Haru reappeared in a back alley, and paused a moment to get his bearings. He had been following the energy traces left by Dadacha. That was not a difficult thing for someone of his abilities, but still something that required a bit of precision if he didn't want to lose such a faint trace as a minor demon left. He had to admit, he liked the way cities had come on almost as much as Aki liked the evolution of fashion. When he had first stepped into existence, most villages hadn't been much more than a collection of mud huts or heaps of sticks with hide stretched over them. These substantial things of beautifully carved stone or cleanly sanded wood suited his aesthetic much better. He was going to have to keep all that in mind when his plans finally came to fruition.

Someday we'll be able to arrange a universe of our own, he told himself, but it doesn't hurt to take a good look at what everyone else has been doing first, to get some new ideas.

The largest and grandest of the nearby buildings was another new innovation, something called a theater, where people put on performances. He had been impressed by the idea of performing, too. He and Aki had paused long enough in Akoya's city after they had claimed their first priest to take in a play and a few musical recitals, and had been immensely impressed at how far humanity had come in a few centuries. He had the idea that he wouldn't mind learning to play some of those instruments. One of the fortunate side-effects of being made of sound and silence was that both twins had a fine sense of rhythm and pleasant singing voices. Surely they ought to be able to manage instruments as well.

But that was a project for later, and right now, he needed to find one of the gods responsible for these productions. He approached the theater, sized it up, and let himself in through one of the walls. That was one of the nice things about being a god, after all - never having to worry about whether or not a building was locked up for the day.

It didn't take long to track down the god he was looking for. There was, after all, only one in the building - an entity in the form of a young man with longish red-brown hair and an intense expression. He seemed to be in an agitated state, pacing up and down one of the aisles, muttering to himself. Haru caught the words "revenge," "plan," and "has to be somebody," and assumed that he'd found the right deity.

"Can I help you?" he asked in his sweetest tones.

Katari jumped and looked around wildly.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" he demanded. Then his gaze fell on Haru and his eyes narrowed. "How did you even see me?"

Haru smiled. "Can't you guess? I'm a god too."

Katari's mouth pursed. "You're no god I've ever seen before."

"Well, no," said Haru. "You see, I'm the sun god. I don't get down from my perch very often - don't do much mingling with you little terrestrial gods. But you can take my word for it, I'm definitely a god."

"So what are you doing, if you don't usually come down here?" Katari asked.

It was time for a bluff. "Well, I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be feuding with Akoya these last few days," he said smoothly. "And since I'm not all that fond of him myself, I thought perhaps we could talk."

"What does the god of the sun need with Akoya?" Katari asked, but Haru could see that he was interested. "I should think that you'd be happy to deal with the god of springtime."

"Well, that's just it," said Haru, seizing on the cue. "Before he came along, warming the earth was my job. Now he's come along and no one even remembers I exist anymore. They give him all the credit. It's downright intolerable, don't you think?"

"Oh, certainly, I can see that," said Katari. Clearly Haru had said the right thing. A glitter had come into Katari's eyes that hadn't been there before.

"So what I was thinking," said Haru, "was that perhaps we could work together towards a mutually beneficial goal."

"What did you have in mind?" Katari asked.

"Just a little prank, that's all," said Haru. "Something to embarrass Akoya and take him down a peg."

Katari nodded. "That's exactly what I want. What kind of prank, exactly?"

Haru hesitated for just a beat, barely more than a split-second, while he selected his words. This was going to be the delicate part.

"Well, you see," he said, "Akoya is a peculiar sort of god, isn't he? Hardly a real god at all. More of a human, really, playing pretend."

"That's just how I've always seen it," said Katari.

"Even so," said Haru. "So what I was thinking is that we need to remind everyone of just how weak that makes him. We need to take advantage of that inherent fragility."

"And how do we do that?" Katari asked eagerly.

"We reverse the process," Haru lied smoothly. "The only reason he's immortal now is because Fate cut the strings of his mortality, yes? Well, we can re-attach those strings again. Not forever, of course - just for a little while, an hour or so, just enough to give him a little reminder that he isn't all he makes himself out to be."

"Can we do that?" Katari asked.

"We can," said Haru. "At least, I know how. What I don't have is the means to do it, and that's where you come in."

"What can I do?" Katari asked. "That isn't part of my skill set. If you wanted me to write a comic poem about him, that would be one thing, but..."

"Oh, it can be done," said Haru. "All we need is the right tools. The trouble is, the object we need to get the job done is in the Palace of the Gods, and I'm an unfamiliar face there. If I went there, everyone would notice, and they'd all connect me to anything strange that happened there. But you, you're welcome and respected. No one would ever guess that you were connected with our little joke."

