Chapter 110:
Sweet citrus smoke, crisp and warm, made the inside of Laxus's nose burn. It reminded him of pine trees in a dark forest. There was a weight on his chest and the impossibility of expanding his ribcage made him want to tumble back to sleep again. Someone was humming. It was the kind of voice that was deceptive about its age, and it carried on to a beat that made Laxus dizzy.
Oh Lord, oh lord
You are the Forgotten One,
You are the One who loves the lost,
You are the One who remembers our secrets,
You are the One who grinds all things into desert
Oh Lord, oh lord
I pierce myself, and I bleed
Take from me this precious gift
Wash away the touch of the evil one
Dispel the curse of the spirit
Oh Lord, oh lord
We go down to the land of bones
We go down to the place where your vultures sleep
Where the songs and the drums are silent
All things return to your clutch
You are Tzopilotl, Lord of the Forgotten Dead...
The song started over and Laxus heard nearby the rattle of bones. With extreme difficulty, he blinked open his eyes. Kneeling beside him, her long black curls flowing over her shoulders like a dark curtain, was the woman who'd arrived amongst condor feathers. At her side was burning incense, and being so close to it stung his nostrils. Her eyes still glowed the hue of pure jade, giving the edges of her face a stark and violent appearance. As his eyes opened, her gaze fell to him and her lips held a frightening sort of amusement that tipped far too close to malice to be any sort of comforting. She shook her hands as she sang. He realized that on her wrists were bracelets of hollow bone, and it was these that rattled and kept the time of her song. Her ears were pierced by long thorns and blood dripped from them, although the drops never made it to the ground.
There was a haze of fog around them. Laxus could hear things shifting in the darkness, a sound like dozens of birds roosting. The world dipped and swirled drunkenly around him. Through the haze he was sure he could see a figure over the woman's shoulder. It was gaping and large, slouching as if taking careful note of them both. He felt cold terror coil in his stomach as its head slowly turned, gaze sweeping like the pitiless eye of a lighthouse as it glides over drowning men dashed against the rocks. Eyes glowed the same ghostly and empyrean green. In an instant, Laxus could see the high cheeks and unforgiving glare of a man. He was wreathed in large black feathers. Somehow his face was frigid blue and also the white bone of a skull. His hair was locked and fixed in place on his head with copper, adorned with precious opal and topaz. He wore bones like a necklace, a skull perched on his chest, and when his lips pulled back his teeth were vitreous and the washed out green of fluorite.
Looking at the massive figure standing over them was like looking straight into the desert sun. Laxus's eyes burned in a way that made pain strike with white-hot furor into his brain. The man, face unreadable, leaned down to the woman who was singing over him. He didn't hear any words spoken, but two wings large enough to blot out the world unfurled and encapsulated all three of them. The woman smiled and suddenly was every woman he'd ever desired, turning his blood hot and dragging the little air he had from him. She stopped singing and cupped the side of his face, wiping a tear from his eye. Ebony hair rutilated with shining silver brushed his throat.
"Do not gaze upon the face of a god, little mage," she spoke in a way that made him tremble, "Give Him your pain and ask for His favor."
Laxus's lips twitched but he couldn't bring himself to speak.
"Tzopilotl," she spoke it slowly, "The Lord of the Forgotten Dead."
Laxus held her gaze, felt her hand slipping down his neck and dancing over his chest, "Tzopilotl-"
Fire sprung up from deep in his chest... no... it forced its way down. Where her hand was splayed against his skin, it felt like a hot iron was being pressed and was now sinking deep into his skin. His heart raced, his ribcage was suddenly far too tight. He arched his spine but somehow the woman was far stronger than he and held him to the ground as if he were nothing but a wounded bird who had fallen onto its back. He grabbed onto her wrist but wasn't able to remove her hand from him. As the burning heat spread throughout his chest, Laxus could taste sand in his mouth. He tried not to cry out, tried to bear it, tried to will the pain away.
"Good..." she hummed, and no longer was she beautiful. She was wizened and savage. Her face held years beyond what he could specify, "Let it go to the god. It gives Him power."
With her other hand, she rattled out the beat of her song and began once again to sing. Laxus shut his eyes tight against the fire concentrating in his chest. His muscles were aching as they shook from fatigue he still felt like lead in his bones. The figure, the God, Tzopilotl, loomed over him once more. As the fire became so intense tears slipped down his face, he willed it away to the presence that slowly swallowed the smell of incense in the room. The woman at his side laughed, and it was the sound of a sandstorm weathering away against time-worn stone. There was a radiance to her that was intensifying, and despite having his eyes screwed shut against the pain he knew she was glowing brilliant and green.
Suddenly, the pain stopped. Like forged iron being left to cool, the searing heat dimmed to an uncomfortable warmth. He collapsed back onto the mat he was laying on. He realized his breathing was unlabored, the weakness in him had lost its edge. When he opened his eyes, he found her staring down at him. The figure that had overshadowed them had now taken on definitive shape, although now Laxus knew not to look at it and kept his eyes trained to her. The preternatural jade of her eyes dimmed. Her lips tugged up into a smile that was as lurid as it was impressed.
"Rest now," she said serenely. It might as well have been a command, because immediately he felt his eyelids become heavy, "Soon, you will feel better."
"Who... are you?" his voice was raw and broken in his throat. He felt like he'd swallowed sand and salt water.
She smiled again, seductive and entrancing. Her voice was honeyed, "I should be asking you the same thing."
Laxus awoke and realized it was night. He blinked into the dim light of candles, taking in his surroundings for the first time. There were baskets clustered around the edges of the tent, brimming and overflowing with different fruits and vegetables that Laxus didn't recognize. There was a long wooden table, and on it was a haphazard mess of well-used candles, jars of various herbs and tinctures, an assortment of skulls, antlers, bones and long black feathers. There were books stacked on the edge of the table, hand bound and worn with use and age. Laxus recognized immediately that they were grimoires, embossed as they were with copper and silver symbols. Around the tent were racks of dried flowers; he could see dandelions, roses, calendula, marigolds, hyacinth, and holly. A large black mirror with a silver and copper frame stood in the corner. There was a pot of rich soil that looked like dry forest loam, and piles of copper coins. The largest condor Laxus had ever seen slouched on its perch on the back of a rickety chair. Its intelligent eyes pierced into him, and it appeared almost to be standing guard.
