False Gods: A Serial Novel by C. R. Hindmarsh

Chapter 6

2011-05-21T23:32:00.000-07:00

Khun stared up at the slim courier and his stone dagger, heart pounding. It was dawning on him that this had been a somewhat risky idea. Still, it had got him out of Ronen.

"Easy," Khun said, holding up his hands. The large man with the axe still loomed over him as well, but he seemed more confused than aggressive, thank the gods.

The shorter courier with the long leather coat continued to stare at him, eyes bulging behind his goggles. A telescopic looking glass hung around his neck, and the pouches on his belt were overflowing with pencils and rolled-up bits of paper. His breath came heavy through his respirator.

A woman appeared beside the other two. Her black hair fell to her shoulders, skimming the thick scarf wrapped around her neck. "Who the fuck packed a rotting child priest?"

It took Khun a moment to realise he was still wearing his robes. Fumbling to pull himself out of the saddlebag, he put on his most authoritative voice. "I am quite capable of packing myself." He pointed to the man with the dagger. "Help me out of here."

The courier with the dagger glanced at the others. "What do you think?"
The large man reached forward and grabbed Khun under the armpits. The man's grip was uncomfortably tight. He pulled Khun up and slammed him into the side of the lorak. Khun grunted and tried to pull himself into a ball.

"What are you really doing here?" the man said, bringing his face within inches of Khun. The woman took a step forward and raised her arm, but she didn't stop the man. His grip tightened on Khun.

"Let me go, rot you!" Khun squirmed, but he couldn't break free. "Don't you know what I am?"

The man with the dagger shook his head. "Can't say that we do. Not like a child priest to be stowing away with the likes of us."

The large man nodded. "Start talking, kid."

Khun's mind whirled. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He was going to sneak away when the group made camp for the night. He could make it the rest of the way on his own; he just needed their help to get out of Ronen. But now they looked pissed, and he'd be no good to Monu if they slit his throat or left him tied to a tree for the tree ants to pick apart.

"Let's just take the little brat back to Ronen," the woman said.

"No!" Khun spoke louder than he intended, and the couriers stared at him. "I can't go back. I can't."

The man with the dagger frowned and glanced at the big man. "Heth, chuck him back in the bag. Little bugger's going to cost us a day, but maybe we can sell this bear-skin back in Ronen, save us from having to haul it all the way across the Interlands."

Heth lifted Khun back up and started lowering him towards the bag. Khun grabbed at the man's coat sleeves. "No, wait. I can pay."

That stopped them. Heth pushed him back against the lorak and glanced at the man with the dagger. "Jan?"

Jan ran a hand through his hair. "Child priests don't have any money."

"I...I'm leaving," Khun said. "I can't face the priesthood anymore. I want to go back to my family."

"Didn't realise that was an option for child priests," Jan said.

"It's not. That's why I had to sneak out of Ronen. The temple was horrible. You can't believe the things the augustes do to us."

Jan hesitated. He put a hand on Heth's shoulder. "Let the kid down."

Heth stared at Khun a moment longer, his dark eyes searching, then dropped Khun to the ground. Khun stumbled, but managed to keep upright. He brushed off his robes where the giant had grabbed him and glared up at the man.
Jan sheathed his dagger, but Heth and the woman still looked on edge. The spear the woman held was barbed, looking like something out of the horror books he used to read when Monu wasn't around. Khun realised there was another man behind them, wearing a bear-skin hat and thick, black goggles.

Jan gently pushed Heth away with a hand on his shoulder and crouched down in front of Khun. "All right, kid, you've got my attention. Tell us your story."

#

Khun thought it was a pretty good story, all things considered. He told the couriers he was born in the Imperial City and was picked for priesthood when he turned eight. He'd served three years as an Initiate Priest in the Training Temple in the Imperial City before being sent north to Ronen.

The Temple in Ronen was rumoured to be one of the toughest, with children not allowed to protect themselves against the icy cold at night and a particularly harsh auguste leading them in daily training drills. Khun told the couriers these rumours were all true, and even worse than the stories suggested. He didn't want to be an auguste, couldn't face the potions that froze a man's face more effectively than any Ronen winter or the job as executioner for the Raj.

So he had run. A food-works delivery man who brought the children's meals had helped smuggle him out of the Temple, but just when he was about to escape the city, the gates had been locked down. With no other options, he'd stowed away in the lorak's saddlebags and prayed that the Laughing God and His adepts would never find him.

By the time Khun stopped weaving his tale he knew he had them convinced. Even the big man, Heth, listened with concern in his eyes. A part of Khun felt guilty for lying to these people, using them, but it couldn't be helped. They didn't know he was Osun, but they probably wouldn't hesitate to turn him in for a reward if they did. Luckily, even before the Osun clans were destroyed, few of the red-men had ever seen one. Monu had told Khun that the Osun had kept to themselves, especially after The Fall, when their traditional lands had been corrupted by the rot and they were forced to retreat to the mountains.

Jan was the only one Khun wasn't sure if he'd fooled. The courier sat cross-legged on the ground during the entirety of Khun's story, as emotionless as an auguste. When Khun finally fell silent, Jan continued to stare at him.

"You said you can pay us," Jan said.

Khun nodded. "I don't have the money on me. But I'm sure my family can give you a reward. They hold an estate in the Imperial City."

The couriers glanced at each other, and Jan fell silent again. Finally, as the couriers' lizards began making thin croaking noises, he spoke. "All right. You can come with us."

The courier with the bear-skin hat--Mial, Khun thought he said his name was--frowned. "Rot it, Jan, don't you think we should discuss this first?"

Jan shrugged. "What's to discuss? We can't just leave him out here."

"I don't mind," Khun said quickly. Getting caught up with these people wasn't what he intended. The longer he stayed with them, the greater the risk of his lie being found out. "I can make my own way from here. We can arrange a place for my parents to leave the reward."

"Like fuck you can," Jan said, getting to his feet. He kicked at the bear corpse with the toe of his boot. "Won't do us any good if you get torn apart by one of these."

"To be fair," the woman--Sera--said, "the beast was pretty placcid until Heth thought it'd be a good idea to hunt it."

"Hey, we killed it, didn't we?" Heth was bent down by the bear's head, using a dagger to skin it. "The skin will go for a good sum in one of the southern cities."

Jan shrugged again. "That's beside the point. No point you wandering around by yourself out here. Far as I can see you don't even have a map. Don't you know how dangerous it is out here if you don't know where you're going?"

Khun scowled. They were talking to him like he was some rotting little five-year-old. He'd spent more nights out on the street in the last few years than the rest of them would in their entire lives. He knew how to survive. Besides, he wasn't as defenceless as he appeared. He fingered the bandage around his broken finger.

Heth shook his head. "I don't like it, Jan. Mial's right."

"Since when've you ever sided with Mial on anything?"

"He's usually stupider than this."

Mial's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. Sera put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"I don't want to cause any trouble," Khun said. He stood up. "I'll go. I'll get my family to leave the reward for you the Imperial City courier houses. Thank you for all your help." He turned away.

A pair of firm hands grabbed him and lifted him up in the air again. He squealed and tried to wriggle away, but it was hopeless. The fucking giant had him again.

"Sera," Jan said, "if he tries to run, spear him."

"What?" Khun tried to twist his head around, but he couldn't. Heth shoved him onto the lorak's back, in between the two saddles.

Jan appeared beside him. "I don't believe you yet, kid. Don't worry yourself, we ain't going to hurt you." He jerked his head at the others. "Let's get out of here. We can take the bear with us and finish skinning it later. Meat might even be uncontaminated if the damn thing manages to survive."

Khun scowled and forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Rot these bastards. He had things he needed to do.

Monu needed him.

If you enjoy FALSE GODS, please consider donating or sharing this site with a friend.
Thanks,
C. R. Hindmarsh

Chapter 5

2011-05-19T23:32:00.000-07:00

While Mial guided the lorak through the narrow streets of Ronen, Jan sat behind him and studied the maps. He'd got Mial to build him a special table to fix to the lorak's saddle with a raised lip all around to keep the maps from falling off with each of the lorak's lumbering steps. He used stones to weight the corners of the edges and measured out distances with his ruler. Despite what the city-dwellers seemed to think whenever Jan told them what he did for a living, traversing the Interlands wasn't as easy as making your way to the food-works or sweatshop every morning. The Interlands were dangerous, populated by animals big enough to make a lorak look like a beetle, and pockets of spore production where the concentration was so high you'd get the lungrot no matter how good your respirator was. Being a navigator wasn't the most glorious position in a courier team, but it was the most necessary.