Katari frowned. "I don't know... I don't want to get myself in trouble, not even for Akoya's sake..."

Haru resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Stiff-necked idiot. It was just Haru's luck to have to deal with a god who was so worried about his reputation that he'd pass up a prime opportunity to get even with his rival when it was handed to him on a silver platter.

But that sort of eventuality was just the reason why Haru had been chosen for this job in the first place. He reached inside for the warmth of his power and pushed a thread of it towards Katari. Haru's power was the heat of the sun, the fire of passion, and just now, he used a touch of that power to heat Katari's resentment and anger to the boiling point.

"That's the wrong way to think," he said persuasively. "Think of that preening peacock Akoya. Think of the other gods admiring his beauty and overlooking your finer spirit and intellect. Think of everyone clamoring for his opinions while they ignore your talent entirely. Think of how it feels to be ignored in the face of such banality. Think of how good it will feel to finally see him put in his place."

It was working - Haru could see that. Even as he spoke, he could see Katari's shoulders begin to tense, an angry flush rise in his face, his hands begin to tremble, his breath come in harsh gasps.

"Yes," he ground out. "That's right. Akoya has to be put in his place."

"And you'll do anything to make that happen, won't you?" Haru persisted.

"Anything," said Katari hoarsely.

Haru smiled. "Good. Then all I need from you is one small thing..."


"Kinshiro," said a voice outside the door, "may I have a word with you?"

Kinshiro looked up from his desk in surprise. Up until that moment, he had been enmeshed in one of his favorite pastimes: paperwork. In practical terms, he should never have had to do any paperwork at all. He had more than enough attendants to do any amount of paperwork, and who would have been happy enough to do it all if he'd asked it of them. If Kinshiro had wanted to, he could have put it all behind him and spent all his free time relaxing, reading, frolicking with his consort, and generally amusing himself. But he liked the sense of filling in blanks, bringing completion to the incomplete and organization to the chaotic, so he did it himself anyway. Left to his own devices, he would have gone right on doing it for the rest of the afternoon.

But not with the person outside his door asking for his attention. Normally Kinshiro would have shunted off unwanted visitors to Arima or one of his attendants, but when Fate himself turned up outside your door wanting a word, it was a good idea to give him one.

"Of course, my lord," he said respectfully, rising from his desk. He hurried to open the door. Sure enough, there was Gora standing on his doorstep, looking mildly perturbed. That was surprising, and a bit disturbing. It had been a few days since Kinshiro had last seen Gora - he had been away from the Heavenly City, pursuing his own agenda. That was nothing unusual, since it had only been recently that he'd started spending any time at all around the City on a regular basis, but it had worried Kinshiro a little that he'd vanished just after strange things had started happening. Not that anything else strange had happened recently, but there had been an uneasy sense in the air. Kinshiro had been relieved when Gora and Yumoto had reappeared at lunch that day, taking it as a sign that things might be getting back to normal, but if Gora needed to talk now...

"You know," said Gora, "you don't actually have to keep using that 'my lord' nonsense. It's archaic, and anyway, it's stupid for a god to have to call anyone 'lord'."

"It's respectful," said Kinshiro. He stepped aside, gesturing for Gora to step into his office. "What can I do for you? Is this business, or a social call?"

"Business," said Gora. "Don't worry. I'll make this quick. I just need you to do me a small favor."

"What kind of favor?" Kinshiro asked. He found himself intrigued. As far as he knew, there wasn't much that Gora couldn't do for himself if he put his mind to it, or if he couldn't, Yumoto probably could.

"Someone has stolen my axe," said Gora.

Kinshiro stared a moment.

"I think," he said, "we had better go over this sitting down."

Gora shrugged and ambled over to Kinshiro's desk, sitting down at the chair across from Kinshiro's own. Kinshiro returned to his own seat, and, more out of habit than anything, poured them both a cup of tea from the bottomless pot he kept there.

"Now," he said, "run that by me again. Someone has stolen your axe. You mean...?"

"My golden axe," Gora elaborated. "Not the one I use to cut firewood, but the other one. The magic one."

"I know the one you're talking about," Kinshiro asked. "How could something like that happen?"

"Pretty easily," said Gora. "I take it with me pretty much everywhere when I'm in the Heavenly City. I had it stashed under my chair at lunch today. If I was busy eating, anyone could have swiped it just by bending down and pretending to pick up a dropped fork or tighten their sandal or something."

