Chapter 42
The Tomb of the Gods was not as she imagined.
In books, it was depicted as a part of the Otherworld—a place of nightmares, a labyrinth with snares and spooks to keep mortals from entering or leaving—but it seemed as if this place was its own realm in entirety, a place of peace and beauty, yet just malevolent enough to ensure its own safety.
The tomb stretched on for as far as she could see, the light within the tomb dimming and fading to black at what she believed to be the end, or the complete opposite.
Perhaps that darkness was a void, a place that stretched on for eternity, yet to be filled with the bones of the gods that would come after.
“It has no end.” A voice called in the distance.
It was melodic and captivating, a certain edge of sharpness to the tone.
Nymiria glanced to where Teigh once stood beside her.
In his place was a woman. The same woman that stood at her bedside and urged her to rise, urged her to get up and embrace the pain of the power flowing through her when Phyona first removed those witchlocks from her back.
It was the woman she’d prayed to her whole life—the one who tried to reach her, but couldn’t.
Not because she’d been too weak, but because Fate had gotten in the way.
Nymiria felt Greia’s hand slip into hers, tingles spreading from the place where their hands met.
“I find things without an end to be mildly terrifying. The concept of eternity is one that not even our minds can comprehend. But could you imagine how Cadaith must feel? She is the only one who is eternal—she existed long before us and will exist long after—it must become quite lonely.”
Nymiria nodded, her attention focusing on the darkness once again. “Where will you go after this?” Though her voice was a whisper, it still echoed in the silence.
The goddess, her form diminishing, merely shrugged. “Where the rest of them go, I suppose. Into the void—the ether.”
“Are you scared?”
“The second death is always more terrifying than the first, little flower.” Greta said gently, giving her hand a comforting squeeze.
“But after so long being alive, watching all of those I came to love die, I believe that I am ready for the rest I have earned. It has been a very sad ten thousand years.”
Nymiria could understand the exhaustion.
Although she was still young, still within her first century of life, the weight of a lifetime seemed as if it would crush her at times.
Greia had watched everyone she ever cared for her family—her parents, her children and grandchildren, and even their children’s children—pass on. How she must have longed to join them.
“I loved him enough to stay with him, though. As much as I loved my family, I don’t think my soul could have handled leaving Teigh in this realm on his own.
” Greia walked to a stone bench, her delicate and mist-like fingers trailing over ancient runes that Nymiria couldn’t even recognize.
“He didn’t have an easy life, that man. And for years I believed that he didn’t have a heart or soul that was worth much.
He’d been cruel from the start, you see—always pestering me and belittling me when we were in school.
When we met again, all those years later, he took me in.
He gave me a home. And I do not just mean a home in the sense of four walls and a door, I mean that he gave me the security and protection that I’d never received as a girl. ”
“He gave and gave, not realizing that his generosity was turning to greed, until it killed me. And then he gave more of himself to bring me back to him. To me, it seemed as if abandoning him would not just have been unfair, it would have been a disservice to the man I loved, the man who deserved for me to fight just as strongly as he had.” There was a brief pause, her lifeless eyes moving along the large squares that lined the walls.
Plaques, Nymiria realized, perhaps capping the bones of godlike predecessors that were so ancient they weren’t recorded in modern texts.
“And he fought for me, Nymiria. Perhaps more than he should have. Just as much as your mate fought for you.”
That deep ache returned in Nymiria’s chest, her hands curling around the still-damp fabric of her dress. “Is that why you are letting me go back? So that I can fight for Aziel the same way that you fought for Teigh?”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
She didn’t hesitate. Nymiria was nodding before she was even able to rasp out the words that felt so thick in her throat. “Yes,” she almost pleaded. “More than anything.”
“If you wish to return, you must promise me something.”
“Anything—“
“Accept your godhood.” Greia said, the kindness of her tone suddenly stern.
Not in a rude way, Nymiria would say, but in the way a mother would scold a child she knew was worth so much more than the child believed.
Greia seemed to know where Nymiria’s doubts resided, for her gaze was still tender.
“You will not have all of the answers, Nymiria. I lived for ten thousand years and still was not able to deliver clarity to all of my followers. There are just some things in this world, my love, that we are not meant to understand. But I don’t look at it as being ignorant or unqualified.
I see it as us being real.” She shook her head, a reminiscent gleam in the grey of her eyes.
“Just follow your heart, Nymiria. I promise you it is not as corrupt as you believe it to be. I’ve known your heart since you were born, and it is one of the many reasons why I chose you. ”
“Why else did you choose me?” The words spilled from her at their own accord.
Greia rose from her place on the bench and approached her with such grace it riddled Nymiria with a sense of apprehension.
