Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Waking was a slow and painful process. My head was on fire, my lungs burned, and my limbs were achy and bruised. It really felt like someone had spent the last few hours using me as a football and, given who now held me captive, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that was a reality rather than a perception.
I didn’t bother moving. Didn’t bother opening my eyes. Right now, neither was wise, not until I had a full grasp of the situation, anyway. Nor did I immediately reach for the wind; instead, I just listened. To the building, to the air, to the very distant storm that raged beyond the walls of where I lay. Even making that vaguest connection to the storm hurt, though not as fiercely as it had who knew how many hours earlier. It was nevertheless a warning I wasn’t yet at full strength.
I had no sense of anyone in the room with me, and the building’s wood song, while present, was as distant as the storm. This place, this room, was made of stone, and the bed on which I lay metal—something I knew because the slats were digging into my spine. Sunlight caressed my face, its warmth muted, suggesting it was late afternoon. My hands and feet weren’t tied, which surprised me a little until I remembered who had me.
Fuck... had she done to me what I’d done to Vincentia?
I tried to move, but other than an answering twitch in my fingers and toes, I couldn’t. And this time, it had nothing to do with overextending my strength. The bitch had deep-magicked me.
I swore, long and loud, and from somewhere in the room to my left came a tinny laugh.
“The betrayer learns of her predicament” came the comment. “How delicious.”
I opened my eyes and looked around. As I’d sensed, the room was bare stone and held little in the way of furniture aside from this bed. The window to my left was grimy and barred, and what little I could see of the floor from my supine position suggested it was stone. I couldn’t see any cameras from my current, somewhat limited, field of vision, but what I did spot was a small metal speaker perched on the window’s stone sill.
“Why are you doing this, Riayn? I didn’t kill Vincentia, and I didn’t betray either you or her. In fact?—”
“You possess what should have always been hers by virtue of greater suitability and skills. You stole what had been given?—”
“That is a bald-faced lie,” I cut in brusquely. “The codex was never yours, and you had no right to gift it to her.”
She didn’t tell me to shut up, which surprised me, but simply continued on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “The knives and the Eye are now mine, but the codex is missing. Where is it, Bethany?”
I tried not to answer. Fought the words that pressed against my lips with all the strength I had, but, like so many of those I’d forced to comply, it was impossible.
I ground the answer out and then swore at her again.
“The tavern upbringing has certainly gifted you with colorful vocabulary,” she said with a laugh.
“The tavern wench will have the last laugh, Aunt. The god who made the horn is displeased with your use of it, and he hunts you.”
“The old gods disappeared from this world eons ago. I have no fear of what does not exist.”
“Tell that to Martha. She now lies wrapped in ice, her soul forever bound to her body.”
“Using godly relics always comes at a cost.” Her reply was dismissive. “It sounds like she simply raised more than she could humanly control.”
“No, she raised that force in anger and revenge, just as you directed. It is for that reason Borrhás comes for you.”
“I think the chloroform has addled your brains, my dear niece. And I, well, I’ll worry about this god of yours no more than I’ll worry about Lugh finding you in time.”
“The wise never would underestimate my brother.”
“Perhaps that is true, but I am not located in your section of the complex, and he will come for you first, giving me time to escape. And then, of course, there is the toxin that even now flows through your veins. You have no more than ten hours, my dear niece, to find help, and even if you do, survival is not guaranteed.”
My heart began to beat a whole lot faster—never a good thing if I’d been injected with something deadly. “Toxin? What fucking toxin?”
“It’s just a little natural something Stace had in her bag of tricks before I forced her on.”
Was that bag of tricks the same one we’d found in the chamber under the souterrain? The one that had held the near-empty vial of Dearil?
“Goddamn it, you’ve magicked, so why inject me? And if you intend to kill me, why not do so now?”
I’m pretty sure I knew why—she wanted me to suffer before I died. Wanted me to know I’d lost everything I held dear, just as she had. Which probably meant she had a trap waiting for Lugh here, too.
As Mathi had said, she’d well and truly leapt off sanity’s ledge.
“Because there’s always a chance you have somehow been less than honest about the codex’s location. Wouldn’t want you to die before I have that in my hands, now would I?”
“Meaning you’re retrieving it yourself?”
“Oh, I am not that foolish.”
