Chapter Text
Narinder wondered if this was all an elaborate plan to make his life a living hell.
Being usurped by a mere vessel, being reduced to a shivering, dying, mortal - he thought that this was the worst already. It couldn't have gotten worse. He had clawed and hissed, and hoped that the lamb would've been angry enough to kill him in cold blood and end it before word got out.
Instead they had leaned down and grinned.
“Don't worry. The one thing mortals are really good at, is adapting.”
Unfortunately, they were right. Exposed to the elements, to hunger and sleep deprivation, to a body that hurt in a way he couldn't describe, to a body that longed for foolish mortal things - Narinder had learned to adapt. To not be submissive, but at least agreeable. He worked when it was demanded of him, and went to the sermons - standing in the back and judging quietly. Worshipping with hands clasped too tightly, and a tensed jaw, agreeing to all the little humiliation rituals that the lamb wanted to put him through.
He could do that. Fine - it wasn't fine, but this was the only way he could be fine.
Of course he cut corners where he could. Some followers thought he was charming, and it was easy to get them to do his work. At least for a little bit, until the lamb popped up, smiling, and asking why he wasn't doing the tasks he was assigned.
Either way, he was mortal, and mortals were susceptibly good at adapting.
It didn't feel that way though.
Just as he was getting used to what he was - just as he felt something other than tugging despair and hatred in his chest, just as he was letting something other than hatred into him-
Well, he must be going insane.
“I… I cannot see!”
Narinder twitched, his ear perking up. He had been idly sitting by the big idol, sabotaging his own worship by filling his head with thoughts of wonderful meals and his own glory days. But the angry, almost desperate voice of someone behind him cut through.
Impossibly familiar, that voice was.
“Where is my crown?”
He must be going insane.
He almost didn't want to turn around- behind him, where the new recruits were waiting. Behind him, where he heard the lamb's little bell approach just seconds ago, pointedly ignoring them.
Then the voice grew even louder, throwing nasty words at the lamb, and Narinder knew that this must be real.
“What… has become of us?”
He turned around, every bone in his body wishing against it. The lamb stood there, talking quietly and calmly, leaning down to speak to the sprawling recruit on the floor.
How thankful Narinder was to himself and only himself, for gouging that eye out of Leshy’s face.
He looked, and that bandaged face, hiding a gaping hole, was staring right back. And for a moment Narinder thought he had somehow seen him anyway. But his head moved back to the lamb.
The lamb stretched out an arm, and maneuvered Leshy’s hand to grab onto them. Leshy stood up with curses on his lips, but the lamb wasn't bothered. Gently, they called over a follower - a trusted disciple that held an obvious hatred for Narinder - and asked her to carefully guide Leshy through the cult grounds.
Narinder waited until Leshy was far enough, before aggressively making his way towards the lamb.
They turned around, as if they already knew that Narinder was on his way. They didn't even twitch.
“What is this?”
They tilted their head, smiling. “A new recruit.”
“Are you playing with me?” Narinder kept his voice low. “Leshy was defeated.”
“As were you.” The lamb looked to the side. “I might be missing your point.”
His eyes twitched. “I was not killed; Leshy, on the other hand-”
“Came back. And it was an opportunity I wasn't going to get again.”
“Opportunity?” Narinder pinched his own arm, forcing his voice down. He was angry, he was incredibly angry - but he adapted, like a mortal would. “What opportunity? Letting those traitorous bishops live? May I remind you what they did to your kind?”
“I'm keeping an eye on him,” They said, simply.
Narinder felt he had to do something to prevent the lamb from following this idiotic line of logic. “There would be no need to use the leader's precious attention for the traitor if he was dead.”
“He came back once.” Their voice was deadpan. Their smile appeared painted on. “I am keeping the threat where I can cull it. I am controlling the threat. One day, the threat will recognize me as its God. And then it will no longer be a threat.”
“None of this is necessary.”
The lamb stepped forward, almost walking past him. But they stopped, shoulder to shoulder with Narinder, and leaning in so close that he could feel them speak against his cheek.
“If I didn't know any better, Narinder…” He turned his head to look at the lamb. They were grinning at him. “I'd think you were scared.”
-
Leshy slowly mapped out the cult.
He paced his steps so he'd know where he was, where the fences and structures were to swivel around, where the pot of flowers was that he gladly kicked over, feigning innocence when asked.
Being blind- truly blind, not what he was when he was a God- was something he got used to fairly quickly. Maybe because he had to. It wasn't like he could just back out of being blind.
His hearing had become sharper. There was no one that could manage to sneak up on him, every footstep, as quiet as it was, as easy to hear as a glaring bell. Leshy appreciated the lamb wearing that, being able to know exactly when he had to stop slacking off.
