I was the one that found her. I, and the Dayfather (HR), who was there beside her body when I opened the door.
I fell to my knees, of course, and mumbled something about being honored by His presence. But in truth? My eyes were only for my mother, who lay sprawled on the floor where I had last seen her. The white sphere was shattered beside her, and in her hands was something gray and glimmering. There was sorrow in Lord Itempas’s eyes when He touched my mother’s face to shut her eyes. I was glad to see that sorrow, because it meant my mother had achieved her fondest wish: pleasing her lord.
“My true one,” He said. “All the others have betrayed me, save you.”
Only later did I learn what He meant—that Lady Enefa (HR) and Lord Nahadoth (HR) had turned on Him, along with hundreds of their immortal children. Only later did Lord Itempas bring me His war prisoners, fallen gods in invisible chains, and tell me to use them to put the world to rights. It was too much for Bentr, my brother; we found him that night in the cistern chamber, his wrists slit in a barrel of wash water. There was only me to bear witness, and later to bear the burden, and right then to weep, because even if a god did honor my mother, what good did that do? She was still dead.
And that is how the High Priestess of the Bright, Shahar Arameri, passed on.
For you, Mother. I will live on, I will do as Our Lord commands, I will remake the world. I will find some husband strong enough to help me shoulder the burden, and I will raise my children to be hard and cold and ruthless, like you. That is the legacy you wanted, isn’t it? In Our Lord’s name, it shall be yours.
Gods help us all.
Acknowledgments
So many people to thank, so little space.
Foremost thanks go to my father, who was my first editor and writing coach. I’m really sorry I made you read all that crap I wrote when I was fifteen, Dad. Hopefully this book will make up for it.
Also equal thanks to the writing incubators that have nurtured me over the years: the Viable Paradise workshop, the Speculative Literature Foundation, the Carl Brandon Society, [http://www.Critters.org] Critters.org, the BRAWLers of Boston, Black Beans, The Secret Cabal, and Altered Fluid. Never thought I’d get this far, and I wouldn’t have done it without all of you to kick me into action. (The bruises are fading nicely, thanks.)
Then to Lucienne Diver, the hardest-working agent in all the land. You believed in me; thanks. Also to Devi Pillai, my editor, who totally floored me with the realization that editors could be fun, funny people, eviscerating manuscripts with a wink and a smile. Thanks for that, and for picking such a great title.
And last but by no means least: thanks to my mother (hi, Mom!), my BFFs Deirdre and Katchan, and all the members of the old TU crew. To the staff and students of the universities I’ve worked at over the years; day jobs really shouldn’t be so much fun. Posthumous thanks to Octavia Butler, for going first and showing the rest of us how it’s done. And I always give thanks to God, for instilling the love of creation in me.
I suppose I should also thank my roommate NukuNuku, who encouraged me with headbutts, swats to the face, fur in my keyboard, incessant distracting yowls, and… um… wait, why am I thanking her again? Never mind.