Chapter 22
The story of Sa-cha is a bloody one, like most stories he knows. It’s a story of creation, but the way his mother told it, a story of peace. Stories of peace, he knows, are bloody in the same way that stories of war are. Because peace can only exist on the back of war.
How are gods born? Sa-cha bled them into existence. Out of his wounds, he created new life. The Winter River began as a place of birth, but once mortals were created and things could die, it became a place of rest.
Creation and extinction; life and death. What could something so sacred give to mortals?
Basuin has to find out. He made his choice, he stayed to protect the forest. Now, he needs to figure out why Kensy came to this island so he can get there first.
Otherwise, Kensy might do the unfathomable—the only option Basuin can assume from all these guessing games he’s been playing since he arrived in Yesua.
If Sa-cha’s shrine is what Kensy searches for, and Sa-cha’s shrine guards the Winter River, then Kensy’s out to destroy it. Without the Winter River—without Sa-cha himself—gods might cease to exist altogether.
Who built man? Kensy asked him in Shaelstorm.
* * *
The abandoned village, at the very least, is the perfect place to camp for a few nights.
It’s not as well built as Gyeosi is—was—but it’s familiar.
In the fire pit, huge flames made of magic roar across the small village.
Bass doesn’t know if the sweltering heat of the night is from that or from the anger and shame burning him up from the inside.
He sits alone, on the far side of camp, shoveling rice into his mouth. Across the fire, Ren sits between Ko and Qia, pointedly ignoring him. Yaelic is chattering Qia’s ear off, while Haaman eats quietly next to Ko.
Once again, Basuin is the outcast among the people he fights alongside. He didn’t miss it—when Ren called the army “them,” rather than referring to the legion as his. Betraying her trust has lost him that privilege, surely. Bass never meant to betray her trust.
Ignorance is such bliss, until it crumbles.
Ren laughs aloud, all church bells and glee. It washes over him even from so far away, grip on his wooden cup crushing as Ren elbows Ko in jest. Something floods him, all bitter but filling him up until he’s swollen with it. Envy, and desperation, flavored by something a little mean.
He wishes he could make Ren laugh like that. Like she’s just a woman with no cross to bear, no duty weighing on her thin shoulders. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to make her laugh like that. Not just a god, but someone once human. Like him.
Then, a blue-inked bruise blots the back of Ren’s thigh. Out of nowhere. Edges purpling as it disperses through her skin. She doesn’t even flinch, so he flinches for her. Bass is on his feet in an instant, storming over to her, his mission to fix it, fix it, fix it.
Ko turns his head as Bass approaches, but Ren doesn’t even move. He lays a hand on her shoulder. “You’re hurt,” he says.
And Ren shrugs off his touch. Ignoring him. He draws his hand back like she’s slapped him. Ren doesn’t say a word to him, doesn’t look at him, doesn’t do anything. She snubs him completely.
It makes him want to snort. How childish. This woman who claims that she is nothing more than a god is giving him the cold shoulder. How petty.
How human.
It almost wrangles a smile out of him, but then Ko leans over and says, “Allow me, Am-sa.” With a yellow-green glow of magic, Ko passes his hand over the bruise that’s formed.
Not touching Ren, but glossing over her skin.
As easily as Ko breathes, he heals the wound that the forest has dealt Ren, smiling all the way.
Basuin burns with a new jealousy. It’s fierce and biting and he can’t explain why it chokes him. He shouldn’t feel so heated over this. He should be grateful that Ko eases Ren’s pain.
He should apologize to her. It would make this rotten feeling in his stomach disappear. Eat the envy out of him.
The wolf-man rolls onto its back, paws in the air, sneezing with a laugh.
“Thank you, Ko.” Ren’s voice is almost startling. Basuin stares at the back of her head for far too long, willing her to look at him. If she would only look at him, he would apologize.
But then Ren does look at him. She whips her head back to him, glaring at him from over a stiff shoulder as if to say, You’re not welcome here anymore.
Basuin takes a step back, and when Ren tosses her hair back and returns to her dinner, he turns and leaves.
Maybe there’s no apology that will make Ren forgive him. But Basuin made a promise to her, and if she won’t help him figure it out, then he’ll figure it out himself.
He needs to learn to be a god before Kensy gets what he wants. And then he needs to learn what Kensy wants, so he can stop Kensy from getting it, from destroying the forest entirely.
It’s no longer a duty. It’s a necessity.
When the camp disperses for the night, Bass catches Ko alone for a moment. It isn’t planned, but instinctual. Ko seems like the best option out of all the choices he has in camp—since Ren has decided to ignore him.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, feeling more diplomatic than ever before. Smart, for the first time.
A sleepy smile raises Ko’s lips as he tucks his hands in the sleeves of his robe. “Of course. What is it that I can do, Wolf God?”
Basuin winces, and Ko notices. “Basuin,” he amends. “How can I help?”
