2. The Wastelands

> “You may feel as if you have been forsaken, but no-one is ever truly forsaken, not where warring parties require allies.” - The Book of Psiology

The wind tugging at Athena’s overshirt pulled her to consciousness. She opened her eyes slowly, putting her hand to her temple to try to dull the pain. One downside of immortality was there was no limit to the amount of suffering the body could endure.

The sky was a monotone grey above. Rocks beneath dug into her skin. The air even had a distinct smell about it, not sulphuric, not quite damp, yet with a scent that lingered even if she held her breath for a few seconds.

She had been into the Wastelands once, when she was young. It was a millenia ago, but the misadventure had stayed with her ever since. The chase of the Hordes, the clawing hands, the look of hopelessness in their eyes, and the begging of other captives to take them with her when at last she was rescued by Gael. She had wanted to save them, not understanding at the time why it was forbidden. The smell brought it all back.

She sat up slowly and looked at the bleak horizon. How far was she from Jashard? Although, even if she had been able to see the city, there was nothing to be gained by it. There was no way back inside the Walls, not without the power from her followers. The followers that must have died by now, and the few that hadn’t would have turned to Lucathar before his cull was complete.

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of chuckling behind her. Athena stood quickly and her head throbbed again. She swayed and almost fell as she turned around to face the source of the noise. A woman with aged wrinkled skin and white hair sat with her back against a rock. Athena blinked, unsure how someone who appeared old could be in the Wastelands. As far as she knew only fallen Aeseri and banished Engella lived out here, and neither would ever age, no matter how they might crave the peace of death.

“Just got here, have we?” the old woman said. “I can tell by the look in your eyes. And because you weren’t here ten minutes ago. That too. It’s been a long time since I saw one of you appear here. Not many of you left, I guess.”

Athena stared at her. There was something familiar about her, something that Athena couldn’t put her finger on. She’d never met her before, she was sure. She might have been a similar height to Athena, albeit now hunched by age, but her eyes had only the hint of green that all Aeseri shared. Perhaps it was the light in the Wastelands that made them look that way, Athena thought.

“Where am I?” she asked. The old woman laughed again.

“The Wastelands, of course.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Athena nodded.

“Which way to Jashard?”

The woman lifted her head and looked across the horizon. There was no sun to navigate by; no mountain range or river to follow; no distinct feature to gain any bearings from.

“That way I think,” she said, pointing with a crooked finger. “More or less. I wouldn’t even think about trying to get back there, though. The Hordes gather around the Walls, hoping they might one day get back inside, the fools. You don’t want to end up in their hands, believe me.”

Athena shuddered. She still remembered her brief time with them. Dark caves filled with echoing screams; floors slick with blood and the eyes of her captives filled with lust for more. The prospect of eternal purgatory drove many mad, even fallen gods. The Aeseri could never die but their bodies remembered how to feel pain.

“How long have you been here?” Athena asked the old woman.

“By this rock? A few days, I guess. Maybe more.” Athena looked up at the sky. What time of day was it? How did one tell? The sky was an even grey colour, so it must be daytime. But for how much longer? She didn’t relish being alone here when darkness fell.

“I mean: how long have you been in the Wastelands?” she asked. And how did you get to be old, she wondered. Aeseri never aged, but she had never heard of any species other than Aeseri or Engella on the astral plane.

The old woman shrugged. “Not all that long, in the scheme of things. I never saw a reason to keep track. I’ve spent quite a lot of time here, in total, you would say. Waiting. Mainly waiting. You never know exactly when a certain thing is going to happen.”

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“You lost your followers a long time ago?” Athena asked, still probing. She had never heard of any species other than Aeseri or Engella in the Wastelands, but then she had never heard of anyone suffering the aging process either.

“I never really had any followers,” the old woman said, “Not in the way you mean it.”

Each answer was making less and less sense so Athena gave up on the line of questioning. Nobody had ever been born in the Wastelands. Everybody who was here had a life from before. It was just that she had forgotten, she thought. But then, nobody ever got old on Aeserus either, yet here was an old woman.

