Goddess Rising

Aria’s eyes snapped open. There was no gradual return to consciousness, just the sun in her eyes and sand in her mouth. A pair of legs crossed over her, kicked some more sand in her face, and kept going.

She hurried into a seating position, spitting furiously, and rubbed the sand off her face. Around her there was an open market. Wooden stalls littered the area. Most were clustered underneath under a shaded open area made from poles and a wooden roof. Others braved the glaring sun and burning sand. Brick buildings formed the walls of the marketplace on two sides, leaving two wide alleyways as exists on the other sides.

Aria looked above the buildings and squealed as her heart threatened to leap from her chest. She clamped a hand over her mouth, though none of the passers-by seemed to care, and indulged a moment of grateful relief. It was only a statue.

Garo’s face, larger than the sun in the sky, looked menacingly on the city and finally solved the mystery of her location. She was in Igbotulo. It was the only city with infertile, sandy soil and a giant statue of Garo. Her home was three hundred miles away and during pilgrimage season, the line of supplicants would include her parents.

Another person walked over her, unintentionally kicked her in the jaw, and kept walking. Aria clambered to her feet after that. It was best to get out of their way before she was murdered. What had Achi been thinking to dump her in a marketplace so close to home?

I thought he had no powers.

Apparently, he had enough to knock her unconscious. A generous part of herself suggested that he had been under pressure to hide her location from his father. A less generous part countered that it could have been mere callousness.

She had a purse tied around her waist with a woven cord. That was new. A quick inspection showed that it was filled with many golden coins. Something white peeked from below the first layer of coins. She pulled it out, pushing coins out of the way. It was a paper-wrapped bundle. She carefully teased the paper apart and as the last fold disappeared, felt a rush of strength overwhelm her. The sun was suddenly less hot, the wind was cooler and that last vestiges of her worry were gone.

It was the ring. In the same bundle with it was a note. It was a struggle to release the ring. But she did it. Despite the comfort it brought, being mistaken for a goddess would worsen her problems. She returned it to its bundle, felt its power fade as soon as it was covered, and unfolded the note.

Aria,

I am leaving you this against my better judgment. I do not expect you to use it. So, please, do not use it.

I will attempt a deal with Garo. Your plan is a bold one, but if he agrees to give me your soul and if we can do so before my father learns of your death, this could be the breakthrough we need.

Until then, remain in Igbotulo. Do not leave the city. Do not leave the lower realm. Absolutely do not return to the middle realm. And, in case I need to say this, do not come to the upper realm.

There is a lodging house at the entrance to Igbotulo called ‘Pleasant Nights Lodging House.’ Pay for a room there. I will send a messenger when I have news.

If, despite all my warnings, you find yourself in danger, the ring provides minor defensive abilities. They are very minor. If you wear it, you put an opponent to sleep and it will protect you from weak physical damage. It will also sustain you for a few hours if you sustain life-threatening injuries. It will not protect you from a deity or an empowered blade. It also has very little power left; enough for months if you are careful and hours if you are extremely stupid.

Achi

She crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. Then, fearing detection, she picked it up and put it in her purse. Every condescending word had almost driven her into a rage.

Stay in Igbotulu?

And then what? He would modify her soul - if Garo consented and his father did not stop them. Then, what would happen? Would she hide forever? She was bound to die eventually. Would the modification protect her in the afterlife? If the Black God searched diligently, would he not eventually find her? Forever was a long time to hide from a deity.

No. Her only permanent solace lay in proving her guilt and Achi would not assist with that because he did not believe her.

She stared up at Garo’s giant head. The artist has faithfully depicted his terrifying eyes and severe expression, but the muscles were slightly exaggerated. She would know. He had used them on her to great effect.

The pitcher.

The thought hit her like a hammer to the head. Where was the pitcher? She had taken it to Garo’s quarters, but Tivelo had never looked at it. She recalled holding it to her chest as she was led through the hallways, putting it down as she greeted the gods, and never picking it up. It was still there. No one would dare to move it without Garo’s leave.

It was her freedom.

If she could get into Garo’s quarters and retrieve and examine it -. The thought left her breathless. Perhaps Tivelo did not care about evidence, but it was useful to her.

Questions fought for dominance in her mind. What could kill a god? Why had Tivelo failed to examine the pitcher? What had he seen in her memories? Perhaps he had examined the poison without touching it. Perhaps he had seen something in her mind that made other evidence unnecessary. Achi had claimed that her memories were removed to hide the poison’s details. Then why leave the pitcher? It was a severe oversight.

The questions had no answers, but they kept her in place. Answering them meant returning to that palace. She could do it before Garo returned. With some skilled makeup, few people would recognize her. If she had not been removed from the temple rolls, the guards’ magic would not note her as an intruder. If she had, well, she could just put on the ring and run.

Her brain threw obstacles at her. Was she mad enough to rob the Great Conqueror? What if someone recognized her? What if the pitcher was gone?

Her stomach growled. She welcomed the distraction. Pondering such a monumental plan was giving her a headache. She would eat, find clothing to replace her nightdress, and perhaps bathe. Then, if she had not come to her senses, she would consider the plan again.

Food was easy to find. About a tenth of the stalls in the marketplace sold food of some kind. Aria bought chappadu - fried bean patties wrapped in giant leaves - and washed them down with water from a public well. Then, she asked for directions to a clothing shop.

She repeated the process three times before finding her destination. Outside the marketplaces, most buildings were frustratingly uniform. They were all made of brick, featured slate roofs, and were packed one after another with tiny alleyways between them. When she found the correct building, she tried three separate doors opening into a bookshop, a scent shop, and a clothing shop respectively.