Birth of a Mortal God (13 page)

“Oh, I—”

Killmar entered the store, and she noted his mood had only worsened as he turned to the old man. “Do you have what you need?” The master weaver nodded as he walked over. “Then we will return in three days for the dress. Where are the other clothes?”

She indicated the wooden box next to her.

He regarded the black tunic and trousers he had given her with disapproval. “Why are you still dressed in those?”

“Well . . . um . . . I thought—”

Not waiting for the answer, he picked up the wooden box. “Never mind. Come, we’re leaving.”

She wondered what had caused his mood but knew better than to ask. She’d only seen him like this once, when he had caught her praying to Jion, god of the hunt, to aid him in his search for game. She didn’t know why, but he seemed to rather dislike all things celestial.

He paused at the shop’s door. “Oh, and Master Weaver, if you disappoint me, I’ll burn down this shop . . .
with you in it
.”

The old man watched them leave with wide eyes then scurried to lock the door behind them. “Different, eh? Dangerous seems a more apt description.”

Jessica squinted as light stung her eyes, the sun hung now exactly at eye level. The streets were becoming more vacant as merchants closed their shops for the day, and both patrons and proprietors headed for the taverns and brothels to enjoy some relaxation.

Despite the rapidly failing light, the city didn’t grow darker even in the complete absence of street lanterns and torches. For most shadows were banished by the ever-present green glow of the hekishoku-reikon.

Killmar moved through the streets unfazed by the alluring scene around them. In fact, she almost had to jog just to keep up with him. After several minutes, they reached an inn. Its width was that of three adjacent merchant shops, and it towered at a height of five stories. There were multiple windows spread out on each, their glass decorated with maroon patterns. A large, well-maintained sign with an illustration of a scantly clad woman spread out on a bed hung above the door. Killmar darted into the inn without so much as a pause.

She followed and silently admired the common room’s beauty. Unlike the Running Bastard, the tables were spaciously positioned, which allowed those sitting at them some privacy. The interior walls were paneled with a dark wood, covering the ever-glowing hekishoku-reikon. Save for a few strategic holes that illuminated the establishment with the help of the four great hearths in each corner. The tables and bar counter were all made from ullienian white wood, which was renowned for both its durability and ivory-like beauty. All the patrons were finely dressed and wore expensive jewellery. She could not help but feel naked under their judgemental gazes.

The innkeeper, a well-maintained man dressed in costly red and black silk, only glanced at them from behind the bar counter before returning to polishing the crystal glass in his hand.

“Welcome to the Silent Mistress. How may I serve you?” he asked without breaking his attention from his task.

Jessica noticed the fist clutched at Killmar’s side as he said, “We are looking for a room, preferably with a bath.”

The innkeeper looked up and examined their dusty clothes. “You seem to be lost. I am afraid, if you want a room you can afford, you need to visit an inn at the docks.”

His words were barely cold when she heard the wooden box strike the ground, followed by the deafening snap of timber. A dozen mercenaries came rushing down the staircase behind the innkeeper before coming to a sudden halt as they regarded the scene before them.

Killmar pulled his right fist free from the rubble that once was the ullienian bar counter and hissed, “You better start showing me some respect!”

The innkeeper regarded the split wreckage in shock, then he noticed he had dropped his glass. His expression changed from one of shock to rage. “What have you done, you simpleton?! Restrain this man and woman immediately! I’ll have you and your woman work here until you repay this debt! Don’t think you’ll get away with this!”

Jessica could not understand the man’s insanity until she noticed the light violet glow on each of the mercenaries’ blades. It was a popular, though expensive, enchantment which gave weapons an incredibly keen edge, as well as preventing them from going dull.

The men were clearly seasoned veterans as they spread into an attack formation.

