Begin Book 4

“What’s the scene, jellybean?”

I stepped into the containment chamber and immediately realized Nyssira was having one of her episodes.

Normally she appeared as a woman fashioned from living parchment, her thoughts and emotions scribbling themselves across her skin in restless strokes of black ink. Her face was a slowly turning constellation, stars drifting and rearranging themselves as her mood shifted.

Occasionally she took the forms of gods she had absorbed.

Elyndra, goddess of truth revealed. Kareth, god of iterative creation. Ashira, the fires of destruction. Thalos, god of journeys. Drazhkul, god of conquest.

Once she'd become a floating sphere of molten stone, magma dripping from its surface only to arc back upward and vanish into its own gravity.

That one had been particularly strange. Then again, stacking a dozen aspects inside a single god tended to produce strange results.

Today was worse.

Nyssira paced within the circle of containment wards while three heads protruded from her shoulders, all arguing simultaneously.

One arm was encased in heavy black armor. The other was rough granite streaked with moss. One leg resembled scarred slag fresh from a forge. The other appeared human. Her torso glowed with soft internal light.

At the center sat Nyssira's own head. The stars that formed her face spun angrily as tiny novas flared and died across her features.

To her left was Elyndra. Translucent skin. Opalescent eyes devoid of pupil or iris. Long hair the color of aged parchment.

To her right was someone I didn't recognize. Long black curls spilled over her shoulder, threaded with silver so fine it resembled cracks spreading through dark glass. Tiny ornaments - coins, rings, broken seals, jeweled pins - chimed softly whenever she moved, each sound carrying the suggestion of distant whispers.

A translucent veil covered the lower half of her face. Thin enough to reveal the shape of a perpetual smirk beneath. Her eyes never settled on a single color. They shifted constantly as she spoke.

None of them noticed me.

“You're insufferable,” Elyndra hissed.

“You're both insufferable,” Nyssira muttered.

“You cannot simply bury truth because it wounds you,” Elyndra seethed.

“Oh, but she absolutely can,” the other woman purred. “And frankly, the more disastrous the truth, the more entertaining the concealment becomes.”

Nyssira squeezed her eyes shut.

“I wasn't speaking to you,” Elyndra shot at the woman.

“Of course not,” she lamented. “Nobody ever wants to speak to me. Then suddenly they're confessing infidelity, tax fraud, and intrusive thoughts.”

“You encourage division,” Elyndra accused.

The woman gasped. “I celebrate honesty.”

“You weaponize weakness.”

“And you bludgeon people with truth regardless of consequence,” the brunette spat.

“Truth is consequence.”

“And there she goes,” the woman sighed happily. “I missed this.”

Nyssira's jaw tightened. “Enough.”

Neither listened.

Elyndra turned toward Nyssira. “You're deteriorating because you refuse to acknowledge what you've become.”

“I know exactly what I've become.”

“No.” Elyndra's voice sharpened. “You know what you intended to become.”

The brunette's grin widened. “Ooooh. Burn!”

“Shut up,” Nyssira snapped.

“You absorbed us because you feared irrelevance,” Elyndra continued. “You wanted totality. Omniscience. Control.”

I crossed the room, trying very hard not to stare.

“Ooooh, who's the cutie?” the brunette asked as I passed.

“Seth,” Elyndra greeted. “You seem to have stabilized. For now.”

The brunette blinked. “That's Seth?” She looked me up and down. “Mmm.” Her grin broadened. “Now I know why Yveth wanted to fuck him.”

I stopped. “What?”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “And he didn't even know. Delicious.”

She leaned toward the other two. “What do you think, girls? Do I have a chance?”

Nyssira fixed me with a murderous glare.

I wasn't entirely sure whether this was a trick, a symptom of stacking, or both. Either way, curiosity got the better of me.

Elyndra ignored the question entirely. “You seem to be handling this better than we are.”

“To be fair,” I said, “Nyssira's been doing this longer than I have. She also picked up aspects a lot faster.”

“By going on a murder rampage,” the brunette added.

“Also true.” I glanced toward her. “Who are you?”

The woman tossed her curls over one shoulder. Jewelry chimed softly. “Vaelis, lover boy. Pleased to meet you.”

“Vaelis,” I repeated. “Makes sense. Goddess of rumor and scandal, right?”

“In the fle-” She stopped abruptly. Looked down. Then back up. “Uh... yeah. That's me.”

