Whoever I was before that night had drowned in the waterlogged silks that hung from my body like flesh on an old man’s neck. Any feelings had sunk beneath the waves of some great internal darkness. I know because when Melissa answered the door—apparently, at some point, I knocked—no lust nor love sparked within my chest. It should’ve; she was my fiancee and was wearing just a tee shirt. My shirt. Stolen after some clandestine tryst. At least I think.

I probably looked as bad as I felt going by how she ushered me inside. From front door to living room, the Knitcroft house was cozy. Quilts preserved and extended since the Changeover were stacked in a little wicker basket. The couch was a plush thing whose fabric exterior was specially woven so the cats—Melissa’s and her mother’s—could scratch away but never mar it. While every other wall was a competition between family photos, bookshelves, and tapestries. They didn’t even have a television.

“Nadia, what happened?” Melissa asked.

She reached for my face and wiped away tears I hadn’t realized were still flowing. Before I could answer, I heard her mom, Erin, descend the stairs.

“Melly, can you call the Temples. Something’s up with the NewNet again and—” she lost her sentence when she saw me. Her eyes took me in like one would a ghost, wide and disbelieving.

“Mrs. Knitcroft,” I said.

“Did something happen at the temple?” she asked.

I nodded. My jaw worked over the voiceless problem of how to answer. “Yeah. It’s gone.”

That simple admission struck me to my knees. My hands weren’t sharp enough as I tore at my arms, confident that my spilled blood could explain what words couldn’t. Melissa fumbled with my hands to make me stop. While Erin ganged up on me by resting my head against her chest. She cooed softly in the way all moms seemed to know how to do.

“Mom. Mom!” I said before I screamed.

Erin pricked me with her nail before my throat would be too raw to say what happened. From there—whatever Sorcerous toxin she injected in me—glued shut the floodgates of my heart. All feeling stopped, and I found a stillness come over me.

“Melly, I’m going to make some calls. You go get her into a shower and clean her up,” she said.

Melissa answered with a silent nod and guided me to the bathroom. The toxin left me so still I couldn’t even undress myself, so Melissa did that for me. She pried away the silks and cotton of my robes until my skin met the cool air that flowed through the house—courtesy of the shrines my dad had repaired only yesterday. They weren’t boxy like the Old World AC units I had found photos of on the NewNet. No, Dad’s shrines were works of art. The ones in Melissa’s house were composed of the thinnest strands of maple woven into ceiling-mounted laurels.

“Nadia,” Melissa whispered—I think she was scared to startle me, “the shower’s hot.”

My feet slid snail-slow across the tile until I felt the water hit me.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m not feeling much.”

Melissa choked down a sob. Tears crowded at the corners of her eyes—and whether from toxin or whatever darkness had replaced my heart—I couldn’t grasp how I caused it. The me before all of this would’ve known, I think. She was astute like that. . . I think.

From there, she took soap to my body. In small circles, she removed so much dirt and sweat that the water ran brown—until it ran red.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked.

I looked down to see that she had gotten soap in some scrape I had acquired. It was still that candied red color. Fresh. Probably gained on my trip over. I met her eyes and did my best to smile. This also proved to be the wrong move when blood dripped from my split lips. Her face fell and she returned to cleaning me.

“Ironic huh?” she said. “You’re always begging me to do this for you after your training sessions.”

“Hmm,” I hummed.

“Yeah, and I’d say, ‘No way, it’s too pervy.’ Then you’d say. . .” she trailed off.

I didn’t pick up.

She began again, “You’d say, ‘Nothing pervy about it. Think of it as another chance to examine your mom’s hard work.’”

The shower strummed against the tile as the moment stretched. I didn’t quite know what to say—my heart wasn’t in the moment and her recitation inspired nothing. Though the memory echoed inside and resonated with something that was beyond me at the time. We were only saved because Erin’s entity, a Baron in the form of a plump six-armed woman with the many eyes of a spider, had pushed inside. She had a towel, pajamas, and a bathrobe ready.