She felt a surge of panic. “You can’t fight—”

Then it was there. The same unexplained pressure she had felt months ago in that cave; only this time, it was amplified a thousand fold. Everyone in the inn was being pressed to the ground, and she noticed through the open door that the people outside were suffering the same effect. Most of the patrons lost consciousness, whereas the guards were weakly trying to keep themselves up with their hands and knees.

Killmar regarded them with apparent disgust. “Remember this feeling, mortals. You are nothing but insects, only worthy to be crushed underneath my boot.”

Jessica couldn’t breathe under the intense pressure and started crawling towards him, hoping she’d reach him before fainting.

He was smiling as the mercenaries toppled over one after the other when she reached him and grabbed his ankle. His eyes widened as he saw her gasping for breath like a fish on land.

The pressure stopped, and he bent down, holding her as she coughed due to the sudden intake of air. “Are you all right?”

She gave him a weak smile at his unusual show of concern and lightly reached out, touching his cheek. “Don’t go forgetting about me.”

For the first time, she saw him truly worried, and she didn’t hate it. He picked her up and turned to the few remaining conscious mercenaries. “Is one of your suites available?”

“The newlywed suite is unoccupied as far as I know,” one of them replied weakly.

He glanced at her and enjoyed the return of colour to her cheeks. “When your master wakes up, tell him we are renting it.”

“Who are—” started the man before noticing the long, light blue lock of hair underneath the dark hood. “Supai’s six thousand cocks! You’re—!”

He realised his hood had slid back due to all the commotion and pulled it forward, covering his features again in shadow. “Do not jump to conclusions. I am but another traveller passing through, understood?” He made sure his tone told the man it was not a suggestion.

He proceeded to the stairs before coming to an abrupt halt. “Where is this suite?”

“Third floor, furthest door on your left,” blurted the guard.

“Thank you,” he said before advancing up the stairs.

Jessica looked up at her travelling companion. “I don’t understand.”

“There are many things you don’t understand yet. Care to be more specific?”

“Why hide your appearance if it would grant you the respect you so firmly demand?”

He sighed. “Because it grants me more than respect. Long ago, I walked around openly as you suggest, but all it did was draw needless attention to myself. I was constantly plagued by warriors seeking fame, or noble women who wanted my hand in marriage, and those were the less bothersome consequences. The more my fame grew, so too did the complications until I was finally faced with a choice. I could either withdraw myself from society or destroy each city upon leaving. I chose the less bothersome of the two.”

She smiled. “Well I am glad you didn’t choose the latter. I have to confess, I didn’t expect you to confirm your identity.”

“You are no fool, Jessica. I knew bringing you here would mean you would hear the rumours about me and fit the pieces together.”

He reached their room and opened the door. The floor was laid out in black carpeting with maroon patterns, while similar coloured, long heavy curtains hung from the window frames. A large bed dominated the eastern half of the room, with two wardrobes on either side. The northern wall was home to a small desk with a personalized hekishoku-reikon-fashioned lamp. The western wall had been turned into a bathing area, fitted with a tub that could easily accommodate six people. Finally the middle of the room provided a dining area with a round table and four comfortable-looking, cushioned chairs.

Jessica had to fight the urge to just keep quiet but finally said, “Um, you can put me down, I mean I’m all right now.”

“Very well,” he said as he lowered her, feet first, to the ground.

She admired the room’s beauty. “This is going to be expensive.”

He shrugged before sitting down on one of the chairs.

She saw a chance and took it. “So does that mean you sell the magical items you get as payment?”

He blew the long dangling lock to the side of his face. “Why do you assume that?”

She sat down on the chair across from him. “Well, from what I’ve seen, you clearly have no problem with spending absurd amounts of gold. And according to rumours, you have never requested gold as payment for any of your deeds. They say you only offer your services to someone if they have a magical item you want.”

He snorted. “Is that what they say? I suppose it makes sense coming to that conclusion.”

“So?”

He feigned ignorance. “So what?”

She pouted. “So where do you get all your gold? Are the rumours even true?”