“We will leave you to speak with Nyssira,” Elyndra announced.

“We will?” Vaelis asked.

“We will,” the goddess of truth revealed stated.

“Aww.”

“Is there anyone else in there who wants to come out and talk?” I asked, then caught myself. “And if you try to bring out Yveth, I swear by all that is holy that I will gather every child I can find, march them down here, and have them sing the same three songs off-key until both our ears bleed.”

“No.” Nyssira's answer came quickly.

Elyndra and Vaelis exchanged identical looks. Then slowly, both heads sank back into Nyssira's shoulders. Their features dissolved into pale light and drifting ink. The mismatched armor, stone, and luminous patches scattered across her body softened and reformed until she once again resembled herself.

Or at least the version of herself I'd grown accustomed to.

Nyssira turned and glared at me.

Then another head emerged from her shoulder. The newcomer appeared carved from rough granite veined with copper and iron. Short lichen-green hair clung close to her scalp, and calm emerald eyes regarded me with the patient certainty of a mountain.

“I do,” she rumbled.

“No, you don't!” Nyssira snapped.

The stone woman ignored her completely. “Thank you for taking care of Iolite,” Dromaia said. Her voice carried the slow, deliberate weight of shifting stone.

“They say parents aren't supposed to have favorites.” Her expression softened. “But she was mine.”

I couldn't help smiling. “She’s a wonderful woman. I don't know if that's really you or not, but I'll keep taking care of her as best I can.”

Dromaia considered that for several long seconds. Then she nodded. “I don't know if this is really me or not either.”

For just a moment, something uncertain flickered behind her eyes. “A strange thing for a god to admit.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But thank you.”

Then she sank back into Nyssira's shoulder.

The stone cracked. Collapsed inward. And vanished.

Silence settled over the chamber.

Nyssira stared at the floor.

I stared at her.

Finally, I pulled out a chair and sat down.

The scrape of wood against stone echoed through the room.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?”

Nyssira slowly raised her head. For several seconds she simply stared at me. Then-

“I hate you.”

I nodded. “There she is,” I said with a smile.

* * *

“Good,” I told her. “Where did you end up?”

We stood within Naevira's demesne as we discussed Faith and divinity.

Unlike my own, hers didn't constantly shift and rearrange itself. It felt steady. Grounded.

At the center stood a colossal oak, its trunk nearly fifty feet across and its crown towering more than five hundred feet into the azure sky. Its branches spread outward like protective arms, casting shade across the quiet village clustered beneath it.

The sun always seemed to be setting there. Warm amber light washed over everything, turning the world soft and welcoming. Puffy white clouds hung motionless overhead, as if time itself had decided there was no reason to hurry.

Mountains rose in the distance. Beyond them lay forests, plains, deserts, tundra, and ocean. Somehow they all flowed naturally into one another despite having no business doing so.

Paths crisscrossed the entire demesne - game trails, dirt roads, merchant routes, winding footpaths. Thousands of them. No matter where they began, they all eventually led back to the great oak.

Scattered among them were shelters. A cabin tucked beneath pines. A tent overlooking a valley. A roadside inn. A cave beneath an overhang. A farmhouse beside a stream.

Each bore signs that someone had once been there. A folded blanket. A toy forgotten beneath a bed. A cup left on a table. A pair of boots by a door. The places felt lived in. Safe. Welcoming. Like home.

Swallows darted between rooftops and branches, filling the air with cheerful song. Brooks babbled through the grass. Gentle breezes carried comforting scents from place to place.

Fresh bread. Wood smoke. Rain on stone. Clean blankets.

Each shelter seemed to possess its own familiar smell, as though it remembered what comfort meant.

“In a house of healing,” Naevira replied. “There were many sick and injured.”

I nodded. “What did you do while you were there?”

“I spoke to a child.” A small smile touched her lips. “A boy who had lost his leg. I made him a toy boat from my vines.”

She glanced down at her hands. “I did not know I could remove them. Or grow new ones.”

I grinned. “That’s fantastic.”

She blinked. “It is?”

“Absolutely. You learned something new.” I gestured broadly. “It took me years to figure some of this stuff out. Every god is different, which means our gifts are different. I can’t make things like that outside my demesne.”

I pointed at her. “But apparently you can. That’s amazing.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks and she looked away.

“Did you go anywhere else?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I visited an orphanage.”

