SNEAK PEEK

By G T GRETZ

Collection: The Fallen Ash Series, book 3

Genre: Science Fiction| Dystopian | Horror

I rolled over as blackness filled my vision. The dark faded slowly into a gray in every direction. The bars, once gilded and unmoving, decayed into shimmering gold dust and wisped away on a breeze so light it didn’t touch me. I was heavy as I stared up into nothing and found twinkling stars. Each sparkled with the light of memories I treasured and knew once more. I reached a hand towards them and in a flash; the visions filled me as if I were standing in them, living them again. It was all I could do not to cry. Not to weep with joy at every lost moment returning to me. I breathed out and shut my eyes, letting the past wash over me. Eons, eternities, and distances beyond filled in the empty spaces I’d carried with me for far too many very long mortal years.

It was incredible what the weight of such a short time could do. It felt like more than the infinite lifetimes I’d lived before ever coming to this miserable world. And it was truly the most miserable of all I’d ever known. It was so full of wickedness. The agony of loss was as powerful as the pungent rot of corpses piled high in the wake of senseless killing. I couldn’t get that smell out of my nose since the first time I’d smelled it. As a god, I’d never noticed it before. Damn this world, it didn’t end when it should have in the first place. And it was all because of Milo.

My body stretched in the new warmth of the void. It was no longer empty, decorated in hanging memories and images and sounds I’d known all my existence. I reveled in the endlessness of it all, and then, as if it were all a dream, I woke under soft blankets. I peeked over the edge of my cozy cocoon. The room was empty. No one sat at the end of the small bed this time. And I wasn’t in Charon’s sterile home, either. There were pale pink walls and a single window on the side. I pushed up from the pillow and folded the blanket over. A small red book sat by the footboard. It seemed Charon had been there, at one point or another.

Kicking my feet out from under the blankets, I hopped to the floor and made my way to the bathroom. I breathed a heavy sigh. I didn’t feel any different. Looking at my hands, they didn’t appear changed either. The memories of mortal days were as fresh in my head as they were before. My eyebrows furrowed. Lifting my gaze to the mirror, I cocked my head to the side. My once dark roots were pale, a silvery hue like the rest of it. And though it wasn’t the same ethereal glow I remembered, my hair shined like a polished nickel. Even my eyes were brighter.

Taking a sniff of my shoulder, I reeled back. Once again, no one had thought to change me from dirty clothes into something clean. I pulled the shirt off and cast it aside, disgusted by the smell of campfire and horse. Between those aromas, I could only imagine the inglorious travel to Helena’s home in Bairdville. It was likely humiliating, and if Charon had his way about it, then they’d strapped me to a horse’s ass for at least a day and a half. Stripping off the pants and throwing them with the shirt, I didn’t want to consider how many times they’d dragged me across the ground out of convenience. I couldn’t blame them, though. I’d have done the same.

I turned on the shower and stepped in. Steam lifted in a thick cloud, but as I leaned my head back it was little more than wet. I knew it was hot, but it didn’t feel like it. Hot, real hot, was blistering. It was fire; it was a blast of light from a man-sun. Hell, it was whatever that glowing shit was that Fae liked to use in place of fire. That was hot. It peeled my skin off so fast it cauterized on the way down. It was a shame Callan hated that world and wreaked havoc on it with such severity early on. Of course, it was also disappointing when we ruined the world with all those witches. They burned people at the stake for not having magic. I would have liked to see more of them, but they didn’t care for us and didn’t have much fight in them, all things considered.

And then there was this fucking world. It seemed so easy when we’d first arrived. They had a complex civilization and the idea of gods was mostly dead. Unlike the religious enthusiasm of other worlds, this one was a breath of fresh air. Everything was going smoothly. Callan was enjoying simplifying their militaries for the sake of a fun challenge of limitations. Erys was at the peak of his game in monopolizing the only industry counterintuitive to his unique skills. And I was basking in all the splendor of rulers and leaders succumbing to my demands. Around the third year, they’d thought they’d outwitted us and dropped bombs I didn’t know they had and watched the sky light up and burn.

There were entire places wiped out, people incinerated in an instant, and radiation so thick it tasted like dirty metal when I breathed in. I died at least three dozen times trying to figure out what sort of stupidity had led them to such a brash decision. And damn, healing from dying as an immortal god left me with the worst fucking headache. Or maybe is the radioactive air. Either way, they’d killed off the majority of their own population, and to no avail. Idiot mortals. Callan was so disappointed. I felt bad for him. The war was just starting to become interesting, so I promised we could stay a little longer. He could reduce the world to simple weapons and have fun for a decade or so if he wanted. The way he fucked me that night spoke volumes of his gratitude.

I rinsed the soap from my hair and turned the water off. I breathed in the steam and faint scents drifting the bubbles swirling around the drain. It was good to have my memories back, to be me again. As I wrapped my towel around my middle, a strange weight sank into my stomach. Sure, I remembered everything again, but that didn’t change what I went through. It didn’t bring Matti or Gaelin back. It didn’t undo how it felt to have a Lykosia’s teeth tearing my skin from my bones. And it sure as hell didn’t make the death of a child any better. My jaw clenched as I swung the bathroom door open in search of fresh clothes and anything to tamp down the growing rage. Callan let Rea out after all the trouble we’d gone through to lock that titan god up in the first damn place.

First gods weren’t supposed to be in the end days. It happened from time to time, but we handled it. The others weren’t half bad and understood what we needed to do. Rea, though, was a pain in the ass. She wanted to be involved, and she wanted to do things her way. Callan, as she decided it, was a disgrace as a brother—a god wielding her elemental fire. She could do better. And she did, just not in a useful manner. So we helped that rag-tag research company to create a containment system. It worked beautifully until Callan broke it. I shook my head as I rummaged through drawers. The plan was to let her out at the end and roast the stragglers. How was it that he was so short-sighted without me?

Slamming the drawer shut and pulling on fresh clothes, I sniffed at the air. Sig was cooking. My stomach churned with hunger. It felt as though I hadn’t eaten in days. Licking my dry lips, I headed for the door. First, I would eat. And then I would find Callan. He had a lot to answer for and I was in no mood for his usual excuses and easier-to-ask-for-forgiveness attitude. Not that I wouldn’t forgive him, but I certainly had to say my piece. I’d been through too much to bite my tongue this time.