silent. In this case, maybe it’s the knives strapped to my thighs and the fighting staff in my hand.
We were headed the right way, Orlaith. Let’s go
.
I deliver a shallow bow to the man and say thank you before resuming our run. The rain starts to fall with urgency, fat drops hinting at a serious shower and guaranteeing that Orlaith and I will be soaked by the time we reach our destination. The street clears of its remaining few stragglers as people dive under roofs, leaving us to slice through the dark alone—a blessing, really, that allows us to travel faster.
After ten minutes or so, the tower of the temple looms out of the dark to our left, its surface lit by spotlights from below and sheets of rain glittering in the beams. We cross the canal at a bridge and arrive shortly thereafter to discover that the tower is part of a larger compound surrounded by a high wall. The entrance is a massive stone interruption in the wall, thirty feet high or more and doubly wide; its soaring arch provides shelter from the pour. It is crested with sculptures of the Vedic gods and their deeds and makes one feel small in comparison to such a monument. A solitary figure waits there—not underneath the arch but underneath an umbrella, wrapped in a sari. As I draw near I seethat it is Laksha, or at least the body that Laksha currently occupies; I never know how to think of her. She changes bodies the way Atticus and I change IDs, but for now she still wears the body of Selai Chamkanni, which she had taken years ago, after she moved out of my head.
She flashes white teeth at me as I approach, and I smile in return. Atticus would probably think me too trusting of her, but I doubt he fully understands what is between us. Back in the days when I was bartending at Rúla Búla, Laksha could have killed me at any time—in fact, it would have been simpler for her—but she chose not to. I know my life is safe with her, because my death would have been more expedient. And I know, too, because of the fact that she lived in my head. That requires an enormous amount of trust, and it’s a relationship very few people can grasp, Atticus included. He thinks she could change her mind at any time, and in theory I suppose that is true. I do understand why she is to be feared by others; her power is the easily abused kind, and in the past she did abuse it, and may do so again. But I also know that I personally have nothing to fear from her.
“Laksha,” I say, moving close underneath the umbrella. “I’d hug you, but I’m soaked and you’re still somewhat dry.”
“Hug me anyway. I have come to admire this custom, and it’s been too long.” I do so but feel guilty for ruining her clothes, which always look so much more elegant than anything I ever wear. She has swaths of red and yellow fabric draped around her from shoulders to ankles, in dramatic sweeps that are simultaneously modest and profoundly sensual. Her ruby necklace, which acts as both a focus for her power and a place of refuge for her spirit, rests beneath her collarbone in plain sight, and I notice that she is wearing a ruby bindi between her eyes these days.
“You look good,” I say, noticing a few deepening crinkles around the eyes that indicate she has aged. She notices that I haven’t aged at all.
“My thanks. But I do not look as good as you. What do the Druids know that I don’t?”
“How to make the right kind of tea. What happened to Idunn’s golden apple?” Atticus had gone to great trouble to get her one; she was going to use the seeds to plant her own tree and have access to the eternal youth of the Norse gods.
“I have two different trees growing, but they have yet to bear fruit. I am hoping they will flower soon.”
“You still have plenty of time.”
“I know, but this body is not so athletic as it once was. I will need to find a new body if the apples don’t come soon. The trees are magical and may take longer than normal to produce
We were headed the right way, Orlaith. Let’s go
.
I deliver a shallow bow to the man and say thank you before resuming our run. The rain starts to fall with urgency, fat drops hinting at a serious shower and guaranteeing that Orlaith and I will be soaked by the time we reach our destination. The street clears of its remaining few stragglers as people dive under roofs, leaving us to slice through the dark alone—a blessing, really, that allows us to travel faster.
After ten minutes or so, the tower of the temple looms out of the dark to our left, its surface lit by spotlights from below and sheets of rain glittering in the beams. We cross the canal at a bridge and arrive shortly thereafter to discover that the tower is part of a larger compound surrounded by a high wall. The entrance is a massive stone interruption in the wall, thirty feet high or more and doubly wide; its soaring arch provides shelter from the pour. It is crested with sculptures of the Vedic gods and their deeds and makes one feel small in comparison to such a monument. A solitary figure waits there—not underneath the arch but underneath an umbrella, wrapped in a sari. As I draw near I seethat it is Laksha, or at least the body that Laksha currently occupies; I never know how to think of her. She changes bodies the way Atticus and I change IDs, but for now she still wears the body of Selai Chamkanni, which she had taken years ago, after she moved out of my head.
She flashes white teeth at me as I approach, and I smile in return. Atticus would probably think me too trusting of her, but I doubt he fully understands what is between us. Back in the days when I was bartending at Rúla Búla, Laksha could have killed me at any time—in fact, it would have been simpler for her—but she chose not to. I know my life is safe with her, because my death would have been more expedient. And I know, too, because of the fact that she lived in my head. That requires an enormous amount of trust, and it’s a relationship very few people can grasp, Atticus included. He thinks she could change her mind at any time, and in theory I suppose that is true. I do understand why she is to be feared by others; her power is the easily abused kind, and in the past she did abuse it, and may do so again. But I also know that I personally have nothing to fear from her.
“Laksha,” I say, moving close underneath the umbrella. “I’d hug you, but I’m soaked and you’re still somewhat dry.”
“Hug me anyway. I have come to admire this custom, and it’s been too long.” I do so but feel guilty for ruining her clothes, which always look so much more elegant than anything I ever wear. She has swaths of red and yellow fabric draped around her from shoulders to ankles, in dramatic sweeps that are simultaneously modest and profoundly sensual. Her ruby necklace, which acts as both a focus for her power and a place of refuge for her spirit, rests beneath her collarbone in plain sight, and I notice that she is wearing a ruby bindi between her eyes these days.
“You look good,” I say, noticing a few deepening crinkles around the eyes that indicate she has aged. She notices that I haven’t aged at all.
“My thanks. But I do not look as good as you. What do the Druids know that I don’t?”
“How to make the right kind of tea. What happened to Idunn’s golden apple?” Atticus had gone to great trouble to get her one; she was going to use the seeds to plant her own tree and have access to the eternal youth of the Norse gods.
“I have two different trees growing, but they have yet to bear fruit. I am hoping they will flower soon.”
“You still have plenty of time.”
“I know, but this body is not so athletic as it once was. I will need to find a new body if the apples don’t come soon. The trees are magical and may take longer than normal to produce
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