GRP Chapter 4

"...That does sound delicious..."

Despite what she said, Mariaeks could not bring herself to touch the food and only looked at it. The stew being dark brown was fine. The chunks of meat being black was fine. The various hairs floating through it were not a problem either. What caught her attention was an unfamiliar ingredient shaped like a single joint of a little finger—thin and long. Not one or two, but enough to crowd every gap between the soup and the other ingredients; too numerous to ignore.

Mariaeks scooped one up with her bent spoon. She needed to look at it before putting it in her mouth. The two faithful attendants were devoted in every way, but from time to time they set strange standards for what counted as edible.

"This is..."

"Larvae!"

"Larvae."

"Yes! Larvae!"

Delivered with great confidence. Mariaeks looked at the plump larva drifting on her spoon. Looking closely, she could see it had eyes. She quietly looked away from the larva's returning stare.

"Apparently they're larvae that grow on medicinal herbs. Dried, they're considered a precious medicine."

"We were a bit worried they might absorb moisture and go bad, so we put them all in today."

Either way, they were apparently medicinal—which meant they were the kind of thing one could put in one's mouth. Mariaeks put the larva in her mouth along with the dark brown stew and swallowed without tasting properly. But the brief passage across her tongue was enough to register everything. It was intense.

The gamey smell of reindeer hit first. Then the wine's sour bitterness and the bitter herb taste, and finally the faint fishiness of the yak milk—each arriving in sequence, one stimulating her palate after another. The larvae were the least of her concerns. That was how strange the rest of it was.

"How is it?"

"Edible."

"How wonderful!"

The two attendants serving Mariaeks with wholehearted devotion — Ullri and Baen—were spirits. As most spirits and gods do, they lived by absorbing the vitality of nature and divine energy, and so had no need to eat. That taste was not their strong suit was only natural. No—to call it carelessness would be to diminish their efforts. They burned with passion enough to go down below the mountain and learn to cook by watching over human shoulders. They had simply absorbed the lessons slightly wrong.

To avoid tasting the stew, Mariaeks chose not to chew—directing everything from lip straight to throat. Through her patient efforts, before long only the solids remained in the bowl. The tension that had stiffened her eyebrows eased the faintest amount.

After a brief, deep breath, Mariaeks steeled herself and scooped up a full heap of larvae and put them all in her mouth at once. Whatever these were, it was better than eating the dark brown liquid again—that thought made bravery possible. Dozens of larvae burst in her mouth with a pop-poppop-pop. Only then did Mariaeks realize something she hadn't thought to consider: what, exactly, these dried larvae had absorbed to become so plump...

Looks like it's going to snow. The air's heavy. Smells like snow. My lady, my lady — let's go outside! Just as they'd been chattering throughout the meal. Snow was falling from the dark sky.

Ullri and Baen ran out ahead. The silhouettes of the two boys stepping through the accumulated snow swelled suddenly at some point. By the time Mariaeks stepped out of the temple, two silver wolves were running across the white snowfield. Ullri rolled in the snow; Baen ran fast, running straight into the falling flakes. True northern spirits—racing across the white mountains, they looked perfectly at home.

Mariaeks leaned her back against the doorframe and sat, chin resting in her hand, watching them. An always-repeated daily life. When the two faithful attendants woke her, she woke. When the two faithful attendants brought ice water, she washed. When the two faithful attendants prepared the meal, she ate. She watched the two faithful attendants play.

Tap. A small snow crystal touched the tip of her nose. Mariaeks held out her palm and caught a large falling snowflake. It was as though a white flower had bloomed in her hand. Before she could trace each petal in her mind, the snowflake melted from the faint warmth.

She watched the empty space left by something that had vanished without a trace. Then she folded her hands together. Time passed. From inside her clasped, prayer-like hands, a faint light spread outward. Something tickled her palms. A sensation of full, generous blooming gently pushed her hands open from within.

In her slowly parting hands, a white flower—larger and more lush than the snow crystal before it—broke into its first bloom. Green leaves and soft petals swayed in the breeze. But that too lasted only a moment. Ice crystals formed at the tips of the leaves, creeping steadily outward until the flower was completely frozen. Heimdrykze's cold killed one more flower today.

This too was part of the repeated daily routine—making a flower while knowing it wouldn't survive a full minute. It wasn't as though it held any particular significance— she couldn't even remember when she had started, she simply did it—the way one does a habit.

