---Hrut, Prophet of Zeus POV

The cold seeps into my body, and while alive, I am incapable of living. My nose, though, satisfies its curiosity, sniffing and appreciating the aroma of burnt meat. I roll over to find the source of the scent. Rotating on a spit over a roaring fire in the middle of an ice field is an enormous beast of some sort. Ottar the Oaf stands over the spit, one hand at each end to quarter turn the roasting.

“I thought the smell of food would disturb your slumber. You were near death when I set you in the snow and ice. I was only marginally better. Curse this island,” he rumbles.

Aren’t we enemies?

“Why did you save me?”

“We are Frost Giants.”

His explanation was so simple, befitting an oaf, yet his reputation was more about his clumsiness with females than his intellect. With my ice heart beating stronger, I test my faith, summoning all my magic and all my will to call to Zeus. My belief is false. I slump back in mental exhaustion.

Drippings of fat run into my mouth, and although my eyes are closed, my mouth opens, and without pause, I devour meat, gristle, and bone, consuming everything on offer. I feel my belly full before I see my belly full and with a groan, I wave away the offer of another portion.

I vaguely hear some words. “Suit yourself. More for me?”

When I wake, there is no fire or spit. No Ottar the Oaf. The wind sweeps the ice and snow into sleet, and I rejoice and enjoy the freezing bath discarding my leather armour and shirt, my britches. I absorb all the cold on offer.

From behind, a voice calls, “Oh please, naked Frost Giant is a little much.” A bellowing laughter follows, and I join him as I dress, only to cover my modesty.

He drops a beast at my feet. Thick white fur, similar to a bear, yet bipedal, the thumb claw opposed hints at a tool user or potential tool user. I credit my mother for my knowledge and instantly feel her loss. Tears freeze as I shed them as jewels of remembrance.

“They take a bit of effort to skin, so I would appreciate your help.”

Fighting back further emotion, I climb to my feet and watch as he takes his hatchet to the beast’s fur, drawing a line around the creature’s neck and then down the centre of the back. Digging his finger in the split, he rips back one side while I rip down the other in a macabre tug-of-war.

---

My hunger being sated. I stare at my benefactor.

“What do we do now?”

His face rises from the bone he gnaws on. “We journey back down this mountain. Subject ourselves to the heat of this island until I can secure a way to return to my mountain and serve my Goddess there.”

“Won’t your Priestess…”

“Cardinal,” he says.

I nod. “Won’t your Cardinal object? You will be deserting her. She will lose her champion?”

His bellowing laughter rings across the snowfield. “She is more powerful than I will ever be. The Cardinal can call on our Goddess to extinguish life, spirit, and soul, while I must beat them down with my axe. She needs a companion who can tend and nurture her feelings, someone way more sensitive than the Oaf I am.”

“What about me?”

He looks me in the eye. “What about you?”

“I worship Zeus, your Goddess’ Divine tormentor. How can you let me live as his Prophet?”

“Has Zeus answered any of your prayers?”

My head falls. “No, I am forsaken.”

His hand smacks my shoulder. “Then the future is yours to decide. Free of Zeus, free of Aphrodite, and therefore you are free to make your own way.”

Is my future so easily mine to decide? I release my Divine Magic and begin extinguishing the teachings of Zeus when a hand slaps my face. His hand!

“Why did you do that?” I snarl and then regret my outburst.

“Don’t surrender knowledge. Zeus may have left you, but you can begin anew. No one made Aphrodite a Goddess. She needed to build towards her goal every day. What would those who decide to follow and worship Hrut gain for their dedication?”

“I don’t know…” My words are poor, certainly not the wise words of a future god.

“Not knowing is a good place to start, a clean blade ready to be sharpened. Discover yourself and see if you have something more to offer. They tell of a Stone Giant named Fabia, who for years sought to restore the dead to life. She wanted to be reunited with her husband and have him help her raise their children together. She is now the Goddess of Healing, and her husband the God of Justice. It is the time of Gods, Frost Giant Hrut.” His hands grab at my shoulders and shake me out of my stupor.