“That’s another great place of refuge.” I smiled. “What did you do there?”

“I watched the children sleep.” She hesitated. “I did not want to disturb them.”

“Good.” I reached over and squeezed her arm gently. “So far your Faith has pulled you toward an inn, a campsite, a hospital, and an orphanage.”

I laughed. “That’s a pretty strong pattern. My guess is you'll eventually find yourself appearing in homes, shelters, caves, waystations, and every other place people go when they need safety.”

I chuckled. “Honestly, your Faith is a lot easier to figure out than mine was.”

“Why?”

“Because mine was weird.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Crossroads,” I explained. “I kept showing up at crossroads. Sometimes city gates. Occasionally harbors.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I appeared at a funeral once.”

Her eyes widened.

“Awkward.”

“What did you do?”

“I excused myself and left.”

She actually laughed. A tiny laugh. But it counted.

“My Faith gathered around places where people made decisions. Places where they had to believe they were choosing the right path without knowing what came next.” I looked out across her demesne.

“It’s important to understand your Faith. Not just what it is, but what it does.” I leaned against the trunk of the great oak. “When I first ascended, I focused almost entirely on the negative parts.”

Naevira looked at me curiously. “Such as?”

“The belief that I was wrong.” I shrugged. “That I'd failed. That I'd made mistakes. That I should have done better.”

I met her eyes. “And that is part of my Faith. But so is believing people are good.”

Her expression softened.

“Believing we can improve. Believing we can learn from our mistakes. Believing we did the best we could with what we had.”

I took her hand. “Refuge helps people.”

She nodded.

“But it can also trap them.” I squeezed her hand gently. “If nobody ever struggles, nobody ever learns. If nobody ever faces challenges, nobody ever becomes stronger.”

I laughed. “That’s something I learned as a parent. You want to protect them. You want to solve their problems. You want to make every bad thing disappear.” I sighed. “But eventually you realize it’s their life. Their choices. Their mistakes.”

“Our responsibility is to help people the best way we can. And sometimes that means not helping.”

She frowned. “That seems contradictory.”

“It is.”

“Most gods barely notice mortals.” I shrugged. “They see people as Faith generators. Resources. Insignificant creatures.” I shook my head. “I think that happens because gods aren’t born the way mortals are. They don’t have families. They don’t grow up. They don’t learn how to interact with people.”

“But we're different.” I gestured between us. “We’ve been mortal. We’ve had families. And even if you don’t remember yours, you remember mine.”

She grew quiet.

“You’re part of it.”

A flicker of emotion crossed her face.

“You belong there.”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then I clapped my hands together. “Anyway! Next lesson.”

She rolled her eyes. “You do that often.”

“Deflect emotional moments?”

That earned another laugh. “Yes.”

“So, we're bound by our Faith,” I continued. “But it doesn't define us.”

I started pacing. “If we fight our Faith too much, it falls out of balance. If it gets bad enough, it can kill us.”

Naevira's expression immediately grew serious. “Kill us?”

“Eventually.” I nodded. “But we also can't completely violate it.”

I began counting on my fingers. “Elyndra couldn't lie. Not even a tiny lie.” I raised another finger. “Pyraeth can't accept weak leadership. If he sees someone as weak, he physically cannot respect their authority. So every god has limits.”

“What are yours?”

I thought about it. “Accepting fate.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I can't accept that there's only one path forward.” I spread my hands. “I can accept failure. I can accept bad odds.” I shook my head. “But I can't accept that there isn't another choice.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “There's always another choice. Even if it is a bad one.”

Naevira considered that quietly. “And mine?”

I smiled. “We'll figure that out together.”

She returned the smile.

“So we’re bound by our Faith in that it imposes limits we can’t break,” I continued. “But we’re not defined by it.”

“For that second part, I mean that we are complex creatures. Like mortals we have needs and wants and dreams and loves. Just because you’re the goddess of refuge doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy other things. Urzan-Brak was a weaponsmith, from what I’ve been told. Moss is breeding weird, man-eating plants. Clo is obsessed with Earth. Vel has become a strangely social butterfly.”

I gestured toward her demesne. “You're the goddess of refuge.” Then I tapped her gently on the forehead. “But that's not who you are.”

She looked away. Thoughtful. Confused. Hopeful.

“Figure out who that person is.” I grinned. “And hold onto her.”

My smile turned sheepish. “Trust me. That's a lot harder than it sounds.”