16. The High Goddess of the Sea
16
THE HIGH GODDESS OF THE SEA
Finnian
The Present
Finnian’s feet touched down on familiar ground. The humid air hung around him, curling the ends of his short locks around his nape.
He breathed it in—the salt, the seaweed, the island flora. An ache split apart his chest as his eyes stretched down the cobblestone, winding alongside the palace and veering off through the garden entrance. Echoes of memories flooded Finnian’s mind: Father leading him down the pathway by the hand, Naia not far behind, or walking shoulder to shoulder with her along the palace grounds, plucking honeysuckle and nursing them on their tongues.
He rotated and looked out at the greenery beyond the palace walls.
More memories blossomed—roaming in the village, listening to Naia talk with a mouth full of sourdough, their excursions in the jungle, ending each day at the water hole, making up excuses not to go back to the palace; of Father and their nights spent on the abandoned cove, gazing up at the hundreds of lanterns that filled the sea sky.
His throat constricted with grief.
He straightened to face the palace. The moonstone structure glistened under the sea-filtered rays of the sunlight like a pearl.
Not once had Finnian ever considered her a mother. She was truly a heinous excuse of one, and it didn’t take him long during his childhood to abandon the hope of her expressing any form of affection.
He was in his fourth year the first time he’d snuck away from the servants. A feast for High Deities had distracted them.
He wandered into the palace garden, retracing his steps from earlier with his father during their afternoon stroll. Beneath a plantain tree, he’d noticed freshly sprouted lemongrass.
There was a curiosity within him. An indescribable knowing to carefully work the root up from the soil. He stuffed the herb in his pockets. They were overflowing when Mira found him, his face smudged and the lavish outfit the servants had dressed him in blotted with stains.
Her shadow loomed over where he sat, the evidence of his foraging in the holes dug with his dirty fingernails. She said nothing. And before he could hold up the herbs and display his proud smile, a strong force of water smashed into him.
It threw him back into a palm tree, his spine colliding with its trunk. The strong current filled his small lungs. The edges of his vision wilted. His skull throbbed with intense pressure. The impact surged against his limbs, on the verge of snapping his arms at the elbows.
The water relented. He slid down to the puddled ground. The rough surface of the bark scraped against his backside. He coughed and heaved to quench his burning thirst for air.
Mira’s silhouette stood before him. He blinked to rid the burning of his eyes. She came into focus, her ghostly gaze aimed down at him.
Finnian held himself up on quivering arms and glared at her, so deep he could spot glimpses of the turquoise shine beneath the opaque color of her irises. His fury was bone-deep and filled his veins with dread.
She bent towards him, the motion pulling her long silver braid over her shoulder and swaying in the space beside her face. “Place your forehead to the ground. You have disobeyed your High Goddess. Now, you repent.”
Finnian kept his eyes locked with hers, defiant. His fingertips curled in the soil, gathering globs of it in his palm to throw at her.
Too fast for his eyes to register, she cupped the back of his head and slammed it down.
His face struck the solid, muddied ground, crunching his nose. The sound reverberated in his skull and rattled through his teeth. Pain wept down his jaw and into his collarbones.
He wedged his palms into the wet terrain, straining against her hold.
In response, she crammed his face deeper into the cool dirt. Granules of sand coated his tongue, mixing with the metallic taste of his own blood.
“Know your place.” The loud ringing in his ears distorted her words.
She released him.
The servants rushed to him.
“Get him changed,” she ordered.
Resentment frothed in his mouth. The taste lingered on the back of his tongue during every insufferable feast he had to endure in her presence, when he introduced himself to others and they referred to him as Mira’s son.
His childhood and the handful of moments involving her were like a caustic echo. He had been free of them, of her, for two centuries, and yet, as he approached the palace entrance, that same resentment coated his tongue.
Deities began to appear like pinpricks, dotting the courtyard in a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Tell me, Little Nightmare,” Cassian started, casually stepping around him to stride along his left side instead of his right. “Are you eager for someone to one day challenge you to a duel?”