Stupid lamb…
It started getting bearable. Sort of. He could tell that the lamb's closest followers had a certain disdain for him, but others seemed to have entirely forgotten who he even was. It was humbling.
“I mean, I've been told about the lamb defeating you…” Something that smelled of cat was talking to him mindlessly, chattering away. “The followers that have been around the longest were there too.”
“So I've been gone for a long time.”
“Basically.”
Leshy pictured Darkwood. The scent of fresh soil, the exciting unpredictability of wildlife, his followers at his beck and call… “Are there still worshippers?”
The cat was silent for a moment. Their voice struck sharply now. “The lamb will put you in jail for asking that. Be careful who you say these things to.”
Leshy listened to them walk away.
The cat-scent lingered. It bothered him. It felt like something he should think about.
He felt that some followers were avoiding him. And the fact never really meant much, except for the fact that his presence likely wasn't very appreciated, but on the other hand, if this follower claimed that most barely remembered him-
Well, there was something he should draw from this, but he was never a big thinker. He liked jumping headfirst into trouble, and he usually came out the winner.
Usually, if he didn't count the lamb.
Usually, if he didn't count…
He snapped his head around. There was something, something in the air that seemed strangely familiar, yet stranger than anything. And as he faced that scent, he could swear he heard hurried footsteps, away from him.
His gaze lingered. Everything around him moved.
-
The lamb graciously decided to allow everyone to relax for the day. Of course, this had to be celebrated.
It was a night of sin.
It seemed like no one was sleeping. Followers were singing and someone kept making drink after drink, people coming back to get more.
Narinder wasn't a big fan of it all. He drank a cocktail, his tail swishing as he sat at the bar, but besides a slightly warm face, he didn't feel much different than before. He certainly didn't feel like the bumbling idiots next to him, giggling and screeching, and holding each other, kissing under the bar, or getting angry, yelling and fighting-
Narinder left. He hated how loose everyone was, hated the disharmonized singing, and most of all, hated that he felt completely sober.
He was ready to go to bed, and angrily cover his ears, and try to sleep, even though the festivities will go on for much longer.
As he reached his bed, slowly opening the curtain, he found it already occupied.
He was rooted in place. His fingers twitched, his tail swished once, before he carefully pinned it against his leg.
If this were anyone else, he'd use his foot to lightly kick them, trying to wake them up by turning them onto their side. This wasn't anyone else though.
This was his little brother, snoring peacefully.
He just laid there on his stomach, his shoulders falling and raising with every calm breath. The glaring spot in the middle, the gouged eye, the bandages- somehow, Narinder felt his stomach flip at the sight.
He backed away, trying to ignore the new feeling. Although not entirely new- he remembered eating undercooked meat for the first time and feeling that same thing.
Narinder turned around, pacing away with his arms crossed. His eyes jumped over the cult grounds, looking for the damn lamb- it was probably at the commotion, but if Narinder had to walk back there he was going to puke. Maybe he ate undercooked meat again. Or it's the cocktail. His stupid mortal body still built up resilience to the poison that most were already desensitized to. It was like giving a baby a drink. Narinder was not a fucking baby, but-
He shook his head. He made the executive decision to walk to the lamb’s tent. Gods didn't have to sleep, but it was nice to, every now and again, and Narinder was convinced that the lamb would try to escape the craziness, to withdraw from the war zone and take a moment to themself.
He closed the curtain to the tent, and sat on the floor, and everything was much quieter here. Very little light shined in, and in the newfound silence, he heard his own agitated breathing loudly.
The lamb's tent was almost empty.
Pillows, and blankets filled most of it, a few necklaces that Narinder recognized as those that the lamb would sometimes gift to followers.
It was strange to sit in their private space. It felt like it wasn't allowed- because it probably wasn't. But Narinder felt he had enough excuses he could make if he caught them in a bad moment.
…
But it might take some time before they turned up. The blankets under his hands were strangely soft. It almost felt like the lamb’s wool, somehow. Maybe something they kept from their old home? Before they became the last lamb on this planet…?
He laid flat down, and the softness surrounded him. There was a strange smell in the air. The sounds from outside were almost completely muffled.
He closed his eyes. Just for a moment. Just until the lamb came back.
-
The curtain was opened, and Narinder sat up.
The lamb was still talking to someone behind them, laughing quietly, and wishing someone a good night. Narinder could swear the sky was brighter than it should be.
Then the lamb went in, waving at that person before closing the curtain, and their shoulders dropped.
“Don't get comfortable yet.”
