Chapter 37 #2
Nostalgia has evidently recovered from Envy’s attack and retrieved his submerged weapons.
Since he hadn’t laid eyes on Sorrow when Envy ambushed him days ago, Nostalgia’s got no cause to pay her attention.
Instead, he adjusts his sapphire archery, then approaches the cheering clique that includes Delight and Bliss.
Another goddess sits at one of the docks, where she strums a lyre and hums to herself. Another god sketches in a journal.
A water lantern floats across the sea, coasting in the direction of Envy’s home. At the sight, a pang of longing swamps Sorrow anew.
Which is more overwhelming? Having him or missing him?
At any rate, the image of Envy in one piece is the only visual she can tolerate. To think of the alternative, of him hurt, mutilated…
A slender hand cuts into Sorrow’s view, an ice arrow poised between the female’s fingers. “I believe this is yours,” the iridescent ruler says.
Refusing to genuflect, Sorrow seizes the arrow with a harsh swipe. Refusing to express gratitude, she jams it into her quiver.
Calmly, the luminary goddess scans Sorrow’s profile. “What can I do to help you?”
Shit. Is Sorrow’s pining that transparent?
She snarls, “I want nothing from you. Not anymore.”
“I imagine that’s true. But don’t suppose this is easy for us,” the ruler cautions with delicacy, as though Sorrow still matters to this lot.
“Was it hard to condemn Love, target Andrew, banish Anger, exile Merry, torture Wonder, shoot Malice, threaten Envy, or compromise me?” Sorrow volleys, hitching her longbow onto her back.
The sovereign glances at the constellations.
Her expression grows remote, yet her inflection is tangible.
“Being a leader demands the ultimate strength of will. We need it to pass judgment, exact punishment, and endure. Yet it isn’t without its torment.
” She casts Sorrow a weary glance. “We don’t fight because we wish to. ”
“But you’ll crucify my friends if I don’t comply.”
“Being ordained by The Stars also means it’s our task to defend the lives of many subjects, rather than spare a handful of rebels. When all is said and done, exacting justice is our duty. That does not mean we enjoy it, but such is our destiny.”
“And what about inspiring your subjects?” Sorrow presses. “Destiny created inspiration. Destiny created choice. Doesn’t that matter?”
The female’s face transforms, flashing with confusion.
Her eyes veer to the sidelines, detecting company.
The Fate Court loiters behind them, witnessing the exchange.
Like this goddess, their quizzical reactions bear resemblance to the ones Sorrow observed in the Palace of Starlight, when she made a similar argument.
Despite their upbringing, they had exhibited misgivings back then.
It reminds Sorrow of the minute but renowned traits about these leaders.
The pale goddess paints canvases to combat depression.
The amethyst goddess pens verse, anthologizing every soul in this realm.
The female who wears iridescent gowns is a self-proclaimed guardian of animals.
The hawkish ruler performs random acts of kindness to his subjects.
The cloaked god makes the rounds, singing lullabies to children who have trouble sleeping.
These presumed leaders have fears, doubts, passions, dreams, losses, regrets, and joys.
They’re prone to double-standards and errors in judgment, as much as to wisdom.
If they make mistakes, they might learn from them.
Like any of their people. Like humans.
The goddess delays her answer, then lowers her voice. “Then convince us,” she challenges before joining her fellow sovereigns.
Sorrow wavers. Convince them how?
Flummoxed and no longer wishing to be the object of their scrutiny, she retreats in the opposite direction.
That’s when another feminine hand materializes, brushing Sorrow’s elbow.
She pauses, stumped to meet the countenance of Envy’s Guide.
Siren is beautifully curvy like Wonder, except with a penchant for wrist bangles.
The female might also be a tad vain, but she’s nowhere near as conceited as Envy. Growing up, Sorrow had been fonder of this goddess than of the god in question.
“Trespassing into enemy territory when your sovereigns expected an uprising in the human realm,” Siren recaps with an amused tenor.
“Ballsy, I know,” Sorrow remarks, giving the female a wry grin and accepting a hug.
“Goddess of Sorrow.”
“Guide of Envy.”
“I’m sorry to meet you under less than promising circumstances.”
“Not sorrier than I am,” Sorrow confides, pulling back. “Thank you for everything.”
For conspiring with Sorrow’s Guide, for informing Envy where to flee from the throne amphitheater. For taking the risk, regardless of their differing opinions.
The Guide’s voice loses its veneer. “Is he well?”
The inquiry grinds a rusty nail into Sorrow. “Last time I checked, he was.”
Last time she checked, he also despised her.
The mentor nods. “I know what you’re doing for him.”