Which was a damn shame, because Sgott would have placed the tavern under tight scrutiny the minute he and everyone else realized I was missing—and they should have by now, given that I’d missed my breakfast meeting with Mathi. “What did you inject me with?”
I might suspect, but it never hurt to have it confirmed. Besides, she would think it odd if I didn’t ask.
“What does it matter to you? You’ll be dead.”
“If you’re so certain of that, what does it hurt to tell me? Besides, you wouldn’t really want to be responsible for my death, would you, and risk the curse when you’re on the cusp of achieving all that you wanted?”
She laughed—a soft sound that reminded me of Mom’s and just made the inner anger surge all that much more. My fingers twitched again, the movement stronger this time. Was anger the key to breaking her orders? Surely not, because if it had been that simple to break pixie magic, then all the pissed-off people I’d used it on over the last few weeks would have surely broken free.
“Oh, I think I’m way past worrying about the curse, given how many lives I have now taken,” she drawled. “As for death, been there, done that. It no longer holds any fear for me.”
Meaning we were right—she had been killed and revived. “Did Peregrine Stace aid you in that bit of trickery?”
“Indeed. Shame she got a little too demanding—she’d been useful up until that point.”
“Where are my knives and the Eye, Aunt?”
“The Eye adorns my neck—such a charming cage you’ve made for it, I must say—and the knives are safely tucked away, never to be found by you and your brother. They will fetch a pretty price on the black market, I’m sure.”
“They were goddess gifted to our family, Riayn. You can’t sell them?—”
“Oh, you’re in no position to be telling me what to do. Now, be still and be quiet, dear Bethany, until I say otherwise. I have a retrieval mission to organize.”
My mouth snapped shut, and anger surged anew. I clenched my hands and then wondered why that was happening. I had no charm or other form of magical interference on me, and while the knives... I blinked. The knives countered any and all magic that attacked me. Was it possible that protection extended to a pixie’s personal magic?
It was more than possible, given the twitching that had been barely negligible when I’d first woken was increasing in intensity as the minutes ticked by. To date, the knives’ protection had only worked when I was awake and aware, so it would make sense that it hadn’t started countermanding my aunt’s magic until I’d regained consciousness.
Of course, at the current speed of disentanglement, I’d be dead before I could fully move, but maybe I could speed the process up if the knives were physically in my hands. It was worth a try and, given Riayn had said they were tucked away securely, maybe she wouldn’t even notice they were missing until the blades were at her throat and it was all too damn late to say sorry.
I closed my eyes and silently called to them. For several seconds, nothing happened, and I couldn’t help but wonder if being compelled by my aunt was somehow running interference with the signal. Then the air shimmered and the two of them thudded into my waiting hands. I gripped as tightly as I could, relief so fierce tears stung my eyes. With these weapons in my possession, I had a real chance of surviving.
The minutes continued to tick by as the knives pulsed and burned, sending a spray of purple light spiraling through the gathering shadows. Gradually, ever so gradually, the feeling of life and strength seeped back into my limbs. I carefully turned my head and examined the room more fully. It was narrow and rectangular and reminded me of a prison cell. An old, abandoned cell—something bad guys had thrown me in once before. It also explained the metal nature of the bed and the cobwebs and dust that adorned its frame and every corner of the room. The nearby window was small; the glass was cracked and grimy and the bars thick. The distance between bars was narrow; I’d barely get an arm through that gap, let alone my head or ass.
The door lay to my right and was a mix of metal and wood. No wood song emanated from it, though even if it had , I wouldn’t have been able to use it. My aunt would feel it the minute I tried to connect to or use the song’s power.
The air, my knives, and my wits were my only weapons, and there was a bit of me that couldn’t help thinking, Gods help me .
After a few more minutes, I carefully tested my limbs for movement, then slowly swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. The effort had my head spinning, and I had no idea if it was the toxin or the lingering remnants of overexertion.
I drew in several deep but silent breaths, then carefully pushed upright. Another repeat of spinning, but it didn’t last quite so long this time. I studied the speaker for a second, waiting for it to squawk to life, then slowly, carefully walked over to the door. There was no lock on this side, which made sense if this had once been a jail cell. I bent slightly but couldn’t see anything through the slight crack between the frame and the door—not even a bolt.
