Azvalath was the only one awake by the time Sothyrion revealed himself from the haze. He appeared as a tall man in a cassock, with piercing yellow eyes that hurt to look at. Azvalath dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Sothyrion, I beg you. Let us pass. We mean no harm.”

“Your companions are all safe. In fact, they are quite at peace.” Sothyrion looked down at him and smiled. “And your shapeshifter friend will not have to revert to her true form for quite some time.”

“What do you…?” Azvalath looked out at the water and saw a tall black fin cutting the surface. His heart stopped for a split second. “What the fuck?”

“Tevorac’s own soul is that of a grampus,” said Sothyrion, calmly, “but alongside it, there is another soul. A human soul. I gave it to her on the day of her birth, so that one day, she might find her destiny beyond the water.”

The killer whale disappeared beneath the water. Azvalath’s jaw hung open. He had no words to express his bewilderment. Finally, he looked back at Sothyrion. “Why did you stop us? Surely not to make small talk. We have never been friends.”

Sothyrion’s smile disappeared. “Correct. We have never been friends. And it took me a great deal of time to stop hating you.” A slight growl crept into his voice. “Though I still think I should have punished you when I had the chance. After all, you did kill someone precious to me.”

Azvalath stood up. “When that monster murdered my s…my companion, I swore that from that day onward, every disciple of your father would be my enemy. I don’t care if they think they’re doing the world a favor. I’ll make the world bleed if that’s what it takes to keep my family safe.”

Sothyrion put a hand on Azvalath’s shoulder. Azvalath sank back to his knees, suddenly exhausted and weak. Even a minor god could not be resisted so easily. “I do hate blood spilled unjustly,” said Sothyrion. “But if I must, I will. Now, as for why I stopped you, it’s because something rather interesting has come to my attention. One of your traveling companions isn’t telling you something. Something that you really should know.” Sothyrion smiled, as if he found that fact terribly amusing.

Azvalath looked over his shoulder at his unconscious companions. Then he glared up at Sothyrion. “Now tell me which one it is.”

Sothyrion glowered. “You know better, you insolent little flea.” He smacked Azvalath’s shoulder. “I was going to tell you, but now I don’t think I will.”

Azvalath mustered up as much strength as he could. “Now…”

Before he could get the command out, Sothyrion hit him again, knocking the wind out of him. Azvalath recoiled from the blow and nearly collapsed. A chill ripped through his body. Sothyrion looked down at him with resignation, then disappeared into the fog.

Azvalath gasped. His lungs were on fire. Everything was on fire. He groaned in pain, then fell onto his side, quaking as blackness enveloped him.

Azvalath woke disoriented and in great pain. He found himself lying on a bedroll. The mounts were tied up and dozing. Akyvak was curled up, fast asleep beside Zoromon. Tevorac sat leaned against a tree, silent and still. Only Perst seemed to be fully awake. He glanced over at Azvalath. “You’re awake. Good. They’re still sleeping off Sothyrion’s haze. I woke up first, but I don’t know what happened to you. You have the worst fever I’ve ever felt.”

He sat up. Perst came over and steadied him with a hand on his back. Azvalath sighed. “Thanks. Sothyrion hit me pretty hard, but I don’t know how that explains the fever.” It hurt to speak, but he forced the words out anyway. “I thought Sothyrion was a more peaceful god.”

“Things have changed,” said Perst. “And if he did that to you, it explains why bluehole water didn’t work. Might I ask why he hit you?”

“I tried to command him,” said Azvalath. He wiped sweat from his brow. “He told me something, but I wanted to know more.”

“As it happens, I want to know something too. Care if I ask first?” Without even waiting for a response, he asked. “Remember that story Tev told earlier? The one that made you cry? What was that all about?”

Azvalath shuddered. He grabbed his necklace and pulled on its cord. “I can’t tell you.”

“I think you can,” said Perst.

Azvalath narrowed his eyes. “Now stop asking.”

“All right, I’ll stop asking,” said Perst. “Now tell me the little lightningfisher’s name.”

The name slipped out like a fish from between a child’s fingers. “Kolo.”

To his relief, Perst looked confused. “I don’t know who that is.”

Azvalath relaxed a little. Then he remembered something Perst had said earlier. “Perst, how did you know that bluehole water has restorative properties?”

“I…I’ve used it before,” said Perst. “Broke a leg once. It helped a great deal.”

“May I ask you another question?” Azvalath locked eyes with Perst. “What are you really doing here?”

Perst shrugged. “I was bored. Stressed.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azvalath growled. His heart started racing. The pain in his chest magnified. “You want something else. Something like…Razaghal blood, perhaps?”

Perst’s eyes widened. He shook his head and laughed softly. “Oh, Azvalath…I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”

Azvalath took a deep breath, then replied in perfect Razar. “I think I know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

Perst nodded. “You too, huh? Well, let’s make a deal. I won’t tell them your little secret if you won’t tell them mine. Understand?”

Azvalath shuddered, unable to believe what he had revealed. “Deal.”