9. Threat of Balance
9
THREAT OF BALANCE
Cassian
The Past
The Land of Entity was far too bright. The white, plush landscape of clouds embraced the High Goddess of Life and Balance’s grand temple, forcing Cassian to shield his eyes on arrival.
He stepped out of his shadow, adding much-needed contrast to the heavenly gleam, and ascended the stairs through the open entrance, supported by columns and decorated with cycads and majesty palms.
He strolled down the marble corridor and turned the corner to an entryway, its threshold covered by a veil of ivy permitting only Council members inside.
Encircling a round table made from white jade were five thrones. Each was cut from unique stones, embellished to match the owner.
“It is nice to see you, Brother,” Iliana, the High Goddess of Life and Balance, greeted with warm affections.
She sat perched on her rose quartz-cut throne, the sleeves of her chiffon dress flowing around the arms. Long, ivory strands reached her waistline. Her eyes beamed like sandstone topaz underneath the sunlight.
Without her glamor or the glowing orb she often shielded her identity with, anyone could tell she was Cassian and Acacius’s sister.
Cassian took a seat on his throne—sleek, Stygian, and unfortunately positioned directly across from the High Goddess of Fate.
“Lord Cassian.” Ruelle bowed her head in a formal greeting.
“Lady Ruelle.” With a flicker in his eyes, he scanned the alluring fabric of her beige dress, up to her auburn waves, and lingered on the contour of her full lips, aware that her eyes would gleam malevolently if he dared to meet them.
Cassian had done well to suppress his interest in the young god. It existed deep within a chasm inside of him, one he could not completely empty, no matter how much he tried. The twinge in his gut told him Ruelle could sense this.
“Such a familial welcome you give our brother when I barely get a wave, Sister.” Acacius lounged back, one elbow resting on the arm of his magnetite throne, his shoulder-length hair pulled back with pieces slipping past his temples. His golden gaze glittered playfully on Iliana. “Are you not fond of my presence like you are of Cassian’s?”
Iliana turned her attention to him, scrunching her nose, a sign of annoyance she’d expressed since they were children. “Do not jest with me, Acacius. It will not prompt an honest response from my lips.”
Acacius tipped his head back and laughed. “I missed you too, Sister.”
“What of the middle god of fire who fell to Solaris?” Azara wasted no time diving into the topics waiting to be discussed. She sat on Cassian’s right side, her vibrant red locks adorning her diamond-shaped, freckled face. She held her attention on Cassian, awaiting a reply, expression stern—never one for small talk, a trait Cassian enjoyed.
“He traveled across the Mortal Land to each of the Temples of Fire and threatened the mortals who overturned his statues,” Cassian said. “Forty-seven of the souls have emerged from the River.”
“What is the state of the god?” Iliana asked.
Cassian did well to block out the incessant tapping of Ruelle’s fingernail on the arm of her celestite throne as he replied, “Receiving punishment in Moros.”
“How long?” Azara asked.
“Since he has already lost a rank in title, I see a few centuries to be fit.”
“You could always send him down to my realm,” Acacius chimed in, smirking.
Despite his exasperation, Cassian maintained a neutral expression and refrained from rolling his eyes at his younger brother. Acacius’s realm bred chaos and ruin persistently. It tied into Moros and helped fuel the type of misery that was needed in such a prison. Cassian would never send a soul directly to Acacius’s realm, no matter how rotten they were.
Ruelle’s fingernails ceased their percussion. “And what of the young god stealing souls?”
Cassian’s back suddenly became stiff. His sharp gaze flitted over, meeting hers. “What of him?”
Ruelle gave a long blink, as if Cassian’s tone momentarily offended her.
“What is she referring to?” Iliana looked between them.
Ruelle shifted her attention onto Iliana. “Finnian, the High God of Witchcraft and Sorcery.”
Iliana fell quiet.
Cassian internally cringed. He always found her silences to be unsettling.
“A god and a mage in one. Divine power and magic,” Acacius said with a disturbing fascination dripping from his tone. “What a frightening combination.”
