“The gods are dead,” Zai let slip.
He didn’t mean to contribute to the mostly one-way conversation, but it had been a long time since he had the company of another, and there was something about the boy that pulled him out of his habitual reticence.
“It’s just an expression,” Ben said.
“Many humans in my world believe in one true God, but many others just use the expression. Like me. I believe there’s something vast and unknowable out there, whether gods or forces of nature or aliens and cosmic phenomena. I don’t know that there’s one true God, but I don’t know that there isn’t. Anything is possible, right? Look at Immortals. There’s so much magic in the universe. I don’t think we’ve seen even a speck of what’s possible.”
Despite himself, the boy’s words made Zai think.
He didn’t know a world other than the one he was in. It was brutal, dark and lonely.
More than Ben’s words, it was the wonder and endless hope in his voice that made Zaifeel.
For the first time, he wondered whether there could be more than the brutal, dark, and lonely existence he’d had. For the first time, he wondered what more could be possible.
For this reason, he recognized that Ben was extremely special and extremely dangerous. With just a few words, he’d infected Zai with curiosity and hope.
As far as Zai had experienced and seen, both were weaknesses that got people killed.
Chapter Five
“One by one, Queen Ashlu collected the pieces of her game board, starting with the most powerful surviving Earth Elemental that she made her very own. Next, she enforced rules that Dark Ones must follow when dealing with Pure Ones and humans. By allowing the slaves and cattle some small freedoms, she managed to diffuse rebellions before they could conflagrate. But the Beasts…they were proud, powerful and untamed; an unpredictable threat, a constant thorn in Ashlu’s side…”
—From the hidden volumes of the Ecliptic Scrolls
“Were you serious when you said you had news about the Beast Kings?” Ben asked of his taciturn companion.
There was no telling whether Zaidu would actually answer. Half the time he didn’t.
Good thing Ben was used to interacting with mostly silent, grunting, sighing friends in the Yukon territories where he lived. The animal spirit enclave led by Goya, the Tiger King, was full of monosyllabic warriors. In Ben’s immediate circle, Sorin and Tal epitomized the description “men of few words.”
Thus, he didn’t take Zai’s reticence personally.
A huff of breath was all the response Ben received. He was beginning to decipher Zai-speak relatively accurately. This particular huff sounded like a “yes.”
After scouting the entire outer courtyard for threats, entry and exit points over the last few hours, Ben and Zai returned to the public long house near the barracks for a light repast.
Presently, Ben turned the gigantic drumstick this way and that in his hand, wondering what sort of animal had sacrificed a limb for his meal.
It didn’t look like it came from a bird, but it was turkey-sized. The shape of the thigh and leg could have been some kind of rodent, like a giant bunny. But Ben hadn’t seen any of those running around wild or raised in a pen.
He had seen some strange-looking domesticated animals, however.
There were dogs the size of small horses, reminding him of the god Anubis from Egyptian mythology. Cats that looked like wildcats, spotted with tufted ears, that hissed when two-legged beings got too close. But they clearly belonged to someone, for they wore collars and even harnesses.
If they’d been chubbier, fluffier and grumpier, he would have said they looked like manul cats, a species that was apparently one of Goya’s favorite creatures, for he often likened his human Mate to one.
Knowing Maddie, Ben could definitely see the resemblance. In a good way…mostly.
Then, there were horses the size of small elephants. Tall, muscular, and rather demonic in the eyes. Ben only saw black, white and gray steeds, no other coats. They were uniform in their coloring and meticulously groomed. Their hooves were the size of Ben’s head.
One particularly distinctive animal stayed in Ben’s mind long after he spotted it. In the corner of a stone house, sitting alertly on the front steps, was a small white fox.
It didn’t look oversized like the other animals Ben encountered thus far; it looked just like he recalled from reference materials, having never seen one in the flesh, even at zoos he’d visited as a child.
Just like the artic fox, arguably the most adorable of its species by human standards, it had fluffy white fur, a round head and body, and a luxuriously bushy tail. In size, it was smaller than the cats Ben saw earlier, smaller even than modern domesticated cats like the Ragdoll or the Maine Coon. It looked like a miniature Samoyed dog, but its exotic yellow eyes and delicate face gave it a distinctly “foxy” look.
Strangest of all, when Ben looked a little more closely, almost mesmerized by the sight, when the fox wagged its tail, it looked as if it had more than one.