---Pex, Cardinal of Aphrodite POV

I hold Allene’s hands in mine. We share our nervous excitement as we stand behind the basalt altar within Aphrodite’s recently completed, yet-to-be-consecrated temple. Burning braziers adorn the walls of our underground creation, lighting the way.

In the distance, bright sunlight frames the enormous doors we set apart, forming a glorious entrance. We have invited all on the island to witness the ceremony and hope they accept, as there would be nothing worse than a temple more empty than full.

As expected, the first groups arrive, and each stares up before entering—a tribute to Allene’s inspiration and dedication. The numbers grow throughout the morning, and in the generous courtyard before the entrance Allene the Younger and Aaby Worts welcome our guests with offers of food and wine.

“You would have finished months earlier except for me,” I confess.

“Humans would have difficulty accepting any Snake Kin.”

I embrace the Prophet of Aphrodite, Allene the elder. She would, without complaint, descend from her work and meet those repulsed by my appearance to build up our Lay Worshippers. They, in all honesty, initially believed worshipping a Goddess was more like membership into a faction of like minds instead of a place to grow their knowledge and devote their time to worship. Under Allene’s patient tutelage, their awakening grew. For my part, I kept in the background, organising the details and sending Allene the younger to interact with others in the island’s village. The responsibility suits her, young, yet with a wise head.

Fingers snap in front of my face, and I blink.

“You weren’t away wallowing in regret, were you?” asks Prophet Allene.

“No. Simply appreciating Allene, the younger, and her dedication. Thankful, the two fleets eventually dispersed peacefully.” I caress Allene’s arm. “The Chief Governor, his wife and children are at the doors.”

Her appreciative smile never grows old. “He is yours to deal with, Cardinal. I believe I am needed elsewhere.”

We part ways, Allene to pass through a concealed door at the back of the temple and I to rush forward a greet the happy family.

“She escapes my wrath once again,” growls the Chief Governor.

“Whatever do you mean? This day is her day, and she has many last duties to attend to.” I flash my best toothless smile at him.

“Her participation on the Council is sorely needed as the other Governors seem bent on ganging up on me, and the situation is therefore intolerable.” Beside him, his wife’s cheeky smile disappears before his glance in her direction can catch her out.

“Now, Chief Governor, surely you exaggerate, my spies tell me, you have manoeuvred and cajoled as you always have. Negotiations with the Admirals and the Captains of the twin fleets, especially successful dragging mutual trade contracts from both, with many of the Governors in agreement.”

The hand of his Island Queen snakes around the back of his neck to play with his hair. “What my husband is saying is that Allene’s attendance would have made his task so much simpler. My efforts on his behalf only yielded a handful of appearances for all the time I spent here. She is a stubborn one, that is for sure.”

“Now that her work is done, I expect her to attend more Council meetings. Is that understood?” he says while leaning forward. I deflect his attempt to intimidate me by uncurling my tail and rising. He retreats.

Her babes whimper in their trolley, drawing their mother’s attention. I stare through him. “She dedicates herself to the Goddess, Chief Governor. You may have to look elsewhere for a guarantee of support.”

His body tenses. I am certain at any other time, he would be yelling. Instead, in a quiet seething voice, he replies, “If my fixer would return to me instead of following Allene the younger around like a tame pet, then perhaps I could leverage my original method to manipulate favourable outcomes. You and your temple, though, have put pay to that as well.”

“Well then, things can only improve from now on, wouldn’t you say?”

“Husband, don’t let what you can’t change rile you so. The temple is finished, so tasks which occupied people before will no longer be required, and they will be free to chase other dreams.”

He does a double-take look at her. “You certain this dried-up grey thing before us hasn’t addled your brain? Dreams? Ha!” He grabs her hand and pulls her away. She reaches out for the handle of the baby trolley just in time, and they hurry off. Lady Salina throws me an apologetic smile, yet I know what humans think of me.

Except perhaps for this one. “Captain Dekens, I didn’t think you would remember, and even if you did, your travels would somehow prevent your attendance.”