A witch, Laxus decided, the woman who had appeared in a storm of massive condors was a witch. He had no idea what that meant or why she would have suddenly appeared out of nowhere and come to his rescue, but she had. Laxus was keenly aware of how refreshed he felt as he sat up, how his body didn't ache and his head didn't hurt. He was still empty and unquenched for something feral and chaotic in a summer storm, but there was little to be done about that. He did however notice something a bit alarming as he pulled off the blanket that covered him. He was naked. He pulled the simple cotton sheath with him as he stood, wrapped it around himself protectively and searched the small space for his clothes, only to groan when he came up empty. All the while the condor watched silently, impassively. It ruffled its wings a bit and settled again.
Laxus huffed and strode to the entrance of the tent, bracing himself as he pulled it back just slightly. He immediately found himself looking down an alleyway of tents and wagons. The one he was in seemed by and large the grandest, as the others seemed like they could maybe house only one or two people. There were goats tied to a post, eating dry stalks of hay that had been laid before them. One of the wagons had charms hanging from the roof of it, tinkling merrily in the wind. He could smell the smoke of fires and the many intermingling scents of incense. There were voices in the distance, laughing and murmuring far enough away that Laxus couldn't pick out the conversation. They were all women's voices, though, and that made his stomach knot, especially after he took one more look around the tent and again came up empty for anything he could use aside from the blanket.
He looked once more to the vulture as if it might respond, "Who in the hell heals someone and then takes their clothes?"
It spread its wings, a massive ten-foot span, and then began preening.
"Couldn't have been a speaking familiar," he muttered, wrapping the blanket around his waist as best he could.
He stepped out onto the sand. With the sun gone, it was cool and nearly soothing to his bare feet. There was a gentle wind blowing and the night was clear enough that he could see hundreds of stars. The moon was only just rising but it was vibrant and nearly full, swathing the midnight desert in tones of winter. He kept his ears and eyes peeled for the rest of his party, sure they must be around somewhere.
As he walked, he heard music on the wind. Far out past the tents, there was a fire. He could see in the flickering and ecstatic blaze the silhouettes of women dancing. One tilted her head back and sang something that made his heart sting. He stood for one moment, pulled towards them, enraptured, curious, and even took a step forward before he remembered his state of undress. He froze, tore his eyes from the dance in the distance. Warmth flooded up his chest and neck as he realized he had just been about to waltz over and join them. Although, from the looks of it, they were even less clothed than he was…
He shivered and purposely stomped away from whatever pull he felt towards the fire and its attendants. He needed to find Davian and Irena.
He wandered blithely through the makeshift walkway. He could hear voices and was dreading walking into them, seeing the flickering light of fire ahead. As he would have turned towards it, he heard the sound of a camel groaning. Hopeful, he followed it and saw tethered to a post a large group of them. Relief flooded him when he saw his own among them. He stole through the darkness towards them, rifling through packs to try and find the spare clothes that he had packed.
"Oh, hello there."
Laxus nearly jumped out of his skin. He kept a death grip on his blanket as he whirled around. A woman was standing there, in her hands was a large pot that was once filled with water. He glanced past her to see a trough that the camels were drinking from and realized she must have been there refilling it and he'd been too single minded in his focus to notice her there. He hoped it was too dark for her to see his blush.
"A-ah, um, hey there," he said, pulling some clothes free from his pack.
She was gorgeous. She had long, vibrant red hair that rolled down her shoulders in a mix of tight and loose curls. It somehow looked unkempt and flawless at the same time. Her skin was light, nearly glowing in the light of the moon, and it was bright enough that he could see freckles dotting the skin of her face, neck, and chest. Her cheeks and the tops of her shoulders were rosy, as if she underestimated how much sun she would be in that day. She was wearing a simple dark wrap that covered the curves of her chest and a light, flowing skirt that hung low on her hips. Down the pale skin of her navel were the marks of motherhood, and they gleamed an even brighter stark white. She was an intimidating type of beauty, like a diamond, which spoke of pressure and hardship before being transformed into what she was now, but no less priceless because of it.
"Oh, don't be so bashful," she said, and her eyes were obviously appraising him in the same fashion he had just done her, "Someone had to help undress you. Madame Guéneva certainly didn't do it herself."
"Was that her name." Laxus replied, trying to balance clothes in one hand and cling tight to his blanket with the other, "You lot often make a habit of stealing men's clothes while they sleep?"
She laughed and he imagined there were nymphs in a sunlit valley somewhere that were jealous of the sound, "Only when they're in a desperate need of washing."
"Yeah… desert sun does that…" he replied a bit awkwardly.
She stood before him for a moment as if waiting for something, her eyes tracing over him in a way that made his blood uncomfortably warm. He cleared his throat and she looked a bit surprised.
"Oh," she laughed again, taking a step away and turning her back to him.
"Thanks…" he mumbled, now thoroughly blushing, and began fumbling on his underwear.
"You are a dragon slayer… is that right?" she asked.
"I am." He replied, trying not to lean against the camel behind him as he ungracefully pushed his foot into his pants. He sort of hopped about, trying not to kick sand up into his clothes.
"I've had a dragon slayer before." She murmured, and Laxus had the distinct feeling she hadn't meant to say it out loud, or at least hadn't expected him to hear.
"What was that?" he asked, eyes snapping to her back.
Her head was tilted back slightly, and he could tell she was looking at the moon. It was like she was drinking it in. The wind pulled her curls back from her face, exposing the pale curve of her shoulder. He tore his eyes off of her to focus on his task, shame making his face hot.
"It is a beautiful night out, isn't it, dragon slayer?" she asked, and he knew the intonation of her voice.
He chuckled as he hurriedly fastened his pants. He tried to keep his tone neutral, "Not a huge fan of the heat, myself. But the moon is definitely pretty."
"She's breathtaking." she purred.
"Witches worship the moon, don't they?" he said, and she whipped her head towards him. He could tell now what her eyes were an earthy tone of green.
"You think me a mere witch?" she asked, smiling.
"I don't know the hierarchy," he apologized.
"Shall I enlighten you?" she asked, turning to face him now that he had a semblance of modesty. Her eyes were roving across his chest and he fumbled to get his shirt straight.
"I was under the impression it was a closed practice," Laxus returned her smile with one much more tight-lipped.
She laughed again, taking a step towards him, using her hips. It occurred to him that this woman was deadly. She was very used to getting what she wanted.