They walk to a circle of sitting stones, ground flattened in paths worn through years and now abandoned. A deep guilt boils in Basuin’s gut as he follows the footholds to sit across from Ko.
“You’ve been a part of this forest for a long time,” he says. “You must know much about the gods.”
Ko laughs, a quiet chuckle. “Are you calling me old?” Before Basuin can jump to refute, Ko continues.
“You would be right to.” Ko leans back on his hands, long curtain of black hair falling in seams over his shoulder.
“I am very old now. Much too old for war, though it is here anyway. How inconsiderate.” Ko looks at him, but he wears a joking smile.
Basuin’s mouth is dry. “I’m sorry.”
Ko shakes his head. “No fault of your own.” It’s the first time anyone has said that to him.
Ko, perhaps, is the only spirit in this forest that’s never looked at Basuin like he was just a soldier, nor a god, and without hostility.
“Yes, I know of the gods. I wouldn’t say I know as much as you might think. ”
“More than I do.”
“Yes.” Ko chuckles again. “More than you would. So perhaps I can help.”
Bass squeezes his fingers into fists, stretches them out, and then curls them again. “Where did the gods come from—and why do they possess us?”
Ko hums in thought. “Those are good questions to ask, though hard to answer, as many things are.”
“I died,” Basuin says, “and was brought back as a puppet.”
At that, the wolf-man opens its jaws wide and snaps a chunk of his lung off to snack on. He coughs.
“Not quite a puppet,” Ko says. “More akin to a shrine, of sorts.”
He blinks. “What?”
Ko leans forward now, sleeves falling to reveal a pair of tightly clasped hands. “Gods cannot exist in our world without a body. Not anymore. There’s so little magic in the land now. It’s been whittled away by humans, bled from the ground and from the trees.”
“There are no spirits left where I am from,” Basuin says. “Nothing like the forest.”
“If there were, gods could walk freely again. But without magic here to act as a conduit, their choices are limited.”
“To shrines?”
“And bodies,” Ko says. “You are a host.”
“But the island has magic, doesn’t it?” he asks.
“There are spirits here. Sa-cha’s shrine is here.
So gods should walk freely here, too. Why am I a host for the Wolf God?
” His chest is buzzing, burning. Lightning running through his blood, racing through him.
“Doesn’t the Wolf God have a body? A shrine?
” Basuin asks, a hand on his heart—where it used to be.
But the wolf-man is silent.
“They used to,” Ko says. “The Forest God and the Wolf God used to roam the forest together, even before they were bound by divine oath—before the Wolf God became the guardian of the Forest God. They were always together. But they…”
Basuin’s jaw loosens. He leans forward. “They what?”
For the first time tonight, Ko looks away from Basuin and into the forest beyond them. His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow.
“They were always together, until they weren’t anymore.” Ko takes in a breath, then shrugs, turning back to face Basuin. “I don’t know what happened.”
He lets out a sigh, head falling, thumbs twiddling, until he nods. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to know everything. I appreciate what you’ve told me already. It’s been helpful.”
Yet no questions have been answered. It only solidifies what he already knows: he’s a puppet being strung along by a god he knows nothing about. It’s gotten him no closer to where he needs to be—the Winter River.
But Basuin can’t help but wonder: Why did the Wolf God become the guardian of the Forest God? Was it duty bestowed upon the Wolf God, just like the Wolf God bestowed duty upon him? Bound by divine oath?
Ko smiles. “I’m glad. Is there anything else I can help with?”
“Actually... ” Basuin draws a ball of light to his hand, red with magic. A part of him is excited at how fast he’s gotten at the simple things. “I want to learn to heal, like you did tonight. Would you be able to teach me?”
But the look on Ko’s face, the spot of pity where Ko’s brows draw to and his forehead wrinkles, is answer enough before he shakes his head.
“My apologies. I’m not well-versed in god magic. It’s very different from forest magic.”
Basuin nods. “That’s all right.” The light in his hand quiets before dissolving completely, leaving behind red flecks of magic spattered across his god mark. “Thank you, Ko. I won’t keep you up any longer tonight.”
If Ko cannot teach him, he’ll have to ask Ren’s forgiveness after all. He’ll have to pray that she’ll receive him again.
Slowly and with a groan resembling the creak of wood, Ko presses to his feet and bows his head. Bass bows in response, drawing up the best small smile he can to bid Ko goodnight.
But as Ko begins his sluggish walk, Basuin calls after him. “Wait—”
Ko turns and Basuin freezes in response. He shouldn’t ask this, he knows it. But it itches at him, in his palm where his god mark is burned into his skin. He has to know.
“Was Ren always a god?” he asks.
Ko stares across the distance at him for a long while, contemplating. The moon is a sliver of itself, no light to be cast upon the abandoned village.
“No,” Ko finally says. “She wasn’t.”