Moonless Nights

"I swear it happened!" cried Hana. Was this what people called "gaslighting?" She knew what happened earlier, and she knew she wasn't crazy. And she was going to stick with it. Not that Lydia had any reason to manipulate her, though… What was going on?

"If I may," Zagiha interjected, "Hana's being honest, but I don't sense any lie from Lydia, either." He scratched his chin. "Both of you truly believe in your version of what happened, but only one is right. Which one is it, though…?"

"How do you know that?" asked Lydia.

"… Another person who doesn't know who I am?" he sputtered. "All right, all right. I guess if you're tagging along with us, I'd better introduce myself. My name is Zagiha. Does that ring a bell? The truth is kind of my shtick."

Lydia blinked. She blinked again, and again, the wires in her head short-circuiting as they processed the information they just heard. "You're Zagiha?!" she yelled. "You're the God of Modrica!" Then she leaned into Hana and said, "You made a move on a God? Mad respect, girl."

"Sure I am. Hana is my assistant, so she's accompanying me on business with Nimhr in Tyressa. But any friend of Hana's is a friend of mine, so you can skip the formalities. Just call me by my first name and treat me like any other person."

If only he were that friendly with Mica. Zagiha's "friend of a friend" adage apparently only applied to those of the same s.e.x. But it was also probably the nicest greeting he ever gave anyone, so brownie points for him. Basic decency, woo-hoo. Speaking of Mica…

"Micaiah Rebane, sled dog courier," the former miner introduced himself. "I think we've met before. The gemstone field trip a few years ago, right?" Lydia nodded. "I think I have an explanation for what's goin' on, Hana. You probably nodded off and had a waking nightmare. That's why it seemed so real to you."

Hana opened her mouth to protest. Sure, she was tired, but she knew she was wide-awake when it happened. But everyone else drowned her out with Mica's explanation and accepted it as fact, leaving her the odd party out. She admitted it stung a bit no one else believed her, but Mica's theory was the only one that made any sense. Two witnesses having a slightly different recollection of events were one thing, but completely different stories were another.

"Whether it was a nightmare or not, this area isn't safe. We need to head to Tyressa. Why don't you take a nap in the wagon, Hana?" asked Zagiha.

At least everyone agreed on that. Hana knew she wasn't going to rest in that horrible, bumpy wagon, but she didn't protest. She crawled in along with Lydia, and Mica took off at a walking pace. The slower speed did nothing to improve the ride. Fortunately, they would get to Tyressa in a few hours provided no more Unforgivables showed up to assault them.

Life just didn't make sense lately. What would Unforgivables want with her, and why didn't her version of reality match up with everyone else's? She opened up her new bag of makeup and looked at the stuff inside, trying to divert her attention to anything else. Gods. She didn't know how to apply any of it. Hana hoped the makeup she got earlier would stay in place if they were going to meet Nimhr today. If he really was the type to expect people to look their best, she didn't want to screw things up for Zagiha.

Even though they talked things out, it was still a little awkward being around him, so she was grateful for the space. But then from the other side of the tarp cover, the man mused out loud:

"Okay, so I know Nimhr said he wouldn't help, but I have a foolproof plan to get him to agree."

"And that would be?" asked Hana.

"We will show up in person…"

"Okay."

"Get down on our knees…"

"O… kay."

"Prostrate ourselves…"

"Okay?"

"And cry, 'please reconsider!'"

What? That was his foolproof, genius plan? Begging? Annoying him into submission? As much as Zagiha prided himself on his negotiation technique and enthusiasm teaching it to her, she doubted exasperating Nimhr until he said yes was a legitimate method.

"That's not going to work," said Hana.

"Now, now, Nimhr's a softie at heart," Zagiha replied. "All I have to do is show him my big, brown puppy-dog eyes, and that's it for him."

Zagiha severely overestimated his current market value.

"He'll never turn his good pal away. He's a great guy, I promise! He's just a bit of an acquired taste, like a… y'know… like a gr.a.p.efruit."

Hard-to-open outside, sour inside?

