Chapter 23

I wrapped the young goblin girl in my cloak and lifted her gently into my arms. She was light - too light. We would take her from this place, find her family, and see that she received whatever care she needed. She deserved more than a frozen monument to despair.

I thanked the great troll and reaffirmed our agreement - that memorials would be raised, that names would be carved and remembered, so they would not fade into silence again. When I asked his name, he could not give it. As the oldest of their kind, he had forgotten much, even the source of his suffering had eroded with time. I told him that even so, he would be remembered. He bowed his head, and that was all.

I said goodbye to Amilie, Makresh, Jip, and Shaa’liira. It felt one-sided. They watched somber expressions, as they always did. Amilie stepped forward and pressed her locket into my hand. No words. I swallowed past the tightness in my throat, thanked her, and kissed her forehead.

My lips burned with frost. Her skin cracked beneath the touch.

She was another I would never forget.

We left the amphitheater and stepped once more into the raging blizzard beyond. Without a cloak, the cold bit deep, numbing muscle and bone alike. Snow crusted my beard and cheeks, freezing wherever breath touched skin. Hours passed in a white haze. By the time my legs began to tremble beneath me, Ashlara pointed ahead, her words lost to the wind.

She led us to a cave that shielded us from the worst of the storm.

Inside, the ice glowed faintly blue, as if moonlight and starlight had been caught and scattered into a soft, ever-present radiance. We moved deeper, where the walls gleamed smooth and polished like mirrors, the air unnaturally still and hovering just below freezing. Massive columns of ice supported the ceiling - too regular to be natural, too organic to be carved. The cavern seemed safe.

And felt wrong.

I set the sleeping girl down gently. There was no wood for a fire, but sheltered from the wind, shared warmth would have to suffice. We dropped our packs and spread blankets close.

“And who are these godlings who enter my demesne?” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, heavy with sorrow. A pause followed. “No. Not godlings. Just the one.”

I glanced at Serah. Her face had gone pale. She shook her head. The four of us stood close around the girl, hands near weapons, eyes searching the cavern’s depths.

“We apologize for trespassing,” I called out. “We only sought shelter from the storm.”

A low growl answered. Something large shifted. Something dragged across ice. A shadow passed through the glowing walls, briefly dimming the light.

“Those who remember are welcome in my halls,” the voice said. “But I am curious about you, godling.”

The advice of Winston Zedmore flashed through my mind, but I crushed it. I wasn’t sure Ghostbusters was the best source for this interaction.

“Which of us are you addressing?” I asked and realized the mistake I’d made as soon as the words left my mouth. If I asked, then I didn’t know who she thought was divine, which removed any advantage we may have had in this conversation. It also made us seem either evasive or stupid, and I didn’t like either option. But speaking out of turn, especially if gods were speaking, would be a potentially greater faux pas.

“There is only one,” the voice replied. “And it is you.”

A woman in a plain gray dress stepped from behind one of the icy pillars.

She was tall and slender, her porcelain skin so pale it nearly glowed. Long white hair fell in a princess braid down her back. Kohl ringed her eyes, streaked down her cheeks as though she had been crying for a very long time. She looked young and ancient all at once - smooth skin marred only by faint crow’s feet at the corners of pale gray eyes. She was beautiful in a way that tugged at my heart, that made me want to give her a hug and tell her everything would be ok.

Each breath she exhaled became drifting snow. She walked toward us slowly, her gaze never leaving me.

“The Silent Widow,” Serah whispered.

I shifted, placing myself between her and the others.

Her eyes flicked to my staff. “Another of Miralis’,” she murmured. “How interesting.”

“I… yes,” I said. “I suppose I am Miralis’ champion.”

She laughed softly. There was no humor in it. “I think not, godling.”

She drifted past me, studying my companions one by one. Serah stiffened. Ashlara tensed but did not draw her axe. Mirri met the goddess’s gaze without flinching.

“So much Faith,” Yveth said quietly, “and yet so little of it in you.”

She returned to stand before me.