“Spawn of my lady, you and your consort should exit. The guests are here,” she said.

The heat from the shower had evicted the chill from my bones. Got the blood pumping, and that toxin had already begun to decay in my body. Which is to say that I was more capable of hurrying and dressing myself. A surprise to Melissa when I took the long-haired and soft belt from her hands, and tied it off.

Now my turn to descend the stairs, I found the living room more cramped than when I had left. A trio had crowded in a corner near the door. One corner held some of the premier leaders of the town. There was the Head Aid Steward, she was in charge of helping those in crisis—but I knew her for how she’d stumble to my house arm-in-arm with Mom. Faces flush from a night at the pub, and a candy in hand to buy my silence. She didn’t have candy this time. Next to her was an old man whose skin had only just begun to leather, my principal and one of the few elders in town who was alive to see the end of the Old World and still present enough mentally to shepherd the New. Finally, there was the town’s Chief Summoner, a frail skittish woman whose Earl ferried her everywhere as its head was an ornate throne atop a leonine body. She always visited Dad with some worry or otherwise, and he’d just flash a smile to banish it away. I tried to shape the same one. She just cried and clutched at her compendium.

“I put out my famous hot chocolate for you. To help,” she said.

Her and Melissa guided me to the couch in front of the steaming cup. I took a sip and watched as they all winced—the drink was still scalding hot and I felt only the barest touch of warmth. The principal gingerly lowered my arm.

He said, “Nadia, we’re here because you said the temple’s gone. Can you tell us what happened?”

I nodded, and considered how to tell the story. My first draft was messy.

“Killed Dad,” I spat. “They killed Dad.”

Melissa gasped. The adults didn’t—and it was only much later that I learned why. There comes a point when death ceases to surprise and just becomes the scenery of life.

“Nadia, listen to me when I tell you that I understand what you’re going through. Death is never easy to deal with, and there will be a time for you to grieve,” the principal said. “Right now though, the town needs you to tell us everything that happened. Can you do that?”

I knew even then that the story had scrimshawed itself into my bones.

* * *

The severance of myself began when a goddess fell into my house. Her body—I knew she was her in the place where I knew I was—laid there supine, slain and beautiful. The only reason I could make her out in the darkness was by the flames that had already begun to drag the temple into ash and ruin. The perfect compliment to her cold divine flesh. It was a sight that blew away my heart like so many flower petals. In that moment, I never thought I could love. The feeling was just another petal on the wind of grief at something so beautiful and broken.

I could’ve stood there until the stars were candles starving for wax, but I didn’t wait that long. Instead her body discorporated from Realspace to return to wherever Sovereigns go. While my body was jostled from stillness by Dad’s bloody roar. My mind tumbled down the question of, “Alls below, what the fuck’s going on?” as I ran-climbed up those endless stone steps. One, two, three at a time at speeds that would’ve impressed my P.E. teacher—she always wanted me for the track team. I probably stumbled a hundred times in the process. A hundred microseconds that could’ve gone toward. . . something more productive than a scraped knee or skinned palm. In the end, I didn’t matter; in that moment I couldn’t’ve changed anything. All I could’ve done was arrive a bit sooner, and witness more of my father’s execution.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

It was a beautiful affair. The main promenade to the temple—the same promenade I’d sweep at night—was an impressionistic display of what had to be a battle most epic. Flower petals littered the promenade in charnel reds and purples. Glass craters dotted the way like a heated ice cream scoop had gone at the path. While the wisteria trees had withered into the saddest versions of themselves. Their dourness offset by the lightning-bright sword echoes that had carved through the earth. The only thing not affecting the earth were the millions of raindrops that spun gently in the air—dancers at the wings for the grand finale.

