The End, Regi's Goddess, chapter 18 (Patreon)

This is the fourth chapter in three days, so read them in order.  I have officially reached the end of the book. In about a week I should be able to get the first edits done, and then I will need people to dogpile on the Google doc to find the errors. I will put the edited Book 1 up at the same time so you can go back and refresh on that one if needed.  But for now, here's the epilogue.

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“They should have given you medical care in town,” Bevit gave a head jerk that spoke of her disapproval of Kowri medical services. Regi would rather avoid her judgment, but his injuries required treatment, and he felt safer with Bevit than he did with the temple exalteds.

“They offered treatment, but I preferred your skills.” Regi gave her his best smile.

A wrinkle formed between her eyes. “I have raised four children, and each had mastered disingenuous complements better than that before they turned ten.”

Dante snorted.

Bevit pointed her two forward-facing fingers at him. “You took several falls and were involved in a dangerous chase despite the weakness in your breathing structures. You will submit to the next exam.”

Dante stared, his eyes wide.

Captain Cota stepped forward, commanding everyone’s attention. “I am still confused about why the debate appears to have shifted focus to Dante.” His gaze flicked in his direction. Regi would have assumed the captain was relaxed except he had tangled his long fingers into a complex knot. He was upset, but given the situation, the concern was reasonable.

“The temple no longer has any interest in debating whether the crew should be eliminated,” Regi pointed out. That was a positive outcome—a far better one that Regi had expected when he woke this morning. Divashi had given them so much opportunity that they had nearly died of it, but he and Dante had come through with only minor injuries. Regi counted that a win.

“Now they are trying to decide if they have to listen to me as some sort of prophet,” Dante said. “News. They should not. Before the slavers took me off Earth, I had trouble running my own life. I certainly couldn’t be trusted to make decisions for anyone else.”

“An exalted is supposed to follow the guidance of the gods, not have answers at the ready,” Regi said. Both Cota and Bevit tensed. The heart monitor flashed faster as Regi’s blood pressure rose. He hated the way the others could dismiss the existence of Kowri gods even when the evidence was in front of them.

“It’s hard to ignore the guidance when we were practically shoved head-first into the back of the temple. I don’t know whether your gods are actually gods are not, but they are incredibly powerful, incredibly unsubtle creatures.” Dante looked at the ceiling. “And I’m still cranky about the kidnapping plot. Both plots. You can stop letting people grab me because it makes me cranky.”

Bevit and Cota both considered Dante with concern.

“What?” he asked.

Cota and Bevit exchanged a look full of meaning.

“Seriously,” Dante said, “I get that you don’t want to believe in gods, so don’t. But if you can’t see that the Kowri live with a very powerful co-species or non-corporeal partners or something, then you’re both some shade of stupid.”

Regi coughed loudly. Cota’s pupils had narrowed to slits, but Bevit appeared amused. “So,” she asked, “are they going to let us leave soon? This planet was beautiful from space, but even a cramped space station is better than paradise if you aren’t allowed out of the ship.”

“Most likely,” Regi said. He looked over at Dante who was now cooing at Peaches. The dop had killed an exalted, but Dante still considered her fondly. Dante might not believe the gods were actual gods, but he put his faith in them to extent Regi wasn’t used to seeing, even in Kowri. The last person who had this much faith in the gods was his mother. That was an uncomfortable thought. “Dante might not have intended to challenge at the temple, but the fact remains that he passed a temple challenge and with so many sacred animals presenting at the temples, none of the exalteds wishes to question the will of the gods.”

“I care less about internal Kowri politics than I do getting our crew home,” Cota said. “What can I do to ensure that? I had meetings set up, but I have received word that all of them have been cancelled.”

Dante looked up from Peaches. “They’re going to want me off their planet, aren’t they?” He appeared oddly delighted by the idea.

“They are,” Regi agreed. “And since the Coalition ship is here and willing to take you out of the Empire, that seems the most likely course of action.”

“Could we get permission to leave soon?”

“It could be imminent,” Regi said. If he knew his people, their inability to fit Dante into their construct of the universe would make them invite him to leave as soon as possible.

“I should talk to Ter,” Cota said. “I still wish I could have spoken to some of the exalteds, but given a choice of making history with the Empire or getting the crew out without any casualties, I think I prefer the second.” Cota abandoned the small infirmary in haste.

Bevit’s strip of quill-like hair shivered the way Peaches sometimes shook her quills. “I should catch up on my reports. When I thought we might not be allowed to return to Coalition space, I took that as permission to neglect my accounts.” Given that Efhtee had an almost religious belief in avoiding boredom, that didn’t surprise Regi.

“I hope Vk has completed ours,” Regi said. Like Bevit he had neglected his report writing to an unforgivable extent. “I should check.”

“No!” Bevit said sharply. “You have a head injury, and the brain is not an organ we can regenerate. You will sit in a semi-dark room and do something that involves quiet contemplation and no reading. And you may not be alone.”

“I can sit with him,” Dante offered.

Bevit snorted and considered him. For long seconds, she studied him as if judging his trustworthiness with a patient. Over half the exalteds believed or at least suspected Dante spoke for the gods, but Bevit was more exacting when it came to her patients. “If he acts odd, you need to call me.”

Dante nodded.

“If he tries reading or writing reports you need to call me.”

Dante held his hand up, his fingers arranged oddly. “Scout’s honor,” he said. Regi and Bevit both frowned as the translation failed. “I will,” Dante amended himself.

“If he tries to arrest any crew, trip him and then sit on him,” Bevit ordered.

Dante gave Regi a wide grin that showed so many teeth that Regi thought of a predator about to pounce on its dinner. “I can do that.”

Bevit huffed. “Regi, wear the monitor, but you can go with Dante.” With that, she retreated into her office.

“Your place or mine?” Dante asked. From the tone, Regi suspected the phrase had some cultural significance, but he couldn’t identify it, so he chose to take it at face value.

“My place has fewer dop droppings.”

“True.” Dante came to the side of the bed and hovered as Regi got to his feet. For a medically fragile species, he had more strength than Regi had anticipated. On the walk across the temple, he had learned to trust Dante to support his weight, so Regi put an arm across Dante’s shoulders.

“I might have delicious contraband that has not found its way to the proper incineration protocol.” Regi had never before offered to share his confiscated contraband, but Dante was a special case.

“That sounds like a date,” Dante said.

The translation offered a rush of ideas associated with “date,” but since Regi didn’t disagree with any of them, he cooperated as Dante helped him to the infirmary door.