“With the bargains they’ve made, I can promise you those two will get both.”
“We’ll go back to the temple, and then?”
“I’m not sure. I need to speak with my mentor there.” I still don’t feel different, prepared. Crispin must have some answers. “But as fast as possible, I intend to leave the garden, settle accounts with Mynogin and then it’s on to Mordenn and the Oryllix.”
“Those two.” Her voice strains with fear. “You’re strong, but Lir...against them?”
Tindra’s been mostly silent till now. She turns, and her expression is pure dragon: wisdom, a little impatience, pragmatism. “You’ve danced around a great deal of your journey,” she says to me. “So be it. But Esmanth is clearly not a spring blossom and some of what you’ve withheld is doing more to worry her than if you told the truth.”
She’s not wrong, but no matter my transformation, inside I’m still mostly Tamlir. Jests, gaming tables, dragging from bed mead-drenched well after midday. I’m not good at the honest conversations, and under it all roils my consuming need to protect my sister.
“Tell her what are,” Tindra encourages.
I mutter.
“What?” they ask in unison.
“I’m the god of war.”
Esmanth gapes. I get ready to catch her, sure she’s going to panic, pass out.
She laughs. Doubles over and laughs.
“What!”
“Oh! Oh Lir.” She gets herself together, still gasping, shaking her thick curls into order. “I believe you. I can’t not, after–” She gestures around us and at Tindra. “And all I’ve seen? But I also once saw a hound drag you drunk through the middens, so...”
I drag her to me, laughing, lifting her off her feet. Laughter. It feels so good. “You of all people would keep me humble.”
She raises on tiptoes to kiss my chin. “Because I know all your flaws, but I know what you’re capable of. If god of war is your destiny,” she shakes her head still openly astonished, “you were led to it by a great wisdom.”
“I hope so.”
Tindra smiles, smug. “There. See? Now let’s finish with this place. I had enough of Pentave’s stench eons ago.”
As we climb the last eroded steppes, I think how funny her words are, because I can’t smell him, but there’s a feeling in the caverns, a calm persistent energy. It’s not a sensation I’d associate with Pentave, and this makes me uneasy.
The exit looms, a blinding egg-shaped gap in the mountain wall, wide enough for a winging dragon. I expected daylight; a storm-silver sky beyond feels ominous. Cold breath shrieks into the cavern, making Esmanth shiver.
“Here, it’s not much.” I unclasp the cloak and drape her in it.
Tindra freezes, staring at Esmanth. So do I. In the white and red, black hair flowing, she doesn’t seem so small or fragile. She looks...
Esmanth draws back, hesitant. “What is it?”
She looks like an empress. A goddess. “Nothing,
I breathe. “I think we both have some things to get used to.”
Fat snowflakes swirl thin on a constant howl of wind that tears the valley below. The breadth of the land ahead reminds me of Freya’s realm, except that trees spear up at the timberline, their evergreen tips black in the winter fog. Skeletal streams of water ripple between fractured ice that blankets a river clawing out to barren coastline. On a bluff above the silt clouded waves is the ghost of a city. No stones or pediments. Its only legacy is lines of curling shrubs that once hugged foundations. They box in the sweeping snowfall in smooth patches, hinting where buildings once stood. This architectural graveyard is the only sign of life I spy along the valley, the only sign beyond the mournful coo of an owl that life ever existed here.
“It’s so empty,” says Esmanth, shivering.
“The dragons left these shores millennia ago, ascending to their destiny. We thought we didn’t need the elves, and the elves believed they didn’t need us.” Tindra’s eyes fall over a cluster of eroded caves set in a cliff far below the bluff. “We were both wrong, which is not something immortal beings often experience.”
I take her hand. There’s nothing to say.
Tindra recovers her regal bearing, but keeps her voice low, the words only for me. “I didn’t love him, but he’s part of the...fabric of my existence. If we had stayed and defended the sylvan, they might have defended the hollows of Yggdrasil and then–” She stops. “We immortals don’t keep company with mortal races, so loss is a mostly foreign experience. Duin eth’lan,” Tindra bows and raises two fingers to her forehead. “Wherever the last have gone, I wish them green lands.”
