“This can’t be right,” she said, more to herself than to EJ. “I have a life, or I had one. I was about to go away with Aruendiel. I’m learning to be a magician. I was a High Priestess although not anymore. I’ve cured the sick. I can speak four languages. Well, three and a half. I know almost every sonnet John Donne wrote by heart. I’ve had boyfriends, I’ve been married although it ended badly. I had a life, not perfect, but it was interesting, I liked it, and now it’s over, and I’m back in high school for eternity?”
“I’m sorry,” EJ said sadly. “I know this isn’t easy. You don’t have to stay in this classroom forever.”
“Oh, I’m not going to,” Nora said. “I’m going back somehow—I’m going to find Aruendiel, even if I have to wear a sheet and haunt—”
“Nora,” someone said behind her, loudly enough to startle her. There was something experimental about the way this person, a woman, pronounced her name, as though she had not spoken it aloud before. “Nora?”
The person who spoke looked oddly, vividly out of place in the fluorescent-lit classroom. She wore a long, shabby gown, blue-gray, the kind that peasant women wore in Aruendiel’s world. Her black hair was piled on her head in an untidy nest. Her feet were bare. Her smoke-colored eyes, set in a handsome, bony, anxious face, peered at Nora with a slightly unnerving intensity.
“That’s me,” Nora said carefully. “Who are you?”
“You might call me Warigan, but my name really doesn’t matter. I’m here because of Aruendiel.”
The sudden, wild surge of hope she felt was like being alive again. “He sent you?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here.” Warigan gave a private, lightning grin. “But I have some license in the kingdom of the dead, not being alive myself. He wouldn’t have thought to send me, but I’m here on his behalf.”
“He’s not dead?”
“Well, not at the moment,” Warigan said. “She is trying to kill Aruendiel. Unless he kills her first.”
“Oh, it’s not worth fighting her,” Nora said. Aruendiel’s life, any life, seemed almost infinitely precious and fragile from where she stood now. “Tell him it’s not worth it. Except,” she finished sadly, “he would never listen.”
“Probably not,” Warigan said. “I don’t know who will prevail. She’s stronger than he is. But it was foolish to kill you. She lost all influence over him.”
She added, with some severity, “Aruendiel should have told you sooner that she’s not a goddess. I knew she wasn’t, from my first glimpse of her. He was too cautious, and he is no good at being cautious. He was afraid of what she knows.” She smiled again with abrupt fierceness. “And afraid of what she might do to you.”
“With good reason, as it turned out,” EJ said. The window framed one clear brown eye so large that it looked almost inhuman, like something from deep under the sea. “Who are you? You’re not a kind of ghost I’ve ever seen before. And I’ve never seen you in the lives touching Nora’s—”
“But I feel as though I should know you,” Nora interjected, staring at the other woman. “There’s something—”
“Oh, I was long gone and safely buried. Aruendiel woke me up—not meaning to, of course,” the woman said with a jerk of her head. A strand of dark hair fell down. “And here I am. But I must be quick now. Aruendiel has a timestone. Do you know what that means, Nora?”
Nora gave a quick, excited gasp. (Still haven’t forgotten how to breathe, she noted.) “He’s going to go back in time to save my life.”
“That’s not how a timestone works,” Warigan snapped. “It reverses time. When all the stored time in a timestone is released at once, everything close at hand is pushed into the past.”
It seemed counterintuitive. “Why not the future?” Nora asked.
“Huh.” EJ’s giant eye squinted with concentration. “That’s really interesting. I mean, it could theoretically go in any direction in time. Forward, back, up, or down. But the whole thing is so unstable. It actually takes less energy to go back in time instead of forward. That’s really wild.”
“Up or down?” Nora asked.
“Holy shit, Nora, this could really work. You could go back.”
“You’re missing the point, both of you,” Warigan said. “Once Aruendiel uses the timestone, Nora will find herself in the past—”
Nora felt a qualm. “How far back?”