Cassian set his jaw. His hand moved up to rub his chin.
“We must take precautions. The mages and deities have been at odds since the beginning.” Azara leaned back in her throne and sighed. “What other pertinent information do we have about this sorcerer?”
“He practices a disturbing ritual that revives the dead. Necromancy .” Ruelle shook her head, pursing her lips to express distaste. She twisted to Cassian, pulling everyone’s focus onto him. “Lord Cassian, it shocked me to learn that you have not yet punished him. As they are your souls he is stealing.”
He glared at her with a searing heat crawling up his neck.
“It defiles the cycle of Balance, of Life and Death, Brother,” Iliana’s soft-spoken voice grew tense. “I cannot have more souls leaving my Land than the souls you have entering yours. It will cause overpopulation.”
“I am aware.” Cassian kept his tone smooth, composed, clenching his fists in his lap beneath the table. “I assure you it is under control.”
“It is crucial that we put an end to this before the other mages learn of it,” Azara said.
“You must put a stop to this sorcerer.” Iliana sat up, bringing her elbows onto the table. Her chiffon sleeves caught in the breeze, ruffling like waves of glittering cornflower. “Tell me you will take care of this.”
Cassian could feel Ruelle’s cunning stare on his cheek. It nipped at his patience, each tiny cut feeling like a sharp scalpel slicing his skin. His animosity towards her lingered in the back of his throat.
He shifted on his throne and passed Iliana a look of assurance. “Sister, do not fret. Consider the issue taken care of.”
Iliana studied his face, her brow furrowing.
There was a twinge of discomfort in Cassian’s chest as he locked eyes with her. They’d walked as High Deities for over five thousand years together. Cassian knew Iliana the same as he knew the terrain of his own Land. Every tendril of grass, every root burrowed down in its soil. Just as she knew him. He could feel her concern as she studied him, but he was relieved when she chose not to probe further.
“Very well,” she conceded and rose from the table. “Meeting adjourned.”
Azara’s shape fragmented into countless fiery embers, crackling and popping as they floated in the air.
Iliana bowed her head in parting before exiting through the ivy-curtained doorway.
Without uttering a sound, Cassian stayed firmly seated on his throne, his head swiveling to regard Ruelle with disdain.
In his periphery, he could see Acacius making no effort to move as he warily darted his gaze back and forth between Cassian and Ruelle. A hint of displeasure appeared on his face as his lips turned downward in a subtle frown.
Rising from his reclined position, he held his focus on Cassian. “Brother, perhaps it is time you return to your Land.”
“Lord Acacius.” Ruelle directed a smile at him. Though Cassian could spot the tension pinched at the corners of her mouth.
Acacius’s expression softened at the sound of her acknowledgement. “Yes?”
“Leave us for a moment. We have matters to discuss privately.”
Acacius carefully analyzed her. With a look of aversion, his brow knitted, displaying his disagreement with her request.
She held his eyes, unrelenting.
The muscles in his jaws twitched, but he nodded once. “Very well.”
He regarded Cassian with a look of unease. “Brother.” It left his mouth swiftly, a stiff goodbye.
Cassian kept his eyes trained on Ruelle, minding no effort to return his acknowledgement. Similar to Iliana, Acacius had a knack for deciphering Cassian’s thoughts and emotions effortlessly. Cassian was also aware of the sentiments Acacius held towards Ruelle, and he had done well this long without involving his little brother in their feud. Chaos would follow Acacius, like a breeze dipping into an oily flame.
A harsh hiss of his departure resonated in the air, followed by the batting of several small wings. Death’s-head hawkmoths fluttered above the table. One landed atop Cassian’s shoulder. He brushed it away.
As soon as they were alone, Ruelle’s angelic demeanor vanished. The look in her eyes glinted like steel as she inclined her head, the start of a smirk curving across her cherry-stained lips. “I’ve never seen you neglect a god in need of punishment before.”