I raised a knife and lightly pressed it against the frame. The blade pulsed, and there was the softest fizzle of energy, accompanied by a sharp, almost metallic scent. The door silently cracked open.
I swallowed heavily to ease the sudden dryness in my throat, then gathered the air and pushed her through the gap. Minutes passed, and tension had sweat trickling down my spine. I shifted from one bare foot to the other, and it was only then that I realized I was still wearing nothing more than knickers and a T-shirt.
Great. Just great.
The wind returned, her whispers clear and sharp in my ears. The building was a two-story stone construction with a central heart and two wings. I was on the first floor of the right wing, with two men stationed down the hall and several others roaming the floor below. All of them were armed.
My aunt was located in the other wing, in an office close to an external exit.
All of which meant I’d have to be damn fast when I took out the two closest men, otherwise I risked them getting a warning out to Riayn and any others who patrolled this place.
After sending another silent prayer to gods likely more intent on enjoying the situation I was in rather than helping, I thrust the door open and sent the air spinning toward the two men at the far end of the hall. I chased after it, my steps echoing on the cold stone and my heart beating so loud it was a drum that filled the silence.
The two men turned and raised their guns, but before either of them could fire, my air-based battering ram sent them flying. One smashed back against the wall with a loud crack and dropped unconscious to the floor. The other hit the metal bars that divided this section of cells from the next and bounced back onto his feet. I swore, drew back my arm, and threw a knife... just as he fired his weapon.
I threw myself sideways. Felt metal thud into my shoulder and the explosion of pain. Hit the ground hard but somehow rolled onto my knees, the other knife gripped fiercely in my left hand while blood soaked through the T-shirt and ran down my right.
My throw might not have been fast enough, but it had been true. The man lay on his back, the knife hilt deep in his forehead.
The wind swirled around me again. The men on the floor below had heard the shot and were running toward the nearby stairs. I swallowed heavily and pushed upright, staggering sideways slightly as the stone under my feet briefly rolled and shuddered. I flung out my right hand to steady myself, only realizing the mistake when my fingers hit the wall. Waves of pain reverberated up my arm and through the mess that was my shoulder, swiftly followed by thick waves of nausea. Sweat broke out heavily across my forehead, and I breathed deep in an effort to battle the looming threat of unconsciousness.
But I was running out of time, and I didn’t need the wind to tell me that.
I pushed away from the wall and ran like a drunkard toward the metal gate and the stranger I’d killed. I pulled my knife from his head, doing my best to ignore the bits of flesh and bone and gods knows what else clinging to the blade, and then stepped over him and opened the gate.
The vibrations of movement were drawing closer, and it wasn’t just the air’s warning now; the stone under my feet echoed with the same urgent ferocity.
I shook my head, wondering whether the combination of drugs and blood loss was affecting my senses, then followed the tug of the wind to the right, away from the thunder of approaching steps. The hall was long and straight, my steps less so, but I made it to a second, smaller set of stairs before the other men appeared behind me.
I staggered down, but I was leaving a trail behind me now, bloody breadcrumbs that would lead the men who’d just reached my guards straight to me. There was nothing I could do about it. The increasingly ferocious movement of the stone under my feet and my growing lack of strength simply made it impossible to go any faster.
I hit the bottom step and staggered down the hall, following the wind’s whispers toward my aunt. She was probably aware of my escape by now, but hopefully, she’d count on her people recapturing me rather than simply running.
Movement, to my left. I raised a knife defensively, felt more than saw my attacker leap back. I didn’t dare follow up with another blow; aside from the fact I simply didn’t have the strength, I’d more than likely fall. I did the next best thing and raised a thick barrier of air between us. He hit it and bounced back hard, landing on his butt, his gun slithering away from his grip. I flipped the knife in my left hand, caught it by the blade, and smashed the hilt with all the strength I had across his face. As he fell back, my air barrier disintegrated. I didn’t bother regathering it. Doing so would take what little strength I had left.
It was a mistake. A big mistake.
I’d barely taken two steps when I was hit from behind and sent sprawling onto the floor, skinning my knees and knuckles, the knives falling from my grip as pain exploded through my shoulder and on through the rest of me. A bloody mist filled my eyes and blurred my vision, but I didn’t need to see to know what was coming straight at me.
