Page 35 of Warrior of the Wild
Not necessarily. You shouldn’t be so quick to judge until you know his story.
I don’twantto know his story. Just the thought of being near him again makes me uncomfortable. No more boys in my life. Never again.
I roll over and pull my blanket over my head.
THE NEXT MORNING,I’m quick and efficient. Lace up my boots. Place the bark strip back over the opening in my fort. Eat breakfast (which includes Soren’s berries, but I determinedly don’t think about where they came from). Haul on my pack. Grab my ax.
And then I’m on my way to the god once more.
I don’t know if an immortal can be killed, but I do know that if I’m to learn more about this being, I need to get inside the mountain where he lives.
Though unbidden, I think of the last Payment I witnessed. Of the village leader who was killed without more than a flick of the god’s wrist. If Peruxolo can kill that easily, what will he do to the person who attempts to take his life?
That’s not important, I try to assure myself as I take up a steady pace down the road. My eternal soul is what is important. I don’t know if it’s truly in jeopardy, but I’m not about to take any chances.
To occupy myself on the journey, I utter kind words about my sisters aloud for the goddess to record in her Book of Merits. I stretch my arms, roll my neck, try to think of what I’ll do if the god doesn’t leave his lair and give me an opportunity to search it.
It’s much too soon before I’m back in the woods across from themountain. I climb the same tree I did yesterday, a tall number with yellow-brown bark and smooth branches, and I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.
My limbs ache hours later, when I’m still holding so very still, staring at the dark seam in the mountain.
Then a blond head of hair finally steps out.
Peruxolo.
Just like yesterday, he walks right over to the tree line and starts following the well-worn trail through the undergrowth. This time, however, he doesn’t stop when he’s right below me. He passes by without pause.
Another day I will follow this trail and see where it leads, but for now, I want to see inside the mountain.
I shimmy down from the tree. Slowly at first, I step toward the seam. When nothing bad happens, I pick up my pace, no more than a quick walk.
But then I jog because the god is away, and I don’t know how much time I have. And I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe these are the steps I must take to return home.
A jolt runs through me, and in the next instant, I’m falling backward. I don’t catch myself in time, my backside connecting with the uneven ground.
What the devil?
I rise, look around me. There’s nothing in sight. I look down. I felt as though I’d been struck. But all over. Like I ran into a wall.
The opening in the mountain is still a good ten feet in front of me.
I try approaching it again.
But after two steps, I’m brought to a crushing halt once more.
I raise my hands, hesitantly reach out in front of me with my fingers. I can’t feel anything tangible against my skin, and yet, I can’t move forward any more. It’s as if my wrists are tied to the end of a rope that is pulled taut. They can’t cross the invisible barrier.
The god has powerful defenses at work. Defenses that remain even when he is not present.
I back up just a couple of steps, select a rock from the ground, and hurl it toward the opening.
But unlike me, it meets no resistance. It sails right through the opening and lands with a softclack.
Is it just me, then, that cannot enter?
