“You must live,” he repeats before backing away and allowing the Guardian to pass. The Guardian carries her back to where Morrighu waits out of sight and sets her down gently.
He tousles her hair lightly and sighs, “The gods know that the Cymry have come. Your people are safe now.” With that, the Guardian turns away to go back to his post.
“I heard the chanting,” Morrighu smiles at her tentatively, “but I couldn’t make out the words over the stamping and clapping.”
“It is one of our oldest dirges,” Emlyn hiccups between sobs, “It seemed… fitting. The last line is supposed to say to tell the gods that a Cymry comes, but I changed it to include all of them.”
“All is not lost, child. Neit wants to try to rebuild your people,” Morrighu says, “I don’t know how many have survived, but I think he would appreciate your help in calling them together so that he can take them somewhere to rebuild. They might well prosper under the tutelage of a god who values them.”
“I don’t know if that would even work,” she sniffs, “but if he wants to try, I’m willing to help him. Gethin will too, I think. If you can find a way to resurrect any of our bards, they are the keepers of our laws and lore – the Great Awdls that tell our history, our laws, our customs. The bards might be able to tell you more about all the things you wanted to know about – like how we made our steel and our tattoo ink. At the very least, they would know which priests to seek out to find those answers. I do not know what my people would become if there were not a constant need to strive to ensure our survival.”
“Did seeing them help you at all?” the Goddess asks, “Surely if they do not blame you, then you cannot blame yourself.”
“It did,” Emlyn nods, “As painful as that was, I am more at peace now. They told me that I must live. That while I live, there is hope for the Cymry still.”
“You do seem to have a way of pulling off the impossible,” the Goddess agrees, “I would never doubt that you might find a way to bring them back.”
Emlyn’s head cocks, and she stares at the Goddess for a long moment, and her eyes go wide. “Bring them back…. Bring… them… back… That might just work… If Neit were to resurrect them, there might be enough of us then. I need a huge drum and a map of Cymry,” Emlyn says, “I can tell him where to find their bones. If I understand things correctly, their bones should be sufficient to resurrect them, if their souls survived.”
“There you go,” the Goddess smirks, “I’ll let Neit know. It might be painful for you, but he may need your help to find some of these places. Finding them won’t be easy, with all that’s happened.”
“It never is,” Emlyn replies, “I have never had the luxury of easy decisions. I have always been faced with impossible choices. Let my sisters and I become nothing more than breeding stock, or raise the status of our House so that we have other choices. Let that waste of a god send me out to continue to murder in his name, or leave his service through an impossible edict. Let him kill my people, or try to kill him myself. Now my choice is let my people vanish forever or try with the help of another god to resurrect enough of them that the Cymry continue.”
“Let’s get you back to the temple,” the Goddess suggests, “and you can go have a nice hot bath. Try to relax a bit. You’ve had a very trying day.”
“I think I still have a fitting with Milvara for my dress and dance lessons for the Midwinter Ball,” Emlyn sighs, “along with another passage to memorize for my catechism.”
“What do they have you memorizing now?” the Goddess inquires.
“Another passage about how incredibly awesome you are,” Emlyn says with a smirk. Becoming more serious, she replies, “It’s all about some convocation that decided that clerics and paladins should be two different orders within your Temple.”
“It’s probably important to someone,” Emlyn shrugs, “but I’m not that person. The fighting styles are different. The spells they use are different. The weapons they use are different. If you follow military logic, then they should be separate orders because the training requirements are so different. It seems more like a religious justification of a basic necessity. I don’t know why they felt the need to wrap it up in all that theology. And now, because they have, I have to memorize it. Why can’t they give me more useful information?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“What would you prefer that they teach you?” she asks gently.
“Give me your commander’s intent. Give me the touchstones of the faith so that I can use them to guide my decisions. That will help me ensure that my choices align with my oath. Teach me about the things I'll be hunting,” Emlyn suggests, “Teach me about which things I’m permitted to pursue on my own and which I should ask permission for. Give me the cautionary tales so I have some ideas of what to avoid.”
“I’ll speak to them about that,” the Goddess replies, “Your request seems to be quite sensible. They haven’t said, but I think that they’re teaching you all of my theology because they know that you’ll be joining my Four, my Chosen. Normally, my Chosen come from those of my faith.”
“Only if I don’t die of boredom first,” Emlyn quips, “I had a dream that I was drowning in a sea of catechism books. It was terrible. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get out from under them. Every time I’d start to dig my way out, more would come tumbling down and bury me again.”