The lamb didn't jump, they didn't even flinch. They just tensed. When they turned, they had that perfectly drawn smile on their lips.
“Is this some attempt to usurp the crown back?” Their voice didn't betray any shock.
“Surprisingly, no.” Narinder laid back down, holding his face up with one hand. He spread his claws, but only to bite at them a little. The lamb's expression became a little more distant as they waited for him to speak. “That traitorous bishop is occupying my bed. I believe we need him gone.”
“You mean your little brother?”
“...I guess, if you know him better that way.”
“No… no, I just wanted to clarify.” The lamb wrung their hands, before scooting further inside, tilting their head at him. “Leshy is sleeping in your bed?”
“Yes. What I said.”
A pause. Narinder didn't interrupt it.
“Don't you wonder why Leshy found his way to your tent?”
“What is there to wonder about? He got drunk and collapsed wherever he thought was fit.”
“Could be.” They quieted down and stared at him. Narinder felt uncomfortable under the watchful eyes, shifting into a different position.
“But?”
“It was very loud today… he must've been disoriented, from the alcohol and the dancing and everything. I think he caught the scent of something comfortingly familiar, and followed the trail.”
Narinder glared at them. “To my bed?”
“To his brother.”
“...”
A tense pause passed between the two. The lamb had this maddening ability to stay silent when others usually felt the need to fill the silence, and it made it harder to return to the conversation with grace.
Grace, in this moment, was definitely not the cruel laugh that ripped from Narinder’s throat. “You think he finds comfort in his brother? The one that scratched his eye out, the one responsible for his death?”
“Firstly, I am responsible for his death. Secondly. The truth is… I don't think it counts anymore.” The lamb put a hand on their chin, looking off. “You aren't gods anymore. You are simple mortals.”
Narinder shook his head. “Why are you trying to fix this?”
The lamb didn't reply to his question. They looked unbothered. “If you are so bothered by your occupied bed, you can just sleep here for tonight. I'm heading to Anura.”
“It's- were you not going to bed?”
They snorted. “It's almost morning. I have work to do.”
“Then why come here?”
They made a face like they remembered something. They went to the small pile of necklaces, and held one up. With a little flower at the end of a thread, nothing very impressive. They held it in front of Narinder.
“Come here.”
Narinder closed his eyes and sighed.
Adaptable mortal. How he loathed it.
He slowly scooted forward. The lamb leaned over, wrapping the thread loosely around his neck, and tying it up in the back. His face was pushed into soft wool, unnecessarily fluffy- and the lamb pulled away, admiring their work.
“Looks nice.” Their face was close, and they weren't smiling for once. They touched his cheek, moving it slightly so he wasn't able to look away. “Behave. Okay?”
He wanted to shift his eyes, but he knew that it would just draw out the conversation until he replied exactly as the lamb trained him to. “Yes,” he rasped, trying desperately to ignore the shame in his gut. It was tugging at his lips, begging him to snarl something defiant, but he already knew that none of it worked.
“How about you stay in here… I don't expect anyone to really work today.”
“Aren't you a glorious leader…” He sighed. He knew that he sounded stupidly hopeful in his next sentence. “You need me for something?”
“Nope. Just keeping my food warm.”
They smiled. Narinder didn't.
In slow motion, they opened their mouth, and laughed in this high pitched manner, almost hysterical. “Just kidding! I'm just being nice.”
“...”
“Go to bed, kitty.” They grinned nervously.
Narinder didn't respond, only squinting at the lamb before slowly laying back down. They laughed one last time, picking up some things from their tent, and then closed the flap behind themself. Narinder stared at the tapered ceiling. The point, right in the middle where it all connected.
Where it all connected. Narinder frowned, trying not to think about the lamb’s words.
About his brother, and finding comfort in something like that.
Even if there was a secret emotionality in him, a surprise sensitivity that bothered itself with these issues… Well, people like him, like his siblings, were not mendable. Not even death could do that.
Narinder would know. Death was his specialty.
-
In one of his earliest memories, Leshy was sticking his head out of the snow.
He was young, younger than anyone else he knew - unable to burrow in the frozen ground and unreasonably upset about it. Shamura had pet his head and told him something about the beautiful spring that was to come, but Leshy did not want to think that far.
It was as if he was underwater. Everything was quiet with his ears covered by the snow. He was an unseen observer, he had thought - he would pop out when no one expected it.
It was a courtyard of a temple of gold, and all five siblings had gathered here. Shamura was sitting in the gazebo that stood proudly in the middle, and Kallamar, shivering, sat right across from them. Shamura was writing a scroll - a habit they had, writing down monthly happenings and in hindsight, there was this ridiculous irony to their insistence to document everything. It's almost as if they knew that they'd lose their mind.
