A Real Goddess Would Let Nobody Die

Izenakee stared out at the starscape. It was almost as sparkly as Her Sister, but only those who did not Listen could call it beautiful.

The Garden, above Her, was a roaring cyclone of peace and all the thoughts and emotions that went with it. Those who most needed to speak to Her stood out from the background roar like distant sirens. On the surface, Izenakee could hear nothing but this cacophony.

But not up here. The words from the stars were cryptic, quiet and in mysterious languages, but not the feelings behind them. If the Garden was a roaring cyclone, then from the stars in all directions moaned a haunting breeze, embedded with whispers like the rustling of leaves: pleas for help to, effectively, Her.

The Goddess of Empathy was at risk of becoming the Goddess of Sorrow, when alone in this place. Staying here alone was not to be done lightly, nor was staying for a long time. Staying for a long time alone...Empathy closed Her eyes, breathed, and reopened them. There was a reason this was the first time She had endured it.

Izenakee knew better than anyone that there were many Yonens who would never see their families again. Many Telfs who would never find a way out. Many Canylls who would watch their Melaras die. There already had been; She knew many of their names. The Listener remembered every prayer, every victim She had been unable to help, and She would never forget. To wipe the memories from Her mind would forsake the sacred purpose of Her existence. She would carry them with Her, forever. Every. Single. One.

8657 years ago, a well-behaved little heiress to a local courier business heard a Goddess' voice with her own ears for the first time. 8642 years ago, the Listener made a vow.

The Creed demanded that She be here during this critical phase, and that was that.

The stars needed Izena, but for now, they had only--

"Keekee! Were You lonely?!"

Izenakee giggled in relief, and spun around. This view was much nicer.

Ah! All of Her Sisters' minds were screaming some important news.

"If You start calling Me 'Auntie,' it will make Me feel old," She warned Twilight, jokingly.

"Nope!" Twilight made an X with Her arms. "Then I wouldn't have a big Sister, and...Fuhuhuhuh." She shuddered. "Nope nope nope. Not happening."

She shook Her head violently as She spoke, causing Her--

Izenakee smirked, and turned to Izena.

"An old classic, I see?" She teased.

Izena nodded thoughtfully, staring at Twilight with Her arms crossed. "It is frustrating. Did My hands truly just achieve the ideal braid? Or does reality conspire to make all features of the Goddess of Beauty infinitely gorgeous, from all perspectives, in all situations, no matter what? I cannot tell."

Izenakee turned back to Her younger Sister, Who had spun around to show off the statue classic. Compared to the fluttery, ephemeral cape Her hair made when it was loose, the braid did make Her look a little less ethereal. But still.

"Mmmm," Izenakee hummed in agreement. Twilight had two doses of mana coloring. There was no way for Her to look anything but utterly magical. Unless...

Twilight jumped to the far side of the Temple as Izenakee began to make a suggestion.

"We could try shaving Her head, as a control?"

"No!" Twilight yelped, shaking Her head again.

"Why not?" Izenakee called back. "It would be a fascinating experiment!"

"Fascinating is not fabulous!"

Izena applauded, swollen with pride.

"Truly, She is worthy of Her name," Izenakee's namesake declared. "Magnificent teasing."

Giggling, Izenakee returned Her attention to the stars, and settled onto the floor, to focus.

"The operation is in its final stages. Give Me a minute. I think I have a fix on the Limbot Patriarch."

It was impossible to seek a specific mind based on location at such ultra-extreme distances--She had to rely purely on thoughts and emotions. And now, as the Limbot Patriarch's domain gasped its last breaths, She had a sense that one distinctive signal was probably his.

She ramped to full power.

"His palace needs a new coat of red."

----

"You are in the presence of divinity," the High Cleric intoned. "You are honored with permission to speak."

"O most illustrious Patriarch, this humble servant is honored to be in the presence of your eternal divinity," a lesser cleric responded, staring at the ground. "This humble servant has the honor of conveying the latest information, that you may grace us with guidance born from your divine wisdom. The blessed communicators, which by your grace you have seen fit to bestow upon us, continue to receive no answer to any messages. Likewise, the heretics continue to surround your most holy sanctum without advancing, no doubt too awed by your magnificence to proceed."

Akolim would wonder how such a calamity could befall his divine domain so swiftly, but there was no need. The cause was bumbling to and fro, in every hallway and every room. Incompetents, the lot of them.

The Patriarch rose to speak in his own voice, causing even the High Cleric to prostrate itself immediately. Imbeciles though they may be, these mundanes still knew proper manners. True, to be more clever than the horde outside was no great achievement, but at least it stood as testament to his own good judgment, in selecting whom to elevate above the common rabble. It was simply unfortunate that he suffered so persistently from such a miserable roster of candidates.

Alas, it was the role of the divine to enlighten the mundane. Perhaps he had been neglectful.

