The next thing that drew both my attention and Miana's was, apparently, a meeting of Vicars. Apparently, sometime late in the day, a bedraggled, exhausted Vicar of Blades finally caught up with the beleaguered remnants of the Selmonts that had been travelling East. I wish that I could have seen more of what was going on, but he made a successful ambush that limited the enemy's ability to harass the convoy, and having been spooked by my actions the last time they made a full frontal attack, they were now hesitating and falling back, possibly broken.

He did not take kindly to one of the Blades turning to another god.

Miana and I were both drawn to the situation, her to her Vicar and me to mine, as the jackal-like Vicar drew his blade on Muir, who was otherwise still very tired and clinging to one of the carts. Muir's eyesight had continued to worsen, and as I rushed to join her I couldn't help wondering if that was going to be a general thing with Storm Vicars or if it had something to do with the way she turned out in particular.

When I came out of Muir's shadow--fortunately this whole shadow-manipulating thing wasn't terribly literal, so I could appear cascading down the side of the cart, if awkwardly--he had a very long, curved blade pointed at Muir's face, and she stood exhausted but defiant. Miana got there just a moment later, and I recognized immediately that her shadow was her own, as I had always found to be the case. The jackal's sneer was defiant, and arrogant.

"As I thought when you spoke to me last night," he said, without having to look at his shadow, "you really are not My Lady. She would never have permitted such a betrayal."

Miana flinched, but spoke evenly. "I am the Goddess of Blades. And this... is a failure of mine, but it is not a betrayal."

There was a crowd gathering, which I watched anxiously. This was a bad situation for Miana, unless she was willing to come clean; she was obviously no great liar, and--

"And you," his blade suddenly shifted to my shadow. "You are not the God of Storms. That disgusting pig god's face is known to every religious scholar in the world, and you won't even pretend to wear it." The jackal tilted his head back. "That makes two gods suddenly changing their form. I begin to understand what is happening here."

It honestly hadn't occurred to me to pretend to be Xenma, and I laughed once as I realized that mistake. The jackal paced in quarter-circle , still leveling his blade at my shadow form, as Miana spoke up.

"There are many things that are changing, but I have not abandoned my people, and I will not. I do require..." she hesitated. "Some understanding from you. I want to know that you will not--"

"The goddess is dead, isn't she? As is the God of Storms." The jackal's lips turned up, the look making him look a bit like a dog threatening to bite. "You are usurpers of their godhood, parasites who take the place of greater beings."

"I am not--" began Miana, but I tried to drown her out.

"Actually," I said, with some force, "we were both chosen, she by the Goddess of Blades, and I by the God of Storms."

"Chosen." The jackal raised his chin, then gestured with it at the shadow. "That was chosen. That girl. That insignificant--"

It was Muir who acted, and it took some energy from me to let her, but she forced herself into the air with magic and landed a haymaker to his face, dragging him down to the ground. The two proceeded to struggle, Muir obviously exhausted and burning magic to keep moving, but the jackal... as far as I could tell, Miana simply didn't give him any extra strength. Whatever angel hung over his shoulder, spiritually speaking, was not there for him, and he seemed to get weaker moment by moment.

Finally, Muir managed to force a burst of magic that bound the other man to the ground, and then she struggled to her feet, standing over him. "You got a lot of nerve, Gannt," she snarled. "An' don't think I'm takin' sides cause one god or another asked me to. You were always the one to make shit of things, an' you looked down on women every chance you got. Always a miserable time whenever you were in the Temple, that's what everyone says. Goddess never shoulda--"

Gannt had been struggling against the restraints and finally got one leg free, which he used to kick Muir in the chest. I could feel Muir's grasp on reality wanting to slip, but I pulled her back with just a touch of magic. Don't spend too much, I warned her, mentally. There's a lot of fighting coming soon.

Shit, shit shit, replied Muir over the same channel. I'm not gonna beat this sonofabitch, I don't know what--

You aren't alone. And, I am beginning to think that he is. Aloud, I simply spoke. "What do you think, Goddess? Do you believe this one still serves you?"

"I have seen more loyalty from the one that he brands a traitor," said Miana, simply. "Gannt of Calann, either renew your oath in service of me or depart. I will not be insulted by my own Vicar."

"I am no Vicar," snarled Gannt. "I am no religious fool. I serve my people, and for this I was bound in the dark of the night with the spirit of some whore who thinks I am his partner, his love, his meant to be. Some thing that only wishes me to pretend that his life had meaning and that his connection to me was real. In order to serve my people I am bound by this false love, and it masquerades as a kindness. Free me from this if you dare, Goddess, because when I am no longer bound to you I will never again lift a blade in your name."

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There was only a brief pause. "You will not lift your blade in my name, but you will protect your people."

The jackal snorted. "Against any foe--even you."

"Then you free of me, and free from my Angel," said Miana, her voice very tired. "I have never been your enemy, Gannt of Calann. I do not believe the Goddess before me ever intended such a thing, either."

