Hanging Softly Upon the Cheek of Night

[Breaker]

The wind writhed in the reeds outside the small log cabin near Ninyama Village. Standing partway up the slopes of the Shirayama Mountains, the village housed many buried secrets. But none so true as the secret carried by the man-god who lay wakeful inside the cabin.

Breaker breathed in. His chest expanded, lifting the frail form of the sleeping redhead beneath his arm. The woman had pale skin, not unmarred by scars. She was no warrior, but she’d seen her share of pain and madness.

Breaker breathed out. She gave a sigh as his contracting lungs lowered her body. He rolled his hips and slipped silently out of bed, but still she woke with the absence of his touch.

“Are you going to her?” McKinley Parish’s voice stabbed him in the dark.

“I am leaving you in prayer. My Thayne
Am’aleh has summoned me to her side.
I cannot breach her faith in me again.”

“This vacation was supposed to be about us...” Kinley yawned. “You’d better make me cheesy eggs for breakfast,” she mumbled sleepily, her head hitting the pillow.

He dressed in black trousers, a laced-front shirt, and his infamous metal boots. The summons had come in the familiar form of a deep-rooted yearning for his goddess’ touch. Am’aleh in her true form was a woman woven of water, and the slightest brush of her shimmering skin brought more pleasure than most mortals dared experience. Josh touched her deeply on frequent occasion, and had grown almost addicted to the bliss of worshiping his Thayne. Only, the cravings came and went with her whims, not with any form of regularity.

Josh navigated his way across the cabin despite the darkness, noting the outline of the pot-bellied stove, the table, the icebox, and other furniture. He paused by the door and finished buttoning the cuff at his right wrist, covering the adamantine bracer fused to his forearm. He had gained the permanent affectation in previous service to his deity.

The crisp mountain breeze teased his close cropped brown hair and played with the collar of his shirt, but the chill did not touch his bones. The demigod had long since learned to ignore such mortal discomforts. He did not feel the frostiness in the air that nipped at his cuffs as he strode away form the cabin, did not wince at the sharp edge the wind created as it changed direction. He did not bend to the elements; he was the Breaker.

The stars and sliver of a moon twinkled down from a canvas of ink, their radiance reaching through the wispy clouds that roiled to disrupt them. Tree branches groaned and leaves chattered, the vegetation sparse enough at that elevation that each bough had an individual voice. Stones skittered downhill and twigs crackled underfoot as Breaker made his way to the little stream that eventually ran to the sea. He sat at the creek’s edge and gazed into the translucent, shuddering shallows.

At first it seemed as though the breeze might have touched the stream. But then the waterway ran backwards, curling up on itself like a drying piece of bark. With the sound of a beer mug filling up the living liquid took a shape, that of a slender woman with a generous figure. Her hands took form, narrow and aqueous, and then seemed to help mold her face. She had keen azure eyes and a slightly pointed nose, and blue cherub cheeks. A gown of water clothed her, identical to her body and yet different in texture and shade.

Am’aleh looked up at him and smiled.

“Hello, my champion. You arrived quickly.”