27. Ruen
Chapter 27
Ruen
P eople lie. It’s a fact of life I’ve come to understand implicitly well. And if people lie, then so, too, do Gods. They are—by Caedmon’s own admission—after all, just people. Different people. People with power and strength beyond the ancestors of this world, but people nonetheless.
Kiera’s lies, however, only serve to make my chest ache. Whether she realizes it or not, keeping her emotions wrapped inside is a lie. A lie to herself that will slowly but surely erode her from the inside out. I should know, after all, I have the scars from my own attempts to do the same.
As darkness falls, I slip from the dorm residential halls down below. Through the great hall, I follow the pathway that Kiera and her spider’s mental map had taken me several days prior. When I reach the wall behind which the stairwell to the lower prison resides, I’m struck anew by how well-hidden it is.
The light guiding my steps flickers as if my power has waned since the last time I came down here. I pause at a point on the stairs as it goes out entirely. Sweat coats my nape and it takes several long moments of concentration for me to get the illusionary flame to return. It’s dimmer, but this time, it doesn’t go out as I descend the rest of the way and head down the lower corridors.
As my footsteps near the cells that house both Caedmon and Kiera’s mother, the sounds of their movements echo towards me. I stop in front of them and bring the satchel I’d carried with me around and lower it to the ground.
“Ruen.” Caedmon approaches the bars of his cell. He looks healthier than before. Still gaunt, of course, the small tidbits of food and supplies that Kalix had delivered via his serpents couldn’t truly erase the look of imprisonment, but his eyes are brighter, far more alive.
“I’ve brought more food,” I tell him, scanning the ground of their cells. “The snakes brought you some before, yes?”
“It’s hidden.” This comes from the woman, Ariadne, as she too approaches the front of her own cell, hands coming out to grasp at the bars. The rattle of chains draws my attention to her ankles and wrists.
Dark links hang from the cuffs wrapped around her slender limbs, but they’re not tied together. A quick glance over at Caedmon reveals the same, though his chains blend in well with the color of his skin, making it harder to see.
I’d been so shocked at their presence the last time I’d come here that I hadn’t even really noticed that they weren’t just locked behind brimstone bars, but that they have cuffs and chains made of the same material to weigh them down. I should have thought to bring something else—perhaps a tool of some sort that could free them from their shackles.
I withdraw several packages of the stale bread that Kalix’s serpents had procured from the dining hall after hours. Splitting the bundles in half, I hand one to Caedmon and then the other to Ariadne before going back for the canisters of water.
The two imprisoned Gods take the gifts with gratitude and hide them in the back of their cells behind stones and rocks before coming back to the bars. I don’t miss the way Ariadne’s eyes scan the area around me and then try to peer down the corridor as if looking for her daughter, but even if I did, there’s no failing to notice her words.
“Where is my daughter?” she asks, eyes the same color as Kiera’s landing on me. Unlike Kiera’s though, they’re somehow more vibrant, crackling with untapped energy.
I remove the book from the satchel and hold it at my side. “She’s not coming.”
Ariadne keeps her body from revealing her reaction. Her face doesn’t change or twitch in disappointment, though I know she is. Above my head, the illusion of my light flickers again and I know I need to hurry this along.
Stepping up to Caedmon’s cell, I thrust the book at him. “Your book of prophecies is no longer speaking,” I tell him. “We need answers and it’s remained blank ever since you ... were brought here.”
Caedmon doesn’t take the book from me; instead, his eyes are on the light hovering over us. “What’s wrong with your powers?” he demands.
I grit my teeth and tap one of the tooth-like bars of his cells with the edge of the tome to get his attention back to the matter at hand. “The book, Caedmon,” I say. “I need to know why it isn’t giving us any more information.”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, his hand shoots out between the bars and latches on to my wrist. I jerk in surprise as the book falls from my hands and clatters to the ground, pages flying open as dust rises up. Caedmon’s nearly black eyes seek mine out and he doesn’t even seem to notice that the sharper edges of the bars are digging into his hand.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I glance down to find that blood has already started to pour from his wounds, plopping onto the dirty stone beneath our feet. “Fuck, Caedmon.” I try to yank myself away, but he grips tighter.
“You didn’t,” he hisses. “Tell me you didn’t.”
Frowning, I attempt to pry him from my wrist with the fingers of my free hand. “Didn’t what?” I snap. “What are you talking about?”
“The Traiectus Ceremony.”
My fingers stop tearing at his as I turn my head to Ariadne at her answer. “The what?”
“The ceremony of transference,” Caedmon snaps, shaking me slightly. The movement causes the sides of the bars to slice into him even more. Blood drips faster over his flesh onto the floor.
“I don’t…” I blink and try to remember the night of the Cleansing. Images of fire and statues and wine and … skin on my skin invade my head. Despite the drink that Kalix had forced us to take to ease the pain afterward, merely trying to recall that night still leaves me with a lingering sense of foreboding and soreness at my temples.
