The Girl and the Goddess

by James Stone

  ‘Haunted?’ She smiled. ‘I once travelled across a land called the Deadfields. I know a lot about ghosts, and there aren’t any.’

  ‘Alright, if a girl says she knows, then certainly she must.’ He smirked. ‘But there are unspoken rules about this place, girl; don’t go to the seas at night, pretend you didn’t see the lights in the sky, don’t touch the wishing stones. You may not believe in your god,’ he said, ‘or faery, or wisp, but you sure as hell wouldn’t dare challenge it.’

  Spider didn’t speak much more after that, and soon, the ale soothed him to sleep in a pool of his own spittle.

  Magmaya began to feel herself buckle too, and at last, stole the ale bottle from the strange man, slumped into her bath and wept, feeling her humble dress become one with the water and part of the night.

  Her tears were shimmers of salt; the world grew quiet, and sleep came to her softly for the first time in what felt like centuries. Warm water rippled over her navel and kissed her neck, so all that was left was a swell of stars and silence and the gentle hum of a stained-glass moon.

  By the time daylight had broken, Magmaya’s eyes were sore with the cold. The privateer who begged her to purchase his forgeries felt half a world away, fumbling with runic beads as they trickled lank from his ears and lips. It seemed no matter how often she tried to bargain for the chisel at the back of his stall, he insisted on giving her all manner of memorabilia and false relics instead—so artificially bright they almost eclipsed her.

  The man clearly didn’t speak the common tongue; she was able to decipher one or two words, but when a girl couldn’t even barter, it soon became clear she was the foreigner.

  ‘Golden lady!’ another merchant exclaimed, drawing botched circles around his nose with one hand, while the other thrust a shimmery mask in her face, eyeing her basket of metals.

  ‘No, no.’ She shook her head and carried on with a sigh.

  Soon enough, she’d return with an empty basket and nothing to show for it. Again.

  The basket wasn’t the only thing she had that was empty—her belly was too. So, it was luck she found a fisherwoman lurking in an alcove that was willing to sneak her some white wine (after a little too much pleading). But not only was it vile, the bottle was musty and old as if it had been used as a toilet once. She carried on and got herself several sickly-green scallops for a pair of coppers, cracked them open against a nearby fountain (it was thick with rust, but she didn’t care) and let the cold flesh spill down her throat and trickle across her chin. Those tided her over, at least.

  ‘Hens for silver!’ An overweight and slightly gaudy looking man pointed at her purse, holding a rather dishevelled looking bird under his elbow. It squawked at Magmaya, and her eyes turned wide.

  ‘Tools for Spider,’ she replied, for that was all she’d been told to say.

  ‘Finest eggs you’ll ever see!’ The man ignored her with a smile of broken teeth. The feathery thing squealed again. ‘I’ll prepare it for an extra piece!’

  ‘It’s quite alright.’ She shook her head.

  There were several curiosities at each of the stalls; most of them were being described as ornate talismans or something of the like, but on closer inspection, almost all of them were stitched together scrap or broken jewellery. When she arrived at one of the markets by the windows, however, there stood a painting perhaps twenty feet tall, encased in a silver frame with a canvas that appeared to sparkle in the dim light. It was a full-body portrait of a woman, cloaked from head to toe in a thin veil of gold.

  All around her there were praying saints and cast down demons; it was a piece of awe and majesty that Kharon Vorr might have died for. It was the Golden Woman, no doubt, and she was as beautiful as the stories had described. Magmaya thought that if she reached out and touched her, the painting might’ve come alive and taken her from this dreadful place.

  ‘Seven Blood Sovereigns for the painting,’ the old man at the stall croaked, but as Magmaya drew herself closer, she noticed that he wasn’t quite as old as she had thought; he was just wrinkled by smoke.

  ‘Seven?’ she spat. ‘I won’t earn a single one in my life. Seven?’

  ‘You’re one of the angel’s, no? They have friends in the Inamoratan Grand Banks, and they have friends in the brass presses. I’d wager you’ve a hundred hidden away in that purse of yours, girl.’