Hana's faith was in the negatives. She had a bad feeling about this, although she knew nobody would listen to her if she voiced her thoughts. Why would they, after what happened earlier? Someone called the God of Melancholy was probably the least welcoming sort of person, not to mention her suspicions Nimhr was the False One. Now that Zagiha was all but ruled out, he seemed the most likely candidate. She didn't believe Zagiha's assertion it was Eleora. It made sense for a God who ruled over a negative aspect to bring about negative things. Furthermore, he was the oldest of the eight. As she understood it, Gods grew more powerful the older they got, their powers evolving and morphing along the way. As the strongest of them all, obviously he was the one most suited to bringing about Armageddon.

Well, if he was the False One, then that was only good news for her. Isaana told her to find the False One, not fight them. That was her responsibility, and it ensured Silvio's safety. Of course, Hana considered the possibility Isaana had ulterior motives when she enlisted her help, but the green Goddess wasn't the only one capable of manipulative machinations. She had long since considered various ways to hide Silvio from her. Or maybe Silvio had nothing to do with the False One at all, and she was just dangling his life over her head like a carrot to get her to do the dirty work (Gods know if she was fine with murder, she was fine with breaking deals). But then again, she did try to kill him when he became an Unforgivable, so…

How in the world were those two connected, anyway? Hana wished more than anything people would just take five minutes to explain things to her, but even Zagiha remained tight-lipped when it came to the False One. She had a suspicion he knew more than he let on, but he wasn't spitting it out for some reason. And if both he and Isaana shared the goal of defeating the False One, why hadn't the Outer One struck them down yet? Were they playing into its plan, or… or did it just find their futile efforts hilarious?

It wasn't worth the mental energy to consider every possible scenario when she only factored into one, though. Hana settled into the wagon, leaning into the wall and preparing herself for her meeting with Nimhr.

--

After several hours, the wagon finally creaked its way into Tyressa. Hana peeked out the front. The town was smaller than she thought it would be, much like Minumna but without the mountain cover sheltering it. There were a few large storefronts, with Eastern Gesmauran babushkas sitting outside, drinking cold barley tea and attending to their knitting. There was also a small park nearby with a wooden playground where a few children scattered about playing tag, and a group of feral cats lazed around on the roof of a gazebo under the sun.

Tyressa wasn't what she expected of the town protected by the God of Melancholy. Notable was the lack of melancholy. Actually, everyone seemed happy and carefree. Was this… was this the right place?

It had to be, as Mica pulled up in front of the Uswanan Embassy and let Lydia out. Lydia thanked them profusely, with Mica promising to come check up on her later. And then they were off again toward a complex of large, stately buildings.

They were beautiful, carved of fine marble and enshrouding a grass mall. Was this Nimhr's Temple? It was popular with young people, wasn't it? Wait… they were carrying books. These were university students. And then it clicked in her mind where they were. The Northern Triumvirate University, the largest higher education facility in all of Gesmaura. It served the three nations of Gesmaura, Eskana, and Shiuma, cranking out thousands of graduates each year. So THAT'S the vibe she got from Tyressa. College town. Hana didn't know why the sovereign of sadness would want to settle down in a college town of all things. It didn't fit his vibe.

"Ah, I love this place!" said Zagiha. "Last time I was in Tyressa, I gave a lecture here… shame Nimhr doesn't work there anymore."

Hmm? Nimhr worked at the University once? Why?

"Would you ever want to go to uni, Hana?" asked Zagiha.

"Never thought about it," she answered.

Zagiha sighed. "Hana, you're getting to that age where you need to start thinking about your future. I think it'd suit you."

"You do?"

"Sure, you'd do great. Maybe I'll take you there once we're done."

So this wasn't their final destination? Wait, where were they going? Mica directed his dogs outside of city of city limits, through a thicket of dead, spidery trees. The atmosphere grew gloomier by the second, and eventually an undermaintained building loomed into view. It looked like a haunted house! Even if ghosts didn't exist anywhere else in the world, they definitely did here.

Hana felt a weighty pressure in her c.h.e.s.t.

So this was Nimhr's Temple. The energy here was totally different to Tyressa's. But why didn't he live in town? Did the people kick him out of something? If he made everywhere he stepped feel like this, she understood why.

