The Rise of the Goddess

01 | IMARU

The thunderous downpour ended, abrupt. In its wake, a rush of rich, rain-cleansed air. The quiet ripple of potted bamboo. A shear of silence. The plaintive cry of a night heron, far-off. Thoth picked up his wine, left the chaos of his desk and pushed past the silken hangings separating his apartment from the terrace. Barefoot, he went to its edge, skirting the pots overflowing with geraniums, their soft leaves laden with water droplets.

He sipped his wine, once more turning over Istara's request to create a sanctuary for the gods when none of his powers remained. Her words, said so quiet almost a month earlier, still kept him awake at night: We cannot remain in Imaru. We must find a location separate from the kingdoms where we can gather allies and prepare to face our enemy. There must be a way you can grant us the protection we need.

A warm breeze slid past, languid and damp. Below his apartment, the golden lights of the city of Imaru skirted the shore of a vast lake. The clouds parted. Two crescent moons hovered just over the horizon—one pink, one white, both breathtaking. Across the lake's dark surface, the moons' light danced and shimmered, a starry canopy to match the profusion of glittering lights spanning the heavens.

A sweet, earthy scent swept over the terrace. Thoth inhaled, deep, savoring the fresh air denied to him after almost two years of captivity, buried deep beneath the Etemen'anki of Babylon—the enormous stepped pyramid Thoth's presence had destroyed, along with half of Istara's world. If Istara and Baalat's sacrifice hadn't ensured his escape through the portal at Surru to Elati—the world he now called home—nothing would have been left of Istara's world on the other side of the portal's ephemeral, churning wall.

Surru. His greatest achievement. A portal which traversed the distance between two universes. The amount of energy it had taken to power it up had been immense, had required the building of—

He caught his breath.

Of course. It was so simple.

He turned and hurried back to his desk, uncaring of the wine sloshing over the rim of his cup and onto his hand. The answer he had been seeking for weeks had come in the blink of an eye. How had he not thought of it before? Surru held the answer. It always had. But—his hands stilled against his notes—Surru led to not one but two worlds, neither of them safe. He sank onto his chair. When he last traversed Surru from Elati to Istara's world how long had he had before her world robbed him of his powers as a god and rendered him mortal? Hours, at most.

But they would still be there—the pyramids he had created in the long distant past, their cores once used to power up the portals, later modified to protect themselves from destruction—he had given up a fair portion of his own light to ensure they would never fail. They would have stood against the worst of the unraveling in Egypt while the rest of the world succumbed, torn apart by his presence. They had also granted an unexpected barrier against Marduk's devices, although he had discovered that advantage far too late. He would not make the same mistake twice.

Could it be done in time? A trip to Istara's world, all the way to Egypt and back? He exhaled. Of course not. He was mad to even consider it. It was too far and would take too long, even with a fast ship—and what of the instability he would bring back to her world? No. He had no choice. He would have to return to the parallel world he and Arinna had fled, the one still caught in the other Marduk's brutal grip.

Thoth sighed, so many worlds, so many outcomes, yet all with one constant—Marduk and the endless worlds-spanning war to overcome him. A fight which, right now, the gods were losing as one kingdom of Elati after another pledged allegiance to Marduk, their unwilling submission forced upon them by the brutality of the god of war, no longer Horus, but another, the once-commander of Egypt, Sethi, Istara's consort.

Thoth dried his wine-soaked hand against his kilt, his usual pleasure at considering the complex abandoning him. From among the piles of pages and scrolls, a map protruded. He pulled it out and followed the familiar lines and contours of the world he had fled with Arinna more than two years before. His gaze came to rest on the delta of Egypt, long made into a barren wasteland, its boundaries guarded by Marduk's malevolent, patrolling devices.

Beyond the open doors of the terrace, a white star fell from the heavens. Thoth eyed its descent, grim, thinking of the price three of the gods from his world had paid to free the others from Marduk's tyranny. In a final, desperate act, they had evaded the patrols and entered the hearts of the pyramids where, as one, they had sacrificed their light to the pyramids' cores in the hopes of increasing the radius of the pyramids' defenses. It had worked. Their combined energies had, for a brief time, forced Marduk to flee to the heavens, his devices and weapons useless to him while the others escaped.

A red star slid from the sky's indigo canopy, followed by another, haloed in a brilliant blue. Thoth's heart clenched. Remorse, raw and jagged, cut deep. His portals had caused more harm than he could ever have anticipated. He looked down into his cup, morose. The trio of gods from his pantheon who had sacrificed their light would have suffered unimaginable anguish. The cores would have burned them from the inside out. Though the gods of Istara's world had lived on, the gods of his world—Teshub, Horus, and Baalat—were gone. Obliterated.

His grip tightened on his cup. No. Their sacrifice would not be for nothing. If the survivors in Elati from his and Istara's worlds were to have any chance against Marduk, Thoth needed the cores. With them he could construct the pyramids again and grant the gods an impenetrable refuge from Marduk. He might have gained immortality by traversing the portal with Istara, but his godly powers—just like Teshub's and Arinna's—were long gone. He would never be able to make such powerful artifacts again.

A rustle of material. He looked up.

"Lady Istara." He rose. "I did not hear you come in."

"You were deep in thought," Istara said. Her golden eyes met his, shrouded with grief. "I did not wish to disturb you."

Thoth moved around his desk and took her hands in his. "I might have a plan."

The stars in her hair brightened, a shear of hope against her sorrow.

"I have to go back," he said.

"Back?" Istara's brow furrowed. "Where?"

"To the world Arinna and I left. I must retrieve artifacts of great power which could save us all."

"A dangerous decision," Istara murmured. "The enemy of your world still controls it. If he finds you, he will enslave you again."

Thoth smiled, dry. "Then I had best ensure I am not found." A cool wind sliced through the apartment. The silken hangings of the terrace billowed inward. A profusion of geranium petals skidded across the damp terrace. "However, I cannot go alone since I am no longer a god—the portal will not open for me."

Istara's grip tightened against his fingers. "I will come with you."

"As will I."

An immortal, his powerful body clad in a gold-gilt leather tunic and kilt stepped from the shadows of the doorway. A pair of Marduk's appropriated weapons hung from his belt. From over his shoulders, two more of the once-god of Babylon's stolen weapons reared up.

Thoth met Urhi-Teshub's eyes and nodded. "Tomorrow then," he said, "we will leave for Surru at dawn. May the Creator—"

A scream split the skies. Marduk's warship sundered the night's canopy with blue fire. Thoth eyed it, bleak. It was the first time he had seen it since their arrival. He had heard Marduk's reach was growing. The god of war would be seeking out new kingdoms to conquer, while Marduk remained with his consort, Meresamun, in a location still unknown.

Istara pressed her hand against her heart, her eyes fixed on the ship, her longing for the one within tangible. "My love," she whispered, "I beg you. Fight this. Fight him. Come back to me."

Her hand fell to her side. Desolate, she met Thoth's look and shook her head. The ship ascended into the stars. A burst of blue and it was gone. In the silence of its wake, the broken cry of a goddess.