"Worshiping the moon? How could it possibly be a closed practice?" she looked up at him through her eyelashes, "Who hasn't felt the magic of the moon? Has it not seeped into you in the silent stretches of the desert, when it hangs like a scimitar in the indigo velvet of the sky? Or perhaps, on a winter's night, where the passionless earth stared at the colder moon, and where the distant stars glittered like diamonds bought with blood…"
Those words struck a deep chord within him. He had heard something eerily similar just recently, hadn't he? He was remembering things Gajeel had said in more intimate times when they were together. He remembered him recounting a memory of a redhead, and when he had once so fluently told him how sex magic worked, and the implication he had slept with a witch. Looking at the woman before him, obviously eating him with her eyes as she advanced, he could see it. Feeling a little reckless, he cleared his throat.
"Witches bowed to the influence of the moon because it brought cyclic changes. The tides, disease, the woman's body…" he watched recognition spark in her emerald eyes and her lips parted in a curious smile, "Insanity that drives men mad…"
She stepped up close to him now. He was suddenly extremely conscious of how lacking in avenues to retreat he was.
"Have we met?" she asked. He could hear her breathlessness, took in how her eyes were hooded.
"No…" he said, voice swinging low even though he knew it shouldn't. It was like she held a magnetism, something invisible that made his soul simmer at her closeness, "…but I think you've met my boyfriend."
She blinked, surprise marking her voice, "Oh?"
"You ever been around Phantom Lord?" he asked, and his voice seemed to leave him when lithe fingers ran across his stomach. Oh shit.
"Ohhh…" she sighed. His heart was starting to beat too hard. He could smell the scent of her, making the air teem. He was acutely aware he needed to get out of this situation… now, "You'll have to refresh my memory. I've known a few men from there."
"Another dragon slayer?" he said, and that sparked something clear in her eyes. Her body was nearly against his now, her hips aligned to his own, tantalizing.
"And how is he, these days?" she asked, "Still a passion-driven letch of a man?"
He could feel her breath on his chest and it was raising goose flesh across his skin. He found himself swallowing around a lump in his throat.
"Not a complete passion-driven letch, though?" he said keenly. Her eyes widened and her brows raised.
"He was sworn into secrecy."
"He told no secrets." Laxus breathed as she smoothed her hands against his chest, feeling her way up. "But I may be piecing together some things he did say."
"Then I can be frank, can't I?" she sighed, gazing up at him. She leaned her head to the side, exposing her throat. How could he be to blame when she was exuding such feminine confidence and sensuality? She was enchanting and enticing and daring him to reach out to her. He remained fixedly in place, refusing to return her touch, "A man like you would be such a help to me, and all I would need is for you to thoroughly enjoy yourself for a short time under the moonlight."
"I-I'm taken… as it were." Laxus said, his voice wavering as much as his resolve.
"But he would understand, wouldn't he? He knows, after all, what it's like…" she was pressing to him now, eliciting a reaction from him that he couldn't control. He tried to step back from her, to hold his arms up and keep her from drawing more to him, but it was like starlight was on her cheeks and he couldn't look away, "Are you not curious to know what it's like to feel the magic of the moon?"
Laxus gritted his teeth, actively pressing his hands to the beast behind him, willing it to move. His heart was in his throat and his stomach had swooped too low. She hummed and leaned up on her toes, green eyes making his soul shiver. The front of her body was flush against his own and he caught his breath. She smelled like incense and sultry warmth, and a desperate kind of frisson broke out across his body at the prospect she was all but laying bare before him. She smiled like a cat just before it would pounce on a downed starling.
Someone cleared their throat and Laxus couldn't even look up. He was too busy trying to keep himself incredibly still, hyper aware of every muscle in his body and how they are all snapped taut with demand. He was all but gasping for air.
"I believe he said no." It was Davian's voice, and relief rushed through him when the woman finally broke her gaze from him, "Coercion is not consent."
Her lips twisted into an innocent smile. If she hadn't just had Laxus pinned to a goddamn camel, all but fucking him with her eyes, he might have fallen for it.
"Not coercion," she said, "Encouragement. It would be enthusiastic before I went any further."
"Perhaps," Davian replied tersely, "At any rate, he was half dead a few hours ago. Whatever you want him for, he needs sufficient rest first. Unless you intend to kill him."
She took a small step from him then, and again raked her eyes up his body. She pursed her lips, and Laxus curled his hands into fists. She was away from him suddenly, picking up her pot as if nothing was amiss. She was eyeing Davian, now, in the exact way she had done him just moments ago.
"How do you know so much?" she asked pointedly.
"You could consider me a step below the Madame," Davian replied coolly, "Best be on your way."
She made a step towards him and he bared a mouthful of razorblade teeth.
"Not if your life depended on it." He hissed.
She grinned and this time it was only knowing and smug, "Well, you're hardly any fun."
"Afraid not."
"Shame, that," she cooed, and glanced over her shoulder at Laxus, "Goodnight dragon slayer."
Davian and Laxus both watched her go, one of them with far more disdain than the other. Laxus felt nothing short of harrowed, and as she walked away he felt the tug to follow her. Goddamn him, he was completely charmed. He took a wobbly step and then another, and then found a nearby rock and sat down.
"What the actual fuck?" Laxus breathed.
"She was quite the persistent one, wasn't she?" Davian said.
"Her? What's wrong with me?" he snarled, burying his face into his hands, "How hard is it to say no I'm dating someone?"
"She's a high priestess of a fertility goddess who derives power from a feminine moon," Davian said matter-of-factly, "The odds were stacked against you, I'm afraid."
"How did you find that one out?"
"I've been mingling," Davian replied, his tone of voice making it sound as if he were quite pleased with himself, "And I've learned quite a bit. They're a roaming band of witches, priestesses, and other such things. They roam Fiore at the behest of Madame Guéneva, looking for gods and spirits that might wish to cause harm. They placate them as best they can and then move to the next. This is their base of operations, of sorts, because Madame's patron is a minor death god of the desert. They return here to recharge. That was how they found you. Madame's patron felt the intrusion into his scope of influence."
"Good for them." Laxus said, growled.
When he made no move to rise or even continue getting dressed, Davian huffed.
"I'm surprised with you. Here I thought you weren't the type to be intimidated by women who are secure in their sexuality."
"Not in the way you're making it sound," Laxus bit back harshly, "I feel like a fucking teenager getting turned on by any woman who bats her eyelashes at me."
