Only Gods Forgive by Aleks Canard

Author:Aleks Canard [Canard, Aleks]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780244556617
Publisher: Lulu
Published: 2020-01-24T22:00:00+00:00

Hunting Votes

1

Mountains on Raursioc were sacred.

There wasn’t a peak, a range, or a valley, that didn’t have a shrine built into their rock faces. Larger mountains usually denoted temples, whereas lower lying areas gave way to shrines. In the days before space travel, indeed, even before gunpowder, it was customary for travelling corrachs to light bonfires before shrines and pray in passing temples.

This was especially dangerous as dragons were often lured towards flames, for they’d quickly learned that flames meant corrachs. And corrachs liked to carry precious metals, and even more precious jewels. Perfect for fortifying soft dragon underbellies, as it so happened.

Whereas dragons had been revered as gods on Xardiassant, they were considered the ultimate prize on Raursioc. Any warrior who could slay a dragon was instantly promoted to Clan Chief and could pick any man or woman they desired. Some northern clans didn’t share this philosophy as their women tended to be daintier than the southern females. Though, anyone who had seen a Corrachian woman could attest that claim didn’t mean much.

Instead of winged reptiles, corrachs prayed to the mountains, believing that they had once been mighty titans, and if Raursioc was ever attacked, they would stand and fight. Howling wind that blew through crevices was thought to be the divine words of the titans themselves.

In actuality, it was just the wind. But sometimes, in certain ranges, where the paths were particularly perilous, the singing was more than that. Vile creatures with greying skin and lithe, humanoid bodies covered in piercing thorns lurked within the deepest caverns. And they liked singing. So intoxicating were their voices that they made people willingly plunge to their deaths. Into dark maws where the monsters — known as oreads or sylachs — would rip them apart. All to the sound of a choir that was manned by the dead and conducted with a gristly bone baton.

But their voices, they were supposed to be heavenly. Sometimes taking on the intonations of loved ones from beyond the grave. The scant few people who had heard oreads’ songs and survived gave similar recounts. Coën Vesemir and Fiona Calanthe had been among such survivors.

As Trix brought the Fox low into the atmosphere, following a flightpath generated by the nearest garage to prevent collisions, she mentally flipped through Raursioc’s most prominent monsters. It was a habit she’d developed early on as a way of preparing herself for hunts when she only knew scraps of information.

Plus, nothing made ignorant people think you were a qualified huntress more than listing a plethora of potential monster types in addition to scientific names and classifications.

Yvach slapped his forehead.

Trix looked back at him. ‘Do you have fleas again?’

‘Damn it, machina. I’ve never had fleas.’

‘Maybe so. Doesn’t mean your moustache hasn’t cultivated its own ecosystem. I wonder if there are any monsters exclusive to its wilds.’

‘Your mood’s improved.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

‘Only because mine has taken a turn.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I realised that our Festival of a Thousand Months is at the end of this year.

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