Chapter One
Lucinda, called Land-Stepper for her wandering ways, put her hand on the trunk of the sacred hawthorn tree, no longer forbidden from touching the things that belonged to the god Sophia. Its bark didn’t feel any different from that of a regular hawthorn tree; its long ridges and shallow fissures were perfectly familiar to her fingers.
Leaning down, she watered the tree with a splash of mead, then set out a dish of candied walnuts. The offering seemed natural, though she no longer needed to attract Sophia’s attention through such appeals.
The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky to orange and red, mellowing the light from bright yellow to burnished gold. Sophia’s favorite time of day. Lucinda’s, too. Or it could be that whatever Sophia favored, Lucinda now favored as well. Perhaps that was part of the agreement she had struck. She did not yet know the full cost of what she’d done.
A light breeze caressed her cheek and she looked out over the path that just yesterday had led her lover, Stephen, the lord of West Randburg, away from her. Before, they had been separated by his status. Now, they were separated by hers.
She closed her eyes, trying to pretend for a while longer that he hadn’t left. Maybe that was his footstep on the path behind her.
It was not. A temple-thane brushed past her, hurrying toward the broad stone steps that led down to the temple itself. The thane made no greeting and no apology, appeared not even to notice her; that seemed to be the unspoken pact among the temple-thanes. Not that she blamed them. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought peril and the threat of destruction to the island of Rothwil. Though she’d driven her enemy, their enemy, away this time, they were still wary.
The crystal in her palm, the symbol of her stone-craft, had shattered her enemy’s sword but was itself unharmed. She had rather hoped it would be shattered along with the sword; the crystal was an unwelcome reminder of all that had brought her to this moment.
She curled her fingers over it. How much had changed and yet that did not.
You are with child.
Sophia’s thoughts intruded. She sounded shocked and a little annoyed.
“Yes.” Such was their connection now that Lucinda didn’t need to speak the word for Sophia to hear it. She did so nonetheless. She was human, touched by the divine perhaps, but it was how humans conversed.
Zoe is a virgin.
“Is she?” Lucinda had known Zoe—the one who’d come before her and had died for her—and she’d assumed Zoe was more worldly than that.
I don’t understand how this can be.
Lucinda was sure Sophia, being the god of wisdom and capable of observing human behavior, understood how pregnancy occurred and did not feel compelled to enlighten her. “Do you plan to eat these walnuts? I’m hungry.”
To be Zoe was not your doom.
“I know. But I have an aspect of your godhead lodged in me, which I can feel, and undoubtedly you can, too—”
It is how I know we are pregnant.
Lucinda bit into a walnut, the honeyed sweetness spreading through her mouth, carrying with it love and reverence, the adoration of the folk who had made the sweet.
She coughed and said, “No wonder you’re so vain and conceited, feeding on that.”
Do not mistake our relationship for friendship, the god of wisdom whispered. You may remember that I let Zoe die.
The sweet honey turned acid in her mouth. It was all she could do to keep from spitting it out, a profanity that would outrage Sophia.
“I’m sorry.” Lucinda swallowed with difficulty. “Truly sorry. I’ve always had the regrettable habit of saying what I think.”
Zoe is supposed to be my right hand. She is not supposed to be nursing babes at breast—
“Good morrow.”
That voice—Lucinda spun around. On the path a little distance from her stood her one-time friend Rose. For a moment Lucinda stared, uncomprehending. She’d never expected to see Rose again.
Rose looked the same as always; an older woman with long gray hair neatly braided down her back, wearing a dark wool dress, carrying herself with dignity. So much had passed since their last meeting it felt strange to see her so untouched.
“Rose,” she said, was all she could say.
“Was it here?” Rose drifted forward a step, looking down toward the temple, looking all around her, looking, Lucinda knew, for some sign of what had become of Springtide, the god to whom she’d been a devoted acolyte.
“It was at the temple.” Lucinda abandoned the honeyed walnuts and her conversation with Sophia and walked with Rose down the broad stone steps. She would have offered her one-time friend some assistance, but Rose kept her hands clenched in her skirt as she took the steps, lifting the hem up so she would not trip.