"Has something else happened?" Davian asked, brow furrowing, "I apologize. I had meant to be there when you awoke. Madame Guéneva just notified me you were waking. I realized you were desirable, I just assumed-"
"Desirable?" Laxus asked, "Why in the hell would I be desirable? I'm not that attractive."
Davian gave him a wry smile, "I take it you never researched sex magic like you were originally considering."
Laxus blinked rapidly, "If all it is is sex, you and Rut are men just as much as I am."
Davian actually tilted his head back in a laugh that startled Laxus as much as it annoyed him, "Your will, Laxus. It's your will that makes you desirable."
"My will?"
"Yes, your will... and I'm sure your lack of affiliation to another god certainly helps as well. You said it yourself, strong mages are passionate. You have strong will. When you get down to the bare bones of it, to perform a powerful ritual you need someone with strong will to have a higher chance of manifesting whatever it is you're performing the ritual for," Davian said, "In a typical ritual, when you sacrifice a valuable component it makes a more impactful ritual; human blood is more valuable than the blood of an animal, for instance. In sex magic, you are the component. Sex is the... vehicle. It is the casting."
"Well, at this point I'm convinced I'm - what was it? - a bad, impure, passion-driven, apology for a man. Will be damned." Laxus snarled.
At that, Davian tilted his head, confused, "So you did research sex magic?"
"No, I made a stupid joke to Gajeel after we... did something stupid," he caught himself, "I told him I felt like a witch doing sex magic. He dropped that bit of wisdom on me."
"I fret to wonder how he would know such a thing," Davian humphed.
"Apparently, he's had sex with a high priestess I just met," Laxus said, "and if I'm putting things he's let slip together properly, they were together for a while when he was at Phantom Lord."
Davian's brow furrowed and he very suddenly he seemed serious, borderline angry. He leaned forward a bit as he pinned Laxus with a stern stare, "He knows how to perform a fertility ritual?"
Laxus didn't hide his alarm, "I... don't know. He didn't exactly tell me what happened. And the priestess just said she swore him to secrecy."
Laxus watched as something akin to revelation crossed Davian's face. He practically lunged for his camel, snapping open a satchel and digging around for something. He produced from his pack two books, and Laxus recognized them almost immediately.
"Is that... Bianca's journal?"
"It is. I'm almost done translating it but there's a piece about-"
"U-um, pardon me?" both men stopped in place and turned to look at who was standing nearby. She was younger, hardly over the age of 18. She looked alarmed to be the center of their combined attentions, and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "Madame Guéneva would like to see you."
"Oh," Davian hissed, "And I'm sure it can't possibly wait?"
The woman gave him an apologetic smile and Davian huffed.
"Allow me to at least walk him back to the rest of our companions, so he doesn't get into trouble," Davian said stiffly.
"Oh! She wants to see both of you." the woman said, "If you'd please."
Laxus looked over to Davian who was immediately cross and rolled his eyes. They both followed her back through the tents. This time, when Laxus saw the dancing women in the distance, he was sure to keep his eyes trained on their guide. He felt Davian's inquisitive stare, but he otherwise made no comment.
Laxus noticed that the closer they got to the tent, the more uneasy Davian became. It became so intense that Laxus caught the scent of his nervousness in the air. Laxus stopped walking and Davian shot him a quizzical look. Their guide seemed not to notice.
"Why are you so nervous?" Laxus asked.
Davian's lips pressed into a line, "Because I don't know what the Madame's intentions are."
"I doubt she means to hurt us," he chuckled, "Or she wouldn't have banished Father."
"Banish is a poor word for it," he muttered, looking over to the woman who was leading the way. She seemingly just noticed they weren't following and was waiting patiently, if a bit confused, "And I have a hard time believing it was out of the kindness of her heart."
"Not everyone is out to get you, Davian."
"Of course not. But that doesn't change the fact we are in her god's domain, the place he holds the most power," he said, and there was a twinge of panic to his voice, "Something to remember when working with gods, Laxus, they're capricious and oftentimes hedonistic and self-serving. We cannot fathom the scope of what they want, and they often don't care to explain. It is easy to come into a pact you had no intention of making."
"Alright," Laxus said, "but Madame Guéneva isn't a god."
"No," Davian said, and his eyes flashed dangerously, "She's an avatar."
"How is that worse?" Laxus smirked, "She's human… or at least, mortal. Like you or me."
"You don't understand," Davian sighed, "She is like Father, chosen by a god to manifest its powers in the mortal realm. She has free will, yes, but she has to do as her god wants in order to retain his favor. Mortal or not, she is held to the standard of the divine… and that makes her just as dangerous as he is."
Laxus huffed, feeling that Davian really was making a big deal where he shouldn't, "You're jaded, Davian."
He glared at him, balling his hands into fists, "Just be careful. If it feels like you're agreeing to something, don't."
Back in the tent, Laxus noticed the bedroll he had been on earlier was gone and there was instead four large, maroon sitting pillows, all centered around what appeared to be a black cloth neatly rolled out. A lantern was set to the side, illuminating the space along with several candles throughout the tent. The woman that Laxus now knew to be Madame Guéneva was already sitting, her black dress pulled up enough that he could see her knees and the rest spilling around her like a midnight pool. Her condor was still on its perch, tilting its head to watch them as they entered. Upon crossing the threshold, Davian stopped and put his fist to his erect, open hand and bowed at his waist to the Madame. A cunning smile curled her lip at the sight, and she nodded in acceptance. Laxus followed him to one of the pillows and took a seat.
"Well now, it has been quite a long time since I've met a follower of one of the old gods," Guéneva said, "And here I've come across two."
"One," Davian corrected.
"One?" she said, and her eyes swept up to squarely meet Laxus's. Now devoid of the otherworldly green, he saw that they were actually brown, "And yet the old god has called to you?"
Laxus shrugged, pointedly ignoring the way Davian was looking at him, "I think I've heard him... leading me to things. Or away from them. I don't know."
"You what?" Davian demanded.
Laxus glanced over at him, "And when I was kicked out of the Bloodgood Atheneum, one of the librarians there, Ramou, also said something about me being a practitioner. He told me I wasn't allowed back, that I needed to talk to my elder."
Guéneva hummed curiously as she studied Davian, "What a poor elder you are, high priest."
"Why didn't you say something?" Davian demanded.
"Well, the breath thing I thought was you until the introduction ritual." Laxus defended, "I only ever heard it around a chameleon until I heard it at the library. I thought maybe it was how I could sense one was near. And Ramou... he's a sphinx, isn't he? I thought maybe he was mad I was in the archives."
