XXXIV. THE SHRINE OF THE HORNED GOD

  The farewell feast for the Thrysian delegation was a subdued affair. Even with the Governor's terse well wishes and his wife’s valiant efforts to carry vapid conversation; it was clear the Ironside’s wanted their northern guests gone. The next dawn, Asho watched on as the White Jarl and his company mounted their skeletal horses. The delegation had melted into the forest; disappearing from sight as quickly as a chill down the spine.

  “Come with me.” Morgaine said that evening. “I want to show you something.”

  Asho’s boots crunched through the first fallen leaves of autumn as he followed Morgaine. She circumnavigated the Governor’s great hall, leading him to the back of the majestic Ironoak. Asho’s calves burnt by the time Morgaine held up a hand for him to stop. Morgaine stepped forward to the rust-bronzed bark of the great tree and disappeared. Asho had to squeeze in sideways behind her through the well hidden gap.

  “Is this a tunnel of some kind?” Asho asked. Morgaine just hummed in acknowledgement. There was a soft hiss as Morgaine lit a torch. Asho followed Morgaine further into the Ironoak. “Where are we going?”

  “To the Shrine of the Horned God.”

  “Wait seriously? You’ve never mentioned there was a shrine?” Asho couldn’t help but keep the accusation out of his voice.

  “You never asked.” Morgaine said. “Besides, father would have killed me if he knew I was showing you this. But you do, given—”

  “Given I’m totally hopeless?” Asho asked.

  Morgaine let out a frustrated breath. “No, given that you’re leaving soon. Now hold on for a minute, the entrance should be around this corner.”

  They fumbled around in the dark tunnel a few more seconds as Morgaine found the entrance to the shrine. Morgaine cursed beside him, and a second later a brazier roared to life. Asho whooped softly as his eyes adjusted to the hollow cavern. “Touch the bark, Asho.” Morgaine commanded as she lit the next brazier. “Even I can feel Apki’s presence here. It’s incredible.”

  “Touched by the Skytops themselves.” Asho breathed. He pressed his palm against the rough bark.

  “Our legends say that Apki dropped a piece of the stars here when he was hunting one day. The wyrd infused with the soil thus why the forest trees turned to Iron. But in truth, this is where Apki’s presence is felt most prominently in all of Ironore.”

  “This truly is the nexus of your god.” Asho mused. He walked closer to the wooden shrine. The Tricksters God was carved from the rich oak of the surrounding tree all muscle and sinew. But something was missing from the shrine. Asho snapped his fingers as it hit him. “Where are his horns?” He asked.

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  “Lost to time I’m afraid.” Morgaine edged closer to him. She lay her head on his shoulder, glancing up at the shrine.

  “That’s a shame. His presence is so strong here.” Asho had always felt the Horned God's presence in these mountains. He sighed. “Maybe that’s my issue. Maybe I’ve been too far from the Semperimar.”

  “If that was the case, the Conqueror could never do what he can. Broaden your mind Asho.” Morgaine said gently. “The Ironoak does not just exist in this clearing. It is the forests and the hills. Just as the Semperimar has its tributaries. The Stormlord is always with you in the salt and sea of your very veins.”

  Asho cast out for the voice that sang of the current and the undercurrent. Asho sighed as he was unanswered. “The Stormlord is my god, not the trickster, and had you wanted me to see this earlier, you would have Morgaine. Why did you wait before I was to leave?”

  Morgaine’s hand traveled down his forearm and found his fingers. She squeezed gently. “For a millennium, our home has constantly been under attack. The Bruttaniums, the Thrysians, the Ashenians have all realized the Ironoaks tie to Apki. They have sensed our land is rich with resources and the wyrd and they have tried to take it. And yet, my people remained. Yet, I fear that enemies are again closing in upon our home.”

  “The northerners.”

  Morgaine nodded.

  “I will protect you.” Asho said immediately.

  Morgaine’s smile was brief and fleeting. “I’ve always loved how you view my home as your own, Asho. But in order to help us defend it, you need to be able to fight them off.” Morgaine glanced up to face him. Asho realized then that he was facing a side of Morgaine he had never encountered before. An iron will. A future queen. “You need to become Emperor.”

  “And I know that you will Asho. I believe in you more than I have ever believed in anyone. You have the Stormlord, and him beside you—” Asho glanced up at the shrine of the Horned God. The Trickster God. The Betrayer. He was so contemplative that he nearly missed Morgaine’s question. “Do you remember that time you tried to kill my brother and I on one of your wretched boats?”

  Asho remembered that languid summer fondly before his birthday. Before he was promised off to the Pi-Yenjan princess. Kohl and Morgaine had spent the warm months in Aegtrys. They had even gotten along with Admrilia and her neptori.

  “I was terrified that the Semperimar would slice through your ship and I would drown.” Morgaine confessed. “I got sick four nights in a row on that horrible boat. Do you remember what you told me then?”

  “Not on my shoes?”

  “No, after that.”

  “I got you.” Asho whispered.

  “Yes, you did.” Morgaine leaned up and kissed him. Assurance fluttered through Asho, warm and steadfast. “So Asho, know that when you’re out there, I got you too.”

  Later, when their hunger for each other’s bodies were sated, Asho’s hands stroked the wild mane of Morgaine’s hair as she dozed in his lap. Asho placed a curl behind the shell of her pale ear; committing the plains of her face to memory. Asho’s attention turned to the mouth of the shrine. To where he knew he would not receive such a warm welcome.