Fwoosh.

Arjasoot burst back to life, rising from their brass pot in a shower of sparks. They drank in the flames and warmth and rich, thick smoke, rebuilding their body grander than before:

More ash-white hair, short and tangled into curls! More slender fingers, six on each hand to better grip a sword! More sculpted muscles and folds of fat! A pair of eyes that gleamed a beautiful ember-gold!

At last, their feet touched the ground. They clutched at their chest and coughed: the air of the city was horribly moist, nauseating to breathe...but it was air that could nourish their heart-flame, and they breathed it in with gratitude.

“I’m not dead?” They whispered.

A rotten hand whistled through the air, smacking Arjasoot hard across the face.

“Ah!” They yelped, manifesting fresh lips and vocal cords with which to speak. They looked up, their blurry vision growing clearer by the moment. “What?” They whispered through a jaw gone numb.

Varayana, Swordmaiden and Curse-Brand, stood there before them. As did Ina of the Axe, Priestess of Eleutha. And Lady Varavel, Priestess of Areia. And her Four Husbands, Argus, Vasura, Ramides and Zol.

Chunky the Sap Spirit, bodysnatcher and thief, was also there. They, in fact, had done the slapping.

“You Deiuos-damned Bastard,” Chunky hissed, the eyes of their corpse-vessel smoldering with fury. “Don’t scare me like that again!”

“I scared you?” Arjasoot replied, blinking.

“Yes, you blithering fool!” Chunky spat, tears of blood leading from the eyes of their corpse vessel. “What kind of Smoke Spirit goes and gets themselves drowned? If she hadn’t saved…!”

Chunky trailed off mid-sentence. “Bah, what do I care?” They hissed, turning their back on Arjasoot and heading west with their stolen corpse. “Go and throw yourself into a bog for all I care! Just don’t rope me into it next time!”

“She…?” Arjasoot whispered as the Sap-Spirit wandered off into the ruined city. “Who saved me?”

For a moment, the Smoke Spirit thought Chunky was talking about Varayana. Or Ina, with her fate-cleaving battleaxe.

...but no. It was Lady Varavel who had saved them. Lady Varavel with her sharp tongue and full, lush lips, both now covered with bloody-white blisters.

“She ate me?” Arjasoot blurted out.

“And then she spat you back out,” Argus the Sword Smith said, frowning furiously at the Smoke Spirit. “Stuffed moss between her cheeks and leapt back into the water after you. Gulped your flame down and swam you back to the surface on her tongue!”

“Incredible,” Arjasoot whispered, eyes widening in awe. “I thought for certain I was doomed. I knew it, down to the last spark of my being! But I am saved!”

“Yeah...” Argus growled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“What are you talking about...OW!” Arjasoot said as the sword smith jabbed a long-nailed finger into their brow.

“You burned our wife’s pretty lips!” Argus said, twisting his finger back and forth, digging it into Ajrasoot’s smoke-flesh. “I won’t be able to kiss those beautiful lips for a month, at least! I’m half tempted to forge your flame into a dung-rake for what you’ve done!”

“I’m sorry!” Arjasoot said, stepping away from Argus, nearly tripping over their own brass pot in a desperate struggle to get away.

"You’d better be!" Argus shouted.

“I swear to you I will remember this debt! Yes,” Arjasoot said, their heart-flame flaring as they got more worked up. “By the honor of the Tribe of Glass, I swear I will repay this great debt!” They plucked a thumb-full of dust and ashes from the ground and smeared it across their brow. “Ask me any boon and you shall have it! And if I fail to keep this promise may the Deiuos strike...!”

“No,” Lady Varavel croaked, wincing as they spoke.

Argus and Arjasoot both froze and turned towards the Priestess of Love.

“No,” Lady Varavel said again, shaking their head passionately. Their words were slurred, muddled, yet incisive as ever. “No need. Did not. Save you. For rewards.”

Arjasoot starred blankly at Varavel.

Then they smiled, took her hand and touched her fingers to their brow.

“Even so,” they said, “thank you. Thank you so much.”

Varayana, slumped against one of the broken temple pillars, raised her voice and spoke at last. “Arjasoot,” she said. “Get your hands off my mother. She’s already spoken for –– four times over, in fact.”