“I’ll have a word with them,” the Goddess chuckles, “Now, let me go and speak with Neit about your idea. We’re both extremely interested in your people. I think he might be amenable to it.”
As Morrighu approaches Neit’s door, it opens, and he looks up from the thing he’s carving to grin at her, “You really are out to start a rumor. What is it this time?”
“My daughter has an idea,” Morrighu replies, “I think it might be of interest to you. She’s asked me to propose it to you.”
“What’s that?” Neit asks, “I must say that I’m intrigued already.”
“She says that she can tell you where to find the bones of a lot of her people,” Morrighu says, “If you were interested in resurrecting them, there might be enough of them that they could…”
“Re-establish the Cymry,” Neit nods, “Yes, that could work. It won’t be easy, and I can’t leave them where they are now. Their enemies would overrun them and annihilate them. I have a place where they can recover for a time before returning them to their current homeland. Once their numbers and strength have recovered.”
“She seems to think that the constant need to defend themselves against their neighbors is what shaped them into what they became,” Morrighu explains, “so returning them would be risky, but likely ultimately wise.”
“I still don’t understand how they ended up under the sway of a harvest god, and not one of the rest of us,” Neit complains, “That bears looking into. I wonder…”
“What are you thinking?” Morrighu demands, “Out with it.”
“I wonder if Rigan wasn’t an infernal himself,” Neit muses, “Or possessed by one. You heard what that thing said when we dismantled his afterlife and scoured the place clean of any trace of him. I’m glad that Aed decided to stick around and unravel the whole thing.”
Neit flashes her another quick grin, “He really wanted to see the last of Rigan. Hells Bells, I probably would too, if someone tried to kill and eat me.” Scrubbing his face, and grimacing, he thinks for a moment, “I’ll have to find a way to protect them from him. The last thing I’d want is that asshat coming back and trying to steal them away if I’ve gone to the trouble to raise them.”
“If they’re bound to you,” Morrighu shrugs, “he’d have a hard time getting them to convert. Have them record this in… oh… she had a word for it – the great awdls, whatever that is.”
“Aed was right about a few other things,” Neit says, “Whatever Rigan was doing with them, it was producing humans with powerful souls. I don’t know if it was some breeding program or what, but the ones that have come into my afterlife are… different. Comparing them to the others is like comparing the sun to a torch. Surely, you’ve seen the same thing with the ones that accepted you?”
“I have,” Morrighu admits slowly, “but I’m not sure what it means or what it might mean for my daughter.”
“Adopted her, have you?” Neit chuckles, “You might as well. She’ll probably find a way to join us eventually.”
“Do you think so?” Morrighu grins, “I think I would enjoy having her around to shake things up a bit.” “If it occurs to her that she might want it for some reason, like wishing her people back into existence,” Neit nods, “I can see her finding a way to do it.”
“Do you think she could do that? That’s a tall order, even for one of us,” Morrighu says.
“Like I said,” he grins, “I could see her finding a way to do it.”
“Her people would certainly worship her,” Morrighu agrees, “You should have seen them with her at the Hall of Judgement.” Arching a brow at her, Neit gestures for Morrighu to explain. “She let slip that she felt guilty for all of their deaths. That she thought what she’d done had resulted in their destruction. I took her back there with Lugh’s permission to hear his Judgement in the matter and let them tell her how they felt.”
“How’d that go?” Neit asks, curious.
“She led them in an ancient dirge that ends with telling the gods that Cymry comes. Then they all mobbed her, telling her that she must live, and that as long as she lives, they still had hope. When we were leaving, I made some off-hand comment about never doubting she’d find a way to bring them back. That’s when she got this look on her face and suggested that if you were interested, she could show you where to find their remains so that you could see if you could resurrect them. She needs a map of Cymry.”
“Then I suppose I’d best get on good terms with your nascent Goddess by helping her resurrect her people,” Neit smirks, “I’ll have to consult with the temples to see how many can cast resurrection spells and what kind of supplies we’ll need.”
“That’s not all,” Morrighu says, “She said that she needs the biggest drum you can find.” “Oh,” Neit says, “I’ll need to bring troops then to protect her and them, if she means to call the still-living ones to us.”
“This is going to be hard for her. She described what he did, and it was… it was awful,” Morrighu cautions him. “I’ll send my three and more troops. Make sure that they’re wearing tabards that mark them as yours and not the asshats, or no one will dare approach.”
Neit nods in agreement.
“I’ll tell her it’s agreed, then,” Morrighu says, preparing to leave.
“Let me assemble everything,” Neit says, “I’ll let you know when I think we’re ready to attempt it.”