The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3)

by Deborah Davitt

  Surrender or die, Thor told Jupiter. Surrender, and save yourself.

  To me! Venus, awaken, you cowardly, foolish creature! Pluto, to me! Juno, my queen!

  On the ground, Venus, surrounded by smoking rubble and seething, molten rock, looked up, dazed, as she and Lassair continued to struggle in her mind. Mars was your beloved, Lassair whispered, persuasively. He was the father, you were the mother, when the Etruscans first knew you. Only when the gods of Olympus made their bargain, did Jupiter and Zeus come to rule. And what a rule has that been, with you bound to one you did not love, eternally separated from the one you did love.

  . . . Mars is dead . . . my love is dead . . . .

  . . . and that is Jupiter’s fault, is it not? Mars fell on the field of battle, with all honor, but if we were all fighting the mad gods together, would not Mars yet live? Lassair pressed her advantage. Jupiter turned on Vulcan and Hephaestus. He destroyed Vulcan, unbound you from him after centuries of durance. How sweet was it, to love Mars freely again after two thousand years and more . . . and how bitter was it, to see him die, what, a year later? And to die without cause? Did you catch any of his essence? Is there even an iota of him left, in all the worlds?

  Tears formed in Venus’ eyes. If I was the mother of my people, centuries past, they are still my responsibility. They must be protected. Jupiter is still . . . the best option to protect them . . . though I hate him. The admission felt as natural as if she were admitting it to herself, in the silence of her heart.

  Then go and protect them. Go now. Jupiter will die here. The shockwaves may reach Rome. And you will need to help lead what is left of the pantheon that he has led into ruin and destruction. Go! I will not detain you. And the gods of Valhalla and Gaul might yet ally with you, as well. We must all do what we must, to save our beloved mortals. To save this world. Lassair’s voice held sincerity. Earnestness. And wisdom, hard-earned.

  Venus’ vision returned as Lassair separated from her core, the fireling pressing a sweet kiss to her lips as she departed. Venus leaned in, and returned the kiss, breathing out into Lassair’s lips, startling her . . . and then Lassair melted for a moment, feeling as if liquid honey poured through her entire core. A gift, fireling. In thanks and respect.

  Venus gave Jupiter a single dark glance . . . and vanished, fleeting into the Veil, as the thunderer shouted after her, Whore! Traitorous whore!

  In the sky, Amaterasu pulled Emberstone to her, and wrapped the arm that held the Mirror around him, before glancing at Freya. Now.

  Freya’s eyes were distant and bleak, and she nodded, lifting up her hands. The clouds overhead parted, and a blazing speck of light began to descend, even as Amaterasu once more lashed out with Kusanagi, and Kanmi raised his hands, and poured two focused beams of light, like lasers, only powered by something in the terawex scale, directly at Jupiter. Freya’s speck of light grew larger, as Jupiter strained against Thor’s massive arms, and brought down lightning, again and again . . . all of which arced directly to Thor, who absorbed the electricity, harmlessly.

  Below, Pluto surged up out of the ground, Sekhmet still clinging to him. His invisibility had faded, and hundreds, thousands of worms roiled off of his body. He lurched forwards, trying to reach Jupiter, his brother, as the Morrigan exploded out of the blackened, smoking earth as well, bringing her spear around and slamming it into his back. Pluto roared in pain, and vanished, fleeing to the Veil. Pluto’s loyalty had never been in question, but his oath of allegiance apparently meant less to him than his existence, in this case.

  Freya’s speck of light loomed overhead now, hurtling down through the atmosphere. Cosmic rays flickered and bounced off the atmosphere, but a few actually penetrated, beaming directly down at Jupiter, boring into him, through him, and then gone; Kanmi saw them as flickers of physics, raw numbers so fast he couldn’t even identify them for a moment. A dull roar began to rumble through the air, attendant to the speck of light; whatever Freya’s creation was, it was moving faster than the speed of sound. Kanmi glanced up, and read the numbers of reality . . . and recoiled as understanding struck him. A solar prominence was part of a greater solar event, called a coronal mass ejection. The majority of the time, a star might eject some of its mass, and then it would be recaptured. The prominence, or the flare, might reach Earth’s orbit and cosmic rays might bounce off the magnetosphere. Radios might be knocked off-line for a while. L’banah and Libration station might have to hunker down against the radiation for a bit. What he now saw, appeared to be a raw piece of a star’s corona. It wasn’t just plasma—electrons and protons, stripped from their atoms—but nearly plasma-state iron, helium, and oxygen, warping and moving as the atmosphere around it shaped it, one fluid-like state interacting with the other . . . and the atmosphere was heating up and billowing out from it in a haze of numbers and physics as the blob of matter streaked towards them. Thor, you had better let go physically! Kanmi said, and gave up on words, instead trying to create a redirection to protect the thunder god, futile though the effort seemed.

