“He won’t shut up now that we’ve got him in custody,” she replied. “And he had some materials on him that we’ve been able to go through that match his statement.”
“I’m missing some key information,” Raum interjected. “Please fill in the rest of class.”
“Simmons is descended from the craftsman that made the skull’s original reliquary.” Ezra said, meeting Raum’s surprised gaze. He waggled his phone. “It’s all in the stuff Grendel just sent me. His family history is full of ancestors trying to find the skull after it was taken from them.”
“He has a journal that’s practically falling apart, full of accounts of people searching for the reliquary and the skull. He’s also got some pages of another journal in Norwegian, no idea what any of it says, either, but they’re important enough for him to carry around,” Grendel continued, and they heard faint shouting in the distance come over the line, reducing involume as Grendel walked. “Simmons is ranting about how he’s the rightful owner and how dare we keep him from his relic. I’m going to lunch. Ezra, get to work. I emailed the scans and images to you of the journals’ pages, along with his statement.”
Grendel hung up, and Ezra pulled up the numerous emails on his phone.
Raum looked frustrated, but he was patiently waiting for Ezra to fill him in.
“The major said relic,” Raum stated. “Relic, not artifact. It’s a relic?” His tone went from bemused to slightly horrified, and Ezra nodded, agreeing.
The skull being a relic was huge. Relics came from only one source, one nearly impossible to attain and impossible to fabricate or craft: physical remains of a divine, or semi-divine, being, or an object crafted by a divine being. Divinity was key to being a relic.
“The skull belongs to Morana, a Slavic winter goddess of death and rebirth.” Ezra sucked in a deep breath, and slowly let it out before sitting in the nearest chair at one of the long tables. “According to one of the journals, the one in English, thousands of years ago the goddess was struck by a sword that never fails to kill. The Dainsleif.”
Raum sat heavily beside him in another chair. Ezra scrolled through the transcript, pausing on a particularly interesting spot in the rambling that was Simmons’ interview.
“A divinely made weapon that never fails to kill struck a god, one of death and rebirth, and when that happened, a paradox was created. Breaking the paradox will break the cycle the skull is in. She’s trapped in a paradox regardless, as an immortal being afflicted by a wound from a weapon that never fails to kill, but this revelation means it’s even worse. Can a paradox be extra paradoxical? A double paradox?”
“Regardless of how paradoxical it is, this makes the stakes higher. A goddess dying has to have a bigger bang to it than an Elder fae.” Raum leaned forward in his chair. “Depending on how you break the paradox, we still get either an explosion, a fading, or death.”
There was no point in contemplating healing Morana—there was no body to heal, and such a feat was beyond Ezra. For all his powers, he was still mortal. He was no god to build a body, turning energy into matter.
Fading was the best option.
“Can a goddess fade?” Ezra asked, having no idea.
“Yes,” Saemund said from behind them, making Ezra and Raum jump.
Saemund joined them at the table, pulling out a chair and sitting beside Ezra. He smiled at his grandson and settled in the chair. “Morana is the progenitor of the Vila, an Elder fae species in the Black Sea region, in what is now modern-day Ukraine and Moldova. All that she can do she gave to her children. Fading is within her means.”
“A progenitor?” Ezra asked, to clarify. He knew what the word meant, but was lacking in context.
“As Danu is the progenitor of the High Court Sidhe, so too is Morana the mother of the Vila,” Saemund explained.
It took Ezra a minute. “The High Court Sidhe and the Vila are demi-gods.”
A tiny smile on Saemund’s lips. “That’s one interpretation. I never felt particularly god-like, but then my father was human. I’m not as old as the first generation of High Court Sidhe, so perhaps they were more godly before I was born.”
Ezra’s mind finished untangling his epiphany and he blurted out, “Are all Elder fae species demi-gods? Born from the divine?”
Saemund didn’t answer, but his eyes twinkled as he held a single finger to his lips. Ezra stared at him wide-eyed, but didn’t say anything else, sitting with his realization.
“So Morana can fade,” Raum reiterated.
“Yes,” Saemund nodded. “All we need to do is make her aware, and she can begin the process herself. Hopefully she obliges.”
“What if she chooses death instead?” Ezra asked. “The magical energy of the ouroboros is going to explode if she dies, like the collapse of a dam from a raging river. If she fades, the energy will fade with her, a gradual lessening. Death, and all the power won’t go to the Other Side with her—the sudden release of all that magic will be a rather large explosion.”
“Hopefully she makes the choice to fade.” Saemund paused. “I’m not sure what to do if she decides to die instead. I’ve never seen a goddess die. That may exacerbate the paradox and have unforeseen consequences.”
“Something more horrible than an explosion?” Ezra said, and he threw himself back in his chair, groaning, relieved to have answers but frustrated that the stakes were now higher.
A thought struck him. He squinted at Saemund. “How did you get in here?”
Saemund shrugged, the picture of casual innocence. “Not sure what you mean?”