At the center of this scene were five strangers and my father. Posed in baroque anticipation. They loomed over him like crows, and he—one leg severed and one grotesquely folded beneath himself—lofted a sword like a holy symbol with the conviction that it’d once more turn away evil. They stood like that for interminable seconds. Maybe I could’ve said something, but my presence did enough.

Dad caught sight of me from the corner of his eye—the other was clogged shut with blood—and for the first time in my life, I saw fear blossom in him. The strangers took him in this moment of distraction. My distraction… one of them strode into the tip of Dad’s sword. The blade buckled in upon itself before exploding into steel-gray flower petals. The person touched his chest and a placid air fell over him. He fluttered to the ground. The fight exorcized from his body. A different person swept forward—a double hand-spell already formed—and clapped. The cue.

The legion of raindrops converged on Dad and took the form of a coffin. Then I watched as they quivered and steamed. So much force exerted on his body until he just imploded. The entirety of a man gone and in his place was just a cloudy red diamond. They dropped the spell after that. Watched the diamond warily as it bounced against the stone. Stilled. Then, when their fears didn’t come to pass, they looked relieved. As if my dad, a small-town architect for temples and shrines, was ever a match for them. The five of them!

Then they shared a few words. Don’t ask me about what. I was too far away and the rain was too loud. One of them pulled out a shrine about the size of a backpack. Tapped at it and waited as it rolled out this long bone-shaking om. Realspace shuddered as the shrine’s sorcery pushed at its membrane. Pop. The sound of a birthing mother’s scream played backwards split the peacefulness of the scene. The promenade’s tilework fluttered before a segment fell down into itself to form a Staircase. They strolled down into the Underside, and after the last one was beyond view the entrance closed back up. Realspace cohesive once again.

* * *

My last words lingered in the air for a moment. I think it was the same moment they set aside for Dad before they worried about themselves.

“Anything else you can tell us?” the Chief Summoner asked.

I rolled my eyes into the past. “Yea they were the same height, gender indistinct, and they wore armor. Black, slightly shiny like a crayfish shell, and perfectly a-twin in make. They had him surrounded when I reached the top of those steps. I used to sit on those steps with him. We’d stare at the town, the only thing that looked alive nestled in these hills—,”

The principal snapped his fingers. “Tonight, Nadia. Only think about tonight.”

The chief summoner squawked, “A Sovereign. They killed a Sovereign? Oh.”

“No way it was a Sovereign, right? I mean, everyone knows Kareem wasn’t bonded,” the Head Aid Steward said.

“Bullshit, Kareem was strong. Both of you have entities too far down the Chain to feel it, but his spiritual musculature was dense as a star. Reality rippled when he moved,” the Chief Summoner said. “He never told me exactly how strong he was, but a Sovereign tracks.”

The principal shook his head in disappointment. “We had a Godtender in our midst and you didn’t investigate? Sharon, I taught you—”

“Not enough to deal with one. If I took the wrong approach he could’ve snuffed my spirit out. So forgive me if I decided to not press the matter further,” she said.

The Aid Steward argued, “If we knew then we could’ve helped.”

“Really, and what could we have done to help a Godtender? What power are you secretly hiding, Joyce!” screeched the Chief Summoner.

“Both of you!” The principal said, voice a whip-crack that reminded them of where they were.

My eyes had drank it all in. I saw the story that was spinning up. My dad was a Godtender with a past that had finally caught up with him. Maybe the town could’ve helped protect him, but by the irony of my father’s choices that option was off the table. We had all been made agency-less. It was their way to wipe away the guilt. The way they had already decided to take so they could be reassured that it’d all be peaceful again. In none of their eyes was the spark of something that began to flutter and heat in my chest. My memories rose unbidden and fed to it. Fanned it until every extremity knew only heat.

Every eye rubber-banded back to me. I looked down at my hands and saw the mug had shattered in my grip. Hot chocolate dripped from my fingers. A shade darker than my own skin—a rosy-undertoned umber.

