Wild ​Reverence

by Rebecca Ross

“But have you failed to notice it, my old ally? War only makes love flame brighter, defiant. It seems to bloom from the bloodshed you leave behind, unfurling from the most unlikely places. From the broken seams of the world. From the graves and the anguish and the fear you inspire.”

It might seem odd to take a newborn to visit Death, but the truth is that we measure life by the end of it, or the lack thereof for immortals.

You hold on to her. But who could hold on to the wind?

This is the beginning of the end, I thought. If heartless gods can be made soft by such love, we are all doomed.

This was all a game between sisters. Mortals were entertainment for divines. Who could out-weave the other, who could make a pattern that could not be picked loose. A weaving of lives and deaths that would hold. I bared my teeth to the water.

These were gentle, peaceful folk. Men and women and their offspring. Mortals who were skilled with their hands and their minds who wanted to live quiet lives, enjoying each season as it came, savoring time with their kindred. When I looked at them, I did not see warriors.

“Drink, lady,” Nathaniel said, handing me the chalice. “Drink, sister. And let the river claim you as its own.”

She had an uncanny way of making one feel like he was the only one in the world, as if she saw the deeper layers of a soul that no one else could see.

She was not mine by spoken vow but something deeper. Something that felt older, stronger, darker, like a language that had been sung centuries ago but had now been forgotten. Something that simmered in the blood, calling to me, calling to her. How I had resisted that pull, as if it were something to fear. A weakness that would doom me should I let myself surrender to it. I did not want to fight it any longer.

“Although now I understand why you would be here, waging war. I understand why you would bring down a tower. If it was for love.”

As with all divines, she was beautiful in a way that robbed breath and stole into dreams. I had always thought such of her, even when we were children. And if this chamber was a pool, she was a pebble tossed within its quiet waters. Her presence had weight; the very air seemed to gather around her. I would know she was near, even in the darkness. And I had never desired to be a god, to wield power as one, but in that moment, I longed to halt time. I would have made an interlude for us, a space when the hour lost its bite and the sun stood still. We could simply breathe and let ourselves unravel this knot between us, slowly.

I knew this would be my fate when it came to loving her. She was everlasting; she was destined to come and go, like the cycle of seasons. And what was I? A humble mortal cursed to age and die. I was rooted to the ground, destined to return to the earth as dust. I could not hold her any more than I could the wind, but I loved her for it.

We were doomed, she and I. One day, I would perish, and she would live on, endless as the stars. But if we were doomed, then let us fully embrace it.

And I thought that I could perish then and there and be wholly content to die, on my knees before her, my heart beating so wildly it felt like it would split open, like a tithe of first fruits on an altar.

It made me feel as if there was some justice in this world—that cruel gods and men were not rewarded by paradise when their end came—and that was a comfort to me.