Six more cities did they see by train across the land; in each, a marshal awaited them. Accolades and speech interspersed with sleep. And she was there all the time, like a shadow not too far behind, to watch her, for she was her companion.
Her Socia.
Each marshal was a man, some were cruel and simple men, their cities made to function well, their order absolute.
Others spoke with kinder tongues, their eyes aware of their subjects’ plight and a gentle hand to guide them right, so progress could be achieved.
All their cities grew and grew, new buildings made day and night.
Socia remained who she was, one who listened to what was. A mask she wore at proper times, and with a touch she could find out. That which people buried deep, only for her to see.
She felt how it all moved like a machine, people in it its cogs and wheels.
A month had passed since they came, and now they waited for the train, in the cold, the wind a foe. Socia came to see who they were — marshals born from a Daughter’s womb, each given a city to rule.
Socia did not speak of this with her Lady, of her nephews, her sisters’ sons.
The train arrived and they boarded it to the flashing light of cameras. In their private car all alone, she finally uttered an unmentionable thing.
“Did he command you? Was it his will?”
Her Lady put the cards away, their game of skill, of reading faces, in the way.
“All is as he wills it. Is it not?” her Lady said.
She did not press, but looked away, at the landscape that flashed by.
Snow-laden forests that stretched afar, frozen lakes, and fields of ice, and in the sky the sight of ghostly curtains of color, which reminded her of home.
The train rumbled over the rails and the cards were still put away.
Her eyes she faced again, and a final question laid out.
“The father?”
“Who was he?”
Her Lady’s face remained a mask, a pristine one, the most refined kind, but she moved her lips and with a sigh, laid the truth bare.
“You’ve met him.”
Her Lady now looked at the land, where all that life lay hidden beneath a mask, one of porcelain snow, so vast.
“His power is within you.”
Her hands reached for another pack, one with cards meant for a new game.
“Now may we finally play some cards?”
And as they played their game.
Socia came to see.
She only had heard what she already…
Knew.
A few days passed, and they pressed deeper into the white, no more cities were there to see, even the villages disappeared from sight, until they arrived at the final station.
A garrison of grim men, with rifles and fur, them guided for a while, into the boreal forest, dark and green, but they had to turn back.
For they were but men, of the mortal kind, and they could not endure.
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The divine pair pushed on, deeper into the biting cold, and in the night when they camped the Lady kept them warm.
And one night when they lay on hide, wrapped in layers of wool and fur, her Lady’s warmth next to her, from her lips a whisper came.
“With my hands I shaped you”
“With power given willingly.”
“For you to do as you wish.”
“With my womb I shape my children.”
“To turn that which is old into new.”
“For such is my father’s vision.”
“Now let us speak of this no more.”
Ever.
With single kiss on her Lady’s cheek, she sealed a promise never said.
There they lay all through the night.
To wake up to another thing.
A man looked down at them.
He sat perched atop a rock, which jutted through the snow.
Socia cast her cover aside, yet her Lady remained wrapped in it.
She marched to the stranger, as her Lady lay about.
The man was aged, yet his poise strong. He had a stern, scarred face worn down by wind and age. Covered in skin — too little for a mortal man.
For mortal he was, that Socia could see, in his heart.
From the rock he dropped down, yet the snow remained undisturbed beneath his feet, and with nimble steps he came to her.
And before her he lay prostrate, knees on ground, forehead too.
In silence.
What?
She looked back at her Lady and saw her still on the ground, wrapped in fur, facing away.
The man stayed where he was.
In silence. Motionless.
Finally, Socia spoke.
“Who are you?”
The mans head rose, though his knees remained on the ground.
“Finally!” he said.
“I thought you’d never speak. What kind of god are you to wait so long?”
“Surely you know I cannot address you, first!”
The man was audacious.
But right about protocol, she had forgotten what she was, alone here in the white with her.
“How long did you watch us from up there, mortal?” Socia said.
Mortal.
Yet the snow didn’t break under his knees, as if he floated on it.
“Your mistress most high has struck a bargain with me,” he said.
“I will teach you and in exchange she will give me a boon.”
“Give and take, that is the way of proper gods, hah.”
Teach me what?
“You will be my apprentice and I your mentor, yes?”
She looked at her Lady again, and a wave of her hand she gave.
She is giving me away, again?
“Unforgiving Wind I will teach you, yes!”
Socia didn’t sulk, not too much.
Instead, she set her knees to the ground, her weight the snow packed, and when her head lowered, she spoke.
“Teach me, mentor.”
No game of cards, next time.
That would be her Lady’s price.
A little Socia did sulk.
Blood in the snow, her own.
It had seeped into it, from wounds given by him.
His strikes were relentless, unforgiving.
And when she struck back, he wasn’t there.
In the air he was, an impossible jump, a foot in her face.
Blood on the snow.
Her stance did not break. Her gaze did not look away.
“Like a rock. Good!” he said.
“Stone good. Wind better!”
A jab to her face, a cross to her rib, she caught his arms, locked it true, and like a mist he wasn’t there.
A kick hurt and swept, caught her in the back of her knee, brought her crashing down, but she caught the fall and cartwheeled away, her flow uninterrupted.
“Like water. Good!” he said.
He closed in and Socia struck and missed, she flowed into a kick surely to hit, but her other leg sank into the snow, too much weight on one leg.
Caught in her own trap she received a kick to the face and a blow to her chest that blacked her out.
Unforgiving he was, like the wind around them, harsh and cold, it whipped her face even as she lay there sunk into the snow.
Defeated.
By a mortal.
“Enough fighting. Now we hunt!” he said.
A spear was tossed and she did catch it.
“Goddess, decent hunter!” he had said.
Air is nothing and everything.
Be like air.
She tried to move as he had taught, to be like air, a wind above the ground, and at times it worked.
Her feet would refuse to sink into the snow as she moved lightly over the snow, but her mentor skimmed along the surface, without leaving a trace, a ghost.
But then her focus would break, and her feet the crust would break, and with strength she was able to keep up with his pace.
Air is harsh and unforgiving, it strikes not seen, only felt.
Be like air.
She spotted the reindeer, readied her spear and became like air.
A step the snow did not disturb, a jump even less so, into the air she rose, and her spear she threw.
It struck her prey, her aim true.
Blood on the snow.
She stood by the fallen beast, its breath gone, its life lost, to feed a god and a man.
Its fur she touched and thanked it for its gift as she had been taught.
Air is nowhere and everywhere; it cannot be caught.
Be like air.
His spear he threw, his aim was true, it would have struck, cut her knee.
But there was no blood on the snow, for she was not there.
Hanging from a branch, high up on a tree.
She let go and came down and didn’t disturb the ground.
“Good!”
“You better hunter than fighter!”
He touched the beast and said the words as Socia had said before.
Then he turned to her.
“I’ll remove guts and insides, yes!”
“Then skin and butcher at camp.”
“You cook! Woman’s job, yes!”
Oaf of man.
Back at the camp it happened so.
Food she made.
A reindeer stew, its meat dark and lean.
And when her Lady sat next to her with a deck of cards in her hand.
Socia spoke.
“No.”