Kinshiro pressed his lips together, restraining himself from delivering a lecture. It wasn't his place to criticize the lord of all creation, but really, couldn't Gora take a little bit better care of his things? Bad enough when he'd let the Water of Life get stolen by an overambitious wizard...

"So how bad is this, exactly?" he asked instead. "I mean, just what can this axe of yours do?"

Gora ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it's an axe. It would hurt a lot if someone hit you with it."

"So, it isn't going to bring about the end of the world if someone misuses it?" Kinshiro persisted.

"No. I mean, probably not," said Gora. "That's why I'm not too worried about losing it. It's not something inherently dangerous - not much more than any other weapon. It's only a focus for my own power, not the source. So in the hands of a mortal or one of the minor gods, it probably can't do very much more than any other axe. If a powerful god like you tried to use it... well, for example, you might use it to cut off avenues of escape for evildoers. Someone like Ryuu could use it to cut away distractions that are keeping someone from noticing their true love. What it can do depends on who's holding it."

"All right," said Kinshiro. "In that case, the question is, is there anyone in the universe who would be capable of using that axe to do something really destructive?"

"On the scale you're thinking of?" said Gora. He thought about it. "I could use it to destroy pretty much anything. Maybe Yumoto could, if he really put his mind to it. I don't think there's anyone else active today who has that kind of power."

"So this is a problem, but not a major emergency," Kinshiro summed up. "That's a relief, at any rate."

Gora nodded. "It's a useful tool, and I want it back, but I can make another one if I need to. I just don't like the idea of someone stealing from me."

"Entirely understandable," Kinshiro agreed. "Don't worry, I'll track it down for you. I'll be very surprised if you don't have it back in your hands by tomorrow at the latest."

"Thanks. That's a load off my mind," said Gora. "I can still do my job without it, but it will be more difficult. Not having the right tools slows me down."

"Hopefully nothing too pressing will come up between now and then," said Kinshiro. He rather doubted that any such thing was likely to happen, though. Fate was a reclusive sort. He rarely interfered directly in the lives of gods and mortals. Most of the time, he seemed to prefer hanging around his bathhouse, pretending to be an ordinary human being and watching the universe to see what it would do next. Presumably he would have no trouble doing that without his axe to help him.

Gora smiled crookedly. "I'll try to arrange matters so it doesn't. Thanks, Kinshiro. I know I can count on you."

Kinshiro bowed his head. "I'll do my best. You'll hear the minute I find out something."

Gora thanked him and wandered out of the room again, his mind apparently already on other things. Kinshiro frowned a little, drumming his fingers on the table.

What sort of idiot would steal from Fate? He was to the other gods what gods were to mortals. No one in their right mind ought to do something so foolish. And yet, Kinshiro had no doubt that they had. For all Gora maintained a laid-back attitude, Kinshiro didn't think he was the type to simply lose his most important tool.

Well, Kinshiro would have the answer to his question soon enough. He was the god of justice, and he could sniff out a lawbreaker faster than Akoya could sniff out a new perfume. Whoever had stolen that axe, it had to be someone within the confines of the Heavenly City, and that was a relatively limited number. If Kinshiro could pick out criminals among all the humans of earth, he could find one in this small city. There was nothing to worry about.

After all, it was like Gora said - no one could do anything really bad with it.


Atsushi had spent the last few days in a contemplative mood. Kinshiro had assured him that he didn't need to worry about whatever it was that had knocked the other three of them for a loop the other day, but it wasn't in Atsushi's nature to simply not worry. Something had hurt his beloved husband and two of his best friends, possibly more, and he'd be blighted if he let whatever-it-was get away with it. Unfortunately, Atsushi was one of the least violent gods in the pantheon, so his options for punishing people were perforce limited. Still, he did have a few things he could try, if he was willing to get creative. With that in mind, he had at last wandered into his own private library and went to fetch a particular book.

Every god had their unique tools - some used constantly, others saved for a state of dire emergency. Kinshiro had his golden arrows, Akoya had his blessed sword, Fate had his axe. Atsushi, more a thinker than a fighter, had a book. Inquiry had been a wedding present from Fate himself, and it was one of the most valuable weapons in his arsenal, used not so often for fighting as for obtaining information. All he needed to do was concentrate on the problem at hand, open the book, and read whatever it told him. The catch was that his book rarely gave him a straight answer. It was all too common that he would be trying to find a way to halt an international incident, and open the book to find a scrap of a fairy tale or someone's recipe for berry cobbler. Nevertheless, he had learned that anything his book turned up would always be relevant, though it sometimes took some creative thinking to figure out exactly how. Still, when what Atsushi wanted was a clue where to start, Inquiry was always a good place to look. Now he looked down at its unassuming brown leather cover and concentrated as hard as he could.

