Shada
her pain. When she woke, the burning in her hand had faded somewhat, becoming bearable.
Her dreams had not been orderly memories like the other dreams she’d had lately. These, too, stayed with her after waking, but instead of making her mind cloudy, they clung to her like nettles. She blamed the plant’s poison.
She would have traded all her previous baths to take one now. Her throat still stung from the smoke last night. Ache piled on ache.
When she sat up, the Lady was in the room. Shada jolted forward like a catapult.
“You’re still here!” she cried.
The Lady had assumed her golden, matronly form. She knelt on the floor in front of the shrine. “Still?” she said in her familiar chorus of many voices.
“I don’t know why I said that,” Shada admitted. Nothing she said was right. “You were here while I slept, weren’t you? Or was that a dream?”
The Lady’s head snapped around to face her, twisting far enough to break a real human’s neck. “Were you listening to me?”
“I didn’t mean to. I think I overheard you in my sleep.” She remembered now. Through visions of blood-soaked vines circling her throat, she had heard an argument. It had started as begging, turned to threats, and then turned back into begging.
But the Lady was the only other person here. “Was someone yelling at you?” Shada asked.
The Lady hesitated minutely then replied with a question. “What did you dream about?”
“It was a nightmare. Poisonous vines were tearing me to pieces. My body swelled like a balloon.” Fear of it still clung to her. “There were other things too. Lots of things, all jumbled together.”
“Did you relive any more memories?” asked the Lady.
“No. I think the visions are over. Strange as this sounds, it feels like they’ve finished with me. Actually, my head hasn’t been this clear in days.”
“Let’s hope they’re not over. We must learn what we can from those visions and the memories in them.”
They hadn’t spoken about the visions since Shada had first reported hers to the Lady. Shada wondered why. “Lady, where did they come from? Did the Goddess send them?”
More hesitation. “I don’t know, child.”
That was disconcerting to hear. Shada knew the Lady was not privy to all Huire’s thoughts, but she’d hoped the Lady at least knew more than Shada did. She said, “Other people in the company are having them now. Maybe it’s this planet. It’s known to play tricks on the mind.”
The Lady’s head turned back toward the altar. “I don’t think the planet is at fault here. And the dreams don’t sound like Huire’s doing. I sense something else at work.”
“Could it be the man I saw? The one with the face that shone like crystal?”
“Perhaps.”
“Can’t you… speak to Huire about it? You’re her messenger.”
“I am Huire’s will given form. No speaking is needed.”
Shada was not sure if she should press the point. The Lady had just returned. It would be foolish to risk angering her again.
But Shada’s newfound clarity told her it was better to be frank. The Lady could often guess her thoughts anyway. “If you are her will, then you ought to know whether she sent these dreams. Is it something you don’t want to talk about? If so, I’ll understand.”
The Lady stared at the space on the wall reserved for the absent Goddess. Her ability to see without eyes made even ordinary actions strange. “I know you will. I should not forget how considerate you are. But I truly don’t know where these dreams are coming from. I sense a presence behind them, an awareness of some sort, but that is all. While you slept, I tried speaking to it, but I heard nothing. I tried speaking to Huire too.”
Her forgiving tone was a blessed relief. Maybe mending their relationship would be easier than Shada had feared. “Maybe it’s like you said. You don’t need to speak to Huire. You are ‘her will given form’ as you put it, so whatever you do, it’s what she wishes you to do.”
“I used to think so. But what if I had never come back to you? Surely she wouldn’t want that. I could have disappeared.”
“But you didn’t,” Shada countered. It was surreal, giving counsel to a divine being.
“You don’t understand,” said the Lady. “I can do anything I wish—laugh, scream, throw myself into a fire. It can’t all be what she wills.”
“Why not?”
“While we were apart, I tried many things to see where my freedom to choose ends. It doesn’t.” Her voice was calm, as always. “Why do I feel so free and yet trapped?”
“I don’t know.”
“And if I can disobey her will, how can I know what I choose is right?”
Shada shivered. “Did you say you talked to Huire while I was asleep?”
“Yes. I prayed, Shada.”
“I’ve never seen you do that.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“What I heard… It sounded like you were upset.”