Kallamar had this fluffy, furry overcoat on, complaining about something. Probably the cold- but generally staying quiet as he watched his sibling write. On that day, Leshy was upset with his two oldest siblings over something, likely because of the winter, or being denied something - he didn't really know anymore. He only remembered feeling a little mad at them.
His attention was quickly ripped away as he heard an impact to his other side, and felt the snow shift as something hit it hard.
Heket was laughing loudly, and Narinder was slowly sitting up, wiping the snow off of his face. Snarling, he got up and returned the favor, tackling Heket into the snow and trying to keep her down.
“Careful…” Shamura said, barely loud enough to be heard over the wrestling that was ensuing. Their eyes barely moved from the scroll they were working on.
Leshy kept hidden. He had the best spot to watch the two fight. He had the best spot to see Narinder fighting dirty, pushing out his claws when swatting at her, biting when he could- laughing when he was punched in the stomach, doubling over in pain.
“I said no claws.”
Narinder rolled onto his stomach, biting said claws. Either to trim them, or to make them sharper- Leshy wasn't sure. “My claws are just part of me.”
“Yeah, and you can retract them.”
Narinder grinned, and carefully, tail raised, crawled towards Heket. “I don't wanna.”
“Get off the floor.” She went back into position, reading for whatever Narinder had in store for her.
Leshy watched with apt attention. He wanted to be able to fight like his older siblings. He wanted to be able to move like them, and hit like them, and strike true-
He ducked his head into the snow as Heket was pushed hard, right into his hiding spot- and he spent a moment stuck under his sister, silent in shock.
She sat up, and rubbed her back. Narinder stared at Leshy with a hand in front of his mouth like he was trying not to laugh.
Leshy took a really, really deep breath. Heket immediately slapped her hand over his mouth.
“Don’t, don't cry.”
He cried, and tried to carry the sound as far as possible. Narinder immediately fell to his knees.
“No, come on, you're fine. You're fine.” His grin was frantic now, and he looked up where Shamura and Kallamar were still busy. “Look, I-” He looked around nervously, before leaning in close. “You can hit me back, okay?”
Leshy did hit him. Narinder fell backwards and hit the ground hard, groaning in pain. Heket raised an eyebrow, and slowly peeled her hand off Leshy's mouth.
“Wow. You hit him really hard.”
Even though he was young, Leshy could tell they were lying to him. And yet he still felt pride in having bested his big brother.
He went to jump at him.
This time Narinder actually groaned in pain as Leshy landed on top of him, pushing the air out of his lungs. He patted the back of his head. “Slow down, I can't take a beating anymore.”
“But you let Heket beat you up.”
“I don't let her beat me up. We're sparring.”
“I don't know about that…” Heket non-chalantly looked at her hand. “Maybe Leshy’s onto something.”
He rolled his eyes. The snow was melting on his fur.
Slowly, Narinder sat up, holding Leshy upright as he leaned in conspiratorially. “Wanna throw some snowballs at Kallamar?”
“...Yeah.”
“You have to put pebbles in it.”
Heket leaned in. “You have to throw it at his coat.”
“It's his favorite,” Narinder said.
“He's gonna be so mad,” Heket said.
Leshy sat between them. He was so young, and everything was simple. His siblings loved him, and didn't want him to cry.
-
Leshy woke up as the ground shook slightly.
He didn't have time to yawn or stretch, only hearing the commotion of a fight. He was ready to just crawl back into his tent, put his hands over his ears and continue sleeping- there were probably still just drunk people getting mad at each other- but something kept him rooted in place.
There was a scent in the air… multiple scents. It was pulling at him, this vague idea of remembering a dream he just had, that was fleeting quickly. And it took him a moment before he could really place it.
“Get off me, you vile-”
A voice he shouldn't be hearing cut sharply through the air. All Leshy heard was scuffling, and hissing, and then someone was thrown against his tent and it fell into itself in the process, and he was briefly pinned beneath a body and the tent-
The lamb’s bell rang out. The fighting came to a stop. Leshy carefully crawled out of the broken tent.
“Ah, there's no need to fight here,” The lamb said, calmly. Their voice wasn't loud, but it covered the scene evenly and broadly, and everyone around quieted down.
“She started it!”
That was his brother.
Hearing Narinder's voice felt unreal. Leshy stared at the direction it was coming from, and yet he couldn't picture anything standing there. He hadn't seen him in a very, very long time. He barely knew what his face looked like. He could only see something angry, something ready to attack.
“I don't care who started it.”
“I was just defending myself!”
It was dissonant. All Leshy could picture was this hunched figure, trembling with rage, but the voice that was speaking was whiny.
