Page 92 of A Rising Hope

“Perhaps we were desperate. Perhaps we believed in your mother’s words of hope. But we took a stance.”

I speechlessly watched the little flashes of visions.

All four of the same women held to the newly born motionless babe with their right hand. One by one, they each cut their left hands with a Basalt Glass dagger, Heart Piercer. Each one of them clasped their cut hands above the child. Their blood united in a stream, falling directly onto the babe’s heart.

They chanted words I didn’t recognize, but now, like a forgotten lullaby, they echoed in my memory. One by one their magic united. Justice Fire, floral vines, silver threads of time, and golden veins of healing, all intertwined into a shimmering light that pierced the child’s heart like a needle.

I watched as they chanted, draining themselves of their magic entirely until one by one their bodies dropped one by one, nothing but rotting husks, empty of life.

Diamara was the last to remain chanting, her powers seemingly endless as she ensured I’d receive every drop. “Live child, live,” she whispered, landing a gentle kiss before her body dropped to the ground, withering into a rotting husk. A moment passed, and the motionless child erupted in a loud cry. Its abrasive sound echoed in the room full of dead bodies.

Only then did I notice a shadow in the corner, a tall figure. Cloaked, she looked around the room, before finally daring to approach the crying babe laying on the table.

Her pale ivory hands pulled the hood down.

A gasp escaped my lips as I recognized someone I hadn’t seen in a long time.

Tuluma.

My Tuluma.

“Little human, you are so filthy,” she hissed in Elvish. She reached for a stained blanket nearby the round table, wiping me clean of the blood. “Shush now, Daughter of the Dead, yourscreaming is hurting my ears,” she scowled, glaring at the child. And the child stopped, mesmerized by the elf’s vivid turquoise eyes. “That’s better,” she grumbled with dismay. “Now, we must go far away from this cursed place,” she whispered, scurrying away from the room.

The vision had ended, and I couldn’t stop the flow of tears rapidly slipping down my cheeks.

“I met Tuluma when I first became the Creator’s High Lady. I voyaged to the Desolate Desert, hoping to restore the land,” Railin spoke. “On my journey, I found her unconscious, stranded in the desert, parched and starving. I brought her with me and nourished her back to health. Though I asked for nothing in return, she claimed that she owed me her life. A debt I had no desire to collect. But one I asked to trade in exchange for yours.”

“We knew Insanaria would look for you. We knew she’d know what we had done the moment she’d discover our bodies, so Tuluma was going to take you to Elfland and raise you there, protected and hidden away from Insanaria until you were ready. But Tuluma’s father never granted passage home. So she stayed in Esnox, discarded, constantly on the run.”

I wish there had been something to grab onto, something to steady myself with, because my knees buckled as understanding hit me like a ton of bricks.

I stumbled back.

“So am I agoddess?” I asked. My tongue felt heavy saying the words. My thoughts quieted under the weight of the truth.

“Yes, you are,” Petra affirmed. “But the process obtaining godhood isn’t linear. By gifting you all our magic, we made our claim to the gods to accept you and anoint you as such. But to fully become a god, you must go through the process of ascension.”

Railin smiled, noticing my forehead wrinkled in confusion. “A fancy word for a divine death. A ritual performed with a special Basalt Glass dagger.”

My head was heavy.

“Gods receive power, but their power comes with responsibility. They receive immortality, but are also forever yoked by its demands.”

“Once you die, you must take a seat on your godly throne to rule through the eternities.”

“Is that what’s happening to me now?” I asked, an inkling of worry ripped through the sea of calm within me.

“Not quite,” Railin smiled. I opened my mouth to ask, but she went on, “Diamara had a plan. You see, we knew though you were worthy of such a sacrifice, we were forcing a newborn babe to be a goddess. She,you, were never given a choice in the matter; there was no training, no knowledge or understanding of what that meant for you, of what was to come had you been instructed prior to making the decision. One that will impact your eternity. One that we chose for you.”

“So, as we died and our souls were met with the Goddess of the Dead, Lady Death herself, we offered her a bargain,” Ocsanna continued.

“Our four souls in exchange for time,” Petra’s features softened.

“We knew we couldn’t save you from the eternity of duties to come. But we wanted to give you time. Time to live, time to fall in love, time to be mortal. Time to laugh and to cry. To feel the brightest joy.”

“We had already given up all of our magic and our lives, so we bargained the only thing we had left—our souls—for your freedom of choice, for you to pick when you were ready to ascend.”

“But what about you, your eternities?” I turned to the quieted Diamara, shocked and surprised. “If you give up your souls, you’d have no Afterlife. No place for your souls to exist, for your memories to rest.” I shook my head. “You can’t do that.”

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