Song of Ashes

40: The God of Broken Things

Sarka's barefoot walk back to the temple was punctuated by sharp pebbles and more of Konn's mild, one-sided conversation. It was freeing to be rid of her old clothes; she wore the hood of her borrowed robe up to shadow her scarred face, granting herself welcome anonymity in a sea of stares.

She was like a pilgrim. Faithless thought she was, clean and clothed, she once again felt hopeful.

Broad daylight did little to beautify the Temple of Atai, which looked poor and homely even next to the unadorned facades of the twin temples it neighbored.

"Whose are those?" Sarka asked, pointing.

"Those are temples to the sister goddesses, Essara and Tarsen."

Sarka remembered their names. Tayo had mentioned them the first night she had been in Galdren. "Oh. Sickness and death."

Konn smiled. "Ah. So you are familiar with the gods of Galdren?"

"I had a brief introduction," Sarka said. She pushed open the door of the temple and stepped inside. Pulling down the hood of her robe, she shook her curls back from a face that felt raw from the scrubbing. She took a moment to examine the soles of her bare feet. They were once again dirty, but unharmed from her walk.

When Sarka straightened and looked up, she was confronted with the sight of a pair of shoulders and a neck from which the head had been roughly severed.

With a scream, Sarka stumbled back, tripping over the hem of her robe. She fell against Konn, then slumped to the floor, raising her arms in a defensive gesture.

"Sarka-"

Sarka did not look at Konn. She could not tear her eyes away from the sight of the decapitated man standing upright on two bare feet of his own. He wore a white tunic, pristine but for the blood seeping into its high collar from his neck. The head from which he had been parted dangled from his hand by a shock of raven hair. Serene blue eyes gazed at Sarka from the pale, bloodless face; the mouth curved into an obscenely pleasant smile.

"My lord, forgive her," said Konn. "She is a heathen girl and an outlander." Konn knelt beside Sarka, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"There is nothing to forgive," said the severed head in a rich voice completely at odds with its unfortunate predicament.

"That's the god? That's the god?" Sarka shook her shoulder free of Konn's steadying hand. "You couldn't have warned me he doesn't have a head?"

"On the contrary, child." The man-the god-raised the head so Sarka could see it better. "I have it. Just...well. As you see."

Without asking Konn's leave, Sarka clamped her hand onto his shoulder and used him as leverage to stand. He braced her, then stood up, too.

"Is this unfortunate creature a waif you have brought in to serve me, Konn?" asked the headless god's head.

"Yes and no, my lord. I have offered her shelter-at least temporarily. If she chooses to stay, I thought she could help around the temple while I apply myself to transcribing your God-Song, if it please you."

"It well pleases me, if she is willing. Whence come you, girl, that you have not heard of Atai, the God Who Carries His Head?"

"From Kogoren," Sarka replied in half a voice. She couldn't determine where she should be looking: at the head, or at the stump of a neck? She glanced from one to another in confusion, just beginning to recover her wits.

"Ah." Atai's eyes, suspended at the height of Sarka's hip, turned to Konn. "It seems we have made quite a home here for wayward children of the Ash Mother."

"Indeed, and we are grateful for our place in your temple," Konn said. "Sarka's circumstances are somewhat different from mine, but she does seek refuge. I hope it will not cause you any trouble with the Lady Kogoren."

"I do not expect it. Kogoren has not passed among the Divine in the Opal Realm for years. She keeps to her palace and scorns all company except that of a few servants. If she is angry that one of her daughters sought refuge with me, it is a dispute I welcome. We gods of Galdren stood against her once, and I, at least, would again."

Sarka, bewildered, fought the feelings to which his words had given rise: trust, gratitude. She did not know what he meant when he said that the gods of Galdren had stood against Kogoren, but there was a sureness in his manner and a warmth in his face that set her at her ease for the first time in a very long time.

"Be welcome," said Atai. "I hope to know you better, Sarka, but if you will excuse me, I must attend to my people." Atai turned from them. Sarka noticed now that they weren't alone in the temple; a few folk had assembled to pray. Atai chose a seat next to a praying woman, casually rested his head in his lap, and turned to talk to her, his manner intimate and warm.

"It seems your introduction to the gods of Galdren was not very thorough," Konn observed with dry humor.

Sarka scowled at him. "You did nothing to prepare me!"

"I am sorry, Sarka. If I'm honest, I didn't think to prepare you. Come...we're disturbing folk at their prayer."

Sarka followed Konn through the tiny temple toward his living quarters, giving the headless god a wide berth.