How do I find out what hurt my friends?

He took a breath, closed his eyes, and flipped the book open to a random page, feeling the smooth paper riffle beneath his fingers. Something in him said suddenly, Stop. He opened his eyes and looked down at what he'd found.

It appeared to be a diary entry. There was a date written at the top of the page: Third day, Earth Moon, 1347 F.E. - a thousand years, three centuries, and forty-seven years after the fall of the last great empire. More to the point, it had apparently been written two days ago. It began in a firm, controlled hand, I got another rejection letter today... The last word tailed off into a scrawl, and there was a short gap between lines. When the handwriting picked up again, it was looser, faster, more frantic. I hate it here. I hate the snow, I hate the rocks, I hate seeing the same faces every day, I hate never getting to go anywhere or see anything, I hate being rejected. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. All I've ever wanted is to be an artist. Why won't anyone give me a chance? I could be good enough, if I could actually find anything to draw. All there is to look at around here is gray mountains and gray snow and gray houses and gray weeds and gray people. Even the reindeer are gray. Maybe I should just start coloring all my paper solid gray and be done with it...

Atsushi frowned. The despair and frustration were almost palpable, but he didn't get the impression that this was the writing of someone who was capable of doing something so horrible that it left even the gods sick and reeling. He was just a frustrated artist, heartsick at being unable to find a patron and support himself with his work - ordinarily the sort of person Atsushi would have gone out of his way to help, but not apparently connected to the problem at hand. Still, there had to be a reason why Inquiry had chosen to show him this particular scrap of writing.

"An artist," he murmured aloud. He let himself dwell on that idea for a moment, waiting for an idea to strike him. Eventually, he murmured, "Well, and why not? It's worth a shot."

Atsushi tucked the book carefully and respectfully back into its niche. Then, with no more than an effort of will, he disappeared.


"Masuya, I'm home!"

Kou Kinosaki let himself into the cozy little cottage he and his husband occupied, dumping an armload of papers onto the hall table. As far as luxury went, this place wasn't much - just a snug little building with a bedroom, a kitchen, a parlor, a bath, and a shed tacked onto the back where Kou could keep his printing press and Masuya could stash his easel and paints. From the front door, it was possible to see into all four rooms if the other doors were open. Since Kou couldn't see any sign of his husband, that could only mean that he was still where he usually was: sitting on a stool in the shed, drawing away.

"It would be nice," Kou said to the empty air, "to come home to a husband who was waiting for me, maybe making dinner or something."

He wasn't really annoyed, though. If there was one thing he believed, it was that Masuya was a true artist. Kou had his passion for dredging up information, but his husband's passion was for capturing the world on paper or canvas, and he was very, very good at it. He spent at least part of his time drawing the people and places of his city, turning them into printer's blocks that could be used to illustrate Kou's bi-weekly newspaper. On rare occasions, he would even be hired by some wealthy patron to paint a portrait of a family member or a picture of someone's childhood home. The rest of the time, he simply pursued whatever subjects caught his fancy. Kou suspected that Masuya would be happier if he could do that sort of work full time. After all, the paper had to go out on a deadline, which meant illustrations had to be done in a hurry, and their resources for printing were crude enough that it was impossible to print pictures in very much detail. If Masuya illustrated something, he had to do it in broad strokes. He was better than that. He could render images in such detail and liveliness that they almost seemed to breathe. Not only that, but he had an artist's flair for enhancing the world around him, and having to only sketch things that actually existed exactly the way they appeared cramped his style. He really did need the freedom to follow his own muse.

If it had been up to Kou, that's exactly what he would have done all the time. Unfortunately, their primary source of income was the newspaper, and it was just barely keeping them afloat. They had enough money to cover their basic needs, pay for Masuya's art supplies, and not a whole lot else. Kou doubted that the paper would sell any better if it had no illustrations, and so Masuya kept at the drudge work, and did it uncomplainingly. Kou was willing to grant him some leeway on matters like making dinner.

Kou wandered out to the back room and found his husband just where he'd expected to be: seated in front of an easel, one brush in his hand, another clamped between his lips, and a pallette in his hands. When he saw Kou, though, he immediately dumped everything he was holding onto the crate that was serving him as a table and beamed at his beloved.

"You're back," he said, eyes shining with warmth.

