Crossroads of Canopy (Titan's Forest #1)(3)

When she finds the Great Gates, takes a deep breath, and approaches them, she stares up at the flickering strings of lanterns for so long that she almost trips over a skinny boy, about her age, sitting with his arms around his knees on the abandoned platform before the Temple.

“Too late,” he says softly. “The Gatekeeper’s already locked it for the night. We have to wait until morning.”

“We?” Unar’s shoulders stiffen about her ears. Why are they being quiet? Do sleeping monsters guard those tall wooden walls with the Garden’s pointed pavilion roofs and curling passionfruit tendrils showing over the tops? “Why are you waiting here?”

“Why do you think? I’m not trying to get pregnant, am I?”

Disappointment drops Unar’s shoulders. Is that what the Garden is for?

“I think you’re mean, and you look hungry. Are you going to rob the first Servant who comes out with a night soil bucket?”

The boy’s face falls. His bare arms are brown as bear hide in the lamp light. He’s lanky and long-faced with short, sun-bleached hair, and he carries nothing. Under the loose tunic and short waist-wrap that barely covers his loincloth, it’s easy to see he hasn’t so much as a knife or a coil of rope on him.

Wrongdoers. Have-nothings.

“I didn’t mean to be rude to you.” He holds his knees tighter. “Forgive me. I misspoke. My brother died in the monsoon. He drowned only three days ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Unar takes a deep breath. She kneels next to him. It’s easier to whisper. “I’m sorry I was rude to you, too.”

His smile is hesitant.

“They keep their night soil in the Garden. It’s good for the plants.”

“Oh.”

“My brother died because my parents defied the goddess. The rain goddess, I mean. I’m from Ehkisland. My parents died, too. I’ve come to serve Audblayin, the goddess of life, not just because I want to live, but because it’s the right thing to do.” He rubs his temple with his left hand. “Submit to them. Serve them. Why else are we here? What else are we for?”

I can’t be a slave. That’s not what I’m for.

“How do you know?” Unar asks. “Whether you can serve the goddess or not, I mean?”

“There’s a tree growing out of a tree.” The boy’s hands relax. They rest by his sides. “The night-yew, I mean. It’s the first tree, the beginning of the forest, but it’s a parasite, like all babies when they’re new. It grows out of the host tree. When Audblayin’s a goddess, like she is now, it flowers at night and is the night-yew. When Audblayin’s a god, it flowers in the day and is the day-yew. It wakes up the magic, if you have it. And if you have it, you can serve.”

“I have it,” Unar says at once, her certainty making her louder than she would have liked to be. Magic. That’s what she has, and she has it without even visiting the tree that grows out of the tree. Does that mean she’s something better than a Servant? Does it mean she really could be a goddess of her own? She remembers how Oxor glowed. How the seed in her chest tugged her towards the Garden. “I saw some Servants in Oxorland. Six women and a fighting man.”

“I suppose the fighting man was Oxor’s Bodyguard. Deities in male bodies each have a female Bodyguard. The ones in female bodies have male ones. My grandmother told me that my brother drowned and I lived for a reason. She said I felt drawn towards Temple service because the deathless ones had a use for me. I’m not so sure. There’s nothing special about me. How could there be? I was a twin. There was always a spare one of me.”

Unar stares at him. His eyes are wide, searching her face for some sort of reassurance, but she’s barely seeing him; she’s thinking about what he said.

When Audblayin’s a god, it flowers in the day and is the day-yew.

Deities in male bodies each have a female Bodyguard.

I felt drawn towards Temple service because the deathless ones had a use for me.

Possibilities branch in all directions.

Audblayin is a goddess now, but in her next incarnation, she could be a he.

Maybe I’m to be the Bodyguard of the god of life.

The seed in Unar’s chest bursts into vibrant, thrumming tangles that fill her from fingertips to toes. The smell of quince and wood fern comes again, stronger than ever. It startles her afresh. Twitches her. Sinks from her feet into the platform of living wood. The first smells are washed away, replaced by the scent of turned-over, month-old mulch and pungent tallowwood sap. The boy stares, drawing back slightly, as though he can feel it, too.

Slowly the smells and sensations fade. Unar can’t find any trace of the seed inside her. Bats still screech and owls still hunt, but everything is changed. The goddess of life has called to her. Marked her out. Pulled her close, filling her with the belonging and warmth she has rarely felt in her mother’s presence.

Saved her, but not her sister, from her parents’ neglect, for a reason.

“Why don’t you want to serve Ehkis, then?” she asks the boy, as though nothing unusual has happened. The seed is gone, but the memory, the powerful conviction that she is on an ordained road, remains.

The boy’s mouth makes a flat line, and his wide nostrils flare.

“The rain goddess drowned my brother,” he says. He rubs his skinny left shoulder with his right hand. “He punched me in this arm, the last time I saw him alive. It went numb and then it hurt for the rest of the day. I wish I could still feel it hurting.”