Finnian eyed him, warily, trying to make sense of his gesture that could easily be mistaken as considerate . They were about to enter a large room full of chattering deities. It was hardly the rowdy atmosphere of a pub, but the vast hall provided an echo, and his hearing would strain. However, Finnian refused to allow himself to believe the High God was expressing any generosity, because while they’d known each other for years, not once had Finnian ever shared the struggles of his impairment to him.
“I am the only one of my lineage,” he replied flatly. Such trivial conversation topics were pointless to discuss.
“As of now, but that may change in the future.”
Two guards held open the carved amethyst doors. Their attire was still the same—flowing white trousers, slick muscled chests embellished by foil-golden chains dangling from their biceps.
Time had apparently stood still beneath the sea.
“When that day comes, I suppose I will turn them into statues and use them as pillars around my city,” Finnian said snidely as they crossed the threshold.
The High God gave a small shrug, unfazed. “When you’ve dueled as much as I, the task becomes a chore. Since I put those who opposed me on display, no one has challenged me in nearly two millennia.”
Finnian ignored him and observed their surroundings instead.
The corridor was the same. Moonstone floors, sparkling walls, their edges and corners engraved with turquoise and gold.
The crowds in their path moved aside as they passed, recognition pulling their eyes round, enamored by Cassian, before quickly flitting them away.
Their awestruck looks faded as they noticed Finnian beside him. Noses wrinkled. Brows furrowed. Confusion muddled their eyes. Thin-lipped glares fixed on him, narrow and wary. Disgust. Contempt. Aversion.
Finnian had done well to avoid his own kind by isolating himself within the walls of his city, oblivious to the reputation he’d gained amongst them.
He was the first god born a witch. A stroke of luck. Perhaps a divine Fate by the High Goddess herself. Regardless, deities feared what they could not control, what they couldn’t understand, and since the dawning of time, witches had been the one thing truly capable of evoking panic among the divine.
Such a hostile range of emotions did not affect him. If anything, it prided him to steal away the limelight from Mira. She lived for duels. For deities to stock her palace, enthusiastic to witness the High Goddess of the Sea win another battle for her title.
Cassian gave him a sidelong glance as they entered the vaulted great hall, as if he could hear the unrelenting pounding of Finnian’s heart—uncontrollable, pumping in a frenetic, rushing rhythm.
He looked straight ahead, over the empty circle at the center of the hall, to the platform. Mira stood at the top, surrounded by her two attendants, the triplets, and Marina.
Cassian halted at the edge of the circle and stepped in front of Finnian, blocking off his line of sight to them.
He spun around, his face close to Finnian’s. Too close. Mint and citrus and spice wafted from him as he leaned in. The fragrance, the vicinity of where he stood, it all felt oddly familiar, rousing a need in Finnian to reach out for him—pull him snug, or maybe tuck back that godsforsaken curl that consistently fell over his forehead.
Cassian’s mouth stopped near the shell of his left ear. “Stay here.”
He swallowed and focused on maintaining his withdrawn expression, despite the flipping in his stomach. “Like I have a choice,” he drawled.
Cassian glided back, his golden eyes bright and surreal and flashing with amusement before vanishing, leaving smoky, molten tresses to twist in the air where he once stood.
He reappeared next to the High God of Chaos and Ruin, at the end of the line of the Council members joined in the middle of the circle. The pointed ends of two horns spiraled up from the skull of whatever unfortunate animal carcass Acacius wore on his face.
The sensation of moths clawing down Finnian’s esophagus haunted him.
A shudder ran down his spine.
He peered over the Council to his mother.
Her eyes wrapped around him and the blank expression she wore so well fractured, pinching her mouth into a scowl.
Finnian returned the visible trace of acrimony with a smirk, out of pure spite.
See, Mother, I can show emotion too. Fuck you.
Her frame seemed frailer, as if she’d lost a few inches of height and shed weight. The fat silver braid over her shoulder lacked shine. Coiling out from underneath the layers of her gown at the sternum was a blush-toned carnation, fully blossomed and lilting toward the hazy streaks of sunlight piercing through the skylights.
