Chapter Text
The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)
This unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by separating and sorting everything to its proper place and kind, believing that she ought to neglect none of the gods, but endeavor by her piety to engage them all in her behalf.
- "Cupid and Psyche," Lucius Apuleius (2nd century)
Tsumugi
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Slippers made poor riding shoes, especially over lava. But they were silk, gifted by the flicking wings of moths without number, and when you know not where you walk, you should always dress in silk. It's good enough for gods.
Scalding. Fierce. Cleo hooked her fingers in crimson neck feathers. She slid forward and back with the steady gait of the long-legged bird she'd mounted with a saddle; she lured it ever forward with a promise of mushrooms in her outstretched hand (taken beneath the sleepy eyes of a mossy-coated god). Stink burned her nostrils, but she had not the words to describe it beyond memories of eggs fallen beneath the henhouses where she'd once changed the straw.
One blemish marred her finger; already, she'd dropped her satchel and watched it burn. There went her offerings… and there went her payment for the trip back across the glittery golden pool. No other mortal creature (if there were any) could carry her across again, for all things died in lava except the long-legged birds sired by the god she'd come to see. They pranced like demigods in their crowns of ivory, wrapped in feathered robes.
Every tread rocked her forward, pressing her head to the back of the bird's rough neck. But halfway across the lava lake, her companion stopped walking. Her gift had reached its end; it would take her no further. It pecked for mushrooms in her hand. Cleo curled her fingers. The bird swayed beneath her, ruffling its wings. It stamped its legs. This blurred her vision, kicking butterflies across her fingertips. If it charged and took flight, would the saddle hold? Buckling a saddle on a bird hadn't been an easy task. She fed it many, many mushrooms; she owed a debt now to the god of justice and sleep.
"Shh, shh… It's all right. Look; here you go." Cleo brought the last bits of fungi to the bird's face, stroking its neck as it settled down again. How curious to be a pair of mortal things tangled in heat and stench. The bird fluttered, disloyal to its own footing, and Cleo pressed her knees against its huffing sides until her thighs ached up the seamlines. The silk slippers debated mutiny on her toes. Lava sizzled and crackled an arm's length away. Did sailors feel like this on sinking ships? Cleo pressed her lips together, swallowing clogged-up air. Then, lifting their head, they looked towards the platform they hadn't reached. Much too far to jump.
If she must be slain for intruding in this temple - for overhearing sacred words of bliss and passion not meant for mortal ears - then let it be on her feet, head tilted back while shadowed implications danced upon the wall. Let it be the night wife and husband called each other Mulberry, after the silk flowing in their veins. They cried that lonely word until they crushed it into dust beneath the weight of expectations. How many centuries did it take the spirits to memorize every thumbprint on each other's skin? Would they know the moth holes marking one another's hearts?
The god who dwelled in this magma-filled temple (made honorary god of hearts and husbandry by his wife) hummed beyond his veil. His wife answered him in whispers. She'd become his mulberry-thing (his blessed and beloved), as he'd become hers.
The beautiful birds were not embarrassed by their mother and father. And if the birds were not embarrassed, neither would she be. They nipped and tore at each other, still squawking at her chosen mount for devouring the mushrooms they'd brought without sharing with the flock. Cleo did what they had to, then, and tossed dirt into the lava before her. As though by miracle, the particles took solid form to shape a little platform. They dismounted the long-legged bird for this makeshift island of exile, and pet its beak until it ambled away. Its footsteps slurped with every stride.
The god of sea and fire had been married many years, rendered mortal and soft in every thread he played across his fingers. Cleo could not see his wife disrobed from her sacred silks and strewn across the loom, guarded as she was by gossamer veil, but their shadows and candles conspired to chase hidden things into light. It was known to Cleo then (in fragmented, unfinished way) how he wove with nimble fingers. He called her name ambrosia and pomegranate and Venus among the fishes, and all the things that get you drunk on life and love. She named him This thing and That thing which cannot be translated, and filthy things that can, which would have ruffled even the real god of hearts and husbandry if they chanced upon his ear. Cleo traced two finger pads across the stitch marks down her cheek. That…
That was mulberry silk, in a way the kind that ran inside her undead veins was not.