  She stepped back and rolled her eyes. The Sovereign was worth so much that it had value across the whole world—they were called Blood Sovereigns after all, and they were often earned through the grisliest deeds. She would have killed for one, though—a single piece could buy you a small farm in the mountains, or perhaps a square metre of land in any capital.

  ‘Painted by Lorde Lydia of the Chain Islands,’ the seller interrupted her thoughts. ‘It was said the Golden Woman posed for hours to allow her to paint the picture.’

  ‘Did the demons pose too?’

  ‘Even the demons, they say. But the woman’s mere radiance banished them shortly after.’

  Magmaya scoffed and continued on. She wasn’t sure what she’d even do with such a painting anyway.

  The halls twisted around her like a labyrinth as she clambered several stairwells where the downtrodden slept; half of them were scraping for coppers, and the other half were maddened, doing all they could to scrounge for opium.

  The next storey had a balcony framed by marble arches, stained with smoke and green with rot, but beyond, there was nothing but an endless garden of smog, stretching out into oblivion.

  She turned back to the complex and found it crowded with a maze of tables, each with its own suite of drunken gamblers tossing dice and beating down playing cards. Around every corner, there looked as if there was a different bard, dancer or jest, their sickly tunes overlapping into some grotesque melody. Magmaya passed one of the tables, and the gamblers raised their eyes in scorn, half-clockwork faces pumping away at cigars. She watched as they tossed silvers and golds onto the table, only for all of them to somehow lose. And one by one, they trailed away to the drinks stand.

  The man serving there didn’t seem any happier to see her either, but then again, he had a scar down his left cheek that seemed to turn his face to a permanent grimace.

  ‘We don’t serve wenches here,’ he spat.

  ‘Spider sent me—’

  ‘I don’t care if Cardel himself—no, I don’t care if the Golden Woman herself sent you. I’ll beat you bloody if you take another step closer t’ me. You’re lucky you caught me in a good temper.’

  ‘I only want a drink,’ she crooned. ‘Three coppers.’

  ‘Twelve, and after that, you leave.’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Get this whore out.’ He rose, and her stomach fluttered. ‘Make sure she never comes back ‘gain!’

  Magmaya wanted to scream. The man was big and brutish, and the place was crawling with others like him. And each of them had her father’s eyes—she was sure of it! Each of them had been watching as she’d killed him.

  ‘Let her pass in peace, my good men.’ One of the gamblers stood abruptly; he was tall and lank with a sort of disconcerting manner that reminded Magmaya of a vulture.

  ‘Reed, she’s ours to deal with, she’s—’

  ‘She’s the Lord Commander’s,’ he said. ‘Look, my men, the luck of the Maiden Gods has been with me today. I have gambled away every piece of lead I own into gold. I wouldn’t test my luck any further. Let the girl go, she will not disturb you again.’ He turned to her and cocked his head.

  Magmaya’s lips were stinging as she watched the complexes pass below, feeling her mouth grow dry and her legs buckle. Gods—how had she been so foolish? To ransom that much of Spider’s money for a drink she didn’t need? To bring all the gangers down upon her?

  ‘My lady,’ a voice called from behind, and she turned to see the same man again, standing tall in flowing garnet.

  ‘Oh,’ she started, ‘I never thanked you—’


  ‘I need no thanks.’ He smiled and said, ‘But you look thirsty, girl.’ He produced a bottle of wine from his coat and left it in her palm. The surface was clear and shimmery, not at all like the one she’d had earlier.

  ‘How did you know I was with Fabius?’

  ‘I’m one of his court’s own men,’ he replied. ‘By association, though, and only with good coin.’ He giggled.

  She opened the bottle and took a swig. It was warm.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Cheyne.’

  ‘Cheyne—?’

  ‘Cheyne Reed. You wouldn’t have heard of me, my lady. I’m from no noble birth.’ He shrugged. ‘You, though? You’re the chancellor who stowed away south, no?’

  She nodded sheepishly. ‘Magmaya.’

  ‘Magmaya Vorr, yes,’ he remarked. ‘I’ve heard.’

  ‘Am I that big of a story?’ she asked.

