Jay Lake - Endurance

“As may b-be.” The priest turned to his fellows. “She is exempt from our practices.”

“We will not challenge,” muttered one of them.

“And I will not challenge you,” I replied. “But where shall I approach the god? I have been down in his basements before, and do not long for another visit.”

“Best you stand before our altar at the back of this hall.”

“I will not be taken up,” I warned him.

The Pater Primus’ voice was pained. “No one here would be foolish enough to try to make a sacrifice of you, Mistress.”

Not now, at any rate.

I took that as all the permission I needed, and pushed past them toward the god’s fane.

Much of my prior experience here had been confused or worse. I’d passed through this temple twice, for different reasons, but never by simply walking in the front door and looking around. Once through the basements and once by dropping in from the roof. As I walked among the narrow pillars toward the recessed sanctuary at the back of the great hall, I wondered what kind of god abided without worshippers. There were no benches or pews, no prayer rugs, no stalls.

Just empty, silent space draped in deepest shadow.

Except, of course, Blackblood was a pain god. He had worshippers everywhere, in every moment. He didn’t need them to gather together and sing praises.

At the rear of the great hall three doorways granted access to the altar in the next room. I had no notion of the ritual use of each, and the priests were so frightened of me that there seemed little point in asking them. I strode through the central door and stood before the altar.

In a room of grave dust and death shadows, a slab of black marble drank up what little light there was. A table, really, made of a stony darkness. Here the suffering was taken up from the most desperate of Blackblood’s appellants. Behind the table rose a carved wooden screen that appeared to be ebony, as best I could judge. Above them both loomed an empty throne with shackles at the arms and pediment, as if to bind the god close. Restraint in devotion?

For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder what price the pain god paid for his role in the lives of his followers. Did taking the pain up cost him pain of his own? Was that sort of balance required of all gods? The Lily Goddess had been worshipped through prayer, song, observance-all the trappings of a service-but mostly through the dedication of the lives of hundreds of women. Blackblood was worshipped through the dedication of the suffering of boys and men.

Women were not so welcome in this temple. Not even me.

“I am here.” My voice fell flat, curiously without echo. The darkness seemed ready to grow teeth and devour me. I stood firm. “You asked and I came. Do not expect such consideration routinely.”

Something large and invisible moved nearby. Skinless, I devoutly hoped. The avatar in its dim way had proven to count me as a friend. Were it some other servant of the god, I would have to give in to the gibbering fear that did not threaten me at all. Not one bit.

“There are no women like you.” The voice was smooth and rich as heartsblood.

The god was upon his seat, had always been there, I realized, only my poor eyes had failed to see him before this moment. Where the manifestation I’d last witnessed had been a pudgy child on the point of petulance, now Blackblood appeared as a languid youth. Dissolute, louche, dangerous in his detached passions. Even so, power shone through. The chains that bound him to the chair did not seem fit to hold him back.

Still, I faced him. It was not courage I summoned, but foolishness, and the worn edge of familiarity. My words were brave, nonetheless-always that has been my strength and downfall. “Whereas gods such as you might be found in every city of the world.”

“You have no concept.” The hopeless despair of centuries threatened in his tone.

I peered closely at his face. Blackblood’s expression seemed a study in indifference. At the least, I had expected the god to be angry with me, given my dealings with his late priesthood.

“There are many things I have no concept of,” I told him. I was much better at arguing than at obeisance. “You surprise me.” Nohow would I call him lord. “I might have thought to meet more anger from you.”

“If I were capable of gratitude, I might have shown you that.” His face remained eerily slack.

I spoke with a puppet, I realized. The body before me was not Blackblood, any more than the statue of the ox was Endurance. I knew what it was to be close to a god. Standing before divine regard was like standing before a racing tide. It was possible-with luck, strength, and some good bracing. But the struggle was never simple, and always bordered on the fatally overwhelming.

“What keeps your attention from me?” I asked, going on the attack.

This time Blackblood’s focus did sweep to me, and I regretted the question. Those eyes opened wide, to become dark, swirling pools. That languid face transformed into a cruel, predatory leer. Weeping sores and suppurating wounds chased themselves across his body like roaches in a filthy kitchen.

When he spoke again, his voice was the hollow, rust-showered tolling of neglected iron bells. “You bear my child.”

Calling on both the Lily Goddess and Endurance, I braced myself from dropping to my knees. His aspect was unfolding to push me down. Still, I continued to pretend to bravery. “So you have claimed.”

“You will bear me a son, and he will be presented unto me.”

“ No! ” I shouted, unthinking. “My daughter will not be stolen away.”

His next words echoed like a dropped iron kettle. “You will have no choice.” The laughter that followed threatened to flense me.

I faced him with murder in my eye. No one threatened to steal my baby. No one, in no way, ever. I might not be able to stop the child selling in Kalimpura, but by all the gods I could keep it from starting here in Copper Downs. Looking back, I realize now how blind I was to what was so clearly to come. Only my youth and my anger can excuse the foolishness that came next.

“I will not pimp my own daughter for you,” I screamed into the continuing storm of his laughter. Then I was alone in the little room.

That utter bastard of a god. He had all but threatened me. Skinless might be a friend of sorts, if I were lucky, but his master had just set a course that promised ill will between us. I wished Blackblood every plague the divine could endure, then stalked back through the temple. The new Pater Primus stood near the scrying pool, but retreated after one glance in my direction.

It was nice to have someone’s respect.

Blinking back tears of rage, I returned to the street. I was sick of sunlight and people and crowds and simply being looked at. I heartily desired to head to the quiet of Below. That was a place of dubious safety, but the threats there were ancient and indifferent to me personally. Even Below, I could not hope to evade Skinless, but at least the human servants of Blackblood would be hard-pressed to follow me there.

I sought out an entry point. The Prince of the City’s embassy could not reach me there. Neither could the Interim Council. All I had to worry about were the ghosts and avatars that always haunted the lower reaches of this city.

Once I was safely out of the cold sunlight amid the dank stone and moldering air of Below, I found my mind settling. Blackblood could not take my child. Though I was certain she was a daughter, that did not matter. Boy or girl, the baby was mine. I had been afraid of returning to Kalimpura for the sake of not losing her, but now Copper Downs might prove as unsafe.

One stolen childhood in a lifetime was enough for me.