Kou felt himself smiling. Anyone else making such an inane statement to him would have gotten a sarcastic statement in return, but Masuya wasn't just anyone. True, he wasn't everyone's idea of the ideal husband. He wasn't the most gorgeous man in the world, and he was not what most people would have called particularly brilliant or witty. In fact, he rarely spoke at all if he could help it - he was as clumsy with words as he was skilled with images. Still, he was kind and loyal and generous, and in the habit of giving long, slow, knee-weakening kisses. For that, Kou was willing to do all the talking for both of them. You would, he thought, have to go a long way to find another man as good as Masuya, and Kou was determined to hang on to what he had. Now he leaned forward to press his lips to his husband's, and felt Masuya reach up to twine his long, clever fingers through Kou's hair.

"Missed you," said Masuya, when they pulled apart. "Have a good day?"

"Good enough," said Kou. He'd been out selling papers today, in between collecting whatever scraps of news and gossip he thought he could incorporate into his next issue. There was a conundrum: if he didn't sell enough papers, he wouldn't have the money to print another issue, but if he spent too much time selling papers, he wouldn't have enough time to collect news for another issue.

What a life. He hated to ask Masuya to take time away from his own work to go out and hawk papers. For one thing, he sometimes forgot to actually use words, leading to him standing mutely and a little intimidatingly on street corners, holding stacks of paper and staring at people. Well, maybe he could sell a few of his completed works. There wasn't a lot of market for them around here, but when they did sell, they usually brought in a hefty enough price to keep them afloat for a week or two.

Or maybe...

No, he didn't dare to hope for that. He'd just have to figure something out. He was clever. He knew he could do it if he put his mind to it.

"Going to be at that much longer?" he asked, turning to inspect the painting Masuya had been working on. It was hard to tell at this point, but it seemed to be a rather dramatic depiction of Pearlite ascending to godhood. Not really Kou's favorite subject matter, but he had to admit that Masuya could probably pull it off.

"A while," was Masuya's predictably laconic reply.

"I'll start dinner, then," Kou replied.

He gave his beloved one last peck on the cheek and started back into the main part of the house. However, he'd barely even made it into the kitchen (and what was he going to cook, anyway? Neither of them had found time or money to do the shopping yet) when he heard a knock on the door. His heart rate picked up.

I said I wouldn't hope. Maybe it's just someone with news. That's probably what it is.

Even so, his pulse was still pounding when he went to answer the door.

And there he was: just the man Kou had been hoping and praying to see. Not that he looked like anything special. He appeared to be a fairly average middle-aged man, well-preserved, with a touch of distinguished gray at the temples and smile lines around his eyes. He was good looking in a "nothing actually wrong with him" sort of way, without having any particularly outstanding features, except perhaps for his unusually long eyelashes. He dressed like a well-to-do merchant - not wearing anything flashy, but everything of precise cut and made of good materials. Kou didn't know who he was. There was no merchant or noble matching his description in this town or any of the towns nearby. The man had never offered a name, and Kou, after a few tries at weaseling it out of him, had realized that he probably didn't really want to know.

The thing was, Kou's life was strange. He had accepted that a long time ago. He had come to terms with the fact that whenever his ambition and curiosity led him a little too close to the border of what was socially acceptable, he'd start having peculiarly realistic dreams in which he was living lives that had nothing to do with the one he had now, lives in which he was a wizard in a royal castle or a dark being dwelling in the depths of the Abyss. He had even gotten used to the idea that occasionally imps would show up in his workshop. Most of the time it was the talking goldfish, rearing up out of his water barrel to remind him that he was, in fact, the reincarnation of an ancient demon lord, and could be one again if he so chose. Kou usually threw printer's blocks at him until he went away, or just slammed the lid down on the barrel. The irritating little hedgehog was harder to get rid of, but he usually left after Kou had explained to him, again, that Kou loved his job and loved his husband and had no interest in taking up a career that meant every god in the heavens would be out for his hide.

And then there was this man, the man with no name who radiated warmth and kindness, who always showed up just when Kou needed him most, always ready with help that came in a form that couldn't easily be explained away as charity. He had to be a god - Kou was sure of that - but exactly which one he was or why he took such an interest in making Kou's life easier was a mystery he did not care to explore too deeply. He didn't care whether it was because this entity was genuinely kindly disposed towards him, or whether he wanted to eliminate the possibility of a demon re-emerging. He just wanted to make sure the god never stopped showing up and left him the lurch.

"Ah, good evening, sir," said Kou, trying not to stammer. "It's good to see you again."

