THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 4: The Road to the Mountain
They left at noon.
The sun was high, the sky was clear, the air was cold. Lyssa packed food and water and bandages and a knife she kept hidden in her boot. Vespera carried nothing — she had nothing to carry. Damon carried a shovel he had borrowed from Lyssa’s shed, the blade sharp, the handle worn.
They walked in silence.
The road was narrow, winding between fields of dead grass and forests of bare trees. The mountain loomed ahead, its peak hidden in clouds, its slopes dark with shadow.
Damon could feel it.
The hunger.
Pressing against him. Waiting.
“The priests will have guards,” Lyssa said. “At the base of the mountain. At the entrance to the tunnels. At the heart.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“How do we get past them?”
Lyssa looked at Vespera.
“She doesn’t need to get past them. She needs to get through them.”
Vespera walked ahead.
Her bare feet made no sound on the stones.
“The guards cannot see me,” she said. “Not as I am. They will see a corpse. They will see a sacrifice. They will see one of their own.”
“And Damon?”
“Damon will stay behind me. He will be my shadow. He will be my silence. He will be my shovel.”
“I’m not killing anyone.”
Vespera turned.
Her silver eyes were cold.
“Then you will die. And the god will wake. And the world will burn.”
The sun began to set.
The sky turned orange and red and purple, the colors bleeding into each other like watercolors on wet paper. The mountain grew closer, its slopes darker, its shadows longer.
Damon saw the first guard.
He was standing at the base of the path, his spear in his hand, his armor black and silver. His face was hidden behind a helmet, his eyes hidden behind a visor.
He did not move.
He did not speak.
He simply watched.
“He can see us,” Damon whispered.
“He can see me,” Vespera said. “He can see a corpse. He can see a sacrifice. He can see one of his own.”
“What about me?”
“He cannot see you. You are behind me. You are my shadow. You are my silence.”
She walked toward the guard.
Damon followed.
His heart was pounding.
His hands were sweating.
His breath was shallow.
The guard’s head turned.
His visor lifted.
His eyes were black.
Not the black of darkness. The black of hunger.
“The mountain is closed,” he said. “No one enters. No one leaves.”
“I am not no one,” Vespera said. “I am the one who was buried. The one who was lost. The one who has returned.”
The guard’s black eyes widened.
“The priestess?”
“The priestess.”
“You are dead.”
“I was. I am not. The god has work for me. The god has need of me. The god has called me.”
The guard stepped aside.
Vespera walked past him.
Damon followed.
The guard did not look at him.
He did not see him.
He was her shadow.
He was her silence.
He was her shovel.