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I step through the doorway of dark gray stone into a high-ceilinged chamber. The floor tiles are both cracked and polished.
Off to the side of the room, a devout in gray robes nods to me in welcome before resuming his current task—tossing scraps of bread and cheese onto the floor. At least a dozen small, furry bodies wriggle around him, snatching tidbits with the scrabble of tiny claws against the floor.
The rat is Kosmel’s other holy animal. Apparently this temple hosts a colony of them.
I restrain a grimace and walk to the silver statue of the godlen looming at the far end of the worship room.
This depiction of Kosmel stands only twice as tall as me, less impressive than the massive statue in the one other temple in his honor I’ve visited back in Florian. Beneath his hood, his lips are curled in a typical sly smirk.
One hand extends to beckon me closer—the other is tucked behind his back as if concealing a gambit. A silver crow perches on his left shoulder, and two rats sprawl across his feet.
One of them is a living rat rather than part of the statue, I discover when I get closer and it darts away with a squeak. I raise my eyebrows at the image of the godlen, but I can’t really complain about the company he keeps when it includes me.
Kosmel stood up for me when everyone else in my life would have had me hung for my magic. He helped me guide my power away from doing harm.
As frustrating as he can be, I have to give him credit for that.
As usual, a few dice lie scattered on the platform around the statue’s booted feet. I pick up one, so many questions whirling in my head that it’s hard to know where to start.
Let’s cut right to the core of the matter. I squeeze my fingers around the hard cube and close my eyes, thinking as loudly as I can at the godlen.
Did the gods channel their power through human beings to bring about the Great Retribution?
I open my eyes to toss the die. It rattles across the platform and lands on three.
A moderate yes. My stomach clenches.
I grasp the die again. Did channeling the power turn those people into the first riven sorcerers?
Another roll, another three. I stare at it for a moment, letting the answer sink in.
There’s my confirmation. Kosmel isn’t trying to deny it. But then, in the past he’s hinted at the damage the gods have done to people like me.
Maybe he wants me to know.
There are all sorts of other questions clamoring to be voiced, but one rises up so swiftly it overwhelms them all. I clutch the die against my palm.
Did you leave us broken like this on purpose, as punishment?
The die bounces across the platform with more force than I intended. It seems to take forever to come to a stop.
When it does, six dots gleam up at me.
The most emphatic no.
I glance up at the statue poised over me. A streak of shadow falls across the godlen’s face just for an instant, like a tear trickling down his cheek.
I blink and it’s gone, but a lump fills my throat. A prick of my own tears burns at the back of my eyes.
All this time, the recriminations, the pain, the executions—it’s all been a terrible mistake?
I snatch up the die and roll it with a thought that races through my head. Can you fix us?
I’m left gazing at another six. Fuck.
A brief pressure grazes my shoulder, as if some invisible presence is offering me a reassuring—or perhaps apologetic—pat.
The gods have so much power, but there are things beyond their reach. Cracks that can’t be sealed.
