Chapter 14
The temple has changed while I wasn’t looking. More thrones have appeared, floating in orderly, concentric tiers behind the ten more massive ones at the center. Enough, I’m guessing, that all eighty Maiwurian gods must now be present behind the veils of their thrones.
The very thought unnerves me. I no longer like it when I can’t see the actions of the gods.
Thankfully, their godsworn are all there, and they’re standing now, instead of kneeling, silent witnesses to the proceedings.
“Well, then,” I say aloud once I take full stock of the changes. “Do any of you plan to reveal yourselves, or are you going to remain hidden this entire meeting?”
“We did not wish to disturb you, Angoro Deka….” The answer arrives almost as a wave, rippling from one throne to the other. “We have been waiting for you. We have always been waiting for you.”
Power crackles as the veils slide back from the thrones and the gods finally reveal themselves. I glance from one to the other, unimpressed. There they are, those divine white gazes I know so well, only this time, they’re set in skin of all different colors, from the usual human shades of brown, yellow, and pink to the shimmer of rainbows or even distant stars. Robes sewn from molten lava and ice sparkle alongside those made of petals, or rainbows, or even wind. There’s so much variety, so much to look at, I don’t know where to turn next.
When the gods speak again, it comes as a single, clearly vocalized thought. “Angoro Deka, we are honored to have you with us here today. Come forward, that we may receive you.”
I turn to Mother and she nods. “Go to them, Deka,” she says softly. “Speak with them. In them, you will find the allies you need for your upcoming task.”
At her words, a thousand questions rise up inside me, horrible suspicions as well. But I suppress them and do as Mother advised. Once I’m near the thrones, I stand as proudly as I can. I spent nearly a year bowing and scraping before the Oteran gods, and they used that subservience to take as much from me as they could. I refuse to do so here.
“I would like to speak to Sarla,” I say, turning back to the wisdom throne, which has somehow appeared center to my gaze.
Mother is once again kneeling beside it, those flames on her hems dancing until they become real flames—a furnace surrounding her. That furnace is a symbol. While Mother may kneel next to the throne of wisdom, the flames surrounding her show that she is also godsworn to Baduri, the small, plump red goddess of hearth and home who I’m certain I see in flashes from the corner of my eye. Unlike the other gods, Baduri seems to be content fading into the background, as much a part of the scenery as the walls made of light and the thrones floating inside them.
But she’s not my concern; Sarla is.
I return the full force of my attention to the wisdom throne.
The god who emerges from behind its veil is neither male nor female, nor any type of gender I can discern. They’re almost like a void, so austere compared to the other gods, it would be easy to overlook them. Their skin is the same pale shimmer as their godsworn, and their eyes gleam as white as the midwinter snow. I carefully avoid looking into them, knowing that some gods enjoy trapping others with their gaze, Etzli being a prime example.
“We are Sarla,” the god says, their words replicated by every other god in the room. It’s somehow both a whisper and a roar, and the sound rattles my bones.
I glance around, unnerved. “You all speak as one?”
“We are one,” Sarla insists—alone this time. “Merely different facets—”
“—of the same—” another god continues.
“—being,” all the gods finish as one.
“So you have not separated yourselves from each other like the Gilded Ones and the Idugu,” I say. “You did not sever into two.”
Sarla shakes their head.
“There is no true difference between severed and unsevered,” they reply. “There is only balance. The natural and divine order.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“The gods of Otera thought themselves above humans, above equus and ebiki, above the beasts in the field, the plants, above dust, above all sentient beings—even above this world itself. They forgot that we are all one, and each of us is all.” These words are a declaration, an earthquake shattering through my bones. I can feel it rumbling through me, penetrating to the very core of me.
It’s all I can do to remain upright under the power.
And yet, my thoughts whirl. Everything the gods just said contradicts what I know. At least, what I thought I knew. “So you mean that the severing of the Oteran gods was not what caused them to fall?”
The gods shake their heads in tandem. “Male, female, yandau—all the other iterations. There is no difference, all merely countless expressions of the same thing. God and mortal. Immortal and man. Person and planet. All part of the Greater Divinity. The natural order. This is the understanding the gods of Otera forgot. And when we tried to remind them, they attempted to war against us and to prey on those we serve.”
I frown. Serve. No god I’ve ever met in Otera has used that word. Even the utterance of it is unthinkable. But the gods of Maiwuri, it seems, use it purposefully. They believe they serve. Not lead, not protect, not oversee. Serve.
I let this knowledge sit with me.
The gods continue. “It is also the reason we created the Great Barrier.”
I blink. “The Great Barrier?”
“A veil, protecting Maiwuri from Otera, shielding it so Otera’s gods would never again turn their gazes here.”
I remember that rainbow shimmer I saw coating the sky. The one I just glanced at and then immediately forgot about.
But perhaps that is by design.
I snort, my awe dissipating as I understand. “So instead of stopping them, you ran like cowards and put up a barrier leaving the rest of the world to suffer?”
There is a pause as the gods process this insult. Then Sarla speaks again. “Corruption,” they say. “It spread from the gods to their children to the humans, to Otera itself. Had we remained, it would have infected us, driven us to treat those we serve the way our Oteran kin treated everyone around them. So we chose to protect Maiwuri, for the sake of the entirety of Kamabai.”
“Kamabai?” I’ve heard the word before, but I’m not certain what it means.
“This world. The twelve continents. Four in Otera, eight in Maiwuri. All together, they make up Kamabai.”
