Ember’s face falls, “I don’t know if I’d want to tell her that, just yet. She’s… just now dealing with what’s happened to her family. Gethin told me what she said, and it was… horrific.”
“Pain practically radiates from her at any mention of them,” the Goddess sighs, “I haven’t wanted to ask her about it, just yet. If she’s told Gethin, then fetch him.” Ember opens the door, “Ulwin, go and fetch Father Gethin for me. I need to confer with him on some staff rotations.”
Grumbling, Ulwin goes, and a few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. Positioning herself where she won’t be seen, she signals for Ember. “Send him in,” Ember calls. Ulwin opens the door and tries to peek around, but Gethin moves him aside with his cane before entering and shutting the door. With a quick wave of his cane, a shimmering barrier seals the wall.
“Your secretary,” Gethin frowns, “is entirely too inquisitive about our girl.”
“I’ve already made arrangements to transfer him out at Mid-Winter,” Ember shrugs, “so we’ll have to put up with him for a bit longer.”
“What is so urgent?” Gethin asks.
Stepping out from behind the coat rack, the Goddess sighs, “It’s about the girl. Tell me how badly things went for her family. I’ve some news of her other companions and I’m trying to decide if I should tell her or not.”
Gethin recounts what she told him of the scene at the keep. Her family and all the retainers are dead. Many of them were abused before being murdered. The heads stacked on the altars, the whole of it. “Judging by the crowds that I saw in Lugh’s Hall,” the Goddess frowns, “I’d say that she may have understated the devastation of your people. There were throngs of them there, and more waiting to get in. I think I'll keep this news from her for a bit longer. We think we have found her three other companions. They were trapped in soul stones and were being used by a necromancer to power enchantments. There’s not much left of two of them – so little in fact that we’re not sure which one is her companion Neit, and which one is Midir. We’re not entirely certain that it is them. These stones may hold the souls of others who had a strong attachment to our girl. Because of the level of attachment to her, we strongly suspect that it is them, even though there’s not enough left of them for them even to tell us their names. We’re reasonably certain that Cian is in the third one. It seems that all the Renunciates have found favor with Lugh, Nuada, and Neit, so those three are trying to regenerate the souls trapped in these stones. It remains to be seen if it will be successful or if they’ll be the same men our girl knew once it's done. In any event, the process won’t be completed in a single mortal lifetime.”
“I would advise against telling her all this just now,” Gethin says slowly, “She’s still grieving over her family and quite traumatized by the whole ordeal. She knows that they’re dead and she’s grieving for them as well. I wouldn’t go poking at that just yet. She’s been handed more than anyone should have to bear. Giving her hope that could be snatched away would be unkind, at best. You should tell her, but I suggest waiting until you’re more certain of who they are and that success is even possible. She didn’t say it because I’m Cymry, so she knew I’d understand without her having to explain it, but when she made the pact with those boys, it was essentially a suicide pact. They, who were godless, were hunting a god. They knew that they’d die and still…” Gethin’s voice breaks, “She’ll have a massive burden of guilt because she still lives, and they do not."
“That explains something that one of her companions said to her,” the Goddess muses, “I had wondered why he made her swear to live.”
“Can you show me?” Gethin asks, “There may be more there than you realize.” Nodding, the Goddess replays the entire conversation from the moment she arrived in Emlyn’s room with Dian and Gwladus in tow, and her conversation with both men.
Shaken, Gethin struggles to find the words, “He made her swear by the ancient customs that she would try to live. I suspect that this has something to do with the pact that they made. The phrase she used, ‘Rwy'n ei dyngu,’ has a formal meaning among us. It’s not just a promise, but a sworn and binding oath. A simple promise is ‘Rwy'n addo’.”
“So that’s why he accepted it so easily,” the Goddess nods, “I had wondered. His concern for her seemed to evaporate once she said that.”
“She also feels guilty about her people,” Gethin adds, “She and her friends killed at least one hundred thousand soldiers, and those soldiers would have gone a long way towards Cymry holding its borders. They might even have been enough to buy enough time for the Cymry to recover.”
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Ember looks skeptical, but Gethin plows on, “Do the math, man. Add up the numbers. There were thirty thousand of them at Lake Nwdir, and only a few dozen survived. There were at least another sixty thousand, if not more, at the Valley of the Statues. None of them survived. That’s nearly my total there, and it’s only two of their battles. There were other battles, like Tir Diffaith, not to mention their supply raids and general harassment. Their raids and harassment of the supply caravans could easily have accounted for a few thousand more. So, you can give me those looks all you like, Ember, but I put The Renunciates’ total at two full Awsts or somewhere very close to half the entire fighting force of the Cymry. Now tell me again why she shouldn’t feel guilt over seeing her people destroyed.”
“Now I see why she says they won the battle, but lost the war,” the Goddess murmurs, and Gethin nods.