“What should I call you?” the old woman asked.

“Athena,” she replied without thinking.

The woman sucked air through his teeth.

“I didn’t ask what your name is, I asked what I should call you. A word of advice: when somebody asks you your name, don’t use your real one. Especially not if it’s Athena.”

“Maybe Athena isn’t my real name,” she ventured. The old woman chuckled at the lie. “Why can’t I use it anyway?”

“Because your reputation precedes you,” she replied, “How many of the Aeseri are here because you defeated them on the mortal plane, Athena?”

Whoever this old woman was he had a distinct advantage over her. She seemed to know her name before she even gave it, and she evidently knew her reputation.

“They’re here because they took the wrong side,” Athena said flatly.

“If they took the wrong side, then what are you the one that’s here?” the old woman asked, laughing again, “Maybe you picked the wrong side?”

Athena looked around, suddenly alert to the idea that there might be many here that despised her. How many, she wondered. Too many to count was the answer. They had all had the choice, of course, to join her, to add their followers to hers, to take a place within her pantheon; to pledge fealty. Some had accepted, but others had refused. Many had fought. They had all been defeated, and they were all here somewhere.

It was their choice, though. The same choice that Lucathar had given her.

She shook her head to clear the thought. The movement sent a twinge of pain down her spine and she winced.

“I won’t use my name, then. That’s good advice,” she said, wondering if she would live to regret telling the old woman her name, “Do you have any more?”

She chuckled again.

“I have plenty of advice, but very little of it will mean anything. Stay far from Jashard and the Walls for one. If you see the Horde, you run and you don’t look back. And if you find yourself alone at night, put your back against a rock and hope nothing and nobody stumbles over you.” She paused for a second. “Not this rock, though. This is my rock.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed again. “You’re not going to tell anyone I’m here, are you?”

“No, no…” Athena said, shaking her head. Who would she tell anyway?

“Good. Because if they find me, they might make me tell you where you are.”

“Who’s they?” Athena asked.

“Anyone who might bear a grudge against Athena.”

She already regretted using her real name. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps if the woman was old she was also mortal. And if something was mortal, it could be killed; it could be silenced. She could simplify this right here and now.

No, she thought. She was not Lucathar. Besides, she had no idea if it would even be possible to kill the old woman. The last thing she wanted was for the first person she met in the Wastelands to develop a serious grievance against her, especially if many others here already did.

“You better get moving,” the woman said.

“Why?”

“Two bodies attract attention.” She looked up at the sky. “If you don’t have the protection of a group then it’s better to be alone.” She stared at Athena. “So get going. Before it gets dark.”

Athena remained sat and stared at the old woman, not knowing if her brown-green eyes were staring at her or just drifting into a daydream.

“What should I call you?” Athena asked.

”Go!” the woman barked in response.

“Any advice as to where I should go?” she asked. The old woman laughed again.

“I can give you advice as to where not to go,” she said, “Not to Jashard, as I said.” She waved her finger in vaguely the opposite direction. “And not that way either. Not while you look like you’re freshly arrived. You’ll find yourself in the Cages, or sold at Market.”

“The Cages? Market?” she asked. What was the old woman talking about?

“Like I said: advice you don’t understand is no good to you. So I’ll keep it simple. Don’t go that way. Or that way. And if you see anyone you don’t recognise: you hide. And if you see anyone you do recognise: you hide even quicker, young Athena.” She chuckled again, but this time her laugh had a more sinister edge to it. “Now, get going. You need to get far away from me by dusk. For your sake, of course. I’ll be okay. I’ve got my rock to sit against.”

She sat back against the rock, let his head rest against it and closed his eyes. Athena wanted to ask more questions but it seemed unlikely she would get any answers. She had no idea whether the old woman’s vague warnings were anything but ramblings but decided she should move on regardless.

Athena looked up at the sky. Was it darker than when she had awoken, or was that just her imagination?

“I’ll see you again,” the old woman called after her, “Don’t you worry.”

As she looked up at the grey sky, then scanned the bleak, featureless horizon, for the first time in over a thousand years Athena did worry.