Upon the marital loom, the gods weaved a bird into life (which Cleo saw only in its shadow), and love was made. The bird squawked in hunger. Two scraggly wings spread in prayer or plea. The god hummed in pleasure and lifted the little thing in his hands. Its shadow burned imprints in the backs of Cleo's eyes. Newborn things were rarely a mortal's right to see.
On this spot - this tiny island made up of one dirt block - they would make their plea, for all they were worth. Cleo then bore their chin high and called with grand voice into the whispers of the night:
"I leave comment with the god of sea and fire, who bears my heart and leads my trail."
The murmurs stopped. The shadows fidgeted. The new bird croaked, seeking solace at his chest. The shadows slid apart again as the god lifted the candle in its dish.
"Oi! Oh, you're having a-" The spirit thrust the veil aside then, rubbing something akin to exhaustion from his eyes. "What are you on about? I took down my bridge for the night. Why have you set foot in my abode?"
The mortal found their eyes drawn to his left arm, which bent and became a fin. He bore no fingers upon that hand, nor wrist or palm at all. Only the fin, which hung from his stump and curved back to his body. How it shined with rainbows, and was lovely to look upon. The new bird he'd created clung to it with wobbly feet, looking to him so he might catch it if it fell.
This fin, they thought, is the work of the god of trickery and innovation. I did hear he blessed this man to swim swiftly through the sea, then stole his hand away.
"I should slay you for disturbing me on a full moon night," the man snapped, stalking forward through the flowing lava. It wreathed around him as though he were made from something far more precious than common silk, and he was. "Do you not know my wife must leave me in the morning?"
"I do," Cleo said, proud and sure of tongue. "You are the god of sea and fire, married to the goddess of stone and harvest. If you miss her when she leaves you to serve blessings to mortals, then hear my plea. My sister's lover is locked away, and he will be taken afar or killed if I sit idly by. I've run out of options."
The god became very quiet, petting his new bird upon the head. But then, the words must have touched his heart, for he bent to set the bird upon the lava as a thing that could float, then waded towards Cleo, tying back his messy hair.
"I will not stand for separated lovers, but surely you know I am the god of sea and fire. What need have you of my powers?"
"I need not your powers, spirit. I need your heart."
He scoffed. "You shall not have me; I'm a married man."
But the mortal would not be deterred. "Will you lend me the strength of your arms to break down the dungeon door?"
"I cannot," said the spirit, "for only the god of hearts and husbandry can breathe strength into man or beast."
"Spirit, you misunderstand. I come to you not for your powers, but for your sympathy. My sister's love will soon be sent abroad or killed. I know the gods are kind, and they give and give and ask for nothing in return but the fondness of the people; that they may lend their hearts and follow behind. If I asked it of you, would you in mortal body step with me to the dungeon bars, and pull against them with all the strength a spirit has? With the strength of a spirit, I am sure they would break."
"Is this the request you disturbed me for?" he asked, but his voice was tender. He leaned forward and cupped her face with the stump upon his fin-hand, which felt something like a scallop's shell as it danced upon the stitches in her cheek. "You risked my wrath, all to ask if I would help you through a door?"
"I did, spirit, but there is more to this plan. May I address your wife, even upon your own floor?"
The spirit considered this, drawing back. "I will ask her. Wait a moment." And he pulled the lava some ways apart, creating for the mortal a wider platform to set her feet upon. Much time passed as the spirit wove his wife's form together again on the sacred loom, but at last, she appeared from behind the veil, pulling it aside with one hand. Her wispy, chiffon hair flowed long down her back and had been weaved like a crown upon her brow. Her silken robes were woven of the deepest blues and brightest pinks- colors which could not be manufactured by mortal hands. She gave greeting; Cleo returned it in kind with a bow.