Suddenly, I feel weak. “Twelve continents…”
My legs—my entire body—is boneless from the revelation.
The world is so much bigger than I’d imagined. So much bigger…And the Gilded Ones knew. All the while, they knew. How much more about the world have they kept from me? From everyone around them?
I have to breathe deeply to return my attention to the present.
I glance at Sarla again, careful not to meet their gaze. “All right, so you created a barrier. What’s changed? Why bring me here now?” The Maiwurian gods can say all the pretty things they like, but they want something from me.
Whether I will give it to them, however, remains to be seen.
A small thunderstorm wreathes Sarla’s head, visible manifestation of their anguish.
Gods don’t feel the way we do and, as a result, don’t display their emotions in the same way. When a mortal is sad, they cry. When a god is sad, hurricanes drown entire villages.
The deity of wisdom continues: “The corruption of the Oterans has infected the world itself. Those shadow vales—they are only a taste of what is to come. And they’re encroaching ever closer on Maiwuri. There are many more than you saw, created by both Oteran pantheons.”
“Countless,” the other gods echo.
“Countless?” I repeat, my mouth suddenly dry.
All this time, I’ve been thinking there were only one or two. And that they were all created by the Idugu. But if there are countless shadow vales being created by both sets of gods, that means those gods are consuming sacrifice on an unimaginable scale. One even White Hands’s army won’t be able to affect, much less end.
I’ve been so naive, thinking the Oteran gods were enfeebled enough that White Hands and a few allied forces could stop them in the event that I became too weak to fight. But if there are that many vales…
Suddenly, I think of the darkness lurking behind this temple. The darkness that is now very obviously a shadow vale. Doubtless, the Maiwurian gods wanted to show me the consequences for the people here if I refuse their requests.
The consequences for people all across the world, across Kamabai.
“The vales are a sign,” Sarla says, nodding their head as if they’re reading my mind. “A foreshadowing of things to come.”
Something about their words strikes deep inside me. That premonition, the one I’ve had again and again. For the first time, I don’t look away from Sarla’s endless gaze as they explain, “The very fabric of this realm is coming apart. This world, as we know it, will soon cease to exist. A few years, perhaps even a few months. The actions of the Oterans endanger not only their empire but the entirety of Kamabai as well.”
After Sarla finishes speaking, I remain as I am, letting their words wash over me, sink into me. So it is true. The inkling I’ve had, the thing that I’ve feared all this time—it’s a reality. The world truly is ending.
And yet, somehow, I’m not panicked by this fact.
I suppose I’ve suspected it for so long, I’ve had time to get used to the eventuality. Which is why I turn back to Sarla, anger now erupting. “So let me see if I understand correctly. You want me to risk my life by killing the gods of Otera so you don’t risk your own. These are the very same gods you allowed to brutalize Otera for centuries while you hid behind your little barrier. The very same gods you didn’t stop when they strayed from the path—that’s what you’re telling me?”
I give a short, bitter laugh, amazed at the gall of these pious, ethereal-seeming creatures. For a moment there, I almost thought they were different. That they were better than the gods I knew. But deities, it seems, are similar everywhere—only ever concerned with their own survival and petty rivalries.
To their credit, the gods of Maiwuri don’t even bother denying it. When they reply, they do so as a collective. “Untold millions—billions of souls—depend on us, even those in Otera. As the pantheons there have abandoned their duties in their quest for more and more power and sacrifice, we are the ones who step into the void, who fulfill their duties—a feat that requires the birth of ever more fledgling gods to compensate.
“For now, all we can do is power the Great Barrier and keep the entirety of Kamabai, our world, from imminent collapse. But if we enter into a fight with the Oterans, all these efforts will be for naught. We will be corrupted, as will everything else. The world will end, and us with it.”
“But gods don’t die,” I retort. “At least, as long as someone like me doesn’t end them.”
“We, do, however, disperse,” Sarla corrects. “Only to form again. As does every living thing eventually. But that takes centuries across light and time. And by then the existence that we call Kamabai will be lost…. This lifetime may be fleeting, but it is precious nonetheless, and we would like to preserve it. And that is why we ask your aid, Angoro.”
Sarla rises now. Then they do something startling—they sink to their knees. A rustling sounds in the chamber as all the other gods do the same.
I watch them all, mouth agape, as they say in unison, “We beseech you, Angoro Deka—fulfill your purpose. End the Oterans. Save Kamabai. Save us all.”
“Save us all…” The words repeat around the hall, a reverberant plea that sinks deep into my bones.
I’m in such a state of shock now, it takes me moments before I can gather my thoughts again. “But I need my kelai,” I say, returning to the question that drove me all the way here, to this strange, floating place in a strange ocean leagues upon leagues away from my own. “Where is it? Do you have it here?”
Sarla shakes their head. “We do not.” But as I stiffen, panic already rising, they turn to my mother, who has been watching the scene, agitated, and gesture. “Umu, however, knows where to find it. Umu?” they beckon. “You should explain to Deka how you came to join us. And how you came to be as you are.”
“As she is?”
I watch, confused, as Mother walks over to me, then slowly begins unfastening her hood and cloak. “Now, Deka,” she says, “I want you to remember one thing: I’m here. That’s all you need to know, is that I’m here. I’m still me.”
“What?” I frown, confused by her words. “What are you talking about—”
And then she removes her outer garments, showing what I didn’t realize she was concealing all this while.
And I begin screaming.