“Spoken for?” Arjasoot said, tilting their head to the side. They brightened suddenly. “Ah! You mean in the human copulation sense? Ah, I wouldn’t even know where to start with that!” They pursed their lips in thought. “Well, I suppose I could grow the requisite genitals if necessary, but it all seems like such a hassle.”

“Okay,” Varayana said, a haunted look passing over her. “We are now done with this conversation.”

“What did I –?” Arjasoot started to say.

“Done,” Varayana repeated with more emphasis.

Arjasoot chose the path of wisdom and shut their mouth.

The sound of sandals slapping against stone echoed down the street. Vasura, scribe and husband to Varavel, came sprinting around the corner, hoping over an overturned flowerpot and slashing through an overflowing storm drain.

“I’ve got it!” He shouted, holding up a jar of salve. “The unguent store still had a few left! Open your mouth, Varavel!”

Varavel dutifully parted her lips. With slender, nimble fingers, Vasura applied healing salve to their wife’s lips and tongue.

“We’ve must think about our next course of action,” Ramides declared, brushing dust off the sleeves of his fine merchant silks. “We’ve banished the Strangling Root, but a task just as dire lies before us!”

“Who is this ’we’ you’re talking about?” Zol asked Ramides, wrist bangles jingling as he folded his hands behind his back. “Vara, Ina and the Smoke Spirit did most of the banishing work, as I recall!”

“The point is,” Ramides said more loudly, “is that we need to refurbish Wedwel Dom! Dead roots must be cleared, holes must be plugged, supplies must be saved from water rot. Citizens must be found and persuaded to return and rebuild!”

“Springs,” Varavel chimed in. “The Springs need reconsecrating…”

As Lady Varavel and her husbands bickered and debated over the restoration of their beloved city, Arjasoot snatched up their brass fire pot and excused themselves from the conversation

Dawn was breaking over the quiet city of Wedwel Dom, and as the first rays of light drifted the waterfall cliff, rainbows appeared –– violet, red, yellow and green trailed that arced over the misty clouds above.

Who knew that a city so wet could contain such beauty, Arjasoot thought? A few months ago, no human, spirit or God could have talked me into visiting this place...and I never would have gotten the chance to see such marvels.

“Hah," Arjasoot said aloud. “There is probably a lesson in this somewhere.”

They skipped and hopped over the many puddles of water (how natural that seemed now!), making their way over to Varayana’s side.

“So,” Arjasoot said to Varayana. “You’ve made it home. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted, mostly,” Varayana said, casting her gaze around the plaza, wrinkling her nose at the shattered marble and crumbling tree roots. “When the day started, I was hoping to sleep in a dry bed with sheets and mats beneath. I doubt there’s a single bedchamber in this city that’s not caked with mildew.”

“Is it really that pleasant, sleeping in a bed?” Arjasoot asked, curious. “I should try it for myself, one day!”

Varayan smiled for the briefest of moments. Then that smile slipped away. “I feel resentment,” Varayana confessed, leaning back against the marble pillar. “We’ve saved the city, banished a god, reunited with my family. Ina even thinks she can undo my curses with the proper rite…”

A chill rippled through Arjasoot’s heart flame, a feeling of dread towards words that should have brought them joy.

“...and yet I still feel bitter towards Fate for creating all this trouble in the first place,” Varayana said. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No worse than me,” Arjasoot confessed. “Discontent is good in a time like this. If we accepted the good times as easily as the bad, I don’t know if anything would ever change.”

“Is that why you charged into a Sunken God’s Crypt and set everything on fire, against my explicit instruction?” Varayana asked.. “Pure discontent?”

“That’s precisely right,” Arjasoot shamelessly lied, un-ruffled by Varayana’s sharp words. “It had nothing to do with you at all.”

Varayana smiled once more, and this time the smile stuck.

Arjasoot basked in the gentle quality of her smile, savoring it for as long as they could.

Just as the rising sun overhead would eventually set, so too would they have to kill their traveling companion’s precious smile.

“Varayana," Arjasoot said. “I need to ask you something.”