“Yveth,” I said carefully. “I presume.”

She inclined her head slightly, the way one might greet an old acquaintance. “And what shall I call you, godling?”

“Seth,” I replied, bowing as she had.

“Seth,” she repeated, tasting the name. “An odd name. I have not heard it before.”

“If I may?” I asked. She nodded. “You said those who remember are welcome here. The troll chieftain spoke of remembrance. Does he serve you? Is he your champion?”

Her expression darkened. “He sought me long ago. He begged for his suffering to end. I refused. In time, he surrendered to it.” A pause. “Though his will was strong, he did not endure. No, he is not my champion.”

“What does endurance mean?” I asked.

She lowered her gaze. “Suffering shapes us and we must endure. We must live with it. It is a test. It is the river that cuts the canyon of our being. It is the wind that weathers the jagged mountains to hills within our souls. We must remember our suffering. To forget it is to surrender. To deny it is to embrace a lie.”

“When we surrender we break,” she continued. “We give up. We are unmade and we fade to nothing. It is the end.”

“Yet when we deny our suffering, we forget. We ignore the sacrifices made and in doing so render them worthless. We resist the forces that mold us from the clay. We accept the lie that we are unchanged. We move on blindly. We become stagnant.”

“Rememberance,” she said, “is life. Without it, all that we have - all that we are - is cheapened and made insignificant.” She paused, her gaze intense upon me. “Does that answer your question… Seth?” Her lips struggled to form my name.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you. If I may ask one more,” I added. She nodded. “Why do you call me godling?”

Her brow furrowed, as if she didn’t understand the question. Even her confusion seemed fraught with sadness. Eventually she settled on, “Why do you think you are not?”

I took a breath, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. “Gods are ideals made flesh, right?” She bowed her head again in agreement. “They are not born as mortals, but as a concept that gains strength. And as that concept grows, it becomes associated with other things. Those other things eventually gather, creating a swarm that, when it gains enough power, becomes a god.”

“That is a crude, but reasonably accurate explanation,” she stated.

“I am none of that. I was born to a mother and father - who were regular people. I am not an ideal. I have no associations. I never had a swarm form. I am simply a mortal - a common man. There’s nothing special about me in this world or my own,” I stated.

Her gaze softened as it remained fixed on me. “There it is. A flicker. But it’s gone now. Interesting…” she pondered. “How is it you imbue the mortals around you with Faith?” she asked.

“I… don’t?” I said honestly, but uncertainly.

She studied me for a long moment. “Interesting. You are tired. Rest here. We will speak again when you wake.”

She turned and walked behind a pillar - and did not emerge from the other side.

Silence returned to the cavern.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Yveth is… not like I thought,” Serah said quietly.

“She said we could stay,” Mirri added. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“I’m exhausted,” Ashlara said. “I’m going to sleep.”

With that, we readied for bed, gathering around our young goblin ward to provide as much warmth as possible. With as tired as we were, it wasn’t long before sleep overtook us all.

* * *

I woke to a commotion. The young goblin girl had woken in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar people, and panic followed swiftly. It was only through Mirri’s gentle persistence - her calm voice and patient presence - that the girl was eventually calmed.

From there, we learned her name was Lilae. She was eight years old, from a nearby village called Pinefall. Her parents had been killed by bandits, and while the villagers had taken her in, she said they were mean.

Mirri explained softly that though the village had done what it could, Lilae would have been seen as a burden. Life there would not have been easy for her, even had she stayed.

Lilae told us how trolls had taken her from the village and imprisoned her in the cold of the amphitheater. She hadn’t eaten in days. Frostbite had set in. She had been terrified.

Mirri healed her damaged fingers, toes, and nose, and we shared some of our food. Lilae remained wary of everyone except Mirri, who she clung to as if letting go might send her back into the cold and dark.

In the lull after we ate, Yveth returned. I rose at once, intercepting her before she could startle Lilae.

“I trust your sleep was peaceful?” she asked, sounding bored. The words were offered out of courtesy rather than concern.

