Isa let the tip of her middle finger run through her café crème's foam. She drew a little heart on it, then a few more on the sides. Peorth. Was late. Again. She slowly picked up the drink and then sipped approvingly. Pleased, she brushed her sun-bleached brown hair off her shoulder. The early summer warmth was appreciated and comfortable.
Isa glanced down at the city she loved so, taking in the river where what only seemed a few years ago a childhood friend gained prominence leading a longship attack. She gazed further. Only a few dozen meters down from where she sat, a new church was being constructed, this one substantially more ugly even than the rest of the modernist structures. "They can't all be Saint Laurent." Her Henri would have laughed, but she loved that structure, though she could not have put her finger on exactly why.
"What can't all be Saint Laurent?" asked a familiar voice. Peorth flopped into the chair opposite of Isa at the table outside of the café. She crossed her legs both gracefully and indelicately.
Isa shook her head in mild reproof and disbelief. Isa was dressed in a long frock of a fairly conservative cut. She was wearing a hat that partially covered her ovate forehead marking. Peorth was wearing, well, whatever you might call it, that thing she always wore. Not that there was much of it.
"What?" demanded Peorth. She followed Isa's eyes. "No one cares here." She grinned mischievously. "In fact, I could take off the rest. That would certainly be tres chic." She fiddled with a zipper in jest.
Isa snorted. "This is not the old Empire. The Teutonic tribes, the Germans they call themselves now, were back barely a decade ago. Now we have a Republic again with a Republic's morals."
An eloquently pronounced "Merde" was Peorth's only reply to that.
A waiter came over and Peorth ordered a coffee with chocolate. The two friends sat in silence for some minutes, Peorth looking over the landscape below.
"Heaven is shocked, shocked my dear Isa," said Peorth into her drink.
Isa attempted to hide the satisfied smile from her face but then let it go. "You should have seen my Henri. He was livid. He damned her as bad as the Bonapartists and Germans rolled into one, grabbed my hand and dragged me through the Judgment Gate without a bye your leave. When we came out together, he said coldly, 'Agape knows no distinction'." Peorth snorted in amusement. "Before Anzasu could respond, he continued, 'Never cross my threshold again you awful woman' and imperiously pointed at the door. I feared she might obliterate him, but she just bowed her head in a submissive manner and left."
"Agape knows no distinction," repeated Peorth. She chuckled.
"It sounded really good at the time," said Isa, a little defensively.
"I believe it," said Peorth. "I simply cannot imagine Henri doing such a thing."
"Nor I – he's so calm about most things. He still promises to die indignant." The two giggled. The idea of an indignant Henri was amusing.
"I'm so happy for you, Isa." Peorth stood up and hugged her friend who returned it. Peorth flopped back down in her seat and ordered cake.
"I hope you've got a purse hidden in that costume somewhere," said Isa. "We're as poor as church mice, but happy as larks."
"Hrumph. No young man has ever dared to charge me for a meal." Then a thought flitted across Peorth's mind, "and lusty as rabbits, I hope."
"But of course," and the two friends giggled again before returning to their coffee.
A gaggle of school children and an elderly nun shepherded each other across a street near the bottom of the hill. Isa's eyes lingered on them for just a moment too long before returning to Peorth. Peorth pretended to be absorbed in her drink.
"So when's the wedding?" Peorth asked, glancing at the butt of the waiter.
"Ah, we're still planning it," came the quick reply. "Henri has given up a very great to be with me, you know. You simply cannot do anything here without money. It's so inconvenient. How is Administration Central?"
"Oh, just fine. Ex was promoted to an administrative license last year. It makes supervision much easier," said Peorth.
"Wonderful. She deserved it," said Isa.
They were quiet for another minute before Peorth spoke again. "The Goddess Council is said to be quite unhappy that you passed the Judgment Gate."
"Reactionaries," muttered Isa. "Their bigotry has always been most shocking." Then Isa exploded, "and what do they care about an unknown second class Goddess? I have never bothered anyone. I only want to be happy. Damn them for a pack of retrogressive," Isa stopped as she searched for a word vile to describe them, "slavers," she finished somewhat lamely.
Peorth raised an eyebrow, "Kenaz would disagree."
"My brother's blind support of the Council makes him almost as great an ass as Anzasu." Isa took a large sip of her coffee to calm down. Peorth had been Isa's friend long enough to know when to be quiet. Isa continued more calmly, "He sent me a letter last week stating that he still loves me and looks forward to attending a wedding. At least there's that." She looked up cheekily, "Maybe you'll see him there." Isa smirked as she said the last suggestively. Peorth scratched her cheek with her middle finger. Both laughed.
"What did you make of Anzasu?" asked Peorth.
"I might be a little unfair. She was not what I thought she would be. There was none of the species purity, protection of the humans and gods nonsense that the Goddess Council spouts, nor indeed any judgment at all." Isa paused, before saying heatedly. "It's as if these are still the same Northmen who we protected in their petite boats." She took a deep sip of her coffee. "No, Anzasu was quite matter of fact, neither pleasant nor unpleasant."
"Hmmm," said Peorth. "She served as lackey of the Goddess Council during the Schism, tearing apart Hild and Tyr, but then raised Urd as her own. Raising another woman's child must be the price of her marriage. That and continuing to serve as the Inter-species Inquisition Officer."
Isa opened her mouth to say something, tripped over a word, then said, "It's a horrible task though, when you think on it, destroying love. She strongly offended Henri's ideals of Liberté, Egalité, and Fraternité. He told her so explicitly," Isa boasted.
"I'll bet she liked that," said Peorth.
Isa continued more thoughtfully. "I think that some of Henri's barbs might have hit home. I really do. She never reacted or had an expression change, but there was just this something."
"She should feel bad," said Peorth with some passion. "Your Henri is right, though I always preferred the American version. The humans have one up on us there, that pursuit of happiness. We can learn from them."
Isa laughed genuinely for the first time. "Careful my friend, that's sedition. Hild might hear you and come calling."
Peorth stuck out her bottom lip. "If we're going to keep punishing gods and mortals for loving, then maybe it would be better."
"Peorth!" cried Isa in mock astonishment, "You are certainly finished. Alas!"
Suddenly, the raven haired goddess laughed. "Oh, pay me no mind. You never have." Peorth called over to the waiter and ordered another slice of cake she had no intention of paying for. When Peorth explained later, the waiter did not mind in the least.
On her way home, Isa sighed. The unfortunate Lake Goddess had felt the same as Peorth regarding the forced separation from their beloved mortals. Perhaps even that feeling was right. Could a system that denied someone children, stripped them of love, required labor for no reward, be just? Certainly Henri felt violence against such an order was justified. But that part of the test was not his own. Heaven cared little for the rebellion of humans.
Then Isa smiled. Only a few hundred years ago, humans had come up this river in their fragile little wood boats, with barely a thin plank between themselves and watery eternity. Now, giant iron warships with great cannon roamed the seas and fragile little wood flying machines the skies. It was only a matter of time before humanity spread to the stars, and from there to the dimensions. And they would take their Liberté, Egalité, and Fraternité with them. Well, Henri's children would not - but Isa supposed, incorrectly, that was his test.