Lucinda wanted to embrace her, to reassure her that there was nothing to be afraid of, but in the end she kept silent. Rose had been afraid of her, had planned to sacrifice Lord Stephen when the time came, could not be trusted.
When they reached the forecourt to the temple, Lucinda took the four steps up and said, “It was here.” She indicated the place where Springtide had died—been murdered by another god, too quickly and too cruelly for anyone to stop him.
There was no blood on the pavement, no fallen body. Springtide had died in her human form but Sophia herself had borne her body to Neorxnawang, the feasting hall of the gods.
Rose crouched and placed a hand on the stone as if she, like Lucinda, had stone-craft, although Lucinda knew she did not. Rose closed her eyes and bent her head, murmuring beneath her breath. A prayer, probably, although since Springtide was dead, Lucinda did not know to whom, precisely, Rose was praying. Guthhafoc, perhaps, entreating the father of the gods to revenge Springtide’s death. Undoubtedly the gods were discussing what to do about Brihtnoth, the god who had murdered Springtide, but Lucinda did not know how heavily they would weight the urgings of an acolyte or how quickly they would act. It might take them a thousand years to decide. What was time, to a god?
After a while, Rose stood and said, “Your father killed her.”
Lucinda took a step back. “When did you learn that I’m Brihtnoth’s daughter?”
Rose said, “I suppose when I saw your hand.”
Lucinda rubbed her fingers over the crystal in her palm. She could remember quite clearly when she’d gotten it but she’d tried to keep it as hidden as her relationship to Brihtnoth. “How did that reveal my parentage to you?”
“Do they not call him the Stone God? Of course I knew then who you were.” She turned to face Lucinda. “I thought you would claim your birthright—to save Lord Stephen if not Sophia.”
Lucinda said, “I did claim my birthright.”
Rose lifted her chin. “I see. You know I am Brihtnoth’s enemy. If that makes you and me enemies as well, so be it.”
Lucinda said, “I, too, am my father’s enemy. It was my birthright as my mother’s daughter I claimed.”
“Really?” Rose lifted an eyebrow, then narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see how that could have been enough.”
“It wasn’t. I was prepared to die rather than join Brihtnoth. But the god of the abyss interfered and granted me Mother’s immanence.”
“Grundhyrde gave you Mother’s immanence? Then Mother is dead.”
Lucinda inclined her head. “She died yesterday, a quiet death, which made her Grundhyrde’s to collect. By granting me Mother’s immanence, Grundhyrde made me Zoe.”
Rose stood perfectly still. Then she said tentatively, “I didn’t know that could be done without Sophia’s permission.”
“Neither did I,” Lucinda said. “Nor Sophia, for that matter.”
There you are. Sophia spoke as if commenting on a misplaced book. She remained disembodied. Come, there is work to do.
Rose snapped her head up and said, “What?” and Lucinda said, “You can hear her?”
Of course she can hear me.
“I can hear her,” Rose said, but faintly. “Sophia?”
I suppose you will do well enough, Sophia grumbled. But I am accustomed to Mother being more familiar with our ways at Rothwil.
The vigor drained from Rose’s face. “I have been nominated to take Mother’s role?”
“You want Rose?” Lucinda demanded.
“Why me?”
You are the closest thing Zoe has to a mother. Come.
“If I refuse?” Rose stammered.
A silence, but Lucinda could feel Sophia gathering her anger to her, like a cloak of night and fire.
“I don’t think you would want to find out,” Lucinda said uneasily.
“But I’m Springtide’s acolyte.” Rose looked, and sounded, bewildered. “I know nothing of the worship of Sophia.”
“She’s more than willing to tell you all about it, I am sure,” Lucinda said.
Child, your insolence may amuse you but it grows wearisome to me.
Then, in a voice both Lucinda and Rose could hear, Sophia said, Mother, you may refuse the honor of being my chief temple-thane, my voice and my will on the island of Rothwil, although none before you have ever dared decline. You are chosen, but say no and we will see what happens. Perhaps it will be interesting.
