Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

The tide had risen. We stood at the edge of the island, watching the fishermen haul in their nets and the waves lap at the ever-shrinking patch of earth. I tried not to groan in defeat. Across the way, the harbor seemed too-distant.

I couldn’t be trapped here, with an ancient lighthouse-keeper. Not tonight. Even Apis’s horrible apartment would be better. For all of its faults, it didn’t smell of fish so strongly.

“Ah,” said Amatus. “Suppose we talked too long.”

He wandered over to the chair, where the goat was doing her best to gnaw at the armrest, and shooed her away to slump down and close his eyes. “Best of luck.”

“Don’t you have a boat?”

“Not anymore,” he said.

“What do you mean, not anymore?” Apis seemed even more distressed than I was. He was still a little green from eating the shark. “You- just last week, you went out to market to bring Marcia over! How have you been getting food?”

“I can fish. Besides, the goat’s always here if I don’t get a good catch.”

The goat bleated. She didn’t seem particularly worried about it. Another lazy breeze caught off the ocean. It brought with it the stink of the city, so strong it could have been a physical blow to the head.

I grimaced. There was only one thing to do.

“Right. We’re flagging down some fisherman.”

“Been awful busy at the lighthouse, it seems,” said the man who’d finally seen my arms waving in desperation. He had a long pole instead of an oar, navigating the silty bottom of the harbor, and a wiggling net full of fish with too many eyes and not enough scales. I tossed one into my apron to keep the crab occupied. “I don’t think I’ve seen this many visitors for months.”

“What do you mean, this many visitors?” I tried to steady myself as he hit a rock with the pole. Even though it wasn’t far at all to the dock, with our combined weight he seemed to be struggling to keep up momentum. Every time a slight wave hit the boat, it struggled to stay afloat.

“Port!” He barked. Duran scuttled to the proper side. “Ah, well, Amatus is mostly alone out there. For the last few years, only Marcia- uh, may her honey ever-flow- visited.”

“The other lighthouse-keeper doesn’t have many friends?”

The fisherman didn’t respond to that, just spat over the side of the boat.

Another swell came rushing over the side of the peninsula. “Starboard!”

Duran rushed over to the other side. The fish flopped rapidly, trying to find the few puddles of water in the bottom of the boat. Apis groaned. How was he already sea-sick?

I grabbed for the edge of the boat. “Who else has visited, then?”

“Well,” said the fisherman. “The guards. A whole lot of them. Three different sets.” He pushed us further along. We glided for a long few moments before the current caught us and set us off-course, forcing him to push us again through the silt. “Then there were a few letters- I didn’t even know the postal service came out here- and the priests.”

“How do you even know this,” muttered Apis. He’d leaned over the side now. The fisherman leaned over and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Stand up! You’re putting the balance wrong!”

We were within jumping distance of the dock. I briefly considered abandoning ship entirely. If I was a little younger, and a little more spry…

“Just a minute more,” muttered Apis. “I’m trying to get some fresh air.”

If he wanted fresh air, he’d need to go to a different city. Another swell came. As the wave crested, it caught Apis in the face. He fell back, tossing the boat to the side. The fisherman swore heavily. Duran darted to the side, trying to even out the balance. I swayed in response.

Another push of the pole, and we were finally at the dock. As the fisherman threw over a rope, I jumped over to the safety of land. Or, well, land-adjacent wood. It briefly bent underneath my boot, but stayed strong.

“I do want to know,” I said, before the fisherman could run. “How do you know who’s been visiting the lighthouse?”

“All the best fishing’s next to the island,” said the man, stroking his whiskers. “Where do you think he puts his trash? The fish love that stuff.” He sniffed.

I reached down and removed the fish from the crab’s claws, then tossed it back in the boat. “Thank you for your time.”

“Tips?”

I dragged Duran off before he could offer the man any of his pocket change- if he had any left- and turned towards the rest of the city.

“I thought you didn’t want to waste money on a coach,” said Apis, who was sitting next to me as we rattled across the bridge over the channel of the Sometimes.

“I’ve already walked too much today,” I said. It was a busy coach, crammed with people ready to attend the festival, although it would likely get miserable later when everyone was done with work. Now it was mostly older people and children, along with a few souls clearly on business. I wasn’t sure what we counted as.

The coach-driver had given us dirty looks as we boarded, sniffing at our feet- still stinking of seawater- but he’d taken Apis’s money.