Mica parked the cart and got out.

Zagiha straightened his tie. "All right," he said. "We're here. This place is about as cheerful as a coroner's office, but don't say anything rude."

He was one to talk!

He herded them up the rickety steps and rapped on the imposing wood door several times. No answer. He knocked again, and this time it opened a crack. A man poked his head out, eyes red and nose runny.

He dabbed at his cheeks with a handkerchief and said something in Eskanskaya, but upon making eye contact with Zagiha, his eyes widened like he just crapped a ton of bricks and bowed, switching to Western Gesmauran.

"Y-Your Holiness!" he stammered. His voice hitched, and he fought back a peel of sobs. "What brings you here today?"

"Just looking to catch up on old times with your master," Zagiha answered. He folded his arms.

The man's lips twisted up in a facsimile of a smile, like someone told him a joke and fed him a lemon at the same time. "You know Nimhr-sa does not hold audiences ever, even if it's with another God," he answered.

"Oh? Are you disobeying me?" Zagiha said with a smirk.

The man went pale and shook his head. "Geez, I'm between a rock and a hard place right now, aren't I?" he muttered beneath his breath. "N-No! Of course not! I'll let you in, but I can't guarantee he'll receive you."

And with that, the door swung open the whole way and Zagiha and Hana entered. But the man blocked Mica's path. "Hold it!" he snapped, dropping the tearful act for just a second. "No Workers. Only the spiritually pure may enter."

"Oh." Mica forced a smile. "Of course. I'll wait out here for you all."

He wasn't pissed off enough.

The door closed behind them and the man led the two remaining through the stuffy, overwrought halls. It was like a funeral parlor in here! Very few people worked at the Temple, Hana noted, and those she saw wept into their handkerchiefs like the man.

"Um…" she said. "Is everything all right here?"

"Yes, of course it is," the man answered. "Why do you ask?"

"You're all crying. Did someone… you know…?"

"Oh, no one died." He flicked away another tear. "Crying is what we do here."

"What?"

"Sadness is mandatory."

They came upon another door, and he opened it. Hana didn't know what she expected, but it definitely wasn't a musty staircase leading down into a dark, dank bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Your Holiness!" the man called down. His voice echoed a bit. "The God of Truth and Justice and his attendant have come to pay you a visit. Remember I had no choice in this! Please don't kill me!" And with that, he bolted away in terror.

Zagiha s.u.c.k.e.d in a deep breath of fetid air, and… wait… was he blessing himself?

"Okay," he said. "Down into the lair we go. Now, Hana, Nimhr's choice in decoration is a little… shocking, but don't say anything, you hear? Don't. Say. Anything."

Decoration? What did he mean? Did Nimhr have skulls strung up all over or something? She really wanted him to clarify, because they were descending now and she felt very unsafe.

"Wakey-wakey, old man!" Zagiha called out into the darkness. "I know you've been in bed all week, so it's time for a change of pace. Up and at 'em. Early bird gets the senior citizen's special… Ugh, it's so musty in here. Curtains… curtains… aha!"

Zagiha pulled back the blackout curtains covering the window well, and sunlight flooded in, revealing the contents of the room. It was a mess, and was that a n.a.k.e.d lady on a poster, smiling right at them?

Hana sputtered and blushed, looking around. If she were in a serial killer's nest, at least she wouldn't be dying from secondhand cringe like she was right now. P.o.r.n, p.o.r.n, p.o.r.n. The room was all p.o.r.n, as far as the eye could see! Ancient magazines stacked up over a meter high, walls plastered in nudy pics peeling down on top of them, the questionably sticky floor that Hana really hoped was from juice… this was what Zagiha meant?

"Don't touch anything," Zagiha whispered to her, not that it helped. She already felt contaminated. Forcing a smile on his face, he walked over to a lump curled up under the covers and shook it gently. "Hey, buddy. Long time no see. Love what you've done with the place. What do you call this aesthetic? A cross between a twelve-year-old boy and a s.e.x offender? You've outdone yourself, truly. Why not show us that face, sunshine?"