  The searing mass hit. The light would have been blinding, but all Kanmi saw and heard was the symphony of numbers, describing how the star’s material was currently at the maximum temperature for a product of the chromosphere of the sun, or approximately 10,340 degrees, and travelling at just over 768 miles per hour. The way the material deformed as it struck the solid form of Jupiter. The way Jupiter’s avatar actually resisted for a moment, but already weakened by Amaterasu’s stinging attacks, his form began to crumble. The way the mass of plasma carried through into the ground, burying itself in the earth. The way the suddenly liquid earth rose up around the impact, like a puddle reacting to and accepting a raindrop into its embrace.

  Jupiter’s power was so enormous, however, that he actually survived this massive strike, which allowed Sekhmet and Morrigan to join the fight. And Amaterasu swooped in, and put the Mirror in front of Jupiter’s charred face, pitilessly allowing him to see himself. Do you understand now? she asked, as she swept back the Grass-Cutting sword, one last time. You have treated the world as you have since the age of iron. You did not grow. You treated your allies as servants, not comrades. And the world has paid the price. She brought the sword around, and Thor ducked out of the way as she removed Jupiter’s head from his shoulders.

  The island of Cyprus had been uninhabited for several years at this point. This was a very good thing, as the shockwave that emanated from Jupiter’s body tore the mountains asunder, and turned the entire land mass into a smoking crater. The eruption was the equal of the one that had destroyed Thera, and turned it into the chain of islands currently known as Santorini, thousands of years ago. When a godslayer had ended the civilization of the Minoans.

  Far off in Rome, the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, visible from the windows of Propraetor Antonius Livorus’ family villa, suddenly ignited. The great structure had burned once before, and been rebuilt, but now, it was going up in an inferno, and no one could explain why. Fire brigades didn’t dare enter the structure; the temperatures were so intense, their protective gear would do no good at all.

  To the north, near Pompeii, Mount Vesuvius, which had been guaranteed once, by a Pythia of Delphi, not to erupt again before the end of the world, began to belch out black smoke. Minori-within-Amaterasu could feel the energies of Jupiter resonating along ley-lines, reaching out along a web that triggered the anger of Vesuvius, and could dimly sense, even at this distance, as the first carbon dioxide plumes began to emerge, and the first pyroclastic flows began to slide down the mountain’s face. Directly below her feet, Cyprus’ earth shattered and fell into the Mediterranean, starting massive tidal waves, which would crash into Tyre and ports of Judea in an hour or so. Would swamp Sicily and Roman ports at almost the same time. Nodens is dead! the Morrigan reminded them, stridently. Get Njord here, and try to stave off another disaster!

  Even with so many powerful gods there, they hadn’t been able to contain nearly enough of Jupiter’s massive power.
Kanmi was almost floating, however, on the haze of it, as Sigrun and Nith emerged from the Veil over the smoking ruins of Cyprus, with Njord in tow. It doesn’t appear that the saltwater did much to slow this down, Sigrun told them all.

  Sekhmet’s head lifted; the lion-headed goddess was covered in wounds that Freya and Amaterasu were trying to bind. She looked like a worm-eaten piece of wood, or a piece of paper on which a child had used a magnifying glass, to test how the sun might really burn things. Except that every one of her wounds welled with blood. Retreat for now, she suggested, tiredly. Mad ones will come. But the saltwater surrounding us did deaden the sensation of the fight, somewhat. They will come . . . but we can prepare, first.

  They withdrew. Those who had been manifested when Jupiter had died had reason enough to do so; Sekhmet was badly wounded, and needed treatment in Valhalla. And the others needed time to assimilate what they had just absorbed.