Heth was up ahead on his verak, closely followed by Sera. Hunters used veraks because they were lighter and faster. Couriering was pretty good money, but teams could make a little extra on the side harvesting lizard meat and leather, or even bird eggs if they got lucky.

Jan marked their course out on his map and double-checked his compass. It would take a few weeks to get to the capital. The route he'd plotted wasn't the fastest, but it might save them dropping into a sink-hole or getting ambushed by raiders. Imperial soldiers stayed out of the Interlands for the most part, so bandits weren't uncommon. The difficulty of maintaining a military presence out there was what kept rebel city-states like Roclin being brought back under the Rajs' heels.

The street broadened out as they reached the edge of the city. The lizards continued their slow march towards the tall, hardened-wood gates. The speed of this creatures in the cold frustrated Jan. He wished Mial would give the damn lorak a kick to get it moving. But he guessed Mial knew what he was doing. Once they got off this frost-bitten mountain and back to a warmer climate, the lizards would pick up speed.

Heth and Sera drew up on the reins of their veraks, and Mial did the same to the lorak. All three creatures stopped before the closed gates. Half a dozen longriflemen stared at them suspiciously. Jan and others dismounted and wandered up to the gate.

An older soldier with a pot-belly stepped forward. "Ain't you seen the signs? There's an Osun in the city. Traffic's shut down."

Jan handed over the sealed letter the Raj's soldier had given him. "We got a special ticket out."

The soldier frowned and broke the seal. His eyes scanned the words, then he passed it to another rifleman who had wandered up. "This genuine?"
"As genuine as they come."

There was a rustle from near the lizards. Jan turned, puzzled, but the creatures just stood there, passively looking at him with half-closed eyes. He shook his head. Maybe what Sera had said was getting to him.
The soldier fixed him with a stare. "Something wrong, friend?"

"Just eager to get going." Jan tried his best smile.

The soldier grunted and thrust the letter back into Jan's hands. "All right. Get your rotting lizards out of here. They look like they're about to freeze, and I don't want to deal with the corpses."

Jan grinned and bowed. He pulled his leather coat tight around him and remounted the lorak. He unhooked his respirator mask from the strap running across his chest and slipped it over his face. The others did the same.

"Ready to give up your cushy room and go back into the wild?" Heth asked, pulling his goggles into place.

"Rot it, we were about to be evicted anyway," Jan said. "At least living in the Interlands is free."

"And it saves us from having to slaughter the lizards for meat," Sera added.

Heth stroked his verak's head and gathered the reins in his hand. "She doesn't mean it. She's just angry because Mial can't satisfy her properly."
"Fuck you, mountain-man," Mial said. "Don't get jealous because you haven't fucked no-one but your verak in months. I'm in tune with these animals, I know all about what you do to them.

"That's enough," Jan said, raising a hand before the argument escalated from mere bantering. This was going to be a long trip, and they hadn't even left Ronen yet. He was fairly certain one morning he'd wake to find one of his crew skewered by the others, but he didn't want it to happen until they got paid. "Let's go."

The soldier flipped the lever that activated the gate mechanism, and the gates slowly rolled open. White mountaintops and grey rock greeted them. A snowed-over trail rolled down from the gate, and a couple of tents were pitched just outside, probably couriers or travellers who got stuck outside when the city was closed. Jan couldn't help feeling smug. The lorak lumbered through the gates and past the envious looks of the travellers, their faces bundled up in scarves and thick hoods. One or two made for the gate, but as soon as Sera's verak was out, the gate began swinging shut again.

Jan stared out over the jagged points of the white-topped sawtooth mountains through his rapidly-fogging goggles and smiled. He was back on the road.

By Rhoe, it felt good.

#

They got to the base of the mountain by nightfall. The forest began immediately, though it wasn't as thick and dense as it was further south.
Jan directed them across a couple of narrow creeks that ran off from the mountains. It was too cold here for the larger flying insects, but some beetles the size of a man's chest scurried away through the damp undergrowth when the lizards came through. Smart beetles. The lorak would be hungry for a meal soon, and unless Sera and Heth could catch the lizards some insects, they'd be eating synthetic lizard food and whatever greenery they felt like munching on.

The sun drifted low in the sky, bringing the forest into darkness. Ground birds snuffled around somewhere, but Jan couldn't make out exactly where they were.

Sera pulled her verak alongside Jan. "We stopping somewhere or are you going to keep us going all night?"

"Soon," Jan said. He held a small glass-shielded candle over his maps. "I got a nice camp-site planned out for us. Lake views. You'll like it."
Sera rolled her eyes, but Jan fancied he could see her smiling behind her mask. "I better, navigator." She hefted her wooden spear. "Or you might find yourself skewered in the middle of the night."

There was a loud snuffle ahead of them. Heth was on point, and he drew his verak around toward the noise. The others fell silent. You learned fast when to speak and when to be quiet out here in the Interlands.

Heth clicked his fingers, and Sera left Jan's side without another word, directing her verak to scuttle nearly silently towards Heth. Mial glanced back at Jan, a question in his eyes, but Jan just shrugged. It was usually better to let hunters do their job without question. And Jan also wasn't sure Sera's threat was just a jest.

The two hunters exchanged a couple of whispered words, then split apart. Sera drove her verak to the left, passing behind a thick patch of wire-weed, while Heth went to the right. Mial drew the lorak to a halt. It pressed its belly against the ground, trying to recapture some of the day's warmth.

For a few moments, the only sounds Jan could hear were his and Mial's breathing through their respirators and the clicking of insects. Jan waited, slowly rising and falling with each of the lorak's breaths.
Then the forest erupted into chaos.

Something roared, the ferocious cry of an angry animal. The lorak jerked its head up, eyes darting around into the night. Mial held the reins tight to keep the creature steady, while Jan pulled a lid over his map table. Maps meant survival out here.

The animal roared again, followed by a cry from Sera.
"Shit," Mial said, staring towards where Sera's voice had come from. Perhaps sensing his distress, the lorak pulled itself back up and swivelled around.

The bear crashed out of the forest, blood on its face. It was huge, twice the size of a man, and coverted in thick, black fur that Jan had only seen on rich Ronen citizens.

Heart thudding, Jan tried to jump from the lorak. The bear charged towards him, heavy paws pounding on the dirt.

The lorak exploded into action. It spun away from the bear and flicked its tail around. Jan was unprepared for the sudden movement. He lost his grip on the saddle and fell.

With an arm across his face to protect his respirator, Jan hit the ground. The force of the fall drove the wind out of him. He rolled to the side to avoid the lizard's madly stomping feet as Mial tried to keep it under control. The bear, momentarily stopped by the lorak's movements, fixed its eyes on Jan.

"Rot it all," Jan whispered.

The bear charged at him. Jan sucked in air and went for his stone dagger, already knowing it was hopeless, but before he grasped the handle another shadow burst out of the forest.

Heth drove his verak straight into the bear and swung his stone-axe down. The blade slammed into the bear's shoulder, and blood blossomed from its fur.

"Get your rotting ass moving!" Heth yelled at Jan.

Jan scrambled to his feet. Mial had managed to get the lorak somewhat under control, and he was directing it away from Heth and the bear. Jan raced after him to check on the cargo, but he heard another shout from Heth.

The bear slammed Heth's axe away with a paw and chased after the fleeing lorak. The lizard croaked a strange sound and darted away. Something in its ancestry prompted it to try to scramble up a tree, but it was much too heavy. Jan already knew the bear was going to reach it.

A spear flew from the forest and struck the bear in the neck. The bear groaned, stumbling, but its momentum carried it forward. Sera raced from the forest towards it, already preparing another spear, but there was no point.

The bear collided with the lorak in a tangle of fur and limbs. It was no longer interested in violence, the blood spilling from its neck attested to that. It collapsed on top of the lorak's saddlebags, just behind Mial's saddle. Jan could swear he heard shouting coming from the lorak.

Sera drove her verak up to the bear, her spear ready. The bear was dead. She prodded it once, then glanced up at Mial. "Are you hurt?"

Mial exhaled deeply and shook his head. "No. Please tell me it wasn't your idea to hunt the rotting bear."

Sera dismounted. "That was Heth. Are you sure you're all right? You were shouting."