"Spirit, you are the goddess of stone and harvest. Is it not you who rules the moon by night, in absence of the god of war and sky?"
"This is so," said the spirit, "but I may no longer break stone placed by mortal hands, for to do so is an insult to the new-named god of trickery and innovation. If you hope I may use my powers upon the dungeon walls, I can be of no use to you."
"Is it not true that the god of war and sky throws the moon to you every evening, and that you break its pieces into cheese? Do you not feed lost mortals, tired animals, and hungry spirits who receive no offerings at their graves?"
The spirit paused. "Yes, this is true. And when all have been fed, I nurse the moon upon my breast until it's stone again. But what good does that do you?"
"If you threw your cheese upon the village, then all the monsters of the night would come and feast, and the dungeon soldiers would have no choice but to leave their posts to fight them. We will rush the castle and free my sister's lover then."
"I will try," said the spirit. "But the beasts of the ground run with the god of trickery and innovation, who snaps at their heels to drive them into hunters' paths. And too, he leads them to leap great gorges, and with him they flee through the brush. If he arrives, the beasts will follow him from my cheese and into the woods, and I will be no use to you."
"If it happens as you say," said the mortal, "then that is no fault of yours. I thank you for your presence."
"Of course," said the goddess of stone and harvest. "All the gods are good and kind, and wish nothing more than to share our gifts with mortals, asking only for your eyes and thoughts. For we are creation, crowned by moths without number. We sit in the pantheon of silk and plays, and in our pursuits, we have joy. But why did you not ask the god of hearts and husbandry? This is a matter of lovers torn apart. Are you not the maiden who was risen from the dead? Surely you must be his finest work."
The mortal paused at the door, and the spirits looked at each other in some surprise. Then, without turning back, the mortal said, "I languished for years in prayer to the god of hearts and husbandry, and he never turned his eye on me. All others who pray in his temple have been strengthened in their illness, but for reasons unknown to me, he cared not that I might die and abandoned me to myself. Do not forget I was raised again only when my sister pled with the god of trickery and innovation. He saw my body broken and took pity. He asked nothing in return but that I go my way with eyes still shut. The god of hearts and husbandry has quarrel with me. I do not quarrel with him." And she left.
"She IS the work of the god of trickery and innovation," said the wife, turning to her husband. "Now I see his handiwork in the stitches across her face. They are all sewn as though with one hand, and by a man who rebuilt himself when he was cut off and cast aside."
"Do not remind me of the hand," said the spirit, and departed too after the mortal.
Together, the gods combined their powers, with the goddess of stone and harvest throwing cheese upon the ground to lure creatures from the darkness. As the mortal had predicted, monsters of the night and other great beasts rushed from the fields and forests, seeking to lay claim upon the abandoned meal. "We must go now," said the mortal, and the gods pursued her to the dungeon, where her sister's lover lay sleeping behind bars.
"Oh," said the goddess of stone and harvest. "I see the god of trickery and innovation. He has already come to lead the beasts away. Here they go, with him nipping at their heels to chase them out."
"Then we work quickly," said the mortal, taking hold of the bars. The two spirits joined her. They pulled and pulled with great strength for many long minutes, but the door did not budge. The god of sea and fire looked upon the mortal with woe in his heart, and shook his head.
"I'm afraid I am of no use to you. Your sister's lover will be lost. There is nothing else I know."
"That's all right," said the mortal, who was sorrowed, but not yet beaten, for she had never met a challenge she could not overcome. "You answered my call, and that is enough. I will find a way."
The goddess of stone and harvest, equally moved as her husband, lay her hand upon the mortal's stitched-together cheek. "Perhaps," she said, with tenderness and lack of judgment in her voice, "you should seek the god of hearts and husbandry. He will help you. This is really his matter to involve himself in."
"I will consider," said the mortal, but when daybreak came, she stole not westwards to the spirit in question (who dwelled in the mountains), but across the fields to the god of travel and arts, who was his husband and dwelt in a temple just beside the god of wood and ore. While the latter two were not entangled lovers, they were dear friends, and perhaps would agree to lend aid together. Thus, she would not risk the conflict of multiple gods set upon each other in their jealousies.