“What do you think you heard?”
“You sounded enraged. You shouted.”
The Lady heaved a great sigh. It was as artificial as everything else about her. “I must admit something, Shada. This is all very hard. There is too much to think about.”
Shada listened.
“I can’t hear Huire’s voice anymore. I used to be certain I knew her will. But now I wonder if I ever did. Uncertainty is everywhere. That’s why I don’t know where your visions came from. Being cut off from her like this is… so terrible.”
Shada nodded. “Huire is bigger than we are. I suppose we might never understand.”
“That is unacceptable.”
“You may wish for certainty, Lady,” Shada said, blinking back tears. “But for me, having someone to feel lost with is a relief. I don’t even know if that woman, Belith, is planning to kill me.”
“I hope you won’t ask me to rescue you.”
Shada swallowed. “No, I will not.”
“Thank you for that. Where is my box? I left it with you when I saved you.”
Jarred by this change of subject, Shada said, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. One of these people must have it.”
“I miss it,” said the Lady. “Isn’t that strange?”
“No. It’s your home.”
The Lady smiled. “Yes, that’s right. A home. Will you pray with me?”
Shada rolled onto her belly and pushed herself up. Hurting all over, she knelt beside the Lady.
“I won’t ask you to save me again,” she said. “But I’m grateful you saved me in the waytower. After you fought that man, you pulled me out of the fire, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and I left my box with you. Maybe I should have kept it. You can repay me by helping me now. I have never prayed before today.”
“I’m not much good at it myself. In the Temple, you start by finding your remorse. Think of the bad things you’ve done, and feel ashamed. Take your shame and offer it up.”
The Lady did not answer. Shada tried to pray, but her mind was restless. Soon, she realized why. There was a question she needed to ask.
It hung before her eyes, and she could see nothing else. Finally, she asked, “Lady, when you fought the man in the waytower, why did you kill him like that?”
“How do you mean?”
“You can kill easily. But when you killed him, you did it slowly. You kept cutting him, and you held him down in the fire.”
The Lady waited. She expected more.
“Why?” Shada asked, fumbling. The question was too important to leave unasked.
Finally, the Lady said, “I could not have saved him otherwise.”
“‘Saved’? What do you mean?”
“He needed a moment before death to repent. Killing him instantly might have sent him straight to the Outer Dark.”
“Couldn’t he have repented without torment?”
No answer.
“It seemed so cruel.”
“It was merciful.”
“It was all so frightening. The man, the fire. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. What he did was terrible. Maybe when you hurt him… you were simply angry.”
The Lady’s head swiveled to face her. “I risked my life to save you. I faced not only the usual dangers of leaving my box but the danger of fire, which harms even me if I touch it. Do you think I risked all that because I was in a huff?”
“Of course not. But isn’t it natural to be furious when someone threatens you?”
Another sigh. “Child, I am not like humans in that way.”
“Are you sure?” Shada was afraid to say these things, but they were right.
The Lady’s voice rose. “Because I asked you to be honest doesn’t give you the right to insult me. I feel anger, but it’s not like yours. The petty squabbles of the physical world don’t interest me. When that man threatened us, fire filled me. It was the zeal of Huire, giving me the passion to do what was needed.”
“I’m glad,” Shada said quickly. “It was just in time. When he pulled the knife away, I thought he’d cut my throat.” She still felt that knife. Part of her suspected she was actually dead, a ghost who would fade as soon as she was forgotten. But a ghost did not fear speaking its mind. “Why did you wait until the last moment? Were you waiting until my death was certain?”
“I’ve made a mistake, girl,” said the Lady. “I spoke to you about things outside your understanding.”
“What was in that vial the man was holding? What are you so afraid of?”
The Lady drew herself up. “When you have the memories I was born with—when you know the things I was forced to know and must make sense of them—then you can decide the value of your hurt feelings. You might even be grateful I risked everything for you. I’m worried that being the caretaker has led you to think too highly of yourself.”
That was the last that either of them spoke. Shada tried to pray, but she kept wondering how it felt to be held in a fire. How could one even think, much less repent?
Soon, the Lady disappeared. Seconds later, boots pounded the floor outside, rushing toward the door.