“Yes. Thank you for your hospitality,” I replied. “I would like to repay your kindness, though I don’t know how.”

“Payment is unnecessary,” she said offhandedly. Then, after a pause, “Though… would you walk with me?”

“It would be my honor.” I inclined my head. Turning back to the others, I added, “I’ll be back shortly.”

Mirri met my eyes and gave a solemn nod. Ashlara said nothing. Serah looked uneasy, but dipped her head in acknowledgment.

Yveth turned, and I fell into step beside her.

We walked in silence for a long while. The cavern was far larger than I’d realized - its passageways wide and gently winding, the stone walls polished smooth and reflecting a mournful, ambient light. My gaze drifted to our reflections, and I stopped short.

I was staring at myself. Not as I was now, but as I had been. Smiling.

Jennifer stood behind me, her arms looped around my neck. Emily stood in front of me, my arm resting comfortably around her shoulders. We looked as though we were posing for a photograph. And we looked happy - truly happy.

My throat tightened. I blinked back tears. “What is this?” I croaked.

“A glimpse of what might have been,” Yveth said. “These halls hold unrealized possibilities. Paths never taken. Lives that did not come to pass.”

She studied me intensely for a moment, then turned abruptly. “My apologies. I did not intend to bring you here. It has been some time since I last had a visitor. Habit seems to have guided my steps.”

The faintest flush touched her cheeks - so subtle I might have missed it had I not been so intent on avoiding my reflection.

I cleared my throat. “You come here often?” I asked, immediately regretting how similar it sounded to a cheesy pickup line. She did not seem to notice.

“I come here to remember,” she said, resuming her walk and taking a side passage that led away from the mirrors. I hurried to follow.

“How can you remember something that never happened?”

“All possibilities arise from choice,” she replied. “Though not always your own,” she added. “Here, I see the choices I might have made, and the ripples they could have created. Just as you saw the impact of a choice upon yourself.”

“What choice did I see?” I asked. “And who made it?”

“I do not know,” she said. “The mirrors reveal only the possibilities of the one who looks. I did not see what you did.”

“What did you see?” I inquired.

She said nothing.

After a long stretch of silence, I spoke again. “It must be lonely. To dwell here alone, with nothing but what could have been.”

She glanced at me. “Interesting.”

“You say that a lot,” I noted. “Am I really so fascinating?”

“Yes,” she replied. Then silence returned, broken only by my own footsteps. I realized then that she made no sound at all as she walked.

“How did you come to be?” she asked suddenly.

“How I was born?” I asked. “Or how I ended up here?”

“Last night, you claimed you were not special - in this world or your own. We will set aside the lie in that for now and speak of your world.”

I nodded. Depending on how one defined it, I was either special - or I wasn’t.

Every human was unique - different DNA, different experiences, different lives. Looking at the world in its most granular pieces, everyone was unique, and thus special. But life wasn’t experienced at that level. Life was a beach, and we were grains of sand. No one cared about the subtle differences between us. It didn’t matter if one grain was shaped differently, or had a different color, or even washed away entirely.

I was one among many. Insignificant. I worked, I slept, I lived. If I didn’t do my job, someone else would. When I was no longer fully present in my marriage, I was easily replaced. I’d accepted that long ago - or thought I had.

“I don’t know,” I said at last. “I think someone brought me here. I was walking… then I was attacked. After that, nothing. Until I woke up. Then Ashlara saved me.”

We walked until the cavern opened once more onto my companions. I doubted I could have found the way back on my own.

“I will guide you to the foot of the mountains,” Yveth said. “Gather your belongings.”

When we were ready, she led us deeper into the cavern. Moments later, we emerged into daylight. The sun stood high overhead. The air was cool but gentle, the coniferous forest alive with sound and movement.

I frowned. “Were we really so close to the bottom?”

“No,” she said simply.

She turned back toward the cave. “I will watch you, Seth,” she added, looking back. “And I will remember.”

Then she stepped into the shadows and was gone.