B5 Chapter 39 – Hard Bargains

Talking to The Three wasn’t something Tyron needed help to do. He had a ritual he could use to contact them whenever he wanted, and he was fairly confident they would answer him. However, having a rising star amongst their Priesthood by his side certainly didn’t hurt his case when negotiating.

Even if he didn’t pay attention to everything taking place in the city, Tyron knew Elsbeth was considered to have the favour of the Gods. Her rapid rise may be due to the times in which they lived, but she was able to wrangle blessings out of Crone, Raven and Rot where others would never dare to ask.

It was something to consider, why they favoured her so much. He wasn’t so self-centered as to think that it was due to her connection with him. Elsbeth had always been a pure soul, devoted and willing to help others even at personal cost to herself. In a world full of selfish and grasping people, it made her shine like a golden ray of light. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place, a generosity of spirit that he could barely understand and knew he could never replicate.

He was glad she’d learned something from her… entanglement with Rufus. Extending trust to people was all well and good, but it left you vulnerable. He didn’t know exactly what she’d done, but he’d noticed the way she was more sensitive to people’s intentions. It was probably the same reason she found it so difficult to meet his gaze.

“Are you going to perform your ritual, or do you want me to just… pray?” she asked him, looking a little nervous.

“You ask them,” he said. “It’ll save time if they answer that way. I’ve got a lot to do.”

“They’re Gods, Tyron. I don’t think they care for your convenience.”

If she knew the Three, they’d never thought about inconveniencing a mortal in their entire existence. Why should they? The only difference between a human and a fly to them was that humans were more entertaining.

She drew a deep breath and centred herself. Communing with the Old Gods wasn’t something done lightly. If she tried while in a poor mindset, they may strike the sense out of her head in irritation. There was more than one Priestess who had gone mad while praying since coming to Granin. Just because the Gods had become more receptive recently didn’t mean they were willing to tolerate fools.

Once she was certain her thoughts and emotions were under control, she began to pray.

The act of prayer had changed for Elsbeth, as she had become stronger in her role. The connection she shared with The Three wasn’t something that operated via magick, or that was facilitated by the Unseen. This was something older and deeper than those, something bound to the fabric of the realm itself. Crone, Raven and Rot had placed a measure of their trust in her, and that strengthened their connection, to the point that even a simple act like clasping her hands and reaching out to them with words and thoughts was enough to bring her into their presence.

Her prayer was short and to the point, the way the Old Gods liked them, and when she finished speaking and raised her head, she found that she was no longer seated by the fire. The cozy sitting room was gone, replaced with an unfathomably old forest, the trees looming around her, darkness and shadows whispering ancient truths behind the gnarled roots and toughened bark.

Elsbeth was a little shocked. She wasn’t brought here, to the realm of the Gods, just for any old thing. Clearly, The Three had an inkling as to what Tyron wanted to discuss. More than an inkling. Considering she had been brought here…

She turned to her left, and, sure enough, Tyron was there, sat on the edge of a gnarled tree root, a mildly annoyed expression on his face.

“I suppose it was too much to hope that they would be happy to deal with you alone.”

It took a moment for her to realise that the impressions she gained from her blessing were gone, allowing her an unobstructed view of Tyron’s face. It had been some time since she had last seen him this way. He looked tired. Then again, he always looked tired.

“Surely you didn’t expect them to grant you favours you didn’t ask for in person?” she huffed. “These are not generous Gods.”

“Indeed, they are not.”

Another voice reverberated through the trees, not unfamiliar to the two still seated on the twisted roots. Elsbeth turned and bowed, but Tyron only groaned.

“Messenger. How wonderful to be in your presence again.”

The sarcasm was heavy in Tyron, and Elsbeth shot him a warning glance.

“Messenger. I thank you for coming to guide us,” she said respectfully.

As always, the servant of the Gods appeared wearing a heavy robe, pulled so low over his face that there was nothing but shadows within.

“Welcome to the Dark Forest, children,” the Messenger hissed.

His voice, as always, was a slithering and twisted thing. It seemed to emanate from within the hood, but also from every tree and dark place around them. Elsbeth had always found it unnerving, found the Messenger himself unnerving, yet she knew he was due a level of respect.

“Have you come to lead us before the Gods?” she asked.

“I have. Follow me.”

Tyron rose from his seat beside Elsbeth, and she poked him in the side before he could say something rude. As high a level as he was, his flesh was like steel, completely unyielding. She cursed and shook her finger, glaring at him, but he only shrugged.

“I didn’t make you do it,” he muttered to defend himself.

“Just be quiet and show respect. The Messenger is the servant of Gods.”

“He reeks of death,” Tyron said, his voice low and eyes hard. “I couldn’t sense it before, but now… there is a stench about this… Messenger.”

“What do you know of death, mortal?” the Messenger hissed, without turning around to glance at the two following in his wake. “You think you have mastery? Of life? Of Death? Of magick? You are a child playing in the sand with toys. Hemmed on all sides with walls to protect you and keep you safe.”

Tyron barked a sharp laugh.

“I don’t totally disagree with you, but I would like to think I am starting to catch a glimpse over the top of those walls. I’m not sure I like what I see.”

“Why should we care about your likes and dislikes?” the Messenger replied, mocking. “You are only tolerated for what you may become, not for what you are now. Children should be silent in the presence of their elders. You may speak when you are grown.”

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“Are you one to silence me?” Tyron asked, an edge to his voice. “Your masters have ordered you to lead us, not to offer your opinion where it isn’t welcome.”

Red-faced, Elsbeth slapped Tyron on the arm, only to yelp and shake her hand furiously.

“Shut. Up,” she told him.

He only rolled his eyes, but thankfully fell silent. The Messenger also ceased to speak, a small blessing, though the remainder of the journey was short.

They were brought to a familiar place, a locus of power within the Dark Forest, where the three statues of the Gods were to be found. As they drew closer, she felt the vast presence of The Three begin to turn toward them. Immense, unfathomable existences that loomed like mountains in the distance, turning just a fraction of their attention towards this place. It felt as if the air were weighing down on them like stones.

The Messenger walked behind a tree and vanished, leaving the two of them alone with the statues of Crone, Raven and Rot. Tyron raised a brow at her.

“You want to go first?”

“I don’t even know what you want to ask them.”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“No!”

“I probably should have.”

Tyron glanced back toward the statues, which were, thankfully, still statues. The Gods themselves had not appeared in physical form, which was a good thing. Being in their presence was taxing, to say the least. He looked back at Elsbeth.

“Should I just…?”