He stretches out his hand, and we shake.

“Well, met Arend. Are you keeping a sharp eye out?” The young man blushes as I embrace him.

“Yes, Cardinal. The Captain has been teaching me navigation, so I hope to Captain my own ship one day.”

The Captain pats Arend’s back. “Aye, he has the head and confidence for it.”

“And the rest of the ship’s crew? All well, or has the sea been harsh?”

“No, the sea has been kind to us. The replacements have settled in, although Jilt, my Second Mate, jumped ship once we returned to the mainland. A shock to us all, given his love of sailing, but there you have it.”

“For your presence today, I am truly grateful,” I say. I hesitate to move forward and embrace him. He doesn’t and grants me a quick hug while a broad smile graces Arend’s lips.

“Well, that’s good. You will find us at the back, near the doors. Sailors like the open spaces is all, no offence.”

“None taken,” I reply as he and Arend hasten away.

As I scan the benches, I confirm the attendance of each of the Governors. Whatever scheme Allene the younger used to convince them to attend has plainly worked. I head back to the altar, slither my way up the ramp, and raise my hands from behind the altar proper. The black stone, the basalt, the Goddess’ original flesh inspires my oratory, as I call those in attendance to heed and worship the Goddess Aphrodite. I feel the divine presence of the Prophet Allene behind me. She casts [Worship Aphrodite] as I throw myself into my sermon, calling all present to join me in prayer. To a person, they are enthralled, and she casts [Sanctify Area (Aphrodite)] boosted by the entirety of her magic. I continue calling to them to worship. I pray to Aphrodite, asking her to heed our call and bless our temple. In so doing, she can anoint another place of worship in her name. My words, of course, are unnecessary as they state the obvious but flow from me in desperation. When nothing seems to happen, doubt grows in me. We are in the centre of the world, far away from the shore of our continent and her presence. Then Allene embraces me from behind, whispering, “Have faith, Cardinal.”

I cast [Worship Aphrodite], contributing all my magic. A shape blocks the sunlight from entering the temple, and then the moment passes as Ottar the Oaf, Initiate of Aphrodite, enters our un-consecrated temple. His beaming joyful smile ignites the warmth on my soul, his return more than welcome, and I take heart as I feel Allene squeeze me further in her embrace as she also celebrates his return.

[Success: Temple of Aphrodite site; upgraded to Major Temple of Aphrodite. Shrines to other Gods of her Pantheon enabled.]

[Special Unlock: Major Temple of Aphrodite; Pilgrimage Site for Worshippers of Aphrodite.]

“My faithful, exit the Temple and witness my presence. Celebrate my outreach to an additional part of the world. Gaze in wonder!”

There is a rush for the doors. Excitement, laughter, questions, good guesses, and wrong guesses, trying to make meaning of the Goddess’ words. There is no fear. The kindness in her words is overwhelmingly welcoming. Motherly even.

First, one and then another shout and point upwards. We all crane our heads up to look at Allene’s sculpture, a work of art and a symbol of her dedication. The arms of the basalt statue spread apart—a number present faint. Fortunately, the press of the crowd encourages a gentle fall. Her lips move, “Welcome to the worship of Aphrodite. I commend my Prophet Allene for her inspired creation of my likeness.” The statue’s blank eyes inspect her hands.

Those present drop to their knees, raise their hands and bend at the waist as one.

The eyes of the statue blaze golden, reflecting and scattering the morning sunlight, bathing everyone in light and warmth.

Messages granting Lay Membership, Initiate rank, and the occasional anointing of Adepts flash before my eyes as I bathe in Aphrodite’s Divinity. I realise this is her avatar, yet that doesn’t diminish the phenomenon.

Her basalt hand lowers into the gathering and scoops up Allene, her Prophet. The Goddess’ eyes blaze with passion and love. As Allene returns to us, climbing out of our Goddess’ hand, purified, blessed with a mote of Divinity. Next to be lifted is Ottar the Oaf. She breathes on him before returning him to us. The next is a surprise, Lady Salina and her twins. The Goddess holds the Chief Governor’s wife to her basalt breast, which the Lady kisses. On her return, our Goddess reaches far beyond the courtyard to pluck out a Frost Giant from amongst the jungle. Maybe a spy, more likely a curious interloper. Hrut, former Prophet of Zeus.

