Likanen verta: mixed blood/ dirty blood
Chapter 6
An inhuman scream rings in the air as humans huddle in their homes in fear, trying to burrow in their blankets or inching closer to the fire for warmth.
The ice goddess is grieving, they whisper in hushed tones. What grief, some question. She froze her own son, what is she crying for, some condemn. They softly curse their bad luck under their breaths for having an ice goddess for a patron deity.
For twelve nights, the snow falls uninterrupted, and the wind carries soft cries of a heartbroken mother. The humans shiver in their skin, beneath layers and layers of warmth as the cold tries to dig into their muscles.
And then, on the thirteenth day, the sky shines blue. The sun makes its way across the blue, painting over it with orange and yellow as humans bask in its warmth…
~TX~
The stone is cool beneath her feet as she climbs the stairs to the Hall of Gods, even as the sun shines brightly overhead.
Tall doric columns of marble rise from above the clouds and stretch to infinity on either side of the stairway.
This is heaven.
The barren wasteland of her stories that gleams with vulgar shine of diamonds and rubies, the shameless opulence of it enraging her further.
This is the heaven that condemned a child to eternity of loneliness for stealing a few peaches, the heaven that doesn't apply the same standard of justice when it comes to transgressions of the gods that reside in its central Hall.
Heaven, she scoffs, where dwell the faint of heart and cruel of deeds.
The sentries clad in white robes stand guard at the entrance to the land that floats above the clouds, the land deemed heaven, their spears glinting in the rays of sun, blades casting a dark shadow over the ground.
They don't stop her.
Maybe it's the staff in her hand that intimidates them. A long, curved projection of ice as thick as her wrist and taller than she is, topped with a beating crystal heart that shines innocently even as it clinks with every beat.
Or maybe it's the unbound hair, the white of it at her back swaying in the nonexistent breeze, and the red eyes that have shed tears for twelve days continuously.
Or maybe, it's the wolfskin on her shoulders, one that she wears as cape, the fur glowing subtly.
She marches inside and stays on the pathway that leads to tall golden gates behind which hides her son's murderer.
When she pushes open the gate, the sound doesn't cease. In fact, they don't even notice her arrival. The gods are busy getting drunk on nectar as they watch a band of minor deities clad in translucent fabrics and precious stones swaying sensually on the music.
The High God who sits on the throne of sky is too deep in his cups, and he is the one who notices her first.
She knows what she looks like.
Feral, gaunt and grief maddened.
Not like the polished deities of this Hall.
A lazy gesture of his hand makes the music stop and the dancing women bow deeply before departing, giving her curious looks as they pass her by.
"Ah the infamous ice goddess," He drawls in amusement, leaning back to rest against the back of his gilded throne, letting his legs fall open suggestively. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
She pays no mind to the drivel High God is spouting, her eyes busy in scanning the occupants of the smaller thrones that dot the Hall in a semicircle, with Sky throne as the centre.
"Goddess?" She finds her chin in the grasp of the High God who is standing inches away from her, turning her face, so that he can look into her eyes.
"Insolence!" She hisses as she steps back, fury evident in the gaze she levels at the man whose eyes are twinkling as he holds her stare.
"Ah, such fire, Goddess! You chose not to attend my coronation, and I was told you didn't leave your kingdom, hadn't left it since the day you ascended, and yet, here you stand…"
Kingdom.
Ascension.
She starts laughing. It hurts inside. The place where her heart should be is empty and she feels so hollow that she is surprised she has not been blown away by a gust of wind.
Her son is dead.
And this pretentious asshole is standing between her and the murderer of her son.
"I rule no land, I have no kingdom, High God. What I am is a prisoner, and ice castle, my prison."
"Klaus," He says in amusement. "Nik, of you will. High God doesn't roll off the tongue as easily as Nik or Klaus, does it?"
His eyes are the color of sky on a bright summer day, and his lips remind her of cherries Jeremie stained his hands with. When he smiles, there is a dimple at the corner of his mouth and she wishes she could stick her sword in his chest.
"I have come for the goddess who wears a circle of silver berries on her head and has eyes of a wolf," She says instead, eyes searching her quarry.
"Ah, what has Rebekkah done now?" There's fondness in his voice, an undercurrent of emotion she is familiar with. "Did she take something of yours, Ice Goddess? Something of value?"
Something.
She wants to scream. She took my son, she wants to cry out. She poisoned my son and he died a death so full of pain that the memory of it is enough to make me vomit, she wants to say. But he, the High God who doesn't think twice before laying his hands on her person, beats her to it.
"I will compensate you for your loss," He utters dismissively. "Now, let me show you the wonders of heaven. It is such an honor that you've chosen to grace my court as your first foray into society." His hand moves to take hold of the hand that lies by her side, but she steps out of his reach.
His eyes darken.
"Can you compensate me for the life of my son?" A hush falls over his court. The chatter ceases. No inebriated giggle rings or indecent remark is voiced.
"Son?" He frowns in consternation and his forehead folds into lines that do not suit his young face. "Pardon me, Goddess, but as far as I am aware, you have no son. I have not been informed that you gave birth to a godling. "
He's careless and oblivious in his statement, not noticing the way her face darkens and eyes gleam in anger.
"Rebekkah is not a fool, Goddess. She knows harming a godling is an offence punishable with death. Did she perhaps take your 'human attendant'?" He says snidely.
Her grip tightens on the staff. It is partly to rein in her anger and partly to get in an offensive position.
"Am I not allowed to have a human son?" She asks the man standing lazily in front of her. "Are we Barbarians, High God, that we don't recognize relationships that are not bound with blood?"
His smile is contempt and superiority molded in the shape of his lips. "I am afraid, Goddess, we at Hall of God's, don't follow such sentimental notions."
"Ah, so we are worse than Barbarians then. Was he not my son because I didn't push him out of my womb, didn't bleed when he was born?" She asks sadly, her voice echoing in the Hall.
"Your likanen verta roots are showing, Goddess. You should be careful if you don't want to be dragged to your palace kicking and screaming," He sibilates, a smirk accompanying his casually delivered threat.
Behind him, near one marble column twenty paces from his throne is a goddess partially hidden in shadows, part of her circlet catching the light filtering from the open glass dome.
The berries twined around her head shine silver and tiny emerald leaves wink at her.
She raises her staff once to tap it against the ground, and ice begins to spread in every direction. The frost climbs over the booted feet of the unsuspecting High God, freezing him on spot and by the time he realizes it, it's too late.
The ice makes its way towards her prey like a thousand headed Hydra, tentacles branching and moving in different directions, freezing drunk gods and server deities.
She spares the High God's head and his panicked blue eyes are the most beautiful things she has seen in the past twelve days.
Cold ropes of ice wound around the feet of the hiding goddess, moving in sync to truss her up and drag her back to Elena.
The frost that she wields, the ice that she commands has a life of its own and she has never before let it run wild and free.
When her son's murder is dragged back in front of her, her eyes stare at Elena venomously as if she is the victim, and the hand that has been still by her side rises in a smooth motion, and the wrist moves in a flick.
Needle thin ice picks embed themselves in wolfish eyes of her son's nightmares…
~TX~
I hope all of you have been well. I am listening to "strange and beautiful" by Aqualung as I type this. Thank you for giving me your time and your words, the most precious of gifts.
I love you. Stay safe and healthy.
3