The man inclined his head respectfully. "Mr. Kinosaki, I hope you're keeping well."

"Tolerably well," Kou agreed. "Please, come inside. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea, maybe? I was just about to start dinner... you're welcome to stay..."

"No, no, I'm just passing through," the man assured him. "I just wanted to ask if you were possibly available to take on a job for me."

Kou narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of a job. He supposed he should have known that sooner or later a god would want repayment for any gifts it had given him.

"I don't know," he said, more or less truthfully. "I'm awfully busy lately. I'm barely selling enough papers to cover expenses as it is, you know."

"I know," said the man, "and I've already taken that into consideration. I'm willing to offer you, say, five hundred gold standards a week, for as long as the job takes."

Kou couldn't stop himself from jerking backwards in surprise. Five hundred gold standards was roughly what he'd paid for this cottage. Even one week of working at that rate would cover his expenses for months. It would give him the wherewithal he'd need to hire some help and really get his business off the ground. He could get someone to take over Masuya's job and free him to paint full time, if only for a year or two, and maybe by then the paper would be well established enough that they wouldn't need their mysterious benefactor's help anymore.

"What kind of job are we talking about?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, that's a bit nebulous," the man replied. "I've been... well, picking up a sense that something peculiar is going on. Something supernatural, something outside the realms of normal human experience, but I can't quite get a fix on it. I want you to look into it. I know you're good at ferreting things out. Nose around, see what you can figure out, and report back to me."

"What if I can't find anything?" Kou asked dubiously. He wasn't sure "I don't know what's going on, but hopefully you'll know it when you see it" sounded like a very good job to him.

"Then you'll still be paid for your time," the man replied. "I know this is a long shot, and you aren't our only avenue for success, but I want to make sure we're trying everything we can."

"Hmm," said Kou.

"I'll pay the first week in advance," the man offered.

That clinched it.

"All right, you've got a deal," said Kou. "Let's see the color of your money."

The man obligingly fished in his pockets and produced a little leather bag, which he passed to Kou. Kou tipped it out on the coffee table, counting out the heap of twenty-standard gold coins. All five hundred were there, glittering like tiny suns. It was the most money he had ever seen in one place in all his life. He couldn't help but take a moment to admire it. He liked to think that he was a man of some principle, but that was more wishful thinking than anything else, and the sight of the money was kindling feelings he mostly liked to pretend he didn't have. He wondered just how long it would take to ferret out this mysterious whatever-it-was. Maybe he would need months to hunt for it. How many of these little heaps of coins could he assemble in that time? Enough to live very comfortably, he thought.

"Any more idea where I should start?" he asked. Might as well make a show of wanting to do the job right.

The man thought. "Something to do with gods, I'm almost certain. I think... I think it may be linked back to Aurite somewhere, if only in a negative way. Someone out there is obsessed with something to such a degree that they're willing to do absolutely anything to get it, and I have an uncomfortable feeling that a lot of unfortunate humans are going to get swept up in its path."

Kou frowned. "Well, that doesn't tell me much, but it's a start. Are you sure that's the best you can do?"

"For now, yes, but I'll keep working on it, and I'll let you know the minute I know more," the man replied. "I'll be checking in on you from time to time - don't worry about trying to get in contact with me."

Oh, don't worry. I wasn't going to trouble myself over that, Kou thought wryly. No way was he going to start praying to random gods in hope of getting through to the one he wanted.

"Fair enough," he replied. He considered a moment. "Do I get any sort of bonus if I'm actually the first one to find what it is you're looking for? You did say you had other irons in the fire, after all, so I know I have competition."

The man actually laughed. "If that's what it takes to keep you motivated, then yes. Find what we want and I'll see if I can line up a little something extra for you. We'll negotiate more in the event that it actually happens."

"Fair," Kou agreed. Without thinking about it, he held out a hand to shake. It was the first time he'd ever offered to touch this man he was sure was not a man but something a lot scarier underneath.

And yet, when the handshake came, it was as warm and solid as any human handshake. He wondered about that. Maybe whoever this person was, he really was just some eccentric, wealthy man who was interested in furthering worthwhile causes, and thought Kou's newspaper was one of them.

Right, and I'm the high priest of Aurite.

"Pleasure doing business with you," was all Kou said aloud.

"Likewise," his benefactor replied. "I hope I'll be hearing from you again soon."

"I hope I'll have something to report," said Kou, not entirely sincerely. Still, he knew he didn't dare dawdle in hopes of wresting more money out of his patron. All that was likely to manage was to make sure that someone else reached the prize first and left him high and dry. Besides, he had his professional pride. His job was to ferret out news, and gods or no gods, if something big was going down he wanted a piece of it.

