When Minnie next returned to the hidden room, with some buckwheat in her satchel, the door was firmly shut, and the guards were unusually alert. It took several more days until she found the way open again. In the meantime, she tested the cloak on some guards and found that it worked exactly as advertised. No one would see her or sense her presence as long as she stayed silent.

  When she finally gained entry, Herman greeted her with a swift nod, then led her, without a word, to a door at the back of the menagerie that she hadn’t noticed before. Or, she suspected, the door hadn’t been there. It was wide and tall but had shown no sign of recent use. Herman leapt for the handle and nudged the door open. Minnie followed him through, stepping into a space that felt completely alien.

  It was bright. Her eyes hurt as they adjusted to the painful brightness that reflected from every surface. The walls, floor, and ceiling were an unrelenting white, the light reflecting off every corner; not daylight, but an unnatural reverberating white which seemed to defy the natural order of things. Transparent vats filled with strange, dark liquids stood in rows along one wall, their contents swirling unnervingly. Nearby, there were narrow tables with straps and metal rails. Odd instruments were scattered along the walls, some mounted in neat rows, others carelessly abandoned on the floor. Old bloodstains marred the floor and the edges of the vats, adding a faint coppery smell to the already heavy air. The room felt sterile and sickening, a place for weird experiments on reluctant patients.

  Minnie swallowed. Something inside her wanted to run, but there were also excitement and anticipation, the pull forward was stronger than ever.

  A shuffling noise drew her attention to the far end of the room. Slowly, out from behind one of the vats, the only living occupant emerged, and stopped, watching her.

  She froze.

  It was grotesque. A man-sized fowl, featherless and misshapen, like a half-baked turkey that suddenly came to life. Pale-purple skin stretched too tightly across a swollen, lopsided body. The beak was oversized and crooked. The spindly legs trembled under the unnatural weight of the torso, and it moved like it was in pain.

  But the part Minnie couldn’t look away from was the eyes.

  Huge. Sky blue. Wide and vacant, gleaming with a sort of delighted absence. Madness lived in them. The smile of the abyss looking back at you.

  Minnie’s mouth went dry. Somewhere in her chest, a slow, grinding ache began to build. Thinner than fear. Older than sorrow. Something like grief. Like seeing the last tree fall in a forest.

  The creature stared at her, shifting awkwardly, its beak twitching in a broken mimicry of speech.

  It looked monstrous. Pitiful. And, frankly, terrifying.

  But deep inside her, beneath the fear and the revulsion, something else stirred. A part of her that responded not to appearances, but to essence.

  And that part was elated.

  It felt like climbing a mountain in the dark, step after step, breath after breath, and then reaching it at first light, just in time to see the sun crest the horizon. That quiet blaze. That sense of rightness. She was meant to be here.

  “There’s something you don’t see every day, eh?” Herman whispered beside her. “A fallen god.”

  Her chest tightened. She couldn’t look away.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “I can’t tell you his name,” Herman continued, his voice low and careful. “The names of the gods are forbidden here. But he was one of the greatest. If I had known…” He broke off suddenly, as if he was about to say something that should not be said.

  He flicked his good ear toward the bird-man. “Give him the feed you brought. Let’s continue the conversation outside. Be careful. He’s little more than an animal now.” His voice softened slightly. “He’s very hungry. No one’s fed him in a long time.”

  Minnie stepped forward slowly, the little bag of buckwheat clutched in her hands. Her mind was jumbled, thoughts and emotions in disarray. Her limbs shook in fear and in reverence. But there was no doubt that Herman’s words were true: the revolting being was indeed an immortal god.

  The creature didn’t lunge. Didn’t hiss. His monstrous form stayed still, and the moment she came close, his eyes changed. Just a little. The vacant fog thinned. The creature let out a low, wobbling coo.

  Minnie held her breath and extended her hand, and the enormous beak dipped with unexpected gentleness. He took the grains in small mouthfuls and chewed slowly, as if he didn’t quite remember what it was all about.

  For a moment, it didn’t feel like feeding a monster, but rather like offering at an altar. His eyes met hers again, and this time they didn’t look empty. There was a flicker of awareness, like a flame seen through frost.

  The satchel was quickly done with, and Herman indicated they should go. The bird-god watched them leave with the same absent look he had when they came.

  Herman sighed as the black door clicked shut behind them and faded out of existence. While Minnie stared at it wide eyed, Herman lunged on his favourite sofa and began grooming himself.

  “Have you heard about the war?” he asked eventually.

  “I was told a hundred gods came to attack the castle, but were squarely defeated by the Crone,” Minnie replied carefully.

  “A hundred…?” Herman guffawed. “Well that’s what you get when you call it The War. There were eleven of them. Of us, I should say. Though I guess ‘The Attempted Bullying’ doesn’t sound so good whichever side you are on.”

  He settled down comfortably, like a little sphinx. Obviously, he had a lot to say.

  “It’s always like that,” Herman said dryly. “A new god shows up, and the vultures start circling. They don’t mean to kill, just to prove a point. Steal a bit of magic, take the new guy down a peg, grab a trophy or two. It’s a game among immortals, a rite of passage really. Harmless in the long run, humiliating and painful in the short.”

  He paused, jaw moving soundlessly, and Minnie had the distinct feeling it was painful in the long run as well.

  “The Crone knew they were coming, though,” Herman went on, “so she set a trap. You can’t kill an immortal, but she found a way to freeze time, you see. That was new, and they never saw it coming.”

  He rubbed the scar on his face, thoughtful. “She released them one by one and tortured them until they begged to die and told her where they’d hidden their phylacteries. Then she broke them and killed them.” He sighed. “I can understand the anger, sure, but she went too far. You don’t kill someone for playing a prank.”

  Minnie nodded silently, sensing her agreement wasn’t needed.

  “Except for him,” Herman said. “He didn’t get the release of death. I think the Grey One hid his phylactery the moment she realized he’d been taken.”

  He went on. “The Crone starved him. Jabbed him. Burned him. You can do things to an immortal that would kill a mortal in seconds. But there was nothing he could give her.”

  Herman’s nose twisted. “That’s when it stopped being about information. She had a thing for him. Like a child pulling braids to be noticed. Pain was the only language she had.”

  His voice flattened. “So she tried harder. Cut off every limb she could. Injected every poison. Poked out his eyes. Crushed every bone. And then…”

  He paused, staring at the back wall. “This is what happens when you push a god too far. A mortal can choose an ending. An immortal doesn’t get that mercy. The soul crumbles first. The body just follows.”

  Herman sighed. “After he ended up like this, he’d stopped reacting at all. I doubt he remembers much anymore. So she got bored. Forgot him.” A thin, humourless sound. “And, lucky for me, forgot about me too.”

  Minnie swallowed hard. Her stomach twisted. “That’s… awful.”

  Herman didn’t blink. “That’s immortal politics for you.”

  There was sad silence between them, until Herman perked his ears suddenly.

  “Go,” he hissed. “Now. Guard’s coming.”

  She stumbled out into the hallway just as the guard emerged, yawning, eyes half-lidded, dragging his boots like he’d woken too fast. Minnie kept her head down, tray in hand, throat tight with the effort of appearing calm. He didn’t even glance at her. Just turned the other way.

  Back in the kitchen, she set the tray down and scrubbed her hands clean, though they weren’t dirty. Her fingers trembled beneath the water.

  No one noticed.