“I think I need to rest,” I said. Voice cloud-soft but finely edged

The Head Aid Steward asked, “What happened to your mother?”

I shook my head. “No idea. I didn’t find a trace of her in the ruins.”

Erin ushered the trio out after that..

“Feel free to take the couch,” she said. Before she fled—and with that speed she did flee.

The house eventually settled back into its proper creaky-quiet state of two in the morning. Such was the hour when everything made its affair with oblivion. Except for me. I lusted for no dreams that night as I was convinced that only nightmares awaited me. Though this too was a shallow thought; my waking world was horrific enough. Then I heard the tell-tale creak of the staircase. Melissa’s head peeked about the corner. A shy but still concerned smile on her face.

She asked, “Are you asleep?”

My eyes never left the ceiling. “Yes.”

Melissa chuckled and padded over.

“Can I join you,” she asked.

I scooted the best I could and rolled over to face her. Lifted the quilt in reception..

“No,” I answered.

She crawled beneath it and claimed the space I had made for her. I folded my arms around her until she was tucked into me. Her head slightly above my chest, and our legs intertwining reflexively. It was the position that worked for us; Melissa was too short for anything else, but the way she’d tell it was that I was too tall. We only had ten inches of difference between us.

“Do you wanna talk?” she asked.

I ran my fingers through her hair. “You already heard the story. I’ll need more time before I find a better way to tell it.”

She shook her head tossing the waves. “It doesn’t have to be about that. To be honest, I’d rather it wasn’t about that.”

My brow arched. I asked, “What else is there to talk about?”

It was the wrong question. Something shattered in her. I felt it break in my hands, and I didn’t think about it any further.

Melissa asked a different question. “What do you think they’ll do?”

Something adumbral must have come over me then because I wound my fingers in her hair. Closed a fist at the base of her skull, and ever so gently I tilted until her face met mine. So close that had I not lost love from my heart I might’ve stolen a teasing kiss. Instead I let rage flow.

“Do? Do what? The minute they realized my dad was a Godtender—fuck, he was a Godtender—they had written themselves off the hook. There was nothing they could’ve done, and so there’s nothing they have to do.”

“I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be,” I crooned, “at least you’re thinking of things to do. You always were my little problem solver.”

She blushed. Tried to turn her head to hide it, but I tightened my grip and kept her steady. She moaned. I shushed her. I was nearing something, and I needed her to witness.

“In fact,” I said, “I think it might just be the two of us that think there’s anything we can do. See, everyone was so fixed on the fact that my dad was a Godtender. Logic would dictate that nothing could have harmed him.”

“But they did,” Melissa said.

I felt the heat bristle. My grip tightened. Melissa squeaked and tears welled. She blinked them away and gazed into mine. Saw the fire that had already initiated its feast of me.

“They did. They did the impossible, and killed a Godtender. Which means, I can do the impossible. I can kill them,” I stated. The answer, a handful of salts that made a rainbow of feelings color the fire that burned within me. Something about me was on the cusp, and needed one more blow to set it into place.

“You can’t,” Melissa said. Wrong statement. I pushed her away from the comfort of my embrace. Rolled myself atop her until I straddled her waist. My eyes—amber lit by a noontime sun—shone in the night. My hand made her head raise to meet me as I craned.

“I can,” I hissed. For a moment, everything seemed to still. There was no night time breeze teasing the windchimes on the porch. The house suffered not a single creak. Nary a drop of water passed the lips of the tap. This was a moment made a moment by my declaration.

“I will find those five. And I will, on the ashes of my father’s temple, swear, that I will kill each one of them.” The blow this time struck true. My oath echoed in the chambers of my heart.

I rose from the couch and didn’t look back at Melissa. I didn’t want to see the monster in me reflected in her eyes. Didn’t want to notice the heavy off-tempo rush of breath. I didn’t want to see anything in her that would’ve tested my still malleable resolve. So I made for the door, and tossed over my shoulder, “Thank you for the cocoa.”