Tremors may terrorize the foolish north, but we will be safe

Cherished by our Goddess, our Maiden, our guiding star

The Stormmother ruled in Wave’s Lament. She stretched her hand forth and tamed the rains, ushering in a Spring of plenty. Solace had been a season of cold skies and churning winds, but the memory of winter swiftly faded under a cheerful sky and a steady stream of pilgrims.

The penitent arrived by the thousand, flooding into Wave’s Lament to pay homage to the last divinity standing.

Upon her throne, Lynne watched her dancers weave. They honored her with a new routine, sinuous as the waves. This was the story of her return, unfolding like a spring flower.

She thought the motions overdone and the metaphor trite, but she maintained an indulgent smile.

A goddess, like a mother, could crush the hopes of her wards with such little effort.

Well, Gabriel, do I claim dominion? Or does it at last claim me?

Esmie stood to the angel’s left. Her gold choker and gemstone-studded anklets flashed in the sunlight, but it was the strip of azure along her bangs that drew the most eyes. Her blessed lock was perhaps wider and brighter than a month ago…but such was the consequence of a flowing brand, was it not?

Lynne would not carve a river locked into its bounds.

“Are you bored?” Esmie asked. “You’re drifting again.”

The angel of oceans lifted her chin. “What do you think of the dance?”

The Azure-blessed considered the floor, frowning.

Bronzed, lithe women flared their skirts to offer glimpses for their goddess. The foremost dancer rose to her tiptoes, swayed, and dipped almost to the tiles without taking her eyes off the throne.

After all, Lynne’s tastes were well recorded, and there were many ways to catch a taste of divinity.

Ignored by the dancer, Esmie nonetheless flushed slightly. Her eyes followed the sway of the woman’s hips, but not to assess the dance.

Is this sin as well? Lynne wondered. Have I shaped her river after the ocean of its origin, or is it a quirk of mere Fortune that she should take after my preferences?

The random chance of every birth and Blooming…

“It’s a nice dance,” Esmie admitted softly.

May she have a choice of her own, Lynne prayed, and grow to be more than the shadow of the tides.

Raising a hand, Lynne addressed the dancers. “You honor me, my chosen.”

The women bowed for her, flush with pride.

Now the angel strove to find something more difficult still: balance. A critique beyond a Maiden’s cloying praise and a Tempest’s imperial demands. “Your narrative is exquisite, but I fear it is rather evocative. As it stands, this performance would require too many parents to explain certain things to their children by evening.”

The troupe stiffened, preparing for the storm to follow.

Lynne winced. “It would be a shame to let such heartfelt choreography go to waste. Spend some time contemplating what other stories it might tell. Perhaps ones less…public. We can discuss particulars when we next meet in…”

“Three months,” Esmie provided.

“Not too long then!”

The confused troupe offered a prayer, and soon the hall emptied except for one lousy goddess, her Voice, and the silent corpse of Apophis. No one seemed to have noticed that the ancient serpent had passed, and Lynne did not bother to correct them.

“Nobody knows how to handle you anymore,” Esmie said.

“I was easier to handle before,” she agreed. “You could always count on me to be fickle.”

Agree with whatever the goddess demands. Do what you planned anyways. Expose your foes to the Tempest for doing the same, and that terror will deal with them for you.

“That is my legacy, Esmie. Fickle whims and fury. How can anyone who knows the Tempest not meet every breath with trepidation?”

“Well, I hardly think you’re scary!”

“Have you told your brother about dancing yet?” Lynne teased.

The child squirmed beneath her finery. “He doesn’t want to join anymore. He’s fifteen!”

“Oh? I have it on good authority that fifteen-year-old boys are quite interested in girl’s bodies.”

“Not like that!”

The angel snickered, warmth aflame in her breast. Better for a Goddess to know the names of her servants. To remember them as people instead of footnotes in eternity.

I was adrift, Alice, until you reclaimed me from the sea.

That thought flowed into thoughts of Ruhum, and Lynne’s mood crashed.

