Chapter 204

I spent the night with my women. Ashlara. Mirri. Serah. Elise. Iolite.

At some point I was going to need a larger bed. Possibly more arms. Probably both.

We made love. Held each other. Talked. Shared the tiny, insignificant things that somehow mattered more than grand declarations ever could. Whispers. Touches. The quiet certainty of devotion and trust.

Eventually we fell asleep tangled together beneath blankets and limbs.

I woke to movement.

Not enough to disturb anyone else. Just enough to catch my attention.

I didn't open my eyes. I didn't need to.

A beacon burned nearby. Gold, bright and innocent, threaded with lively sparks of red - a tiny bonfire.

It crept across the bed with all the subtlety of a hunting cat.

I felt my lips twitch.

The beacon froze. Its prey had almost noticed. Several seconds passed. Then it began moving again. Slowly. Carefully. One tiny step at a time.

The beacon approached. Stopped. Coiled - ready to strike.

I stepped twice in rapid succession.

Once to wrap my arms around her. A second time to escape the bedroom entirely.

Briva squealed as we appeared in the kitchen.

I immediately roared and began making terrible monster noises while pretending to bite her neck.

She shrieked with laughter.

I pulled back, grinning.

Briva responded with a roar of her own and lunged forward to bite my neck.

I staggered dramatically. Clutched my chest. And collapsed to the floor in exaggerated slow motion.

She immediately climbed on top of me.

“Oh, no!” I cried. “The beast has been slain by the mighty huntress!”

Someone cleared their throat.

Briva and I froze.

A woman stood motionless beside the counter.

For a heartbeat I thought she was a statue.

Her skin was the charcoal gray of ancient basalt. Cracks spiderwebbed across her body, glowing red from within like magma beneath cooling volcanic rock. The glow pulsed slowly, rising and falling like the heartbeat of something vast sleeping deep beneath the earth.

She was broad shouldered and heavily built. Not muscular. Not heavy. Solid. As though she had been carved from a mountainside and simply decided to start walking one day.

Layered robes of obsidian plates draped over her frame. Their polished surfaces reflected the faint light of pre-dawn in fractured glimmers. Heavy jewelry hung from her neck, wrists, and fingers - obsidian, granite, crystal. Nothing delicate. Nothing ornamental. Everything looked built to survive.

Her eyes were almost human.

Almost.

The irises glowed the orange-red of molten stone. Not fiery. Not angry. Deep. Like looking into a volcanic caldera and realizing there was far more beneath the surface than you could see.

Her hair flowed down her back in thick ropes of black volcanic glass. Jagged edges caught the light like obsidian blades. Tiny fractures ran through some strands, glowing faintly from within.

Faith surrounded her.

Gray. Red. Green.

Unlike most beacons, hers didn’t move. Didn’t swirl. Didn’t shift. It stood.

The gray of balance and perspective formed immense walls around her. Within their fractures pulsed veins of slow-moving red pressure and violence. Deep beneath everything, almost hidden from sight, rested the green of survival and renewal.

Briva growled.

I immediately tightened my grip around her middle before she could launch herself at the goddess.

“Let's get you some breakfast, kiddo.”

She continued glaring as I got to my feet. She squirmed slightly in my grasp as she planned her attack.

I poured her a bowl of homemade cereal. Added milk. Set on the table, then put her in a chair.

She never looked away from the stranger.

Neither did the stranger look away from her. The woman remained perfectly still. Unnaturally still. She could have stood there for a century without changing position.

Once Briva had food and I'd kissed the top of her head, I finally turned toward our guest.

“Granyth, I presume?”

Several seconds passed. Then she nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was low. Husky. The voice of a mature woman who'd spent centuries speaking over volcanic eruptions.

“I didn't feel you arrive,” I said. “Which means you stepped in somewhere else and walked through my front door.” I folded my arms. “May I ask why you've been standing in my kitchen?”

The weight of her gaze settled on me. “I did not wish to disturb your slumber.”