"That wasn't me. It was Jan."

"Wasn't me either," Jan said. "It came from the saddlebags."

Mial urged the lorak forward a few steps, away from the dead bear's bulk. Heth rode over, his stone-axe recovered from wherever it had been thrown.
Jan held his dagger ready as he approached the lorak's saddlebags. Come to think of it, the one on the left looked strange, like it had been packed wrong. Jan and Heth had packed the bags themselves; they had it down to an art now. Weight distribution was important for long distance journeys. Perhaps the contents had just been disrupted by the bear attack, but Jan was cautious.

He gestured to Heth. Heth dismounted and came over, his axe at the ready. The stone blade was lashed perpendicular to the hardened wooden handle. It was a crude weapon, but with no metal parts it could be put to good use in the Interlands.

Jan gestured to the saddlebags, and Heth nodded. He took up a position to the left, his axe ready, while Jan held up his dagger and put a hand to the saddlebag's leather flap.

Jan threw the flap open. A masked face stared back at him.

Heth pulled back to swing his axe, but the figure in the saddlebags held up gloved hands. "Wait, rot it!"

Jan held up a hand to stop Heth, but the man had already faltered in his attack. Jan's head spun with questions. "What...what the fuck are you doing?"

If you enjoy FALSE GODS, please consider donating or sharing this site with a friend.
Thanks,
C. R. Hindmarsh

Chapter 4

2011-05-10T14:45:00.000-07:00

Monu knew they'd entered Telina when the buzzing of insects died away and was replaced by the low rumble of talk and crowds. As the verak rocked back and forth, tossing his box around, Monu tried to remember what little he knew of Telina. Its wealth depended on some sort of earthen products, he recalled, oil or metal or clay. He couldn't remember what kept it safe from the rot. After the Fall, the Rajs had built their city-states where the rot's impact was lessened, in desert basins or mountaintops.

Time was difficult to judge, but it must have been an hour or two before they finally stopped. Part of him was relieved. The auguste might be outside, but at least someone would finally take his respirator mask off now they were out of the Interlands.

Someone outside unhooked the straps and dropped the box to the ground. Monu grunted at the force of the fall. Would it kill them to lower it gently for once?

The lid opened. Monu squinted, expecting to be hit by sunlight again, but there was no need. The light was dim, just enough to see by. It couldn't be night already, could it? And there were no stars.

It took him a moment to realise it was a ceiling, not the sky, towering above him. He was in some sort of huge cavern. Orange flames cast light up on the grey ceiling.

Tal and another soldier reached into the box and hefted Monu out. They weren't wearing their masks anymore, so he could see Tal's thin moustache. Monu had only seen moustaches like that on people of the South Wain. Tal unhooked Monu's mask, and for the first time in days Monu got to breathe fresh air. It smelled clean and dry.

The auguste was nowhere to be seen, thank the spirits. The cavern was expansive, stretching away into the darkness so Monu couldn't see where it ended. They were in a hollowed-out corner of the cavern, separated from the people milling around market stalls in the centre of the cavern. It was warm, and few people that Monu could see wore even thin mandar-skin jackets. Both men and women wore loose, billowy tunics with laces down the front. Most of them had skin that was paler than the flesh of most of the red-men. Perhaps living in here they'd forgotten what the sun was like.

Tal secured Monu's wrists to a thin wooden column that stretched out horizontally from the splint that kept his spine from bending, then loosened the splints on his knees and ankles slightly. It wasn't much, but it would let Monu walk. The other soldier stepped back and crossed his arms, staring at Monu with visible disgust, but Tal beckoned to Monu.

"Come on, Osun," Tal said, slinging his longrifle over his shoulder. "The Raj has taken pity on you. He's letting you sleep in a cell while we're here."

Monu was tempted to make a sarcastic comment about the Raj's generosity, but he forced the urge down. "Thank you."

Tal stared at Monu in mock surprise. "Fuck me. I was wondering if you Osun could talk at all."

Monu started walking. The splints made him move his legs in wide, unbalanced arcs, but the strain on his weakened muscles and club foot felt as liberating as if he were racing on the back of a verak. "See how much you talk when you're locked in a box."

Tal led Monu through a narrow candle-lit passageway and up a series of stairs. Everything seemed to be carved right out of the rock and clay. Somehow it managed to be both depressing and beautiful at the same time. It was one way to keep out the rot, but Monu preferred being able to see the sky above him. It reminded him of his childhood, before the red-men came and took it from him.

Lost in his thoughts, Monu nearly tripped when Tal stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs. A girl stood in front of Tal, blocking his way. She was young, around Khun's age, and she hadn't yet lost her baby fat. Instead of the loose tunics the other Telina citizens wore, she was dressed in a thick blue and white robe that reached to the ground. Her hair was trimmed short, shorter even than most boys.

Tal reacted first. Monu could sense trepidation in him by the way he held his spine. He bowed, holding his rifle so it did not slip. "Greetings, My Child."

The girl priest did not acknowledge Tal. Her eyes were fixed on Monu. Monu shivered. Her eyes were like ice.

"The Raj has sent me to see to the Osun," she said, still not meeting Tal's eyes. Her voice had a hardness to it not reflected by her age.

Tal licked his lips. "Ah, of course, My Child. I would be happy to accompany--"

"That will not be necessary." She glanced at Tal briefly, then returned to studying Monu. "You are dismissed, rifleman."

Tal hesitated, confusion on his face, then bowed again. "Farewell, then." He glanced at Monu for a moment, then hurried back down the stairs.

The child priest continued to stare at Monu until Tal's footsteps faded away. Monu forced himself to meet her gaze. Despite her age, she had the beginnings of the cold stare of an auguste.

The silence lengthened. The girl was unsettling. He normally preferred for others to speak first, but he couldn't stand the girl's stare. "Are you finished?"

The girl's open palm hit his cheek hard, nearly sending him to the floor. He managed to get his splinted legs under him in time, but he stumbled back a few paces.

"You do not speak to a priest without first being addressed, Osun," she said.

Monu glared. His cheek stung, and part of him wanted to yell at the girl. But with his arms fixed at his sides he had no way of defending himself against another of the girl's strikes, so he bit his tongue and stayed silent.

"Come," the girl said. She spun around and made her way down the hallway.

He debated with himself for a second about trying to make a run for it. No, he'd just end up caught and put back in the box. He had no choice but to wait until his captors made a mistake. Everyone did, sooner or later.

Monu knew that well.

If you enjoy FALSE GODS, please consider donating or sharing this site with a friend.
Thanks,
C. R. Hindmarsh

Chapter 3

2011-05-09T15:58:00.000-07:00

Raj Erisa scratched the proclamation out on a leaf of thin paper and signed with his symbol at the bottom. The orders had already been delivered verbally an hour ago, but protocol dictated that a written confirmation must be delivered to the Temple, the head of the Imperial Army in Ronen, and the Citizen's Representative. Later Erisa would have to write up a report to send to the Grand Raj and his Circle, but that could wait until after they had the cursed Osun in custody.

He leaned back in the high-backed chair and wordlessly handed the paper to his assistant. He wore a fine suit and a tall, cylindrical hat that cast shadows on his milky-white eyes. Though Raj Erisa spoke no words, the blind man seemed to sense what his Raj wanted. He groped in the air until he found the paper and strode from the room, his boots clicking on the tiles.

When his assistant closed the office door behind him, Erisa slid his chair back. He had to use a cane to help himself up, rocking back and forth on his chair to give him some momentum. It gave him pain in his hips to be sitting for too long, and pain in his knees when he stood. It was hopeless.

He just finished smoothing out the wrinkles on his feather cloak when a knock came at the door. Erisa sighed. He knew this would come, but he'd hoped to avoid it, at least until he could have a hot mug of acia leaf tea. It soothed the pain in his joints, but it would have to wait. "Come."

Another of his blind assistants entered. This one was taller, his skin darker. He was from somewhere in the far West Wain, but Erisa couldn't recall which city-state.

The man bowed his head, one hand on his hat and the other folded across his chest. "My Raj, the venerable Raj Idil of Antil requests an audience with you."

Idil was as venerable as a cockroach, but Erisa didn't bother to correct the man. "Send him in."

The assistant bowed again and pulled the door closed. Erisa sighed again and ran a hand through hair that matched the Ronen snows. If the Osun had appeared even ten years ago, Erisa might have been excited, but the years had caught up with him. It wouldn't be long until the Grand Raj sent someone to take his place. If he was lucky he'd be allowed to retire instead of waking up in the night being force-fed cyanide by an auguste.