The goddess extended her hand, her fingers now cold to the touch.
“You try to see the best in the worst of all creations, Nymiria. Having a heart in this world, caring for things as deeply as you do, is the most difficult thing for a person to do. But you do it—even though you are scared, even when you are angry—you love. That is why I chose you. I believed that you would not hold bias and assess those who call for your blessings with love in your heart.” She smiled.
“But the fierceness inside of you, your willingness to defend the things you love and care for, is what will maintain the sanctity of your realm of power. It will earn you reverence. You are the perfect balance, Nymiria. The person I have been searching for to take my place for thousands of years—and believe me, I have met hundreds of candidates. But none of them captured me quite like you did. For someone who worshiped and prayed to me so dutifully, I would like to believe that you do not doubt the decisions I make. The others and I, we tried to guide you as best as we could.”
“The others?”
“Do you think that all crows are as naturally intelligent as the ones who assisted you when you suffered in peril?”
“You were the crows?” She chuckled.
Greia nodded. “Me and the ones who came before.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly, scrutinizing her. “All of those signs and you still were as reluctant to listen as ever.”
Nymiria looked up at the goddess, a sort of playful grin toying at her lips. “To be fair, I have a hard time believing anything anyone says. Don’t take it personally.”
They began walking down the corridor, passing by those plaques, Nymiria supposed, were carved with names.
Eventually, as they started nearing the end, the glyphs used became more recognizable, until they eventually were all in the modern text.
“If you want to go back, Nymiria, you must devote yourself to your calling. Otherwise, the Mother will not allow it. You must make your offering.” Greia led her to an opening in the tomb, into a room with an altar at the very center.
Upon that altar sat a God Stone that was far more pristine than any Nymiria had seen before.
Silver braziers lined the walls, lit with that strange-colored flame, their lights catching the intricate carvings along the stone. It was iridescent, unlike the ones carved from boulders in the corporeal realm.
“Make your promise.” Greia said, urging Nymiria closer to the altar.
“Don’t I need to bleed?”
The goddess shook her head. “Not here, my love. Here, in this place, you will offer a piece of your soul.”
It seemed simple enough. But even so, Nymiria had no idea how to begin this transference.
She did the only thing she knew to do when it came to the gods by placing her hands upon that stone at the center of the altar.
She closed her eyes, allowing her fingers to smooth over each dip and curve of the runes.
She recognized most of them. And while there were some that were foreign to just her touch, she knew in her heart what they truly meant.
Nymiria wanted to do something good. She wanted to carve her own path in the world, to create her own legacy.
And when the time came that she was to be laid to rest in this very tomb, she wanted to be able to look back on her life and see someone that had persevered and overcame the darkness she was born into—the darkness that’d set out to destroy her the moment she drew her first breath.
This was not just an ending. It opened the door to a new beginning, a new life that she would not be too afraid to live.
She imagined the life force seeping from her, pouring into the stone, spilling out and weaving through the universe like the roots of a willow tree seeking moist soil, gripping at each living thing in existence.
“I give myself to you,” she began. “I give myself to you. I vow to be the keeper of living things, to serve my position justly, without bias. I promise to love, to bring balance, and to protect the realm of power that is mine. I, Nymiria Morgan Celentas, give myself to the Fate that was chosen for me.”
A cold hand fell upon her shoulder, Nymiria’s body jolting just slightly. “As it was, it always will be.”
“As it was, it always will be.”
That hand that was once gentle upon her was now shoving her, sending her stumbling forward into the bright silver light that’d formed on the other side of her closed eyes. She released a shriek of horror and fear, grappling for purchase of anything to catch herself.
But she was falling.
It felt endless.
Everything was too bright and too loud. Prayers.
Hundreds of thousands of prayers, perhaps millions.
She heard each plea, each message of gratitude and thanks, she heard them crying and begging not to die.
Large booms surrounded her, monstrous sounds that she could only compare to the likes of cannonfire.
The light was fading to darkness, a thick and endless sea of black that was all-consuming.
It swallowed her thoughts and feelings, ate away at the fear until there was nothing left.
She saw him there, in the distance, leaning over a bed consumed in rambling ropes of green.
He was whispering to her, his eyes frantic and searching over her face with a mix of terror and joy.
His scarred hands trembled as he ripped the vines from her skin, untangling her from the safety they’d provided her.
She followed the sound of him calling her name, followed the warmth of the early spring sun and the scent of cherry blossoms.
Home.
And when the feeling of air filling her lungs came rushing to meet her in that dark, suffocating place that was neither the realm of the dead, nor the living, but somewhere in between, Nymiria smiled.
She was home.