The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [144]
She raised her arms again. Blue lightning streaked forth. One of the columns cracked and tilted.
“Stop!” Sif howled, covering his head with four hands as dust and pebbles rained down on him. “Stop this, Melindora. I do not deserve this!”
“Don’t you?” Melia held out the gold spider they had found in Orsith’s room. “I think this means you do indeed deserve this. And more.”
She reached her other hand toward a statue.
“No, Melia—wait.”
This time it was not Sif who spoke, but Falken. The bard laid his hand on Melia’s arm, gently pulling it down. She turned to glare at him.
“What are you doing, Falken? Sif murdered Orsith as well as the others, and it’s time he paid.”
“But you are wrong!” Sif wailed. “It was not me, by my web I do swear it. That spider is not mine, Melindora.”
Melia stalked toward the god. “You lie!”
“I do not! Well, at least not now. Ask him.” Sif pointed with one of his many hands to Falken. “He knows the truth—I can see it in his eyes. You all know as well as I that Ondo never let me have spiders of gold, that pompous fool. And wretched Geb hid away the gold he stole for me.”
Melia opened her mouth, but suddenly she seemed at a loss for words. She lowered her arm and stumbled back. Falken held her steady.
“So I was right,” Durge said, seemingly unfazed that this was a deity incarnate before him. Instead, it might have been an errant serving boy caught in the act of pilfering bread. “You were angry at Ondo and plotted with Geb to steal his gold.”
“Yes, I admit it!” Sif squealed, his voice reverberating throughout the temple. “I despised Ondo for his pride. Ever did he flaunt his gold. Yet I should have known Geb would betray me, and for that I hate him as well.” Sif’s many arms tangled and untangled. “But I did not murder them. I murdered no one.”
“What about the priests of Vathris in the Etherion? Durge saw your own priests sneaking about moments before the others were slain.”
“You misunderstand, Melindora. My priests had watched the discourse in secret at my command. They wished only to leave the Etherion without being seen. I know not who slew the men of the bull—only that my priests had nothing to do with it.”
Again Melia said, “You lie.” But this time it was a faint whisper.
Aryn knew the gods were beyond mortal men, that they were capable of making things seem real when they were not. She was not certain it was really Sif who was before them now. Yet all the same she knew the arachnid god was not lying.
Before she thought about what she was doing, Aryn stepped forward. She didn’t know how one was to properly address a god, so she settled for a curtsy. “Pardon me, Lord Sif. But if you did not murder the other gods, then who did?”
“You think I don’t want to know the answer to that question, you insignificant nit?” He clenched four hands into fists. “I should crush you like a fly in my web.”
Aryn stared, aghast, but before she could say more Durge stepped before her.
“God or no, you will not address a lady in such a manner.”
Sif’s beady eyes narrowed. “And who are you, speck?”
Melia moved toward the throne. “He’s my friend. As was Orsith. And if you know anything, Sif, then you’re going to tell me. Now.”
Sif drew himself up on his throne, his bulbous belly puffing outward. “You are not a goddess anymore, Melindora. I do not have to listen to you.”
“True,” she said coolly. “But I think the Etherion will. I’ll tell them that you’re hiding information about the murders. I suspect the other temples will not be pleased to hear this news. In fact, I imagine they’ll likely cast your priests out of the Etherion. Forever.”
Sif trembled on his throne, his limbs curling inward. His mouth worked but uttered no sound.
“Think of it, Sif.” Melia’s words were sharp and precise as daggers. “An eternity with no followers to worship you, no one to send prayers or light candles in your name. An eternity with nothing but your own empty webs to keep you company.”
Sif’s beady eyes bulged. “You would not dare!”
Melia placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow.
Sif