukasa went forward to hug him.