I called to a knife, felt it thud into my left hand, then swept it back viciously. Heard him leap out of reach, heard the thick, confident chuckle that followed. He thought me easy prey.
He thought wrong.
I flung the air at him, swept him off his feet, and smashed him hard against the ceiling. Bones cracked, a sickening sound, but I was beyond caring. As he thudded lifelessly back to the now convulsing floor, I pushed upright yet again and staggered on.
But that red mist was increasing, and my strength fading as fast as the blood flowing down my arm.
If I didn’t get to my aunt soon, I wouldn’t get to her at all.
From up ahead came a soft whoomp and the sound of fighting. The violence underneath my feet increased, making it nigh on impossible to walk in anything resembling a straight line. Or maybe the floor wasn’t moving at all; maybe it, like the sound of distant fighting, was nothing more than a hallucination caused by the Dearil’s increasing grip on my system.
I didn’t know and didn’t have the time or energy to contemplate it.
I staggered on, down to the end of the hall and into a foyer that was wide and high, and, once upon a time, undoubtedly grand. But trees now riddled its expanse, reaching for skies visible through the collapsed roof, and the air held the hint of rot.
My aunt was standing on the far side, close to an exit sign. “Stop, dear Bethany.”
I didn’t.
“Stop, or you will be killed.”
I continued to ignore her. I had no idea what she saw in my expression, but fear flicked briefly through hers. She took a step back, and it was only then that I saw she was holding a gun.
“I haven’t used one of these all too often, but I figure that with the sixteen bullets at my disposal, at least one of them will prove fatal.”
I stopped. That was when I saw the limbs of trees that stood at her back, between her and the exit, were extending sharp, woody fingers toward her. I blinked, but the movement continued. Real or imaginary? I had no goddamn idea.
I shifted the bloody knife from my right hand to my left, then slowly wove the air around my fingers. My head was a mess of agony and confusion, my arm becoming number by the moment, and my knees threatening to buckle, but sheer force of will—or sheer fucking stubbornness—kept me upright and focused, at least as much as possible given the amount of blood I was losing and the drug wreaking havoc in my system.
“Give me the Eye, Aunt.”
“You are not the one giving orders?—”
“In case it’s escaped your notice, neither are you.”
A warning whispered past my ear. I half turned, saw a man attempting to creep up on me, and with a flick of air, sent him tumbling backward. Then I whipped the leash at my aunt, ripped the Eye from her neck, and brought it back to me, lightly wrapping its chain around the hilt of one of the knives. As the caged Eye touched the blade, purple lightning exploded around me, a force that was fierce, threatening, and protective.
Fear stepped fully into her expression, and her grip on the gun barrel tightened. “I have no idea what the fuck is going on or how the fuck you are doing what you are doing, but you will die in this place, right here, right now, and I will dance on your bones with bloody glee.”
And with that, she raised her gun and fired.
As she did, two things happened.
The thick wooden fingers of the trees whipped around her, pinning her arm and the gun close to her body, preventing her from getting more than one shot off.
At the same time, the floor between me and her erupted upwards and caught the bullet in its stony maw, preventing it from getting anywhere near me.
For several seconds, I simply stared, unable to believe what I’d just witnessed. It had to be an illusion, didn’t it? Perhaps these were nothing more than my dying dreams, formed in a drug-addled mind that refused to accept either defeat or death.
Then someone leapt out of the crater that had formed behind the maw, and shock ran through me.
Cynwrig. It was Cynwrig .
No, I thought hazily, it couldn’t be.
My knees gave way, and I started to topple. He caught me and swept me into his arms, holding me close to his big, warm body.
I pressed a bloody hand against his chest. Felt the furious thunder of his heart under my fingertips.
“You’re real,” I murmured. “You’re actually here.”
“That I am, my dearest Bethany.”
His voice rolled over me as sweetly as any kiss, deep, warm, and familiar. It held a touch of amusement, but there were deeper emotions running in the background that had my foolish heart dancing.
I licked my lips, fighting the blackness and the rising urge to just let go and slip into unconsciousness. “But... how? Why?”
“The how doesn’t matter right now. As for the why, well, did I not once vow that no one would ever take you away from me?”
“Eljin has.”
“Not in any way that matters.”