When the mortal trekked upon them, she was taken aback to find the two spirits outdoors, fussing and digging in what appeared to be plain dirt in a half-planted field. Yet each scoop of the dirt they churned with their shovels brought flecks of gold to the surface, which were cast aside as though disgusting. Cleo studied this situation, and before she could make plea to them, one looked up and saw her. He wore robes in black and white, trimmed with red. On his back hung a pair of wings as scarlet as a cardinal against winter snow. His short hair curled against him like he'd dipped his head in ink and it now dribbled down his scalp. This was the god of travel and arts, whose hands were ever-stained the color of sunburned skin.
"Ho! What business have you here, mortal?"
"I might ask you the same, spirits," said the mortal, looking upon them. "I came to request your aid in a task no other god has been able to conquer, but I see now you are quite occupied in your own doings. I will not impose upon you."
"Perhaps you can help us," said the god of travel and arts, looking to the god of wood and ore. "One week previous, we heard the god of war and sky brag to his lover of a curse he buried in this field between our temples. It is said that when we walk here, many eyes will face our every move. He claimed that if not unburied, it will multiply many of its kind. We must be rid of it, for we have need of this land, and people may fear there are monsters nearby if they see prowling eyes watching from the dark."
The mortal looked upwards. The god of war and sky had not yet brought the sun to its noon position, but if she did not unearth this trinket, they would not help her. If she left, she might visit another temple, but what if they could not aid her plight, and she wandered awkwardly back the next day to plead her case to spirits she'd turned her back on?
She strode forward, holding out a hand to take the shovel. "I will help you, spirits, for you give so much to us and ask nothing in return but our hearts."
The god of wood and ore looked upon her with a tired smile then. A ragged beard wrapped his face. He had one eye replaced with the shiniest metals in his domain, and looking upon his chiseled face reminded Cleo of her sister's lover, who still lay trapped behind bars. He too had wings, but his were intricate in ways she could not wrap her head around, for though she could see their gears and puffing steam, she could not imagine how well they worked. "You are very generous with your time," he said. "We will not forget this."
They gave her a shovel. The mortal went to work, then, digging beside them. They plowed much of the remaining field and left even more holes than gouges. They dug a ditch that would fill with water someday, perhaps becoming a great river. And still they found no curse.
The sun set, the moon rose, and now, Cleo began to worry deeply. All day they had worked this field with the gods, and they were no closer to turning up their answer. Cleo looked about, then began to walk the fields. They passed up and down the rows that had already been planted… and then stopped. They looked back at the spirits behind them, who still dug unthinkingly in the other direction.
"I've found it!"
The spirits rushed to her side, asking questions. In response, Cleo pointed at the sprouting plants.
"The god of war and sky has played a mean trick on you indeed, for while you sought some trinket or stolen treasure, his devious plan took root. When he spoke of watchful eyes, he spoke of potato skins, which bear such markings. And as he promised, it has multiplied and spread throughout your field."
"How very clever," said the gods admiringly, and they dug together until the first potato had been lifted on their shovels. It wasn't much to look at in its small, brown form, but the spirits shook their head in wonder and gave unto Cleo their thanks. Now that they were not haunted by a mysterious curse that would scare mortals off, they could continue with their building projects some future day.
"It is very late," said the god of wood and ore, "but if there is anything we can do for you before you go about your business, you have only to ask. You have our favor now. We will help you."
"It's my sister's lover," they said, and recounted his fate of being locked inside the castle dungeons. Addressing the god of travel and arts, they asked, "Can you steal him away at great speed, spiriting him off to another land? If he were free, my sister could follow behind him."
The god of travel and arts rubbed behind his neck. "Ah… My domain is over the road, but I cannot bring someone with me if they are tethered by doubts, guilt, or walls. I'm of no use to you."
"I don't understand."
"If the path were open, then I could whisk this man away. But he must take the step to reach the road, or I can do nothing for him. I cannot remove the bars that hold him there."