The look that passed over Gannt's face was heartbreaking, in a way. He really did look like he'd been tortured and now he was free, but there was also a twisted regret that hung over his features, a deep loneliness, a... something. I'd seen looks like that--of people who knew that they were doing the wrong thing, but were too stubborn to change--but it was difficult to say exactly what the real subtext of the feelings was.

"Free." There was heavy bitterness, heavy enough that it felt tangible in the air. "After all I have done, now I am free."

"You don't look free," I opined, quietly. Muir, without needing to be told, released the man's restraints.

Gannt ignored me and picked up his sword, suddenly struggling with its weight in a way he didn't before. Still, stubbornly, he turned and began marching east, towards the front of the caravan. "Let's go," he snarled at the various guards and Selmonts. "The enemy will not grace us with peace forever."

I touched Muir and offered her a touch more strength, so she could get back on the cart with dignity, before retreating.

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Miana and I met up after that, and she looked like she had an intense headache. Normally, I would not push her or anyone to explain things, but I felt like she needed to talk it out or she would end up keeping her feelings locked up until they became... twisted, somehow.

"Talk to me," I said into the quiet. Miana was indoors in the little waterfall cave, again, and Ryan-me sat next to her, watching the pained look on her face with concern.

"He was a weapon," she said simply. "I can tell that, now. He would fight as long as he had the strength, and the Goddess gave him strength in a way he didn't like. He'll still fight, but he will lose." She sniffled, the sound making it obvious that she was on the verge of crying, and shook her head. "I would never willingly force my people into a bargain they don't like, but now that I see him as he was, I understand. He would fight to the death--will fight to the death. Reckless, foolish. He seeks death, and the power that the Goddess gave him only made sure he would keep living through his pursuit of death."

I studied her, wondering where the insight came from. Somehow, as I thought about that, I saw her eyes raise to meet mine, and I knew that was not a coincidence. Was she learning somehow to read people better? A useful tool for a Goddess, to be sure, but...

"You are afraid," she said quietly, and I blinked.

"What?"

"Afraid that I'll read your mind. That I do read your mind."

I studied her, feeling my pulse quicken a bit. Was that really it?

"No..." she closed her eyes and seemed like she was feeling, or listening, to something. "You... it's me. Because I'm irrational, unstable. You are afraid I'll do something mad with the power I have." She opened her eyes again and met mine. "Perhaps you're right. I have been--"

"Stop," I said sharply, raising my hands to massage my temples. "Miana... you've been god for less than a day. Things aren't written in stone. I am worried, but you--"

"I've been mad," she said, and her face had a kind of pinched look to it like she was seizing on some crazy thought and was eager to give in to it. "I've hurt you, and you are my only ally. I didn't save my people, threw away a tool that was eager to defend them, and still hate you for killing Xechi, and Muir for becoming yours. I hate, I hate, I hate..."

I hit her in the forehead with the heel of my hand, which was barely more than a tap to a trained warrior. It also clearly wasn't enough to really interrupt her train of thought for more than an instant, but I started talking in that instant, trying to bring her down.

"Years, Miana," I said sharply. "Your identity as a Goddess won't be established for years. You don't know who you are and what you're doing yet."

Miana started to say, "I have to"; I knew that was what she was going to say as clearly as if she had shouted in my face. But something insider he caught the words, and she calmed. She shook her head. "What I need more than anything else right now, Ryan of Eyes, is to be able to understand my enemy, and my people. That is my wish. I cannot plan for what I do not know. I cannot protect what I do not understand. I can do nothing without knowledge. I have begun to listen to whispers, thoughts, against even your will, but there is something wrong, and I know it. It leads me to madness." She met my eyes with an intense look. "Fix it. Fix it. You changed yourself; change me. Fix me. Make me whole."

I reached out and took Miana's hands. They were calloused and tough, but also very cool. I looked back in her eyes, trying to figure out how to answer her.

"You are whole, Miana," I responded. "You're just terrified."

She grit her teeth and slammed her eyes shut. "That doesn't help me," she hissed.

"It does." I squeezed her hands. "Calm down. Take a deep breath. Easy; just breathe." After a few minutes of calming her down, I gave her hands another squeeze, to bring her back to the moment. "Look, my domain of eyes is not all things that I built, or things that I chose. As gods we can just try to do things and sometimes we succeed. I can find my people with my soul, search them out, and see a little bit through their eyes. If you have some other sense--an ability to listen, to understand people--then you can gift them that insight and listen in to what they sense, what they learn. The 'cost' of your blessing is knowledge given back to you, instead of power of deeds."

Miana had a very serious face, if calmer, and it was obvious she had not considered that. She nodded, if hesitantly.

"Later--after all this--we can see if I can enhance your ability to that if you need me to, but use what you have--power, a connection to your followers, and their trust and well-meaning. And not only the living followers, but the Fallen Blades. They--" my words caught in my throat, for a moment, but I forced what I was going to say out. "...they are not just people who follows, they are your people. Use them."

Miana nodded, and I let go of her hands. She sat still, in deep meditation, and I sensed that she was sending her power out into the world. My own words, though, echoed in my head, along with the Djinn's.

I am not merely a tool to be used... when you feel that way about mortals... not a tool...