“What's- what's going on?” Leshy couldn't help himself- he sounded small when he asked.
“Good morning, Leshy,” The lamb said.
“Nothing is-” Narinder stopped very abruptly. He swore underneath his breath.
There was a hand on his shoulder all of a sudden, and he was violently reminded of the other scent that hung in the air.
“Your sister was recruited a mere hour ago, and she found your brother quite disagreeable.” The lamb spoke annoyingly matter of fact, as if this was just any other piece of information. Leshy immediately held onto the hand on his shoulder. There was no doubt- his sister was right here.
Leshy felt a little overwhelmed. “Speak to me, what's happening? Is-” He pointed where he last heard Narinder speaking from. “And when did you get him here?”
“...Narinder?” The lamb sounded a little confused. “What do you mean? I… I guess… I don't remember the exact amount of days. Probably a few months before I got you, I'm guessing.”
“Before?!”
“...” The lamb was quiet, before they huffed. Their voice was turned away. “Were you hiding from Leshy?”
Narinder was damningly silent. Heket still hasn't said a word.
“Heket?” Leshy asked. Her hand was still in his, and she squeezed once, confirming her presence. “Say something.”
“...” Her hand was cold on his. “...’s hard.”
Her voice rasped, unrecognizable. It sounded painful.
It clicked in his head. Once he returned as a mortal, he had completely lost his vision. And while Heket still appeared to have some ability to speak, it seemed to be very difficult.
“Then don't speak.” How would he be able to understand her? He couldn't see- yet as he thought about it, he felt her tapping against his arm, like an affirmative. There had to be something they'd figure out. “And what's going on with-”
He paused. The cat scent left. Narinder left. He was too distracted to notice.
“Where'd he go?”
Heket raised his arm with her hand, and pointed in a direction. The lamb sighed deeply.
“You didn't know he was here at all?”
“No,” he said, like he wasn't entirely there. “At all.”
“...I'll talk to him.”
-
“I can't believe you've been avoiding Leshy all this time.”
Narinder glared at the lamb approaching him. He was going to act as if he was worshipping, but the leader speaking to him directly would make for a more urgent priority. “Well, I did.”
“How did you even manage to pull that off?” They almost laughed.
“He's blind.”
“Yeah. But he can hear. And you guys are like… in one place.”
He shrugged. His gaze swept over to where Leshy and Heket were still huddled together, Leshy speaking to her. He seemed out of it. Heket glanced up at him as if she felt his eyes on her, and stared. He stared right back. His mouth moved without turning his head. “You're not going to bring them all back, are you?”
The lamb sighed as if Narinder had just said something horribly upsetting. They were standing close to the lamb idol, but most followers were still sleeping to recover from the night before. They were alone, here.
The lamb put a hand on their chest as they turned north- the path leading outside the cult grounds. Narinder looked away, to follow their gaze, and for a moment he felt like he lost a fight. “They're still around. Stirring… restless. It unsettles me.”
“...You can't be scared of some half-dead zombies.
They snorted. “Who do you take me for?”
There was something beneath the lamb's smile that Narinder couldn't parse. It was difficult to handle - that his ex-vessel grew so far beyond him. “I don't know who to take you for.”
“There are forces moving out of the corner of my eye- I don't like the thought. And they're barely a threat now, I am the last God here, but… when I don't look, the forces align. Against me. I feel it.” They stared at their hands, the smile slipped off their face. “I know it's the truth. So I keep everything in check.”
In a vague sense, Narinder understood. It felt like it made the core of his being, this feeling that the lamb was describing. “Then kill them. Kill them, don't bring them back. Don't bring them here. What's the point of being merciful now?”
“Merciful?” They looked bemused. “I'm flattered. But you've got it all wrong.”
The lamb stepped forward, and Narinder felt slightly on edge. Every touch was light- slowly leading him by his shoulders, and pushing him towards the statue, before trying to push him down- but Narinder, stupidly, resisted. The lamb wasn't bothered, though, digging their hoof into the back of Narinder's knee, practically making him fold in on himself.
He fell to the floor, kneeling in front of the idol. The lamb's hand ran from his shoulders to his hands, moving to clasp them together. Begrudgingly, he let it happen. They tipped his head up by pressing a knuckle gently against his chin, and he was forced to look up at the statue.
“Does this feel merciful to you, Narinder?” The lamb whispered. The knuckle was still pressed against his chin. His neck was craning a little uncomfortably. “Wouldn't you have rather died?”
The lamb didn't wait for a response. They straightened up. Narinder's back felt cold, and a shiver ran up his spine, but he remained completely unmoving otherwise.
