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He stepped forward and opened his hands out toward Altan.
Rin tensed, but nothing happened.
Perhaps the god Feylen had summoned was capable of immense power. Perhaps he could have leveled villages, might have ripped Altan apart under normal circumstances. But they were inside the mountain. Whatever Feylen was capable of, whatever he would have done, the gods had no power here.
“I know how terrible it must be to be cut off from the Pantheon,” said Altan. “But if you fight for me, if you promise to contain yourself, then you never have to suffer that again.”
“We have become divine,” said Feylen. “Do you think we care what happens to mortals?”
“I don’t need you to care about mortals,” said Altan. “I need you to remember me. I need the power of your god, but I need more the man inside. I need the person in control. I know you’re in there, Feylen.”
“In control? You speak to us of control?” Feylen gnashed his teeth when he spoke, like every word was a curse. “We cannot be controlled like pack animals for your use. You’re in over your head, little Speerly. You’ve brought down forces you don’t understand into your pathetic little material world, and your world would be infinitely more interesting if someone smashed it up for a bit.”
The color drained from Altan’s face.
“Rin, get back,” he said quietly.
Jiang was right. Chaghan had been right. An entire army of these creatures would have spelled the end of the world.
She had never felt so wrong.
We can’t let this thing leave the mountain.
The same thought seemed to strike Feylen at precisely that moment. He looked between them and the stream of light two tiers up, through which they could just hear the wind howling outside, and he smiled crookedly.
“Ah,” he said. “Left it wide open, haven’t you?”
His luminous eyes came alive with malicious glee, and he regarded the exit with the yearning of a drowning man desperate to come up for air.
“Feylen, please.” Altan stretched out a hand, and his voice was quiet when he spoke to Feylen, as if he thought he could calm him the way he had calmed Suni.
“You cannot threaten us. We can rip you apart,” sneered Feylen.
“I know you can,” said Altan. “But I trust that you won’t. I’m trusting the person inside.”
“You are a fool to think me human.”
“Me,” said Altan. “You said me.”
Feylen’s face spasmed. The blue light dimmed from his eyes. His features morphed just so slightly; the sneer disappeared, and his mouth worked as if trying to decide what commands to obey.
Altan lifted his trident out to the side, far away from Feylen. Then, with a slow deliberateness, he flung the weapon away from him. It clattered against the wall, echoed in the silence of the mountain.
Feylen stared at the weapon in wide-eyed disbelief.
“I’m trusting you with my life,” said Altan. “I know you’re in there, Feylen.”
Slowly, he stretched his hand out again.
And Feylen grasped it.
The contact sent tremors through Feylen’s body. When he looked up, he had that same terrified expression she’d seen in Suni. His eyes were wide, dark and imploring, like a child seeking a protector; a lost soul desperately seeking an anchor back to the mortal world.
“Altan?” he whispered.
“I’m here.” Altan walked forward. As before, he approached the god without fear, despite full knowledge of what it could do to him.
“I can’t die,” Feylen whispered. His voice contained none of that grating quality now; it was tremulous, so vulnerable there was no doubt that this Feylen was human. “It’s awful, Trengsin. Why can’t I die? I should never have summoned that god . . . Our minds are meant to be our own, not shared with these things . . . I do not live here in this mountain . . . but I can’t die.”
Rin felt sick.
Jiang was right. The gods had no place in their world. No wonder the Speerlies had driven themselves mad. No wonder Jiang was so terrified of pulling the gods down into the mortal realm.
The Pantheon was where they belonged; the Pantheon was where they should stay. This was a power mankind never should have meddled with.
What were they thinking? They should leave, now, while Feylen was still under control; they should pull the stone door closed so that he could never escape.
But Altan showed none of her fear. Altan had his soldier back.
“I can’t let you die yet,” Altan said. “I need you to fight for me. Can you do that?”
Feylen had not let go of Altan’s arm; he drew him closer, as if into an embrace. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Altan’s ear, and whispered so that Rin could barely hear what he said: “Kill yourself, Trengsin. Die while you still can.”
His eyes met Rin’s over Altan’s shoulder. They glinted a bright blue.
“Altan!” Rin screamed.
And Feylen wrenched his commander across the plinth and flung him toward the abyss.
It was not a strong throw. Feylen’s muscles were atrophied from months of disuse; he moved clumsily, like newborn fawn, a god tottering about in a mortal body.
But Altan careened wildly over the side, flailing in the air for balance, and Feylen pushed past him and scrambled up the stone steps toward the exit. His face was wild with a gleeful malice, ecstatic.
Rin threw herself across the stone; she landed stomach-first on floor, arms extended, and the next thing she felt was terrible pain as Altan’s fingers closed around her wrist just before he plunged into the darkness.
His weight wrenched her arm down. She cried out in agony as her elbow slammed against stone.
But then Altan’s other arm shot up from the darkness. She strained down. Their fingers clasped together.
Rocks clattered off the edge of the precipice, falling away into the abyss, but Altan hung steady by both of her arms. They slid forward and for one sick moment she feared his weight might pull the both of them over the edge, but then her foot caught in a groove and they came to a stop.
“I’ve got you,” she panted.
“Let go,” Altan said.
“What?”
“I’m going to swing myself up,” he said. “Let my left arm go.”
She obeyed.
Altan kicked himself to the side to generate momentum and then threw his other hand up to grasp the edge. She lay straining against the floor, legs digging into the stone to keep herself from sliding forward while he pulled himself over the edge of the precipice. He slammed one arm over the top and dug his elbow into the floor. Grunting, he hauled his legs over the edge in a single fluid movement.
Sobbing with relief, Rin helped him to his feet, but he brushed her off.
“Feylen,” he hissed, and set out at an uneven sprint up the stone pathway.
Rin followed him, but it was pointless. When they ran, the only footsteps they could hear were their own, because Feylen had long disappeared out the mouth of the Chuluu Korikh.
They’d given him free rein in the world.
But Altan had overpowered him once. Surely they could do so again. They had to.
They stumbled out the stone door and skidded to a halt before a wall of steel.
Federation soldiers thronged the mountainside.
Their general barked a command and the soldiers pressed forward with their shields linked to create a barrier, backing Rin and Altan inside the stone mountain.