A touch from Father.
There was a twinge of something in her gaze, flitting away from Finnian and over those congregating in her hall, like a bolt which had come loose and trembled under stress.
It must’ve hit her hard when Naia broke her own curse. She could’ve easily employed witches and assassins to collect Naia, but the likelihood of their success was slim. Between Naia’s title as a High Goddess, her husband and child with their Himura blood, and the Blood Heretics, Mira had enough common sense to know she didn’t stand a chance.
Aware of the triplets glaring daggers at him, he shifted his focus onto each of them. A replica of the same face—cat-like eyes, button nose, round cheeks—framed by the same nickel-colored strands as Mira’s.
The last time he saw them was in Alke Hall the night of his charity event, paralyzed and covered in Ronin’s blood. Finnian had taken his time to repay them for when they’d ambushed him and his apprentices in the cemetery by allowing his ghouls to feast on them in their petrified state. Only after a few hours of the torment did he use Malik’s cleaver to gut his insides, one organ at a time.
Once they regained control of their bodies, they were quick to flee.
Marina stood at Mira’s other side, donning her black attire and sullen disposition. Her dark gaze leveled him, emotionless and intimidating as his own.
Out of all their siblings, Finnian’s appearance favored hers the most—a fact he despised. They both shared the same indifferent nature and dark hair. Each held an appearance that favored Father. And while Finnian had only crossed paths with her a handful of times because of their nearly four-hundred- year age gap, his hatred for her lived deep in his core from the heartache she’d inflicted on Naia.
“Mira, High Goddess of the Sea.” Iliana, the High Goddess of Life and Balance, addressed her formally.
She was positioned in the center of the line with her back to Finnian, luminescence feathering around the back of her long, black strands. The High Goddess hid her true identity with a chasm of white light over her face. Though, Finnian suspected all the Council members hid their true features with some sort of glamor.
“The Council stands before you today because Freya, a middle goddess of the sea, has called to challenge you for your title,” she finished.
Finnian had watched interviews on the news of sailors claiming the middle goddess had guided them through a hurricane. A couple claimed it was she who answered their prayers when they became lost at sea, changing the current and washing their sailboat back to land.
“Do you accept this challenge?” The High Goddess of the Sun stood with a firm posture, her stature strong, expression steeled, emitting an aura that made her unapproachable.
There was a brief pause. A snag. It was quite unlike Mira to falter in a situation that would typically entice a disturbing excitement within her. “I accept.”
She descended the platform, her heels clinking along the crystal. Her pace was unhurried, far from her typically ambitious strut.
Finnian barely recognized his mother.
Taking the final step, she scrutinized each of the Council members. Finnian had seen her stand before them many times with her pretentious ego on display—so condescendingly confident of her own power, obvious that she believed she could crush a deity of their caliber if they were to get in her way.
Now, though, Finnian could see it in the way she lifted her chin and shoved out her chest. The effort to appear more threatening than she actually was.
“Freya. Please come forth.” The High Goddess of Fate rotated with an outstretched arm, the sequins of her dress reflecting with the movement, like the way light hit a seashell.
The flimsy material exposed the valleys of her shimmering hips and shapely breasts. Warm, buttery locks cascaded down her back. She’d always presented herself in entrancing ways, but how much of her appearance was nothing more than glamor? Finnian imagined her to be a bony hag underneath it.
Freya emerged from the crowd, a buoyant cheer to her step as she took her place in the circle across from Mira.
Under the current of freckles on her sun-kissed cheeks, Freya wore a lively smile that Finnian knew would only provoke Mira. If that failed, her chipper aura of what felt like an optimistic child definitely would.
“The victor of this duel shall go forth as the High Ruler of the Sea.” The High God of Chaos and Ruin’s deep voice resonated through the hall. “Whoever loses must accept their defeat.”
Welcome to hell.
He suppressed another shudder.
“I accept the terms,” Mira said.