“A few hours at most,” the woman said. “Portat Nolu said no more than one, in most cases.”
That sounded manageable, not like getting zapped back to ten years ago. “Great. I’ll know not to go to the temple. Or if I get there later, I can duck when Sisoaneer swings.
“I mean, it’s not as though I’m irremediably fated to die, right?” she added.
“But, Nora,” EJ said, frowning again, “she’s right. All this—your death, this conversation—it won’t have happened yet. This isn’t like jumping in the TARDIS to go back to 1890. When all that energy is released, the intervening timeline will be destroyed. Everything starts over again. Everything.”
“Oh.” This was the kind of convoluted chronological paradox, she remembered, that she’d always found rather tiresome in fiction involving time travel. “Will I remember what happened?”
“The difficulty with timestones,” Warigan said, “is that so often people don’t remember what happened. Most people do exactly what they did before.”
Olenan smiled at him through the smoke. “You’re still afraid of me.”
“No,” Aruendiel said, stepping aside as another chunk of the temple roof crashed to the floor. He nodded grimly toward the pile of rubble that buried Nora’s body. “I have nothing to fear now, Olenan.”
“I’m Sisoaneer now. And it’s not too late, Aruendiel. You were unfaithful, you tried to leave me yet again, but I will forgive you, if you ask. Sisoaneer is merciful to those who fear her.”
Aruendiel found that he could not breathe. His chest felt as tight as a locked door. He gagged, coughing up a spume of saltwater, and recognized the spell, an ancient one from Rrosl. It had once been used to kill rats, then thousands of the best warriors of the Pernish cavalry. Probably she’d learned it from her father.
“You could be my High Priest,” she said. “Pray, and I will forgive you.”
He reached the end of the counterhex and took a shuddering breath, then another. His shield spells had turned back her primary attack, the obvious one, but she could still find ways around them for lesser assaults, spells that might only kill him.
Aruendiel fumbled inside his tunic. His fingers closed around the smooth cylinder of Nansis Abora’s preserve jar. He drew it out and pulled the stopper. The timestone lay in his palm. It seemed almost weightless, smaller than he remembered. How much time was stored there? Would it suffice?
He dropped the stone on the floor, then crushed it with his boot.
“I’ll remember,” Nora said.
Chapter 25
Nora followed the swooping glow from Uliverat’s lantern, her feet finding their way on the familiar track to the temple, and told herself that the darkness would help her and Aruendiel elude pursuit later on. She was starting to regret that she had insisted on going to the temple. Time seemed suddenly precious.
Oasme was waiting for them just inside the door. “Blessed Lady,” he said, bowing, and Nora could hear the faintest shade of irritation in his voice, like a cat letting you feel the prick of its claws as it purrs and leans closer to you. She was almost but not officially late, she concluded, and again she had the disturbing sense of time passing too quickly.
“What do I need to do?” Nora asked. She squinted into the darkness behind Oasme. The temple was packed. She could hear Yaioni chanting, but she could not see her. The blank, slightly slanted eyes of the great statue stared over the crowd, and Nora thought again how little it resembled Sisoaneer in real life. But then, she thought,
it would be strange if the statue did look like Sisoaneer—Sisoaneer not being a goddess.
Olenan, she corrected herself.
She had to force herself to listen as Oasme started giving her directions for the procession through the temple.
“—and I will walk in front of you,” he was saying. “We will sing the hymn that starts ‘The sun’s favorite.’ ” Oasme hummed a few notes. “But only the first three stanzas.”
The sun’s favorite. Ha. Did I really believe, even for a moment, Nora wondered, that that woman was actually the daughter of the sun? Somehow I did, she thought. It seemed true, on some level.
Oasme was talking about the Ghaki king’s emissaries, some question of precedence. This has nothing to do with me anymore, Nora thought. Oasme looked at her expectantly, and she nodded, chancing that she had gleaned enough to get through the ceremony without incident.