“Maybe they will return one day, when the world has changed.”
She shakes her head. “This is a dead realm for disgraced dragon lords.”
“Lir?” Esmanth calls to me from the cliff’s edge, pointing. “There’s something just below us. A light or...a portal?”
Tindra recovers. “That means we’re beyond the range of Pentave’s influence. Finally back to the garden for you.”
“I’m more than ready.” One glance at the ledge below and I jump.
Esmanth screams.
I search the land, the air, tensed to fight. “What!”
Her face appears overhead, eyes half-squeezed shut. “You have to warn me! That must be thirty feet! I’m not used to this yet.”
“Ohh. Hah.” I hold up my arms. “You next.”
“Are you serious? Maybe I should…” she toes the icy stone, measuring. Tindra hovers behind, laughing silently.
“Trust me! Jump.”
“Ugh.” Esmanth closes her eyes, grimaces, and steps off.
She’s in my arms before her small shriek can leave her lips.
“See? Hardly a bump. I told you.”
“Well.” Esmanth dusts her skirts, preening. “Increases your brotherly value. I bet you’re popular with the ladies.”
“Not a chance. My balcony rescue days are behind me.”
“Then so are your dueling days, probably.”
“Snark.” I tug her curls.
Tindra lands, beaming. “We did it. And with more than we intended. In we go.”
Esmanth takes my hand and we step through the portal.
–Villa Ostia–
Remains of the Garden
Cheers erupt before we’ve fully emerged from the portal. Then Freya catches sight of a girl by my side and raises her arms in triumph, and the cheers magnify.
We pass each other around; slender arms and stout ones embrace me, Tindra, and Esmanth with introductions or hesitation. I save the longest embrace for Theriss, who stiffens.
“Sorry; assassins have an aversion to being restrained.”
“Couldn’t help it. Without your gift…” How do I put it delicately? There was no securing Akershus without all the powers I’ve been given, but a few, like Kumiko’s and Theriss’s, were catalysts. “No one is more important than another, but what I learned from you taught me how to be whole. And your gift gave me what I needed to win.”
The black serpents around her face bob like fingers strumming. “Anything else?” asks Theriss, eyes narrowed.
Something that’s occupied a corner of my mind since the hoard. “When I defeated Pentave…it felt he passed through me.”
Surprise ripples through her, tail to shoulders. “Paired with Kumiko’s deftness and speed? You’ve achieved something my kind work for their entire lives.” Theriss rests her fingers over my heart. “I’m so proud to fight with you.”
Kumiko appears, hair loose, clad in a soft shift of green silk. Theriss gives her approach a smile and slithers back.
“You don’t have to go.” I sort of hoped she’d stay. I don’t want to blather like an idiot but there’s still so much I want to tell her.
“I’ll join you later. This crowd-?” Theriss grins and feigns a shiver. “Not for assassins.”
Kumiko greets Theriss’ departure with a wave and gives me a small bow.
“Al
ways late,” I poke.
“I got here first.”
I grab her, raise her high and spin her while she squeals and pounds my shoulder.
She pulls free and kisses me, lips and cheek.
“At least some of this is your doing, Kumiko.”
“And nearly my disaster! I thought she’d appear with me in the clock chamber. But I must have had help with the rest.” She gazes at Esmanth in wonder, smiling. “I felt something when the realms aligned. “Something…being held out to me? Waiting to come through. It could have been friend or foe, if I’m honest. I took the risk.”
“I was so afraid, that I’d never find her, that when I did, she’d be…” I can’t continue for a moment. “I’m grateful, more than I can show you.“
Her hand is warm on my cheek. “Not more grateful than I am to be free of Fenrir.”
I grin. “And you could have given us a better landing.”
Kumiko winces. “I was a little too fast.”
