28. 27 #2
The door to the altar was one of those off the main lounge, which was oddly empty. Today, it lacked the heaviness of the perfume and wine, the wafting of smoke and the promise of laughter.
Through the door, there was a set of steps down. It initially surprised me that they kept their God in a basement, but as we descended into the room, I understood it. We buried our dead. Was it not fitting, that he was buried too, to watch after those who had passed?
Inside the altar chamber, the statue of Samiscus awaited us.
I realised that every other depiction had him crouched in the corner of a painting, or bent over a crook at the side.
He was always a threat in the background, the inevitability of Death looming over a glorious painting of Love tussling with War, or the Sea meeting the Moon.
He was a stain, a goblin, a harbinger of evil.
Here, he stood tall, seven feet high with an extra foot from the plinth he was mounted atop.
The carver had him looking down at us. His expression was calm, and his arms were open, as if waiting for a child to run into his arms for a hug.
His hair was long, as it was often depicted to be, but there was nothing unkind or unwelcoming to his appearance.
His robes were frequently painted as black, his hair to match.
But here, with the whole carving in marble, he could have been wearing any colour.
Around him, ten-foot high walls and sconces with dyed red candles circled him. At his feet, more candles melted into pools of lurid pinkish-red.
Fella got to her knees a few feet from him, and relit a clay plate holding incense. She kept her head bowed.
I bowed my head to him, out of respect. He might not have been my chosen god, but he was one of the Ten, and deserved my respect.
“He looks different here,” I murmured.
Fella did not keep her voice low. She straightened and grinned at me. “Taller?”
I laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. But also… paternal?”
She smiled. “He is, to us.”
I stared at the carving. I could have sworn the candles were flickering, but there was no window nor cause for a draft. Fella was his devotee; perhaps he spoke to her down here.
The woman reached out and touched his most outstretched hand. The candles flickered again.
“Can I ask what brought you here?” I said.
Fella dropped the contact with the stone, and turned to me. Her expression was hard to read. “What damaged me so much, you mean?”
I winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
Fella heard my unasked question. “How about this, Ekrissian?” Her nostrils flared with a challenge. “You tell me your wounds, and I’ll tell you mine.”
It was a wager of sorts, and I could tell she didn’t fully mean it. She didn’t expect me to open myself up to her scrutiny. But, in the presence of this God, when I had asked her a painful question, it was surely only penance to lay myself bare.
“I warn you,” I started. “It’s not very interesting.”
She did not look away. “Pain is always interesting.”
I stared at the wall to avoid the intensity of Fella’s gaze.
“I was conceived in the Festival of Love.” I glanced back, and Fella didn’t look surprised.
There were so many of us born that year: Ekris’ blessing of fertility.
A spike of thousands of babies: many unwelcome.
“My parents hadn’t been trying to fall pregnant.
They weren’t married, maybe they never would have married.
When I was born a girl, and a small one at that, they weren’t happy about it. ”
I cleared my throat and continued. “I was ten when my father told me they wished they’d drowned me in the river when they had the chance. That I was good for nothing.”
Fella said nothing, and I was grateful for it.
“Most of the time, I didn’t exist. There was nothing set aside for me; no time, no teaching, no dowry.
I was twelve when my mother slapped me so hard I saw stars for dropping half a dozen eggs.
By thirteen, I had five younger siblings, all brothers.
Boys who could work the land, and had value.
My father only remembered I existed when a richer farmer’s wife died.
He thought he’d pitch me as a replacement and get himself a good deal on his wheat at the same time.
I ran away on my fourteenth birthday.” I finished my story quickly.
“I arrived in Dytho barely literate, and with nothing.”
I smiled at Fella, swinging my arms together awkwardly after retelling my embarrassingly provincial life history.
She grimaced. “Where did you go?”
“Yona found me wandering on the streets.” At Fella’s narrowed brow, I explained. “She’s a brothel owner.”
Fella’s eyes widened and she took a step towards me.
I forced myself to swallow and hold up my hands.
“No, nothing like that. She fed me for a couple of days, and then dropped me off at the House of Merriment, begging them to take me in.” I shrugged.
“They refused. They said I had already lost the childish joy that the God Gigysus looked for. So Yona took me to Talia, and asked her to shelter me as a ward. She took me to speak to Ekris, and he… accepted me.”
Fella didn't look much less concerned. "That's fucked. You were a kid. Ekris should never have taken you."
My fingers clenched against my palm. "I didn't feel like a kid."
She scoffed. "I'm sure he told you how mature you were for your age."
My heart pounded, not wanting to admit how close that was to home.
I blinked several times, trying to will the feeling away.
Ekris hadn't used me, I told myself. He had saved me.
It was a roof over my head in a dangerous city.
I hadn't worked until I was of age. But all the usual comforts rang hollow in my skull. I hated how it sounded.
Fella's sneer loosened, and she sighed, leaning back against the wall. Her arms at her side and pulled out a silver flask. She unscrewed it and swigged a mouthful of the stuff. “I’m sorry you had such shitty parents.”