“You, I also grant a mote of Divinity, yet this is yours free from the need to revere me. You must shape this yourself and become the being you wish to be. Aphrodite remembers those who helped her in the past, and Hrut, son of Arnora, deserves to chase his dream.”

She places him back where she found him. A shadow crosses over me, and then her hand descends to scoop me up until I am face-to-face with the Avatar of my Goddess. Her golden eyes devour my attention.

“And you, Cardinal Pex, I owe much, too much, in fact. You have suffered because of your faith in me, and I have wronged you, for which I ask your forgiveness. Regardless, I would grant you one wish and if in my power, I will grant you your wish.”

“Of course, Goddess, I forgive you. I don’t pretend to know all your designs, so I will trust you to know the best in the future.”

“I don’t wish you to trust I know best. I need you to question and challenge me as I exist to serve you as much as you serve me. We are a partnership in faith. Now ask for your wish.”

There are many things I would want, but only one I need. One which will restore me to my former self and perhaps begin my healing.

“I would ask you to restore my colour. I have endured grey too long, the reasons and the how I can’t escape while the colour remains.”

“Are you certain that is enough?”

“Yes, my Goddess, more than enough.”

“Maybe for you… I bless you with my Fertility Realm and declare you reborn. I bless you with my Truth Realm. None can speak falsely in your presence. I bless you with my Death Realm. Those you touch will feel the deep despair that only comes from losing a loved one until they beg your forgiveness. I bless you with my Disorder Realm. If circumstances are against you, perhaps something unexpected will deliver an opportunity.”

As her hand returns me to her worshippers, I feel no different, yet those who gaze upon me raise their hands to their mouths in shock. Unlike before, they don’t look away.

Allene solves the mystery. “Cardinal Pex, your snakeskin radiates a multitude of colours, not only colours but depth as well. The deep green of leaves in the forest, the bright shining gleam of steel or silver and everything in between.”

I feel the Goddess Aphrodite’s divinity fade, as does everyone else. Allene’s status returns to her original pose. It solidifies once again, her legs apart, standing over the entrance to her temple. Blank stone eyes stare seaward, and her hands, palms open, are welcoming.

“Concentrate on bright green, Cardinal.”

I imagine the colour.

Allene dances around me, laughing and smiling. “Yes, most suitable on a jungle island, if I do say so myself!”

A small hand tugs on mine. Allene the younger. No, Allene, the younger, Adept of Aphrodite.

“How can I be an Adept of Aphrodite when I am too young to be a Governor on the Island Council?”

I wrap her in an embrace. “The Goddess sometimes knows us better than we know ourselves. Still, you can refuse. What you receive is an offer only until you accept.”

“I guess I could help out around here until I come of age.” We chuckle.

---Jilt, former Second Mate of the Wave Piercer POV

Whipping the horse, telltale salt gathering on the beast’s flanks, and I know my mount will fail me shortly. The brine scent of the sea and the crash of the waves against the cliffs draw me on. Almost there. This must work…

I rein in the horse, a screaming whinny resulting from my cruel and unfamiliar use of the reins. The burn of the leather on my right hand and the multiple wounds on the inside palm at various stages of healing my punishment. As I lift my leg over the saddle to dismount, the stallion turns, and I am flung to the ground. My grasp on the reins is tenuous as the rearing of the animal tests my determination. The gourd hangs from the saddle. Rising, I launch myself at this prize and curse.

My hand swipes across the belly of the wooden container, my fingers locking into the small loop of a handle and, with one last effort, snaps the leather cord securing it to the saddle. The flailing hooves of the horse kick the falling gourd. I release the reins to ensure the frantic horse bolts instead of doing more circles with a chance of actually crushing my hope of salvation. There is a final whinny. Victory? The horse’s hooves thunder away as I regain possession of the gourd and scramble towards the ocean’s crashing waves.

