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“And mine?”
Before long, the entire group is gathered behind Myter, who nods and kneels in front of the children. “Of course there is. All are welcome in Maiwuri. Lord Bala creates pathways for all.” She turns and points.
My eyes widen.
A man has appeared in the very center of the temple, his body seeming to coalesce out of the shadows. It floats a little distance off the ground, his robes trailing beneath him. Almost immediately, I know he’s a god. I can feel the power emanating from deep inside him, even though at first he looks very modest, perhaps even plain. His skin is as midnight dark as Anok’s, but if you glance at him at just the right angle, rainbows seem to glisten just under it.
Pathways. The word emerges, unsolicited, deep inside my mind.
Those rainbows thread through his black hair, which is twisted into a thousand coils so long, they nearly brush the hems of his robes. They seem snakelike almost, those coils, especially the way they move and undulate, like separate appendages, fanning out behind Bala. I’m not frightened of them, just as I’m not frightened of Bala himself, whose brown eyes radiate a deep kindness from underneath his slight, almost mournful brows.
So this is the god of the pathways.
It’s strange how easily I accept it, but I do. It’s undeniable, the divinity that cloaks him. But the Gilded Ones and the Idugu were also cloaked in divinity. And they were all monsters.
Beside me, Britta gapes. “Deka, is that—”
“Yes,” I say with a nod. That is undoubtedly a god.
Even if it weren’t for the power coming off him, I can feel the infinity in the pathways that tangle through his hair, moving in tandem around him, speaking in a whispering language all their own.
We mean you no harm, the pathways seem to say. Come with us and all will be well. We promise you will be safe.
This message is, apparently, as much for Nevra and her friends as it is for me, because the children all begin slowly, reverently walking over to Bala, who opens his arms in welcome. As I watch, fascinated but uneasy, the god’s coils reach out to touch Nevra. Just like that, she’s sucked into thin air, her body disappearing as if she was never here.
I take a step forward, alarmed, but Myter swiftly shakes her head.
“My Lord Bala will personally take her to her destination,” the towering girl intones, her voice sounding more respectful than it has since we’ve met her. “He will take them all to their destinations.”
“And he would not harm them?” Suspicion tinges my voice.
“My Lord Bala would never harm a child! Never!” There’s such conviction in Myter’s voice, some of my tension disappears. “He will ensure they are all safe, this he vows to you.”
When I nod, appeased, Bala holds out his arms again, and the children resume walking over to him. Once the last of them is gone, Myter turns to me. “Now it’s your turn. Do you choose to go?”
An answer in the affirmative immediately surges inside me, but I hastily tamp it down. This all feels too easy. “Why?” I ask, my eyes squarely on Bala. “Why do you want me to go? What exactly do the gods of Maiwuri want with me?”
“They want to aid you, of course,” Myter answers, as if her words are common sense. “You are the Angoro, the Singular, who descended to kill the Oteran gods. The gods of Maiwuri wish to aid you in this regard.”
“Aid her?” This disdainful reply comes from Belcalis, echoing my thoughts. “They are gods, are they not? An entire pantheon of eighty or so, you just said. Why do they not just end the Gilded Ones and the Idugu themselves?”
“Because they do not know the true names of the Oterans.” Myter is the one who speaks, but there is a reverberance to her voice now, one I can almost feel coming from Bala. It seems that he uses her to speak, just as the Gilded Ones did Melanis.
Which makes sense, of a sort. In the earlier days of Otera, the voices of the gods would drive their worshippers mad.
Perhaps Bala has so much power, he must do the same.
I turn to Myter as she continues, her voice normal again: “The gods need the true names of the Oterans to sing the songs of their unmaking. But they’ve hidden away that knowledge, and finding it would require that the gods of Maiwuri come into contact with them, which they cannot do due to the corruption that has infected the Oteran pantheon.
“And even if that weren’t the case, the divine covenants forbid direct interference by one group of gods with another.”
“Didn’t ye just interfere with Melanis?” Britta seems puzzled now.
“I am not a god, and neither is she. The rules are different for us immortals. But you’ll learn more about that if you come with me.” She glances squarely in my direction, her voice taking on that reverberance again. “Now then, Angoro Deka,” she says, “what do you choose? Stay or go?”
The question rings in my ears as I turn to my friends, all of them tense as they wait for my answer—or for the command to attack. After all, Bala and Myter are still the unknown. Still potential threats. But as I look at Bala, my fear and distrust fades. This entire while, he hasn’t tried to persuade or subtly influence me. And I’ve been influenced by gods so many times, I have a sixth sense for it now. I would feel it if he did, feel the subtle pull of divine energy. But I’ve felt none of that.
Most important, I have the feeling that he’d accept any answer I choose without trying to change it into the one he seeks.