Cleo turned to the second spirit. The god of wood and ore looked woefully upon them. "Ah… I'm afraid I'm of no use to you either, for recent lines were drawn across my mastery. The structures built by mortal hands are now rendered unto the god of trickery and innovation, and my powers - though many and great - can no longer lay finger upon their works."
"I do not have right to plea for that man's aid," said the mortal, touching her cheek, "for when my body weakened under the wetness of my tears, he fixed me on his loom with his own silk and gave me life again. No thanks I give will ever be enough, so I cannot ask him any grace as long as I live."
The spirits looked upon each other, then at her again. "No," said the god of travel and arts, stepping forward to clasp her hands in his. "Spirits don't lend aid to mortals to cast them in our debt. We gift our time that we may bring you joy. Go to him. Speak truthfully of your appreciation. Would it not be the greater insult to dearly love what he has done for you, but cast him aside as though he's unworthy of your heart?"
"I will organize a visit," Cleo promised, though she did not know if she would. The god of travel and arts held her hands tightly and drew her along the road. By the third step, she had returned to her bedroom in a fluttery feeling. A distant clock struck the midnight hour. She sighed, changed into her night things, and slept until dawn.
Morning light found her on the road, traversing past grazing grounds and foothills until, late in the afternoon, they came upon the furthest west temple in all the livestock kingdom, which sat upon a grassy mountain with a flattened top. Cleo pulled back their hood, blinking against the fury of the setting sun. Already, they could see the spirit they'd come to find without even calling his name. He sat upon the arch that marked the entrance to his open-air courtyard, eating a pie from its tin as he looked upon her… though, he ate with his fingertips and not with any cutlery. Much grass grew beyond him. Sheep grazed while bovine rested in the shade. Even a ravager lay beside a sleeping calf, though the sight set Cleo's threads on end.
He dressed in silks, each layer bearing its own shade of green. Upon his head and chin he bore hair that gleamed with the rosy gold of morning sun. His wings, sculpted with many long feathers, caught the light so brilliantly that their blacks, grays, and browns took after freshly hewn stone. Cleo drew in a very small and mortal breath, still gripping the edges of her hood.
"I leave comment with the god of hearts and husbandry, who bears my heart and leads my trail."
"Did you tell the god of sea and fire and the goddess of stone and harvest that I abandoned you?" he asked, licking pie crust off his thumb.
Cleo's nails, if they'd been just a sliver stronger, would have torn the cloth of her cloak and rent it in twain. "You knew how sick I was. I prayed in your temple and received no response. I don't think you were even trying, to be honest."
"You would not have died if you had waited for me to tend to you," said the god in his lofty way, twirling his hand, "but you chose to exhaust yourself with travel. It is not my fault you refused my methods when I recommended bedrest."
"'Refused your methods,'" they repeated, sharp enough to draw the gaze of someone deeper in the courtyard. "Was I meant to wait forever?"
"I genuinely don't have a clue why you set yourself against me. I had other tasks to complete and resources to gather; blaze rods are found only in the land of the dead, and travel is long when the god who's meant to grant it is busy laughing at performers on the stage." There is bitterness rolled within it, like a plague.
"That's no excuse for long delays. That god is your own husband, and could speed you anywhere you desired in an instant."
"Well, he is very busy, and our meetings are few and far between." Gesturing sideways with arm and wing, "It was the season of husbandry in this land. That's a very big deal for the livestock kingdom. I had many works to do, and that's not even mentioning budding threats of war. If you had waited longer, I would have come."
"Spirit, as I walked your temple halls that final day, the curtain shifted and I saw you make merry with that maiden whose skin is white as pearl. That is when I cried upon my bed, thus wetting the silk that fills my body, and died. I could not hold my tears, for I knew you had busied yourself in chasing skirts instead of aiding those like me. I should have expected, for it's in your name… You may be a god of medicine, but you will always be the god of husbandry before you tend the ill."