I look down upon the rocks at the bottom of the tallest cliff I know. Waves roll in, crest, pound the solid basalt rocks, and wash back out to sea. Surely, this will end my torment. I throw the gourd as far as I can towards the sea—the gourd arcs and falls, obeying the laws of the land. A small splash and then a monster wave claims another treasure.

I whistle. If the horse trainer was true to her words, my mount should return to me. She praised the intelligence of this horse to explain the price.

---

The return journey was equally swift. Instead of being released without care, I ensure the stallion is treated well. Two stable hands now work on restoring the horse’s condition because this chance wasn’t over yet. In between the games of chance, the easy accumulation of wealth and the more arduous climb up the social ladder, I would seek advice. I learnt from observation—for example, the gambling dens. My mysterious punisher didn’t like the dark, preferring establishments with plenty of light. The gourd was an emergency container, place the dice in darkness and cast them into the endless ocean. I knew this would be a delay only; I needed to utilise our time apart.

The sign above the entrance showed a mortar and pestle, the sign of an alchemist. This location, a town of reasonable size but not large enough to confuse with a tangle of streets, is convenient in more ways than one. The first, clear, perching on hills close to the tallest sea cliffs on the continent and with a reputation for gambling dens, was a rare find. What I didn’t know until we arrived was the fact the town had no wall, no tariffs, no taxes, and no guards at the non-existent gates, allowing quick entry and exit. The town’s survival is due, in most part, to a tax on the gambling dens.

I push through the single wooden door, and a sweet tinkle of a hanging bell rings out. I reach the counter at the same time as a spry elderly gentleman, the long white sleeves of his shirt distinctive in some way, his hands resting on the counter wrinkled.

“What, and how, do you contain a spirit? How do you destroy a spirit?” The words rush from my lips as I know time is against me.

He rocks back on his heels, taps a finger to his lips and then raises that same finger in the air.

“Is this spirit bound to a location or an item? Is the spirit free-roaming such that you would need to trap it?”

I blink. There is no small talk for me to pay lip service to, no askance into my emergency…

“Bound, I think. Yes, I have tried to throw them, and they always find me again.”

He nods. “Where is the item now?”

I open my hands, palms up, trying to confess my pathetic attempt. “I have placed them in a gourd and thrown them off the sea cliffs.” His eyes fixate on my right hand. “I know this is temporary, but I needed to ensure that when I was here, the spirit wasn’t.”

“This spirit can perceive the real world. Most unusual.” He disappears behind his counter and emerges with a small dark metallic circular container. The counter creaks slightly as he places it, and I now understand his rapid breathing and the sweat on his brow.

I reach for the container, and my hands slip. The weight is deceptive, and he chuckles.

“Lead,” he says. “Turn the lid to open. Confirm there is room enough for your curse.”

I turn the lid, and when clear, I heave it away. The lid isn’t flush. There is an inner bulge that fits perfectly inside the base.

“The thickness is important, of course, although I would advise you to seal the lid with the application of an exacting amount of heat so the lid melts into the base.”

I am in wonder. Others know of spirit threats to the point a town alchemist has the perfect prison at hand. “What if I want destruction?”

His lips part in a sympathetic smile. “I would suggest casting the lead container into the heart of a volcano. The spirit will survive, but the heat will break the magic which binds the spirit to the object. The spirit should descend if no sentient beings are nearby to possess.”

I swallow. “What about me?”

He shrugs. “You must run. Don’t stay and admire your effort. Don’t make certain of your throw. Run. In due course, you will know success or failure, will you not? So you don’t need to loiter.”

I place and spill a bag of gold bits across the counter. He licks his lips and scoops them up.

“Head east. While not well known, within the old mountains is a volcano. It isn’t yet dormant like the others nearby and should serve your needs.”

I need to use both my hands to lift and nurse the circular container in the crock of my arm. My next stop is the stable. Starting now will ensure I don’t have to whip the stallion, which means he will be well-rested for my escape.