"Were these heretics 'awed by my magnificence,' they would not be heretics," he explained, doing his best not to seem too exasperated. "They hesitate to advance because they believe that their 'sky goddess' will work some miracle to evacuate the--"

Abruptly, Akolim fell silent, because the floor, walls, chandeliers, columns, the clerics' formerly all-black vestments, everything, even the very air, had been dyed the red of dusk, without warning. The clerics knew better than to question why he had paused. The remnants of ash on the floor, here and there, served as a strong reminder of the importance of good behavior.

"Everyone. Out," he commanded coldly, then returned to his throne as regally as he could.

So formidable a signature of divine power fostered a powerful need to sit.

Once the chamber had been vacated, he spoke to the air.

"I thought as much. Only a first-rate red lineage could block communicators so comprehensively." Were he not so infuriated by the deplorable treachery it represented, he would be impressed by such a display of might and mastery. "So, the Zyzz have been the authors of this farce, all along? Tell me, how do you do it? Your boy is strong, there is no denying it, but no one is this strong. And he's too young, besides. Have the Keyics devised some kind of amplifier? Was that your price?"

There was no reply. The world stared back, red and unblinking.

"Spare me! The game is up!" Akolim scoffed. Were they mocking him?! "A red lineage, included in the Keyics' plot? Please! What purpose is there to hiding? Show yourselves! Let us speak, one god to another, with the proper decorum!"

If there was one consolation salvageable from this fiasco, it was having been provided enough clues to deduce the answer to the ancient puzzle: The Zyzz were responsible for the 'Red Goddess' hoax. Being the strongest red lineage for centuries, they had long been a prime suspect, but there had never before been any concrete evidence, nor a motive, until this present outrage. As frustrating as it was to be an early target of the second stage of their plan, an ancient plot to dupe mundanes was preferable by far to this 'Red Goddess' being real. Truth be told, Akolim felt some begrudging respect for the requisite patience and--

<I serve the Red Goddess as Her Messenger,> a woman's voice rang out in his mind. <She accepts your offer to speak, if you truly wish it.>

A shiver ran down Akolim's spine, and he gripped the arms of his throne involuntarily. The Zyzz were very committed to the theatrics.

But of course they were! Whatever their true motives, the lineage had pursued this deception for a long time. Such enduring zeal would not be so easily cast aside! And, it was to be expected that their dedication had bred a certain convincing flair, after so many centuries. Yes, it was only natural.

If nothing else, it was pleasant to be speaking with someone of comparable station.

"You are with the heretics, outside?" It was partly a genuine question, but mostly, he felt compelled to remind his adversaries how far they had fallen.

<Not yet, but I can move quickly. If you truly wish to speak with the Red Goddess, empty your vessel, and She will enter it. Once Her Essence fills your vessel, She will be able to speak with you as if you were a red god, until your conversation is over.>

Akolim tried to snort in disbelief at the ridiculousness of the Zyzzs' charade, but found that he could not, not with the air still choked with so much red. So much red.

<If your demand was more than bravado, empty your vessel,> the voice insisted.

A blurry outline of a pinkish-red woman--in a field of stars?--appeared in Akolim's mind, along with a single, powerful thought, or more precisely, a sense of a dare. A taunt.

<Well?> the vision challenged, wordlessly.

He swallowed and licked his lips, despite himself. The Zyzz had become very skilled.

<If you regret asking to speak, then leave your vessel filled, and decline Her offer.>

Akolim opened his mouth to try to retort, but the voice interrupted.

<I am now ready to start the conversation you requested, as soon as you empty your vessel. Do you truly wish to speak to Her?>

His first instinct was to refuse to do as he was told. But, he was curious what the Zyzz were up to, what they had prepared if he played along, and they would ridicule him if he backed down after calling for a parley.

In any case, emptying his vessel ought to be harmless, no? It would be such an inconsequential, fleeting disadvantage for him, if they planned to use that window to attack, that they would not bother with so elaborate a ruse.

He heaved one last exasperated sigh. "Fine." He may as well see where it all led.

What did he have to lose? He was encircled by a mob, surrounded by imbeciles, and beset by treachery. Indulging whatever game the Zyzz were playing could hardly worsen the situation.

<Brace yourself,> the voice warned, as Akolim's vessel emptied.

At first, nothing happened, and Akolim smirked. Ha! The Zyzz had not expected him to call their bluff!

Too late, he learned that the Zyzz were not bluffing. That the Zyzz were not even involved. Had never been involved.

He had made a terrible mistake. All the lineages had made a terrible mistake.

A Goddess hummed. That was all.

Buzzing in acknowledgment, the soul of Akolim, Patriarch Limbot, submitted to Authority. It was inevitable. A Goddess had willed it, so causality obliged.

His body toppled off its throne into a heap on the ground. His mind was only distantly aware of the unacceptable indignity his body had suffered.

His awareness was limited principally to contempt, because he was immersed in its Essence, floating in oblivion.

<Satisfied?> His soul, in the grasp of the speaking Voice, vibrated with the word as it was spoken. The sensation felt strange, mismatched, for such a high pitch.

It was impossible to know how much time passed before he was able to generate a voluntary thought.

<Mercy?>

<You know the word?> Cold sarcasm.

More time passed. Or didn't it? To think was a struggle.

<Mercy?> he repeated.