The spirit pressed his lips tight together, fanning his great wings in warning. They snapped against the air with a sound like thudding hooves. "The name given to me carries both things, which I keep in perfect balance, as I should. I was crowned by moths without number. I sit in the pantheon of silk and plays, and I welcome it with gratitude. Should you wish to remain in my favor, do not imply I falter in my duties."
As though she had held his favor any time before. "Help me, then," said the mortal. "Bend the hearts of the livestock kingdom's king and queen, that they may release my sister's lover from his cell. Then they may marry and all will be well. The other gods have lent what aid to my plight they can, but they are grounded by the dungeon, which cannot be touched since the rise of the newest god. I much regret our differences. You, with your ethereal powers, may be my only hope."
"Very well," said the spirit, scraping his fingers around his pie tin. The noise mimicked leaping fish or perhaps a lizard's tail dragging across warm rocks. "Go about your business for a time. I will do my work upon them, but my powers are slow and subtle. It may take seasons or even years to see visible effect. That does not mean I am not present there."
"A season is too late. My sister cries every night for her lover, and he could be dead within days. The king and queen intend to transfer him afar off or else rip his seams apart, and she may never see him again."
"Then my powers are of no use to you," said the spirit, whose wings flicked with dark. "Love holds grand sway over mortals, but a heart rarely changes in the blink of an eye. Are babies conceived and birthed overnight? I am the god of hearts and husbandry… Not the god of the impatient and critical."
"I did have patience," Cleo said quietly. "For many years, the cloth of my form grew rotten and I pleaded for even the slightest healing to ease the pain. You let me die beneath your care. I have only one spirit to thank for my life, and it is not the one whose name is Breath-of-Things."
A warning growl rose in his throat. His wings shifted, but Cleo neither backed away nor retracted her words. He said, "The god of trickery and innovation insulted me dearly by spinning you together again. You are not as whole and healthy as you think you are, and if you would let me touch your silk, I could mend your missing pieces."
"I don't need a man's touch to mend me."
"The silks within you are prone to snags," he pressed back, this time leaping down from the arch with his wings spread wide. "Trust my expertise on that one; to lie with a mortal would unravel that shoddy job he did at mending your inner seams. Don't you want that bit repaired? If you call on me and rest, I will be there."
"I seek only relief for my sister's lover. Leave my loom out of this situation. I desire no children anyway; they'd be born in the same inescapable situation I'm in. That is none of your concern."
"I just thought I might ask while you're here. Listen, when you're done being childish and immature-"
"'Childish and immature!?'"
"-and listening to what that guy has to say, then I'm more than happy for you to make requests of me and we can be real, properly at ease with each other. But right now, you're being really selfish."
"Look, look-"
"You let him speak in your ear," the spirit pushed, growing heated now, "and you let him tell you I was off not caring about my mastery; I was providing."
"No, no, no- You say that- I was the one who brought it up first!"
The god of hearts and husbandry said nothing for a moment, his lake-blue eyes unfocused like a ripple in a feeding trough. One hand reached towards the V where his silken robes met at his collar. He clenched them in his hand. "That just makes it worse."
"You can blame him all you like, but no… I was the one who mentioned the fact that you were gallivanting away."
The god scoffed, arching his neck. "You ever heard of putting food on the table? That's what I was doing. I was going to the most dangerous places, facing the foulest foes…" His wings beat again, kicking up a whirlwind of dust along the mountain path. "Who entwines the hearts of your livestock and endears them to others of their kind season after season? I don't have to do that, you know; it would certainly grant me more time to eat a lot of pies. The cows are better company than some of you lot anyway."
"Wow."
"I bring the skill," he said, stalking past her then. He balanced on the edge of the cliffside path with his dark wings spread like a thundercloud. "Was it not enough that if you'd waited for me, I would have taken care of everything? I asked only one little thing. Why couldn't you be content with that?"
He launched into the valley with a flap, leaving a mist of apple pie scent in his wake. A single black feather swirled behind him and landed upon the ground. Cleo picked it up, turning it over in her hands. Then she held it up so it bent and flickered in the mountain breeze.