“Either way,” the tension shattered, the lamb spoke freely. “My next stop is Anchordeep. At least I don't believe your older brother is going to start fights with you.”
Narinder whipped around. “Please don't get Kallamar. I mean it.”
The lamb glared at him. “Did you not hear anything I just told you?”
“I- I know, just, he's… I don't like him.”
“You don't like any of them.”
“Him in particular.”
Narinder didn't want to get into it. The lamb just rolled their eyes at him. “You don't always get what you want.”
“I have never gotten what I want.”
“Yeah,” they said, mockingly. “It's a pattern. Learn from it.”
With one last, dismissive hand gesture, the lamb finally left. Narinder stared after them for a long time, before muttering under his breath and turning back around to pray.
In the distance, Heket and Leshy were a threatening blur of colors that Narinder tried to ignore.
-
Out of all of them, Heket and Narinder used to be the closest.
Shamura had an air of authority that set them off from the others, that denied a certain closeness that siblings had- so even though Kallamar was the one they spoke to most often, there was a sense of distance. Leshy was the youngest by a lot, and it changed the early dynamics between him and everyone else- but Narinder and Heket were relatively close in age, and they spent much time together.
“I don't get what you see in Anura…” Narinder had said, brushing fallen leaves off his fur. Perpetual fall- the perpetual state of dying, without death. It wasn't like Darkwood, lush and alive, and it wasn't like Anchordeep, where every corner hid something beautiful. Anura was wet, and muddy, and smelled strange.
“It's because you're not sophisticated enough,” she had said, grinning wildly. “Although I thought you of all people would get it.”
“Me?”
“I think this is a place of pain.” Heket looked at it all with pride. “Barely getting by. Surviving because it's all you do. No one knows how to put starving into words. Have you heard mortals talk about it? Like a hole in your stomach, they say. I don't understand it at all. No words they use make me understand… Maybe that is what hunger feels like- the mystery starves me. I hunger for more.”
“Why would you want to feel as mortals feel? Don't be sentimental.”
“I'm not.” She sounded like she was caught in a lie. “Who'd want to be mortal?”
They were walking down a path, further between orange trees. Spending time with Heket was a breath of fresh air. No one was holding his hand, and there was no hand he had to hold. In ways he never really felt like an older brother to her, she never felt like a younger sister. Maybe in the beginning but- they saw eye to eye, and when they didn't, they'd fight over it to get it out there.
Although deep down… as they grew older, into godhood, Narinder felt as if there was something underneath the surface that didn't align. Something ideological. It was a constant itch, a thought that bothered him.
She spoke once again.
“I picked out a follower, to go without food- I told them it was a sacred duty. I watched them, as their body stopped living and started dying- and then I fed them. And unfed, they were miserable, unemotional. Weak. I asked them what they felt like. They said they felt their mind sharpen out of their skin. They said they felt so much pain, until they didn't even register it at all. They said they felt closer to me than ever before.”
“What hearsay." Narinder scowled.
“It feels valuable to know.” Heket stared straight ahead. “Maybe a God is a starved mortal.”
“Obviously not.” He kicked a mushroom on their path, and tried not to twitch his lips into a smile as he saw Heket glare at him. “A God is not anything like that. A God isn't a better mortal, or a starved mortal, a God isn't even the opposite of a mortal. Because we aren't created in relation to them. We just are, and the rest is ours. If we can't put it into words, then so be it.”
To call his sister a coward was to lie, but she was… cautious. There were certain things she wasn't willing to entertain.
Narinder spoke as she stayed silent. “If I had it my way, all of it… death, starvation, disease- would only exist in our hands. Under our total control.”
“You're so stupid sometimes.”
Narinder only laughed. If he started a fight with Heket right now, he'd probably lose. “Maybe,” he said, only to avoid a conflict.
But in his heart he felt like he truly believed this already. Before he went about it seriously, before he tried to prevent death in any meaningful way…
Maybe he must've already known it was wrong, if he was hiding it from Heket.
-
Heket strangely felt closer to Leshy than they ever were.
He kind of knew the ropes already. He knew the cult, the followers, knew what ticked the lamb off, and what didn't- and he spoke so much as if he was trying to fill the silence that Heket couldn't fill.
“I still can't believe he is here.”
Heket didn't have to ask. Leshy would often start complaining about their older brother, like it was a fun bonding topic. It was, kind of. Heket would often grip his hand with anger when he spoke about it, and the few words she spat out were so full of rage that it kind of took Leshy out of the conversation.
Of course Leshy was mad, but Heket wasn't just mad.