"How in Oro's Death and Rebirth would you conclude that from him telling you to speak to your elder?" Davian seethed.
"I had just had a very angry sphinxpulled off of me who'd been reciting poems about mine and my boyfriend's imminent deaths. I was a little confused, Davian."
"Well, now you know," Guéneva interrupted, lacking in patience for their bickering. She was holding a pouch in her hands, and as it shifted in her grasp Laxus could hear something hollow inside, "What I would like to know now is how a wizard, of all things, has found himself so attuned to Virale that he can not only receive messages from the gods, but he can see them. What have you been teaching him, high priest?"
At that, Davian stiffened, "Surely, you must be mistaken."
"He gazed onto the face of Tzopilatl as we were attempting to banish the spirit that has quite thoroughly sunken its teeth in him," she explained calmly, "My patron is a forgiving one. Some would have allowed you to go blind for such an offense."
"You can see him. Why shouldn't I?" Laxus asked, crossing his arms, "And Davian, you're the one who taught me how to use Virale."
"Once, Laxus, and only to introduce yourself... to commune with Oros," he said, bewildered, "Speaking to and seeing are two very different things... and the only reason you were able to speak with Oros was a complete accident in the first place. Have you spoken to the god since?"
"No."
Laxus didn't really understand all the fuss. He just gave a tired sigh and rubbed at his scar. Guéneva hummed again and this time she stood and walked across the tent to the table with all of her odds and ends. With each step she took, he heard the rattle of bones. She must have had the same bracelets around her ankles as she did her wrists. She returned with a pipe in her hand, and was packing it as she crossed her ankles and sat back down.
"Any other odd occurrences been happening?" she asked, puffing on the pipe to get it going. She held it towards Davian who curled his lip.
"No, thank you."
She squinted her eyes at him, "It wasn't a request."
"I don't partake of oweyenne." his voice contained a knife's edge, as did his glare, "And I would rather keep my wits about me."
"We call it dalleath," she smiled sweetly, and Laxus watched as green began to flood her eyes. The lines of age melted off of her. Was it the invoking of her god that did it, or something else? Either way, he felt spellbound and confused. He blinked hard and felt dizzy.
"I believe in what you're doing here, truly. You certainly provided us aid when we needed it, but I will not-"
"The sooner you embrace your fate, the better it will be," she spoke in two voices, old and young, and her eyes were glowing now. In the shadows of her face, Laxus realized he could see the god, Tzopilatl. His eye throbbed, but it wasn't painful. It was more like it was reminding him that it was still there, "Does glimpsing into your future scare you, high priest?"
"I am not a high priest. Do not refer to me as such."
The god in her shifted. It was as if Laxus were seeing double. The god he had seen in her face had now turned its attention to him, the outline of it like a shadow he couldn't quite grasp at. He immediately turned his eyes to Guéneva's chest, where now he could trace the vague outline of the skull and bones he knew to adorn the god's neck. He felt the gaze boring into him and it made him want to sink into the ground.
"Oh, my little nothing. Shall you pack your bags in the night and run again? You have made a promise to the gods and it cannot be broken."
"I was a child."
"It does not matter," she snapped, and the light seemed to drain from the tent, steeping them in only the light emitted from ethereal green. The air was turning oppressive, angry. Laxus felt the attention of the god and it was taking him apart into small pieces, forcing him to shed bits of himself he preferred to keep hidden. And yet, Davian and Madame Guéneva argued as if nothing were amiss. The vulture perched on the chair flapped its wings, sending dust into the air, "Was blood spilt? Was a prayer uttered? Do you not wield the power of your god whenever it suits you? You cannot borrow from a pot of water forever without refilling it."
"It can run dry for all I care." Davian replied, petulant and spiteful.
It all seemed so far away from Laxus, like he was adrift and they were still on shore. The longer he sat in this boat, the farther away they would become. He wondered where he could be going, and why. And why was there a man sitting on this boat with him, legs crossed and with black feathers wreathing his body, eyes pulling open his chest to lay whatever it was resting there bare. He wanted his pieces back in their respective places. He wanted off this boat.
"Just do what she fucking says, Davian." Laxus growled.
It was like a spell had been broken. He was sitting in the tent again, he wasn't slipping away. The Madame's eyes were glowing but there wasn't the silhouette of a frightening man hidden in the lines of her. He wasn't being delicately unraveled like a vase once broken, haphazardly glued back together, and now once again being taken apart because someone had carelessly forgotten a piece. His eye throbbed harshly at him, no longer a reminder but an indignant rousing, a complaint at being awoken. He swore and rubbed his palm against it. The pressure eased the pain.
"Goddamn… I'm so tired of this shit." He snarled.
Hesitantly, and with a concerned look to Laxus, Davian took the pipe and drew in a generous breath. The air filled with the smell of something citrusy, and warm like vanilla. When the smoke left Davian, he shivered. His scales bloomed across his body with a palpable reluctance; his feathers began peeking from his hair.
"What sort of mage did you say he was?" Madame Guéneva asked.
"I'm a dragon slayer," Laxus replied, not hiding his annoyance at her speaking as if he weren't there, "A lightning dragon slayer."
"That might do it," the Madame hummed, taking her own deep pull from the pipe, holding it. When she breathed out, she did it directly in Laxus's face. He choked on the intense smell of the dalleath and waved it out of his face. He began to feel dizzy all over again.
"What the hell!" He coughed.
"That was rude," Davian said in a voice devoid of emotion. He pat Laxus's shoulder soothingly, "You could have warned him."
Guéneva merely laughed. She pulled the string of the pouch she'd been holding and poured its contents into her hand. Bones, Laxus realized, and she cupped them into her hands delicately.
"Tell me, lightning dragon slayer, how does your magic work?" she said, shaking the bones in her hands. The sound of them made Laxus's teeth taste strange. He wanted to bite down on something, a pencil or something equally as hard. He felt the need to crunch it under the strength of his jaw. Vertigo made it hard to concentrate.
"It means I know dragon slaying techniques. I can eat lightning and my body turns it into magical energy…" he replied, again waving smoke away from his face until he realized there was none actually there, "Fuck."
"I'm sorry, it's quite disorienting," Davian said.
Davian looked different. His borders were becoming fuzzied like Guéneva's had been, but where he had been able to make out the god beneath the woman, Davian just looked blurry, as if someone had overlaid tinted glass on the rough outline of him. His feathers were nearly longer than his hair now and appeared to glow, shimmering a different rainbow of color each time he moved, like mother of pearl.
