God of Discovery [high fantasy, slow build, mlm]

Arc 3 - 27. God of Comfort

A few months had turned out to be long enough not only to carve out some of the tunnels and the tiny rooms where those that wished to be alone could sleep, but also to move their entire culture underground. It was also long enough to block the way they had come in.

As D'Argen had stumbled around the cavern, trying to find a way out, Yaling found him and told him they could not leave. Not until all the statues were done. She also told him that the plan was for them to remain here, hidden from any mortals who may harbour ill will against them and search to break the relics of the dead in their anger. And then she told him that the statues had not fully cured yet – it would take years, probably even decades.

"What about—"

"Stop it," Yaling interrupted him. The two sat together in front of a small fire where Yaling was stirring a pot of soup. "Whatever ideas you have, it is not up to me or you."

"So, everybody agreed, and I didn't get a vote because I was sleeping?"

Yaling scowled at him.

"Did Kassar also miss his vote?" D'Argen prompted.

"You two were not the only ones. And after the stunt you pulled, I am honestly surprised Acela can even look you in the eye without swearing up a storm."

Apparently, his and Kassar's trip north had not happened as he remembered it. There were no villages with mortals and demons together. There was no tiny house made of a horrible stone. There was no old woman that berated him for the thousands he killed and waved about her carved staff. D'Argen did not know what the others said happened, but he heard bits and pieces of when Kassar shared the story. He had not sat down with Kassar even once, the other ignoring him or leaving the area as soon as D'Argen approached.

All he knew was that he had almost killed Kassar in his haste to rid the north of the demons. And that he had succeeded in a way that made it hard for anybody to look him in the eye, not just Acela. Even Yaling, sitting across from him, was too focused on the pot she was stirring.

D'Argen got up and left without a word. Yaling did not say a thing. He walked off toward the tunnels that led to the small rooms. The few clusters he passed either quieted or broke up when he neared. The whispers started at his back almost immediately. He tried to ignore them and the absence of his mahee tugging at him to run.

The tiny room he had woken up in was not his own, but a space for someone to sleep in. The barely two dozen rooms were used by everyone. Yet there was always at least one door open when he walked down the tunnel. Now that the story had spread to all ears but his own, nobody wanted him to be near them either. Nobody used the room he walked to. Yaling barely put up with him and though Abbot kept him company, the artist was too often busy. Another statue was almost complete.

When he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it and slid to the ground.

As he had for the past few weeks since waking up, he reached into his robes and pulled out both the tiny vial of Lilian's blood and the scrap paper that had both Lilian's and Thar's names scrawled on it. He did not have a vial for Thar. But Lilian...

After tucking the paper safely away again, he reached into his robes and instead pulled out his recently stolen shares. That was the reason he left the room earlier. He opened the tiny leather patch and was careful not to breathe in the stone dust. The glass utensils Abbot used for shaping the paste were created so to keep from wasting the paste. D'Argen had stolen one of those too. He stretched just enough to reach for the pitcher of water and wooden cup he had collected the previous time he left the room.

The water made the paste finer as he mixed it with the glass stick inside the cup. Once it was smooth, he opened the vial and tipped a few drops of blood into the mixture. He stirred until his eyes were no longer wet. The paste was already hardening.