GRP Chapter 4

"…Yes, that does sound good…."

Despite her words, Mariaeks could not quite bring herself to touch the food. She sat looking at it instead. The stew's black-brown color was fine. That the chunks of meat had gone dark, that hairs floated here and there—none of that was the issue. What gave her pause was an unfamiliar ingredient: long and thin, each piece roughly the length of her little finger's first joint. There were not one or two of them. They packed the broth so densely, filling every gap between the other ingredients, that ignoring them was not an option.

Mariaeks scooped one up with her bent spoon. She needed to identify it before putting it in her mouth. Her devoted priests were admirable in every way, but their sense of what counted as edible food had a tendency to run slightly strange.

"This is…."

"A caterpillar!"

"A caterpillar."

"Yes! A caterpillar!"

They said it with complete confidence. Mariaeks looked at the plump caterpillar drifting on her spoon. Looking closely, she could see it had eyes. She let her gaze slide quietly away from the caterpillar's gaze.

"They're caterpillars that grow on medicinal herbs, apparently. Dried, they're used as a rare medicine."

"I was worried the eyes might get wet and spoil, so I put all of them in today."

A medicine, at least, by their account—which meant it was the kind of thing that could go in a mouth. Mariaeks put the caterpillar in with a spoonful of the black-brown stew. She swallowed before tasting, but even the brief passage across her tongue was enough to register everything. It was intense.

The gaminess of reindeer came first. Then the sour note of the wine and the bitterness of the medicinal herbs. Last came the rank taste of yak milk, each flavor arriving in its turn. The caterpillar barely registered at all—the stew itself was strange enough to make it irrelevant.

"How is it?"

"Edible."

"Oh, good!"

The two priests who served Mariaeks with all their devotion—Ullri and Baen—were spirits. As with most spirits and gods, they sustained themselves on the vital essence of nature and on divine power. Having no need to eat, it was only natural that their sense of flavor had grown somewhat inexact. Or perhaps inexact was the wrong word, and would do their efforts a disservice. They had gone all the way down the mountain to learn cooking by watching over human shoulders. The passion was there. The technique had simply drifted slightly off course.

Mariaeks chose to swallow without chewing, in order not to taste the stew. Straight from the lips to the throat, bypassing everything in between. Through sustained effort, the bowl held only solids by the end. The rigid set of her brows eased, almost imperceptibly, toward something rounder.

She caught her breath. Then she braced her eyes and scooped up a full spoonful of nothing but caterpillars and put them all in her mouth at once. Whatever they were, they had to be better than drinking the black-brown liquid again. She could be brave about that much. Dozens of caterpillars split open against her teeth in a soft rapid pop-poppop-pop. Only then did Mariaeks recognize what she had failed to consider. What the dried caterpillars had been soaking up all this time, to have grown so plump and round…. 

It's going to snow. The air is heavy. I can smell it. Master, Master. Let's go outside! They had chattered on at her throughout the meal, and they turned out to be right. Snow was falling from a dark sky.

Ullri and Baen ran out ahead of her. The silhouettes of the two boys treading through the accumulated snow swelled, suddenly, into something much larger. By the time Mariaeks stepped out of the shrine, two silver wolves were bounding across the white field. Ullri rolled in the snow. Baen ran at full speed into the falling flakes. They were northern spirits, after all—running across a white snowfield suited them perfectly.

Mariaeks leaned her back against the doorframe and sat, chin in hand, watching them. The same daily routine as always. Her devoted two priests wake her. She rises. Her devoted two priests bring ice water. She washes. Her devoted two priests set out the meal. She eats. Her devoted two priests play. She watches. 

Tock.

A small snow crystal tapped the tip of her nose.

Mariaeks held out her palm to catch a large falling snowflake. It settled there like a white flower had bloomed in her hand. Before she could trace each petal in her mind, the snowflake melted in the faint warmth of her skin.

She watched the empty space where it had been and folded her hands together.

Time passed.

From within the cupped palms she had pressed together as if in prayer, a faint light spread outward. Something tickled her hands. The sensation of something opening into fullness pressed her palms gently apart.

Between her slowly opening hands, a white flower was pushing itself into being—larger and more full than the snow crystal from a moment before, just breathing its first breath as it opened. Green leaves and soft petals moved in the wind. But that too was only ever a moment.

Ice spread from the tips of the leaves, taking ground inch by inch, and then the flower was frozen solid.

Heimdrykze's cold had killed another one today.

This too was part of the daily routine. Bringing a flower into being despite knowing it would not survive even a minute. There was no great significance to it—she wouldn't have said so. She could not even remember how it had started. It was simply a habit, by now.

