Page 41 of A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness

Kiera

The garden of statues is just as grotesque as I recall. It is a massive space full of strange statues of varying sexes and poses, but all of them so realistic that they make me feel like some ancient monster has turned actual people into stone.

In preparation for The Cleansing tonight, it's been transformed into the facsimile of an elegant courtyard. Tall bronze candelabras line the circular space, their flames flickering in the nonexistent wind. The smell of sea salt and ash is in the air. I tilt my face towards it and if I close my eyes, I can just imagine the waves crashing along the outside of the island reaching over its spiking walls and spilling into the garden to wash us all away.

Excited murmurs rise above the sound of the ocean beyond Ortus, drowning it out. I open my eyes once more and survey our surroundings as we stop in the center of a ring of statues. I take a moment to look over them, wondering if perhaps the Gods have left us any clues as to what they have planned this night. The first statue is a woman with her face to the sky much as mine had been, her long curling hair drifting down over a naked female frame. At first, it appears as nothing more than an artwork madein the image of a woman, but the closer I step, the more I begin to notice the lacerations upon her skin.

Long scars, like claw marks, line the woman's arms, hips, torso, and thighs. Her hair, upon first glance, appears full and stunning, but further inspection reveals the heavily weighted chains laced through it, disappearing into her scalp. Her beautiful face isn't looking to the sky with serene acceptance, but the stone has been shaped into a horrified scream, as if she's cursing the Gods for some crime they have committed. The features of the statue are so prominent and defined that it's difficult to think that anyone—mortal or Divine—could create such tragic beauty.

The remaining two statues are much the same. Externally unassuming, but examining them with a more distinct eye reveals that the kneeling man opposite the screaming woman isn't wearing pants made of an animal's fur—his legsarethat of an animal. Hoof prints mark the stone where he's been placed and the fist he has planted next to his leg is encased in a metal gauntlet of a warrior. His face, too, is a mask of agony and rage. As if he fell here after a lost battle and hasn't ever been able to recover, his living body transformed into a mass of rock and stone held in captivity for an eternity.

The third and final statue is the most disturbing. A shudder works through me as I turn and stare up into the face of a creature unlike any I've ever seen before. Upon four feet, it stands higher than the rest of the statues nearby. Large paws have dug grooves into the stone, not one, not two, but three sets of eyes meet my gaze. Three animal heads formed upon the neck of the great beast. The center-most animal is one with protruding fangs, a regal countenance, and a mane that would make any Goddess envious.

Along either side of the animal's primary head are two more animals. These, at least, I recognize. One is that of a ramwith twin horns curled back and away from its furry face. The second is that of a massive lizard, far more elegant than any of Kalix's serpents with spikes along its eyes and maw. Dual fangs protrude from its yawning mouth and I swear, I can even see a hint of venom liquid dripping from one.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Rather than jumping at the sudden intrusion of the arrival of that deep male voice, my body goes cold and rigid. Azai circles from the back of the screaming woman, his gaze flicking from the animal to me. I don't speak as he draws closer, but as if he senses something dangerous about getting too near, he pauses more than an arm's length away.

That's right,I think. Beware to those who abuse the animals under their care. They have no need to sense a threat before they attack. I'd seen it more times than I could count in the back alleys of the God cities. Poor, homeless animals—once pets, turned rabid and angry after years of torment and starvation.

I never thought I'd liken myself to those unfortunate creatures, but now I see no better equivalent. The Gods may have taken my blade. They may have clipped my wings. But they forgot that until I am dead in the ground, I will fight to rip their throats out even if I must use my own teeth to do so.

Air seizes in my chest, locking tight as I dip my chin in the mockery of an acknowledgment. Azai's gaze narrows as if he realizes the insult. At my back, I sense rather than see the three Darkhavens draw nearer. The second their sire had stepped into the clearing, they'd become viscerally aware. Their gazes are locked on their father as he seems to hover just out of reach, his body clad in something far different than themors palliumwe're wearing. Instead, he wears a glittering bejeweled robe of crimson, locked at his waist with a golden rope.

He moves as if it has no weight, the front of his robe opening to reveal a broad male chest coated in the lightest dusting ofgolden hair a shade or two darker than the locks upon his head. The latter of which has been pulled back and braided along the sides of his scalp with black leather.

