Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [13]
“Draya!” Aylaen exclaimed, astonished.
Draya had been Kai Priestess of the Vindrasi. Aylaen had seen the woman only once, after the Vutmana, when Draya and Skylan had been wed. Treia had claimed that Draya and Skylan had conspired to murder Draya’s first husband, Horg, during the Vutmana. Which meant that Draya must be abhorred by the gods, especially Torval, for she had taken away his judgment.
“Yet you are here, Draya,” said Aylaen, startled and confused. “You have an honored place among the gods.”
“Look more closely, Daughter,” said Draya.
Aylaen looked into Draya’s eyes and saw not years, but eons. She saw the stars and the sun and the moon wheeling in the heavens. She saw the endless cycle of the tides. She saw the passing of the seasons.
“Vindrash!” Aylaen breathed, awed.
“My beloved servant, Draya, sacrificed herself that I might find refuge in her body. Thus, in this disguise, I hide from my enemies.”
“I don’t understand, Blessed Vindrash.” Aylaen blushed in confusion. “Was Draya a murderer?”
“Draya repented of her crime and she was forgiven. Her soul resides with Freilis. She is at peace.”
“And Skylan? Was he involved?”
“Skylan made mistakes. Whether or not we forgive him remains to be seen,” said Vindrash.
“I will never forgive him,” said Aylaen harshly.
Vindrash smiled gently. “In time you might forgive him. In time you might forgive yourself. But we did not bring you here to discuss that. Look around.”
Aylaen did as she was told. The other men and women seated at the table were grim and downcast and barely glanced at her, except one, who raised a mug of mulled wine in a jovial, mocking salute.
Two chairs at the table were empty. A place had been set for someone, as though the guest was expected to arrive any moment. The other chair was wreathed with flowers. A mug lay on its side, the wine spilled.
Aylaen shivered. Her gown was sodden, her hair wet with melted snow. Her teeth chattered.
She knew where she was. She was in the presence of the gods of the Vindrasi. Since she was a little girl, the gods had peopled her imagination, coming to comfort her when her father died, giving her courage when her stepfather beat her, befriending her when she was lonely.
“Torval,” said Aylaen, naming the God of War. “Vindrash,” she said, naming the dragon goddess. She looked around the table at the other gods, named them all.
Skoval, son of Torval and Vindrash, the God of Night. He was a secretive, bitter, dark-avised god, who ruled over dreams. Skoval’s love for Aylis, the Goddess of the Sun, had turned to hatred when she spurned him, and now he spent eternity chasing her. Skoval smiled at Aylaen, not with his lips, but with his eyes, as though the two shared a secret. Skoval had rebelled against his parents and been banished to darkness. Aylaen had always disliked him, but now she understood him. She felt he understood her.
Aylis of the Sun. Her fiery gaze was fixed on the two empty chairs, one of which belonged to her daughter, Desiria, who had been killed in battle with the Gods of Raj. The other empty chair belonged to another god. Aylaen wondered who was missing.
Hevis was here. God of Fire and Power, deceit and treachery, he was the son of Volindril, Goddess of Spring and Rebirth, and the Five Vektia dragons. His flames could either warm man or burn flesh from bone. Hevis was thin and dark, with sleek hair. He looked very much like Skoval, for the two were brothers. Hevis’s fire lit Skoval’s darkness. Neither one was to be trusted.
Akaria, daughter of Aylis, was goddess of the sea, and she was beautiful as calm water at sunset and lethal as the undertow that sucked men to their deaths. Beside her was Svanses, Goddess of the Wind and Winter’s Cold, daughter of Sund and Volindril, wild and unpredictable. Whenever Akaria and Svanses did battle, waves rose and ships sank, rivers flooded and men drowned.