11-2
“” Festor popped his head out from behind Syffox’s shoulder.
With a shriek, Vantaiga jumped back.
Festor piped up with his cacophony of voices: “” He picked up Syffox’s limp hand and waved it at her with the voices of children: “
Vantaiga stared, mortified, at Festor and Syffox in the coffin. She was stymied by the ruckus of his voices and the horror of what she was witnessing. Too startled to even understand what Festor had said, she let her outrage guide her. She grabbed Festor by the hair, pulled him out of the tomb, and slammed him on the ground.
Unfazed, he scuttled back from Vantaiga. “
don’t
to myself!”
She covered her ears while clenching the back of her head at the confusion of voices. “Give him back to me! You have no right to keep him!”
Festor backed away, laughing. “”
Vantaiga stomped towards him, transforming her white birch dress into the dark pebbled armour of persimmon bark.
Festor laughed mockingly. “”
“You will give him back.” She slashed her hand through the air with a wave of magic that whipped a gash across Festor’s face.
Festor tittered at the wound as it spilled out puss and ooze to heal itself.
“You will give him back!” Vantaiga lunged at him and kicked him in the chest. The blow sent Festor flying back, crashing into the stone wall.
Festor fell to the ground in a ragged heap and then sprang up, half tripping over himself. “”
Towering over the mad god, Vantaiga grabbed him from behind, slammed him into the ground, and then threw him to the adjacent wall with such force the wall collapsed on top of him.
Festor scrambled out from beneath the stones. “
some ”
Vantaiga screamed at his insufferable voices. “Will you shut up?!” She slammed him into wall after wall. She was determined to destroy the entire wretched temple with the god’s wretched body if she had to. But with each blow, Festor merely laughed.
“”
She ploughed him through the stone pillars.
“”
She raked him across the upper terraces.
“”
Vantaiga smashed him repeatedly into the ground. Each blow boomed like thunder, echoing throughout the entire city. As she slammed him, she screamed with tears running down her face:
“Give him back!”
“Give him back!”
She pulverised the ground with Festor’s body until the rocks crumbled away. Yet still he mocked her, his myriad voices chanting as a choir. “”
After she beat a shallow hole into the ground, Vantaiga’s rage was finally spent. She was left with nothing other than weary arms and grief. She kneeled at the hole and wept. “I can’t do this without him. I need him by my side. Please give him back.” Pleading was the only thing left she could think of.
Vantaiga knew Festor was a stunningly powerful god whose strength dwarfed even the most powerful of the heavens. If he had his wits about him, he would be horribly fearsome. But before her now was only a madman, who took life arbitrarily and never gave it back. And Vantaiga knew there was nothing she could do to make him.
Festor crawled out of the depression grinning and panting. “”
Vantaiga hung her head and cried. Through her tears, her voice was weak and strained. “Why do you torment me? What do you want from us?”
Festor’s grin widened. “” Leeringly, he looked her over. “”
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Vantaiga turned away from his disgusting face. “Why? We built the forest. We never bothered you. Why can’t you leave us alone?”
He moved in closer to her. Vantaiga clenched her eyes and closed her mouth. He leaned so close she could feel the heat of his revolting breath. “” He reached out and turned her face towards his. “”
With his awful touch, anger and strength returned to Vantaiga. She grabbed his wrist and pushed him back. “You have taken my heart; you will not take my soul.” Vines crept out from her arm and entwined around his. “I will haunt you for all eternity if you take my trees from me.”
Festor’s face went pale while he tried to pull free of her grip. Vantaiga looked him defiantly in the eyes as the vines engulfed his arm. Festor became more and more frantic, until finally, he wrenched his arm free. His face twisted in disgust as he tore the vines from his arm.
Confused, Vantaiga watched the madman panic over her vines. “You don’t like that?” She flicked her hand and sprigs of ivy bloomed along his left arm. Festor jumped back with a shriek as he tore so harshly at the ivy that he gashed his skin. Vantaiga half coughed in disbelief as she watched the lunatic’s crazed response. “That is your weakness?” She flicked her hand again, covering his other arm with clover. Festor squealed loudly and tore at his skin and the plants.
The Goddess gawked in astonishment. “Your weakness is life?” With another gesture from her small wildflowers erupted along both of Festor’s arms. The mad god howled and fell to the ground, desperately scratching away the flowers.
“No, not life. It’s beauty. You can’t stand beauty.” With a cruel expression, she swiped her hand and roses sprung from his hair. She then mockingly pulled at his chin and grew a long beard of green moss. Festor twisted and stumbled away from her, trying to pull at the moss and roses. Vantaiga relished the sick humour of tormenting the crazed god. She encased his feet in a thick tangle of vetch. “Give him back!”
