Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

We were partway down the street when Sylvia spoke to me again. “Fourteen years,” she said. Her hands were clenched. “Fourteen!”

“I sent you a letter.”

I glanced towards Apis. He was walking a little faster, like he was trying to avoid being involved with the situation. As if I would let him escape! I stepped a little faster, too, catching up and using him as a shield in between Sylvia and I. “We didn’t see anyone in the Always coming over, did we?”

“I was distracted by the guard,” he said. He looked over his shoulder. “You didn’t- I didn’t realize you were married.”

“Not you too!” I folded my arms. “Can’t a woman just abandon her new husband without everyone claiming they’re still married?” A part of me recalled how kind he had been, how helpful. Had it all been the sort of illusion men so commonly engaged in, the kindness that was only transactional? Would it disappear now that he thought someone else had claimed me?

I was disappointed, I had to admit. Apis had seemed more sensible than that. Frankly, I had thought I was too old and ugly to be the focus of that type of attention, these days.

“Did the beetle run over your hands or not?”

“Well, technically, but we never-”

“That’s even worse! You’ve just-” Apis stopped walking. “When the beetle ran over your hands, the beetle god took your souls as collateral. Until you consummate the marriage or annul it, they’re still in the hands of the gods! By running off, you’re- you’re-”

“Well, I’m speaking to you perfectly well without a soul.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you ought to make things right with him,” said Sylvia, interrupting us. Even in her long dress, she was keeping up well, shoes clicking evenly on the cobbles. I tried to walk faster, outpace her in the flickering light, then stopped.

“Wait,” I said. I pointed towards the cobbles.

Everything was exceedingly clean here. Pale cobbles, shining in the light. Pale stone, stretching up to flags flapping in the moonlight. Like tombstones, waiting for the councillors trapped within them to finally pass into the other world.

So why had someone left perfectly intact muddy footprints in the middle of the road?

“Lady Sylvia,” I said, emphasizing the Lady, “What size are your son’s shoes?”

She dashed over to grab at my arm, bending over to inspect it. “But- one side is smudged.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, horrified. “Do you think- was he injured? Limping?”

I squinted at the prints. It looked like a mess, mostly. “Maybe?”

“Oh, my baby. If that river’s touched him-” Before Sylvia could specify how she could hurt a river, Apis had already pointed down the road. “It looks like we can follow the tracks,” he said.

I pulled myself free of Sylvia’s arm. “Well? We can go investigate.” Please. Where had my friend gone? The girl who was brave and funny?

The woman in front of me stared in shock at the tracks for a minute more before she nodded. “Of course,” she said.

The tracks meandered at first, down a road towards what looked like a butcher’s shop closed in the night- Lady Sylvia stomped up to the window, looking in, before sighing in relief- before they veered north again, wandering wildly.

“What was he thinking?” said Sylvia. “I’m sure I told him how to sneak out better than this.”

I glanced over at her. We had been silent for the last few blocks, trying to trace the mud. I had been trying to avoid speaking at all, worried that the subject of my missing husband might come up again. The last thing I needed was his specter looming over me while I tried to actually deal with important matters.

“You’ve been teaching him to sneak out?”

“Well, if he’s going to do it anyway, better for it not to reflect on us badly,” she said.

I could remember a good few nights of us sneaking out, myself. The light on the water as we skipped rocks across the harbor. We had lived close together then. Her home, one of the older manses, her family’s money slowly crumbling. My own family, newly grown into the money, taking over a fallen house’s remnants. By all means, we should have hated each other.

“I did miss you,” she said. “Really. But- you were dead. I didn’t think you were… well…where were you?”

“I was working as a cook, up north. A small inn.” The tracks were getting darker, more solid. “You really didn’t get my letter?”

“They said it was infected with the pox. I let them take it away to be burned.”

Ah. I frowned. “If it was infected, wouldn’t you have already touched it?”

“I didn’t want to die! Or worse, be scarred!” Sylvia stomped forward. “Not that you would understand. You always did exactly what you wanted. I had to fulfill my duty.”

“I went through with the marriage!” I rushed to catch up with her. What was I doing? This wasn’t like me. I stopped running, stood my ground. “I filled the contract. Once I left, he was free to re-marry.”

“He said he consulted the gods, and they told him to wait. Clearly, one person did read your letter.”

I couldn’t stop myself from staring, my jaw from dropping. Apis had caught up with us. He was looking over towards the temple, the splashing water.

My mind was still on that long-ago night when I had written out the letters. My hand had been unsteady. I had spent months squirreling away all of the clothes and food I thought I might need, discreetly practicing my technique with my grandmother, enquiring with the cooks from remote districts about where there might be openings for a cook.

I had written a letter to Sylvia. I had written a letter to my mother. “I didn’t write anything to him.”

“What do you mean? How else would he know you’re still alive?”

“He can tell, because he doesn’t have a soul,” said Apis. “Remember?”

We both stared over at him. “It’s actually very, very bad,” he clarified. “If either of you dies without taking your souls back, you’ll be in fealty to the gods until the world stops rolling. That’s the same as if you’d died after committing an unspeakable act of evil. In case you forgot that part, too.”

“You actually believe that?” Sylvia snorted. “If you didn’t send him a letter, then I suppose he just didn’t like any of the other substitutes offered,” she added, sweeping towards the temple. The cobblestones had paled to marble tile, laid out in strange twisting designs to match the tentacles.

“I’m sure my mother thought of something,” I said. I ran a hand through my hair, missing my cloak, missing the staff. I was losing track of all of the stability I’d gained up north. I could really use the strength of just hitting something right now. “Anyway, none of this is important.”

“What do you mean, not important? This is about my son!”

“Well, yes, we should continue to look for your son.” The tracks led around the outside of the temple, like her son had been trying to get inside and speak to a priest. Did they worship Teuthida? I didn’t recall that about Sylvia. “But I actually came by to ask you- what do you and your husband think of Voice Marcia?”

Sylvia stopped walking. She turned, folded her arms, and glared. “How many people do I have to tell this? We didn’t murder her. ”

“So, ah…”

“No,” she said, turning back to follow the tracks, “it was not… a positive relationship. But how could it be? She was always pushing for more, more money, less time on the guards, less from the law. If Marcia had her way, this would be a complete theocracy.”

Following behind Sylvia, I frowned and looked towards Apis. He shook his head, once, twice. So my thought had been right- that didn’t match anyone else’s description of her at all.

We turned the corner as I began to ask my next question.

As it turned out, I wasn’t able to. “Servius!” Lady Sylvia held out her arms.

“….Mother.” It was the same snobby boy, although this time he was soaked in mud and dripping from the fountain. He was half-submerged, and at her comment, he stepped further out, reluctant.

I looked behind the fountain, towards the door of the temple. There; under a curling stone tentacle. “Duran.”

He grinned. “Madam Elysia!” The sword was half-out of the sheath. He was smudged in mud, too. His tunic was rumpled. He was not safely in the apartment. I folded my arms.

“The Fountain of Teuthida! Someone’s- someone’s coated it in mud!” Apis said, finger shaking as he pointed it towards the smudged marble. I closed my eyes in defeat. So: another day in the service of the gods.

Andrena, did you know about my soul? If so, do you think you could give it back?