“The Bestiary God isn’t as nurturing as you might think.”
Teacher Sing-Song stuttered, unsure how to deal with her authority being undermined. I had no idea what she’d even been talking about, because I had been too busy staring at Aros. I wondered how much time had passed.
“The Bestiary God was created by the Original God to populate Topia with animal life-forms,” Sing-Song replied. “In a way, that made him a creator in his own right. A lesser creator, maybe, but one all the same.”
“You described him as a nurturing, forgiving god.” Aros was smiling, his tone as smooth as silk, his posture relaxed.
I was sure that he was mocking her. I just didn’t understand why. She moved to her desk in the centre of the room, shuffling a few sheaths of parchment.
“Do you have information to the contrary, Aros?” she asked carefully.
There was so much tension in the air; even the sols were tense, their wide-eyed attention switching from Sing-Song to Aros, and back. Was a sacred sol trying to say something bad about the gods? I never thought I’d see the day.
“Yes.” Aros sighed. He was acting like it was his job to inform us all differently, and he was sick of the task before it had even begun. “Terence—the Bestiary God, the Original Beaster, is also the Original Asshole—well, other than Rau, but I’m sure nobody here wants to talk about him.”
Cue multiple brain explosions.
Sing-Song was shaking, her arm raised to direct a finger toward the door. “G-get out,” she stuttered, her face now sheet-white. “I’ll not have that talk in my classroom.”
I guessed there were limits to the Abcurse rule on special privileges. Even if they were going to become future gods, they still weren’t allowed to upset the current gods.
“Oh don’t worry.” Aros stood, but rolled his eyes. “The gods won’t smite you for hearing my words …” He paused, waiting as his brothers all rose to follow him out of the classroom, appearing completely unfazed. “And I have a feeling they won’t smite me either.” He winked at Sing-Song as he passed, leaving the rest of us standing around, mouths open, metaphorical pieces of our brain scattered all around the room.
I walked out of the classroom in a daze after class ended, not even paying attention to where I was going as two dwellers jostled my shoulders from either side. I was shocked when they quickly dashed away from me—when everyone quickly dashed away from me.
“Abcurse brothers,” someone muttered, right before the hall completely cleared of people.
I blinked, still a little dazed, and found myself face-to-face with the triplets. Siret jumped forward, snatching the timetable out of my hand.
“She’s in 2213 next,” he told Yael, who stepped forward, grabbed the timetable, stuffed it into his pocket and then bent until he was on eye-level with me, his hands on his knees.
“Hey there, Rocks.” He was grinning, the deep green hue of his eyes pulling me in, and in … until the world was suddenly fuzzy and nothing existed beyond him. “You’re going to skip your next class and come with us.”
Of course I was. Why would I do anything else? I nodded.
His smile deepened and he turned suddenly, striding off with the other two. As soon as he broke eye-contact with me, I snapped back to myself, as though a frigid bucket of water had just been tossed over my head.
“What the hell was that?” I snapped, even though my legs were carrying me obediently after them.
One of them laughed, and Siret turned on his heel, walking backwards while I still walked forwards. “Aren’t dirt-dwellers supposed to be silent?” he asked me, his expression painted in mocking question.
“If we were always silent, how would we be able to say yes master, no master, everything you need master, every time one of you sols—” I cut myself off, hearing a gasp to my left.
It was another of the dweller recruits. She had been scurrying along the corridor toward us, but now she was turning and going in the opposite direction. Apparently, she was so desperate not to be associated with me that she was willing to be late and feel the wrath of whatever teacher was in charge of her next classroom.
“Our new dweller is gonna die,” Siret announced, snapping back around to walk normally. He sounded highly entertained. “I give her seven sun-cycles.”
They were discussing me like I wasn’t even there. And they were predicting my death. Lovely.
“Let’s see how far we can push her first,” replied Yael, a laugh in his voice. “I give her three sun-cycles.”
“One sun-cycle!” Siret shot back.
“One rotation,” Aros teased, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Teacher Christin is pretty lenient, so let’s see which one of us can push enough of her buttons to get the dweller sacrificed by the end of this next lesson. It has to be a death sentence, too. Whoever manages it first will win a single favour from each of the rest of us.”