The office door slammed open and Raj Idil strode in, his purple feathered cloak sweeping behind him. His thick eyebrows were pulled down across his eyes, and his mouth was fixed in its natural scowl.

"Welcome, Raj Idil," Erisa said, raising his free hand in greeting. "I am honoured by your visit to Ronen."

"Some welcome," Idil said, stopping a couple of feet from Erisa and looming over him. "My First Rifle just told me you've put the city under quarantine."

Idil sprayed spittle as he spoke but Erisa resisted the urge to recoil. Antil was much larger and more powerful than Ronen, and it was no secret which of the two had the Grand Raj's favour. If Erisa was going to avoid disgrace, he was going to have to be calm and strong in the face of Idil's rage.

"Yes," Erisa said. "We cannot risk the Osun--"

"The Osun is your problem. I have something I need to take to the Imperial City. If I am delayed, rest assured I will be informing the Grand Raj of your role in the matter."

"If you'll recall, Raj Idil, the Osun arrived on your train." Erisa's kept his voice low and leaned in toward the younger man. "And if I recall, another Osun was recently captured in your city. I'm sure the Grand Raj would be delighted to hear how you've allowed Antil to become infested with vermin."

Raj Idil paled and leaned back slightly. Erisa smiled. The man was full of bluster, but he was really just a scared little boy.

He gave Idil a few moments to recover himself. He realised his mistake when Idil's fear vanished and he leaned back in close, his upper lip twitching.

"You're right, Erisa. And I captured the Osun that was in my city. Have your men made any progress doing the same?

Raj Erisa kept his face neutral, but he knew he'd been trapped. He'd lost his skill in political maneuvering since coming to this frozen city. Still, his earlier points remained. The Grand Raj would probably be lenient with Idil, but he would lose face among his peers. Erisa was too close to the end of his career to worry about such things, but Idil still had a chance to make it to the Grand Raj's Circle. And he was sure the man had the ambition.

"Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," Erisa said.

Idil sneered. "Oh yes? What kind of arrangement?"

"What if I let you send couriers with your cargo, in exchange for the use of your soldiers in searching the city?"

"I go with the cargo."

Erisa shook his head. "Unacceptable. We need to appear to be united in this. You can follow when the Osun has been captured."

Raj Idil licked his lips and stared down at Erisa. "Fine. But my cargo leaves today."

Erisa nodded and Idil spun away. He didn't glance around as swept out of the room. A blind attendant appeared and pulled the door closed.

Raj Erisa exhaled and carefully lowered himself back into his chair. He felt exhausted. He'd intended to spend some time in the chemical laboratory this afternoon, finishing up some work the Grand Raj had assigned him on a potion against the common species of carrots grown by citizens who couldn't afford food-works vegetables.

But he couldn't bring himself to make his way down the stairs. He'd condemned himself to at least another day or two of Raj Idil's company, but there had been no way to avoid that. Still, it wouldn't be pleasant.

Erisa called for an assistant to prepare him a bath and some tea, and prayed to Rhoe the Osun would be captured soon.

Khun tried not to look like he was in a hurry as he walked down the street. Other pedestrians stepped out of his way and avoided his eyes. The presence of a child priest tended to do that to people. Of course, Khun wasn't really a priest, but making a passable outfit wasn't hard. Why didn't more people do it? They were probably afraid of being caught. He couldn't recall the exact penalty, but he had a feeling it involved the amputation of some limb or other. He'd just have to not get caught.

While the people around him looked away, Khun couldn't help but study their coats. Several of them were made of actual bear-skin, a rarity in Antil. And here people were wearing them like it was normal. Hunters in Ronen must have been rich; bears were extinct everywhere else. Khun wanted to see one. Monu had tried to teach about the mammals once, but Khun had been more interested in the tales of great heroes battling each other back in the Forgotten Times.

At the thought of Monu, Khun's gut twisted. When he got Monu back, he would listen to every word and learn every bit of knowledge his brother had to impart.

Khun kept his injured hand bundled inside his child priest robes and stepped out of the icy breeze into some sort of off-licence eatery at the base of one of the city's towers. Gas fires burned behind the stone counter and the smell of boiling vegetables washed over him, making his stomach rumble. The vegetables would be privately grown, not from the food-works, but Khun would take the contamination risk if it would quell his burning hunger.

The eatery was devoid of customers. The cook's eyes went wide when he saw Khun enter, then glanced back at his pots. Selling off-licence food was technically illegal, but the law seemed to be ignored wherever Khun had visited. The food-works simply didn't produce enough safe food to feed the entire population.

Khun pulled up a stool at the counter. The cook wiped his hands on his apron and gave Khun a false, toothless smile. "Can I help you, My Child?"

Was that fear in the man's voice? Child priests didn't trouble themselves over petty matters like an illegal eatery. That was for the Bok officers and their short leather whips, and only if they weren't bribed enough. Then again, lots of people were afraid of child priests. After all, they did grow up to be augustes.

"I'll take a bowl of whatever's going," Khun said.

"Certainly," the cook said. He bowed and began ladling the boiled vegetables into a bowl.

The tramping of boots behind Khun tore his attention from his stomach. He half-turned in his seat and glanced at the reflection in the pot nearest him. Three longriflemen in thick coats chatted among themselves and dropped into chairs around a small table in the corner of the room. From what he could see in the distorted reflection, they didn't seem to be the same soldiers from the train. Still, Khun's spine felt like it was locked in place. He tried to will himself to relax.

The cook's face had gone even paler. Khun supposed this must be about as bad as days got for him. Forgetting himself, the cook carelessly plopped the bowl of vegetables in front of Khun, spilling a little of the broth, then hurried from behind the counter towards the soldiers' table. Khun concentrated on breathing normally and grabbed a spoon from behind the counter.

"Good afternoon," the cook said. "What can I get you fine soldiers?"

The tallest soldier swivelled in his chair. "Get me?" He spoke with a harsh East Wain accent. "You can get me a pass out of this rotting icicle."

Monu turned in his chair again. The cook had taken a step back from the table. He was trembling a little.

"Leave the poor bastard alone," one of the other soldiers said, tapping on the table with a gloved hand. "Not his fault we're stuck here."

"The fuck does that matter, Crane? I've got things to do back in Antil."

"You mean you've got whores to do back in Antil," the third soldier said. Crane burst out laughing and slapped the scowling soldier on the back.

Valiantly, the cook tried again. "Um, yes, quite. Can I interest you three in some hot soup?"

Crane nodded. "Maybe my friend here will be less cranky once he's warmed up and his cock's less shrivelled."

The cook scurried away towards the counter. Khun pretended he'd been eating his meal and not listening in, but no one took any notice. The vegetables were well over-cooked, but it was better than nothing. Khun gulped it down and managed not to choke.

"How long until we can go back?" the tall soldier asked.

"Until Raj Erisa unlocks the roads again."

Khun stopped, the spoon half-way to his mouth. Did he hear them right? The roads were locked down? He couldn't be stuck in Ronen. Monu was days ahead of him. The trail was almost gone as it was. The street kid he'd spoken to when he got here confirmed what he'd heard in Antil: Monu's captors were making their way south-east. From here their next stop would be Telina or Lone. The longer he delayed here, the further they'd get.

"I don't answer to Raj Erisa," the soldier growled. "And neither do you."

"While you're in Ronen you will, unless you want to embarrass Raj Idil. Bringing a stow-away Osun into Ronen already looks bad. I don't think he'll be happy about his men causing further trouble, do you?"

The cook brought back three bowls of vegetable soup before the soldier could retort. Khun shovelled another spoonful into his mouth and tapped his shoe against the stool. Rot it all. He had been so stupid. Why had he had to reveal who he was? He pulled the blue sleeve of his robe down over his bandaged finger. He should have realised the Rajs wouldn't leave the roads open for him to just stroll out. Rotting stupid Osun.

The soldiers fell silent and turned to slurping their soup. They had undoubtedly noticed his robes, but soldiers never seemed to be as intimidated by child priests as regular people. Maybe their longrifles made them feel safe. Khun had never fired one, but part of him wanted to try. Still, there was something about the crack and the smell that brought back dark feelings and memories swimming in fog.