Festor struggled backwards, trying to kick away the nest of purple flowers while still struggling with the moss beard. “”
“Give him BACK!” She erupted from his chest an angel’s trumpet tree, letting its lush, fragrant flowers dangle just above his face.
He swatted and kicked at the flowers while screaming in ever-higher wails. Suddenly, he let out a final shriek and blasted the plants off his body with a brilliant explosion that knocked Vantaiga to the ground.
He twisted up and scrambled over top of her, his face contorted with rage, his myriad of voices coming out in shrieks and howls.“” He bent down till his face almost touched hers. Putrid drool spattered onto her cheek. “my” With that, he sank into the ground and left the shattered courtyard.
Vantaiga cleared her eyes and tried to look around. She was slowly able to focus on the two priestesses who were clinging to the oak tree. She ran over to them and helped them up. “It’s over now; we are leaving this place.”
She turned to the sarcophagus and Syffox. Her heart sank as she looked over his decayed remains. She placed her hands on his chest and let her love and magic flow freely through him. There was no resistance this time, and life poured into his body. Syffox drew in a breath and clasped her hand, feeling the warmth of her soft skin as if for the first time.
Vantaiga broke into tears. She spoke softly as he opened his eyes. “Hello, my love.”
Syffox managed a slow smile with a raspy, “Hey.”
Vantaiga sniffled. “Hey, you.”
Her composure started to break, but she stiffened up and stifled her shuddering. To be honest, it wasn’t seeing him alive that had her verging on breaking down. It was seeing his wizened, frail body—what he looked like without using his magic to conceal his archaic age. He almost looked as if she had not raised him from the dead at all. His cheeks were pale and sunken, his skin hung loosely from thin bones, and his blotched scalp was visible through thin wisps of white hair.
She had never seen him like this. It was also what she would look like if he had not turned her into a Goddess. An aching pain rattled inside her and began to sap her strength. This was why he wanted to join with her. This was his future if he stayed a mortal, lest he eventually consume all of his and even her magic to stay young.
She hung her head as the realisation overcame her that he was right. Eventually, he would have to join her. She looked into his eyes. They flashed an ocean blue just for her. She began to smile and laugh and cry at the same time. But how would she be able to go on without being able to see those eyes?
She reached into the sarcophagus and gently lifted him out while he clung to his bow. He weighed almost nothing. It was as if there was nothing left of him. She wiped the tears from her eyes and face. She could make him better. She could make him whole again.
She turned, so oblivious to her surroundings that she almost stumbled into the two young priestesses. They darted aside, but their eyes remained fixed behind her. Vantaiga looked at them curiously before finally turning around. A crowd had gathered by the rubble of the entrance of the courtyard. She did not recognize any of them but could tell by their fine dress they were the lords and commanders of the city.
Vantaiga gave her two priestesses a stern, questioning look. She was becoming too tired and emotional to speak. The priestesses recognized her expression and one spoke. “They are the council of the city. I think they want to know what you will do with them. You promised them a gift if they built you a temple.” Vantaiga went rigid. She had to restrain herself from crushing Syffox’s frail form in her anger.
The head of the city council stepped forward hesitantly. “Great and loving Goddess Vantaiga.” He tried to maintain an air of dignity, but his shaking voice bespoke his fear. “It was Festor who harmed your mate. We offer you this temple to…” The lord’s voice trailed off as Vantaiga glared at him, slowly shaking her head.
She turned to one of her priestesses and offered a closed hand. The priestess stepped forward, and Vantaiga dropped two small sprigs into the young woman’s cupped hands. With a quick nod, Vantaiga gave the acolyte her thoughts and permission to speak for her.
Graced by the Goddess, the young woman stepped forward confidently. “You have built the Goddess a temple, and she will honour her promise of a gift.” She lifted a cupped hand. “She has created for you a hardy and abundant plant that will be home for wildlife and game and a source of flowers and food for your people. The Goddess will have the world understand that there can be beauty despite deceit.”
The priestess stepped to Syffox’s empty sarcophagus. “In honour of your city and what you have done for the Goddess, she has named this new plant ‘kudzu.’” She turned her hand and dropped the two sprigs into the sarcophagus.
Vantaiga carried Syffox to the oak tree. The two young women clasped her arms, and the group merged into the tree and disappeared from the ruined temple. The courtyard filled with silence behind them. The lords of Kundz were left alone to contemplate the sarcophagus and the gift of kudzu within.