Repeated days had piled up, and nearly a hundred years had passed before she knew it. Mariaeks had reached a point where she could predict her own future.

The sun would set soon. Then she would stop by the study that served as a storage room, where a few books waited, and choose one to read. When dark night arrived, the frost giants would wake and shake the earth. Then she would lie down and sleep. When she opened her eyes, tomorrow would come—and it too would be exactly the same as today. And the day after that. And the day after that.

A fairly smooth, unremarkable life suited Mariaeks just fine. Knowing tomorrow would repeat itself in exactly this way, she felt deeply settled. Like a lake bolted shut, frozen solid—no rough wind, no falling leaf, no pebble rolling across the surface could disturb it. A quiet, solid peace.

Even now, sitting in this spot, Mariaeks thought of herself tomorrow. Thinking of a tomorrow that would bring nothing specially good, nothing specially bad, her heart grew still as a lake frozen completely over. Nothing could shake it.

Mariaeks was still watching the two wolves tangled in play when her gaze shifted elsewhere. At the same moment, Ullri and Baen stopped playing and came toward her, circling. Grrr— the two wolves bared their teeth and sounded a warning. An unwelcome visitor had come.

The old temple where Mariaeks lived had almost no visitors. Humans and ordinary animals went without saying—they never stepped into divine territory. But even the many gods, spirits, and monsters of flickering reason dwelling within the divine realm never so much as appeared near Mariaeks's temple.

"She," however, visited the temple with regularity. There was no fixed date or time. She had gone years without showing her face before, and then there were times she came back within a week of her last visit.

Mariaeks had spent a hundred long years trying to find some pattern in that unpredictable visiting schedule. Did she come when snow fell? When an avalanche struck? On clear days? The day after the snow mermaids sang?

But none of those were it. She simply seemed to come when the mood took her. Since Mariaeks had no way of knowing when that mood might arrive — or whether it would at all—it was simply an inconvenience. She was the only element that shattered what otherwise felt like an identical daily life. But that was not the only reason Mariaeks didn't welcome her visits.

"Shabby as ever, no matter when I look."

Mariaeks watched the woman who had just set foot in the open ground before the temple. Rhaevydie, goddess of the deep canyon. She attended to adorning herself with as much effort as her dazzling beauty warranted. Today as well she was draped from head to foot in various ornaments. A sheer, floaty dress that left her full figure entirely visible. A manner of dress Mariaeks wouldn't dare attempt for herself—she had no wish to freeze to death.

"A guest arrives and you don't even stand?"

The moment those words ended, Mariaeks rose and brushed the snow from her clothes. Rhaevydie walked over with long strides and lifted Mariaeks's chin. She scanned Mariaeks's face from various angles without meeting any resistance, then frowned.

"Aren't you looking a bit thin?"

"I'm eating well."

"What did you eat today, then."

"Reindeer meat. Herbs. Yak milk..."

Mariaeks listed the stew's ingredients one by one. She deliberately omitted the larvae. She could already predict exactly how Rhaevydie would respond to that.

"Larvae too!"

Ullri named it with the emphasis of someone identifying the most important element. He'd been proud enough of the rare medicine to say so.

"Larvae...?"

Rhaevydie frowned, then let out a short laugh. Suits you, really. She didn't deviate from Mariaeks's expectations by a single step.

"Take it off."

This was the reason Rhaevydie visited, despite being unable to hide that Mariaeks and the temple irritated her every time she looked. Mariaeks removed her old scarf first and handed it to Ullri. She took off the reindeer-hide robe and the several layers of clothing underneath until she stood completely bare. She tried to hold her shivering body straight. Rhaevydie clicked her tongue.

"Good heavens, you're cold? Honestly..."

Arms folded, Rhaevydie looked Mariaeks up and down. She nodded, then gestured carelessly. Turn around.

When Mariaeks turned to show her back, Rhaevydie walked toward her with a soft crunch-crunch of snow underfoot. A cool hand swept the hair scattered across Mariaeks's back aside like drawing a curtain. Mariaeks felt a cold gaze travel evenly across her back, her hips, and down to where her legs began.

"Well. No injuries visible."

Spoke with a rehearsed, melodic carelessness, as though that were all that mattered—but the voice was lower than usual. A premonition pierced her like a blade. Mariaeks turned and looked up at the woman looking down at her. They were facing each other, but Rhaevydie's gaze had slipped off to the side.

Chin. Throat. No—lower than that.