"What I want to know," one of the soldiers said, "is how Raj Idil's going to get his shipment out now. He brought it on the train himself, it don't seem like he wants it to sit around here until it freezes."

"The Parnishman said the Raj was sending him to find a courier team," Crane said. "Raj Erisa's allowing Idil to get his shipment out, as long as his fine soldiers stay until we track down the Osun."

Khun covered a smile by having another spoonful of broth. What had he been so worried about? The soldier on the train had called him a dorak, a little burrow lizard. There were cracks in every wall.

And doraks knew how to find them.

Jan steeled himself, trying to block out the grunts coming from the other side of the door, and turned the knob.

Sera stopped moving atop Mial and snatched a sheet up to her breasts. Her dark red hair fell about her face in untidy ringlets. "Rot it, Jan! What the fuck are you doing?"

A flush grew in Jan's cheeks, but he forced himself to remain still and not turn away. Mial grinned sheepishly at him from the bed.

"We got work," Jan said, focussing on the burn mark on Mial's shoulder so his eyes didn't shift to the sheet that was slipping slowly down Sera's back.

"Ain't you heard?" Mial said. "City's closed. We're just making ourselves comfortable." He slapped Sera's bottom. She scowled at him and slid off, wrapping the sheet around herself.

"The city's not closed to us. Special delivery. Come on, get dressed."

Mial glanced at Sera. "Give us half an hour."

Sera rolled her eyes. "More like half a minute."

Jan pulled the door closed and exhaled. The grunting started again almost immediately. He hurried away from the door. Normally he didn't like working in crews where the members fucked each other. It tended to be bad for business, and when things were bad for business in the Interlands, people got killed. But Sera was good with a spear or a stone-axe, and the lizards were never as agreeable as when Mial was around. If Jan didn't know better, he'd say Mial had trained them that way just to keep himself in a job.

It was eight floors back down from their rooms to the ground floor, and the elevator was broken. The tower was run by a man who fancied himself a gang-lord, but Jan had heard word he was under the thumb of some of the more corrupt Bok officers. Not that it mattered, the rooms were cheap and it was one of the few places that had actual lizard stables. Ronen was too cold for the verak and loraks, so they needed heated stables. Maybe it had been cruel to bring them here in the first place, but that was where his last job had brought him. At least he wouldn't be here much longer. That was a gift from Rhoe Himself.

Heth met him at the bottom of the stairs, next to a pair of overflowing rubbish-bins. The tall, broad man appeared to be studying the graffiti etched in the stairwell walls.

"Anything interesting?" Jan asked.

Heth stroked his thick, black beard. "Apparently someone wants to fuck my mother."

"They must not have seen your mother."

Heth jerked his head skyward. "They coming?"

"In a few seconds."

Jan pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold air, and Heth followed. They circled the tower and passed through the gate into the lizard stable.

Their lizards were the only ones in the stable. The verak was curled up on a flat rock in the corner under the heat lamp, while the two smaller loraks were huddled together a few feet away. The verak was already ready, packed saddlebags large enough to hold a grown man hanging from its flanks. Heth moved to saddle his lorak, the bigger of the two. Mia would get her own lorak ready when she came down.

"Seems kind of a waste, using 'raks to cart around something so small," Heth said.

Jan didn't reply. It was weird, but he wasn't about to question it. The box the soldier had given him was smaller than a wine barrel, but it was seemed solid. He'd tried to sneak a look inside, but it was secured with some sort of elaborate lock. Maybe it was magic. It belonged to a Raj, after all. When he shook the box, it rattled a little, like it contained bottles or glass mugs. But given the amount Jan and his crew had been paid, he doubted the Raj was getting them to transport his booze.

Sera and Mial appeared a few minutes later, faces still flushed. Heth winked at Sera, but she just scowled at him. Jan suppressed a smile.

"Check the respirators, Mial," Jan said. "This cold can't be good for them."

Mial pulled on a bear-skin hat he'd picked up at the Ronen markets and started preparing the verak's harness. "Did it this morning. New filters are in."

Jan frowned. "How'd you know we'd be leaving?"

"A man can dream, can't he? Sooner we get out of this rotting ice-box, the better."

Jan grinned. "All right. Then make sure our cargo is well-secured. This is an easy job, and we're getting a nice chunk of money at the other end."

Sera shook her head and frowned while she saddled her lorak. "You're real stupid, aren't you, Jan? The Raj is sending us instead of his own soldiers because couriers are idiots who can't see those piles of money for what they are. Hazard pay."

Jan's smile slipped.

If you enjoy FALSE GODS, please consider donating or sharing this site with a friend.
Thanks,
C. R. Hindmarsh

Chapter 2

2011-05-09T15:53:00.000-07:00

Monu awoke in darkness, as he had every day for the past month. He had no way of knowing for sure what time it was, but he guessed it must be early in the morning. It was still quiet, and no one had come to take him out of his box yet.

A face mask was pressed over his face. He guessed he should be grateful for it, but it was strapped on too tight, and it dug into his skin. He tried to stretch his muscles, but it was futile. His limbs were bound to the wooden frame with thick ropes that had left blisters all over his skin. He couldn't even bend his arms or legs.

That was the purpose, of course. They couldn't afford to have him able to move. They couldn't give him the chance to break something.

Giving up, Monu settled back down and tried to make do with tightening and relaxing each of his muscles one by one. He was getting weak. On the odd occasion they let him walk around--well-guarded, of course--he was barely able to keep himself from falling over. The pathetic meals of grubs and lizard eyes they fed him didn't help much either. At least it had been warm last night.

It was worse on his left side, where his club foot was. Putting weight on the foot was impossible. It surprised him how quickly he'd lost his strength.

Something chirped outside, at Monu imagined he could see the dawn sunlight peeking through cracks in the box. He listened as footsteps began to shuffle around outside.

The lid of the box was wrenched open, and for a moment the morning sun blinded him. He blinked as tears came unbidden to his eyes.

"The Osun's looking sick," someone said. "You think he'll survive the journey?"

"Worried about your little pet, Tal?"

Monu opened his eyes into slits. One of his handlers was standing over him, framed by a canopy of thick trees. The humid air felt heavy in Monu's chest.

"I just don't want to be the one who gets chucked in the shit if he dies," Tal said, wiping the sweat from around his face mask. "If he catches the rot out here, I guarantee it'll be me who gets blamed." Tal reached towards Monu's mask. "Bet the damn thing's not even tight enough."

"I thought I told you not to touch him," a woman's voice said. Monu couldn't see who spoke, but he had grown to recognise the raspy, high-pitched voice.

Tal froze. He glanced away from Monu and withdrew his hand. His gloved fingers trembled slightly.

The auguste appeared beside Tal, graceful movements too quick to be normal. Monu suppressed a shudder as he studied the female auguste's frozen face. Her face was tattooed with a wide-mouthed grin and exagerrated eyes, giving her a horrific appearance. She was dressed in a black and white checkered suit that clung to her slim body. She turned from Tal and stared down at Monu with emotionless eyes.

"Next fool who touches the Osun gets gutted," the august said, her lips barely moving. She held up a cruel spiked hook of Raj-make. "Understand?"

Tal nodded sharply, not bothering to conceal his fear. Monu felt the same icy chill in his own bones.

The auguste glanced down at Monu once more, betraying no emotion. The chemicals augustes used to enhance their speed and strength paralysed their faces, leaving them unable to show expression and giving their voice a distinctive tone. To compensate, they tattooed grotesque false faces onto themselves.

"This one gets to the High Rajs unspoiled," she said. She gave Monu one last glance before slamming the lid shut, encasing him in darkness again.

Monu exhaled. They hadn't fed him, but at least he was free of the monster's stare. The augustes were the Rajs' personal executioners and agents. Raised as Child Priests of Rhoe, the Laughing God, and indoctrinated into the auguste ranks in some secret ritual when they reached adulthood, the augustes were rumoured to be as cruel as they were loyal. Most of the empire's citizens went their whole lives without ever seeing one up close.

Monu wasn't that lucky.

There was a clunk, and Monu's box was shaken from side to side. He felt himself being lifted up and strapped to the back of the verak. The giant lizard shook the box about, protesting the weight, but it soon settled down. Verak were big, but surprisingly docile. There was another shudder as someone mounted the verak, and then they were moving.

