Chapter 5
“Goddess,” I croaked. “They say you can see all the way to the mortal world from your window. I am Iona ter Wesha, called Iona Night-Singer. Do you know me?”
Wesha watched me unblinking, giving no response either way. But I hadn’t answered her question yet.
“I am the only one of your priests left living. I came to ask for a boon.” I’d practiced that announcement in my head, but I’d imagined myself with a lot more dignity, not rasping and bedraggled.
There was an ironic twist to Wesha’s mouth when she deigned to speak to me again. “You’re not one of mine. No matter what you’re wearing. I’d know if you owed me your obedience.”
“No,” I admitted. “But I was in Ereban three years ago to swear my vows when Death massacred your priests.”
It was cool in the marble room, and the fog outside obscured the sun, but I sweated at the memory of midsummer.
Crowded in with the other acolytes at the rear of the temple, our vestments a riot of varied colors and symbols.
All of us nervous to endure the presence of the god of flame, the mood shifting darker as the day dragged on.
The sacrificial fire in front of Death’s altar had been stoked until it reached the painted ceiling of the temple, and the air was thick with the smell of burning meat as Death demanded more, again, another, or I’ll burn the wheat that grows in the field.
When every animal in the pens had been offered, Death’s lion mask had turned toward Elantia’s small form where she trembled next to him, and the pinched expression on our high priestess’s face had turned to horror.
An echo of that panic coursed through me now, making me shudder.
“So, why should I give you a boon?” Wesha asked, tone idle.
“Did you see it? The war? Death scorched the world to ashes before he died, but we won. He’s dead. I avenged your priests—and you, goddess.”
Wesha shrugged, looking almost uncomfortable. “Is that what mortals say I want now? Revenge? I never told you to go to war.”
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek.
She was the goddess of mercy, of course she didn’t want revenge.
“Death took…everything from us. We sacrificed to all the gods for their blessings, but it was never enough for him. People went hungry to put food on his altars. Our country should have been rich, but his priests took more tithes than the queen and the other temples together. And at Ereban, the last sacrifice was the queen’s own daughter.
She was fourteen, and she went willingly, but…
I couldn’t allow it. I know your forgiveness is infinite, Maiden, but you’re also the patron of children. I knew you’d want me to stop it.”
I opened my damp eyes wide, imploring her to say I’d been right. If she couldn’t abide marrying him, how could I be expected to watch his priests bend a living child over his altar?
“Sounds as though you solved that problem on your own,” she replied in a dry tone. “No more sacrifices. No more death-priests. No more priests at all, including mine. You thought I’d be pleased?”
“I—your husband is dead,” I stuttered. I would have thought she’d be pleased after three hundred years. “You’re free.”
“Napeth is one of the Stoneborn. Do you mortals still fear death and worship with fire? Then the Allmother will rebuild him from the stone of the Mountain, and I’ll face him on this side of the ocean now.
Meanwhile, I’m still stuck here.” She turned her head as though preparing to stare out her window again, but then, remembering that I was still there, fixed her attention on me once more.
“I’m not sure you’ve improved things at all, mortal girl. ”
“Death’s still…he’s alive?” I steadied myself.
None of us, not even Taran, had spoken of killing him.
We’d only imagined stripping his power by defeating his priests and denying him sacrifices—not that there had been any other way to stop the war.
At Taran’s insistence, we’d sent messengers under a white flag to ask for terms, but none had ever returned.
“Of course he’s alive. He’s Stoneborn. Though probably unhappy to hear of his demise at the hands of mere mortals,” Wesha said, lips curling with some satisfaction at the thought.
She picked delicately at the fraying gold embroidery on her wedding gown, expression growing distant.
“Anyway. Your boon. Everyone always wants something from me—get on with it, then.”
Anxiety made my voice squeaky, but it was hard not to bristle at how put out Wesha sounded at my presence. “Maiden, I have followed your commands since I was six years old, honored you with the working of my entire life. I only beg one favor.”
The barn-sized girl rolled her eyes, for all the world like a teenager asked to do her chores.
“I gave my priests every blessing I had to bestow. I call the mortal dead to the Underworld and allow mortal priests to climb the Mountain. I don’t know what else you could possibly want.”