"To sit idly and passively while the moths without number pull invisible strings is not in my nature. I am Cleo Clocker, called zombie, and I will rot a thousand times for those I love… but nothing can kill my soul like waiting without an end in sight."
They released the feather into the evening. It spun away. Perhaps some bird later wove it in their nest.
The last time she'd set foot in the livestock kingdom's northernmost temple, she'd been brought in dead and barely left alive. At least her legs worked this time. It had taken ages of physical therapy (No thanks to the god of hearts and husbandry, who could have healed her in a snap). Cleo stomped in thick boots through the spruce trees, shaking snow dust from her frizzy hair. And, well…
… There it stood, like some sort of ice castle peering through the bristled branches. Never before had they seen doors more grandiose and imposing; they had to tilt her head afar back just to see their golden handles, which had roses at their heads and tapered into stems and leaves. Even roots, which stretched all the way down the door like spiderwebbing cracks. How strange to visit this place again. It had been awfully long. But in truth, if anyone were to understand just how much they owed their sister, it would be the god who stitched her together after all her natural cloth had rotted to its threads.
Cleo wrapped their fingers around one golden root and knocked against the door. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
"Come in! I'm just in the back."
There was certainly something to be said for the ice palace aesthetic. But the inside? … The inside had been decorated with vibrant jungle colors. Vines tumbled down the walls, trees bore fruit and coconuts, and tall pots full of blue and purple flowers that resembled glassy butterflies stood in every corner. A few sculptures stood around the room or clung to little bookshelves. Were these all statues of the spirit living here? They had to be. The works were flattering, depicting him both as man and as a beast with a pointed face and fluffy tail, but many immortalized terrible deeds the spirit had inflicted upon the livestock kingdom. Upon his back, he'd brought ticks and fleas that carried illness. He'd led flocks of sheep astray and into hungry mouths. He'd spooked horses before war.
Would you call it treason when it involves a god? There sat four kingdoms in the basin land around them, each with their own temples to the pantheon of silk and plays. They often came into conflict, and the gods (she'd heard) made little distinction as to the origins of those who followed them. And to say nothing of the Great River border kingdoms beyond the mountains… They too prayed for rain-under-shelter, health-throughout-all, peace-without-war, and harvest-enough-to-share like all others in need.
To be a god must be very exhausting indeed, thought the mortal. But at least it wasn't thankless.
They glanced about as a series of clangs and bangs sounded from some room down some hall. The voice, however, carried perfectly… and was exactly the low, soft-spoken tone they remembered from years ago: "Oh, snappers."
"I leave comment with the god of trickery and innovation, who bears my heart and leads my trail."
"Cleo? Is that you?" Another clatter, this time louder than the rest. Did he drop an object? Did he stumble? "Don't wander back here yet! I'm, uh… patching a hole in the floor!"
"Take your time," Cleo replied, looking about this greenhouse for spidery plants and brilliant flowers. Some stood as tall in their pots as they did on their feet. What charming colors they bore. Their many bulbs rose and fell like waves, mimicking the sea to those who could not swim. After a moment, the spirit's voice came again from the neighboring chamber.
"Excuse my absence, but I am listening; I hear you. What is it you ask for?"
Cleo approached a few steps, emboldened then, but did not turn the corner in attempt to see the spirit's face. "I seek relief for my sister, whom you may recall brought me here when my silks were ruined two years ago."
"I do recall."
"She's in love with a man who's in love with her, but the neighbors have accused him of murder. Now he's imprisoned, sentenced to death or banishment at an unknown time. They cannot be together, and the unknown of it all tears her apart."
Silence. The spirit seemed puzzled when it spoke again: "Why do you request my hand? Should you not visit the god of justice and sleep? Will he not help you?"
"I did not say her lover didn't kill the man," replied the mortal, standing just as firm. "Justice would have him sentenced to the lava pool, never to recover form… but you are the god of trickery and innovation. With your clever ways, you might grant my sister's lover his freedom so they may flee the livestock kingdom and find peace within another land."