The day passed slowly. As the morning wore on, Monu's box began to heat up and the air became humid. Each day had been a little bit warmer than the last. Maybe that meant they were heading south. It would help if Monu had any idea where they were. He must have been unconcious for a day or two after he was captured, and it was another couple of days after that he was finally allowed him out of his box for the first time. Monu shivered when he remembered groggily waking in the box for the first time, secured to the wooden frame. It had taken all of his willpower not to scream.

It was midday by the time the lumbering verak drew to a halt. Monu's stomach gnashed with hunger pains, but he tried to focus on the sounds to see if he could get a clue about where he was.

It was hopeless. All he could hear was the chirping of little ground doraks and the occasional buzz of insect wings. He thought he caught the sound of flowing water, but he doubted that was why they'd stopped. Verak were capable of crossing most narrow rivers easily, and the water wouldn't be safe to drink.

Then he heard voices. Ever since the auguste had closed his box that morning, Monu's captors had been silent. Now he could hear muffled speaking from beside the verak. They weren't voices he recognised.

The lid of Monu's box was wrenched open, and he was again blinded by sunlight. He definitely heard a river now, but he didn't have time to puzzle over that before gloved hands grabbed him and pulled him out of the box. He tried to resist, but his arms and legs were still splinted to the wooden frame, holding him still. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light, the hands lowered him from the verak and onto his feet on the ground.

Monu blinked and stared into the horrifying face of the auguste. The auguste regarded him with her blank stare for a moment, then turned to someone behind her. "See, it is as I said."

A man stepped past her and came nose-to-nose with Monu. Musky perfume slipped through Monu's mask and tickled his nose. The man's hairline had receded so far Monu couldn't see where it began, but a long, braided ponytail hung over his shoulder. A cloak of metallic green bird feathers with a high collar surrounded him. How could he stand the heat?

The man studied Monu, his crinkled face impassive around his respirator mask. By the lack of brown dust on his mask, he was either very wealthy or rarely travelled in the Interlands. Probably both.

"He looks sick," the man said. His voice quietened by the mask; he probably wasn't used to having to speak louder when he wore one. "His skin is grey."

The auguste nodded. "He is Osun. His skin is supposed to be grey."

There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but the man didn't react. "He won't survive the whole way if you keep him in this box. A man needs sunlight and air."

"He is not a man. He is an Osun."

Monu locked eyes with the man. Thick eyebrows sprouted from his face like tall grass. He did not regard Monu unkindly, but Monu had learned not to trust the wealthy. And this man was more than just a wealthy commoner.

The man finally glanced back to the auguste. "What do you need?"

"Food, water. The soldiers complain of dirty clothes." She shrugged and gestured to the group of longriflemen preparing the last of their dried meat. One or two glanced up as she spoke, but it was clear from the intensity of their concentration they were all listening. "So perhaps some soap, or failing that, some time with a flogger to teach them not to complain."

A couple of the soldiers shivered. Monu couldn't tell if the auguste was joking or not. Did augustes even joke? Or did their chemicals burn away their sense of humour as well as their facial expressions?

"Telina doesn't use the flog. It's too barbaric. We prefer nausea induction as a punishment. But we can provide you with the supplies you need. Come, my escort will lead you through a door near the North Gate. I don't want riots started by an august brining an Osun into the city."

The auguste bowed her head. "Of course, Raj Baer."

The man returned her bow and spun away, his heavy feather cloak swinging with him. Monu had been right, he was no commoner. A Raj. A magician of the empire. For some reason, Monu expected him to look more impressive, though he didn't know how.

The Raj had said he was from Telina. Monu tried to picture the maps he and Khun had studied in the libraries of Antil. He seemed to remember Telina being a small city-state between the Sawtooth Mountains and the east coast, but he couldn't place it exactly. He'd been distracted by trying to teach Khun about his people.

Khun had to be safe now. He had to be. Monu had been alone when he was captured, so Khun probably had no idea what had happened. Hopefully he just thought Monu had finally abandoned him. It would hurt him, but Khun was strong, and he was a survivor.

The longriflemen returned to Monu's side and hoisted him back up onto his box on the verak. The scaly creature lay motionless, soaking in the sunlight, as the soldiers dropped him back into the box. One of them was Tal, the soldier from before. He flashed Monu a look of veiled pity and dropped the lid.

Strange how Monu was getting more comfortable in darkness. It was so much safer here.

If you enjoy FALSE GODS, please consider donating or sharing this site with a friend.
Thanks,
C. R. Hindmarsh

Chapter 1

2011-05-09T15:48:00.000-07:00

13 Years Later

Breathing hard, Khun ducked into the darkness of an alley and scrambled behind a pile of discarded food-works crates. The tramping boots behind him grew louder, and he held his breath. He kept the bundle in his arms wrapped in his jacket and pressed it against his abdomen. He longed to peek at it, but now wasn't the time. The shouts grew louder, echoing around the stone alley, then began to fade. Khun allowed himself to breathe. They hadn't seen him. They never did. Bok officers were as blind as they were slow.

When the last of the voices had faded, he peeked out from his hiding place. People made their way back and forth on the wide streets outside, but none of them spared more than a glance for him. They had better things to do than bother with some skinny little street kid. Khun suppressed a flash of bitterness and slipped deeper into the alley.

One thing Khun had learned since they'd been forced into the east quarter of Antil was that all the alleys joined up sooner or later. He kept the bundle close to himself as he passed some older men huddled around a fire. The smoke had a foul taste, and Khun pulled his dirty grey shirt up over his mouth and nose. Why in the gods names' were they burning contaminated wood? They were old; the rot would tear their lungs to shreds if they weren't careful. The wood ration was only two days away, and anyone who knew the first thing about surviving here could last two days without a fire.

Shaking his head, Khun pressed on. Finally, he found the narrow stairway he was looking for. It was marked with chalk: a line inside a circle. Whenever they found somewhere to stay, they marked it in case one of them got lost. When they left, they wiped away the chalk. As long as they kept moving, they were safe, that's what Monu always said.

Khun descended the stairs until the blue-green sky was cut from his vision. He didn't bother lighting a match; his eyes were good, and it would just be a waste. He kept one hand on the wall as he descended, feeling the roughly hewn bricks beneath his fingers.

Thirty-seven steps to the bottom. He'd counted when they'd moved here. Monu said it was important to know everything about your escape routes. The stairs became a tunnel at the bottom, disappearing underneath the city. Antil was criss-crossed with old tunnels and underground buildings. The books Monu made him read said they were from before the Fall, when the Interlands didn't exist and cities could sprawl out for miles around. By now Antil had been built on top of itself so many times these tunnels were forgotten by all but the homeless. That suited Khun just fine.

The glow of lamplight lit a branching tunnel ahead of him, and Khun turned towards it. He followed it to its end and pushed open the creaking wooden door.

"I got something good for us," Khun said, grinning. He held his bundled jacket and shut the door behind him.

Monu looked up from his book, his grey skin cast into shadows in the light from the oil lamp. Khun swallowed. He knew that look.

Monu put the book aside and clambered to his feet, his club foot held awkwardly in front of the other one. "It's nearly nightfall. You said you'd only be gone an hour."

Khun lowered the bundle. "How would you know what time it is? Have you even gone out all day?"

Monu glared, and for a moment Khun wondered if he'd gone too far. Monu had been pressing him harder and harder these days, sending him to the library for hours at a time to study things he had no interest in. Khun hadn't even spoken to someone else his age in weeks.

Remarkably, Monu's face softened. He limped closer and smiled. "The ambience is nicer here." He put a hand on Khun's shoulder, and Khun felt a twinge of regret for his sharp words. Ever since the food ration had been cut, they'd been fighting all the time, and he found himself getting angry at Monu for no reason. Monu was always so calm, even when he argued, which only made it worse.

"There was a street festival," Khun said. "You should've seen it. They had fire jugglers and knife throwing and everything."

Monu grinned. "Too bad you didn't volunteer to be the target."

Khun punched him in the shoulder. "But look what I filched." He ripped his jacket away from the bundle with a flourish and held the sack open for Monu to see.

"Apples?" Monu's forehead crinkled. "Where'd you get these?"

"Raj Idil had a box seat to watch the dancers, and--"

"The Raj? You stole these from the Raj?" Monu's voice didn't rise, but it had the bite to it that he only got when he was really pissed.

Khun knew he should back down, but something in Monu's tone dug at him. He wasn't seven anymore. "He had a whole table of them. He wasn't going to eat all of them."

"Did anyone see you?"