"It's a hallucinogenic." Davian was saying, and something else was saying it too. He could hardly wrap his mind around it. Were there two of him or just two voices? There was glittering gold in his eyes and crowning his shoulders. The air tasted like the color blue.
"It broadens your perspective." Madame Guéneva said, "Although it appears yours is already quite broad. He needs shown how to control that, or he'll attract even more unwanted attention than he already has."
"I'm not sure that could have been avoided." Davian muttered. "And it was hardly his fault."
"Wasn't it?" Madame Guéneva said knowingly, "Are not mages known for brashly walking into spaces they shouldn't?"
"He was ignorant."
The Madame gave an airy laugh, "Since when have gods cared about that?"
It felt like the tent was spinning around him even though they were all sitting still. Laxus was starting to make out something, to feel something. Intermingled in the scent of smoke and sweat and sand, he could catch the faint stench of carrion. He could hear the sounds of roosting birds, the palpable whoosh of something large taking flight although he saw no such thing. The glowing jade of Guéneva's eyes became heavier, more severe. As it did, Laxus felt her gaze tearing into him far more ferociously than her god had done. He felt like his chest was being exposed. He didn't like it. He snarled at her.
"Can you see the Virale in him?" Madame Guéneva asked, "Despite the fact I gave it to him, it has turned into his own. He's changed it. How delightful."
Davian hesitated.
"Well, take a look," she said, taking another puff of the herb and filling the room with her sigh. The shapes of it were like spirits seeking an escape. It made Laxus's skin prickle. The smoke gripped at him, leaving feather-light traces across his skin that at first he thought he could see and then weren't there at all, like the soft hands of ghosts.
"Do you mind?" Davian asked him.
Guéneva laughed, "You coddle him too much. He isn't a child."
"He's never done this before. It's nerve-wracking," he hissed, his tongue flashing out as he did. Laxus thought he could taste the hiss hot in his mouth. Davian looked at him again, "It'll only take a moment."
"Whatever... do whatever." Laxus mumbled, waving his hand. He paused and watched his hand again, the way it looked in the light, like the movement of it was too slow. He had to remind himself he'd breathed in a hallucinogen so his heart would calm down. It was in his ears, straining against his eardrums like somehow it had swollen up into his brain. He didn't like it. He felt like he was strapped into a cart careening down a hill with no way to get off.
"It'll just be a moment," Davian's voices said. Feathers were glowing and it blurred the foggy air.
This time, the feeling of being laid bare was nearly painful. Laxus clutched at his chest and winced at what felt like claws prying him open, but there was nothing there, just Davian's stare ripping viscerally into him. Laxus's hand against his chest felt hot, and a sharp sensation sang up his hand. He knew that feeling, the quick snapping of something livid and raw up his knucklebones. Lightning. He widened his eyes and looked down to his chest. The place Davian had once shown him, down in his gut, he could see a swirling color begin to shift into focus. Virale, life energy, came more and more into focus. It pulsed gently up and down his spine, arching up and around him. Life energy.
"Lightning in the blood," Laxus breathed, and drew his eyes up to the arch of it. Like a bubble that surrounded him, his bioelectric field was weak and shivering. He reached out his hand, his skin humming with magic as his fingers brushed against it. Frisson rushed across his body as static exploded through his flesh. He shivered and watched as the energy zipped across his skin like electricity.
He looked over to Davian and he looked shocked. His eyes were wide and brilliant gold, watching him in what could have been amazement or horror. His own Virale was so bright, Laxus had to squint against it, but where he expected it to be gold as his eyes were, it was a vibrant shade of cold blue. He turned his head to Madame Guéneva, and she too shone painfully bright and wraithlike green.
"Bioelectricity," Laxus stated, dumbly, "the natural electricity that all living things produce... is Virale? They're the same thing?"
"He can consume Virale and turn it into raw magical energy," Madame Guéneva mused, rattling the bones in her hands, "And if he has the ability to utilize Virale, as you've implied given that he's successfully performed a ritual before, then it wouldn't be too much to assume he could turn magical energy to Virale as well. It would be one and the same to him... could you imagine the implications of such a thing?"
"I... no. No, I'd prefer not," Davian stated and shut his eyes. He shook his head, and when he reopened them his eyes were once again his usual reptilian yellow.
"Pledged to a god, his power would be nearly limitless."
The voice that rose up from behind Laxus was deep and commanding, immense and timeless, and innately something that should be feared. Laxus's spine snapped straight, and his wonder collapsed into dread. He felt something brush at the limit of his field and he shuddered. When he had felt Gajeel enter his bioelectric field on the night he had eaten lightning, it had felt like a gentle ripple lapping at the shores of him, an intrusion that was kind and quiet. What he felt now was like a sandstorm raging at his borders, a cyclone of unfettered power and depthless rage. It buried him in the cadaverous darkness of a desert cave flooded with sand, tipping like an hourglass to dry his mouth and choke his lungs. Great black wings enveloped him, sheltered him, and smothered him.
"The kind of power men fight wars for, the kind they spin fables of, is waiting at your fingertips."
"He hardly has a need for such things," Davian stated, but the god at Laxus's back didn't waver.
"Imagine what worship could do for you, mage," he rumbled, and his voice was the sound of sand as it whispers from the steep dunes and tumbles down, spilling pitilessly on the wanderer who didn't pay attention and burying them alive, "The Virale of a god pouring into your veins. You could destroy the world if you so wished. The vengeance you could reap for me..."
Laxus saw a long line of people slouching into the desert sand, their feet bare, haggard by the intense heat. Mothers carried children with tear-streaked faces. Men clenched their fists as mounted soldiers hovered around them like hungry coyotes, whips in hand, forcing them along. Condors circled the sky, waiting for one to fall into the sand and not rise again. Tzopilatl remembered them. He remembered everyone who was lost to his sands, to his unforgiving sun. He was the Lord of the Forgotten Dead, and he welcomed them into him as the father welcomes their prodigal son. Each lost soul had a place in his realm and he remembered...
"What would a death god want with a lightning mage?" Davian said, and Laxus felt like he could breathe now that the god's full attention was off of him, "Has it been so long that you've forgotten what mages do to the likes of us?"
