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So land isn’t the only place that’s brutal. Water is as well.
I’m so fascinated by this observation, I almost don’t notice when the first low rumbles build in the water. Then one sounds near me. I whirl, jaw slackening, when a massive blue-and-gold reptilian body surges past me, three more joining it. Ebiki. The colossal creatures are floating in front of me, an honor guard of sorts. That comforting rumble I associate with them reverberates through the currents, and I turn, grateful to see, far in the oceanic darkness, a pair of gigantic black eyes. Queen Ayo. She’s there, a silent witness, although I have the sense that she can’t come any closer due to her size. This part of the shore isn’t deep enough to carry her. The golden scales on her sides gleam underwater, a soft, subtle glow that is replicated on the sides of the other ebiki, whose scales gleam and pulse as well.
As does Ixa’s. To my surprise, my companion is also glowing as he stares eagerly at the others of his kind, each one so gigantic, he may as well be a speck in comparison.
Look, Deka, Ixa says, excited. Mother here.
But he doesn’t dart in her direction. Instead, a deep, soothing rumbling passes between the two, so low, I feel it more as a vibration in my bones than anything else. They’re speaking, communicating with each other.
Once they’re done, Ixa turns to me, eyes earnest. Mother says I carry, he says, his body lengthening, until soon, he’s the size of a full-grown horse. He looks up at me expectantly. Deka ride, he instructs. Ixa carry.
Nodding, I sling my legs over his back, then brace myself as he bolts into the currents, his fins cutting through the water as easily as a knife through butter. His movement is a signal to the other ebiki, who arrange themselves on either side of us as Ixa and I follow the mother-of-pearl path deeper and deeper into the water, heading toward the end of the ledge and the abyss looming just beyond it.
A cool blue glow is rising from it, one whose origin I’m not certain of until we swim over the ledge and the ground drops out below, revealing the massive structure floating in the middle of the darkness.
The Hall of the Gods.
13
I’ve seen hundreds of temples since the day my blood ran gold and I discovered the truth of what I was. The one floating in front of me, however, is a thing not of this world. The walls seem to be made of light, not stone, and the water swirls around it in a radiant, shimmering glow, its power palpable even from this distance. There’s something behind it, something dark and almost ominous, but I can’t concentrate on it. Not that I even want to try. All I see is that light, that temple, and all I feel is awe.
I turn to Queen Ayo, who has accompanied me the entire way, melodic rumblings sounding from inside her colossal chest.
Pray I have good fortune, I say to her as I inhale for courage. I’m finally here. The place where all my questions will be answered.
A deep, vibrating rumble is her reply. Her eyes blink slowly, as if to say, I’ll be right here waiting.
My thanks, I answer as I swiftly float off Ixa.
I turn to him. Come on, I say. It’s time to meet the gods.
Deka, he chirps, and then we swim through the water and into the light.
The Hall of the Gods seems to be made purely out of beams of light—not stone or any other tangible material. Glowing walls soar up to a ceiling that extends far past the limits of my gaze. Columns shimmer in all colors of the rainbow, a slow, deliberate pulsing that reminds me of the glowing plants I saw on the ride to the temple. The floor itself is blue, only it’s not any single shade I’ve ever encountered before; instead, a thousand undiscovered hues weave and alternate before my astonished eyes.
Then there are the thrones. Ten float at the center of the floor, with two godsworn kneeling in contemplation on either side of each. Power ripples from every throne, a reflection of the god sitting there. I shiver just looking at them, even though I don’t see the gods themselves yet. As with the emperor’s throne back in Hemaira, the thrones here are veiled. But unlike there, however, here each veil varies according to, I suppose, whatever function the god fulfills. One throne is wreathed with bouquets of perfumed flowers and vines that undulate and whisper to each other; I assume it’s the seat of the same god the plant district belongs to. After my experience with Etzli, the underhanded goddess who used her blood-eater vines to feed from her unsuspecting victims, I am immediately repulsed by it.
The throne just next to it, thankfully, is a much more welcome sight. It’s covered by heartfelt sighs and lovelorn flutters. Having never before encountered sounds and feelings being utilized like this, it’s some time before I can pull my eyes away.
Yet another throne is covered by thunder and lightning; another, the happiness of a mother holding her babe in her arms for the first time.
There are so many thrones, so many veils, it’s some moments before I finally find the one I’m looking for, the throne veiled by the scent of old scrolls, the flapping of paper, and the fervency of intellectual discovery. One glance is all it takes for me to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this throne belongs to Sarla, the deity of wisdom. Which means…
My heart pounds in my chest as I see the lone godsworn kneeling beside it, a slight figure clothed and hooded in the same heavy white robes that distinguish Sarla’s godsworn, though her hems are embroidered with little red flames that flash and dance as if alive.
Even from this distance, I recognize those delicate hands, that graceful, almost dancer-like posture.
Tears flood my eyes. “Mother!” I rush over, heart pounding.
“Deka?” Mother flings back her hood, revealing her face in all its familiar glory.
And my heart nearly leaps from my chest.
The last time I saw Mother, she was lying on her deathbed, face pale and haggard, body nearly wasted away. Her dark brown skin had turned to ash, blood the color of rubies dripped from her nose, and deep sores cracked the sides of her mouth. Later, I would learn this was all a ruse: Mother was an alaki, a descendant of the Gilded Ones; she couldn’t die from, or even contract, human illnesses. But she needed to keep the village elders and jatu off her trail as she tried to find a way to keep me from being discovered, so she faked her death and fled Irfut, hoping to get to White Hands so they could formulate a way to rescue me.
Except somewhere along the way, she discovered the truth of the Gilded Ones, the truth of the fate they wished for me. And she tried to save me. She suffered horrifically as a result.
The knowledge that she put herself in such danger, sacrificed herself for the sake of my safety, has kept me moving forward these past few months as we fled both the Gilded Ones and the Idugu. If Mother did all those things on my behalf, surely I could keep going, no matter what the odds. But now she’s here, right in front of me. I’m filled with so much joy, I might explode.