“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth,” Ariadne suggests. Her voice is calming.
I do as she commands. In through my nose, inhaling until my chest squeezes with the lack of space and then expelling it through my mouth. I repeat the action several times, dimly hearing her voice, though she’s not talking to me. After the pain in my head eases, I blink my eyes open, realizing that I shut them, and find that my arm has been released and Caedmon is standing back from the bars, staring at me with an unfamiliar expression on his face.
“I don’t know what the Traiectus Ceremony is,” I repeat. “But the Gods called us for a Cleansing ceremony a few nights ago.”
Caedmon continues to stare at me, not speaking. It’s Ariadne that steps forward and begins asking me questions. “What did they have you do?” she demands.
“I…” The pain from before lingers at the edges of my mind as if waiting for a chance to come racing back. “I don’t really remember much,” I finally say. “It was held in the garden of statues,” I tell her. “There was a large fire and we were told to rub the ashes on ourselves when they fell on us.”
Her face blanches. “Was there drink there?” she asks.
“Yes.” I nod, that much clear in my mind. “It tasted so good … the best thing I’ve ever had. There was music and everyone danced.” The wine, though, that was what I still remember. My stomach turns and gurgles with need. My hands shake as I raise them to my head. “The wine was?—”
“It wasn’t wine.” Ariadne’s voice interrupts my words.
I look at her. “It wasn’t?”
“It was a spell,” Caedmon finally says, his voice guttural and strained. “A very old spell meant to transfer the abilities of the strong to the weak.”
“One of the side effects is the loss of inhibition and memory,” Ariadne says.
The sense of something lost that I’d felt the morning after the Cleansing ceremony returns with full force. Slowly, I lower my hands to my sides and stare at the two Gods. The only thing separating us are the fangs of their cages. My mind is drawing conclusions from their words, but I’m afraid to confirm them.
The light above us flickers again. This time, no one looks at it. My back aches. My skull pounds. More sweat dampens my palms and I close my eyes to try to keep my emotions contained as I focus more energy on keeping that little flame burning. I’ve never had to work this hard and that is yet another piece of evidence that I no longer need.
“They didn’t take it all,” I murmur, reopening my eyes once the light flares a bit and I feel more in control. “Why?”
Ariadne shakes her head, her forehead puckering as the two silver lines of her brows draw together. “I don’t…” She doesn’t finish the statement, choosing instead to look at Caedmon as he speaks.
“The Traiectus Ceremony can be performed by itself,” he states. “But in combination with two others, it can cause great catastrophe.”
“What kind of catastrophe?” I demand. My heart pounds inside my chest, the sound growing louder in my ears.
His eyes leave mine and go to the ground. I trail him and realize he’s staring at the book. Reaching down, I pick it up and hold it back out to him. It might be a little difficult to get it through the bars without him getting cut, but he reaches for it this time and finagles it through the slender openings where the bottom teeth and top ones meet.
“That old fucking fool.” I blink as Caedmon practically spits the words, holding the book.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse,” I mutter, still surprised.
He raises his eyes to me. “I rarely do,” he replies, “but in this instance, it’s warranted.”
“Is it worse than what he’s already doing?” I ask. “Kiera said that when she took a look into his mind that she saw the taboo—that he and the others on the God Council have been sucking the Divinity from Mortal Gods to extend their lives and keep up the facade.”
“Kiera saw into Tryphone’s mind?” Ariadne asks, reaching out and gripping the bars.
My gaze flicks to her as I nod my answer before returning to look at Caedmon.
“It’s not worse,” Caedmon speaks slowly as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s the same thing, simply on a much larger scale.”
“How large?”
“She’s seen into the God King’s mind and he hasn’t killed her?” Ariadne interrupts before Caedmon can answer me.
I scowl her way. “No, he hasn’t killed her. He probably doesn’t want to admit that he wasn’t able to steal into her mind. That’s the only reason she was able to get into his.”
Ariadne shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”
“What?” Distracted by her words, I turn my attention from her to Caedmon and back again. “What do you mean?”
Her knuckles whiten as she tightens her hold on the bars to just the point of breaking her own skin. “You know that not all Mortal Gods inherit their abilities,” she says, pausing to ensure that I nod my agreement. When I do, she continues. “Despite that, a certain percentage do inherit their abilities, small though it is. Kiera has already proven that she has some of my abilities, but if she was able to slip into Tryphone’s mind, perhaps she’s inherited some of my parents’ abilities as well.”
“Mortal Gods usually only have one ability though,” I say.
“Usually,” she agrees with a sharp jerk of her chin. “But not always. If Tryphone hasn’t killed her for countering his attempt to get into her head, then he must already suspect that she is my daughter—his granddaughter.”
