Page 83 of Between Ghosts and Gods

“You mean the sight of ghosts and a curse would offend the gods’ delicate sensibilities,” said Arun, tightly.

“Not at all.” General Shusa leaned across the table towards them. “The Celestial Empress was impressed by your exploits. In fact, that brings me to the announcement I wished to make. A banquet will be held in your honour, and then the three of you will be sent home.”

“Home?”

“Back to the under-realm.”

Arun stood up so suddenly his chair toppled to the floor behind him. “Kasu has worked hard all her life; she’s lived in accordance with the Heavenly Principles even though it’s damn hard to do in the under-realm. Would you please consider allowing her to reincarnate?”

The maids and the guards – even General Shusa – stared openly at him. Kasu gawked at him too. She had planned to ask General Shusa the same thing. She had thought she would be excited at the prospect of being reborn, but after hearing Arun say the words aloud she realized she was less thrilled about it than she had believed. Being reborn meant leaving Ruo and Arun. It meant forgetting all about them.

Everyone leaves. She did not want to be like Arun’s brothers, like his mother, just another person who had once been in his life.

“I’m surprised you dream of returning to the mortal realm. Wouldn’t you rather ascend to the heavens?” General Shusa smiled at her.

“Oh no!” cried Kasu. “It would be arrogant of me, a mere ghost, to assume I could have a place here! I would never dare to hold such impudent ambitions!”

“Not so impudent now. You’re a hero,” said the general, warmly.

“So are you. I–I mean, you’re the greatest hero in the heavens.” Kasu blushed.

The general laughed. “I thank you for your praise, though I’m sure my fellow guardian gods would have something to say about that.” He turned to Arun, who was still frowning. “You make a heartfelt argument on behalf of your friend. I will raise the matter with the Celestial Empress. For now, however…”

Ruo jumped on top of the table. “A party!”

For the rest of the day, General Shusa’s household was abuzz with preparations for the night’s celebration. Servants scurried through the estate with decorations, the kitchen fires blazed, and scribes hurriedly penned invitations in golden ink.

Kasu tried to help, but General Shusa’s servants furiously shooed her away. A pair of maids practically frogmarched her back to her room, where she was forced to try on dress after dress. Kasu had never known that the act of putting on clothes could be a topic of such heated debate. Silhouette, style, material, colour, embellishments, stitching – her maids argued and deliberated over every aspect of Kasu’s gown like two generals discussing war tactics.

By the time the servants had settled on a dress of pink silk, it was already evening and the celebrations were about to begin. In the central courtyard of General Shusa’s estate, orchids and peonies grew in abundance around every bend in the path. Plum trees in full bloom shook their pink petals onto the grass. Kasu wondered if the flowers in the heavenly realm ever withered.

The maids had set up several large tables along the grass, each covered with dishes from across the many mortal kingdoms in General Shusa’s territory. Attendants walked around handing out wine in coloured crystal glasses – red for Shusa’s guests, blue for the household staff.

After their bountiful breakfast that morning, Kasu had seen more food in the space of two days than her entire mortal life. She dearly hoped there were enough people to eat it all; she hated the idea that any of it would be thrown away.

As Kasu searched for Arun and Ruo, she noticed Orro standing near the pond, watching her. The servant was just as stern-faced as ever, despite the festivities around him. When their eyes met, he gave her an unimpressed look and turned away.

Kasu decided not to waste her time on what a single servant thought about her. She filled her plate with pieces of fruit and quickly walked away.

A large stage stood between a pair of red pavilions where several musicians were playing a variety of string instruments. The sound of music mingled with the low murmur of conversation. Most of General Shusa’s household were here – scribes and handmaidens, guards and soldiers in his army. Even the boy who tended to his celestial horses was in attendance.

There were gods from other households too. Military gods of warfare and protection. Civil gods who oversaw the administration of the heavens. There were gods of weather, gods of wealth, divine protectors of doors and deities responsible for recording the deeds of humanity. Kasu spied the other three guardian gods – all dressed in silver and gold armour – milling about the crowd. She tried not to gawk at them. She was sure such old, important gods had better things to do than talk to some ghost. Kasu did her best to stay out of their way – unlike Ruo, who she spotted cornering one of General Shusa’s scribes.

“So are you gods too?” the cat asked.

“T–technically we are humans who have been granted immortality and a place in the heavens. We have no temples of our own. Instead, we are assigned to a particular god and serve their household, and then, if we accomplish great things, we may eventually earn the title of god.” The scribe eyed Ruo as if he feared the cat would eat him if he answered wrongly.

“Then what makes a god?”

For a moment, the man’s academic interest was enough to overpower his fear. He replied with gusto. “Worship. If humans worship you, you’re a god.”

“Some humans worship demons: does that make them gods?”

The man’s face turned the colour of bruised plums. “Certainly not!”

“But why?”

The scribe had no answer, though that was likely because he was too busy choking on his own outrage.