“Thought you’d gotten over that.”
She doesn’t laugh. She watches Esmanth speak to Finna.
“What?”
“I feel it now.” Kumiko nods to herself. “That same thread of...something, within the clock movements.”
And I feel the same thing I felt in the caverns.
It wasn’t Pentave, it was Esmanth I sensed. The what will have to be answered by someone else.
Kumiko brightens again. “Anyhow, I couldn’t have done it without the others. It took all the gifts to move you through time and realm when Pentave tried to teleport himself. Wonder how he’s finding his reunion with the Svartr?”
Crispin crosses the bridge, Andraste on his arm. He looks me over, nodding, examining my pauldrons. “You made the most of your lessons.”
“I’m sorry about the armor.”
“It’s at Akershus; I’m not worried. And you’ll have need of it again so if I want it back…” He smiles.
Andraste nods at Esmanth. “And I see you had a boon.”
“Choosing between the Artifacts and my sister...I still can’t believe how lucky–” I freeze.
What did Crispin say to me after my prayers? A small reminder among the din can earn a boon.
“Boon?”
Andraste interjects before he can answer. “Well...maybe that’s a bit arrogant. The ring I gave Crispin influenced time and fate, meant to aid him while seeking help for the curse. Some of that is inside Esmanth, and perhaps that’s what Kumiko sensed when the realms aligned.”
I look at Crispin, asking with a look if this is correct. His eyes dance and he’s silent.
Esmanth dances up, beaming, eyes roaming over everything. “This place is incredible! And these women.” She turns a smile on Crispin and Andraste. “I’m Esmanth, Lir’s sister.”
Crispin nods. “We may have heard of you.”
“Esmanth, the stories we used to tell about the man who traded Father the ring that saved you and Mother?”
She smiles, expectant.
I glance at Crispin. “How would you like to meet that man?”
–The Beginning of the End–
The temple has changed. I don’t see it until the walk back to my chamber with Crispin. The garden is a rectangle now, a courtyard within the high white walls of a villa, dull under the dome of a bright blue sky. The only feature I still recognize, aside from the grove, is the grand staircase near the sleeping chambers, still rising to the gates.
“Can we leave?”
“We can. The Artifacts are free; Andraste and I are no longer bound to the curse. We’ll go in the morning. Esmanth needs some rest and so do you. And we’ll need a plan, too. Something we can abandon when nothing goes the way we expect.”
“Hah. About that…” I raise my arm for the hundredth time and flex.
“You don’t feel any different.”
“No. How did you know?”
“You’ve been doing that every two minutes since you returned. Have you put on the ring?”
“No,” I admit to the grass.
“After extolling its powers and history to your sister, that never crossed your mind?”
“Point taken.”
He laughs, following me into my room. “I wonder if my mentor took as much delight in watching my early fumblings.”
“I have another question.” My nerve accumulates while I root for the ring in a now uncooperative bottomless bag. “It’s something I talked about with Tindra but…” Finally the bag coughs up my prize.
“But you need more answers.”
“She mentioned the way of gods, and my life with the Artifacts. But I see you and Andraste.”
“And you wonder which way is right. And which is true.”
“Loria will need a queen, and an heir. Alliances. And with a healthy superstition when it comes to magic and creatures...it would be hard. And...Well...Eight queens?”
He laughs. “You assume any of the Artifacts wish to rule a kingdom. Tindra, I promise you, has no interest in delving into mortal politics.” Crispin glances out toward the glade. “I had my own Artifacts once. Most gods among us do; allies of strength, wisdom, skill we can rely on when times grow dark.”
“What changed?”
“Those women came from their own realms, their own troubles. They had lives before we joined together. Over time they wished to return, aid their people or live in their homelands, seek adventures of their own. You’ve already come to the most important conclusion: The Artifacts don’t belong to you. Mordenn asking you for a trade was a sort of trick, and even if you weren’t aware of that, you’d already set them free by seeing them as allies.”
“They might leave one day.” I hate this.
