A bone-painted face popped up in front of Elysia, eyes and face aglow with excitement like this was all good news and they were at a party. Words flying fast, the woman tried and failed to hook a chummy arm through Elysia’s.
Undeterred, she chirped away. “You’ve finally come! We’ve been waitingsolong for you to arrive. We even sang every night to guide you home.”
Elysia’s distress leapt to new levels. Mouth seemingly stuckshut, her gaze darted around to all the people paying rapt attention to their exchange and then to the door.
Another priestess, who walked like a warrior of death rather than death’s handmaiden, hushed the bubbly acolyte before speaking. “Let’s take our guest below. I think a little food and warmth might go a long way.”
Elysia’s shoulders dropped just a fraction. Food, warmth. Those did sound agreeable. Far more agreeable than whatever prophetic nonsense had seemingly already been set in motion without her consent or knowledge.
All the stories she’d studied before seeking out Aidan crept through her mind. How sometimes the mortals ended up wishing the gods had never noticed them at all.
Too late now.
There hadn’t been a single story about the god of the dead always taking a mortal within theTravels of the Undeadtext, but then again she hadn’t been able to find any other books to study given Kava’s shitty picked-over libraries.
The warrior priestess made a parting motion with her hands, and the floor slid open, revealing stairs down into the heart of the temple. She guided Elysia down the bone-white steps until they exited into a torch-lit hallway. Eventually, they entered a large dining hall filled with long wooden tables and benches. Many of the people who had participated in the ceremony were already seated, still in their face paint and digging into food.
“Sit.” The warrior directed Elysia before walking off, only to return a minute later with steaming mugs of broth and a basket of rolls.
Tall and sturdy with obvious muscle lining her arms and tight, twisting braids adorning her head, the priestess looked like she spent more time sparring than praying. She held out a warm deep brown hand, offering Elysia a mug before sliding onto the bench across from her.
“So, you’re her.” She appraised Elysia with intelligent, watchful eyes.
Elysia didn’t respond at first. Based on what had just happened above, the priestesses likely had certain expectations that she had no desire to be held to.
Gripping the hot cup of broth, she answered bluntly. “If you want to think so, be my guest. WhatIknow is that I made a deal with a god in hopes of saving my kingdom from his mistakes.”
“You scorn fate so easily.”
Elysia barely refrained from rolling her eyes.The fates this, the fates that.“My people don’t have gods. We don’t have fates. Only their consequences.”
At that the woman smiled. “I’m Nia.”
“Head meela?”
Nia nodded, still looking Elysia over like she was going to discover a secret, or maybe a more suitable option for their god. “I’m responsible for the temple and the people who inhabit it. How strange that the fates-chosen mortal would be from a kingdom where you’ve been taught nothing of the gods. Your stories lost and magic dried up like wasted grapes.”
Ignoring her comment, Elysia let her gaze run over the walls of the dining hall, carved and painted with figures and glyphs. Her natural curiosity came out, and she tipped her head at the art. “Are those the stories of the past gods of the dead?”
The careful etchings and rich paint ignited an unexpected wisp of longing in her chest. She didn’t necessarily wish she had grown up with gods or religion, but maybe she did wish Kavians hadsomethingthat connected them beyond their own flesh and blood to the world and divinity that ran through all things. Beyond that, a people who didn’t know who they were or where they came from were a weak, unstable thing. The loss of ancestral knowledge and practices cut them off in a strange, inhuman way from both the natural and spiritual world.
Nia smiled fondly at the walls. “They are love stories. Stories of life and death. Stories that stick to your bones and revive your spirit.”
Walking over to the wall, Nia took a moment to run herfingers over the textured art before speaking. She pointed to a faded drawing in the center. All the other stories crowded out from this piece as if they were its offspring.
“The first god of the dead. He saw the mortals with their hopes and their passions and desires. He saw how they hoped yet lost course again and again. His heart was struck by this plight. How the dead would come through his land with their regrets and soul-deep aches.”
Her fingers traced down to a sealed scroll. “He began offering deals to mortals. Assistance for their paths. But as can happen with gods, he often lost sight of what truly mattered to these mortals, what had drawn him to their plight in the first place, and he began to offer deals to whoever could offer payment. The god of the dead, no matter who it is, always has a certain affinity for wealth…”
She returned to the table to finish the story. “Wealth to a certain degree may be neutral, but the methods, the godly hubris—that’s where the problems came in. But temples were being built and payments were flowing.”
“What went wrong?” Elysia sipped her broth, listening intently.
Nia smiled wryly. “As you know, all it takes is one bad deal for consequences of catastrophic proportions to occur.”
Elysia’s face must have given her away because Nia laughed, a short hoarse sound from her chest. “Yes, all the gods of the dead seem to have a few things in common. But I’m telling you this story because it’s why you are here now.”
Elysia raised her eyebrows, waiting.