My breath came faster as I worked myself up to it. The other gods had abandoned us, and Death had tormented us, but surely Wesha, the gentle Maiden of all our stories, the goddess who sacrificed her freedom for peace, would do this one thing for me.
“Please open the Gates of Dawn so that I can bring Taran ab Genna home.”
Although she’d been like a statue when I entered her chamber, if anything Wesha went stiller at my request. I wondered how much she’d seen from her window.
“Of all the things you could ask for,” she said, rolling the words in her mouth, “you want one man?”
“He—he’s the reason we won the war against Death. The one who struck him down. And he said that at the end of it, we would reestablish the temples. Restore the blessings of the gods. Sacrifice to you for easy births and gentle deaths, to Diopater for rain, Genna for peace…”
Wesha did not appear convinced, so I spoke more forcefully, getting down on my knees on the floor to implore her. I’d planned this too.
“You entered this prison to stop the war between Death and the Stoneborn. Taran ended Death’s rule over the mortal world. Please, I ask you to send him home, but if there has to be a price, I would make the same sacrifice you did and more. If someone has to stay, let it be me instead.”
When she answered, her tone was a little tart.
“My sacrifice? Marrying the terrible lord of the Underworld is a little different from serving the goddess who blessed you, isn’t it?
” She turned away again, staring out the window for so long that I almost thought she’d dismissed me.
But then she glanced back. “Who is Taran to you?”
Somehow, I’d been hoping that question would not come up. The veil and layers of white fabric now felt very awkward, even if my chastity was mostly undiminished.
“Two years ago, during the war, we were betrothed,” I said cautiously, hoping that I would not be turned into a pile of dust.
Wesha’s dawn-sky eyes went even wider. “You were betrothed to Taran ab Genna? In the usual way?”
What was usual? Maiden-priests didn’t traditionally attend betrothal ceremonies, so I had no idea. My ring had been a hastily constructed twist of silver wire and the witnesses had been a ragged collection of teenage combatants, but Hiwa had told us the vows to recite.
“Yes,” I said, twisting the band on my left hand. “I didn’t have a dowry, of course, but—”
There was a quick shake of Wesha’s head. “What did he promise you?”
I was certain I was missing the point of her questions.
When Wesha’s straight, dark brows lowered in consternation, I haltingly recited what I could remember of the words.
It wasn’t like Taran or I had huge tracts of family farmland to negotiate—we’d just pledged each other all we owned, which in either case would have amounted to what we could carry on our backs.
“But he promised to build me a stone house with a plum tree by the front window,” I volunteered, because he’d added that at the end to make me smile.
“A plum tree,” she repeated as though incredulous, and I couldn’t tell whether she thought Taran had gotten a good bargain for me or a poor one.
She stared at my grimy mortal self for a long moment, eyes seeming to take in more than my appearance.
At last she tipped her head back and began to laugh.
Loudly.
The sound of her laughter was amazed, nearly hysterical, and it went on and on.
I squirmed, not sure what to do. Could she not imagine wanting to be married to anyone?
Or was this about my impertinence in asking history’s most reluctant bride if I could please have back the man I strayed from her path to marry, as he had unfortunately died in combat with her husband?
Her laughter rang louder and louder until it vibrated through the walls and floor of the white room at the top of her tower.
It rattled the molars in my skull and shook me until I could see the seams in the stone and a dark frame around my vision.
She didn’t sound at all like a person when she laughed—it was like a reaction from the sky or ground, like conversing with a storm.
I was about to fall on my face and beg her pardon for my offense, but just as suddenly as the noise had started, it ended.
“Yes, alright,” Wesha said. “You can have him.”
I had to blink rapidly to confirm her calm smile, not trusting my still-ringing ears.
“I…yes?” I said in another inelegant squawk.
Wesha lifted her left hand, examining the shining gold and fire opals of her own wedding ring.
“It’s fine with me. Bring Taran here, and I’ll let him through the Gates alive and whole.”
I nearly choked on my own spit. Where was the bargain? What was I paying for this? Where was the catch?
“I have to find him and bring him here. And then you promise I can have him back…just as he was, not a dusk-soul. And”—my vow to Awi tugged at me, and I belatedly remembered my choice of words—“you’ll open the Gates to the mortal world, so we can go back.”