Page 4 of Unlikely Omega

For answers.

If only she would speak to me and tell me I’m hers.

2

ARIADNE

The entire fort used to belong to the Temple once, or so they say. The structure is maze-like, the balconies, roofs and yards overgrown with trees, grass and thistles, no matter how hard the acolytes work to clean them.

Legend has it that it’s a Fae building at its core, evident by the slender turrets and sharp arches and fine domes. You can easily tell which parts the humans added on later—rough and massive, as delicate as a mammoth’s hairy paw. The Temple is now only a small part of the building—the eastern wing which contains the sacred fountain and altar, and what originally used to be the sanctum now comprises the entire Temple.

The local Council of the Twelve and the local archon who took over the place assure us that it’s more than enough. I wonder what the gods think about this.

Same question over and over.

Other acolytes pass me by as I trudge toward the inner sanctuary, my fear and ill humor fading, leaving me shakier than before. No answers, ever. My fellow initiates all seem confident in their life choices, in their place here. At least outwardly they don’t seem to have any doubts, not even the few I speak to.

Most of them avoid me. All this time I thought it was because I’m quiet and unsure of myself, of my lot in life, but now I wonder…

I wonder how Fae-like I look. How abhorrent to others.

If that’s why my mother gave me away.

Who my father was.

But no, no, it was all inane banter, I decide as I enter the divine circle before the sanctum. Councilor Mazarine was probably made aware of an imminent vacancy in a position of power and that spurred her on to start campaigning. Any campaign that feeds on fear and prejudice is good for getting the public’s vote. And Councilor Kaidan had only played along.

I walk around the circle of statues, my head bowed, hands held out to the sides, paying my respects. All the gods and goddesses of the pantheon are represented here through elegantly sculpted statues.

The thirteen statues are carved from the same rock this place is built of. No human hands sculpted them. But again, humans don’t seem to realize the strangeness of adopting them from the Fae who they helped exterminate and of whom they are still—as I just saw—afraid. They simply slapped metal labels on the bases of the statues, renaming the deities, giving them the names of our gods.

Only one statue remains unlabeled.

Every time I pass in front of the unnamed god, I pause. Something draws me to him. I wonder who he is. What his name was. Why he didn’t fit in our pantheon—like I don’t fit in the Temple.

Really, Ari. The answer is simple: we have twelve gods. The Fae had thirteen. He was extra. So move your feet and stop staring at the handsome god statue.

I walk on until I reach the statue of Artume. Wonder briefly, yet again, what goddess the statue represented before humans took over the Fae temple and the land. Whoever she’s meant to represent, she looks familiar with her bow and arrows, her short skirt and high-laced sandals, the arrogant look on her face, the hounds at her feet.

We’re not that stupid, us humans. We bestowed the names of gods and goddesses on statues that fit with the statues’ appearance. Pointy ears were simply trimmed and there you are. A human goddess standing in front of you.

If her cheekbones are high and sharp, if her eyes are larger and uptilted, if her clothes are alien, well, it’s because she’s not human.

She’s divine.

“Beauty,” Councilor Mazarine had said.

A blasphemy.

Sinking down on my knees, I cup my hands in front of my face and close my eyes.

“Forgive me, almighty Queen,” I whisper. “Queen of night, queen of dusk, supreme huntress, animal tamer and pure maiden of the forests and hills. Forgive me for doubting. For being unworthy.” I stop, listen. There’s a buzzing in my head, but no words I can discern. I peek from one eye. Her face is still, dark. Mysterious. “I will do better. I’ll…” Try not to dream? Not to squirm? Not to want normality, people, or even, Tartarus below, sex? Am I supposed to wipe out desire from my body, to just—

“It’s late.”

The male voice wrenches a squeal out of me and I jump to my feet, my heart hammering. “What?”

It’s one of the younger priests, one that moved here recently. Priest Finnen, I think, a name ending that refers to the Fae—then again, most things in this world do.

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