“Another thing you might not be aware of is the phrase that she used, calling it the bitterest drink of all. The specific wording that she used, ‘ddiod chwerwaf oll’, is another term for the executioner’s poison. She feels personally responsible for the ending of her people, that she is their executioner,” Gethin explains, “Our language is expressive and can be layered with nuance and multiple meanings. She’s using that to communicate with her friends in ways that anyone eavesdropping on them wouldn’t understand. I’m certain that I’m only catching the more obvious parts and that those simple conversations were far more complex than anyone else would ever know.”
“I know that her friends weren’t willing to talk to me until I gave them her message,” the Goddess explains, “I assumed, bland as it seemed, that something in it identified her as the origin. Now though… Perhaps there was more there than I thought.”
“That is likely true,” Gethin concedes, “but she is going to need help dealing with all this, and I don’t know of anyone who can guide her through this. While no one else may judge her guilty, this is about how she judges herself.”
“She is shouldering up things that aren’t hers to carry,” the Goddess replies, “I will do my best to help her see that. I’m certain that Lugh would tell her the same. Mother Danu, help me, but I think I am going to join the others in referring to him as ‘that asshat’. That asshat did this to her and her people. What kind of a moronic god slaughters all his worshipers? I don’t condone it, but I do understand why some gods might require the occasional sacrifice. This wasn’t even a sacrifice. It was just wanton destruction. He’d have almost no worshipers left, and given his history, I can’t see anyone converting willingly. Without worship, we fade.”
“She did say he was insane,” Gethin points out, “unless he planned to herd them all into his afterlife and force them to worship him there.
The Goddess goes stock still as she considers this for a moment. “It seems I have an afterlife to raid,” Morrighu says resolutely and winks out. Morrighu appears outside Neit’s abode and, treading carefully, approaches the door, which opens for her as she approaches it.
Neit is sitting at a desk and appears to be carving something, but she can’t quite tell what it is. He raises an eyebrow at her, “You’re becoming a frequent visitor. Best be careful or the others will start a rumor.”
Snorting, she waves him off, “Get your gear. We’re going to raid an afterlife. That asshat… One of my priests thinks that he did this on purpose so that he could lock them away and force them to worship him forever.”
“If that’s the case,” Neit grimaces, “that jackass could return.”
“We’ll have to get at least some of the others,” Morrighu shrugs, “but we’re going to bust that thing open and give those poor souls a proper afterlife. I won’t have him coming back. He’s done quite enough.”
“No one, except maybe Elphame, really wants him to come back. He was pretty hard to take, towards the end. Lugh will support you. If Lugh does, Lir will probably do the same. Midirr and Dagda may need some convincing. Dagda has assumed most of that jackass’s portfolio so he might feel entitled to the worshipers. Danu and Nuada may want to remain neutral, or they might side with you. I don’t think they’ll try to stop us. I wouldn’t mention any of this to Aed until it's already done. He might tell Elphame since she sends a lot of worshipers to him.”
“Let’s go get Lugh and Lir then,” Morrighu says, “Then we can approach Dagda. At least Dagda knows how to fight. Midirr, though… I’m not sure how much good a god of love and poetry will be, but if the rest of us are going, he’ll want to tag along too. I don’t want to listen to him pouting about being left out later, so we’ll round him up last. Then we can go brace Nuada and Danu with everyone behind us.”
Nodding, Neit grabs Morrighu’s hand, and they’re standing outside the Hall of Judgement. One of the Guardians bows, “How may we serve you, great ones?”
“We need to see Lugh,” Neit says.
“Rather urgently,” Morrighu adds.
“I will go and tell him,” the Guardian replies, bowing. With a hand signal, another Guardian appears, and the throng of tattooed souls waiting to be judged swirls around them.
One of the souls nudges another, pointing to Morrighu, and approaches cautiously, “We heard that the Renunciates took service with you. Is that true?”
“One of them has,” Morrighu says, “And two others who died godless have accepted me.”
“In that case,” the figure kneels, “I repudiate Rigan and accept you also. I don’t know what he has planned for us, but I want no part of it.”
Others among the waiting throng also drop to their knees and repeat the same sentiment.
“One has accepted me,” Neit adds, “and another has accepted Lugh and the last has accepted Nuada.”
More drop to their knees repudiating Rigan in favor of Lugh, Neit, and Nuada.
In the middle of this, Lugh comes racing out of his hall, “What is the meaning of this?”
“We came to see you,” Neit says, “about rescuing the souls in that jackass’s afterlife and stumbled into a mass conversion.”
Grimacing, Morrighu explains, “That asshat wanted to force their entire people into his afterlife so that he could force them to worship him for eternity.”
“Hmm… He’s planning to return,” Lugh growls, “Not while I have anything to say about it. Let’s get Lir. I assume that’s where you’re headed next.”
“You can continue to convert,” Morrighu advises the crowd as they fade, “Almost any god would likely be preferable to the one who sent all of you here.”