"A few Bok officers, but I slipped them easy."

"Rot it, Khun! What were you thinking?"

Khun took a step back. Monu never swore, and he never raised his voice. "I was thinking about us. When's the last time we ate something that wasn't half-rotten?"

Monu glared at him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the apples. Even through his anger, Khun could see the desire in Monu's eyes. He couldn't hide anything from Khun. They were both hungry. Starving. But even before Monu opened his mouth, Khun could tell what he was going to do.

"I'm taking these back."

"That's stupid," Khun said, ignoring Monu's deepening frown. Well, it was stupid. "They're not going to find us."

"You know we can't draw attention to ourselves--"

"Then don't take them back. The Raj will have forgotten all about them by now."

Monu shook his head. "It's not the apples. Don't you see? It's the principle of the thing. Haven't you taken in anything I've taught you about the Rajs?"

"I--"

"That's enough." Monu closed the bag up and slung it over his shoulder. "No more arguing. I'll be back soon."

Khun's anger simmered. Monu always liked to dictate when the argument was over. "They're my apples. I'll take them back."

"No." He made for the door. "The Bok officers know what you look like now. You can stay here and study. I got you a book on the history of the Fall."

Khun opened his mouth to argue more, then shut it again. He wasn't going to get anywhere. Monu was stubborn, even more stubborn than he was.

Monu slipped on his jacket and pulled open the door. He started to leave, but he turned on the threshold. His face had lost its edge again, and he was back to being Monu, the big brother. "Thank you for the apples."

He pulled the door closed, and Khun was left alone.

That was the last time he saw his brother.

Khun opened his eyes as the train shuddered and forced himself not to recall that day again. It was too late for guilt. He had his path now, and he couldn't let the past get in his way.

He huddled among the suitcases and crates and tried not to be thrown about by the train's twisting. It wasn't natural, machines traversing the Interlands with impunity. Khun couldn't help picturing the metalrot setting in on one of the train's axles, turning it to rust and sending the machine flying off the tracks and into the mountain-side below.

Maybe the Raj's magics kept the rot at bay. The train was leather-coated, of course, but there were so many metal parts. Khun had studied a city train in Antil once. A city train was one thing, but crossing the Interlands in one just seemed foolhardy.

The train shuddered, and a suitcase toppled over. There were no windows here in the cargo hold, but an icy breeze blew in through a crack at the edge of the leather sheet that acted as a door. Khun could see snow falling outside. They were close to the clouds up here. Maybe that was what kept the metalrot away: the cold. If there were no plants up this high, maybe there were no spores either.

Khun shivered and pulled his thin mandar-skin jacket around him. The Raj's carriage near the front of the train would be warm, heat pouring from the wall panels. But there was no point feeling sorry for himself. At least he'd managed to sneak aboard without the Raj's longriflemen catching him. His ash-grey skin wouldn't have earned him much compassion.

The journey through the mountain passes would have taken weeks if he'd been forced to walk. And the mask and goggles he'd filched in Antil was made for someone much bigger than him. He was small for a fourteen-year-old, and he'd have been forever adjusting the straps and trying to ignore the foul air that came through the mask.

The train shuddered again, and Khun realised they were going downhill. They must be nearly there. The train went as far as Ronen. From there, he'd have to find another way to travel.

The train started slowing earlier than Khun expected. He risked peeling back the leather door a few inches. He'd seen sketches of Ronen before, but this was his first time seeing it in person. The city-state was a third the size of Antil, but it was still fairly wealthy. It sat on a plateau that looked as if the Laughing God had sliced the mountaintop off with one swipe of his bladed hook. Buildings rose from the stone like inverted icicles. They were packed close together to maximise the available space. The blue and white towers were beautiful, or they had been once. Several of them were coated with a layer of brown grime.

Without warning, the train's brakes were applied. Wheels screeched, and Khun was thrown forward. His head struck the corner of a dismantled desk. Pain shot through his forehead, and black spots swam in his vision.

Heavy footsteps brought Khun back to reality. He scrambled to his feet and ducked behind a crate just as the leather door was ripped back. Sunlight filled the carriage. Khun held his breath. The carriage creaked as someone pulled himself inside.

"Which one's it in?" The voice was young, not yet hoarse with lungrot.

"How should I know?" came the grizzled reply. "Get in there and find out."

Khun heard the younger man grumbling, then his footsteps began to tread through the carriage. Khun pressed himself into a crack between two crates.

Khun could hear the younger man's breathing. He bit his lip as gloved fingers appeared on the top of the crate he was crouched beside.

"Hurry up, you Parnish bastard," the older man yelled.

The man ripped the lid off the crate and tossed it to the ground. Khun caught a glimpse of the man's leather overcoat. He tried to pretend he was nothing but a mouse.

"Got it," the young man said. He hefted something out of the crate and his boots turned back towards the door. "Must be thirty of them here. The Raj won't notice if we take an extra--"

The train shook again. Khun kept himself from gasping only by biting his tongue.

"Thieving Parnish," the older man growled, closer now.

The younger man's boots appeared back into Khun's field of view. "I was only joking."

Khun could see the man now. His longrifle was slung over his shoulder, a short leather whip at his belt. The man wore an Interland breathing mask, though there was no need for it. The goggles would limit the soldier's peripheral vision, the only reason he hadn't yet spotted Khun.

"Give me it," the older man said.

The younger man held out a wide bottle. "All right, cool your fires. It's probably foul grog anyway."

A gloved fist collided with the younger man's face. He stumbled backwards, blood spraying in a thin stream from behind his mask, and collapsed to the ground.

Right next to Khun.

Khun waited, his throat tight, while the rifleman's eyes focussed on him. Please let him not see. Please.

The man's face turned from confusion to anger. He pushed himself off the floor, gaze fixed on Khun. "We got us a rotting little stowaway."

Khun leapt from his hiding place, fists raised. It took the rifleman by surprise. Khun got in a quick punch in the man's abdomen. The man bent over, but Khun's weight wasn't enough to really hurt the man. Khun darted to the side as the man growled and tried to grab him. He only caught air.

"What the fuck was that?" the older man said. Khun risked a glance behind at the pair of riflemen while he dashed deeper into the carriage. The younger man was pulling his rifle from his shoulder. A cruel bayonet was fixed to the end.

Khun ducked between another pair of crates and tried to hide against the wall. The carriage wasn't large enough; he couldn't hide. He had to get to the door.

Sliding along as quietly as he could, Khun strained his ears for the sound of footsteps. They were quieter now than when the soldiers had first come in, but their boots were heavy enough to make a sound no matter what. Leather scuffed on wood to his left. He tried to hold his breath.

"Here, little dorak," the younger man said. "Come out from your little burrow."

Khun stayed silent.

"You rotting idiot Parnish," the older man said. "I'll show you how to root out a lizard."

"Hey, wait, what are you--"

A boom echoed through the carriage. The crate next to Khun splintered as the lead ball struck it, sending shards of wood into the air. He put a hand to his mouth to keep from yelping. A dirty taste filled his nose and mouth.

"What in Rhoe's name do you think you're doing?" the younger man asked as the smoke cleared. "You were just getting pissed at me for taking a bottle of grog, and now you're shooting at the Raj's things? Are you cracked?"

Khun peeked out. The two soldiers were facing each other, not five feet from him.

"I'm saving our hides. We'll be responsible if they find out a stowaway was on the Raj's train. What if he's got the rot?"

Khun took advantage of the bickering to dart behind them. He made for the icy air coming from the carriage door.

"Rot it, there he is!" the younger man yelled.

Another rifle shot cracked. Startled, he spun to the side, catching his foot on a suitcase. He tumbled to the floor within inches of the door.

"Ugly little runt, ain't he?" the older man said. Khun rolled onto his back and tried to scramble to his feet, but the younger man planted a boot in his chest and forced him back down. He felt like crying, but he forced it back. That wouldn't help anyone.

The younger man stared down at him. Khun couldn't help but feel he was grinning behind his mask. "I've seen girls without a hint of tit bigger than him. What're you doing here, kid?"

He no longer felt like crying. Something else began to bubble inside him. His hand slowly moved towards his belt.

"Don't talk much, does he?" the older man said. "Little bastard's probably one of them retarded beggars from Antil."

Khun tried to ignore the taunts and the pain of the man's boot in his chest, but his anger continued to seethe. His hand closed around the metal device in his belt. It served as a shell-cracker, usually, but it had a different purpose to him.