Briva shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth without breaking eye contact.

I had to suppress a laugh.

She was almost four years old and desperately wanted to fight a goddess. I was going to need to keep an eye on that.

“Well,” I said, “I'm awake now. What can I do for you?”

Torvek entered the kitchen, still half asleep. He made it three steps before noticing Granyth. He stopped. His eyes immediately found mine.

“Relax,” I told him. “We’re fine.”

I looked at Granyth. “Right?”

There was a pause before she answered. “I do not wish harm upon you or your family.”

“If you grab some bacon, I'll start breakfast,” I told my son.

Torvek hesitated, then nodded and disappeared outside.

I began washing potatoes. “Are you staying for breakfast?”

“No.”

“Then what can I do for you?”

After a long pause, Granyth finally spoke. “I came to-”

“Briva.” My voice sharpened.

Behind me, her beacon had started moving again.

“Get back in your chair.”

She froze.

“There is no attacking guests in this house.”

Silence.

I turned.

She sat halfway out of her seat, gripping her wooden spoon like a warrior preparing for glorious battle.

Our eyes met.

She hesitated. Then slowly climbed back into her chair. The look on her face suggested this was the greatest injustice she'd ever endured.

“I apologize,” I said. “Please continue.”

Granyth inclined her head. “I came to-”

“Slow down, Morien,” Brinja called from the dining room. “Are you really that hungry?”

A blur of white hair burst into the kitchen. Morien stopped immediately when she saw Granyth. Not surprised. Just curious. As though discovering an ancient goddess in the kitchen before sunrise was an interesting puzzle.

Brinja stumbled in behind her, still holding Morien's hand. Still mostly asleep.

Her eyes found me. Then Briva. Then Granyth.

Her brain visibly caught up with reality. She squeaked, scooped Morien into her arms, and took a step backward.

“If you'd give Morien some cereal, I could use help cutting vegetables,” I said. “Onions. Peppers. Mushrooms.”

“Uh... sure.” Brinja cautiously obeyed.

Torvek returned carrying bacon.

Tib shuffled in behind him rubbing sleep from his eyes. He grabbed a bowl. Poured cereal. Sat down. Lifted a spoonful. Then finally noticed Granyth.

The spoon slipped from his hand. Milk splattered across his pajamas.

Nobody commented.

Torvek started slicing bacon.

Brinja chopped vegetables.

I diced potatoes.

The tension in the room became thick enough to spread on toast.

Everyone tried very hard to pretend there wasn't a volcanic goddess standing silently in the corner.

“I apologize,” I said. “You were saying?”

Granyth looked around the room. One face. Then another. Then another. “I came to-”

“It's not that big a deal, vaer,” Mak's voice drifted in from the dining room.

“It's dangerous,” Mirri replied.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Issa argued.

“You were punished for doing it anyway,” Ashlara added.

The rest of the family entered together, then stopped. Every conversation died instantly.

“Sorry,” Mirri said. “Didn't know we had company.”

I crossed the room and kissed her. Then Ashlara. Elise. Iolite. Serah.

Iolite returned the kiss, but her eyes never left Granyth. Of everyone present, she looked the most uneasy.

Interestingly, Granyth's gaze lingered on her slightly longer than the others before moving on.

“Should we give you two some privacy?” Serah asked.

“Nah.” I gestured around the kitchen. “I think that's everyone.”

Then I looked at the goddess. “And Granyth already said she wasn't staying for breakfast.” A beat passed. “Unless you've changed your mind?”

“No.”

“Then we’re good.” I returned to my potatoes. “Once again, I apologize. You were saying?”

The entire family stared at Granyth.

The goddess stared back.

At last she spoke. Slow. Measured. Deliberate. “I came to inform you that both the High Witan and the God-Kings will move against you shortly.”

* * *

“What do you mean they're going to move against us?” Mirri demanded.

“When?” Serah asked immediately.

“How?” Ashlara's voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.

“Why?” Elise asked softly.