Freya bowed her chin in acknowledgement. “It is an honor to be in your presence, Lady Mira. Allow me to formally introduce myself.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I am Freya, daughter of a middle goddess of fertility and a middle god of wind. I, too, accept the terms. May you be blessed by the High Goddess of Luck today.”
Mira’s eyes hardened—two pools, bleached and chilled.
Finnian’s lips quirked.
A tense silence fell upon them.
The heads of the Council swiveled to the end of the line, to Cassian.
“You may proceed.” As the last word left his mouth, the Council vanished as a collective, their forms dispersing into silky ribbons across the hall.
Mira extended her arm; her sea whip formed in her grasp. A cylindrical shape of whirling water, slender and long, coiled along the floor like the tongue of a beast. Spiked teeth tore through its skin, ashen and covered in algae and bone.
Freya took two steps back, slow and calculated. Concentration parted her lips.
Do not let her push you into a defensive state.
Mira launched her whip, and it hissed through the air.
The muscles in Freya’s legs clenched, grounding her heels. She threw her arm overhead and the snake-like end of the whip coiled around her wrist. The teeth elongated and pierced through her flesh.
Take her head on and shut down her attacks.
She enclosed her hand into a fist and grinned slightly. Trickles of blood seeped down her forearm. The churning water of the whip solidified and shattered. Shards of ice scattered like broken glass.
She lifted her other hand, and the pieces levitated, reformed into sharp ice, and shot towards Mira.
Swiftly, Mira folded both of her arms up into her chest and the icicles halted. She flipped her hands and pushed them outward. The icicles melted mid-air and the water gathered, forming a large channel. She reached for the end.
Freya closed the distance between them with graceful haste before the water could solidify back into Mira’s whip.
Her weakness is close-combat.
Freya punched her fist through the spiraling chamber of water.
Mira dodged her hit and threw her foot out, landing a powerful kick in Freya’s gut.
Finnian’s heart pulsed in his throat. He kept his eyes on Freya’s footwork. She regained her balance, jumped forward, bent her knees, and struck Mira’s wrist. The water in her control fizzled and splashed across the crystal floor.
Draw in near and keep there.
Freya raised her hand right above her chin and her index and middle finger straightened together. The puddle at their feet assembled and sharpened into a spike. She thrusted her fingers up and it skewered Mira’s shoulder. The tearing of her meat and flesh carried through the hall.
She wobbled and her back hit a pillar. The crystal structure trembled. She gaped at the thick spike sticking out of her torso.
Finnian’s lips curved. Such emotion was a beautiful sight to witness.
Puncture her confidence by taking hold of the sea.
Freya looked up and reached both arms towards the ceiling. The chandeliers hanging above shook. Tremors traveled through the soles of Finnian’s feet and up his shins.
A large crack ran across the vaulted ceiling, and a surge of water burst through. Its rafters crumbled like rotted wood. Debris rained down across the crowd. Whirls of vaporous wisps filled the room as deities teleported out of the way.
Through the gaping hole of the ceiling, a vortex of the sea-sky violently churned overhead. It was like the sea itself reached down with an inexorable hand to devour Mira.
Mira rushed to evaporate the spike in her shoulder. She pushed her spine against the pillar and held up her palms.
The current slammed into her, its collision sounding a roar across the hall.
Mira remained upright against its force, her raised arms shaking against its powerful weight. An attempt to fight for its control.
Finnian’s jaw clenched. Of course, it wouldn’t be enough to knock his mother off her feet.
Hold your ground and do not let go.
Freya widened her stance and the muscles in her arms stiffened as she heaved her elbows up. The vortex of the sea screamed and writhed like a tornado planted between the two goddesses. Fish and kelp scurried against the push and pull, caught in the vortex's channel.
The languid force of water spun viciously, releasing Mira from its jaws. With fingers curled, the cords in her forearm flickered with tension. She pushed off her foot. The spinning body of water shifted in Freya’s direction.
Freya screamed out and took an unsteady step, and another, closing in the distance. The water bowed to her command and moved forward, back to Mira.
