Kalindi. The divine healer. “Would you—” Zerafine asked, unable to finish.
She gazed at Zerafine solemnly. “He will have to ask me for it,” she said. “I have already put myself in his power today. He must abase himself in return.”
Atenas looked grim. Then he knelt on one knee, crossed his arms over his chest, and bowed his head. “Please,” he said. Zerafine was too embarrassed to know where to look. That a god should lower himself on her behalf! It was...
...actually, Kalindi was smiling, and Atenas had tilted his head up just a little bit to wink at her. The Queen of Heaven burst out laughing. “Ah, stop it, my love, the girl won’t know what to think,” she said, caressing Atenas’s bald head. He took both her hands and rose to kiss her golden lips. “Remember,” he said, taking in Zerafine’s confounded expression, “even gods can change.”
Then he leaned over and pressed his lips against her forehead.
Chapter Twenty-Six
She woke lying in darkness that smelled of cloth and dry air, and knew immediately that her body was dead; no heartbeat, no breath, no blood rushing in her ears. In the next instant she felt herself filled with a tender warmth that washed through her, dizzying her so that for a moment she felt like a creature of pure spirit. Then it passed, leaving her slightly chilled and with a tingling sensation in...yes, surely that was skin and not spirit. She sat up and felt rapidly up and down the length of her body, across her head and her face, reassuring herself that she did still have a body and it wasn’t that of a rotting corpse. Her body was wearing a thin, sleeveless, ankle-length tunic that felt like silk, and the surface beneath her buttocks was rough stone. For a brief, panic-filled moment she thought she had already been interred, but then sense reasserted itself; she was lying on the altar in the shrine for the required three days before burial.
She slid off the altar and felt her way to the wall, then groped around until her fingers brushed wood. Was there no handle on this side? No, there it was. She wrenched at it—maybe she was feeling a little panicky after all—and felt it give, then pulled hard until it slid, ponderously, toward her.
The antechamber was lit with the traditional torches, but she could see, high above, light coming in through the ventilation shaft. Gerrard leaned against the wall, deeply asleep, his longstaff lying across his lap as if it had fallen from his hand. He would have been here the whole two days, guarding her body in death as in life, but even he had to sleep sometime. He was unshaven and the torches made the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. He must have been exhausted to fall so solidly asleep that the sound of the door opening hadn’t roused him. He looked wonderful. She studied him, wondering how she could wake him without terrifying him. In the end, realizing that was impossible, she prodded his leg with her toe and said, “Wake up.”
He went from sleep to alertness in a breath, but awkwardly, scrambling to stand and grab his staff in the same motion. Then he saw her and his mouth went slack. He looked at the sanctuary door, still ajar, back at her, then rubbed his eyes with his free hand and stared at her again. His lips moved soundlessly.
“I came back,” she said, and smiled. Then fear touched his eyes, and she said, “That sounded far less ominous in my head.”
He dropped his staff on the floor with a clatter. He reached out to touch her arm, felt his way up to her shoulder, brushed her cheek, ran his fingers over her face as if he were a blind man. Zerafine closed her eyes and smiled again. “I promise, it’s really me,” she told him. “And you’re not going to believe what happened while I was there.” She opened her eyes. There was so much pain and longing on his face that she began to cry. “Gerrard, sweetheart, say something,” she pleaded.
He reached out and drew her into his arms, crushing her in his embrace, saying her name over and over again until great wracking sobs shook his whole body and he couldn’t speak anymore. She put her arms around him and cried out all the fear and pain she’d felt, all the tension and the overwhelming presence of her god and the demand He had made of her. She cried until she felt she could never cry again. She felt Gerrard stroking her hair. She wiped her eyes and her nose on his shirt and lifted her face to his. “I can’t breathe,” she said.