Cassian licked his own lips, forcing himself to relax against the slab of his throne. Moths drifted between them, slowly following the others towards the dark corner of the room. “What gives you the impression that I have done such a thing?”
“The young god still roams free, performing witchcraft and harboring your souls. I find it quite satisfying, yet ironic. Do you not?” She raised her eyebrows.
Heed my warning.
Cassian squeezed his fingers deeper into his palms, resisting the urge to smooth down his lapels and meticulously inspect them for any specks of dust. Something else to focus on, besides the haunting memory that unfolded between them countless centuries ago.
“Is there a purpose to this delightful conversation we are having, Lady Ruelle?”
A light laugh sprung from her, contempt burning in her lustrous gaze. A hideousness hidden away in something beautiful. “You care for the young god, and your feelings for him burden your judgment. Because of it, you have become indecisive, which is why you have yet to curse him.”
Whoever yearns in your soul will be just in reach, but never able to fully grasp.
“This is the first deity born with magical abilities,” Cassian said in a level-headed manner. “A fact that I assume the young god isn’t even aware of. And since you cannot seem to keep your nose out of my business, let me assure you I’ve been watching him, as well as relinquishing the souls he’s taken. Lest you forget, Lady Ruelle, necromancy is sorcery. A practiced art. Any mage can replicate it, and before I curse the young god to insanity, I want to be sure I know as much information as necessary to prevent the situation from repeating itself.”
Ruelle huffed out another breathy laugh, rising from her throne. The lace material of her dress hugged her hourglass figure as she moved around the table. With every shift of her body, the lace shimmered against the bare skin of her hips.
With a smile of malice, she positioned herself next to Cassian’s throne and gracefully leaned down. Her sweet fragrance filled his nose as her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulder, lightly grazing his coat sleeve.
“Forgive my impertinence, Lord Cassian. I was only voicing my concerns because I can see the threads of each mortal and those who, unfortunately, will become tangled in the young god’s unhallowed ritual of raising the dead. You see, I do not have control over a soul once their thread is cut, as you are well aware of, therefore the Fate of those mortal souls rests in your hands. I do hope you will not take such a thing lightly.”
One day, when you know the kiss of love, all you will have left is regret.
A surge of nausea filled his stomach.
He held her eyes, allowing his silence to act as a response.
Ruelle brushed the back of her finger over his cheek, her touch stinging down to his blood.
“Farewell,” she hummed, and then she disappeared.
Cassian wandered through the swaying lavender stalks, massaging his temples with his thumb and index finger. Deities did not get headaches, but his unsettling confrontation with Ruelle remained at the forefront of his thoughts, spurring dreadful anxieties that he had a tendency to turn over relentlessly in his mind.
The High Goddess of Fate wore many faces. To the mortals, she was enchanting and compassionate, the divine being who held their destiny in the palm of her small hands. To deities, she was alluring and gallant, the divine being who had ascended onto the Council for her reputable status among the Mortal Land.
Neither was the real Ruelle. She concealed her true layers, harboring hatred and a vendetta that she was determined to make Cassian pay for—all because of something that had taken place between them many years ago.
He’d ignored her and her centuries-long grudge. To keep his fate from the crosshairs of her meddling, he attempted to avoid any prospects of love, rendering her scheme for revenge powerless. If he kept his heart closed, she couldn’t take anything from him.
A lesson he mercilessly learned after losing someone precious to him because of her meddling.
She’d waited for another round of ammunition. Mentioning the young god had not been an accident. She knew Cassian was not one to delay tasks, and that he still had yet to confront Finnian and his necromancy.
Cassian dropped his arm down to his side and fixed his attention up at the periwinkle sky, the sunrise bursting through it like a budding bulb. The breeze fluttered by, infused with the scent of lavender, causing the wandering souls to pause, lift their heads, and smile. A look of healing that unraveled a bit of the knot in his chest.
“You seem to be in some sort of distress, my lord.” Nathaira settled in the spot beside him, overlooking the souls. Her company brought a welcomed stillness.
With hands in pockets, he walked and pondered on how to translate his feelings into words.
