Idol of Glass by Jane Kindred Page B

longing had been for Ahr. A longing so great it had burned within his corpse, sparking the spontaneous combustion that had been Ra’s renaissance. But it had also burned away Ra’s memory, leaving her empty when she arrived in the new-fallen snow of Haethfalt—the distant highland hideaway where Ahr had fled memories of his own. Unconsciously, she’d remade herself in Ahr’s image, as if coming back a woman could make Ahr understand her at last.
    That understanding, now, was never to be. Ra had seen to that.
    Beneath her, Shiva’s bed of heather withered and died, its mistress no longer near enough for her will to maintain it. Where had she gone? In the life before, MeerShiva had been the terrifying, distant mother to the young god, Ra. But this Shiva seemed someone else, no connection to that cold, malevolent presence that had dominated his childhood. It was Ra, of course, who was someone else. In this life, she’d given birth to herself. Shiva was no longer Ra’s mother. But she’d become important, a lifeline in the empty sea of Ra’s existence.
    They were connected now in the strain of madness Shiva had given Ra with her own blood, connected in the vengeance they’d visited together upon Jak’s tormenter. Ra could no longer conceive of existence without Shiva. Shiva was the only one who could understand her, who could truly know her, the only other Meer in existence.
    Something about this nagged at Ra, something—or someone—she was forgetting, but her thoughts were growing muddled. Only Shiva was important. Without Shiva, Ra was nothing, shriveling and dying like the forgotten heather.
    How long Ra lay alone in the abandoned tower, she couldn’t be certain, but this punishment had at last exceeded even the endurance of the Meer. With nothing left in her to weep, she rested her cheek against the dried weeds, dehydrated and near delirium, and whispered Shiva’s name. Shivashivashiva —it became a soft breeze, and Ra forgot the meaning of it and drifted away.
    â€œMeerRa.”The silken voice accompanied silken arms lifting her. Shiva had come for her. Ra’s mouth still moved with the repeated name, though her own voice had failed her. “Madness, MeerRa, like anything else, can be shaped by will. You had a choice in exercising its manifestation.” Shiva released Ra’s bonds as she spoke. “A lesson I learned far too late and for which I paid dearly.”
    Ra tried to put her arms around the unbearable object of her comfort, but her limbs were no longer in her control. Without speaking, Shiva conjured away the shreds of Ra’s garments, washing her cuts with something cool and soothing, and covered her in a silken sheet that smelled of lavender. Water trickled between Ra’s lips, delivered from Shiva’s own mouth, and Shiva slowly revived her.
    Her head against the once-more fragrant ground, Ra opened her eyes at last when Shiva moved away from her, fearing the Meer had left her again. “MeerShiva,” she managed, too weak to raise her head, but Shiva was only sitting beside her. “It isn’t enough.”
    â€œOf course not,” said Shiva. “But it’s all you can bear.” Now dressed in a more customary garment of pale green, her hair free from its restraints, Shiva reclined, propped on one elbow, regarding Ra with curiosity. “You’re pleased to see me.”
    â€œI thought you wouldn’t come back to me.”
    Shiva shrugged. “I considered it. But you called to me.”
    â€œYes, MeerShiva.”
    â€œNot a vetma . You wanted me.”
    â€œYes, MeerShiva.”
    â€œYou are a curious creature, MeerRa.” Shiva lifted a lock of Ra’s dark hair from the heather and threaded it through her fingers. “You nearly destroy yourself granting vetmas —some to the very mortal who orchestrated your demise. Yet you feel greater remorse for having taken that