“But—”
“No buts. No more questions. You need to conserve your strength, and we need to get you to the hospital.”
“We?” I said, my voice fading fast.
“Mathi is with me.”
“The trees,” I realized. “He moved the trees.”
“Accelerated their growth more than moved, but yes.”
“Tell him—” I stopped, struggling for the strength to finish, knowing I could die if I didn’t. “Dearil. Tell him she gave me the Dearil.”
And with that, unconsciousness claimed me, and I knew no more.
I woke to a soft, rhythmic beating. I listened for a very long time, comforted by its presence and the fact that it meant I remained alive, despite my aunt’s best efforts. Beyond the small room in which I lay came the everyday noise of a hospital, though it was muted, suggesting some sort of noise shield was in place.
If there was, it had failed to counter the loud, somewhat guttural racket coming from my right. It was a sound that had haunted my nights back in the days when we were kids and shared the same room. I smiled and opened my eyes. Lugh was asleep in a chair, his big feet propped on the end of the bed, his arms crossed, and his head tilted back. A vague sense of déjà vu rolled through me, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d maintained his bedside vigil this time.
“And she wakes,” a soft voice to my left said.
Mathi, sitting in the other chair, looked relaxed even if his features were rather drawn.
“She does,” I replied with a smile. “How long was I out?”
“Three days.”
“Three?” I said, surprised. “The bullet wound wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh, it was, but specialists were able to knit it together without too many complications. It was Dearil that caused the problems—they had to keep you under while the healers chased it through your system and repaired its effects. Apparently, had you spent a few more hours in that place without treatment, they would not have succeeded.”
Meaning I really had been lucky. Or was it not so much luck as the gods being unwilling to let their major player leave the game so soon?
“How did you find me?”
“I didn’t. Cynwrig did.”
“But... how?”
He shrugged, a small but elegant motion. “Something to do with being in tune to your unique resonance on earth and stone.”
“I had no idea something like that was even possible.”
“Nor I,” he said dryly. “And I’ve known dark elves, and Cynwrig, for more years than you’ve been alive. I suspect there is more to the skill than what he mentioned, but he stonewalled any further questions.”
“I take it he’s back at the compound now?”
“Once it was certain you would survive, yes.”
That he’d stayed here even that long was surprising, given the edict of no fraternization with non-elf lovers. “And my aunt? What happened to her?”
“I might have squeezed a little too hard when I wrapped her in tree limbs.”
“She’s dead?”
He nodded. “And currently on ice in a morgue, waiting for your recovery so that she can be taken to Borrhás.”
“Thank you,” I said softly.
He raised a pale eyebrow in query. “For what?”
“For saving me from the task.”
“Ah.”
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. We both knew that that was exactly why she’d died in the arms of those trees, though not because he feared I wouldn’t do it. He knew that guilt would have haunted my dreams for years to come.
He pushed upright. “I should go ring Cynwrig. He asked to be informed the minute you woke.”
My silly heart did its usual dance, and I did my best to ignore it. After all, while he’d literally moved earth, if not heaven or hell, to find me, nothing had really changed. Not his restrictions, not the danger to my heart.
“And Eljin?”
“Lugh rang him yesterday. I daresay he’d appreciate a more personal update.”
I smiled. “I would, except I’m not seeing my bags or even my phone in the vicinity.”
“That’s because they’re in IIT hands. Sgott had forensics going over them to glean clues?—”
“What about my knives and the Eye?”
“Lugh’s secured them. You want me to fetch a cup of tea while I’m out making the call?”
“That,” Lugh said gravely as he opened his eyes, “has to be the stupidest question ever.”
I laughed. “No, the stupidest question ever would be asking me if I wanted chocolate.”
“Which,” Mathi drawled, “you’re not allowed to have until the docs do their rounds and clear you.”
I glanced hopefully at my brother as Mathi left. “Meaning I can get out of here today?”
“No, because they want to keep you under observation for another twenty-four hours. But all things being equal, you should be out of here tomorrow.”
“Well, good, because we’ve still got shit to do and an impatient old god to deal with.”
He nodded. “Sgott has decided we need to attach a tracker to you, because you seem determined to keep getting yourself kidnapped.”
I grinned. “It’s only happened twice.”
“Neither of us wish a third time.”