“Then ask away, Arja!” Varayana replied. “You don’t need to ask me if you can ask me something!” They snorted. “There’s such a thing as being too polite, you know…!”

Arjasoot got down on their knees.

“Arjasoot!” Varayana exclaimed, backing away in shock. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Don’t let Ina remove lift your curses,” Arjasoot asked. "Not yet."

“Don’t…” Varayana’s lips flapped up and down, her words stolen from her by shock. “What?” They said at last.

“I know I have no right to ask you this,” Arjasoot said, squeezing their eyes shut. “You’ve suffered so much from these God-Curses. They’ve brought you nothing but despair, kept you from home and kin…”

“Then why?” Varayana whispered.

“You saw what your Curses did to Kanwah, the Strangling Root,” Arjasoot explained. “The nature of your existence can harm them! Your torment and your anger have made you the embodiment of the Godcarver, the blade that judges even gods! With you, I know I could banish the Crushing Depth and save my people! Without you, I am lost! So…!”

Arjasoot’s flood of words ran dry. They pressed their brow to the wet flagstones, dewdrops sizzling to steam against their ashen forehead.

“So please,” they said, raising their head back up.

From the horizon, the sun rose behind Varayana’s head, casting her face into shadow.

“Please,” Arjasoot said again, a Seven Part Halo shimmering into being behind their head.

Varayana said nothing.

“Please…” A drop of boiling water ran down the crease of their creek, the very image of a human tear. “Please grant my wish,” they begged...

“Okay,” Varayana replied.

Arjasoot blinked. “Okay?”

“You granted my wish,” Varayana replied, "so I’ll grant yours. What’s one more God-slaying...?” She smiled. "What with that strange look on your face, friend?"

“...make no mistake,” Arjasoot said. “My gratitude knows no bounds. I can barely believe this moment is real. But I need to ask…” They took a deep breath: “Why did you agree so quickly?”

“Oh,” Varayana replied. ”No reason in particular.” Her eyes twinkled. “It certainly has nothing to do with you being a friend.”

A knot loosened in Arjasoot’s chest. They felt a warmth pervade their being, a glow that had nothing to do with the heat of their heart-flame. They craned their head back, looking up at the golden sun that now rose over the domes and spires of Wedwel Dom.

“Thank the Gods…” They whispered hoarsely. “Thank the Gods…”

Varayana bristled. “The Deiuos have nothing to do with this,” she said. “Don’t bring them into this.”

Ina coughed and raised her voice: “You say that, but…”

Arjasoot turned to look.

Ina of the Axe, Priestess of Eleutha, leaned on her namesake weapon, looming over them both.

“The actions of the Deiuos caused you both great harm,” Ina said. “Our patrons never wronged you two directly...but they still wish to make amends.”

“Your patrons?” Varayana said, blinking.

“Yes,” Varavel croaked, pushing Vasura away and walking over to her daughter. “Our Goddesses.”

“Wait, Vara!” Vasura said, grasping at the sleeves of her wife’s gown in alarm. “If you keep talking, you’ll exacerbate your burns…!”

Varavel held up a hand to silence her second husband. She locked eyes with Ina and nodded.

Ina nodded back and took Varavel’s hand. “A Blessing Brand,” she proclaimed. “A Blessing of Unshackling upon you." She extended a finger and touched Varayana’s brow. “No nightmares shall consume thy mind. The Beast within shall not control thee by night.”

Gold shimmered on Varayana’s brow, a glyph of swirling lines and dots that flashed into being and vanished in the same breath.

The iron chains Varayana wore around her waist turned rusty red, then crumbled away into fine dust.

Varayana flinched back, hyperventilating, her eyes wide. She touched a hand to her brow, her breathes growing deeper, slower, calmer.

“A blessing from Eleutha?” She asked.

Ina nodded: “To balance out the curses you bear...and make your journey with Arjasoot more comfortable.”

“Areia has a blessing for you too,” Varavel whispered slowly. She reached out with her hand –– not towards her daughter, but towards Arjasoot.

“Wait,” Arjasoot said. “Me?” They waved their hands back and forth, flustered: “That’s quite kind of you, Priestess, but I’m not the one who’s cursed!”