The images of the desert dissolved into a visage of a temple. It rose out from an oasis, four large columns struck upwards to the sky. Around it were thatched huts and simple dwellings, but that wasn't to say the place wasn't grand. It was a village filled with bustling life and vibrant colors, safe in the shadow of Oragatohl'I where sacrifice fed a god that granted favor and prosperity. Under the cover of night, the sleeping village only had torchlight to keep the darkness at bay. Suddenly, the vision shifted to the village on fire. In the center of the square, and surrounded by the mass of an army of men jeering and shouting, a large pyre had been erected. The bodies of men littered the ground, men of royal blue scales and opalescent feathers, their wives and daughters gathered and tied to the pyre and screaming as they burned.
"Limitless power is good to no one, man or god," Davian hissed in two voices, one that was depthless and wise beyond what Laxus knew from the chameleon, and one that was his own, "It does not come without consequence."
"You think you know better than a god?" Tzopilatl charged.
"I know history."
"Did you live it, little priest? Did you hear their screams? Feel their terror? Did you offer them respite when their god abandoned them and the world gave them nothing but pain?" the god stepped away from Laxus, pacing towards Davian now. He could see the magnificent wings falling over the chameleon. Davian cringed from them as if he'd been burned, "They deserve their pound of flesh."
Davian bared his sharp teeth and spoke with his tongue, "And a god who couldn't even properly banish a spirit would be the one to give it to them?"
The air turned turbulent. The power of the god snapped wide and furious, the oppressiveness of it knocking the wind out of Laxus's lungs. His head was spinning. Dry, ruthless heat beat down on them alongside relentless, howling wind and biting sand. He could hear the growl of a jackal just out of sight. He could feel the rattling tail of a viper.
"The spirit cannot enter my domain. The wizard is only alive because I have offered my protection, because I have staked my claim on him as he traverses my land. You would ask me to do more on a meager offering of pain and the prayer of a priest who is already promised to another? You point to my failings, priest, but what have you to offer?" Tzopilatl's ire was the unyielding wind that bore sand into skin like knives. He paced around them like a panther itching to pounce, "How about the still-beating heart of your mother that was given to a ravenous, upstart god? What about the blood of the divine that flows through you but turns to poison because you fear completion more than death? Come, high priest, give me an offering I can make use of. Give to me your promise of the first-born son you've given up on ever having, the lineage that took millennia to restart that you intend to let die with you? Pathetic creature, you who runs from a fate you know you can't escape. How many have been caught in the trap of your own making because of your vapid delusions of freedom?"
"Leave him be," Laxus growled, daring to look at the feet of the god.
"You come to his aid? The one who raped the man who was to become his mate because of mindless passion? Twice, your loss of control nearly led to the death of someone in your destructive hands. You are blessed with great power and yet are underserving to wield it!" the words struck him as hard as a fist to his face. He gasped and gritted his teeth as a deep guilt he'd buried suddenly sprung up to the surface. The god continued to mock him to the screaming trill of coyotes fighting over leftover scraps of a kill, "Such a powerful wizard and yet you cannot save the one you love from the gods. No matter how you rage against the inevitable, you are as powerless to stop it as the sparrow to the tempest. Continue to lie to yourself and in your arrogance become ensnared by forces that have long hungered for the blood of your people for the atrocities they've committed against our followers. Was it not because of your genocide that we fell from power in the first place? Because you've meddled in powers you don't understand, because you've traversed places you were never meant to be, you caught the eyes of a vengeful spirit that has left you dried up and useless. What else do you have to offer except that which I desire? Do you not owe me for saving your life, for the mercy I have graciously bestowed upon you?"
The god was at his side now. Laxus could hear the bones around his neck as they knocked against each other. Tzopilatl crouched down so that his face was level with his own, but Laxus kept his eyes firmly locked at his own bare feet. His chest was heaving. He hadn't realized he'd started crying. The gods words struck deep and harsh blows against his soul, and he couldn't stand it. How did he know what it was that he despised most about himself? How could he dredge these feelings up so easily and parade them around, exposed and livid as a broken tooth? He stifled a shiver.
"You are lacking, dragon slayer. You know it in your heart. There are pieces of you missing, there's something about you that's not quite right. You're not good enough, and alone, you never will be..." Tzopilatl's voice lost some of its edge and the howling of his rage ebbed, "But I could make you something more. I could make you something that mortals bow to. You are just a man, but I could complete you. I could make you perfect."
"I don't need to be completed," Laxus growled, but even to him it didn't sound convincing, "And I don't need to be perfect."
"No? Then consider this; I am the Lord of the Forgotten Dead, and my domain extends across all those that have become lost..." again the image of the lizardfolk appeared before him. He could see those that fled into the desert, how they had been unprepared to brave the heat and fell into the sand days later. A great condor landed to pick at the body of a man not much younger than himself. His feathers shivered in the arid and unforgiving wind, "Is it not their god which seeks the life of the one you hold most dear? The Osaloua, the ones who bore the greatest secrets of their rituals to the grave rather than let the mages get to it? The forgotten dead, under my influence, would have no choice but to heed your call, to respond to the questions you've been so desperate to answer. You could summon them from the depths of the desert, dragon slayer, and they would be compelled to answer…"
Laxus's heart thrilled up into his throat as he watched the vulture pick flesh from bone, "I could learn what the ritual is..."
"And if you know the ritual, you could stop it or at least buy time until you could." Tzopilatl spoke smoothly, gently, "Pledge yourself to me, become my avatar. Save the one you love. Have everything you could possibly desire."
Laxus swallowed hard. He stared at his own hands. The god's words echoed in his head like a mantra on the tip of his tongue. Pledge yourself to me. Save the one you love. He could. It would be such a simple thing. With a god at his side, he could wield Virale as deftly as Davian and magic that was powerful enough to make him a Wizard Saint. Nothing would be a match for him then, no man, no god, not even Father. This was the kind of opportunity he needed, this could save Gajeel's life! How could he not grasp this while it was here in front of him, so easy for the taking? So generously offered? All of his problems would vanish in one simple word. Yes. It was too good to be true…
"What's the trade off?" Laxus asked. His voice was shredded and broken, but what did it matter to hide it? The god had already gutted him. He knew how devastated he was already.
"Hm?" the god's voice was keen and treacherous.
"I've already been warned about making deals with gods. How many people have to die so I have the chance to save his life?" Laxus snarled through his gritted teeth, "Do you want the life of a mage for every life taken by mages? How many? Hundreds? Thousands? If I couldn't even kill the man who almost took Gajeel's life what makes you think I'd murder hundreds of innocent wizards?"
