“Have you seen Hami?” Yaelic asks Qia, but she shakes her head.
“I was told he’s here,” she says. “We can look for him tomorrow. I’m sure you’re both tired.”
Once, he was. Now that he’s stepped inside Gyeosi, it’s like he’s been recharged. As though drinking in the air here and filling his lungs with the fresh smell of leaves sticky with their life-sap and earth wet from the rains has given him a new reason to be awake.
Still, there’s an air of unease running through the village, an undercurrent. Basuin can’t tell what it is, but as they pass by the open clearing at the center of the village, a group of women are sitting on their knees and crying. They bow their heads low over a blanket spread with someone’s belongings. Someone dead.
One of them looks up, toward the sky, but catches sight of Basuin. He looks away but their sobs continue.
“Elka,” they cry for the sun god. “Stop the fires they brought here. Stop them from salting our home.”
The image of Shaelstorm, cleared by fire and wood axes, burns his mind the way the legion has burned through the forest. The wolf-man nips at his sternum, his heart-bone. Basuin doubts even Elka, who bloomed the sun and throws it to rise and fall, could stop the legion. Ithika, god of the oceans, couldn’t either.
He still doesn’t know why Kensy brought them here in the first place. Kensy wouldn’t have known of spirits like these, of gods on the island.
Then, quieter, from a girl who wouldn’t be old enough to even join the legion, a scoff. “Pray to our god,” she seethes. “Ask our god to do something about the godsdamned army.”
Across the way, he spots her—the Forest God, again. She’s standing among a group of two others—a tall, tall man draped in long and heavy robes, whose dark hair falls in straight lines down his back and shoulders to trail the ground, and a shorter, glaring creature with dozens of thin white scars standing out among their dark skin. They find Basuin first, beady eyes narrowed at him. Then, the taller spirit looks as well, much more at ease. Curious, if anything.
The Forest God doesn’t look at all. But she bids them goodbye with a nod of her head, then turns to walk in Basuin’s direction. They bow to her as she goes.
“Are you afraid of heights?” she asks, completely out of the blue. The first words she’s spoken to him since he entered Gyeosi.
He snorts. “No.” He wouldn’t be a legion captain if he was. Soldiers, good soldiers, can’t afford to be afraid of anything at all. Basuin doesn’t fear even death. Not anymore.
When Yaelic answers similarly, she nods. “There’s a hut for you two, beds to sleep in.”
“And Hami?” Yaelic asks again, a thread of pleading mixing in his tone. The Forest God’s whole demeanor shifts and softens to something gentler.
“He’s safe,” she tells him. “He’s staying with Ko, the oak tree.” She gestures toward the towering man and his unsociable companion. “You can visit him in the morning.”
Yaelic shifts from foot to foot, fist balling in the dirtied fabric of his robe. “Okay, Am-sa.”
The Forest God’s eyes slide to Basuin, scanning over him yet again, and he prickles under her gaze. The hand he’s clutched to his chest, on the left side, falls. Out of muscle memory, his spine straights and his shoulders roll back for routine inspection. Her eyes narrow, tracing the hard lines of his body. What is she looking for in him—proof that he’s dangerous still?
Good. Basuin is dangerous. He hopes that everyone in his village knows it.
Then, she turns her back to him without saying another word. Qia scrambles to catch up, walking alongside the Forest God at double her pace to stay in tune. The Forest God is smaller than he thought. Qia’s just a child, small and barely taller than the Forest God’s waist. But the god herself, though fierce with her presence alone, is much shorter than Basuin.
He would tower over her if they stood toe to toe. He doesn’t want to get close to her.
They’re led to a larger house, one built on a platform that seems as if it were cut from a fallen oak; round and thick, like a saucer. When she pushes the maroon cloth aside to let him in, the interior of the hut is bigger. More room has been carved out of the tree it’s built into, creating a large space in the front and an area for a few beds in the back.
It’s not so different from the bunks in Ha’riste, the ones for squadrons, not much bigger than the length of a bed and enough space for a personal trunk and a washing basin. The captain’s bunk, of course, was bigger. Not that Basuin ever spent much time there. He was a war hero, on the front lines. Not a political pawn.
“Qia.” The Forest God gestures for the deer-girl. “Fetch them some water, please.”
“I’ll go with you!” Yaelic lunges for the chance, even as Qia’s cheeks pinken at his enthusiasm.
“Sure,” she stutters. “Of course.” Then, with a whip of her long ponytail, Qia skitters out of the hut and Yaelic follows, skipping down the bark stairs.
“Don’t worry, Forest God,” he mocks before she has a chance to speak first. “I’ll leave for Shaelstorm in the morning.”
“Good luck.” Whatever gentleness moved in at Yaelic’s presence is gone, replaced by cold, hard eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be accepted back easily, Wolf God.”
“Don’t call me that.” He takes a step toward her out of necessity. The Forest God takes one step backward, out of his reach. “I’m not a god. I’m just a man.”
She stares him down. “Do you truly believe that?”