Leave Alisandra be, she chided herself. She and her little boy toy are busy with the chaos in the north.

The fire of youth drove the young angel forth, impetuous and beautiful. Oh, she also grew into a terror…

Her boy did not realize what he sought to tame.

He too would pass in time. They always did, no matter how loved.

Her breast began to ache.

Yes, I need to leave Alisandra alone. She has seen what I could show of Alice. What else does her nursemaid have to give?

Esmie cleared her throat. “You’re raining.”

“Just a touch of dew.” Lynne banished the droplets with a little wave. “If no more pressing matters remain…”

“Deepbloom sent us a nasty letter about caravan tariffs and road repairs.”

“That time of year already? How the days fly.” The angel of oceans stretched. “Nothing of importance, then. Go home, Esmie. I think I will retire.”

The child reluctantly trudged from the throne room, shoulders sagging, and Lynne retreated to her sanctum.

Her previous quarters did not appeal after the years in the north. Thus, she currently slept in her ritual pool at the center of the temple. She entered the chamber, dropped her dress in a heap at the door, and waded into the warm waters. With an idle thought, she summoned a rush of warm bubbles and floated onto her back.

They need me so keenly I scarce have time to breathe…

The price of dominion would burden her for generations.

Lynne drifted, reminiscing of simple times now lost to mortal memory…

Sometime later, her bath rang.

The angel of oceans perked, conjuring an orb of water with her free hand. “Alisandra?”

“Good evening, Lynne. How fares Wave’s Lament?”

A voice that eased the day’s toils. Lynne smiled. “Well enough, but I somehow doubt you called because of your abiding interest in tariffs…”

“Actually…” the young woman teased.

Lynne chuckled. “Do not tempt me, young lady, or you will know more about the gold sovereign accord than you could ever wish for!”

The young angel laughed a moment. Then her voice sank. “No, I’m afraid that is not the reason for my call. There have been earthquakes. One yesterday and one not an hour ago.”

“Earthquakes?” The angel of oceans frowned. Could she be worried over such things? I forget how young she is. “The Lord of Peaks left wounds that have never quite healed…”

Hylas was not the only one to leave scars. His were merely the easiest to spot. There were other damaged things, whispered in the flow of weather and wave. Mortals simply did not live long enough to recognize the occasional odd weather pattern as the sins of Tempest past.

“Not in Ruhum, though! Not on the Isle of Peace. Don’t you recall Aure’s writings?”

“Young lady, not everyone makes it a mission in life to read every book within ten miles.”

“He wove a spell of peace. He banked the fires, Lynne! There should not be quakes nor tremors, and I mean to understand what disturbance causes them.”

The angel of oceans quietly rolled her eyes. “And what does your father have to say?”

“Nothing. He departed for Eleos right after the winter gala.”

How forlorn she sounded, try though she might to mask the hints.

“Eleos?!” Lynne rose to her feet and peered through her orb. A watery reflection offered glimpses of Alisandra: lips pressed, eyes drawn, a girl twisted tight as a screw. “You mean to say that you’ve been stuck with Sebastian for hells knows how long?!”

“No, Sebastian retired to my mo– to the country estate.”

They left you abandoned! The poor girl stranded in a dark mansion!

“I found the angel of witness lost in a Work, doing something with a seed from the deep jungle. I assume he is using a seed of Verdandi as a foci, but I have no means of knowing how long the spell will require.”

Beneath her outrage on Alisandra’s behalf, Lynne admitted to a certain petulance that neither angel bothered to include her of their plans.

Then again, Lynne was a demon now, wasn’t she?

I know where the Archangel can stick that label, whispered the Tempest inside.

Alisandra continued her one-sided conversation, describing what she had seen at the country estate.

When she finished, the angel of oceans snorted. “Future diving! An actual Work! And here I thought he only trimmed hedges to pass the time.” She tapped a finger to her cheek. “Ah, but he will be submerged for months if not years…”

“I assumed as much. I had to hire actual gardeners.”

