Rojan Dizon 02 - Before the Fall Read Online Free Page A

Ministry-approved version of the Goddess, all smiles and twinkles and flowers. She looked benign and welcoming, if a tad constipated. Namrat the tiger was more of a pussycat cosying up to her feet than a threat. Death, in Ministry-approved scripture, wasn’t to be feared because you’d get everything you wanted the other side if you were a good boy and kept your mouth shut and your head down. A little something to help the poor plebs endure the utter shit that they had to put up with in life. Made them more…biddable. Made me want to puke.
    On the left was the change, maybe what brought a fresh air to the temple, a heart thump of new life. A hastily erected painting of the Downside Goddess in all her vicious, splendid glory. Primal and raw, maybe as she had originally been before the Ministry sucked all the life out of her and left only blandness. No pastel colours as on the right, no pretty birds and flowers, this was livid colour and passion, blood and sacrifice and death. Namrat was no pussycat here; he was all tiger. Rippling, graceful muscles under a glowing orange and black coat, big eyes, bigger teeth. This picture depicted the Goddess sacrificing her hand to Namrat, to appease his hunger, to stop him stalking us. A stupid, useless sacrifice as far as I’m concerned because he stalks us now, his hunger never sated, and we call him Death. Well, I don’t, but you see what I mean. For Downsiders, Namrat is something to fight against, and that’s when you get your reward after he inevitably wins—the reward is for the fight, for the sacrifice. I can at least respect that, even if I don’t believe it.
    I turned away from the murals and looked about for Pasha. He walked off to one side, the boy trailing his steps as he reached Jake, with the man-square that was Dog hovering behind her as always. He’s a big lad, is Dog, with muscles on his muscles, glossy black hair to die for and all the mental capacity and ability to see everything as wonderful as a five-year-old. A five-year-old with a big fuckoff sword he knew how to use. A dangerous combination, and one reason why I’d taken to keeping a couple of lollipops in my pocket.
    Jake looked up from her prayer, and the smile she gave Pasha…
    I should have “I am a sucker for unobtainable women, especially her” tattooed on my forehead. Maybe something snappier, my forehead isn’t that big. “I am an idiot” perhaps.
    She’d changed, too, since she’d come up from the ’Pit. Still all the grace of ten dancers, still with that you-can’t-ever-know-me look, the ice queen who was waiting to melt, but less brittle now, less sharp. She’d let the bright red dye—her defiance, her shield—fade from her hair and now it was a soft black, no longer bound tightly but left to curl around her face and across her shoulders. A softness in her eyes, too, and especially, and I so wished this was not true, when she looked at Pasha. Tied together with invisible string, glued with all they’d seen and done, experienced together, and short of murdering Pasha I’d not a chance in hell. I’d settle for all I could get, though.
    Dear Goddess, I will start believing you exist the same day she smiles at me like that. Deal? What the fuck was I saying? Dear Rojan, it’s about time you got over it. Amen.
    I tore myself away from the cause of my black eye—hers being the wrong name I had inserted into the delicate moment—and on to who else she’d brought with her.
    Erlat smiled up at Dog, who looked like he’d been hit with a fifty-pound gladhammer. No surprise, because Erlat was polished to a gleam like jade, as easy on the eye and as hard to see through. Everything about her was elegant, from the smooth coil of dark hair at the nape of her neck to the slinky cut of her dress and the way she moved, as though she slid through the world without leaving a ripple. It looked like Dog had forgotten how to talk because he just nodded dumbly when she spoke to him and grinned like