“I don’t either, I can assure you of that. But I’m not having a bug in my body that allows anyone to know my location at a moment’s notice. I have a private life, and I wish it to remain that way.”
He sniffed—an indication there would be discussion on this matter at a later point.
I moved said discussion onto safer subjects, and time slipped by slowly. The healers came through late afternoon, and after a thorough examination, declared me fit to leave in the morning. Which was annoying, but there was no arguing with them.
Mathi brought me in a bag of newly purchased clothes to change into, then his driver whisked all of us back to Deva, dropping Lugh home first before continuing on to the council chambers. A white van waited out the front of the building, and Dhruv Eadevane inside.
The van’s driver wheeled her in this time, presented a clipboard to Eadevane to sign, and then cheerfully went back outside, not to his van but rather across to the smokers’ section, no doubt to wait for the return of his trolley. As he lit up a smoke, Mathi undid the bindings and then glanced at me. “Ready?”
I crossed my arms and nodded. He flipped off the shroud, revealing the fact my aunt remained wrapped in wicked wooden fingers. He hadn’t taken any chances, even after he’d crushed her.
But what I noticed, more than anything, was the fact that she looked every bit as frozen as Martha, despite the fact she would have been stored in a cool room rather than a freezer.
Borrhás had already claimed her, even if she wasn’t yet physically in his possession.
I rubbed my arms and said a silent goodbye to the woman my mother had once loved so much. While her actions had betrayed me, they’d also betrayed my mom—and it had all started with Riayn’s theft of the codex and the insane belief that her daughter deserved everything I had.
Mom, had she lived, would have grieved her sibling’s downfall but not the manner of her death. I felt that within every inch of my being.
Once Eadevane had made a record of Riayn’s receipt, Mathi tugged the shroud back over her body and secured it in place.
“Same procedure as before?”
I nodded. In truth, we could have carried her easily enough, but I just didn’t want to physically touch her. “At least this time I’m not on the cusp of collapse.”
“No, but I’ll still have a mug of tea waiting for when you come back out.”
“You really are the best friend.”
“I believe that I am, though I remain determined that it once more shall become a ‘friends with benefits’ situation.”
I laughed, kissed his cheek, then headed up in the elevator to the second floor. Once I’d reached Liadon’s door, I once again opened the door, shouted down to warn them, and then leashed my aunt with air and brought her back up. Then I sent her through the open door and followed her in. The door closed behind me, and darkness briefly dominated.
Liadon’s orb appeared. “Please follow us, Bethany.”
Us? I scanned the area but had no sense of anyone or anything being present other than the orb through which she spoke. Did that mean the orb itself had sentience? I guess anything was possible in this world between worlds.
The orb’s green light washed over my aunt’s body, easing her from my grip then guiding deeper into the tunnel. I followed and, as my eyes became more used to the darkness, realized we were on a different path, one that appeared to curve flatly around rather than dive deeper into the earth or air or whatever this place truly was. We were obviously going somewhere other than the cavern and its solitary chair.
We more we walked, the more translucent the black walls became. Once again, shadows examined me from the other side, fantastical creatures that resembled myths of old, and human figures that did not.
Eventually, we reached what looked to be a small antechamber with several doors leading off it.
“Please stop in this room and wait,” Liadon said. “There is someone who wishes to speak to you.”
“Borrhás?” I said, with more than a little trepidation.
She didn’t answer, and her orb guided my aunt’s body through the door directly ahead. It closed with a thump that reverberated softly through the room and had my heart rate accelerating. I flexed my fingers in an effort to remain calm, and looked around, though I dared not move. The room was made of the same black stone as the rest of this place, but held none of its smooth luminosity. In fact, the bits of brownish red that streaked its surface rather oddly looked like earth, making me wonder if we were closer to the surface than the journey down here had implied.
The door to my left opened, but for several seconds, nothing else happened and no one stepped through. I frowned, wondering if the door’s opening was a rather ominous invitation I was supposed to accept, but as I stepped toward it, a man appeared.
A man who was tall, thickset, and handsome. A man who had long silver hair and storm-clad eyes. A man whose aura was both powerful and thunderous.
“Who are you?” I whispered, even as instinct stirred.
He smiled. It was my smile, wrapped in male features.
I took a step back. I just couldn’t help it.
This wasn't any old storm god.
This was my father.