He loosened his grip just a little. “Don’t ask me to let go entirely,” he said, and she shook her head and tightened her own arms around him so he would know she had no intention of going anywhere. He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Two days,” he said. “You were dead for two days. I had to carry your broken body through the streets of Portena to the shrine. It was—Nacalia was disobedient, again, or I wouldn’t have made it back. I could barely see.” He kissed her forehead again, wound his fingers in her hair. “Please don’t ever do that again.”
“I don’t think it will be necessary,” she said, and kissed his mouth. His lips tasted like tears. He kissed her in return, first gently, then with a sort of desperation that broke her heart even as it filled her with joy.
They broke apart, after a while. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment in which they simply looked at one another, “I’m still a little overwhelmed by all of this. How could you even return? Why aren’t you still there?”
Zerafine smiled. Her heart felt whisper-light. “I told you, you’re not going to believe what happened,” she said. “You’ll want to sit down.” Nestled into his lap—the thin silk of her tunic gave her no protection against the chilly marble of the floor—she poured out the whole story. He held his breath when she told him of her judgment, gave a short bark of laughter when she described Atenas bowing before Kalindi, then sat silent when she was finished.
“So if any of the other gods die, they’ll be able to find their own way to Atenas’s courts,” he finally said.
She leaned her cheek against his chest. “Yes. No human intervention necessary.”
“And you stood in judgment in Atenas’s court and changed a thousand-year-old oath sworn by a god.”
“That’s the part that leaves me breathless with wonder. Atenas deferred judgment to me. Who else in all of history can say that? I can’t tell you how humbling it was.”
Gerrard said, in a quiet voice, “I don’t know if I’m worthy of you anymore.”
Her head snapped up, and she was halfway to an outraged protest when she saw his mouth quiver with a suppressed smile. “You—you are just—” Their conversation paused for a moment in favor of more pleasant activities involving lips and tongues and hands.
Later, Gerrard said, “And Atenas and Kalindi....”
“Are in love. Or whatever it is gods have in its place. It was—shocking, actually.”
“It could shake the foundations of two faiths. Are you going to tell anyone?”
“I don’t think anyone will believe it. And, really, what would it change? But yes, I’m going to tell the Marathelos and ask his advice. And then I’m going to tell Arland and watch his eyes pop out of his head.”
Gerrard laughed. “I was going to say that would be cruel,” he said, “but it occurred to me that you’d give him a whole new field of study and he would love you forever.”
Zerafine laid her head on Gerrard’s shoulder. “Just so long as you love me forever,” she said.
He slid his thumb along her cheekbone. “Forever and past forever.” His hand fell to her lap. “What happens now?”
Zerafine thought about it. “First thing is to resurrect me,” she said. “That’s going to be interesting. I hope I don’t give people as much of a shock as I gave you. Did Berenica already send word to Atenar?”
“I don’t think so. It’s been a harrowing two days.”
“That’s something, anyway. Then the next thing we do is have Berenica marry us. I think I can say with some certainty that Atenas will accept our oath.”
“You’re amazingly confident that I’ll accept your proposal. What was your backup plan?”
“I was going to tempt you with my body, but you’d probably settle for a good dinner.” She squealed with delighted
laughter as her sentare tickled her, then kissed her again, slow and sweet, like a promise.
“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’,” she said, a little breathlessly. “After that...I guess we get back on the road. Visit Atenar, and then move on.”
Gerrard gave her a serious look. “Zerafine, you went to Atenas’s courts and returned. You can’t expect to go back to being an ordinary traveling thelis.”
“Why not? What should I do instead?”
Gerrard frowned, caught without a ready answer. “It just seems like you’ve done something so big that you’ll never be able to top it. How can you go back to traveling the roads and consoling those little ghosts and sitting in judgment in tiny towns that barely appreciate you?”
“You mean, will it satisfy me? Yes, Gerrard, a thousand times yes. Atenas chose me because I only did what I always do. Are those little ghosts any less worthy of peace than a god? And now that I know what it’s like on the other side...how can I turn aside from that path?”
