Godslayers

The temple quarter of Vitares lay in the center of the city. Eleven buildings in a ring, with the most expensive decoration I’d seen on any Therian building save the estates of the graced. Stepping through the gate, I was bowled over by the amount of color and sheen radiating from each of the edifices.

The temple of Varas was the most prominent—directly across from the temple quarter gate, sweeping architectural lines and towers making it seem more like a cathedral than the others. Androdaima’s was smaller but clearly given the most love of any of them, walls covered with gilded carvings of gears and hammers and pulleys. It was placed next to Varas’s temple in what I remembered was the place of honor. Made sense, this was supposed to be her city. There was a whole system to how you were allowed to position the temples, but I didn’t remember it.

Kives’s temple was off on the right. She was always supposed to be next to Horcutio, who I assumed got the one with the waves on it. But Kives’s temple was unmistakable. Kuril practically dragged me toward it.

The building was similar in construction to the Vitaressi estate, with basically a square of building around a central courtyard, which in this case contained a tree—specifically a fetoulia tree, which was sacred to Kives. They were known for growing pretty big. I’d heard that after a couple hundred years the priestesses would build a chapel up in the branches for their holiest ceremonies. They clearly weren’t there yet. If our mission succeeded, they never would be.

We’d burn it down, like Eifni burned the sacred groves eight thousand years ago.

The commander’s voice reached me through etherspace. “Are you ready, Lilith?”

“They fall,” I subvocalized.

“They die,” she replied. “Remember what I taught you.”

It was an old trick—maybe even the oldest trick, invented by Eifni himself. It had been the foundation of the mysticism that would eventually be replaced by etherphysics, the noetic breakthrough that eventually let humankind claw their way into reality and drag the gods from their thrones.

Eifni had been neither warrior nor statesman before deciding to raise his spear against the gods. What he had was rage, a rage that had drawn others to his banner and swept through kingdom after kingdom, destroying temples and making the names of the gods into curses.

But you can’t kill the god of war—may its name remain unspoken—with a war.

Veleans always acted like this was all part of a big master plan, but in The Road of Spears he said ending up in this situation was the worst strategic blunder of the entire campaign. Apparently once he realized the problem, he stalled out for a couple years. How do you fight a war without it being a war?

If Eifni had had military training, he might have gone on to invent guerilla warfare and the god of war would have lived. But he was ignorant, so his innovation was philosophical rather than military.

Eifni did not go to war. Instead, he very intentionally became himself.

Which just so happened to involve murdering his way through the armies of the war god.

The technical term for this technique was existential proxy. It was primarily a state of mind based on totally, authentically, owning your every thought and action. If I fully mastered this technique, I could punch someone in the face, and instead of committing violence I would be being Lilith really hard.

Apparently, to be a master of the Old Ways, you had to do this all the time.

Kuril and I entered the temple of Kives. Kuril was here to make sacrifices. I was here—in the tradition of the venerable Mr. Rogers—to be myself.

“Ajarel,” Kuril said sharply.

I looked at her, then followed her gaze. There was a sign on the wall, which was simply labeled “Counsel.” Below the sign was an empty space in which someone had written two names. I stopped short as I recognized one of them was “Lady Ajarel.”

My stomach dropped. The second name was “Lilith.”

“Lilith,” Kuril said, trying out the name. “Unusual name. Sounds Tuman, doesn’t it? Maybe she came in on a caravan.”

“I could see that,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “Uh, sounds like I should go in?”

“I can wait,” said Kuril. “We can make the sacrifice after your counsel.”

“This way,” said a woman’s voice. I turned to see a priestess in green robes, hair woven under a crown of branches. She smiled compassionately at me. “Godsmile, Lady Ajarel. The goddess told me you’d be here today.”

“So she did,” I said, waiting for my brain to catch up with the situation. “Uh, godsmile.”

“I am Fisher,” she said.

“Fisher. Godsmile. So I’ll just, uh, follow you?”

Fisher smiled and slowly lifted an arm to indicate the hallway I should take. With an uncertain glance at Kuril, I did.

I was led to a private room, festooned with cushions and soothingly-colored drapery. A wineskin, two mugs, and a plate of fruit sat on a table in the middle of the room. Two chairs offered me the choice of sitting with my back to the exit or letting the priestess sit between me and my escape route. That had to be on purpose.

Fisher didn’t look like a fighter. I’d take my chances going through her if the need arose.

After we’d sat down, Fisher poured me some wine.

“Lilith,” she started, not reacting as I tensed up, “your secrets are safe with me. No, no, not like that. Mother Kives did not reveal all. I only know what was necessary to help you.”

“Help me, huh?”

Fisher smiled. “She warned me you would have doubts. This is a safe space, Lilith. Kuril will never learn of your assumed identity, at least from me. You may tell me anything at all, and no word of it will escape these chambers.”

But it would go straight to Kives, so nice try, jackass.

“Fine,” I said. “Message received. What’s she want to tell me?”

“That she will heal your deepest wounds,” said Fisher. “She has told me how. First, your barren womb can be restored.”

“My what?!”

“Take but one fig from the sacred fetoulia tree,” she said. “Then journey north to the spring of Vourel, and bathe there in the moonlight for twelve nights. On the twelfth night, partake of the fig, and Kives will restore your womb.”