“Or die. Ascend, diminish. As we all do. Don’t mourn for what’s hardly begun. I’ve lost count of the years I spent with my company, but the affection, the glory, the strength has never faded. And when I was alone again, I found Andraste, and that became my sole purpose as much as the Artifacts had been.”
Crispin takes the ring from my palm and sets it on my index finger. “Even the life of a god has seasons.”
As the ring slides along my finger, sensations washes through me like that of the armor, power amplified, but more than that – inherent. My body doesn’t strain and burn. Instead, I have the feeling of being saturated, steeped from muscle to mind, to single particles of my being. The world around me feels less substantial, as though I can pass from it in any direction, go anywhere.
Crispin steps away. “You are a god. And Loria already has a queen. I think the idea has already crossed your thoughts.”
It crosses my thoughts again, filling me with a panic that’s mortal and blinding. “I can’t. I can’t.” My mother kneeling atop the wall, Tagan flailing against his restraints. “I can’t sit Esmanth on a throne painted with blood.”
He smiles. “And you can’t stop her. She would claim it even if it weren’t her fate. You each have a destiny. All you can do is help her.”
My throat aches. “How?”
“That’s for you to figure out.” He clamps my shoulder, pushing me towards the door. “Later. Tonight, we feast like the first consuls of ancient times. Like gods.”
-Villa Ostia-
A Temple Broken
Lamps blaze across the courtyard below, dancing on each burst of laughter from the tables. Servants shoulder to shoulder bear trays of game, fruits, and amphorae that slosh with plum-colored wine. Where did these men and women come from? The temple doors remain sealed, but I should know better than anyone this place is hardly shut.
I’ve wandered my way through the villa to a balcony set above where the temple entrance once stood. With my strength, if I squint, I can just see the toll gate lamps in the foothills, where the road forks and starts for Loria and the coast.
So close.
“I thought I’d find you here.” Etain hovers in the arch, looking like a highwaymen-knight in her open-throated shirt, leather britches, and sword.
“Just the
person I needed.”
She takes the silent invitation, resting her shoulder against mine as we gaze out over the nighttime hills.
“How is it springtime?” I came to the temple at winter solstice, and while it feels an eternity has passed, I know it was a matter of days. We’ve stopped time, manipulated it. My primitive blood, the blood of ancestors who woke and slept, planted and harvested by sun and seasons, feels a touch of lunacy.
“Don’t trust me to have it right, but by what Andraste has said and what I’ve come to understand of my realm and this place...some moments have been replaced by others, rewritten. And some ceased to exist. Time still weaves around it all.”
“So... we’ve gone back in time?”
“Or forward, or...I don’t know if it’s quite a straight line. But for anyone out there, beyond the temple…” She tips her chin at the valley. “I’m not sure they know that anything’s changed.”
This might be the hardest part of my new existence to wrap my head around. I’m a god, I have some influence over time itself, and not a clue what I’m doing. Yet.
At my sigh, Etain leans her head back on my shoulder. “I can’t tell you how to make peace with what’s come to pass. Except…” A prophetic wind stirs her copper locks, and flames in her eyes cast a glow. “Think of it as a gift, and not a surrender. Your people will be at greater risk with a god among their ruling house. But they were already in danger, and there was nothing you could do about it; you know that now. And you have all of us to help you. Loria, Esmanth...we’re beside you.” I draw Etain against me, her body feeling warm for the first time. I can sense more from her than reanimation; the spark of a soul inside her radiates like the flame in her eyes.
“It’s about more than mutual vengeance now,” she whispers. “There’s a destiny ahead, and we each have a hand in it. United.” She sinks into me at this last word, at peace.
I pull Etain into my embrace, tuck her between my body and the wall. She wraps her arms around me, and we stand just so over the first mournful trill of night birds. When I relax my arms, her head falls back, and our lips slip together. Our hands weave, wrists brushing while we fumble with belts, buckles and buttons. Her skin slides along my palms, hips bared as I work down her leggings.
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