The two soldiers looked at each other, and Khun used the distraction to bring his hands together in front of him. He put his little finger into the shell-cracker. It would only hurt for a second. Just a second.

The younger soldier shrugged. "Might as well let him go. Looks sick as a donkey anyway, he won't last much--"

Khun squeezed the shell-cracker. For an instant, his little finger felt like it was on fire. Then the bone cracked. The pain disappeared as quickly as it had come, and warmth flooded him.

The surroundings look on a pink tinge. He could see the air, a billion tiny dots vibrating and flowing through space. The soldiers stared at his broken finger open-mouthed. Khun smiled.

The older soldier brought the bayonet into position to stab, but Khun manipulated the air around him, bringing it together until it became a bubble of energy. He concentrated, and the bubble struck the older soldier. The man flew directly away from Khun and hit the ceiling with a thud. Khun released the bubble and the man dropped. His head struck the corner of a crate, and he was still.

The younger soldier stared at his fallen comrade, his boot still in place on Khun's chest. He barely had time to scream before Khun threw him aside, tossing him into a pile of dismantled furniture.

Khun only had seconds left before the Os left him. He could feel it draining away. Monu had taught him as much as he could, but most of it Khun had to learn on his own.

The younger soldier groaned and started to pick himself out of the furniture. Khun should finish him off. Get rid of the rotting bastard.

No. No time. He had to run. Already he could hear more boots tramping towards the carriage.

His mind made up, Khun raced toward the door. As the cold air hit him, he leapt. He forced a bubble of air behind him, using it to propel him away from the train. Men shouted, but Khun ignored them.

He brought the air together in front of him and used it as a cushion. He stumbled as he hit the packed snow, but it wasn't enough to make him fall. His boots slid as he ran past the train. The station was divided from the city's main plateau by a short bridge. Several longriflemen stood around it, staring at Khun as he ran. No chance there. He could do one more jump. Get across the gap.

Maybe.

He leapt again. A rifle fired, and Khun watched the air swirl next to him. He used the disruption in the air to change his course slightly. The Os was too soft to stop something like a rifle shot or the stab of a spear, but Khun could glance off the waves, use them.

Snow pelted his face, stinging him. He already knew he wasn't going to have a good landing. The last of the Os was draining from him. He forced a bubble down against the snow-covered stone of the plateau anyway.

He was slowed a little, but he still hit the ground hard. He toppled from his feet and rolled. Gashes opened up on his hands, but his thick clothing took the brunt of the rest. His head spun, and he couldn't see the air anymore. The Os was gone. Pain flared again in his broken finger.

Shouts floated across the short ravine. Longriflemen ran across the bridge towards him. He had to move.

Pushing aside the pain in his fingers and his muscles, Khun got to his feet. The time for fighting was over. Now it was time to run.

If you enjoy FALSE GODS, please consider donating or sharing this site with a friend.
Thanks,
C. R. Hindmarsh

Prologue

2011-05-09T14:40:00.000-07:00

Monu stumbled over the rocky ground, his permanently twisted foot catching in a grassy patch. The air was filled with the stink of the red-men's firesticks. His mama shouted words at him, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. The baby screamed in her arms, flailing about like a wounded dorak. He was a healthy baby, unafflicted by the lungrot and the deformity that kept Monu back from racing with the other boys. Now the other boys were fighting, while Monu ran.

Booms echoed through the stone basin like a dozen thunder claps. Light flashed. People screamed. Monu ran.

"Through the pass," Mama said. Monu complied, limping through a narrow crack in the cliff-face. The baby's crying sounded louder in here. Maybe if Monu hit him then he'd shut up. Monu immediately felt guilt. It was just the three of them now. Papa was dead, a hole in his neck from a soldier's firestick.

The crack in the cliff grew tighter, blocking out the light from the afternoon sun. Monu slowed so his foot didn't catch on the walls. His breathing was noisy, whistling from the lungrot. Mama urged him on. The baby's screams pounded in his ears.

The cracks of the firesticks grew fainter as they hurried through the pass. He couldn't smell the fire and stink of sulfur now. Their home would be ashes by now, along with the rest of the village. Monu had just enough time to see the red-men set it alight before one of them turned a firestick on him. It had only been the intervention of one of the elders that had saved Monu. An intervention that saw the elder burned along with the long-house.

Monu emerged from the crack into glaring sunlight. His chest felt like someone was sitting on it. Mama stopped short behind him. It took him a moment to see what they were staring at.

"Halt," the red-man said in Osish, raising his firestick. It was just the one, standing on a rocky outcrop to their left. His face was hidden behind a mask, a tube running down from where his mouth should be. He stared at Monu, dead eyes behind glass.

Fear flowed through Monu's bones. He backed away on trembling legs. The red-man's noisy breathing was the only sound he could hear. Even the baby had gone quiet.

The red-man turned and yelled something in his own language. The crunching of boots on gravel answered him.

Mama thrust the baby into Monu's arms. He was heavier than Monu remembered. Monu hefted him up as Mama stepped between them and the red-man.

"Please," Mama said, raising an arm toward the soldier. "Please, don't hurt them."

Two more red-men jogged up behind the first. The three of them stared at Mama, leather uniforms swaying slightly in the breeze.

The baby fidgeted in Monu's arms. Monu continued to back away, whispering nonsense in the baby's ear.

"Down," the first red-man said in his harsh accent. He jerked his firestick towards Mama.

Mama began to slowly get down onto her knees. Monu stepped forward, but she waved him back. Her other hand snaked across the ground.

The baby started squirming again. His eyes were fixed on Mama. Tears welled in his eyes.

"Shhh," Monu whispered. He backed into a hollow in the cliff-face.

The red-men marched towards Mama, their firesticks held easy now. One of them glanced over at Monu, but the others ignored him. They stopped in a loose semi-circle around Mama and began talking in their language. Their laughter sounded hollow coming from their masks.

One of the red-men grabbed Mama's tunic and shoved her into the ground. She grunted as the wind was knocked out of her.

"Mama!" Monu yelled. The baby began screaming again.

Another red-man jerked his firestick at Monu. "Come."

"No," Mama said, her voice muffled as her face was shoved against the rock. "Please, let them go."

The red-man laughed and stalked towards Monu.

Mama rolled over. Her lip was bleeding. "Monu." She spoke quickly, too quickly for the red-men to understand. "The baby, his name is Khun."

Monu bit his lip. The baby shouldn't be named yet. It wasn't his Breaking Day for two more years.

The red-man reached his gloved hand toward Monu. Mama's hand wrapped itself around a large rock. Monu understood.

"Mama, no!"

Mama smashed the rock down on her hand. Monu could hear the bones cracked. For a second, Mama's face contorted in pain. Then it was calm. No, not calm. Angry.

Mama thrust her mangled hand towards the red-man near Monu. The others brought up their firesticks, but not quick enough. With the crack of stone breaking, the earth erupted around the red-man. He was thrust backwards, twisting as an invisible wave hit him. Monu covered his face as stone chips shot through the air. The red-man hit the cliff-face with a crack. Blood spilled from the sides of his mask.

The other two red-men were shouting in their guttural tones. One aimed his firestick at Mama. Mama spun towards him and he flew sideways, the weapon ripped from his hands.

Monu dashed forwards, but something pressed against him. Mama was holding him. The baby--no, Khun--thrashed against Monu's tight grasp.

"Flee!" Mama yelled. A force pressed against Monu, shoving him away from Mama.

The remaining red-man drove the butt of his firestick into Mama's stomach. She doubled over, gasping. The pressure on Monu lessened for an instant, then she turned towards him and it returned.

The red-man pressed the barrel of his firestick against Mama's head. His eyes were angry behind the mask. Mama didn't look at him. She stared at Monu. Monu understood. He turned and ran.

The red-man yelled something, but Monu didn't turn back. Tears streamed down his face. He plunged into the cover of another crack in the rock. It was a labyrinth here. It would take the red-men hours to find him.

Monu tried to block out the sound of the single bang from the red-man's firestick.

He limped along, cursing his twisted foot. The baby still screamed. Just the two of them now. Just the two of them.

Khun. A child was named for the first thing his parents saw after his first Breaking. Monu didn't know much Old Osish, but he knew enough to recognise this name.

Khun. Destruction.

If you enjoy FALSE GODS, please consider donating or sharing this site with a friend.
Thanks,
C. R. Hindmarsh