Thrown for a loop, Sorrow hedges. “Who told you?”
“Come, now. Immortals talk. Your conference with The Court is circulating, as are your presumed feelings for my charge.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Banality aside, that sounds like a rather complex emotion. One that the Dark Gods aren’t supposed to feel.”
Her voice turns brittle. “I thought deities considered sentimentality a weakness.”
Siren grins blandly. “Not all of us.”
Based on the romantic tales about her friends, maybe Sorrow and her crewmates have been proving more of their kin wrong. Maybe others are coming around, even if they’re not publicizing it.
They part ways when Sorrow glimpses another mentor watching her.
Rushing toward him, Sorrow meets Echo at the pier by her house, flinging her arms around his slender form.
Chuckling, he squeezes her back. Thank Fates, he’s unscathed after colluding with Siren.
Whatever the case, it appears their sovereigns haven’t found out about that.
Nonetheless, Sorrow hasn’t seen her mentor since returning. She reels back and shoves him. “Where have you been?”
“What are you thinking?” Echo reprimands in kind, lecturing under his breath, his chin set in disapproval.
“Thinking?” Sorrow galls, her features knitting. “I’m protecting my friends.”
“By betraying them.”
“And I’m siding with you.”
“By going against what you believe in.”
Guilt punches a crater into her chest. She deserves this retribution and more.
Kicking off her boots, Sorrow drops onto the deck, then plunges her feet into the sea. In her periphery, she catches movement from a parallel dock, glimpsing the little god with painted eyeliner. He perches several feet across from Sorrow, his short legs lost in the depths while he surveys her.
Sighing, Echo lowers himself beside Sorrow. “I didn’t teach you to take sides. I taught you to unite them.”
She speaks to their reflections in the water, the surface illuminated by starlight and floating lanterns. “Is that what you want?”
“It’s what I’ll support,” he replies. “I side with fate, and I’ll guard it with my bow. But should we lose, I’ll accept a compromise, and I shall be willing to learn a new way.”
“Why are you here?” the child interrupts, his nose scrunching.
Clearly, he’s miffed that his efforts to help liberate Sorrow have backfired. Though, she can’t blame the fledgling for being pissed, since she’s just as enraged at herself.
Sorrow exhales. “Because I know what pain feels like.”
“Just as you know what healing feels like,” Echo reminds her with a somber expression. “Just as you know how to resist the former and strive for the latter.”
“I’ve seen enough mortal wars—”
“To remember that anything can happen, at any time. To know they may die on the battlefield rather than by execution. To know they may perish now or later. To know you can only do so much.”
Fair enough. However, death in combat will be swifter than by The Court’s hands.
Echo takes Sorrow’s hand. “You hurt your friends by turning your back on them. More so than by shielding them from the arbitrary point of a blade.”
Siren is right. News travels fast.
The question tastes poisonous in her mouth. “Even if it means a drawn-out punishment instead of a merciful one?”
To which Echo turns and frames her cheek. “I don’t have to answer that for you.”
No, he doesn’t. If Sorrow knows her outcast crew as well as she believes, the answer’s clear.
We’re all family.
As Merry’s words cycle in Sorrow’s mind, Echo rises to his feet, his braid swishing behind him. Though, he promises to return after convening with a neighboring group.
Left alone with the child, Sorrow casts him a tentative glance. This tyke has a rapport with Echo and Siren, considering she’d seen the trio standing together during her capture. Maybe that’s also why the little god had aided her rescue.
With that in mind, Sorrow ventures, “For what it’s worth? Thanks.”
The male inspects the starry flecks trickling from her lower lashes. “Cute. But my eyes are shinier.”
“Hmm. Maybe you can teach me that trick?”
With a snigger, he stands and leaps across the water. Landing on Sorrow’s pier, the child squats beside her and extends his hand. “My name is Faith.”
A wish god. Feeling inexplicably bashful, she shakes his hand. “It’s an honor.”
The voices around them fade. Winged silhouettes fill the sky, their collective cries growing in decibel like the loudest silver instrument in recorded history.
Rising on the deck, Sorrow and Faith search the constellations, moons, and planets.
“Whuuuuut’s that noise?” Faith draws out.
It’s a rhetorical question. It’s a well-known sound coming their way. It’s the commotion made by a troop of dwellers with prismatic wings, beaks as long as swords, and the ability to shift sizes.
In the mortal realm, such raptors make a grittier sound. But in this dimension, the noise is gracefully sharp, like an expansive wail. Something that cuts to the bone.
It’s a premonition. It’s a wild card. It’s a war tactic.
Terror ensnares Sorrow’s chest, a whisper slicing from her tongue. “Herons.”