With the control of the jet stream tightly clutched in one hand, Freya tipped forward and threw her other arm out.
Mira jerked to dodge her hit, forgetting about the pillar against her back.
Freya locked her grasp around the stem of the carnation sprouted from Mira’s sternum.
And lastly, to create your opportunity for the final blow, reach out and pluck the flower from her chest.
Freya tore out the blossom.
The muscles in Mira’s arms rippled. Her chin fell in dumb shock.
Freya cried out and shot her hands outward. The swirling chasm opened its mouth and consumed Mira in a denouement.
A satisfying hum resonated in Finnian’s chest as he watched Mira toss around in the belly of the current.
Freya’s form relaxed as she spun in a languid motion, her muscles giving way to the flow of the sea dancing with her command.
It spit out Mira like a seed. She rolled across the moonstone and smashed into the bottom step of the platform.
And, like the tendril of a monster, the ravine withdrew back up through the ceiling and rejoined the sky.
The Council teleported back to their original formation, organized in a daunting line. They nodded their heads in agreement, understanding the brevity of this fall.
The Sea itself knew the winner of the duel. A cerulean current of water materialized over Mira’s head, circling like a halo, before rushing across the arena to its new heir.
Freya looked up at the small, divine whirlpool above her head with a grand smile before it dissipated, fusing with her being. A new High Goddess had been chosen.
With the duel concluded, the Council dispersed once more.
When she falls, you will go to the highest point of the room and declare your new title.
Freya dropped her arms and moved in a valiant stride across the hall, stepping over Mira to ascend the platform.
Finnian stared at the folded body of his mother—unconscious.
Whispers sounded like a struck match across the vast room, quickly becoming a communal murmur.
The guards stationed along the walls gaped in shock.
Freya faced the mass of deities, shoulders tall, staring out and soaking in her victory with pride.
She extended her arms wide towards the audience. “On this day, Lady Mira’s reign as the High Goddess of the Sea is no more.” Her voice rang loudly throughout the hall, like assertive footfalls stomping across the earth. “Today, you shall know me as Freya, the High Goddess of the Sea.”
An uncomfortable weight settled in the room, stiff and uncertain how to respond. Applaud? Cheer? Mira had reigned over the Kaimana Sea for more than three millennia. And she’d lost. Just like that.
And if you are there, Lord Finnian, may I thank you for the mentorship? I could never defeat Mira without your training, your knowledge of her frailties.
Back then, Finnian had worked for months with the goddess, sparring with her, guiding her towards his mother’s defeat. Their plan had finally come to fruition.
Freya’s eyes fell upon him.
Do what you wish, Freya.
The last of the memory played out vividly in his mind. He’d stood across from her, arms crossed, disinterested in her request.
Though, now, a euphoric triumph twirled in his stomach as he met her gaze with an acquainted ease.
“I want to express my utmost gratitude to Lord Finnian for his unyielding years of mentorship.” She gestured to him with her arm, her affection soft and apparent as she regarded him. Heads snapped in his direction. “For without his guidance, I would not have come out the victor of this duel.”
Eyes burned into his skin.
Off to the side of the circle, he caught the clipped twist of Marina’s head in his periphery. The sharp motion slung her dark strands against her cheek.
Malik’s glare carved as deeply as one of his scimitars. Finnian could feel it hacking down to his bones.
Vex and Astrid clung to one another, unable to tear their wide eyes from Mira.
Finnian acknowledged his student with the slight dip of his chin.
Another wrong made right.
His gaze jumped to Mira with a predatory intent. The memory of her looming over him in the garden as a child flared once again in his mind. The feeling of her sharp nails digging into his scalp. His hair wet and clinging to his neck. The harsh snap of his nose and the waves of bruising in his eye sockets.
Know your place.
A sinister anticipation tingled in his fingertips.
Footfalls broke the silence as a guard sauntered out from the crowd of deities into the circle, golden chains clinking against his oiled chest.
He bowed on one knee and lowered his head. “Long reign Freya, the High Goddess of the Sea.”