Day after repeated day, and without noticing, nearly a hundred years had passed. At some point Mariaeks had learned to predict the future.

The sun would set soon. Then she would go to the room that served as both scriptorium and storage for various odds and ends, and choose one of the few books there to read. When the dark night came, the frost giants would wake and shake the ground. Then she would lie down in bed and sleep. When she opened her eyes, tomorrow would be there—and tomorrow would be the same as today. As would the day after, and the day after that.

The thoroughly ordinary, predictable life suited Mariaeks perfectly well. Tomorrow, the same routine. The heart—a lake, frozen all the way through. No rough wind, no fallen leaf, no pebble could disturb its surface. Still, and solid.

Sitting here even now, Mariaeks turned her thoughts to herself tomorrow. A tomorrow with nothing especially good, nothing especially bad. Nothing to stir it.

The gaze Mariaeks had trained on the two wolves tumbling and playing suddenly turned elsewhere. At the same moment, Ullri and Baen stopped their game and came to circle close around her, growling. An unwelcome visitor had arrived.

Visitors to the old shrine where Mariaeks lived were nearly nonexistent. Humans and ordinary animals had no place in the divine realm, which went without saying—but even the many gods, spirits, and the dim-witted monsters that lingered at the edges of reason all gave Mariaeks's shrine a wide berth.

There was one exception. She came and went with some regularity. No fixed date or time. There had been years without a single glimpse of her, followed by a return visit just one week after her last.

Over the long hundred years, Mariaeks had tried to find some pattern in those unknowable intervals. Did she come when it snowed? After an avalanche? On clear days? The morning after the snow mermaids sang?

None of those. She came when she felt like it, as far as Mariaeks could tell. Since Mariaeks had no way of knowing when she might feel like it, or predict when she would, there was simply no accounting for her visits. She was the only element that ever broke what felt to Mariaeks like an unchanging daily life. But that was not the only reason Mariaeks did not welcome her visits.

"It looks as squalid as ever."

Mariaeks looked at the woman who had just stepped into the clearing. It was Rhaevydie—goddess of the deep canyon. She was the kind of person who put as much effort into her adornments as into her dazzling appearance. Today she was layered in assorted jewelry from head to foot, as usual. A diaphanous dress that left her skin visible traced the full shape of her figure without apology. The kind of dress Mariaeks would never have dared to attempt. She had no desire to freeze to death.

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

Before Rhaevydie had finished speaking, Mariaeks had already gotten to her feet and was brushing the snow from her seat. Rhaevydie strode over and took hold of Mariaeks's chin, tilting her face up. She looked her over—face, then neck, then lower—her brow drawing together.

"Have you lost weight?"

"I'm eating well."

"What did you eat today."

"Reindeer meat. Medicinal herbs. Yak milk…."

Mariaeks listed the stew's ingredients one by one. She deliberately left out the caterpillars. She could already picture exactly how Rhaevydie would react.

"And caterpillars!"

Ullri said it, bright and proud, as though that were the most important part. Rare medicine. Rare things were worth boasting about. 

"Caterpillars…?"

Rhaevydie’s brow pulled together. Then she let out a short pfft of laughter. “Goes well with you, doesn’t it.” The reaction Mariaeks had predicted did not miss by much. Rhaevydie resumed her usual imperious manner.

"Take it off."

This was the reason she kept coming, no matter how plainly she made it known that the sight of Mariaeks irritated her beyond endurance. Mariaeks began by unwinding her old scarf and handing it to Ullri. She removed the robe made from reindeer hide, then the multiple layers beneath it, until she was entirely bare. She worked to hold her shivering body upright. Rhaevydie made a sound of contempt.

"Good heavens. You're cold? Of all things…."

Arms folded, Rhaevydie looked Mariaeks over from head to foot. She gave a short nod, then waved dismissively. It meant: turn around.

Mariaeks turned so that her back was showing.

Rhaevydie approached with a soft crunch-crunch of snow underfoot. Cool hands reached up and swept Mariaeks’s hair off her back in a slow, even motion, the way one draws a curtain. Mariaeks felt that cold gaze travel across her back, her hips, then down the length of her legs.

"Well. No injuries, at least."

The voice was lighter than the words, as if this were the only thing that mattered—no damage, nothing missing. But the tone was lower than usual. Some premonition struck like a blade. Mariaeks turned and met the eyes of the woman looking down at her. They were facing each other, but Rhaevydie's gaze ran at a slant—chin, throat.

No. Lower than that.