Then to find Aruendiel again! She’d have to give Oasme and Uliverat and the rest of them the slip. Would there be time to change out of this ceremonial maran? She would never need to wear it again, thankfully.
Oasme was reminding her of the prayer she would have to chant. She recognized the words. And then she would pardon the prisoner. It was the only part of the next few minutes she was looking forward to, despite some qualms. What if he had committed a truly unforgivable crime?
“—then he’ll lie face-down on the floor, and you’ll say, ‘Go in freedom and praise the loving justice of Sisoaneer all of your life.’”
“And then we’ll be done?” Nora said.
“Not yet. He vows to serve the goddess,” Oasme said. “You acknowledge it and—”
Lemoes was lighting the tapers for the procession. Nora saw the reflected flames shining in his eyes. She smiled at him. He looked calmly back at her with none of his usual shyness. For a moment Nora had the distinct impression that they shared a secret, some knowledge that she couldn’t have put into words.
She gave herself a mental shake. He did look a lot like Andy Reeves, that was all. I used to think that Andy and I had some sort of secret sympathy, too, she thought. Andy Reeves with his big hands and quick smile. She had a sudden memory flash: the blue-and-orange Mets sticker on his locker, drawing her eyes every time she walked down the hall. I hadn’t thought about that for ages, Nora thought. They made him scrape it off, eventually.
“—and then we process out of the temple, singing,” Oasme finished. Nora had to ask him to repeat the name of the hymn.
Lemoes raised his taper and began to pace forward. Uliverat and Oasme moved into place behind him; Nora followed. The pilgrims fell back to let them pass, a crowd of jostling shadows. Oasme sang, “The sun’s favorite!” and Nora chorused with Uliverat and Lemoes, “The sun’s favorite!”
“The night’s daughter.”
“The night’s daughter.”
“She delivers us—”
“She delivers us—”
“—from suffering.”
“—from suffering.”
The chanting sounded sweeter than it ever had before. It’s the last time I will ever do this, Nora thought.
“In the darkness—”
“In the darkness—”
“—she protects us.”
“—she protects us.”
“Do not fear.”
“Do not fear.”
“You are not alone.”
“You are not alone.”
Nora found herself unexpectedly moved. The candle flames swirled. She blinked hard to clear her vision as they reached the open area in front of the statue where the sacred fire burned.
A small knot of men stood there, their black armor glinting under their red-bordered robes. The Ghaki king’s emissaries, Nora guessed. One of them, his neck swathed in jewels, came forward to address her in a thick, sibilant Ors that buzzed in her ears. She could make out only a few words: “Blessed Lady, holy favorite.” Nothing she hadn’t heard before.
Yaioni, watching from the other side of the fire, stifled a yawn. Look lively, Nora thought, you might have another chance at this job. She ducked her head hurriedly because the Ghakis had just bowed.
Then she saw the two men in chains, kneeling behind the Ghakis. Their faces were masked—no, blackened with a red streak. Their shaved heads looked pallid and vulnerable. The Ghaki king’s emissary was saying something about the offering he had brought on behalf of his lord.
Nora looked around for Oasme and found him at her elbow. “Two?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “I thought it was one.”
“You pardon just one.”
“And the other?”
“They are both condemned criminals,” Oasme said. “You choose the one who lives. Now, your turn. The prayer.”
The emissary had finished speaking. Behind his close-trimmed beard, his face was weathered, serious, and slightly impatient, as though he had better things to do elsewhere. Some of his colleagues moved aside so that Nora could have a better look at the prisoners. Their black-and-red faces were oddly distinct to her. One blinked with a hapless air; the other prisoner looked so sunk in gloom that he seemed not to notice what was going on.
“What did they do?” Nora muttered to Oasme. “Their crimes.”
“That doesn’t matter. Whomever you choose will be the right one.”
“I have to know.”
Oasme gave a small sigh and leaned over to mutter in her ear. “That’s bad,” Nora whispered when he had finished. “Both of them.”