The lump, presumably Nimhr, didn't respond. Zagiha scowled and put his hands on his h.i.p.s. "You've been asleep for thirty thousand years. How are you still tired? I said. Get. Up!" He yanked the covers away, only for them to be deftly pulled back with strength far exceeding his own. But Zagiha still succeeded, as Nimhr could no longer ignore them. Cocooning himself in the blanket, the God poked his face out, glaring at them with beady blue eyes.

Up until now, all the Gods Hana met were very beautiful. Isaana was a stately, cruel beauty. Eleora was like a dainty fairytale princess. And Zagiha… well, her admiration for him went deeper than his boyish, c.o.c.ky charm. But poor Nimhr…

Hana supposed the man could be handsome, if he tried. But that was the thing. Nimhr wasn't trying at all. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, like he was a vampire deathly afraid to spend five minutes in the sun. His tousled white hair dr.a.p.ed down almost as long as Mica's, but it was apparent the length was due to personal neglect, not any stylistic choice on his part. He looked like he hadn't combed it in months. A bird could probably live in it—and—a bird WAS living in it! A grey bird popped out from the unruly maelstrom and squawked something that sounded an awful lot like "go away!" before returning to its nest. Nimhr's nose was too big for his face, hollow cheeks stained by tears. And most notable was how tired he looked. Deep circles blackened the bags under his eyes. Hell, the bags had bags, which appeared to spiral on endlessly like he was a raccoon that finally had enough and decided to drown itself in a deep sea cave.

Yes, as with all Gods, he appeared youthful—maybe in his thirties, at the latest, but that didn't trick Hana. She knew she was gazing upon someone very ancient and very weary. His aura was remarkable. He hadn't even said anything yet, but he already made her feel bad. She wanted to t k the poor thing right back in and read him a bedtime story like she used to do for her grandpa (may he rest in peace).

But Nimhr was not her doting, vaguely senile old gramp. Beneath his dull expression, the man looked absolutely pissed. And she had a hard time blaming him.

"Wow! You moved!" said Zagiha. "Really pulling out the stops for your guests, aren't ya, bud? Now, you know why I'm here. Why don't you get dressed and we can negotiate over a couple shots of vodka?"

Was this how male friends talked to one another? Nimhr didn't reply. He just continued staring at them in a tired, disgruntled way. And then it occurred to her—

"Wait," said Hana. "Does he even understand Western Gesmauran?"

"Oh, don't let him fool you. He understands perfectly. His speaking, however…" Zagiha snapped his head back at the elder God. "So how about it, Nim? When's the last time you were on the town?"

At last, Nimhr spoke.

"Since when you call me by nickname? Rude, rude Sasha."

Gods, his Western Gesmauran was terrible.

Nimhr spoke his caveman-like sentences with a deep voice in an even, measured tone. He paused every few words, lacking any semblance of syntax or respect for grammatical structure. It was… intimidating. He clearly was a man of few words, because few words were all he knew.

"Why so dour?" Zagiha chuckled nervously. "Drinks, yes? You love vodka more than anything. Didn't they call you God of Vodka back in the day?"

Nimhr sighed. "I. Do. Not. Drink."

"Huh?" Zagiha blinked. "Since when?"

Nimhr left him to fill in the gaps.

"… Oh, wait, did you quit after the Illunis Festival party last year?" Zagiha laughed and turned to Hana. "You should've been there!" he guffawed. "Nimhr got absolutely trashed, and he…"

"Shut hell up your mouth!" Nimhr bellowed.

His energy was suddenly a lot darker, if that was even possible.

"Of course, of course. I didn't mean to bring up your trauma." Zagiha smirked, basking in sadistic glee.

And it became obvious that the God of Truth and Justice and the God of Melancholy were not friends after all. It was more like Zagiha flitted around Nimhr like a mosquito while the older one barely tolerated his presence.

And also, it became clearer by the second Zagiha didn't know shit about Nimhr.

"But surely there's something else we could do," said Zagiha. "I'm feeling a medium rare steak… and a lobster tail with butter!"

"I do not like eat either," Nimhr answered.

