As the Bishop stood in front of the small collection of deities he asked a now forbidden question. “Why are there those whom you forsake, what did they do?” The answer was not heard nor was it even spoken by the deities, these were the last words of Reverend Amos. For he took a Vow of Silence immediately after.
- The History of the Great Cults by Gregory Havadan
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A pale woman walked through the palace gardens with a bow in hand. As she strolled next to the flowers, their petals became vibrant and lush, the green leaves darkened, and the grass grew longer. In a white nightgown, she looked like a human, but there were white ivory horns where her ears should have been. Her skin was covered in droplets of something other than sweat and did not act like other liquids. It would suddenly dissipate when it stopped touching her skin and recollected just as fast.
A shape flickered in the branches of the trees. Bow in her right hand. She prepared an arrow, drew it back, and shot it across the garden. A squeal then silence. The squirrel didn’t have a chance as the arrow went through its heart, impaling the poor animal to the tree; it only felt the smallest of pain. She walked to the place the squirrel hung and pulled the arrow out of the tough bark.
She was bored. Her mind was in a thousand places, but also none. She monitored her temples, her priests communicated with a sympathetic bond, but few truly had a conversation with her. They asked for wishes and power, few wanted what she had willingly given. Her guidance was almost always thrown away for petty reasons.
The horned woman was the crowned, maiden deity of hunting and the guidance of those who were lost. That was to say, she listened to the whining of thousands, guided them and then they ignored the advice. In the last hundred years, only a single child had followed her suggestion.
This would end in four years, though.
A new Androthi was born. And she was her replacement. The joyous moment that had been, it was the escape from the monotony of immortality. The Androthi girl was born ninety-six years ago, and in four years she would take over for her.
She was tired. After thousands of years, she had an end. How the years seemed to blend as she looked back, how many times she wanted to drop everything and be free could not be counted on her fingers.
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She started becoming giddy as she thought. She would be free of the impulses the sympathetic bonding caused. Thus, she would be like a wild bird in an open cage, she would fly out and never willingly reenter. But the four years seemed to lengthen as she got closer to the finish line.
She laid in the grass, looking at the nebular stars. It would be morning in a few hours, with that morning prayers. The night was her only solitude--when all her followers were asleep—and they couldn't pray to her in their sleep—thankfully. If they could, then the belief that the Androthi weren’t able to succumb to insanity would be proven wrong.
She looked at the stars, finding the constellations that interested her the most. Old heroes and great beasts drawn with heavenly hands. Forever painted on the canvas of the universe, not even the eldest of her people could have that honor. The deity reached for those brilliant pieces, adventure, acts of bravery, and the thrill of the hunt. That was what she wanted, but it was out of her reach. Her hand fell to the ground, not even the rustle of grass was heard.
She sat up and then stood, looking around the garden, the flowers were from foreign lands. Blossoming in bright shades in the moonlight. She walked towards the exit, a long hallway that branched and twisted through the palace. She climbed a flight of stairs approaching her room. The silent night was unbroken.
Her bow was untied and left leaning against the wall, the marble feeling cooled to her touch. Her bed was large, it could have easily fit three people. Slipping in, she closed her eyes, trying to recover a few hours of sleep.
Suddenly, someone began praying to her, didn’t they know what time it was? They eventually stopped. She opened her eyes glaring at the ceiling. She rolled over and unsuccessfully went to sleep.
Then she heard an insult…
And another…
And another.
A small ember of anger suddenly turned into a flickering flame, then into a blazing bonfire. She was not having this, someone insulting her, in her temple! Death would be merciful at this point for the fool! Jumping out of bed, she began the transportation technique still in her nightgown, Not bothering to dress. The violator was alone, once dead no one would know how she was dressed.
The technique took effect.
She wrathfully looked over the darkroom. Staring at the fool who insulted a deity practically in her face. He bowed over a pool of water, muttering profanities at himself and her. She heard every word, for this was her domain.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. She stepped forwards.
“HOW DARE YOU PROFANE IN MY TEMPLE!” Her voice echoed in the chamber.
The boy looked up at her startled, surprise scrawled on his face.
But the first thing she noticed was the tears and bruises all over him. Pettiable in her eyes, she would allow the fool single mercy.
“What are your last words mortal?” The room felt colder as she spoke, the atmosphere began to spark as the weaving of the Soma took effect.
His last words sounded out into the large room.
Surprised, she burst out in laughter.