“Ah. Self-sacrifice. Very noble of you. It will undoubtedly be noted in your permanent record.”
Sigrun grimaced. Regin’s sarcasm bit like a lash. “Not self-sacrifice. It’s just . . . he deserves happiness. Peace at the end. Since that’s what he wants, I’ll make sure he has it.”
“I’ve met the man a few times,” Regin told her, her tone acerbic. “He doesn’t strike me as happy at the moment. And judging by his early life, a quiet, peaceful death is the last thing he would want. Carrying a banner in a final charge, I would think, would suit him better.”
Sigrun’s lips quivered, and then compressed into a straight line. “None of our epics ever says what happens when the hero grows old,” she reminded Reginleif. “He might have wanted a hero’s death, once. But that was . . . a very long time ago.”
Reginleif regarded her. “So what will you do then, young goddess?”
Sigrun sighed. She missed Adam. She missed him so much, some days, that it carved out a hole inside of her. But sitting and talking with him, anymore, was like talking to a ghost . . . and she didn’t know if he were the ghost, or if she was. I am a widow before he’s even died. “Abide.” She reached out and touched Regin’s forehead with a finger, lightly, and pushed the memories of the last hour down into a tiny, sealed compartment at the back of the erstwhile valkyrie’s mind. “Oolong tea,” she prompted Reginleif, whose red eyes had gone blank.
Regin blinked, rapidly. “I wouldn’t have minded the ginger tea, but it was kind of you to help Dr. Eshmunazar. It’s just distressing how limited supplies are growing. You did well in your seiðr practice today. Your control is improving.” She paused. “Are you well, Sigrun? You look pale.”
“I am fine. Or I will be.” Sigrun pulled on her mask, and stepped out into the chill air, where Nith waited for her, in the garden.
Two days later, Minori found herself holding Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi in one hand, and Yata-no-Kagami in the other. Amaterasu was ascending through the layers of her awareness, and she looked slightly up at Kanmi, who was wrapping himself in layer after layer of protective spells. “Kanmi-kun . . . you don’t really have to be here for this,” Minori told him, softly. His face was precisely the way she remembered it, back in Tawantinsuyu, but his eyes had the wisdom of a much older man. “It feels like I just got you back.”
“As I’ve said many times, it’s my fault the mad godlings even exist,” Kanmi told her, after finishing one spell matrix. “If I’d been better at my damned job . . . Baal-Hamon might still have split apart, he still might have let loose that shockwave . . . but the human elements to the mad godlings wouldn’t be there.” Kanmi sighed. “And this is our best shot at being able to fight them all, properly. To avert the end.” He looked away.
They’d both done the math. They knew perfectly well that the world had passed a tipping point. Anything done now, was an uphill battle back towards equilibrium. But . . . they had to hope. They had to act on their best information they had. What’s that Taoist koan you were reading the other night, Minori? “Through inaction nothing is left undone.”
You’re about to say something pithy, aren’t you? Minori leaned up, and put her head on Kanmi’s shoulder.
If we’d sat on our hands in Nahautl . . . if we’d let the technomancers there continue to use Tlaloc as a battery, while sacrificing to him . . . he would have grown in power, eventually, and ended them. Would have emerged more powerful and feared than all his fellows, and the dying and the sacrifice raids would have started in the 1950s or 1960s, instead of in the past ten years. Kanmi wrapped his arms around her, but she could feel him shaking a little. If we’d done nothing in Tawantinsuyu . . . the Sapa Inca would have eventually eaten too many god fragments, and . . . exploded, I think. Which would have left Supay, a death-god, and not a kindly one, in charge of an entire country, head of a monotheistic faith dedicated to him. And the sacrifices of humans and spirits alike would have continued in his honor. I don’t want to picture what that would have looked like. No Mamaquilla. No first steps towards a republic out of that one-time empire. Kanmi lifted his head, and looked down at her, his eyes searching. Loki . . . a deceiver being deceived. Can you imagine the world, if Hel had won, if she’d fed on all his power, and was now quietly working her way through the rest of the Valhallan gods? And that leaves us with Baal-Hamon. My own personal failure. He exhaled. No. Sitting back and watching the world shape itself is an abrogation of personal responsibility. It’s letting everyone else do the work. I can’t do it.