I raised a hand. “All excellent questions.” My eyes moved to Granyth. “Let's give her a chance to answer them.”

The weight of everyone's attention settled on the goddess.

Briva growled.

“Just one moment, please,” I told Granyth. “I've never actually tried this before.”

The Cracked Mother nodded slowly.

I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Then another. When I opened them, Clo was standing beside me.

There was no flare of Faith. No dramatic entrance. No warning whatsoever. One moment she wasn't there. The next she was. Afterimages blurred around her form as reality caught up.

She looked around the room. Then grinned. “Yes! First one here!”

She threw devil horns toward Granyth and stuck out her tongue.

I chuckled.

Faith flared. This time I felt it.

Lines of light shimmered into existence before me. Intricate geometric patterns unfolded through the air - angles intersecting, separating, reforming. They reminded me of an old nineties screensaver.

The structure collapsed inward and Thae stood where it had been.

She glanced at me. Then Granyth. Then everyone else.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I may not have thought this through.” My eyes swept over the increasingly crowded kitchen. “We should probably move this to the dining room.”

People began filing toward the door.

Faith thickened again. The air grew heavy. The stone floor beneath my feet darkened.

Something emerged from below. Not breaking through. Not forcing its way upward. Simply rising as though the world itself had decided to let it pass.

Moss unfolded from the stone. Her massive frame slowly pulled itself free until she stood upright.

“Nice of you to join us,” I said. “We’re heading into the dining room for more space.”

Her grin widened entirely too far. She nodded.

Faith surged again.

Pressure swept through the room. Dust froze in place for a heartbeat, compressed and trembling. Then Nim stepped through it. Not appearing. Passing through. As though he'd crossed a threshold invisible to everyone else.

“Hey, big guy. Pow wow in the dining room.”

He nodded once.

Faith shifted again.

Footsteps echoed where no one walked. A flicker danced at the edge of vision. The faint impression of breath brushed my ear. Vel stepped into existence. Subtle as ever.

Then the air exploded. Faith ruptured with a deafening crack, like a mountain-sized bone snapping. Blood splattered outward in midair. Limbs, fragments, and pieces of a body appearing out of sequence.

Everything reversed itself in an instant. Blood snapped backward. Flesh reassembled. Bones locked into place.

Tansy stood before me, perfectly intact - as though none of it had happened.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

She offered a sheepish nod and immediately followed the others.

Throughout all of this, Granyth never moved. Never flinched. Never blinked. She watched each arrival with silent interest.

When the room finally cleared, I gestured toward the door. “After you.”

The goddess inclined her head and moved toward the dining room.

I followed.

As I passed through the doorway, roots began crawling across the frame. They twisted together. Wove themselves into the shape of a woman. Warm golden light spilled through the gaps. Naevira stepped through the living doorway already in motion, as though she'd simply walked in from another room.

The roots unraveled behind her and vanished.

She smiled nervously.

Stepping was still new for her. For now, she still needed the physical motion. The actual act of crossing from one place to another. That would change with practice.

“Everyone take a seat,” I said.

I pulled out a chair for Granyth and seated her near the middle of the table.

Then I circled around and took the seat directly opposite her.

Faith flared once more.

Elarion appeared. His bow was tucked beneath one arm. His sword beneath the other. He was attempting to tuck his shirt into his pants while simultaneously fastening his belt. “What happened?” he asked immediately.

“We have a guest.” I pointed toward Granyth. “She's bringing news that I think all of us need to hear.”

His gaze followed mine. Only then did he notice the goddess. His brow furrowed, but he didn't comment. Didn't ask questions. Just finished buckling his belt and sat down.

I looked around the table. My family. My friends. My gods.

Every seat was occupied.

The room felt smaller than usual. Heavier.

“We're all here now,” I said.

My eyes settled on Granyth.

“Granyth has informed us that both the High Witan and the God-Kings intend to move against us soon.”

Silence settled over the room.

I folded my hands on the table. “And I believe,” I said carefully, “you were about to explain the what, when, how, and why.”