"You would not be burdened by guilt," Tzopilatl said, "I would complete you. My rage is your rage, my passion is your passion, my power is your power. Consider them a worthy sacrifice and derive power in the bloodletting."
"Then you would change me into something I'm not," Laxus scowled.
"I would make you perfect."
"You think you're so perfect, I bet I could be like you." Laxus sneered, and turned on him. He forced himself to gaze at the god, to ignore the burning in his eyes. He glared into the blazing jade eyes and pulled as much power as he dared from deep in his gut. Thundered rolled in the distance, brutal and resolute, "I will find a way to stop the ritual, and I will do it without the help of a bloodthirsty god like you."
Tzopilatl held his gaze for a moment before his lips pulled back in a dreadful smile. Laxus could hear screams in the distance, growing louder. He could hear the scavenging of massive carrion birds rending flesh from bone. In the depthless preternatural green of his eyes he could see the eons stretch, kingdoms rising and falling and the gods' own rise and fall from power. He could taste bloodlust until he was nearly choking on it, the cries for revenge, the yearning to be fed after having been brought down so low for so long…
Laxus dropped his head, burying his eyes into his arms to wipe away the painful tears from looking upon the face of a god. It was a long while before he was able to blink through the pain and look up again. His vision was blurry and his eye throbbed. The god had faded back into the shadow of Madame Guéneva, and with his departure it felt as if all sound had been sucked out of the room and they were left in a vacuum. The Madame's lips were set in a smug smile as she quietly watched him.
He heard the rattle of the bones in her hands and she tossed them down onto the black cloth between them. They were animal bones, and on each was carved various symbols. He wanted to check on Davian, especially since he had been painfully quiet for quite some time now, but he also felt he couldn't look away from Madame Guéneva and her bones.
"You are a strong man, Laxus Dreyar. You hold to your convictions even in the face of adversity. You are a warrior and a friend, and you hold a great compassion for those you perceive to be your family. You are one who laughs with lightning and runs with the tornado and yet does now fear the destruction they bring, because you are as powerful as they are. You are equals in the eyes of nature." she hummed as her eyes dragged across the bones. She swayed from one side to the other as if moving to the beat of a song Laxus couldn't hear, "But even your power has its limitations. If you are to succeed in your goals, you must learn that there is a difference between confidence and hubris. The force that you are up against is unlike anything you have seen in your lifetime, or has been witnessed in dozens of lifetimes. It has had centuries to define itself and set in motion what has been started. The bonds that have been forged cannot be broken without blood."
She swept them up onto her palms and then once again tossed them down.
"Do you know how to scry the bones, high priest?" she asked.
Davian's response was dreadfully quiet, a mere whisper, "I was never any good at it."
"And yet, you know what they're telling you, don't you?"
"Of course. It's set in stone already." he breathed, it sounded broken and miserable.
Madame Guéneva chuckled. The light from her was gone, the old crone had returned. She gathered her bones and placed them back in her pouch. She tossed her hair back over her shoulders and stood, shaking the sand from her as she did.
"I'm so glad we were able to meet," she smiled at them both. It was surreal to Laxus. She acted like all of this was fine and normal, like nothing had happened. She crossed her arms and leered down at them both. Laxus wasn't sure he'd ever wanted to knock the smugness out of someone as much as he did her in that instant, "You've given me much to ponder over. I do hope that our paths cross again... and if they do, I won't be saving your life again."
Laxus left the tent with shaky legs. He didn't know what to do with the knowledge he'd just gained. He didn't know what to think of the words the god had said, or whether he thought Davian had been right in his assessment of Madame Guéneva being dangerous. All he knew was that he was hasty to get as much space in between him and that wretched tent as possible. Davian was silent as he led them to where Irena and the rest of their party waited. When she heard them approaching, she whipped her head around and stood.
"Where have you been?" she asked, "I've been looking everywhere for you. Why are your feathers out? Laxus... is something wrong?"
"My apologies, little heart... I didn't... think..." Davian stopped, his voice devolving into a dreadful sort of noise.
Irena's eyes blew wide in worry. Laxus let out a shaky breath, also feeling emotion welling up out of somewhere, or maybe it had always been there but in the silence of their walk had grown impossible to ignore any longer. Or, maybe, it was the wearing off of whatever herb the priestess had blown into his face. The god, his words, the priestess and her coldness, the dizziness that had never quite gone away, it was all too much. Laxus suddenly felt nauseous and tromped over to the far side of their campfire.
"Hey, hey... what happened? Davian, what happened? Laxus? Please, can one of you tell me what's going on?"
Davian pulled her into a tight hug and buried his face into her neck, "I'm so, so sorry, darling."
"It's... it's ok... I was just a little worried, that's all." she was saying in a rush, "Are you both ok? What happened?"
How was she supposed to know that wasn't what Davian was apologizing for? Laxus felt bad for her confusion, he felt bad for not telling Gajeel where he'd gone, he felt bad for feeling bad at all. He wobbled to the fireside and sat down, rubbing away tears and ignoring Irena's imploring expression, the distress written so clearly across her face as she silently asked him what was going on. In the distance, a coyote screamed and shortly thereafter was followed a chorus of more. Laxus rubbed his eye and purposely overlooked how Rut stared at him knowingly, navy scales glistening in the firelight, and how Erandi sat nearby, tail curled around his ankles, staring at Davian in a way one shouldn't stare at a person.
Laxus rubbed at his scar and for a moment considered calling Gajeel on his receiver. He pulled the orb from his pocket, held it delicately in his hands.
He should call him. He should call him and tell him he might be dying. He should tell him he'd done something stupid and travelled out into the desert to see his friend's deranged brother in the hopes he could fix it. He should call him and tell him he'd met a god and he was ruthless and demanding and terrifying, and if this was what they were up against he wasn't sure he could take this one. He should tell him he loved him, and he was sorry for not saying it more. He should tell him he was scared of the future because of its lack of absolutes, that he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing anymore, that he needed him here. He needed Gajeel beside him, telling him he could handle this, that he was his unwavering sun despite the clouds that hung down low over his shoulders. He needed him to say that just because he was unsure it didn't mean they couldn't still figure this out, that together they could do it, together they could beat anything, even a god.
But he didn't. He didn't do any of it. He put the receiver back in his pocket and he drew his knees to his chest in a way he hadn't done since he was a child. He crossed his arms over them and rested his head there, eyes staring blankly into the fire, and listened to coyotes screaming in the distance.