The dead goddess didn’t hear her, but a living god did.
Atagartis strode toward her. He’d shed all vestiges of lesser humanity. The being before her shone so brightly, she had to squint. His voice echoed around her, soft as a whisper, colossal in its power. “It’s done, Revida.”
She wiped rain from eyes. “You destroyed Sumarimis?”
“No. Only defeated him for now. He’s my brother, and unlike him, I understand that the world needs the darkness as much as it needs the light and the rain. We will battle with each other from time to time. He’s angry—as much with himself as with me. He was too blind to see that Nirari loved him as much as she loved me, and now she’s lost forever to him as well.”
Revida gazed at the heavy clouds. “I saw Ninun’s whirlwinds. What of Derketo?”
The god shifted, took on the human appearance with which she was familiar. Revida smiled her thanks. “Fishermen will no longer have to pray to a child who cannot hear them. My daughter has reclaimed her power, as I and her brother have.”
Revida cupped her hand and let the rain gather in her palm. “This is Nirari?”
Atagartis nodded. “And Revida. Her spirit and your sorrow returned the power Sumarimis robbed me of at Nirari’s death.”
The rain plastered her hair to her head and weighted her clothes so they hung on her skinny frame like rags on a scarecrow. The lightning god remained dry. Revida grinned, unashamed by the comparison. Maybe one day, farmers could raise scarecrows again.
Her grin faded at another realization. “There’s still no rain god.”
Atagartis’s eyes, pale and inhuman, flashed. “Isn’t there?”
She caught what he inferred. “I will always be Nirari’s priestess, but I’m neither her replacement nor her revenant.”
The god closed the gap between them and pulled her into his arm, uncaring that she was wet and bedraggled. “You’ve become more, Revida. Nirari imparted her last whisper of power on you for a reason.”
Revida broke from his embrace. “This is ridiculous. You are a creator. Immortal, powerful beyond comprehension. I’m human—an old one at that—no more than an insect in the eyes of the lightning god.”
Atagartis grinned. “Then I fell in love with a cicada.”
She stiffened and blinked back tears, grateful for the rain that would hide any that might fall. “You mock me.”
His grin vanished, and his mouth thinned to a grim line. “I would never mock you. I loved Nirari, Revida, and still grieve her death. That doesn’t mean I can’t learn to love another. I have. I do. Can you not love me in return?”
His question was rhetorical. She’d loved him since her youth, when he’d courted her in dreams and comforted her in sorrow.
Even though he likely heard her thoughts, he continued to coax her. “The world needs you. I need you.” Atagartis held out his hand, inviting her to take it.
Revida stared at his hand and then at him. A burgeoning joy made her lightheaded. “You would make this old crone young again?” she teased.
Lightning sizzled in his pale gaze, yet he remained unsmiling at her jest. “You will be neither old nor young, just everlasting. Walk beside me, priestess, and I will show you the vault of the heavens.”
Revida laughed and took the hand of the lightning god.
_____________________________________________________________________
Rain drenched the grove and washed the heat out of the stifling air. The steady flash of lightning bolts illuminated a sky thick with clouds as the storm rolled toward Neith. If their luck held, it would last through the night and thoroughly water the orange trees’ thirsty roots.
Martise clasped Silhara’s forearm where it rested above her breasts. His other arm encircled her waist, and his finger traced the outline of her navel through her shift. Grateful for his warmth against her back now that the storm had brought in the cooler air, she snuggled into his embrace.
“So this priestess runs off with the lightning god and consigns herself to an eternity of weeping because she loves him?”
She rolled her eyes, unsurprised by his less than romantic interpretation of the story. “Of course not. Her tears only invoked the others’ powers. They say when the big storms come, like this one, it’s Atagartis making love to Revida.”
Silhara huffed. “Well I’d appreciate a little less enthusiasm on his part. The last time he decided to tup the goddess near Neith, he torched one of my trees.”
Martise chose not to remind her lover that had he not risked life and limb to force the storm into a path over Neith, he might still have that tree.
A sharp burst of lightning followed by a boom of thunder heralded a different, rushing sound. Rain drenched the grove, gray sheets that pelted the trees and streamed fountains and waterfalls off the balcony’s ledge.
“Ahh, that’s what I hoped to see.” Silhara kissed the top of Martise’s head. “May your Revida bless us for several hours.”
Martise echoed the sentiment and added, “I’m glad you don’t have to go out there again. What you did before was dangerous.” Not that such a thing ever stopped him. He’d stolen from a lich too and nearly gotten them both killed during that escapade.
Silhara turned her to face him, a black shadow in the tenebrous room. “Breathing is dangerous, Martise.” He bent to kiss her, and she tasted darkness and fire in the intimate caress. “Come to bed,” he said as he bent to nuzzle her neck. “We’ll pretend I’m Atagartis and you’re Revida.”
She laughed. “That sounds terribly sacrilegious.”
“My favorite kind of entertainment.”
*END*
Discover other titles by Grace Draven
Master of Crows
Entreat Me
Draconus
Wyvern
Arena
Courting Bathsheba
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website: http://gracedraven.com/
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Grace Draven has been reading romance and fantasy since she was twelve. In 2005, she decided to combine them by writing a story or two of her own. She considers it one of the best life decisions she ever made. THE LIGHTNING GOD’S WIFE is an out-take from her novel-length fantasy romance MASTER OF CROWS.
Grace Draven, The Lightning God's Wife: a short story
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