“How do you think it happened?” He laughed quietly, as if he was gossiping. Effectively, he was. She was watching Narinder tend to the farm, tail swishing back and forth, shoulder slumped, as if he hated every second of it. “I mean, the lamb was his vessel. How did they manage to rebel? How did they convince him to stay here?”
It felt obvious to Heket. The lamb had beaten her brother. She'd like to say that the lamb only managed because he was weakened, ill-prepared for the fight after years of confinement. Yet she knew exactly that the lamb was strong enough.
They beat her, and Leshy. Kallamar and Shamura too. The lamb was beyond the strength of the old faith. Maybe if they had worked together, instead of proudly assuming they could handle it on their own - yet, Heket couldn't tell. This mortal thing, imbued with power…
What had Narinder told her? That the Gods had no relations to mortals - that they just existed. Yet this mortal was a God now. Somewhere, her brother's idea crumbles. That seemed to be the fate of any idea he had.
He was obviously avoiding them, she thought as she watched him in the distance. He was always as far away from her or Leshy as possible, and the lamb seemed to be an accomplice here, always giving them different tasks.
Maybe they just didn't want another fight to break out.
Narinder put something in a chest, and the lamb appeared next to him. They scratched his head and Narinder froze in place, before subtly leaning in.
Maybe they favored Narinder over other followers.
“He is so subservient to the lamb. If his old followers would see this- this humiliating display…” Leshy had a gleeful tone speaking about it. Sometimes it felt like he didn't understand the severity of things.
Heket wanted to say, what about us? Weren't they subservient too? Didn't they all worship at the idol?
“You are listening, right?”
She squeezed his hand in response. She didn't want to listen anymore.
She was angry beyond understanding. At Narinder, at the lamb, at her siblings for being weak. Leshy spoke about it candidly, and she felt her patience thinning.
He didn't understand a single thing.
-
The ground started freezing over. Winter was coming quickly, and the lamb seemed preoccupied.
Leshy listened to the grass crack beneath his feet as he stepped on it. Everything sounded a little different with a thin layer of frost covering it.
“I thought you were going to get Kallamar,” Leshy said, head snapping over to the bell ringing. “It's been a while.”
“There's other things I have to take care of.” The lamb didn't sound as carefree as they usually did.
Leshy didn't concern himself with their feelings. “What could be so important?”
There was a pause, and Leshy furrowed. He tried listening to what was going on.
The lamb held his shoulder, and the touch was a little cold. Leshy jumped - he didn't even hear their bell approach at all.
The smile on their lips was audible in their voice. “Remember all those lambs you killed? Back then, before you found me?”
“...”
“It's good to know when to stay quiet.”
Leshy remained so, until the hand was off his shoulder, and until the sound of the bell was so far away that his ears couldn't pick up on it anymore.
It didn't answer anything at all. But at least Leshy knew not to prod anymore.
-
It was late at night, and he shouldn't be awake, but he was.
The lamb was out and about… something that had to do with the winter. Leshy didn't ask anymore. He also didn't ask about Kallamar, although the lamb did promise some progress soon.
There was a pond newly installed on the cult grounds, and it had frozen over, but underneath the thick layer of ice, Leshy could still hear the water splashing gently. The movement must come from plants or fish, although he wouldn't know if fish could survive a cold like this…
And for a moment it was peaceful. He was tired, but everything was calm. The rhythmic breathing of the sleeping followers became one, big sound, a peaceful droning in the night and most animals have left the vicinity because of the weather. It was quiet.
Same as being blind, he adapted surprisingly quickly to being mortal. When food was spread thin, he got used to the cramps in his stomach. When he got sick, he whined and complained the entire way, but his body recovered. But when he ate it felt like the warmest summer afternoon in Darkwood. When he recovered, he never felt more relieved. His body was frail, but so incredibly determined to keep going.
Even winter was it's own torture, the cold penetrating past his skin in a way that made everything bad feel worse - hunger didn't feel urgent, it felt damning. And when he wasn't dressed well enough, after a while the cold seeped so deep that he couldn't get rid of it, even after hours of trying to warm himself up.
Winter never used to feel like this. Obviously. When he was little Shamura always made sure that he was dressed appropriately- but even then, the cold was moreso a bother, an annoyance. Nothing like this.
Leshy forced himself to tolerate the cold, though, just to have this quiet moment for himself.
Despite his headstrong determination to sit in the cold snow, he wasn't granted his wish.
There was someone walking close by.
“I can hear you.”
The footsteps paused. The snow snuffed out most other scents, like the grass and the farmland- so this living thing, warm blooded, was a sore thumb amongst it all.
Narinder stood still in the falling snow, likely staring right at Leshy.