But? Minori prodded, gently.
I sometimes wonder if the world would be better off if none of us had been born. Of course, Kanmi’s cynical grin spread across his face, then I consider all of the things I just said. And I realize that if it hadn’t been us? It would have been someone else. Because someone has to do the work. Choosing not to choose is nothing but cowardice.
Or if there hadn’t been someone, then the darkness would be worse. Minori reached up and touched his face. Kanmi . . . .
Kanmi looked down, and picked up her hand. Kissed the palm. “Amaterasu’s starting to consume you,” he told her, quietly.
Minori’s throat clenched. “I know,” she replied. “She’s trying not to do so. But she’s just so powerful . . .” She shook her head, helplessly. “She’s rested her hand on me very lightly these past years. She didn’t put me under the surface, like Quetzalcoatl did to Ehecatl.”
Kanmi kissed her on the lips. And his mind whispered, softly, I just want to take the chance to say good-bye. In case . . . .
. . . in case I don’t survive. In case it requires the ultimate sacrifice, to empower her enough to kill Jupiter. Minori could feel Amaterasu withdraw courteously as they spoke to one another.
Yes. That, too. But also . . . while you’re still you. Kanmi swallowed. The changes have been subtle, Min. And I know you’d never tell her to leave. You’re too respectful for that. So I thought I should just tell you how much I love you. While you’re still enough yourself to know it.
Minori’s heart ached. Kanmi . . . .
I don’t blame you for it. For you, it’s an honor, and born out of love. For me, it was slavery. I just don’t want to lose you that way. And I thought I should tell you so. Kanmi’s lips quirked, faintly. And she’ll hear it, through you.
Minori could feel Amaterasu’s consternation. The goddess was doing her best not to subsume her. But it was growing increasingly difficult to tell where one of them began, and the other left off. Perhaps it came down to how active Amaterasu had been forced to be, during the past several years, as they tried to gain access to Jupiter. I will not harm you, my own, the kami told her, silently. I will leave you before that happens. One more great push. And if the gods of Rome at least turn aside from their petty attacks and assassinations on the gods of other nations at that point . . . I will manifest directly, and fight the mad gods once more. I have harbored my strength long enough, after my wounding.
You could have gone to the Veil to recover, Minori pointed out, daring greatly.
And if I had done that, I would not have been here. Able to help my people, no matter how small the ways.
Minori clasped Kanmi’s hands. Tried to convey some of these assurances to him, in broken sentences . . . but then Lassair appeared, in a form that combined human and phoenix traits. We must go now, Lassair told them. Stormborn and the scaled one await us outside.
Shifting through the Veil, Sekhmet waiting for them by a pucker in space that led to the mortal realm, Freya and Thor with her. Three thousand, three hundred and thirty years, Sekhmet told Freya almost casually as they approached. That is how long I have had this particular avatar. Meristekhu was a priestess of mine, who had been captured by Akhenaten and refused to forsake me. She was held captive in his city. Raped. Tortured. And yet she repeated my Name. Kept a bond between me and this world, when I had already been sorely wounded, forced out of my old avatar and into the Veil to lick my wounds. And then one night, I managed to cross to her. Made a
bargain with her, and filled her body with my essence. She tore herself free of her bonds and we picked up the swords of the guards. I was prepared to fight my way free . . . prepared to go fight Akhenaten, bloated as he was with the essence of so many other gods . . . and I saw a dark shadow passing outside. It turned. It looked at me, with yellow-glowing eyes, and I could see nothing in it. No spirit. No essence. Nothing but inimical death. Sekhmet paused. But death passed me by. The creature slipped back out into the night, and ten minutes later, the palace of Akhenaten tumbled to the ground.
The godslayer did not attack you? Freya sounded uneasy.
