Rare Welcomes
The Goddess Vantaiga ascended the deep blue Steps of the Sky to the Great Hall of the Gods. For the occasion, she’d adorned herself with a mid-length paper-birch dress that shaped to the curves of her body. Beneath the dress, she concealed her long, slender legs with long boots of grey beech tree bark. It was a sensuous yet unrevealing outfit—as conservative as she could bear. She had difficulty enough keeping men’s focus without being provocative, so she’d toned down her appearance for the occasion.
The Steps of the Sky was a towering stairway of lapis lazuli stone that rose from the Earth to the heavens. Streaks of grey and white marbled the blue stairs, making them indistinguishable from the sky and clouds. It was a passageway hidden to mortals and only visible to the divine.
Lost in the sheer number of ascending steps, Vantaiga’s thoughts eventually drifted down to the world below and her last moments with Syffox. They had only parted a short time ago, yet already she missed him terribly. She thanked the small grace that time in the heavens slipped away unnoticeably. She knew it would seem only brief moments before they would be together again. She tried to let the thought ease the dull aching of her heart.
She mounted the last steps to stand before the mammoth, vaulted obsidian Doorway of the Heavens. Either side of the towering entrance was held in place by the enormous ebony Pillars of the Night. The blackness of the portal was marred by a haze of white cracks radiating from broad scars along the seam between the doors.
Vantaiga shuddered as she contemplated the power that must have been wielded to do such damage to the mythical barrier. The scars were from the blows of Hubris when he hefted his world-crushing mace against the door. The haze of cracks was from Avarice and the magic he used to pry open the Seal of Mortality that prevented humanity from entering the heavens. Her mind reeled at the thought that it was only two mortals that broke down the great door, blinded one of Coronus’s eyes, and almost brought the world to an end.
A tear of awe and humility escaped her as she placed her hands on the doors. Had she really come this far from the neglected child that was abandoned to slavery? Did she really deserve to stand as a force of nature to control the fate of all the lives within her forest? Was she really going to stand before gods and be treated as an equal?
She hesitated before pressing on the doors, but in the back of her mind, Syffox’s words came to her: “You have always been my Goddess; now you will be theirs.” She smiled as she sniffed back her tears. If Syffox had faith in her, then she should have faith in herself. She gently pushed and the massive doors effortlessly swung open in welcome.
Vantaiga pushed her shoulders back and made determined steps through the doors and into the long onyx Hallway of Eternity. At the end of the passage, a brilliant glare glinted off the polished black surfaces, greeting the Goddess with a tunnel of light. The light at the end was from Coronus and his blazing eye shining in the great Chamber of the Gods beyond.
Vantaiga’s hardened heels echoed out defiantly in the still quiet of the stone hall. Despite the light from the far end, she found the corridor dim, cold, and daunting. A new appreciation dawned on her for the mortal custom of women being escorted for their entrance. However, here in a realm of only men, there would be no such formality offered to her. A new groan escaped her as she thought of spending a long period of time in a room full of men.
No sooner had the thought settled into her head than did Zephlyn, Servant of the Gods, swoop in and swirl around her. Young, dark-haired, bright-eyed, and always curious, he was eager to greet the newest divinity to his charge. “Hello, Goddess Vantaiga. I am happy to finally welcome you to my manor.” His voice and demeanour were quick and bubbly, the heart of a child held within an immortal spirit within the body of a young man.
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Vantaiga couldn’t help but smile. “Hello, Zephlyn. Have you come to be my escort?”
“An escort? Oh yes, an escort. Of course, mistress, anything to serve you.” He twirled in front of her, almost beaming at the chance to perform a task for the first time ever for a Goddess.
He darted behind her. Then, peering over her shoulder, he looked her over. A confused look crossed his face. He flicked to her other side and looked her over again. Concerned, he drifted back in front of her. “How do I escort you?”