"Well, what do you want then?"

Nimhr frowned, and he got out of bed, rising to his full height. He kept rising, and rising, and…

Hana froze in fear.

The absolute contrast!

What Nimhr lacked in his face, he made up for in his body. His velvet pajamas were unbuttoned, revealing a torso of pure, rippling muscle. He was huge and built like a brick wall, towering over them both like they were ants. The man was a paragon of virility; a prime specimen who did squats in his sleep, but there was no use admiring him. He was 203 centimeters and 150 kilos of done.

"What I want is for Sasha to get lost." Nimhr scowled. "You barge in without ask, insult home, insult Nimhr, and demand I be personal meat shield against hellish woman Kaatsche! So entitled as always. No! Nyet!" He loomed over Zagiha. "I do not have energy for talk to you. Do it yourself."

"Go away!" The bird popped out again, echoing Nimhr's sentiments.

"It's not for my benefit!" Zagiha snapped back. "I know you slept through the meeting, but war is about to break out in the country. You and I are among the select few who know the False One is real, and if this isn't resolved soon, they will destroy us all!"

"Unless he's the False One himself?" Hana muttered under her breath.

Nimhr heard, but rather than threaten her, he addressed her almost tenderly. Hist one with her versus his tone with Zagiha was like night and day. "Me? False One?" he said. "Devochka, you are mistaken. Nimhr, destroy humanity? No. Can't be half-assed."

"So you understand the threat," Zagiha pressed on. "Won't you do this one simple thing to save humanity?"

Nimhr was silent for a moment. He blinked, and then he shook his head. "Sasha is also mistaken," he said. "Nimhr will not destroy humanity, but I do not care if False One does."

That… that was a new one.

Even Zagiha was taken aback. "But…" he stuttered. "But you're a God of Gesmaura. We swore to protect our towns. You wouldn't even lift a finger?"

"I roll over in bed and put in earplugs," came Nimhr's scathing reply. "Death of mankind is preordained. I will not fight fate, because if there is no more human sadness, there is no more need for Nimhr. Then I may rest forever. Do not care if humanity dies? Nyet. Actually is good thing for humanity to die. False One is savior of all, human and God."

Neither Hana nor Zagiha knew what to do. This was the first time either of them met a God who was not only ambivalent toward saving the human race, but flat-out d.e.s.i.r.ed its end. Even Isaana, crooked as she was, shared their common goal of defeating the False One.

"All human is trash," said Nimhr. "But I will not kill them myself. Do as you please. You fail either way."

"You…!" Zagiha wound up his fist, but then it dropped limply to his side. "You're a disappointment, as always. I don't understand your reasoning, but I do know that if you decide to support the False One, I'll strike you down as well. I will not stand for the genocide of innocents."

"They die or they don't," Nimhr replied coolly. "Is good thing if they do, but not bad thing if they don't. I won't do anything no matter what happens. Now get out before I force you."

"He's useless." Zagiha took Hana's hand and sharply pulled her out of the bas.e.m.e.nt, storming out of the gloomy Temple to where Mica was, taking a drink out of a flask.

"Now what?" asked Hana.

Zagiha sighed. "I don't know. I had no idea that's what he really thought. But truth be told, if we can't get his help, we're at a stalemate. Kaatsche regards human life even less than Nimhr does. There's no way she'd let bygones be bygones and let me in her territory for the greater good."

"Have you tried making up with her?" asked Hana.

Zagiha shook his head. "You don't understand! You really don't understand her! If we step on her turf without her permission, mark my words. She'll kill you, just because you're associated with me. She's… she's… Nimhr is the only one she'll communicate with. If he won't reason with her, then we're screwed! Completely, utterly screwed!"

"Jumpin' to some pretty intense conclusions, aren't ya?" Mica wiped his mouth and smiled, almost amused.

"What do you mean?" Zagiha asked.

"If Nimhr doesn't see that human life is worth preservin', there's one simple thing we have to do to fix it."

"And that is?"

Mica's smile grew into a Cheshire-cat grin. "Show him that it is."

And, well, that was brilliant.

Except for one thing.

That was easier said than done.