“Ali…” The angel of oceans chewed her lip. Alisandra Mishkan was the Lady of a House, an angel of growing power, and a proud young woman complete with suitors. Lynne, meanwhile, nursed her own obligations to Wave’s Lament – a dominion fresh and uncertain. They lived on opposite sides of the accord now.

To hell with the accord, snapped the Tempest.

For once, her storm spoke truth.

“Do you need my help?” Lynne asked, spying on the unsuspecting angel through the globe.

Thinking herself unobserved, Alisandra let pride and concern war across her features. In the end, the proud Lady won, and she said, “You have duties, Lynne. Esmerelda needs you.”

“I can handle Esmie.”

The young angel shook her head. “I merely sought information. Given you have warred with the Lord of Peaks, I thought perhaps you sensed some sign of his reawakening…”

Lynne thought of a burning cave, a burning soul, and the long path to the Black Gate. “No.”

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

Alisandra abruptly cut the connection.

Lynne huffed, letting the orb drip back into her waters.

Esmie waited a perfunctory moment to knock.

“And how long have you been standing there?!” Lynne demanded, twisting to pin her Voice with a glare.

“I was waiting for you to finish speaking to the bubble,” the child justified. “Not eavesdropping!”

“Is that so? Shouldn’t you be at home with your own family?”

Wrinkling her nose, the child continued, “I found someone who needs your help, though!”

No shortage there. “What is this case? It had best not be another hypochondriac.”

“No, she’s really sick! She said her urine is golden and her belly aches. Oh, and she’s pregnant.”

“Gestational diabetes?” Lynne pondered a moment. “That is a matter of diet and exercise, my dear. A normal doctor should be able to care for her quite well.”

“Well…” Esmie wiggled. “She insists the baby won’t let her eat proper.”

The Stormmother arched an eyebrow.

“She does!”

Still so innocent, this new child of mine, Lynne thought. “Very well, then. Admit her.”

Esmie curtsied, spun, and shouted into the hallway. “The Stormmother admits Belle of Osh into her gracious presence!”

Into the Maiden’s sanctuary. Her waters. Her womb. Center of life, love, and divinity.

The Tempest needs no temple to claim terror.

Belle waddled into view, clad in the cerulean skirts of a supplicant. The sarong strained low beneath her swollen belly, and the veins across her womb were pressed close to the skin. Her skin was tanned now, but she still walked stiff as a northerner.

Lynne stepped onto the surface of her water and spread her arms. “Belle. Your child grows.” She smiled. “I told you she would be eager.”

Belle bowed clumsily, hands rubbing at her thighs. “Eager she is, Stormmother! I’m sorry to intrude, but I cannot sleep, and my kidneys ache! My appetite is like…like a wild stallion! I’m so sick of eating!”

Esmie took Belle’s hand and guided her forward into the waters.

Lynne took her other hand.

Together, the trio descended into gleaming waters.

Into the angel, really. A heart realm reflected by glowing waters.

The currents revealed the taste of her visitors:

Esmie swirling, squirming, seeking any excuse. A throbbing brand, the quiet preparations of a body that dreamed of its adulthood, the barely restrained desire to linger…

Belle shuddering, straining, fearing as only a mother-to-be could fear. The dormouse, excommunicated, who watched her husband work himself to the bone to feed an appetite she could never seem to quell. Even facing such dire need, the mouse still required weeks to muster the courage for a petition in the crowded temple.

Beneath both, a third awareness. Slumbering, dreaming, and plotting…

“The baby wants cake!” the angel of oceans exclaimed with a laugh.

“You can hear her?” Belle breathed quickly, thoughts aflame with guilt.

Lynne decided on the matter then and there, and she did not worry over implications. The Archangel sought his wisdom in the skies, and Sebastian hid from his crimes with garden shears. The angel of oceans, however, would chart a course by the north star of her heart.

“Of course I can hear her,” Lynne reassured, “and I have been remiss to leave you abandoned this long. You will become part of my choir, Belle. I will care for you as my own. Leave the flames behind.”