  ‘In truth, it’s not often that some high-born travels so far south to play war,’ he admitted.

  ‘Play war?’ she asked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you know? By coming here, you’ve entered our territory, our war, Magmaya,’ his voice was crisp and smooth as he crooned to her.

  ‘Your war?’

  ‘This war. This never-ending war for the south,’ he exclaimed, ‘where each winner is shortly toppled by the next. Ludicrous affair, really.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Why, like any good war, this one has battles we must all fight, Magmaya,’ Cheyne continued. ‘Not just with knights, heroes and swords, but with words, women and wine. Is this what you want, girl? I don’t. I stay far away from these things.’

  ‘I didn’t come south to go to war.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think you did. They say all northerners dream of coming south for luxury.’ He giggled again. ‘If there’s something you must know, it’s that luxury is a commodity here, girl, and it’s won through one thing and one thing alone. And I don’t think a little Lamentation of Fates is suited for a girl like you.’

  ‘Not suited…?’ She coughed, remembering Siedous all those lives ago. ‘I—I killed Vargul Tul!’

  ‘I don’t know who that is. That tells you enough.’

  Cheyne looked around with a smile and breathed softly on the windowpane. She wished she could have punched him—how dare he insult her like that! If everyone here was playing war, then she would too.

  ‘I must be on my way if you wouldn’t mind,’ he turned back to her. ‘To be clear, don’t go back to the higher complexes again. I won’t always be there to help you.’ He tossed a coin into the air. ‘After all, today was my lucky day. I might not be feeling so generous tomorrow.’

  He disappeared, and a moment later, it was like he had never been there. Despite his thin eyes and sharp nose, he was the kind of man she forgot about the moment he turned away. A prickly man, an annoying man.

  Magmaya stole a breath and fastened the bottle to her bag. She didn’t want anymore.

  Fourteen

  She continued back to Spider and the days began anew.

  ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Cheyne Reed?’ she finally built up the courage to ask him.

  He was fumbling through the metals she had brought back, but he soon gave up, sighed and sat back.

  ‘You’re not great at this, are you girl?’

  ‘Cheyne Reed?’ Magmaya persisted. ‘You’ve heard of him?’

  ‘Seems you’re the only one who hasn’t,’ Spider replied. ‘One of the Legatus’ men under Fabius—or so when he’s paid enough. He’s got a manner about him. It unsettles me. You didn’t talk to him, did you girl?’

  ‘Uh…’ she stuttered.

  He groaned. ‘Don’t make that mistake again.’

  ‘He was kind to me,’ she murmured, tasting the wine again.

  ‘He’s kind to everyone,’ Spider said. ‘Next thing you know, there’s a knife in your back, and he’s the heir to your castle.’

  ‘You know him well then?’ Magmaya asked. She was unsurprised to hear that Cheyne wasn’t to be trusted, but it didn’t worry her any less.

  ‘I know him as well as any sod,’ he said. ‘And any sod knows well enough to stay away.’

  She set out again the next morning with barely two hours of sleep, and despite the rising of the sun, the farther her legs carried her, the darker and damper it got. As the day dragged on, the lights grew dimmer, and despite the rushing of diseased pipes overhead, she felt farther from the oceans than ever. She couldn’t even guess what the time was, though it was surely late, and she had little to show for it but an empty belly again.

  ‘Tools for Spider.’ She passed a hag at a stand, but as she grew closer, it became apparent that the woman was dead. Maggots were spilling from her eyes, and her mouth was sobbing with spit. Spider had indeed been right—bodies were commonplace, and the worst thing was, she didn’t care. When she’d found Albany all those lives ago, it had left her frozen with fear, but now, she passed the corpses like they were old friends turned strangers.

  The last few days had been turning her into a native, and she was beginning to forget herself; her life as a chancellor had vanished and now she couldn’t even find the sunshine in her own home. And where was Fabius in all of this? He had promised her to be cleaned, but he had disappeared—and as for Kurulian? He had turned a blind eye once they had arrived. She thought to the weeks before where she might have called him ‘friend’—what a fool she had been.