“That doesn’t seem to matter to him,” I tell her. “She was at the Cleansing—” I shake my head. “Or the Traiectus ceremony as well. She’s experiencing the same thing we all are.”
Ariadne’s shoulders slump at that information. “Oh, I see.” It’s clear to me then, that perhaps Ariadne had hoped that in spite of her own circumstances, her daughter would be safe if the God King accepted her. Despite knowing how Kiera feels about the woman, I can’t help but pity the Goddess. I wish I could say something to comfort her, but there are no words for our situation. There is no amount of comfort I could give that would eradicate the fact that she is down here and we are up there. That we could all die at any given moment at the will of the cruel race of beings that enslaves us all with illusions of peace.
“You must be careful of the next ceremony to take place,” Caedmon says, interrupting our quiet thoughts.
I turn back to him. “Do you know what it will be?” I ask, trying to think back to what had been announced by Azai.
“ Venatus ,” Caedmon replies. “They may ask you to kill something. To show your power still.” He presses into the bars. “Do not fall victim to it.”
“So we shouldn’t kill anything?” What about the Gods themselves?
“Not before the first quarter moon that will occur on the Equinox,” Caedmon says. “And certainly not at their behest.”
“Okay.” I nod my understanding. “I’ll warn the others. We’ll be wary.”
“For the third ceremony, they’ll host a celebration of sorts—or so it will seem,” he continues. “It’s not. It is Sollemnitas , the consumption of your kill. It is the final piece to what they need.”
“Power,” I guess aloud.
He dips his chin. “All of it,” he says. “The more who participate, the more power they will yield. They are harvesting the abilities of the students.”
“So that’s why they had Perditia come too.” I glance down to the floor and back again. “But … why aren’t there any Ortus students?” I ask. “I haven’t seen any?—”
“Oh, dear boy,” Ariadne says, cutting me off. A bitterness steals into her words.
I pivot to face her, frowning at the waif-like position she’s taken. Her body sways behind the bars of her cage. “Don’t you get it? Ortus has never been an Academy. No Atlantean ... or God”—she pauses just long enough to chuckle at the reminder of what they are, and what they are not—"would ever want to come here if they weren’t forced to. This place is and always has been a prison.”
There’s no surprise in me just as there’s no hint of optimism in her.
“Ruen.” Caedmon draws me back to him and I find it easier to step closer to his side than the Goddess of Shadows. He wiggles the book out from between the bars again, and as I take it, I notice the marks on the edge of the pages.
Flipping the book open, I frown at the symbols written there, red staining to black on the yellowed parchment as it seeps beyond the first page and into the next and the next and beyond. The longer I stare, the more transparent the liquid becomes until it disappears altogether.
“What did you do?” I ask.
Caedmon rubs his hand where blood is starting to slow and I realize that must be what he’d used to write in the book. “Because of my imprisonment, my abilities are far weaker than usual,” he tells me.
I watch as he flips his wrist over and taps the side of his shackle. It doesn’t move. I frown and lean forward, nearly pressing my forehead into the bars. There’s a bit of space between his flesh and the brimstone cuff, so it should be able to turn slightly even if it can’t be slipped off.
Caedmon offers me a vague smile. “Bolts,” he murmurs in answer to my unspoken curiosity. “Bolts of brimstone are bound through our wrists, keeping us here. The book likely hasn’t been working despite the proximity because as I am weakened, so too is its ability.”
I am silent as I take in the information. It’s good to know that the book is tied to him this way, but the cruelty of this kind of imprisonment only acts as a reminder of the blood that runs through my own veins. Azai and Tryphone are no different. Cruel and greedy beings as they are.
Tightening my grip on the book, I manage to scrape out another question, though the words on my tongue taste like ash. “What happens if”—I swallow roughly—“you die? Will the book simply remain empty after that?”
Caedmon shakes his head. “I don’t believe so,” he admits. “I think the last of my ability will pass on to it and it will actually draw strength after my death, but … I don’t know for sure. No one else with an ability for foresight has ever created a book of prophecies.” His eyes linger on the tome in my hand.
I hear what he doesn’t say. If Tryphone were to find this and know that information, then he might kill Caedmon rather than keep him imprisoned. A book, after all, is far more controllable than a living, breathing man.
“I will come back,” I promise him. “You will be free before this is all over.” I glance at Ariadne. “You as well,” I tell her.
“Freeing us now would be a mistake,” Caedmon says. “But when the time is right…” He glances to the woman before me. She looks so much like Kiera that it makes a piece inside my chest ache.
“I understand,” I say, “but regardless of mistakes made, we won’t leave you down here forever. We will not forget you.”
Ariadne nods and takes a step further into the darkness of her cell. “Just remember Caedmon’s warnings,” she urges. “And…” She disappears into the shadows, but her voice echoes from it as she finishes the last of her request. “Take care of her, Ruen. Take care of my daughter.”