Nathaira quietly followed at his side, hands joined in front of her, patiently waiting.
He let out a long breath. “The young god who is stealing souls has thrown off empyrean balance, and now it’s my official task to restore said balance.”
The breeze shifted and the scent of moss and elm wafted amongst the lavender. Nathaira’s fragrance uprooted memories of his mortal life, traipsing in wooded areas, covered in grime and twigs, on a hunt with Iliana, nagging at Acacius to hush. Their expeditions always ended with Cassian growing weary from arguing with them over which direction the deer tracks veered off to in the damp soil.
A simplicity he would kill to have at the moment.
“By cursing him?” Nathaira asked, her voice as tranquil as the murmuring stream.
Cassian’s eyes jumped around the myriad of souls in his view, recalling facts about each of them in the back of his mind. “Yes.”
“Excuse my straightforwardness, my lord, but it sounds to be that is not something you wish to execute.”
Cassian stopped abruptly, turning his full attention towards her.
Her waist-length hair, the shade of chicory, was pulled up, revealing the ivy crawling around her nape and down her collarbones. Green vines curled around her lace sleeves and grew from her dress, adorning the gold accents and flowing material at her feet.
“Since when do you apologize for being straightforward?” He lifted his eyebrow, insinuating a playfulness in his tone.
Nathaira cracked a smile that bunched her almond-shaded cheeks. “I was trying to be delicate with your feelings.”
“What feelings?” Shivani materialized in the space on his other side, biting into an apple. “Our lord does not have those.”
Cassian continued walking to put distance between him and the crunching of fruit between Shivani’s teeth as he recalled the time Finnian entrapped him in his own temple with a sigil. “Are you suggesting that I am devoid of feeling?”
Shivani and Nathaira followed at his side.
“You are a sea of feelings, my lord,” Shivani said before biting into her apple. She held it between her teeth and untucked her linen blouse from her baggy trousers.
Cassian stepped onto the planks of the bridge. The river was calm, a steady flow of quiet souls. He rested his elbows on the railing and peered down at the water, glistening like mauve starlight.
Nathaira claimed the spot at Cassian’s side, allowing the silence to hum between them for a short while longer.
“Do you, perhaps, have a reason you do not wish to punish the young god?” she finally asked, softly. “It has been years since you last faced him. Since, things have been quiet. No new souls have been reported missing.”
Cassian rubbed at his jaw, unsure of the clenching in his chest. “Perhaps.”
“You loathe him,” Shivani said, casually.
Cassian glanced over his shoulder at her. She settled back on her elbows against the railing across from Cassian. A bite of apple crunched and sloshed around in her mouth.
“Or rather, you are somewhere in between.” She swung her apple around in her hand as she spoke. “You despise him whilst you enjoy his presence.”
Cassian ran a hand through his hair, his jaws pulsing. She wasn’t wrong.
It was true that certain qualities of Finnian’s made Cassian want to strangle him. However, he felt content in Finnian’s presence.
Observing his tense expression, Shivani nonchalantly shrugged, as if she hadn’t revealed the harsh reality.
Cassian was grateful each day when Mavros reported no new souls had gone missing. But if he were being honest, it also disappointed him, for he had no reason to seek out the young god.
He’d agonized over it, going back and forth, questioning what kind of retribution Finnian truly deserved—only to be met with that godsforsaken memory of him digging through a trash bin to revive a dead dog. An inexcusable action. Tampering with matters that he had no right tampering with.
But then Cassian reminisced on their moment on the bank and the moonflower twirling in his fingers and the glimpse of his smile, all dimples and folds drawn around his eyes.
I want to know that version of him.
Cassian squeezed his hand around his strands and tugged at his scalp, angling his body away from Nathaira and Shivani. The resistance coiling in his gut never gave way when he imagined cursing Finnian.
He peered out at the eldritch, grim tree line of the Serpentine Forest. Nebulous fog bellowed up from its ground and into the branches of the beech trees.