  The air around her was growing heavy, so she found herself clawing at the windows. The clearest view of the outside appeared to be right near the sex houses, though, from which over the past hour, all she had heard were bursts of giggles, moans and shrieks. Every few minutes, a new sell-maiden would enter, drag someone in, and with the passing of the sun, the same fool would leave alone, dishevelled and red.

  Magmaya turned her attention away, took out a small, dried leaf from her bag and pressed it up against the window, watching as the light gleamed through and struck the veins with a brilliant orange; they had never glowed so vibrantly in Rache’s room. He must have realised by now that part of his collection had gone missing, but she had hoped her own absence might’ve outweighed that. There were thousands of leaves like that on the trees in the north anyway, but none at Highport. In Ranvirus, they were short and spiny, but at Highport, they stretched to the clouds and cast great, green fans about the air.

  Magmaya took the leaf down and glanced a little too close to the right. For a moment, she could make out a throng of pink things pressed up against the glass walls and forced herself to turn away; if anyone caught her by the sex houses, Fabius would surely cast her out. But it wasn’t like she had the intention of going in.

  ‘That’s a pretty leaf,’ a soft voice sounded behind her. ‘I’ve never seen one like that.’

  The sell-maiden was wearing all yellow, from her corset to her thin leather tights. Even her hair looked as if it was dyed with the berry of some golden flower.

  ‘It’s from far away,’ Magmaya stuttered, trying hard to ignore her.

  ‘Oh—oh gods!’ She clapped her hands together. ‘You’re the girl from the north? The one Fabius took here. I’m right aren’t I?’

  She stayed quiet and turned away, but the girl didn’t lose her enthusiasm.

  ‘I’ve never had one of Fabius’ before, let alone someone from so far away.’ She pressed her finger to her lips and giggled.

  ‘I’m not one of Fabius’,’ she said, fondling the leaf. And Highport is all I can seem to remember anymore, anyway.

  ‘You have pretty hair, north girl,’ the sell-maiden said, ignoring her. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Perhaps I should be on my way.’ She motioned to another corridor, but the sell-maiden just tugged at her arm.

  ‘Don’t leave,’ she purred. ‘I had a bet with Qulaia that I’d have Fabius before her and you’re the closest
I’m going to get,’ the sell-maiden squirmed. ‘But enough about me—how do you like it here, huh? How would you even describe Highport? Is there another word for shit?’

  ‘It’s cold—everyone wants to kill me or fuck me,’ Magmaya admitted, unsure of why she was still talking. Reality felt like a thousand miles away. ‘I spend a lot of my time afraid.’

  ‘Time will see to your fear,’ the girl pursed her lips together. ‘Even the most craven of us forget what’s it’s like to be afraid.’

  Magmaya was silent.

  ‘I take it you’re not the fucking kind then?’ the sell-maiden asked.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘So, what do you like to do, huh?’ she asked. ‘I know where you can get some great ale around here. Or perhaps some cards? I’m not any good at cards. In truth, I don’t know how to play.’ She paused. ‘What’s your name again?’

  ‘Most people call me wench here,’ Magmaya smirked. ‘Or bitch or whore—oh, I mean no offence, I—’

  The sell-maiden giggled. ‘It’s quite alright. They can’t call you a whore if you’re proud of being one.’

  An oily breeze carried through the street, and a voice called from behind, ‘Are you done?’ The pair turned.

  ‘I’m busy,’ the sell-maiden said to the man, tall and draped in brown leather; he might once have been handsome, a thousand years ago.

  ‘If you’re so busy, why aren’t you in the cathouse, Malla?’ He began to slip his hand around her waist.

  ‘Give me a minute.’ She slapped his wrist away playfully, but he only tightened his grip.

  ‘I’m tired,’ he crooned and ran his hand through that yellow hair. ‘Let’s go.’

  She said a minute, Magmaya wished she had the strength to call, but all that came out was a murmur.

  ‘What was that?’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I don’t want you.’

  The man pressed himself against the girl and tugged at her breasts. Malla (if that was even her name) stifled a cough as he pulled her away, pawing at her. Magmaya’s stomach was knotted, and no matter how much she willed them on, her legs wouldn’t move.