“You have become awfully interested in me,” he said with a slight smirk.

She looked away. “Is there something wrong with that?”

He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I suppose not.”

She picked up something in his voice that alerted her. “Is something wrong?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, you seem . . . sad.”

Though it could have been easily mistaken, she was sure she saw a slight smile on his face for a brief moment before he leaned his head back again. “I suppose they are somewhat true.”

“What?”

“The rumours. They’re somewhat true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I do only take rare magical items as payment, but it wasn’t always so. I also no longer initiate contracts. Potential clients now contact me through . . . the appropriate channels. If they could be bloody bothered,” the bitterness in the last statement did not go unnoticed. “Though I still choose whether or not a contract is worth my time, of course.”

Jessica nervously clasped her hands together; she knew she was about to press her luck. “About your contracts, um . . . is it true that you would do any task? I mean, some stories say you’ve butchered entire families without batting an eye. While others tell of how you saved towns and rescued children from death. I’m sorry I asked, of course you wouldn’t—”

He didn’t look at her. “It is all true. Whether it’s a man, woman, or child, if it is my contract to kill them, I would, without hesitation, without mercy.”

She covered her mouth in horror. “Why?”

He reached for the ceiling, staring at his hands. “How many lives do you think these hands have taken? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? These hands of mine are stained with the blood of beings you didn’t even know existed. I have been called a monster, a demon . . . I have been called unnecessary. Why you ask? Because I want to live! I will never be confined. I will never surrender! They will never have the satisfaction of seeing me disappear!”

Killmar felt pressure against his chest and looked down; she was embracing him, a few rogue tears rolling down her cheeks. “Wha-”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

It was there again, the same strange sensation he had felt when he had seen her unconscious amidst the flames consuming the Running Bastard. However, it felt more overwhelming this time. He could feel his skin grow warmer, and his heart thundered in his chest. It was odd and yet somehow likeable.

“I’m sorry. My constant pestering has made you remember something terrible. I know how that feels,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

It felt strange. He had an ache in his stomach, a need to hold her. It was not out of lust, but something different. He wanted to . . . comfort her. He humoured the impulse and wrapped his arms around her petite body.

“I swear no matter what happens, I’ll never call you a monster or a demon. You are not unnecessary. I need you,” she said softly.

“Jessica, I—” Then her lips met his. Their kiss was long and passionate, lightly laced with the salt of her tears. He wiped away the remaining moisture from her cheeks. “You are indeed something unique.” She lowered her eyes in a modest manner that he would have thought impossible for a slave girl.

Jessica took a moment to gather her courage before lifting her gaze. “Killmar, I think I am in—”

A knock on the door interrupted her, and he moved to open it.

“Of all the times,” she whispered to herself.

He properly hid his features again then opened the door. The innkeeper and a page stood equally nervous in front of their room. The boy held the wooden box containing her new clothing tightly to his chest, as if his very life depended on its safe return.

Killmar silently regarded the pair a moment. “Yes?”

Rivulets of sweat flowed down the innkeeper’s face. “I beg your pardon, sir, you seemed to have left your luggage downstairs. I hope the contents are not damaged.”

“I am sure its fine,” he said as the page carefully handed him the small chest.

The innkeeper forced a smile, though it was clear that he was about to wet himself. “I am relieved to hear that. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologise for my utter rudeness earlier. I have soiled my inn with my behaviour and would like to ask for your forgiveness.”

“It is good to see you have come to your senses. Be at ease, master innkeeper. You have my pardon.”

Relief seemed to wash over the man as if someone had taken a blade from his throat. “You are most gracious. Is there anything else I could help you with?”

“Yes, please try to keep our little disagreement as quiet as possible. As a businessman, I am sure you understand.”

The innkeeper made a slight bow. “Of course.”

“Also, I would like you to ready the bath.”

“Immediately,” said the innkeeper before motioning to the page, the boy nodded and ran off.