"In that case, I'll leave you to get to work," said the man. "Goodnight, Mr. Kinosaki."

"Goodnight, Mister..." Kou began, and let the sentence trail off. His peculiar friend was already heading out the door.

"Whew," said Kou, when the strange man was finally gone. "Well, this is going to be interesting, isn't it? Still..." He gazed lovingly down at the small fortune in his living room. He scooped up all the coins and carried them into the kitchen, where he dumped most of them into the flour crock that they used to store their meager savings, setting aside only a single twenty-standard piece. Then he bounded back into the garage.

"Hey, Masuya, put that down for now," he called out. "We've just been hired for a big job."

Masuya looked slightly crestfallen. "But I was so close to being done."

"All right, go ahead and finish," said Kou indulgently. "And then change into your good clothes. Tonight, we're dining out!"

Meanwhile, the mysterious middle-aged man had retreated into the shelter of a nearby grove of trees. Kou and Masuya had chosen to make their dwelling right on the edge of town, even though the gregarious Kou would probably have preferred to be closer to where the action was, but apparently he had chosen to oblige his husband on this point. Or perhaps this was all that he could afford. Either way, it provided a good place to disappear to once certain business transactions were completed. Once the man had moved out of sight of Kou's house, he gave a little sigh of relief. The gray in his hair faded away, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth vanished, and his simple but elegant clothes morphed into something even more costly.

"Well," said Atsushi, "at least that's something."


Katari was not a happy god.

He had thought that he was unhappy before. He had thought, in fact, that his life had been intolerable. He had thought that he couldn't possibly stand the way he had been overlooked, maligned, and mistreated without exploding from sheer outrage. Now, though, he knew that all he had been experiencing was mild annoyance. It would have passed, he told himself. He would have gotten over the snub. He'd have been fine the next time one of his devotees had presented a new epic to an admiring audience, and Katari could bask in the swell of admiration that came from the performance. He never should have done all this.

But it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He couldn't quite remember how it was that he had come to be so full of rage and determination. The last few days were overshadowed by a kind of reddish haze, in which he'd grown more and more agitated as he waited for the moment he could act. It was the kind of baffled, frustrated fury that only grew more heated as time passed. He hadn't thought of any consequences beyond how it would feel to look into Akoya's vacuous face when he realized that his godly powers were no longer sustaining him. Age could catch up to him again, he could get sick and feel pain, he could no longer draw power for the turning of the seasons... he'd thought nothing in the world could be sweeter. Now he thought that the best feeling in the world would be if he could put this stupid axe back where he'd found it and set everything back the way it had been.

But it had been so easy. All it had taken was to make sure he sat at the correct place the next time Fate took a meal in the main dining hall. Fate always put his axe next to his chair when he ate, right out in the open where anyone might bend down and grab it. It had taken very little effort for Katari to walk past it, let the hem of his robe trail over the axe and knock it onto its side, out of sight, where he could hook the blade on the strap of his sandal and scoop it up into his hands. The entire maneuver had been hidden by the drape of the tablecloth and by his own body. No one had seen or noticed when he'd caught up his prize and hidden it in the voluminous sleeves of the robe he'd taken care to wear. Luckily for him, he was in the habit of walking about with his hands clasped in front of him and the sleeves of his robe covering them, a posture he'd always thought made him look regal. No one could tell that this time he was hiding his hands because he was also hiding something else.

Now just the weight of the axe, hanging from his belt and hidden beneath his robe, was making him nauseous. He didn't like the feel of it. It wasn't a bad feeling really - this was a blessed axe, after all, used by the greatest of the gods to perform miracles the rest of them could only dream of achieving - but it was a powerful feeling. Small wonder the ruler of the universe tended to spend most of his time chopping wood. This thing just begged to be used, and the temptation to take it up himself and go out into the world to make wonders happen with it was almost too much to resist.

That was what was making him so uncomfortable now. This thing was too powerful, and he was too weak. If he tried to use it for very long, he was sure, it would start using him instead. He never should have touched it, and he definitely never should have dreamed of giving it to someone who claimed to be a god. What had he been thinking? He'd never seen them before in his life. He should have at least asked someone about them, or looked them up in the Great Library. That was what he ordinarily would have done, lover of words that he was. Why had he been so reckless?

Something isn't right here.

He fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, running his hands through his shaggy hair. He was standing at the pre-arranged meting site, somewhere at the edge of a forest Katari didn't know the name of. Forests weren't really his cup of tea. The only thing he ever had to do with them was to occasionally send his people into them so that he could inspire them to write about the glories of nature. Matters of cartography had never mattered much. Who cared what a forest was called, when there were odes to write about falling leaves? But now he wished he knew where he was, and why this forest above any others had been chosen, just so he could know a little more about what was going on.

Maybe I should just go home. Yes, that was the right course of action. There were still a few more minutes before the rendezvous was slated to start. He could turn around and go home right now, find Fate, give him his axe back, and promise to never do anything so stupid ever again. He didn't even have to confess. He could just wrap it up and leave it outside Fate's door. Not even Aurite would do more than scold him as long as he corrected his mistake of his own volition. He should leave right now...

A hand reached out of the darkness and clasped his arm. Katari yelped.

"I hope," said a dangerously sweet voice, "that you weren't thinking of leaving Luna and me here alone, were you?"

"Well, I, ah," said Katari, for once in his life robbed of words.

"That would be rude," said a second voice. Katari turned to see Sol stepping into view from behind a tree. "I don't like it when people are rude to me."

"Our friend here would never dream of doing that," said Luna, still clinging to his arm. "Would you, Katari?"

"Um, actually, I was thinking..." Katari began.

"That you would back out?" Luna finished. "Just turn around and go home before we got here? That would be breaking your promise. A god of words shouldn't break his word."

"It isn't like that," said Katari. "It's just... maybe this isn't such a good idea. We're going to make Fate and Aurite angry at us."

"You should have thought of that before you agreed to this, then," said Sol. "So, where is it? Show it to us."

Reluctantly, Katari reached beneath the hem of his robe and withdrew the axe. In the light of the setting sun, the gold glowed brilliantly. The twin gods gave identical sighs, deep and filled with unutterable longing. The sound sent a chill down Katari's back.

This is all wrong. Why didn't I see sooner how wrong this was?

"So... what are we going to do now?" he asked, trying for nonchalance.

"Now we'll show you," said Luna. He held out his hands, inviting Katari to hand him the axe.

Katari tightened his grip and began backing up, only to bump into Sol, who was suddenly behind him.

"I'll take that," he said lightly, and deftly plucked the axe from Katari's grip.

"Hey, wait, I wasn't ready to..." Katari exclaimed, scrambling to reclaim his prize, but it was too late. Sol had already danced out of his way and moved to stand at his brother's side.

"Too bad," he said, grinning down at the golden axe. "We're ready."

"I suppose we have to thank you," said Luna, flashing an insincere smile Katari's way. "You've done us a great favor."

"And you're going to do me one too, now, right?" Katari persisted. "You said you would help me take down Akoya."

"Did we?" said Luna, blinking in exaggerated surprise. "Well, I suppose we must have lied."

"Honestly, did you really think we cared about your stupid feud with some cut-rate puffed up human who thinks he's a god?" added Sol, rolling his eyes. "Please. We have more important things to do with our time."

Katari blinked at them. "You lied to me?"

"The light dawns," said Luna. "But thank you very much for the gift. We promise we'll take good care of it."

"We'll put it to good use," Sol agreed.

"But what about me?" Katari protested. "If I don't give that thing back, I'm going to be in so much trouble..."

"You should have thought about that before you gave it to us," said Sol.

Luna flashed him one last smile. "Bye, now."

"Wait, but..."

Katari lunged forward, scrambling to snatch the axe away from them, but it was already too late. The twin gods vanished in a swirl of light and shadow, leaving nothing but the scents of oranges and juniper in their wake. Katari kept stumbling forward, tripped over a root, and fell on his face into a most ungodlike heap. He sat up, spitting out pine needles.

"You come back here!" he shouted at the empty air. His voice echoed in the empty wood. He stared around wildly, searching for any clue that would tell him which way they had gone, but of course, there was nothing. And what could he have done if he'd been able to find them? He'd just handed them one of the most powerful weapons in existence, and he was just a god who wrote poetry. What was he going to do - recite lines to them until they had a change of heart?

And just like that, Katari realized that he was afraid, terrified on a deep and personal level. He had just defied the most powerful being in existence, and not even for a very good reason. He'd done it because of a stupid grudge, and because he'd let himself be conned by a couple of fast-talking strangers. The worst part was, he couldn't even prove they'd ever existed. If he'd never heard of them, who was to say anyone else had? For all he knew, they hadn't even given their right names. He was completely alone, and he was in so much trouble.

"What do I do?" he asked aloud, but there wasn't any answer.