“It’s none of your concern. Just pray to the goddess, and pardon one of them, and tell him he has to serve the goddess from now on.” With an aggrieved look, he added, “Don’t worry about having him around here. They almost always run away. Now, ‘Let me know—’”
“Let me know what is pleasing to you,” Nora recited. Oasme gestured at his throat: louder. “Let me deliver your mercy,” she said, raising her voice. “Let me speak truthfully for you, let me do as you would do.”
She closed her eyes, but almost immediately opened them to look hard at the condemned men again. They were both murderers. From what Oasme had said, the older, more muscular man was also a rapist. The younger man with the heavy-lidded eyes might actually be a political prisoner, she thought; one of the charges against him was rebellion. She could see a case for sparing him. But he had butchered the officers and most of the crew of one of the Ghaki king’s ships. Oasme said that he hadn’t been charged for the deaths of the sailors, since they were slaves.
There was no way to make this kind of calculation work out neatly or comfortably. I’ve killed, too, Nora thought. I had far better reasons than these men did, but still, I did much the same thing. I saw my chance, and I took a life because it suited my own purposes. Why am I passing judgment on them?
She found herself looking at Lemoes again. He stood to one side, facing the prisoners. His taper was guttering with a flapping noise like a flag. In his other hand was an odd implement, a piece of stone with a wooden handle.
She wondered idly what the stone was for, and then she understood. When she pardoned one prisoner, the other wouldn’t live much longer. No more appeals, no reason to delay. I hope they wait until after I leave, Nora thought, and then was chagrined at her own selfishness. It came to her that she was not saving one man as much as she was helping kill another.
Death comes to everyone, she argued to herself. And people die for far more senseless reasons. In car accidents, for example. That idiot Kevin Weiss. She wished she could go back in time and find him and take his goddamn keys away.
Nora took a deep breath, then cleared her throat. “In the name of the goddess, these two men are pardoned. Both of them.”
A short, incredulous pause. “I beg your pardon, Blessed Lady, what did you say?” Oasme asked.
“Free them both,” Nora said. “It’s the will of the goddess.”
She thrust her open hand toward Lemoes. “Give that to me.” Obediently he gave her the stone tool. An ax, ancient and well-used. Its dead weight was powerful and disturbing.
“No one’s going to die here tonight.” The words rose easily to her lips. “The Queen of Power doesn’t need human sacrifice.”
“She never objected before,” Oasme said.
“I don’t know about before,” Nora said. “I know what she wants now.” It was a lie—anything to buy time—but saying it gave her a strange sense of peace. Her glance fell upon Lemoes; he offered her a small, luminous smile.
The lead Ghaki emissary spoke quickly to one of his lieutenants, forehead furrowed. The other man bobbed his head. Under his beard, the emissary pressed his lips together and stared at Nora. In the dimness of the nave, whispers were beginning to flow among the congregants.
“‘She gives life, and she takes it away,’” Oasme hissed to Nora, with a significant look. “Blessed Lady, are you sure? Because this is a grave offense to the Ghaki king, to reject his justice, and—”
“I don’t care about the Ghaki king’s justice. Tonight we’re giving life, not taking it. Justice is nothing without mercy.”
“That is true, my priestess. But am I to have no sacrifice at all?”
Sisoaneer’s voice was low but clear and penetrating. Abruptly the tide of murmurs inside the temple ebbed.
Nora turned, feeling a kind of dread at what she was about to say. Sisoaneer—no, Olenan—came toward her, very pale in her black gown. The embroidered blue finery was gone.
“No,” Nora said clearly. “No sacrifice. And I’m not your priestess. Because you’re not a goddess.”
As Olenan stepped closer, there were all kinds of fine, taut lines in her face that Nora had never seen before. “Did he tell you that?”
“I always knew,” Nora said. She was fairly sure that was true.
How to Talk to a Goddess and Other Lessons in Real Magic Page 33