“I’m not saying I refuse,” Rose said. “I’m saying I’m Springtide’s acolyte. She’s the one—”
She is dead, Sophia said. Grieve her and serve me and one day you will be welcomed in Neorxnawang and your sorrow eased.
“Lucinda,” Rose said, and reached out her hand.
Lucinda took it. She did not have so very many friends that she could abandon any one of them lightly.
“Sophia,” she said. “Choose another. Any of your thanes on Rothwil would gladly serve you.”
To become Mother is not an office. I do not appoint she who has served me faithfully for fifteen years. It is not earned. It is given to the most fitting one.
“It’s all right.” Rose closed her eyes, her hand gripping Lucinda’s tightly. “Do as you must. Do as you will.”
The golden light that always accompanied Sophia’s presence dimmed, then flared as Sophia transferred some part of her godhead to Rose. Other than that, Lucinda could see no mark that Rose had changed.
But when Rose opened her eyes, she said, “The evening meal is not yet prepared.” With a nod to Lucinda, she released her hand, and turned to walk up the path to Mother’s house.
For a moment Lucinda felt the loss of her friend all over again. And yet this should not feel like loss, it should feel like partnership. It always had to Zoe, the other Zoe, for whom Mother was a friend, a companion, an adviser.
You do not approve?
“She’ll make an excellent Mother. Are you done arranging matters?”
We have barely begun. I told you Zoe cannot nurse a babe at breast—
“I don’t see why not,” Lucinda said. “Please don’t try to sidetrack me with that nonsense. I would like to see my sister. I’ve fulfilled my part of our original agreement.”
Child. You have no understanding of what it means to be Zoe. You know shockingly little for one who lived on Rothwil for so long.
Lucinda ignored the insult with its attempted digression and said, “I brought Lord Stephen to you by the appointed hour. That was our pact.”
Sophia was silent for a moment. Yet the sacrifice was never made. The dying lord remains alive.
“Don’t call him that,” Lucinda said. “I did as you demanded. I have agreed to take up Zoe’s mantle and Rose is already sweeping out Mother’s bed-chamber. So you must be satisfied by how this turned out.”
The cold silence that followed made Lucinda wish she’d phrased her statement differently. Sophia, still cool, said, Springtide is dead. I can hardly be called satisfied.
“But you’re not dead,” Lucinda pointed out. “And that is my doing. Brihtnoth would have murdered you and you know it.”
She didn’t expect Sophia to express gratitude so she added, “Springtide is dead so in any case your agreement with her is dissolved. There is no need to continue to keep Bertha prisoner. You don’t need to use her to force me to act anymore. I can hardly say no to you now that I’m your Zoe. If you don’t fulfill our pact, you will violate the Orlog but perhaps that doesn’t concern you. Perhaps nothing will happen. Perhaps the Orlog is a story the folk made up like children telling brave tales against the darkness.”
Sophia was quiet again.
“You do remember our agreement,” Lucinda insisted. “That if I did as you demanded, you would return my sister to me?”
I remember.
“Then have you forgotten where you put her?” Lucinda snapped. Her heart gave a panicked thump as she thought of a reason for Sophia’s reluctance. “Did you get her killed?”
Calm yourself. I gave her to Cycene for protection. Cycene loves babies.
“Cycene?” She tried to remember what she’d heard of the god before. Then she had it: Stephen’s mother was a follower of hers. That did not bode well, given the kind of person Stephen’s mother was. “And what did Cycene do with Bertha—and her baby?”
The East Sige adore Cycene; she is why they have countless children. Your sister is being cared for at her temple in Fyrnoth.
Fyrnoth. Where Lucinda had once encouraged the god Ligberend to go to receive a suitable welcome. That seemed like a long time ago.
“Then she and her child must be safely returned to West Randburg—or wherever she would like to go.”
Your sister is in good health. There is no need—
“There is a need.” Sophia’s recalcitrance made her suspicious, so she added, “I will see her home myself.” She waited, unsure of what she would do if the impasse continued, but then Sophia said, Very well. I’m certain she’ll be happy to see you.
With that, Sophia withdrew, her leaving so abrupt it seemed to steal all the sound and movement from the world.