Across from me, Duran had been pinned in between an older woman who seemed to be knitting even as we rattled across cobbles- he was dodging the needles every time they bounced- and a man who was carrying a large vat of what looked like steaming soup. He turned, asking the man about what was in it, as I leaned in to make sure my conversation with Apis wasn’t overheard.

“Do you actually think the upper gods were involved?”

He didn’t respond. I had to clear my throat and say it again before he finally looked over at me.

“What? No.”

“Ursus said he wanted to eat the smaller gods, once. Surely they aren’t all good.” I frowned. “Besides, Cabellus is the god of fire. If anyone was going to commit arson…”

I had been assuming it was something small. Some kids playing a prank gone wrong. More and more, I felt like Andrena had thrown me into a deep pool of political drama. Thanks. I probably would have been better off with the poisoned pickles.

Before I could finish my sentence, I felt my head pressed up against the wall of the coach. Apis’s hand was covering my mouth.

I raised my eyebrows and grabbed at his wrist, pushing it away.

“You can’t speak like that in public!” he whispered. “Don’t you know where you are?”

Well, I was fairly sure that was what he said. He was whispering, and it was a loud coach- across the way, the man was telling Duran it was a competition soup for the festival, made with fresh-caught fish- so he could have also said hold new coal fuel mark. Since that didn’t make any sense, I figured he was warning me about the corruption all around us.

“Obviously I know,” I said. “Do you think he’s responsible?”

Our country had once been the host of a majestic empire, a symbol of war and conquest and triumph (or, if you asked the right people, a bunch of meddling idiots with nothing better to do). As such, Cabellus had enjoyed a few very profitable decades before the empire came crashing down and everyone decided to focus on more useful gods, like ones for hunting and family instead. Our capital, as the slowest-moving city in the country, was still mostly his domain.

The guards, for instance, were majority worshippers of Cabellus. Some of the navy worshipped the squid goddess, instead, but only very pious ones. Even the lawmakers, who should really worship the Beetle, usually kept two altars- one for the Beetle, who moved the world, and one for Cabellus, who made sure the world still belonged to us.

“I don’t see why he would,” said Apis. “It’s not like the- it’s not like he would have been threatened. He’s the god.” He made a vague praying motion. “Other than the beetle, of course. And Andrena, may her hive ever-buzz.”

The coach came to a screeching stop. He fell onto me, shoulder warm against my own as I turned to stare out the door.

“Not a stop!” shouted the coachman. He leaned out of the door and waved his cane. A horse was in the road. I leaned back as they argued and turned to Apis.

“What if he was challenged, though? There are already altars to Celeres everywhere. Could he have been worried about her? It sounds like Marcia was supporting her.”

“Even if he was against it, he would never have struck against Andrena.”

“Why?”

Apis gave me a look of great disappointment. “You don’t remember any of the annals of the gods?”

It had been a good many years, and several drinks of mead, since I’d been to temple school. I raised both brows at him. Across from us, Duran was being forced to try the soup. “No. Will you give me a summary?”

“Cabellus is Andrena’s godly husband,” said Apis. “If he was involved, he wouldn’t just be thrown from the spire. If it was proven he’d told his Voice to do any of it, the goddess Andrena herself could take revenge. It would be disaster.” He shrugged. “Besides. The current Voice of Cabellus has always seemed…” he coughed. “Never-mind.”

After that, no matter how I pressed him, he wouldn’t tell me his personal opinion on Cabellus. “So you still think it’s the postal goddess,” I said, sitting back.

“I don’t think the Voice of Celeres did anything,” said Apis, always unwilling to commit. “I think some of her followers tried to help her, by making a… scene… and it went horribly wrong.”

I thought again of Andrena’s rage, of her voice as she declared my mission. Justice. That wasn’t the voice of a Goddess sending me to search after some children who had made an ill-informed choice.

No. This was intentional harm.

I frowned. Who had done it, though? And why?

With a squeal, the carriage resumed moving. I sighed. “The last Voice would have done me a great favor by minding her own business.”

Duran finally finished the sip of soup. Even from here, I could tell the cook had added too much salt. Seaweed floated to the top, with a few strangely colored fish.

Duran gave him a weak smile. “It’s very… unique, good sir.”

“Do you think?” the man brightened. “This year, I really think I have a chance!”

“I’ll pray for you.” Duran gave the spoon back and tried to scoot away. “Upon my honor.”