  And so, in a small home in Jerusalem, Amaterasu put Kusanagi on its stand, carefully; the blade had returned to its normal state, and was sheathed once more. She set the Mirror on the kitchen table, as if it weren’t a priceless relic forged with godly powers, and turned as Kanmi followed her in. “I could get used to being this height,” Kanmi admitted. He was currently just over six feet, just as tall as Amaterasu had made herself, and no taller. “Glad you don’t go in for that seven-foot, eight-foot stuff that some of the other gods do.” His tone was vague, and his essence seethed with absorbed power, all electrical blue, burrowing into his dark red outline. Two different types of power, fighting for supremacy.

  Amaterasu found herself staring at him. They are young. And the young sometimes feel a need to be showy.

  “I wouldn’t call Prometheus young.” He slumped into a chair, speaking with her almost casually.

  The titans apparently needed to be very, very clear with their worshippers. She moved closer, and her hands reached out, of their own accord, and touched his face. And she watched his head snap up and his eyes go wary with a pang of sorrow. Amaterasu realized precisely what was going on, with an internal wrench. Forgive me. Minori is . . . assimilating to me. We are overlapping far too much. When she looked at Kanmi Emberstone, at the moment, for example, she saw both a brilliant young god, nascent in his power, and doing his best to deal with what he’d just absorbed from Jupiter . . . but she also saw Kanmi Eshmunazar. She saw him through Minori’s mortal eyes and memories, and these were braiding through her awareness, faint, but true. Minori’s voice was receding, rapidly, as Amaterasu had to struggle, herself, to absorb the portion of Jupiter’s power that she had consumed . . . and the only word the sinking spirit kept repeating, was her husband’s name. I will not permit this to occur, she told him, quietly, seeing the panic rise in his spirit. She has given much for me. I will not permit her to give all.

  Amaterasu stepped free of Minori’s body, and manifested, directly, as herself. There was a difference; a direct manifestation allowed a spirit or a god to create their own body. But it was somewhat less powerful than using a human’s body as an avatar and conduit. A human’s body, however, was commensurately more vulnerable. She turned and caught Minori’s wrists as the woman’s body swayed, and nearly fell. Forgive me, child, she murmured, and began repairing the damage she had so inadvertently done, and Kanmi lunged to hold his wife in his arms, staring at Amaterasu in anger and desperation.

  Minori’s frame shrank back down to closer to her normal height, but her skin continued to radiate light as her dark eyes opened, dazed. Amaterasu gently touched her face. You are my own dear child, she said, gently. Your patience and your care have allowed me to heal here, in the mortal realm, in full contact with my poor followers, rather than retreating to the Veil. You’ve given me perspective and succor and a place to hide here in the realm of the god of Abraham. No more hiding, my child. Now, I will fight. She touched Minori’s hair, lightly. I leave you with the sword and the mirror. Use them well. And know that I will always be a part of you . . . as you are now a part of me. Amaterasu looked down. This had to be, for Minori’s sake. She could not take the risk of absorbing the woman’s bright and powerful spirit. Not when Minori . . . Truthsayer . . . was beloved of Kanmi. Not when Minori might yet become more than what she was today.

  Amaterasu smiled faintly, and let herself disperse. She had mad godlings to fight, and a world to save, if she could.

  In their kitchen, Kanmi caught Min as her knees gave way. Minori looked up at him, and dazedly told him, “You’re too tall—”

  “Screw that, are you all right?”

  “I was starting to . . . fade. I . . . don’t think it would normally have happened, not for centuries, but her internal walls . . . too much power taken from Jupiter . . . .” Minori sagged into a chair as Kanmi pulled it out for her. “Kanmi-kun . . . I was becoming her. She was becoming . . . a little bit me. And I didn’t even mind.” She looked bereft for a moment. “How could I mind . . . becoming part of someone so . . . perfect?”

  Kanmi put his head down on her lap, and shook. “I came back for you,” he told her, his voice muffled. “Not Lassair, not Amaterasu, not anyone else. Just you.” His children had been a factor, but the real driving force had been her.

