a leeeetle less Aspect of Arrogance and more the Aspect of Common Sense, but I guess that wouldn’t make him who he is. Even so, staring down at the massive Adassian army that Hedonism Aron has manifested makes me think I’d feel better if we went back and got the Novoran army my Aron had been promised. “What do we do?” I ask, looking over at Aron as he gazes down the cliffs at the mess below. “What’s our new plan?”
Kerren, Markos and Solat are silent. I know we’re all waiting for Aron to decide. We can’t take on an army on our own. There’s no freaking way, and Hedonism Aron isn’t going to shove his anchor out in front of us so we can take potshots at it just for funsies.
My skin prickles, and I feel more vulnerable now than ever. I hitch my hood a little higher over my head, as if that will somehow hide me from my inevitable fate.
“We go to Yshrem as planned,” Aron says, nodding at the forbidding keep. “The Spidae will not steer us wrong.”
I’m not so sure about that. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re all being manipulated.
Even so, I’ll follow Aron’s lead.
He dismounts from his woale, casting one last glance over the armies below before turning his attention to me. He comes to my side, offering his hand, and I take it and slide down off my mount, only to be pulled into his arms. Aron cups my face and pulls me to him in a fierce kiss, and I can practically feel the anticipation rolling off of him in waves.
He’s excited that we’re here. He’s excited there’s a war.
Of course he is. He’s the god of battle. I have to keep reminding myself of that. This is his bread and butter. This is what he loves. I’d probably feel the same about a new Twilight book or an entire box of Cadbury Creme Eggs magically showing up. But it scares me.
That army down there means we’re nearing the end.
After a month of crossing the mountains and then the endless forest to get to Yshrem, you’d think I’d be prepared for this. I’m not, though. While I don’t miss the cold of the mountains or trying to lead my woale through the forest for hours on end, I still enjoyed every day I spent with Aron and the others. It was “our” time, strangely enough. Sure, the travel was no fun, but the company was great. And every night, I got to curl up in Aron’s arms and make love to him. Sometimes it would be slow and sweet lovemaking, and sometimes it would be rough and exciting, but it was always good. Between rounds of sex, we’d talk about everything and nothing. I’ve told him all about my life before—how I was just one of dozens of cubes in an insurance company call center. How I was a no one. He doesn’t believe it, and I find that achingly sweet. In his eyes, I’m so important that he can’t imagine anyone overlooking me.
Aron tells me all about his stories, too. About how once upon a time, in the dawn of Aos’s civilizations, Aron was a mortal. A butcher, of all things. He tells me of how his village was invaded by a neighboring war-tribe when many of the men were conscripted into serving their king, and so the village was left undefended save for Aron, who had been recovering from a broken hand and was left behind. He told me how he defended the village from soldier after soldier, slaughtering them with his butcher’s cleaver and held off the enemy one handed long enough for the women and children in the village to flee to the hills.
He died in the fight, but the High Father was so taken with him that he raised him to the Aether and made him the god of battle. And storms, which are battles in the Aether. Every day, I learn more about Aron, and it makes me sad that this man who has come so far is being punished by the High Father like this. There has to be a better way to set the gods back on the right path than this, though what it is, I don’t know.
Not that I’m ungrateful. I’m just happy to be with Aron, to wake up in his arms and feel a little bit of contentment, however fleeting.