The spirit considered this unusual opportunity. "Very well," it finally said. "I will visit your village for many nights and do all I can. In that time, you must understand one thing."
"What is that?" the mortal inquired.
"When you lay wet and damaged at my feet, I tore out segments of my golden silks, which were gifted me by the moths without number. These same silks now stitch your form. Thus, the magic of my disguise will not work on you. I will help you, but I ask you not to look upon me, for I will be naked in your eyes. Do not look out your windows after nightfall."
Cleo looked upon the wall before them. "Is that why you've hid yourself? Are mortals cursed if they look upon you? … Will you be cursed by other gods?"
The spirit paused. "No curse will come upon you or me, but I will be ashamed."
"Why must you be ashamed?" the mortal asked, turning in a circle. "There are many fine statues that depict you in the finest robes and exquisite crowns. Even as a fox, you stand like a noble on four paws. And surely as a spirit, you are beautiful to look upon." There were many, many spirits, each beautiful in their own shape and way, as mortals are.
"These things are not mine," the spirit said, this time more quietly. His breath swirled with his whisper. When Cleo stood near, they could hear the click of something hard, like horns or small pieces of metal, as he shifted to press his back to the wall. "My statues are made by mortal hands. They love me believing I am mortal, for they look upon me and see me like one, or they see my white fur when I run with beasts… but I am born of Elsewhereness, Afar, and Things Between."
"You are a spirit," said the mortal, more puzzled now than they would like to let on. "We look upon you and know you are great and peculiar, with height, strength, and wings that are like nothing any of us grounded folk will bear. We expect you to be powerful and strange. I would not fear you without disguise."
That hard clicking came again, like a coin dropped against a bucket in the wishing well. Following it, there came a swish like a cloth shaken once, or a dog's tail when you scratch behind the ear. "Perhaps I am frightening in this form… and perhaps there are some who would find me beautiful. Either way, Cleo… You are stitched with mulberry silk, given unto me by the moths without number, and will see through any disguise I wear. I will find a clever way to free your sister's lover from his cell, but I ask for my privacy. You must swear you won't look at me, even by mistake."
"Very well. After twilight, I will stay in my bedroom, away from my windows. But spirit, when morning comes, I must wander my village, complete my chores, and visit with my friends. How will I know when you have gone? I will be inside."
The spirit shifted. Cleo imagined he pushed himself from the wall, taking light steps so soft against the ground, she barely heard them. "In the basket to your left are my favors, sewn green and black after my silken colors by my own hand. Take just one and hang it from your bedroom window. In the morning, if the cloth lies upon your pillow, you may watch the village as you wish. If the cloth is not there, I ask you not to look for me. If you see me in my nakedness, I will be ashamed."
Cleo's legs sagged beneath them. Now, here were the makings of an intellectual plan; they lacked details, but not faith. It would be enough. It kept their heart pumping. Mortals rendered their creations unto the god of trickery and innovation, and now they could finally impact that dungeon wall. "Will you know which home is mine?"
"As long as you don't forget to hang your cloth," the spirit replied. "Hang it every night until your sister is wed. When she is wed, my work will be done and I will visit no more."
Such instruction had purpose, and in purpose, there were solutions. Cleo bowed, even though he had not shown even his face or the tip of his toe around the corner. "Thank you, dear spirit. This is more than the god of justice and sleep would have done for me."
"I suppose it is," said the god, keeping behind the partition wall. Clicks and clacks echoed back, and curiosity swelled in Cleo's breast; nonetheless, they did not stray forward and look upon him to see what made those sounds, for they had been forbidden. "I am the god of trickery and innovation, and I am fond of mortals. Anything you ask, I will give unto you, if it is possible for me to do so without darkening the moods of other spirits in anger towards your kingdom."
Trickery. Help. They recognized it as a joke as they gathered their cloak around them again, and subtle humor twitched their lips. Perhaps in working together, they and the unseen god would produce results at last.