What did he look like now? As a mortal, small and harmless - what did he look like? Did he resemble the big brother Leshy once had, or the thing it became later on?
“You're avoiding us.”
“...So?” He said- the first thing he had said to Leshy. In a long, long time. “I'm not looking to get beat up again.”
Leshy stood up, slowly making his way where the voice came from. Wouldn't that be grand? Doing the same thing as Heket- coming in swinging, listening to bones crack under his fist. It would feel right, at least. After all those years of silence between them, his brother was giving him something lukewarm, something uncaring- Leshy almost wished that Narinder was more angry.
But he didn't have any advantage. And he hated losing.
Instead he bent down, and pushed his hand into the snow.
“What, are you pouting? I'm being the bigger person here.” Narinder stood still. Leshy could tell exactly where his voice was coming from. “I'm avoiding conflict. I'm being… civil.”
“Is this what you actually want to say to me?”
A pause. The answer seemed obvious.
What was it between them that they just couldn't get out? They were no strangers to vile comments, to physical fights, to anger and disgust and hatred. So what was it he couldn't say?
“Let's be reasonable.” Narinder said. Narinder had never been reasonable in his life. Leshy less so. “We are not who we used to be. We are something completely different. For all we might know, we are bodies with memories that do not belong to us. So for all intents and purposes, to just make this easy for us- we are not brothers any-”
Leshy picked up a whole lot of snow and threw it as far as he could. Narinder sputtered, stopping immediately. Leshy remained hunched over, his shoulders moving up and down as he was breathing hard.
“...I'm trying to have a conversation with you-”
Another snowball hit Narinder, and Leshy heard his tails swish angrily over the surface of the snow.
“What are you being childish for?! You know I'm right-”
Leshy shoveled as much snow as he could, walking up to his brother and dumping it all on top of him. Narinder did not speak for a few moments. He heard him breathe in this agitated way.
He lifted his foot, and Leshy felt his shoulders slump, thinking he was going to simply leave- but a second later, he felt sharp snow raining all over his front. Ironically, he instinctively moved to cover his eye.
“Hey!” He dropped down and threw more snow at Narinder, but it didn't seem to hit anything at all. Instead, at his new position he got another face full of snow, and for a moment Narinder just kept kicking at the snow as if to bury Leshy under it. “Stop it!”
“What's your problem?!” He kicked one last time and Leshy shook the snow off of himself.
“What's yours?!”
Leshy did say he didn't want to fight - for his pride, and all that - but he couldn't resist lunging towards Narinder, pushing him into the ground. Narinder immediately swatted at him, before mashing his face into the ground.
There was soft powdered snow coming down and they both paused for a moment. They were freezing cold. Leshy held his head.
“Why-” He scoffed, and his jaw trembled. Because of the cold. “Why do you act like that?”
“Like what? The way I have always acted?” At least he sounded angry now.
“You've never been a coward before.”
“Aren't we-” He huffed in frustration. “What do you want from me? I don't get it.”
Leshy fell back. He laid on the cold floor, his skin almost burning. The snow from above was like a gentle lull. “I don't know,” he said, quietly.
The silence pulled them along for a while. Narinder laid down next to him. They were breathing and Leshy couldn't recall a moment in his immortal life where he paid so much attention to things like this. If he thought back, he couldn't even remember if he had to breathe.
“You can't act like we weren't family.”
Narinder hesitated. “I can.”
“You can't act like you don't know us.”
“Do I, though? Do I know you?”
“Yes.”
“...” The snow crunched underneath their bodies. “I don't forgive you.”
“Well. I don't forgive you either.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
Leshy didn't forgive him. For breaking apart the life they had. For destroying their family. It's not like Leshy ever cared about ideals- if Narinder had asked him back then to join him… he wouldn't have said no immediately. What bothered him wasn't what Narinder thought, it was that he went against everyone else. His big brother had hurt him, and this time he wasn't kneeling frantically, saying, you can hit me back, don't cry.
Leshy pulled at his scrubbery. He wasn't a little kid anymore. “You hurt me.”
“You and many others. I'm not shedding tears over it.”
“Heket is really angry at you.”
“...Her and many others.”
Leshy shuddered a frustrated breath. “I don't hate you.”
“...”
“I should hate you. I know. But I don't.”
“...”
“Say something.”
The breathing stopped for a moment. Narinder sat up, and the snow compressed under his weight. For a moment, Leshy felt warmth as Narinder's hand gently wiped away snow that landed on his bandages, on the scrubbery on his head. “I'm going to sleep, Leshy.”
And then he stood. And then he left.
Leshy remained, unmoving in his place. The night returned to silence - the silence turned oppressive.
He did not follow Narinder.