she wanted to see above all others in the world. It was almost enough to make her start believing in fate. Almost.
FIVE
Prayers Answered
Winds blew over Arkaym, but Hatipai flew against the prevailing currents. She had been forced to lie to that royal nothing. It would not do to have her believers see that she could be so restrained, so she had claimed to be an angel. Soon enough she would reclaim her power, and then the time for deception would be over.
The hunger inside her burned white-hot; if she had been human, she might have called it pain. This fragile form was not yet physical, and only faith would improve it.
Finding that was far more difficult than Hatipai had anticipated. Before the Break and the arrival of more of her kind, she and a select few had this world all to themselves. They had been the strongest, able to cross between worlds before there was a rift. Competition was the way of things on the Otherside—and if she was forced to compete here, then she would. Hard.
As Hatipai floated high among the clouds, her perception was spread wide, a net seeking faith. She could not linger long in Vermillion—not with the Mother Abbey in control of the city. If she took blood, bone and skin from there, the consequences could be fatal.
Finally, Hatipai felt a tug from below. It was faint, oh so very faint, but there it was. Faith. Wrapping her golden wings around her, the angel fell. Four tiny lives were below, looking up, praying to the Bright One. They could not know what a visitation from their goddess truly meant. They would learn.
Walls, doors and locks made no difference to Hatipai—for at this moment she had no body. A family prayed in the close confines of the cabin on their tiny ship tied to a city dock: mother, father and two teenage boys on the edge of manhood. Ripe and sweet to her senses.
On their knees, they whispered the secret names of Hatipai to a small statue of her. The goddess of wisdom d strength, depicted as a full-breasted woman with spread wings and a beatific smile. She felt not a flicker of compassion; these mortals only existed to supply her with what she needed.
Hatipai began to glow, and the family looked up as the tiny cabin filled with light. Their simple meaty faces spread in delight.
“Great lady,” the mother whispered, and her eyes began to water, “all these years we have prayed—our mothers and fathers, their mothers and fathers, and nothing . . . ” Now her tears were pouring over her cheeks, stricken by the joy of having her faith finally confirmed.
It was a common reaction. The family groveled before her as was just. Hatipai remembered vast churches full to bursting with penitents, the songs, the sacrifices and the heavy smell of incense. She had been truly mighty then, the greatest of all her kin. Now she was reduced to this. Yet, if her plans succeeded, that would change.
She looked down at them through blazing eyes, weighing the value of their meat for her needs.
“Oh, Bright One”—the husband, still on his knees, put an arm around each of his sons—“bless my children with your healing light.”
That was it. They were young, strong, full of faith and fervor. They were just what Hatipai needed. She spread her frail, ethereal limbs wide, her wings swinging up to take in all of the cabin space. “I shall indeed.” Her voice rang like bells around them.
The younger boy’s smile was awestruck when she reached down to touch him. Hatipai’s ethereal body pierced him through, and immediately the boy screamed. It was a pure, musical sound that did not last. Hatipai took his bones, drawing the ingredients that made them into herself, while he collapsed to the floor, a bag of flesh robbed of structure.
The remaining three made guttural sounds of panic, like cattle that finally smell the butcher’s purpose. Yet familial bonds stopped them from rushing away from her immediately. As the mother dashed to the remains of her child, Hatipai stepped
FIVE
Prayers Answered
Winds blew over Arkaym, but Hatipai flew against the prevailing currents. She had been forced to lie to that royal nothing. It would not do to have her believers see that she could be so restrained, so she had claimed to be an angel. Soon enough she would reclaim her power, and then the time for deception would be over.
The hunger inside her burned white-hot; if she had been human, she might have called it pain. This fragile form was not yet physical, and only faith would improve it.
Finding that was far more difficult than Hatipai had anticipated. Before the Break and the arrival of more of her kind, she and a select few had this world all to themselves. They had been the strongest, able to cross between worlds before there was a rift. Competition was the way of things on the Otherside—and if she was forced to compete here, then she would. Hard.
As Hatipai floated high among the clouds, her perception was spread wide, a net seeking faith. She could not linger long in Vermillion—not with the Mother Abbey in control of the city. If she took blood, bone and skin from there, the consequences could be fatal.
Finally, Hatipai felt a tug from below. It was faint, oh so very faint, but there it was. Faith. Wrapping her golden wings around her, the angel fell. Four tiny lives were below, looking up, praying to the Bright One. They could not know what a visitation from their goddess truly meant. They would learn.
Walls, doors and locks made no difference to Hatipai—for at this moment she had no body. A family prayed in the close confines of the cabin on their tiny ship tied to a city dock: mother, father and two teenage boys on the edge of manhood. Ripe and sweet to her senses.
On their knees, they whispered the secret names of Hatipai to a small statue of her. The goddess of wisdom d strength, depicted as a full-breasted woman with spread wings and a beatific smile. She felt not a flicker of compassion; these mortals only existed to supply her with what she needed.
Hatipai began to glow, and the family looked up as the tiny cabin filled with light. Their simple meaty faces spread in delight.
“Great lady,” the mother whispered, and her eyes began to water, “all these years we have prayed—our mothers and fathers, their mothers and fathers, and nothing . . . ” Now her tears were pouring over her cheeks, stricken by the joy of having her faith finally confirmed.
It was a common reaction. The family groveled before her as was just. Hatipai remembered vast churches full to bursting with penitents, the songs, the sacrifices and the heavy smell of incense. She had been truly mighty then, the greatest of all her kin. Now she was reduced to this. Yet, if her plans succeeded, that would change.
She looked down at them through blazing eyes, weighing the value of their meat for her needs.
“Oh, Bright One”—the husband, still on his knees, put an arm around each of his sons—“bless my children with your healing light.”
That was it. They were young, strong, full of faith and fervor. They were just what Hatipai needed. She spread her frail, ethereal limbs wide, her wings swinging up to take in all of the cabin space. “I shall indeed.” Her voice rang like bells around them.
The younger boy’s smile was awestruck when she reached down to touch him. Hatipai’s ethereal body pierced him through, and immediately the boy screamed. It was a pure, musical sound that did not last. Hatipai took his bones, drawing the ingredients that made them into herself, while he collapsed to the floor, a bag of flesh robbed of structure.
The remaining three made guttural sounds of panic, like cattle that finally smell the butcher’s purpose. Yet familial bonds stopped them from rushing away from her immediately. As the mother dashed to the remains of her child, Hatipai stepped
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