Gerrard blew out his breath. “What a relief,” he said. “I was afraid you were going to ask me to give up the staff and settle down somewhere. I love you, but I’m not ready for that.”
“Neither am I.” She pushed herself up and gave Gerrard her hand, a token gesture because she could never have pulled his weight up by herself. “Shall we see if we can frighten Berenica?”
He laughed, and led her from the shrine into the golden sunlight.
Glossary and Pronunciation Guide
Aesoron: AY-so-ron
Akelliou: ah-KEL-ee-oh
Alestiou: ah-LES-tee-oh
Alita: ah-LEE-tah
Berenica: ber-EN-ih-cah
Castinidou: cas-TIN-ah-doh
Dakariou: dah-KAR-ee-oh
Gerrard: ger-RARD
Gordou: GOR-doh
Marathelos/thelis: Archpriest or -priestess, chief representative of a god; MAR-a-thee-los
Morica: MOR-ih-cah
Nacalia: nah-CAH-lee-ah
seicorum: ore manufactured by an unquiet ghost; say-COR-um
sentare: bodyguard of the theloi of Atenas; sen-TAH-ray
Talarannos: tal-ah-RAN-os
thelis/thelos/theloi: priest; THEE-lis, THEE-los, THEE-loi (‘th’ as in ‘think’)
tokthelos/thelis: high priest or priestess, leader of a community of theloi; TOK-thee-los
Yelenita: yel-eh-NEE-tah
Zerafine: ZAIR-ah-FEEN
The Pantheon
The gods of the Pantheon represent dualities and therefore come in pairs. Most believe these pairs have a good and an evil god, but it is more accurate to say they represent balance between forces.
Kalindi, Goddess of the sun: chief god of the Pantheon. The divine healer. Symbol: sun, circle
Kandra, Goddess of the moon: counterpart of sun goddess. Goddess of fertility. Symbols: star, moon
Hanu, God of the sea and sky: responsible for the bounty of the earth. Symbol: upward-pointing triangle
Kanu, God of storms: destructive side of his twin brother (they are identical, and the myth is that you don't know which you're dealing with until it's too late). Symbol: downward-pointing triangle
Sintha, Goddess of luck: represents good things unlooked for. Symbols: linked squares (idealized dice)
Ventus, God of fate: represents the uncaring whim of luck gone bad. Symbol: the blind eye
Ormus, God of travel and change. Symbol: crossed sticks or X
Arieta, Goddess of the hearth: worshipped by those who care for the household (male or female). Symbol: the circled square (the home surrounded by a sphere of protection)
Endelion, God of the forge: represents fire controlled for man's use. Symbol: hammer
Ailausa, Goddess of fire: represents fire untamed. Closest to a god of destruction this Pantheon has. Symbol: curved teardrop shape (stylized flame)
Marenda, Goddess of creativity and the arts. Symbol: U (vessel to be filled) balanced in M (symbol of humanity)
Sukman, God of madness: represents creativity that absorbs and destroys the artist, the mind gone wrong. Symbol: spiral
Atenas, God of Death: He alone in the Pantheon has no twin counterpart. He is depicted in red cowl and robes with His face hidden. He is prayed to by everyone at some time, mostly in entreaty that He will pass them by. His Priests dress like him; they are called on to ease the pain of the dying (Atenas’s blessing), banish ghosts, and act as impartial judges because they cannot lie. They are often asked to predict when someone will die and always refuse to do so. They also try to teach people that Death is a part of life, to counter the perception of their god being frightening or evil. No symbol; death is everywhere.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melissa McShane lives in the shelter of the mountains out West with her husband, four children, and three very needy cats. She wrote reviews and critical essays for many years before turning to writing fiction, which is much more fun than anyone ought to be allowed to have. You can visit her at her website www.mmcshane.com for more information on other books and upcoming releases.
This book is available in print at most online retailers.
Cover design by Ronnell D. Porter
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