  Minori stroked a hand over his hair, noting, distantly, that her skin still glowed faintly, as if the sun were inside her flesh. In the faint sunlight from the gray, overcast sky outside, it was scarcely noticeable, but at night . . . she’d probably light up a room. Distant thoughts. Maundering, wandering. “I know you did,” Minori whispered, and leaned forwards. Lifted his head, so she could kiss him, lightly. “And thinking of you was the only thing keeping me from dissolving. That’s why she let go.”

  And so they held each other in their prosaic kitchen, light still shimmering off Minori’s skin. An eternal mark of Amaterasu’s favor and love, and the two of them shook as the sun began to set, and the thick pall of clouds, just now being pushed back by the wind currents from the storm they’d all spawned over Cyprus, revealed a night sky filled with shimmering blues and greens. The aurora borealis, the northern lights, only far outside their normal purview. Typically, they were seen when a solar flare, much attenuated by distance, struck the Earth, and the energy was dispersed to the poles by the magnetosphere. Freya’s handiwork, I think, Kanmi thought, and held Minori all the more tightly. He’d almost lost her today . . . and he might not even have noticed when it happened. Do you think we have a fighting chance now, Min?

  I think a fighting chance is all we’ve ever had. She leaned into him, staring up at the lights. Let’s get out there and make sure we take it.

  Kanmi’s lips quirked up, and he dissolved into light. We’ll let the children know where we’re going, he told her. And then back to work. The world isn’t going to save itself.

  Minori shuddered a little, and concentrated. Leaving behind her physical form was perhaps the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. He did it so easily now, but for her . . . it felt as if she’d die. No. I’ll catch you. But I think Amaterasu’s already caught you pretty well.

  Her flesh dissolved, and Minori ascended, letting her light join with Kanmi’s. Emotions, thoughts, and power, braiding through each other’s essence. Glorying in each other, and flowing into and through each other. And then they spread out through the city . . . and got back to work.

  Far away, the doors of Olympus slammed open, and Pluto stalked through them. He had been known as a fair judge, if a stern one, to his mortals. In the past few years, he had lost his bound mate, Proserpine—it had not been a particularly happy coupling, either in how humans viewed them, or in fact. But they’d been bound, and with her death, a fraction of his own essence had been ripped away. Now, as he staggered in the great gate, everyone left in Olympus turned to stare at him. He usually concealed his appearance. Proserpine had insisted upon that, repelled and horrified as, over the centuries, his humanoid form had twisted and distorted.

  Now, his entire body, under his dark cloak, seemed to be made of writhing worms, u
ndulating and uncoiling. With each step, masses of them fell away, like blood, or chunks of flesh, but he never seemed to run out of substance, though he was clearly wounded, and badly. Venus had already reached the great hall, and was conversing, urgently, with Juno and Vesta, and turned now towards him, her lovely eyes wide. He could see Juno’s gaze become calculating, and Vesta cringed away from the discord that hung in the air like the promise of thunder.

  Pluto ignored them, and dragged himself to his double throne, where Hades, his detestable Hellene twin, sat uneasily. Sagged into the seat, and leaned his head back, eyes closing. Vague awareness of conferences, humming tides of speech he couldn’t quite hear, but could certainly feel, in the etheric currents around him. You are, of course, he said, without preamble, and with great precision, deciding if you can either co-opt me to one side or another, or if you should attempt to kill me to stabilize your own power base, and ensure that Olympus continues on as it always has. Bickering and politics and duplicity, and everyone in someone else’s bed.

  Pluto opened his eyes, wearily, and regarded the whole of Olympus . . . what was left of it, at any rate. Vesta wasn’t much of a threat, though she was his sister. Juno, another sister, should have had as much power as he did, but Jupiter had systematically sidelined her and her worship for millennia. Apollo of Delphi, useless Hellene shadow that he was, gibbered on his half of an otherwise empty golden throne, biting at his fingers till they bled, and mumbling about broken futures. Artemis, his twin, sat beside him, occasionally trying to pull his fingers out of his mouth. Minerva? Gone, fled into the wild Veil. Vulcan? Destroyed, consumed by Jupiter. Mars, dead by a mad god’s power. Orcus, happy assassin that he was, was now sitting stock-still on his own throne, leaning on his scythe, looking worried. Neptune, dead. Bacchus, dead. Ceres and her echo Demeter, Proserpine and her echo Persephone, Mars and Ares, all dead.