“Uh,” I said. “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t want kids. I’m not going back to having periods. Why the hell did she think that was my deepest wound? Get your god out of my uterus!”

Fisher stammered. “But—wait, there’s more!”

“More?! What else is she offering?”

“She knows your pain!” Fisher tried. “Of not seeing the erotic beauty in those you love!”

“Erotic—I was fifteen!” I yelled. “Asexuality is a valid orientation!”

“But she said—” Fisher’s mouth moved wordlessly. Then a long-suffering expression replaced the compassionate therapist-type one and she slumped back. I recognized that look immediately.

“Oh my god,” I said. “You too?”

Fisher sighed and nodded.

“Her own priests?”

“The Mother has lessons for us all,” Fisher grumbled piously.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s… really something. I’m gonna be honest, I was expecting this to be more about me when I walked in.”

“Maybe that’s her lesson for you,” said Fisher, putting a hand over her eyes. “I’m so sorry about this.”

“Psh.” I sympathetically poured her some wine. “You good?”

“Thanks,” she said, taking a swig. “Oh come on, this vintage? Really?”

On the one hand, I had no idea what was going on there. On the other hand, I knew exactly what was going on there, and it was funny not being on the receiving end for once. I snickered a little bit.

“Oh, go on,” said Fisher, waving me out. “Go deprive your children of their futures. Apparently it’s none of my business.”

“Have fun wrestling with your biases,” I said cheerfully, standing up to leave. I clapped her on the shoulder on the way to the door. She sighed, taking a sip of wine. I left her there.

“You get all that?” I asked the team subvocally.

“Very interesting,” said the commander. “Val, this is your area. Any insights?”

“Lilith was very easy to provoke.”

“Great insight,” I shot back.

Val pinged a smile over the comm. “Kives also didn’t use that against her. We can likely consider this to be her confirmation of the truce, or at least an assurance that Kives will not act against us when she uses us in her causal chains.”

“There’s no way she’s telling the truth about that.”

“Or that’s what she wants you to think!” said Markus.

“Markus!” I complained.

“We’re not in a position to go after her either way,” said the commander. “We’ll prepare for betrayal, of course.”

I nodded.

I found Kuril in the antechamber to the main courtyard. In my absence, she had acquired a sacrificial pig, which was wandering around as far as her rope would let it. I suppressed a grimace and met Kuril’s eyes.

“Did she answer us?” asked Kuril.

It took me a moment to figure out what she was asking. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, we’re good. We just have to sacrifice today and ensure the legacy of House Vitares is strong.” A spark of guilt flared up in my chest. “But, uh, you should be careful about all the sex. Your kids will have better futures if you have them after the Kabidiad.”

“Hm,” Kuril said, her brow furrowing. “That’s strange. I’ve only lain with Bofa twice.”

“Wait, what?” I said. “He’s in your office all the time.”

“Well, yes,” she said. “He gives excellent massages, and my shoulders get sore when I sit at my desk all day. He’s also very knowledgeable about the ironmongers of Vitares. It’s been a godsend for sourcing new supplies for the workshop.”

“Oh,” I said. “Uh… yeah, so it turns out everyone in the House thinks you’ve been screwing him when he’s in there.”

“What, on my desk? Where would the paperwork go?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like I was imagining it!”

Kuril folded her arms. “And I suppose that’s why it’s been nearly impossible to find an attending lady during working hours.”

“Can you blame them?” I said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to walk in on my boss like that.”

“That’s why I have sex in my bedchambers!” Kuril said. “They’re designed for it!”

I really didn’t need to know that last bit, but the Estheni were a lot more open about that kind of thing than Americans, so I kept my mouth shut about it. Kuril wasn’t observant enough to notice my discomfort. I hustled her through to get the damn sacrifices over with.

The first thing you were probably supposed to notice was the tree, rising up into the heavens.

The thing I actually noticed was some dude’s bare ass hanging out while he—jerked off? For real? What kind of weird-ass kinky stuff was Kives into?

“You gotta be kidding me,” I subvocalized.

“It’s not unexpected,” said Abby. “She’s a goddess of fertility. Considering the etheric resonances, semen would be an appropriate—”

“Nope nope nope not talking about this,” I cut her off.

“Over here,” said Kuril, pointing to the altar. I followed her, focusing on my existential proxy. I would participate in this ceremony because I was being Lilith, and to be Lilith in this situation was to blend in with my cover.

It wasn’t like the meditative exercises I’d been doing. I wasn’t exactly meditating—I was actively interpreting myself as myself, moment to moment. Walking as Lilithly as I could. Thinking as Lilithly as I could. Taking the pig’s rope from Kuril in the most Lilith way possible.

“Custom says I lead, as your matriarch,” she said. “Did Kives instruct differently?”

Trying, as Lilith does, not to be responsible for killing a pig. “Nope. Do your thing.”

“Good.” Kuril handed me a knife. Fuck.

Holding the pig on the altar. Regretting, like Lilith would. Following Kuril’s prayers distantly. Watching the shrine keeper bring a bucket to the altar. Looking at the bucket and not the pig. Trying to see if there was blood inside from the last sacrifice. Holding on as the pig struggled. Distantly responding to the shrine keeper’s cues. Hefting the knife, all reluctance hidden. Slitting Arguel’s throat. Watching the blood drain into the bucket.

Doing what had to be done.

As Lilith does.