A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Zahra's waiting, arms crossed, for me to exit the bathroom.

"Not much trust, huh?" I dry my hands on my scholar robes.

She hands me a soft pair of trousers and a carmine tunic. "Those robes look ridiculous on you. We'll get robbed if you run around the temple district like a tourist."

"Tell that to Boaz." I grouch, pulling the trousers on beneath the robes, ducking behind a bookcase to drag on the tunic, as well. I shift the stolen gold coin to my tunic pocket, stuffing the scholar robes into my scroll casings.

When we pass Ode's statue on the way out the library exit, Zahra pauses to kiss the statue's feet. "Can't believe you still respect that pompous goddess. Don't you know how arrogant she is? I prayed for her to take her gift back, and she wouldn't do it." I mumble, rolling up my tunic sleeves, one hand still on the gold coin. "How can you respect someone so arrogant?"

"Don't worry, princess.I respect you too." She shoots back smoothly.

Did she just indirectly insult me?

A golem indeed.

"I used to beat golems on patrol, you know."

Zahra smiles at me, looking all benevolent from her great height. "Well, then, you haven't met me, amira. أميرة"

***

When we reach the temple district, it's a crowd full of marketplace sellers and overflowing altars. To Aziz, deity of beauty, there are offerings of perfumed scrolls, prayers for loves lost, sweet cakes and pretty lace veils. There are dances as ritual performed on the steps, slender male and female bodies, and those in-between or beyond. There are faces laden with makeup, bare of anything but natural essence.

To Cato, god of war, there are offerings of meats and heavy meals of curried rice or stacks of slaughtered firstborn animals, victory spoils. There are weapons cleaned and polished, weapons taken from triumphant battlefields. There are still some other things. Spoiled fruit and curses, believing that Cato is the god of betrayal. Of evil from his attempt at taking over Rahasia in the First Divine war.

To Kane, the god of life, there are eye amulets against evil. There are fresh vegetables and fruits, dragon fruit and dates, figs and nopal from trade abroad. Strays are welcome there. The temple priestesses and priests hand out their spare offerings to the poor and needy. There are even bowls set out for starving dogs and cats that run wild on the streets. An iron effigy of the god stands out front, smiling with skin painted obsidian, eyes fashioned of silver, hair of threaded metals. Newborns are blessed at the temple, drawn on with infant-safe pigments with the symbol of the all-seeing eye for wisdom and kindness.

And finally, Ode Ngayoh. Her temple, of course, gets an all bronze effigy too. Her armor is plated of pure gold. Her sword raised triumphantly into the air. Eyes framed in onyx and rubies, to match the blood-moon and darkness of night. Behind her, the altar's raised highest of all the gods, to account for the majority of gifts spilling off her steps. Goddess of death, prayed to so that her worshippers can live long lives. Worshipped so she'll collect their enemies. Worshipped for saving the Empire in the First Divine War. The greatest in battle, the mortal woman who outsmarted all the gods. First lady general and first victorious Champion of Rahasia. The mortal woman who was gifted with a godhood for her triumph.

I refrain from spitting in my disgust. Her statue's eyes seem to be staring at me, smirking.

Never back down from a challenge.

Am I your puppet, goddess, simply by virtue of being born? Do I not get the luxury of free will? Do I not get to decide my own fate?

I'm tired of people making decisions for me. From that stupid little boy who forced me to climb a mountain, to that evil witch doctor and Rangda.

I'm tired of being a toy for the gods to play with.

"Amira," Zahra steers me away from the crowds, into the shadow of one of the temples that's still being built. A makeshift altar of wood graces the steps, a mural of the newest goddess set in a mosaic, which isn't so much a face as a faceless goddess with blurred robes, a being constantly in motion, and constantly out of it at the same moment.

It's the temple for the goddess of time, Kaliya. Daughter of the god of life and the goddess of death. Nobody knows much about her yet. The scholars all find it quite disorienting, worshipping a deity who surpasses time itself. How does one worship something that we cannot discern? One can love, can fight, can live, can die. But how does one navigate time? Money's the most common offering, that, and a confusing amalgamation of prayers. Does one pray for more time, for less?

Religion. It's all very confusing.

"Amira," Zahra repeats, pulling my tunic's hood up. "We can't have people knowing who you are. Now, tell me what we're doing here."

"We have to find the god without a present."

She smirks at me, "well, that'll be a struggle. They all have altars that are spewing with presents, princess."

I sigh, shoulders hunched forwards. "I know."

We sit down on the steps for Kaliya's temple. Nobody quite knows what to make of the goddess of time. She hasn't stuck around in any particular moment for long enough for people to draw her. She's a young goddess, but time doesn't really work the same way for her, obviously. One, because she's a goddess. Second, because she just existsoutside time, which is under her dominion. Can she even have an age? She's only young because we just discovered her, in our slow, mortal way.

I bury my head in my hands, stifling a groan of frustration. "I wish I paid more attention to my deity teachings."

Zahra lifts my chin in her hands, pointing to Kaliya's temple.

"Present. As in, past, present, and future." She helps me to my feet, the both of us turning towards the time goddess's temple. "Maybe our answers lie here, amira."

I want to kick something. Instead, I settle for tossing the gold coin onto her confusing fusion of an altar.

Why do gods enjoy cryptic puns so much? Is it in the job description?

***

Readers,

A prophecy wouldn't be a prophecy if it didn't have a cryptic pun in it. Why would a god give the answer so easily? Too much dramatic tension there to just give up.

Best

Sophia