The Godless by Ben Peek Read Free Book Online Page A

uninvited.”
    Unconcerned, he ran his hands across the glass.
    â€œI said—”
    â€œI heard you.” He turned to her. “Don’t you feel uncomfortable here?”
    The table began to smoke, as if deep in its frame there was a flame, a single spark that was struggling to get out. With his hard, gray eyes holding her gaze, the oh so ordinary-looking man who was clearly not so ordinary, left the table.
    Ayae whispered, “Who are you?”
    â€œI have no name,” he said softly, his pale hand closing around her arm—
    Her free hand slammed heel first into his chest.
    It was a desperate blow, but it caught him off guard and caused him to stagger back. Yet he did not release her. Quickly, Ayae drove her foot down onto his. The man made no sound and fear threaded through her unlike any she had felt before. Behind her, the wood in the table ignited, and flames began to rush along the edges, spreading like burning pitch across broken tiles.
    The flames jumped, leaping from the table to the wall, and Ayae panicked at the sight. She broke free and turned for the door, grabbing the handle; a hand grasped her hair and wrenched her back. Twisting, she slammed the heel of her hand into the nameless man’s arm, hitting the forearm hard. Behind them, the flames found parchment, ink, paint, chemicals, and glass and black smoke ripped out. The man flinched, caught in the blast. Horrified, she tensed to strike out again, but the man turned and threw her against the wall—threw her into the flames.
    Ayae screamed and slapped at her clothes, at her body—unable to feel pain, but sure, more sure than anything that her flesh was peeling, turning dark, that the fire was devouring the air around her, thrusting its smoke into her throat, and aiming to choke her. The fire leaped and twisted around her, and the nameless man, his hands black, reached for her. Through watering eyes, her body twisting to get out of his way, out of the fire’s way, she could do nothing—nothing but scream as, behind him, the fire took form, and a hand reached out and grabbed the head of her attacker, wrenching it back as a smoldering blade ran across his throat.
    There was no scream.
    No blood.
    Nothing.
    Flames roared, but Ayae had gone still. She had to move, she had to get out , but she could not. Flames cascaded across the ceiling, a mix of orange and black. She heard glass pop. A part of her screamed. A young part, a child’s voice.
    Then hands were on her roughly, were dragging her like a heavy weight to the door. Smoke hid the sky, and she felt a cloak drop over her, felt it smother her, wrap around her tightly as she sank to the ground, the trembling setting into her deeply before unconsciousness took her.

 
    5.
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    When Ayae awoke, she was in flames.
    They flickered without heat, hitting glass as if she were trapped inside a bubble, and they were searching, probing, trying to enter her. Fingers curling she grabbed sheets, exposed toes following, her panic subsiding as her consciousness registered the lamp directly above. Rising, Ayae pushed a hand through her hair and gazed around her. She was in a long, wide room, with dozens of empty single beds. The emergency ward of Mireea. There were guards at the door and windows at the top of the wall that showed the night and the moon— the remains of a dead god , the thought came unbidden.
    She was in no pain. Pushing back the blanket, she saw her bare legs and arms beneath the simple shift she had been dressed in. Outside of the taste of smoke in her mouth, there was no indication that she had been in a fire.
    The same could not be said about the room’s other inhabitant. Wearing clothes stained by smoke and burned by flames, he was a man of medium height, pale-skinned with long auburn hair. On the floor beside him sat a pair of ash-stained boots and a canvas duffel bag, a long, leather cloak resting over it. The strangest thing about him were the