---

The light rain reminds me of the sea, minus the smell of salt. My sailor leathers shelter me, nevertheless, as I continue to spur the stallion forward along the rutted dirt path. The setting sun casts its rays underneath the dark clouds, providing an unusual contrast between light and wet, explaining the height of the corn growing in the nearby fields. The mountains loom up before me.

The stallion rears up, and I loosen the reins by some miracle instead of pulling back on them. Shifting my body weight forward, I remain in the saddle.

From out of the light misty rain, three cloaked figures, boots squelching in the mud, advance towards me. Glancing over my shoulder, looking for a way to escape, I discover three advancing from the cornfield and three from behind. I assume another three advances from the remaining side.

One steps forward and raises both hands in surrender. “Calm yourself. We are not your enemy. In fact, we only wish to assist if we can.”

I pat the neck of the stallion and nod for him to continue.

“Has the spirit returned to you as yet?”

I shake my head. He shares a glance with those around him. “We are in luck then. Please dismount. We will prepare for the fiend’s return and capture. On success, we will reward you and allow you to go in peace.”

---

I squat in a cave. Although calling where I am a cave is probably an insult. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all worked stone, the black basalt polished to a sheen. How I can’t explain. In a circle around me are candles of various colours, which are positioned at specific points on the edge of an inscribed circle in the basalt. This is not an impromptu ceremony. The alchemist, his lead container, and his directions led to this. Twelve cloaked strangers, a cave beyond the normal besides a path where all who follow the alchemist’s advice must travel.

The pain causes me to scream. My companion of the dice has stabbed the palm of my hand, and the spike remains in place, twisting. Punishment. I don’t know how he tracks, finds and returns to my hand. It wasn’t until landfall and after several gambling dens, did I realise an evil presence was my good luck charm. I spent many days in denial, of course. After all, winning is addictive. Eventually, of course, someone who wins more than they lose must move on.

With effort, I extract the dice, one now in the shape of a spike, through my right hand, using my left hand and place it in the lead container. My right-hand bleeds and I worry about the blood loss, yet the lid is light, I convince myself. I lurch over the container and place the lid on top. Quarter turn and then rest. Throwing a thick cloth into my right hand to stem the bleeding, I take a deep breath and pause. I quarter-turn the lid again. This slides on with ease—half a turn. I am growing feint. Blood oozes from the top of my hand, and I grab another strip of cloth and bind it around my right hand. This make-do bandage holds the blood-soaked wad and covers the open wound on top. Not quite a half-turn, and the lid is secure.

Stumbling to my feet, bent over, nursing my right arm against my abdomen, I notice a cloaked figure waving their hands, drawing them back towards themselves, inviting me. Four paces, and I fall into the open embrace. Strong hands lower me to the floor of the cave. Hard, unyielding surface or not, I fall to sleep.

---

Birdsong breaks my slumber, and as my eyes flick open, I work my dry mouth, attempting to generate moisture without success. The light of the day seeps into the cave, bouncing off the polished walls to reveal twelve wax smudges where candles once stood proud. I close my right hand, ignoring the pain. There are no dice there. A smile of relief gives way to maniacal laughter. The cave echoes back my insanity.

I stretch out into the sunlight and whistle. The stallion’s hooves striking the ground, music to my ears, and not long after, he snorts and whinnies while standing and stomping his hooves in front of me. First things first, I take a swing from the water gourd hanging from the saddle. I return the gourd. My eyes look over my horse’s saddle, and I notice an impossibly twisted cloaked figure a short distance away. Swallowing back my rising bile, I mount the stallion and spur him to speed. There is only one track and, therefore, only two directions. One leads toward the mountain, and one toward the town. A braver man may have needed to find out what has become of the remaining eleven cloaked figures. I decline the invitation.

As the town rises before me on the horizon, I pat the neck of my stallion and swerve away. I am done with this part of the world and can’t wait to taste the sea’s brine on my tongue again.

P.S. If you have read this chapter on any website except Royal Road, the website has copied my story without my permission.