Vantaiga giggled. “Here, you take my arm.” She held out her arm for him. He grabbed her hand and pulled. She laughed as she stumbled forward. “No, no… like this.” She guided him next to her and placed his hand around her arm. “There, like that. Now you walk with me.”
Vantaiga suppressed a laugh as the boyish spirit blushed at her touch. She wasn’t aware that as an immortal being he even had such an expression. She wondered what else she had to discover about the gods.
Zephlyn walked awkwardly for a moment and stumbled next to her before stopping. “Do I have to actually walk?”
Very amused, Vantaiga replied, “No, you can float if you like. But you still have to lead the way.”
Zephlyn nodded. “Yes, mistress.”
They continued together down the gleaming black hall. The only sound was that of Vantaiga’s heels echoing against the walls. At its end, the hallway opened to the bright, grand, vaulted Chamber of the Gods.
The Chamber was a large room lined with thick black tapestries sprinkled with the twinkling lights of stars. The curtains rose up the walls and hung off the ceiling, nailed together at the centre by the North Star. Beneath the star at the centre of the room was the World Table, a giant, circular slab of all the world. On top of the table were all the people and creatures of creation.
Despite its fantastic nature, Vantaiga couldn’t help but reflect on how mundane it all looked to her now. With her previous visits, as a miniscule mortal priestess standing on the edge of the table, everything seemed so immense, awe-inspiring, even alien. Now, she found it looked like nothing more than a large room with some interesting drapes and a fancy table. With a bit of magic, she could easily replicate it in her own mountain hall.
The gods sat around the Table in thrones to each of their pleasing. This is where the nature of the heavens still managed to impress Vantaiga. The gods crafted their seats of power not only for comfort but also as statements of their dominion: a throne of dust and debris caught in endless vortices, a throne of grain fields rippling to wafting breezes, and a throne of crashing waves and sea foam among many others.
On the far side of the room sat Coronus, his brilliant eye and flaming hair filling the room with light as he gazed over the occupants of the great Chamber and the World Table. His other eye was closed over with a mass of scars. His throne was a molten pile of slag and rock. Its original design had long succumbed to the heat of his massive, hulking body. The air about the great god rippled and smouldered. Coronus himself was bathed in the orange glow of lava that continuously oozed out beneath him.
Not far from Coronus was a throne that did not impress Vantaiga. It was a haphazard and grotesque heap, as repulsive and vile as its owner. It was the throne of Festor, a pile of bones and rotting corpses. They were the victims of the god that had the misfortune of becoming trophies to his madness. The seat of his throne was the bones of a giant hand with the fingers stretched upwards, bleached white from Coronus’s gaze. Vantaiga could only remark with dread at what fantastic being had given up its life and hand to become Festor’s chair.
About the fingers of the throne, many bodies were hung as grim decorations. Vantaiga quickly looked away. If anyone stared too long at Festor’s throne, they would start recognizing the faces of people they once knew. In the unforgiving world the gods presided over, everyone knew someone that had been collected as a trophy for Festor.
Festor was not sitting at his throne; he seldom was. He was busy darting in and out amongst the gods, poking at hapless mortals on the World Table that he doomed for amusement. Vantaiga pushed aside her thoughts of disgust for the Mad God of Death and Decay. The last thing she needed was to let his presence unnerve her in front of the other gods.
The rest of the gods seemed too caught up in their conversations to notice Vantaiga at the entrance with Zephlyn. Through the noise, it was hard for her to tell if they were talking or arguing. Indeed, after a moment’s scrutiny, it seemed both types of conversations and many others were being held in the Grand Council of the Gods.
As she looked over the dull tapestry and bleak world, she mused at ways she could add some colour to the place. Maybe some greenery would lessen the bickering, or at least dampen the noise. But now it was time for business. She leaned to Zephlyn. “You should announce me.”
Zephlyn looked confused and concerned before eventually replying, “Yes, my lady.” He paused, then drew in a breath, and summoned up as commanding a voice as an eternal servant could muster. “My Lords of the Heavens, I present to you the Goddess Vantaiga.”