<You are speaking to Her.>

...It had been Mercy observing their world for centuries? Whose warnings they had ignored? Whose patience had expired?

The mistake was even worse than he had feared.

<Your mind remains your own. That is all the mercy I have for you.>

<But...thinking...hard?>

<Aside from the awe and primal terror, you are in shock. You would deny My existence to preserve your worldview, but when linked to Me, you are forced to confront an inescapable and unwelcome reality. Your mind struggles to form thoughts when its familiar thinking patterns are no longer available.>

Akolim was not a god.

<Precisely. My Sister, Justice, insists that I show you what real divine flames look like.>

The vision in his mind shifted from empty oblivion to a silhouette of sunlight wrapped in void, levitating above a wasteland. A cloud of sunlight billowed toward the ground from the silhouette's left hand, carving out a glowing trench larger than any river where it impacted.

The associated explosions seemed somehow odd.

<Flames normally heat the air, causing it to expand. The Flames of Justice erase everything they touch, causing surrounding air to implode, then rebound.>

...

<Mercy?>

<You misunderstand. It is not Our forgiveness that you need, but that of your victims. I only offer counsel on how you might earn it.>

She couldn't possibly mean, <Mundanes?>

<The people who will decide your family's fate.>

Akolim noticed that his family was standing over his body, in a general panic. They would have noticed the red.

<Grandson?>

<He is what you made him. He, too, owes many apologies. You can help to make it more likely that they are accepted.>

<How?>

<First, if you want mercy, show it yourself: Release your hostages, unconditionally. Then, beg with all your might to spend the remainder of your life seeking every opportunity to make amends. Discard your pride. Grind your face in the dirt where it belongs and pray that all of your victims are more forgiving than you deserve. It may not be enough for you, but it may help to save your grandson.>

Beg the mundanes for mercy!? He was prepared to grovel below this immeasurable Goddess, but--

<If you do not wish to be forgiven, that is your choice to make, but if you truly desire mercy, then humility is not optional. When the time comes, think about this question: What is truly valuable to you?>

Belatedly, it occurred to him that if the Red Goddess had Sisters...

<Sky? Sister?>

<She is My Sister, War.>

<Here? Real?> That seemed impossible.

<Do you feel at peace? Do battles seem winnable?>

...He could find no rebuttal.

<Speak with your family, and remember: If you would seek mercy, then the first step is to show it yourself. You regret ignoring Me in the past. You have this one last chance to correct that mistake. I will be watching.>

The Voice released Akolim's mind from the oblivion of contempt, and his full awareness returned to his body. He had been rolled onto his back, at the foot of his throne. There was a clamor as he stirred.

"Silence! Silence!" his son shouted, and the clamor dulled. "Father, can you hear me? What have they done to you?!"

Akolim did not know how to answer. He simply grunted.

"What is this?" His son swept his hands to indicate the red...everything. "You were red, too! A Zyzz plot!? Have they sunk so low?!"

The Limbot Patriarch ran his eyes across his 'divine lineage.'

"I need to think," he told them. "Stay here, and stay quiet."

Try as he might, the only conclusion he could reach was that words alone would be inadequate. No one here could ever accept what he needed to tell them, without experiencing a real Goddess for themselves.

"Empty your vessels, and lie down. You will understand what I need you to understand."

No one moved.

"I am your Patriarch," he reminded them, quietly. "Do it now. All of you."

----

"Will it work?" Yonen asked. "Is he listening?"

The Sky Goddess' husband, Zyriko, was staring at the Patriarch's palace, his hair waving in the afternoon breeze. The color of his shield was such a perfect match for his clothing that it was only noticeable on his face and hands.

"The Red Goddess thinks so," he answered. "The Patriarch's world was collapsing around him, and then She collapsed his worldview alongside it, and also instilled a powerful fear of damnation. As despicable as he is, he does care for his immediate family, especially his grandson. So, he is now willing to consider paths that previously would have been blocked by his arrogance."

Yonen understood--he could guess what 'despicable' meant--but he did not think any apology would change how he felt. It was too late, after everything the Patriarch had done.

"He is still damned?" he asked. "The Patriarch?"

"Do you think everyone will forgive him?" Zyriko answered Yonen's question with a question.

"No." Yonen was sure of that.

"Then he is still damned. It is not the Goddesses' forgiveness that he needs."

Yonen nodded. The Sky Goddess had said as much.

"His grandson, that boy's as cruel as any of them," he reminded Zyriko. "He laughed, burning Elli. Laughed, when she screamed!"

"I remember. He has a lot to answer for. Even if everyone agrees that he deserves mercy, he will be imprisoned," Zyriko said. "The Red Goddess is speaking with him now. She will try to teach him what he needs to learn. You, and Elli, and everyone else, may find it easier to forgive him, if he shows a new attitude in the future. Or, perhaps you will not. We can only wait and see."

Yonen thought it over for a long, long while, until Zyriko suddenly spoke again.

"They've decided to release the hostages. Let's head back."

Yonen was confused. "Shouldn't we tell everyone?"

Zyriko smiled a little. "The Red Goddess' Messenger is taking care of that."