I apparently was not much of a threat to it at the time. I have no doubt at all that it would have leaped for my throat, if I had been. And if the day ever comes that I should meet it again? I will defend myself. I am not as weak now, as I was then. Sekhmet paused. However, we were speaking of our avatars. My faithful Meristekhu is not a very loud voice anymore, I fear. The modern world confuses and frightens her, but her heart remains loyal . . . and so does mine. Sekhmet looked up, baring her curving fangs. At last. A slightly skeptical look. Do you think you should go, looking like that?
Truthsayer felt herself gently shunted aside as Amaterasu assumed control of her body. You are correct, the goddess said. Jupiter will scorn a weak ally. I must, unfortunately, look the part. Do you grant your permission, my own?
You must look your best, Truthsayer admitted, but her heart ached at the expression on Kanmi Emberstone’s face.
Amaterasu lifted the Mirror in front of her face, to let her see the changes. Her hair lengthened, blowing behind her in impractical ebony glory. Her eyes became quite literally like the sun . . . fire seethed there, orange and speckled with sunspots, obscuring both iris and sclera. Her facial features altered, but only slightly. Tiny imperfections erased themselves, but left her looking . . . mostly like herself. Still the faint smile lines around her eyes, thankfully, or else she’d have looked entirely false. And she grew taller. In fact, as she looked down at Kanmi, Truthsayer-within realized that she’d put on a foot or so of height. You should do the same, Emberstone, Amaterasu counseled.
Inside, the dwindling essence of Minori winced. Thought he might well tell the goddess that this was showy, and he didn’t need to pander to other people’s notions of power. Instead, Kanmi Emberstone sighed. And said, You are probably correct. But I’m doing this under protest.
Are all now ready? Freya asked.
As we are likely to be, Thor replied, his hammer over his shoulder. Don’t waste too much time before calling for us, he added, a sense of grim determination behind his feckless smile.
And then they stepped out of the Veil, and Minori shrank to a pinpoint within her own mind. A tiny voice, unable to control her own limbs.
The air on Cyprus should have been balmy. Instead, there was an edge of ice in the air that even Amaterasu couldn’t entirely warm. Their designated meeting place had been called Mount Olympus by the locals for generations, though it was clearly not the home of the gods, the earthly entrance to which was concealed on a mountain in Macedonia. One of the highest peaks here had once held a temple to Aphrodite, where women had been, ironically enough, forbidden to enter. The entire area was cloaked in snow, every sound muffled by white.
Amaterasu trod lightly over the ground, not leaving so much as a footstep in the trackless snow as she approached the portico of the abandoned temple. Sekhmet flanked her, while Kanmi trailed behind them, with slight deference. And she was aware, peripherally, of Lassair’s presence. The phoenix had not yet manifested, but hovered in the air around them, on guard.
The sky, already leaden, darkened, and a bolt of lightning sundered a snow-covered tree. Amaterasu didn’t turn her head to regard it; she’d felt the presence before the lightning rooted itself. Her eyes remained fixed, instead, on the steps of the temple, where three figures now appeared. Two male. One female. Each of them radiating power. Sigrun’s suggestion that Jupiter might bring both Venus and Pluto was correct.
Stay where you are! Pluto commanded. He was barely visible, even to Veil senses. He cloaked his avatar in invisibility, allowing them to see a silver helmet and black robes . . . but no face. No flesh. He was a phantom.
We have come to treat with great Jupiter, Sekhmet purred. We will show all respect. But we are not here as beggars.
Venus smiled, and the chill of the Fimbulwinter seemed to dissipate, at least a little. We mean no disrespect to you, of course, she murmured. This Romans goddess was not the petulant, spoiled nymph of the Hellenes, but a fertility deity who was as much mother to her people, as Mars had once been their father. Everything else had been grafted on, when the gods of Olympus and Rome forged their pact. However, we had expected two of you . . . not two with their pets.
Amaterasu flicked a finger at Kanmi Emberstone, and said, with a certain mendacity, This one carries the power of Baal-Hamon inside of him. I have been encouraging the rebirth of the god in him. Allies are necessary, in this time. Even minor ones. Do you not agree?