“He steals my souls.” The words left his mouth forcefully, full of hostility, hoping he could somehow convince himself of the detestation he wished to feel for the young god. “Forces them to remain in their deteriorating corpses, all because of his personal objection to death. Traps them in a rock and holds them hostage.”
“You disagree with his actions,” Nathaira said, her calm and composed demeanor only fanning his childish anger. “But you understand them as well.”
His gaze fell upon the polished planks of the bridge. Iliana’s insistence on balance lingered in his thoughts. “Understanding his actions does not mean I can stand by and allow them to happen.” Overall, he agreed with the Council’s orders. Imbalance would lead to catastrophe in the Mortal Land.
Nathaira planted a palm on his back, her friendly gesture reaching down inside of him and dissolving some of his frustration. “It is okay to care about him, my lord.”
Shivani, thankfully finished with her apple, stepped up to his other side. “I have known you for two millennia and have never seen you this troubled over cursing someone.”
Cassian brought his elbows to the railing and hunched over, dropping his face in his hands. The pressure to restore balance clenched his chest, along with the giddy awareness gleaming in Ruelle’s eyes.
Nathaira’s hand slid up to his shoulder. Shivani rested her cheek on the side of his other arm.
He’d had plenty of opportunities to curse Finnian, but he’d held back each time. A reservation in his body that he didn’t comprehend. A guttural feeling that he couldn’t help but act on. Perhaps the outcome of cursing Finnian would lead to his own torment.
He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I cannot care about him.”
“Then what will you do?” Nathaira asked with a wisdom that indicated to Cassian that she already knew the answer.
Cassian pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Before he could respond to her, a sudden, startling swoosh interrupted.
“My lord.” The sense of urgency in Mavros’s tone was disconcerting.
Cassian lowered his hands and rotated to face his attendant. Nathaira and Shivani did the same. “What is it?” he asked.
Distress etched deep lines on Mavros’s brow. “You told me to report the young god’s movements if they were dire.”
Cassian’s pulse jumped. “Yes?”
“A situation has come up.”
Mavros hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting to Nathaira and Shivani, before leaping back onto Cassian.
Cassian stepped towards Mavros, fear blowing through his insides. “For gods’ sake, Mavros, what?—”
“Lady Mira sent Lord Malik, Lord Vex, and Lady Astrid, along with a hired mage, to ambush the young god.”
Cassian processed the information at lightning speed, shaking his head. “He is a god . He cannot die. What could her outcome possibly be?”
“The goal is to entrap him with a spell cast by the mage.”
Cassian’s heart sprang up in the base of his throat at the idea of Finnian suffering at the hands of his appalling siblings, entrapped in an ancient relic and the vigorous defiance in his eyes extinguishing entirely. “What is the situation now?”
“It appears they are at the young god’s home on the outskirts of a small village known as Elmwood, located in the Western Hemisphere of the Mortal Land. He lives in the cemetery there with two other mages, but they are not holding up well.”
The muscles in Cassian’s arms and shoulders went rigid as he fisted his hands. “What of his undead creatures? Are they not assisting him?”
Mavros cleared his throat, looking anywhere but directly at Cassian. “You and the Errai relinquished all his souls during your last encounter with him. Since, we have had no reports of any missing souls.”
Cassian cursed under his breath.
He knew this. It was a good thing. So why in the hell was he so bothered by it? The young god was agonizingly cunning. Had he not thought ahead?
What will you do?
Cassian rubbed at his forehead, feeling the tension squeeze up his neck. His eyes flitted around the bridge’s smooth wood in sync with his racing thoughts, all twisting in his stomach.
What if he’s hurt?
What if it is a situation I cannot fix?
What if the mage trapped him already?
Cassian’s blood ran cold.
He backed up on his heel, already rearranging his appearance to his shape-shifted form as Everett. His divine power coiled around him like sinuous limbs, with flashes of golden light illuminating the billowy blackness.
He gave each of his most loyal subordinates a look, expressing what he could not say before teleporting away.
I must go to him.