“But you were hurt,” Varavel said through her burned mouth. “Please.”

Arjasoot looked to Varayana.

Varayana raised her eyebrow.

“Hmm,” Arjasoot said, shrugging their shoulders. “I suppose it would be rude not to accept the gift of a Goddess.”

Arjasoot took the hands of the Priestess. A voice ––not Varavel’s –– echoed deep within their head, deep and vast and all-powerful and sad:

WHENEVER YOU WISH TO SEE YOUR LOVED ONES AGAIN, SIMPLY LOOK INTO A POOL OF OF WATER AND THINK OF THEM. THIS IS MY GIFT TO YOUR HEART, KINDLY SPIRIT, SAVIOR OF MY FRIEND.

Arjasoot inhaled sharply and jerked their hand free from Varavel’s.

“That was her?” They asked, putting special emphasis on the last word.

The Priestess of Areia said nothing...but the twinkle in her eyes spoke volumes.

“Thank you Ina,” Varayana said. “Thank you, mother.” They clenched their teeth. “Convey my... thanks to your chosen Deiuos as well.”

Arjasoot felt a long strain knot of tension loosen in their breast. Varayana, at long last, had transcended her resentment of the gods, broken free from her shackle of hatred...

“And tell them to give me some blessed breathing room,” Varayana muttered under her breath.

Eh, Arjasoot thought. This was still progress.

“Arjasoot,” Varayana said.

“Ah!” Arjasoot jumped to attention. “Yes?”

“Earlier, you said you’d been chosen to be sacrificed in a year’s time,” Varayana said. “How much of that year has elapsed?”

“Half, I believe?” Arjasoot reviewed their mental tally of the day and night cycles. “Maybe a few more days than that”

“And how long will it take you to head straight back to the Hearth-Vale?” Varayana asked Arjasoot.

“That....”

...was a very good question, Arjasoot thought. Their first few days away from the Hearth-Vale were spent learning how to scavenge for nourishment and avoid predators, which slowed their travel pace considerably. Then there was the meandering walk they took down the western coast, searching for rumors of the Godcarver. And then they got lost in a Bog...

“I see,” Varayana said with a sigh. They turned to their parents. “Mother,” they said to Varavel. “Fathers,” they said to Argus, Vasura, Ramides and Zol. “To see you again after so long makes me happier than you can possibly know, but I’m afraid I cannot stay...”

“One day,” Argus said, folding their thick, muscular arms across their broad chest. “You need to rest for at least one day. Plus, that sword of your needs straightening out.”

“The days slip away as we speak,” Varayana said urgently. “Every delay brings Arjasoot’s fellow Smoke Spirits closer to doom!”

“How long has it been since you’ve had a proper bath?” Vasura asked their daughter. “At least take a day to wash the stink of the road off!" They reached up and pinched their nose, eyes bulging with disapproval: "By the gods, you reek!”

“Father!” Varayana hissed. “Don’t say that in front of others!”

“You’ll need provisions for the trip,” Ramides added, stepping up to stand by the side of his brothers-in-law. “Rations, water-skins, a proper tent to shelter you from the elements, clothes that aren’t ragged, trade goods if you pass through other cities....”

Varayana’s graceful, tranquil features grew red with frustration: “If you’ll just…!”

“At least spend enough time with us to enjoy some dinner,” Zol said, speaking with a gentle sternness that could not be denied. “Deiuos above, my child, you look like you haven’t eaten in days…”

As Varayana’s four fathers badgered their daughter into submission, Arjasoot inched away until they stood next to Ina of the Axe.

“Is this how human parents treat their children all the time?” They whispered out of the side of their mouth.

The briefest of smiles passed over Ina’s face. “It’s not inevitable...but it’s certainly not uncommon,” she said.

“Hmmm,” Arjasoot said, stroking their smoke-formed chin in thought as they observed Varayana argue with her four fathers.

Her face was flushed red with frustration, but her lips were parted in a small but very real smile.

Heh!” Arjasoot said with a smile. “There’s something to be said for human families, but I think I’ll stick with the ways my people bond.”

Next Chapter: Epilogue