Venus’ eyes narrowed, and deep inside Amaterasu, Minori fluttered a little. Venus’ beauty was like looking into the heart of the sun. She made Lassair, whom Minori had thought perfection in human form, look like a school-girl. And then the goddess smiled. And the fertility spirit?
Amaterasu shrugged. She is no longer bound to her former affiliations. You can feel the lack of a soul-bond, can you not? I know her Name. And that is enough, I assure you.
Enough, Jupiter said, abruptly. You wish to join my company? You do not come to me with forces and armies of your own. You do not come to me as equals. You come to me as petitioners. If you join my forces, you will be ranked below my brothers and sisters, do you understand? Electricity crackled through the air again, buzzing and vibrating, holding as a static charge that didn’t . . . quite . . . connect. It scraped along Amaterasu’s skin. Implicit threat.
Sekhmet bared her teeth. I was in this world two thousand years before you were adopted by a petty Etruscan shaman, Jupiter. I won’t be condescended to, by the likes of you.
Yes, you will. Jupiter’s force of will lanced out, and Sekhmet snarled and met it with her own, like a clash of blades. If you wish to become a part of my forces, you will bow those proud heads. And you will kneel before me and swear your fealty.
Amaterasu tipped her head to the side, and felt a jolt of recognition from Emberstone. It was a characteristic gesture of his wife, apparently, but the goddess ignored his unease. This is not the way in which bargains are made, she murmured. There must be give and take, not ultimatums.
You misunderstand the purpose of this meeting, then, Jupiter told her, peremptorily. Bargains are conducted between equals. You two, and your playthings? You are paupers. I am the one telling you how things will be, from this moment forwards.
Quite the autocrat. Kanmi Emberstone’s voice was a bare thread of defiance. Like the boss of an organized crime syndicate. He hasn’t quite caught up to the modern era, has he?
Amaterasu’s eyes widened, and Jupiter, clearly hearing what was almost a whisper, laughed, and told her, Silence your pet.
I think not, Amaterasu told him, her head still tipped to the side.
You defy me? When you come to me for succor and aid?
Oh, I come to you for neither. I came to do you a service, Jupiter. See the truth. See yourself. Amaterasu lifted the Mirror before her, already feeling the precursor charge speeding towards her and Emberstone . . . and then the electricity reflected back towards Jupiter, in a blue-white barrage. You would chastise me, for offering you the gift of truth? she murmured, stepping forwards. How unjust. Look, mighty one. Just one glance. How can the truth hurt you?
She advanced another step, Emberstone at her heels, and felt Venus and Pluto both surge forwards to protect their lord. Could feel the undeniable attraction of Venus’ beauty and warmth, tugging at her, urging her to raise her eyes above the rim of the Mirror. Could feel the cold blast of Pluto’s death-chill, radiating ou
t from him, cutting through her. Amaterasu began to glow, releasing some of her tightly-controlled power, letting the light radiate out from her. Did you think me weaponless? I come armed with truth in one hand and courage in the other. Did you think me powerless? I am the highest goddess of my people, however scattered they might be. The death-chill slowed her steps. Why fear the truth? It is only a weapon against those who lie.
I will not brook your insolence, Jupiter told her, and he began to flicker out of existence, leaving Venus and Pluto behind. His tone was annoyed, but there was no sense that he felt truly threatened. It was the tone of a master leaving two servants to clean up a mess.
Now, Amaterasu told the others, and Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, in her right hand, flared. In Minori’s hands, the blade had been variable in length, and made of plasma. In hers? It became a solar prominence, too searingly bright for a mortal eye to look on. Starstuff, protons and electrons superheated to thousands of degrees, and excited to almost the speed of light. A true solar flare could give off as much as one-sixth of the entire energy output of the entire sun in one second, and could be thousands of miles in length. Wielding this contained flare like a whip, Amaterasu ascended, balancing on air as lightly as she had upon the snow below, and lashed out.
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 125