Azai glances once more at the statue of the three-headed animal. "It's called a Chimera," he says. "It's an ancient creature that existed before we descended to the world. The people who once resided on this island claimed that it was an animal that matched the violence and grace of the Gods. It was considered a protective creature, a guardian of sorts that served a single master, and no matter how cruel that master, once they had accepted their ruler, they were loyal until the end. Even if that master decided to command the creature to drown itself in the black seas."

Golden eyes that mirror Theos' save for the fact that he lacks any sort of kindness or warmth meet mine. "What do you think of that?" he surprises me by asking.

"I think"—Ruen steps up on my right, Kalix on my left, and Theos at my back. Azai's lips twitch again, amusement as well as something darker reflected in his gaze. Anger? Perhaps—"that a creature capable of such devotion is deserving of respect."

Azai arches a brow and then the God of Strength takes a step towards the creature, his eyes falling back on it with such a yearning in their depths that I can't help but wonder if he ever actually met a living version of such a beast. He lifts a hand out as if to brush across its mane. Just before his fingers graze it, however, a loud echo much like that of an object falling from the sky bursts around us.

In my periphery, I see several heads turn seeking the cause of such a noise. They don't see it, but I do and so does the God of Strength. A dark crack forms up the center of the creature's main head. I bite down on my lip as a smile threatens to blossom. Azai's hand lowers.

"How unfortunate," he murmurs absently, confusion clear in his tone. "It was such a beautiful statue."

"Was?" I repeat, drawing his attention. Those cold sunset eyes of his land on me and narrow. I nod to the statue. "I think a beast that is particular about its master is always beautiful, regardless of the scars that befall it."

As if knowing my words refer to more than a simple statue, Ruen's hand finds mine.

Azai's upper lip curls back and he bares his teeth as if preparing to spit venom in my direction. Before he can make a sound, however, the loud musical notes of horns blaring have all of us, including him, turning toward the center of the garden. A stage has been raised and atop it, the largest mountain of sticks have been collected. Though the sticks are reed thin, they appear white and gray rather than the brown and tan of normal wood as if it, too, like the rest of this garden has been petrified.

"It seems I've entertained myself for too long," Azai speaks. When I glance back at him, the anger has disappeared from his expression, and in its place is wild anticipation. A stone forms in my gut. He nods to me and his sons. "First rite is about to begin," he says.

A Terra appears at his side with a tray laden with goblets of red liquid. My eyes nearly fall out of my head when I realize who it is. Iysa, her face cast down and her clothes changed to long fabrics similar to our own except that hers are a white-gray and her skin has been painted to look like that of a statue. Azai withdraws one of the glasses from the collection and gulps down several mouthfuls, releasing the lip of the cup with a pleased gasp and a smile.

"Enjoy the Cleansing."

Azai disappears around the pile of fossilized wood, leaving the Darkhavens and I staring after him as the Mortal Gods that have gathered for the first rite all swarm with excitement. Inthe time we spent with the God of Strength, stone tables have appeared at the edges of the clearing, laden with stacks of glasses full of the same crimson liquid that Azai had guzzled. Food and other drinks are set up all over the garden and Mortal Gods are well on their way to inebriation as they down glassfuls of the stuff.

The stone in my stomach rolls. Several robe-clad Gods in various colors appear, striding through the throng of students in a single line with Azai drawing up the rear, the glass he'd taken now gone from his hand. Tryphone, at the head of the procession, is clad in a robe made of gleaming gold. Almost an exact replica of Azai's garment save for the color, his, too, gapes open to reveal the expanse of his chest. The Goddesses that follow him are no different. Perfect skin gleaming beneath the silken fabric of their vestments.

One by one the Gods ascend the dais upon which the mountain of wood has been placed. All heads turn upward. Even my own. I cannot seem to help myself. My eyes are drawn to Tryphone and Danai, seeking any resemblance that should have warned me before of their relation to me.

Much like us, the Gods wear no shoes. Their bare feet make no sound upon the stone or stairs as they rise above us and then stop. A cheer rises up from the throats of several Mortal Gods. A creeping unease trickles down my spine beneath the loose and thin fabric of themors palliumI wear. A veritable death robe—or so Maeryn claims.

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