Her ocean could be large. There could be room for more.

Belle’s lower lip began to tremble like a groaning dam. “W-we went to the Ruhum embassy when I grew too sick to work, but they refused to even allow us to stay in the hostel! Our names are on the registry of the outcast! I’m not sure we can even get back into the c-country! Louise is working himself ragged to put food on the table!”

“What does he do now?” the angel asked.

Lynne laid her fingers across the woman’s belly, and the seed within that garden pulsed in recognition.

Yes, child. I opened the way for you.

“Anything and everything! He’s too old for any of the apprenticeships, of course. He spent most of Solace digging irrigation canals!” Belle sniffed. “I scarce see him…”

“Men often feel the need to prove their love by acts,” the angel counseled. In these waters, she heard more than Belle would willingly divulge. “There is no other woman. He dreams of you and his child, and he leaves the fire behind. As will you.”

Mentally, Lynne addressed the unborn child. Little one, eager for life or no, you burden your mother.

The waters began to throb in time with the child’s heartbeat, and bubbles of memory floated into the air.

Golden boughs…green places…a dawn like…

Belle and Esmie both stilled, their eyes drinking in sights that they remembered without knowing why.

Lynne scowled, and she quite firmly pressed down.

No, little one. Remember what you are.

That budding mind squirmed. Fought, even! A baby’s simple demands echoed through Belle like a trumpet: food, warmth, love, and more food.

No wonder the woman ate herself sick! Her daughter’s sleeping mind rattled against its cage like an angry bull.

All who descend must submit to Fortune, little one. It is not your decision where you might land or who you might become. You have soared into the darkness, and the way behind is closed.

Visions swelled in response. Honeyed Light, a Song just beyond hearing, and the endless Chorus of cherubim around a Throne…

No, little one. Be in this world. Be of this flesh.

The baby growled, snapping at her chains. This little one desired all the bounty of Malkuth and all the wisdom of heaven!

These are not yours to claim, Lynne instructed, letting a flicker of Tempest surge through her fingertips.

Only a flicker, though.

Stern but compassionate. Loving but not doting.

A balance beyond the cycle of storms…

“I have named her Valkyrie,” Belle admitted, embarrassed.

“So you have,” Lynne murmured, focusing elsewhere.

Valkyrie squirmed and bit, but her soul could not deny the nature of its new existence. Under an angel’s demand, her mind slowly quieted, and the trumpets of heaven grew dim.

“Soon enough, child. Soon enough,” Lynne promised.

The waters ceased to glow, and Belle quivered in relief. “I-I can think again! Twice you have favored me, and I have no means of repayment. As-as soon as Valkyrie is born, I will submit to the temple! I’m not very good at dancing, or speaking, or really much of anything, but I’ll wash the floors and launder the s-skirts!”

Lynne exhaled a puff of frost, smiled tolerantly, and drew Belle to the shallow waters. “I have priestesses by the throng, Belle, and you are ill suited for this life.”

“Oh…oh, I suppose I really am…”

“That is why I will make you my emissary to Ruhum.”

The dormouse blinked several times like one of Thea’s slower computers. “I…I see.”

“It is my duty as the returned Goddess to gather all the peoples of the world under my care. I have sent envoys to the Peak and Verdant tribes. So too must I reach out to the land of fire.”

This would naturally require official communications with all manner of prominent persons in Ruhum.

“Raise your chin in pride, Belle of Osh, and walk proud in my name. Let us make haste for Lumia!”

Like, for example, the eldest House.

Esmie smacked her forehead and groaned.

“We will take my clipper,” Lynne hummed, already warming to the journey. “The one with the azure sails and the gold trim. Freshly repainted. Oh, we must take some dancers too. Ah, we will make a grand sight!”

Plus, the visit will annoy Mirielle, and who could ignore such an opportunity?

Her Voice groaned again. “But what about blessing the bridge?! You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you?! In front of everybody!”

Lynne ushered both from her waters and whistled for her servants, already planning the details. “Stand tall, Esmerelda. You’ll do fine.”