Echoes From Dust
by L. S. Popovich
| Table of Contents | Glossary |
Chapter 48: Memories
Seeing Izzie’s beast-form, even for a moment, made Riku tremble. The pain it had caused her still stung. Shuddering, Izzie resumed her ordinary size and shape at the foot of the shrine. The stone pathway was littered with swirling eddies of paper and cloth scraps. Minuscule, faded messages churned in the trapped stream of air currents at the center of Dust.
“Prayers, written by pilgrims,” Izzie whispered, indicating the tattered notes fluttering amid the frayed ropes and ceremonial urns that swarmed the smooth, red gateposts. Gentle light glinted off Riku’s hands. Thunderheads rushed through the sky like frightened cattle.
The god inside Riku hummed with serenity, like an undertone beneath her stirred emotions. Riku was thankful for it at a time when she could have easily panicked. She glanced at Izzie, who wore an uncharacteristic nervous look.
“I wonder if my memories are written here somewhere,” Izzie said.
They descended several stone steps toward the shrine’s remains. Warm wind whipped at them. The sky was cut by a stream of color, reflective like a rippling quicksilver pool or the surface of a mirror.
Glancing into its deceptive depth, Riku glimpsed a foreign landscape: a horizon with mountains like colossal castles composed of purple mist.
“Riku, are you okay?” Izzie asked.
The words echoed dimly inside her head. Tears began flowing from her eyes. Unbidden memories recurred in her mind. The trials, her childhood, and the journeys she’d undergone. The wavering seam in the sky appeared to be the source of the ceaseless storm. Staring into it had triggered powerful visions from the past.
“There’s not much time,” Izzie said, dragging Riku forward by the hand. “The gatepost must be a relic, linked to the Celestial Plane.”
A humanoid creature startled Riku out of her amazement. It was sitting on a stone bench, kicking sandaled feet.
“Gotenba?” Izzie called to the imp. “What are you doing here?”
Riku’s god stirred uneasily, like thick smoke suddenly expanding within her. Gotenba had an ethereal quality, but was the only other living thing in sight.
Gotenba stood to join them leisurely. “Memories are a tricky thing,” he said.
“What?” Izzie glared. “Is this your shrine? Are you the god of memories?”
Gotenba bowed humbly.
“Why are there so many grotto-le here?” Izzie asked.
“The grotto-le, when they enter this world, are distorted. Not all gods can bridge the gap in their true form, like yours truly. This place still maintains a connection.”
“The grotto-le are gods?” Riku asked.
“All creatures Omi creates are gods. Your definition of the term ‘god’ leads to many misunderstandings. It’s not necessary to distinguish between what you call spirits, gods, souls and grotto-le. Of course, certain gods are more powerful, influential and older than others, but they are all part of the same thing.”
Izzie considered his words: distorted grotto-le and the relationship between their world and her own. “Gotenba, if Omi creates the grotto-le, am I supposed to destroy them?”
“Omi chose you for a reason. But communication between you two has always been a problem. And your connection to her is not what it used to be. But you have always shared her capacity to shift the balance of the world.”
“Why don’t you restore my memories, then?”
“I never asked to be god of memories,” Gotenba sighed. “It would have been more interesting to be god of storms... Or god of the sea, like Riku’s.”
Gotenba smiled at Riku, who trembled. She had not known what god she had within her. Remera typically revealed it during the ceremonies they had forgone. Images of the vanished seas crossed her mind. In the land of the gods, she surmised, the sea must have been a thing of great power and beauty, still alive and well.
Izzie’s fury rose, but she contained it. “Whose side are you on, anyway? My mother and father hid the truth from me. And Omi won’t speak to me.”
Gotenba’s shiny forehead clenched into a mass of wrinkles. “Humans are not the only ones who forget, who deceive each other and bury history. The gods are guilty of it, too. In a way, memories are storms, constantly raging inside us. Memories have a way of rearranging everything in your head. Memories can pollute the mind. They can drive you mad! What you seek, Izzalia, cannot be freely restored; it must be rediscovered. Perhaps your parents understand this.”
“So we came here for nothing?” Riku asked. Her attention was drawn by the shifting panorama above her. Peering into the Celestial Plane made the journey worthwhile to her, she thought. She could stare forever at the shifting scenes pouring from that tear in the sky. The realm of the gods had never taken on such reality for her, and Izzie’s frustrations did not move her in the face of all she saw.
“All the memories I protect could be held in the palm of your hand,” Gotenba said. “Smaller than grains of sand.”
Izzie fumed. “I came all this way to decide what to do. Should I accept the world the way it is or fight against what my mother built? I need to know what she did to me, and why she remade the world. Please Gotenba, there has to be a way to restore a balance with the gods.”
“Learning the past won’t make your decision easier.”
Riku stepped forward and added, “You can’t bring back the dead.” Izzie had begun to trust her, she felt, and the time had come to make decisions.
Tears flowed from Izzie’s eyes. “I know I can’t undo what I’ve done.”
“The High Priestess will be here soon,” Gotenba said. “And the storm of change approaches.” He pointed to the menacing clouds pouring through the rift above them.
“How did she know I’d be here?”
“The High Priestess knew the forest god would eventually lead you here.”
“Forest god? You mean Virgil? He didn’t bring me here to restore my memories?”
“The messages of the gods often go astray. They pass like the distorted grotto-le into the chaos of your scattered minds. Even so, you can hear one thing and do another. At best, you can be only fickle students of the gods, willful students. It’s up to you to use what the gods have given you.” He looked at Izzie and Riku in turn. “When so many people cease to have faith in them, they become little more than shadows at the back of the mind. But think what great power they have.”
Izzie clasped Riku by the shoulders. The priestess kneeled down, wiping the tears from her eyes and stared levelly at her. “I’ve never made decisions on my own, Riku. I don’t know if I can trust myself fully.”
“That may have been true in the past,” Riku said, steeling herself, “but you came here against the Council, didn’t you? So what if they are coming here to get you? You can escape again.”
Izzie nodded. “But should I? And what about you?”
Riku thought for a moment. They had learned one thing of importance: Virgil’s god was the god of the forest, and he was probably Izzie’s father. “Virgil told you he’d meet you in Mitchlum, didn’t he? Maybe that is where you will choose your future.”
“Gotenba,” Izzie said, standing, “what does the forest god intend to do?”
“That should be obvious.” Gotenba returned to his stone bench and began to fade into a gust of wind, flowing with flower petals. “He is the god of the forest, after all.”
“What does he mean?” Riku asked.
“I get it now. Remera and Virgil are working toward opposite purposes. That’s what he meant when he said they had history.”
“He’s trying to destroy the Council?”
“I’ve long suspected it,” Izzie replied. “But not just the Council. The Fjord itself can be reversed.”
Copyright © 2019 by L. S. Popovich
