Page 7 of Jailer to the Death God
No, I am well and truly bound this time.
This is the worst possible scenario for me. It means I am ensnared to the wretched mortal who managed to summon me correctly. I can only hope their request will be easy to complete so I can break this chain swiftly.
I step onto the edge of the Pit, my robes trailing behind me, and I scan the forest clearing, searching for my summoner.
Not the cluster of four shivering mortals hugging each other under the eaves of the forest.
Not the ten dead bodies.
A figure is crumpled at the brink of the Pit, their shoulders shaking. Thin, blood-stained fingers clutch the garments of a corpse, and one snowy lock of hair drapes along the corpse’s throat, soaking in the blood. Nearby lies a dagger, gleaming wetly scarlet.
This craven, sniffling, white-haired creature is the person who has summoned and ensnared me.
They cannot even rise to greet a god. Such disrespect.
Nothing in this bargain says I have to be pleasant to my summoner.
So I step forward, and in the hollow, cosmic, deadly voice of a deity, I say, “Well, here I am. What the fuck do you want?”
Towering at three times the height of a human male, I loom over my summoner.
She’s so small, crouched below me.
And then she looks up.
A myriad of human faces have passed through my furnace of souls. I’ve seen the alteration of their features as the divine fire revealed all their deeds in life, good and bad. I’ve witnessed a spectrum of human emotion, from cold, unrepentant wickedness to abject misery to grateful relief.
This woman before me—she has the face of a goddess and hair like moonlight.
But her beauty means nothing to me. I’ve seen the beauty of mortals and deities. Corruption always lies beneath.
No, it’s her eyes that make me pause.
They’re a pale blue-gray, the kind that tend to shift in hue depending on the light. Two wells of echoing grief, a fathomless ache swirling in their depths. Old eyes. Eyes that do not belong in such a young face.
As I stare, another emotion sparks in her gaze. Cold fire, a fury born of wretchedness.
She snatches the dagger from the ground and stands up, her dark cloak falling into place around her.
She’s still dwarfed by my height, but if the difference cows her, she doesn’t show it. “Arawn. You came.”
“I had no choice in the matter.”
“You don’t look like your statues in the shrines.”
“You mean this?” Black smoke traces briefly through the air, and then my mask appears—the ancient skull and antlers of an enormous stag. It seals to my face, bone to skin.
The girl’s eyes widen slightly. “Yes, but I’ve seen other depictions of you as well.”
I dispel the mask and switch to another favorite form of mine—jade skin, long wavy hair like green marble, and a double set of horns, one set sweeping up into points and the other pair curling backward like a ram’s horns. Dark feathered wings burst from my shoulders, stretching until they span nearly the entire clearing. “Like this?”
“That wasn’t an excuse for you to show off,” snaps the girl.
I’m a little piqued that she’s not more impressed. Also displeased that she’s not showing me the least bit of deference.
“You do understand you’ve summoned a god, yes?” I stalk toward her, wings still spread, menace in every step.
She lifts her small chin defiantly. “I understand I’ve trapped you. And now you have to obey me.”
