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No Life Without Death

T he deeply herbaceous, woodsy aroma of burning frankincense greeted River as she climbed the familiar black steps to Dyna’s temple.

Six steps, for the six healing trials Iris Sparkgiver had undergone in order to beg Dyna for her healing touch.

Iris had sacrificed much, and she’d barely made it into the goddess’s presence.

It was said that the goddess was so touched by the fire fae’s persistence that not only did she heal Iris’s malady on the spot, but she promised to look after all fae kind from that point on.

Even though the fae had crossed the Indigo Ocean, they still paid homage to Iris Sparkgiver’s quest by having six steps leading into all of Dyna’s temples.

River was exhausted, and she hadn’t even gone on a quest. Nearly four weeks had passed since the night she lost control. Somehow, it had been both the longest and shortest month of her life.

She’d been in the middle of convincing Nikhail not to tell Ryker about her storm when her phone started ringing nonstop.

She’d tried to ignore it, but after the third call in a row, she’d answered.

Doctor Collins’s nasally voice had greeted her, demanding that she return to the hospital immediately to face the consequences of her actions.

Leaving Nikhail had pained River in a way that didn’t quite make sense, and she hadn’t gone until he assured her that he wouldn’t call Ryker.

She’d returned to Lakewater General, where she’d immediately been pulled into her superior’s office.

Her gut had churned, warning her that this wouldn’t be good.

She’d been right.

What had followed was one of the longest lectures River had ever had the displeasure of receiving. Tertia herself would’ve been impressed by the way Doctor Collins had systematically torn into River. She probably would’ve taken notes.

Doctor Collins had yelled at River about everything and nothing, barely allowing her the chance to speak and defend herself.

By the grace of the gods—and probably the power of her last name, if she was being honest—he hadn’t fired her on the spot.

He gave her an official warning, though, and it would remain on her record during the rest of her residency.

Additionally, he’d made it clear there would be consequences for her actions.

She’d left the hospital several hours later, still in her wrinkly scrubs from the night before, and she’d been physically and mentally spent.

Even though weeks had passed since then, she was still exhausted.

But she was here, and she was hopeful that this visit would infuse her with strength. Inhaling deeply on the last step, River paused as the incense made its way into the depths of her being. Already, she felt lighter. More like herself.

She pushed open the ten-foot door, entering the holy space on quiet feet. Her magic settled in her veins, and tension seeped off her. Her limbs loosened, and she drew in several meditative breaths.

This was exactly what she needed.

Lakewater’s temple was much smaller than the one River had grown up attending in Golden City, and she found it incredibly peaceful.

There was something about the way the light shone through the stained-glass windows onto the stone floor that equally delighted her and made her feel safe, warm, and beloved.

In another life, if River hadn’t been born cursed and she hadn’t sought a life in the healing arts, perhaps she would’ve served the gods.

“Greetings, River.” Callum Nightflame, a fire fae with curly blond hair and kind blue eyes, turned the corner and strode towards her.

The priest’s long white garments, a relic from when their kind first arrived in this land, rustled.

He clasped a set of prayer beads in one hand and a prayer booklet in the other. “Welcome back. It’s been a while.”

“I know.” River’s shoulders fell, and she reached inside her pocket, pulling out her own set of blue prayer beads. “I tried to get here earlier, but the past few weeks have been crazy at work. I’ve been at the hospital or home.”

She hadn’t even had time to go to the grocery store and was living off pantry staples and whatever she could manage to have delivered.

Callum hummed. “You’re doing the goddess’s work, my dear.”

Even though the priest looked to be around River’s age, the cadence of his voice made her think he’d seen several centuries come and go.

The priest continued, “After all, Dyna is the goddess of life and healing. She would sooner cut herself off from the Obsidian Sands before faulting you for being caught up at work.”

River wasn’t entirely sure that was the case. The priest spoke as if she’d been in life-saving surgeries all month, while that couldn’t be further from the truth. She hadn’t even seen the inside of an operating room since before the storm.

As punishment for fleeing in the middle of her shift, she’d been assigned overtime at the teaching hospital.

Ordinarily, this would mean she’d get to do more of what she loved.

In this case, she’d been relegated to grunt work while the other surgical residents and interns got to practice their craft.

Not being able to do the work she’d trained for was taking a toll on River. She hadn’t realized exactly how much she’d enjoyed wielding her surgeon’s blade until it had been taken away from her.

The priest’s eyes swept over River, and she got the sense he saw far more than the average person.

Callum stepped forward, clasping her elbow. His touch was firm and gentle, but it was just that: a touch. There was nothing there. Not like when Nikhail touched her. It was comforting in the way she found temple workers to be, and that was it.

“Come, child. I was just about to pray to the goddess.” Callum tilted his head towards the inner sanctuary. “Why don’t you join me and let Dyna clear your thoughts?”

That was exactly what River needed.

“Thank you, I’d love that.” She exhaled, checking her watch. “I’m not due at the hospital for another two hours, so I have time.”

If there was one good thing that had come out of River’s storm last month—‘good’ being an extremely relative term, all things considered—it was that she hadn’t been late once since then. She’d arrived at the hospital with at least fifteen minutes to spare every single day.

It was a small silver lining, but considering that lateness had plagued her for most of her life, she’d take it.

Callum led her to the front of the temple, remarking on the unusually cold weather they’d been experiencing this fall. A difficult winter was coming, he predicted. River nodded absentmindedly, distracted by the stained-glass scenes they passed.

Much like the six steps leading up to the temple, there were six stained glass windows on each side of the room. On the one side, they depicted Iris’s trials, and on the other, they showed Dyna healing various patients.

In the first, following fae tradition, Dyna was pictured without clothing. Her supple, tanned female form was covered by long locks of raven hair that fell to her feet. She kneeled over a sickly fae child, their olive skin pale. The goddess pressed her hand against the child’s forehead.

In the next window, the same child was dancing as Dyna watched on, smiling. The artist had managed to infuse so much warmth into the goddess’s expression that it felt as though Dyna was there with them.

The following scene was of the goddess healing a woman in childbirth. The fae’s russet skin was covered in sweat, and she was crying out in pain in the first image, while in the second, she was cradling a healthy baby in her arms.

The third scene was of a battlefield. River wasn’t sure which of the fae wars it depicted, but it showed Dyna standing beside Syrn, the god of death.

Shivers ran down her spine as the gods appeared to be discussing fates in the first image, while in the second, Dyna was standing over several bandaged soldiers in a field hospital.

Life and death exist hand in hand, River .

Not for the first time since she left his home, Nikhail’s voice echoed through her mind. As much as it pained her to admit it, he was right. There was no life without death. Syrn’s presence in Dyna’s temple was proof of that.

She and Callum strode past rows of empty wooden pews, coming to a stop in front of the stone altar at the front of the temple. The altar was eight feet long and half as wide. Six onyx candles stood on its surface, in groups of three. Each was over two feet tall, resting in a black candle holder.

A glass bowl filled to the brim with tiny specs of obsidian sand took up the place of honor on the altar. The entire scene was watched over by the eight-foot marble statue of Dyna herself.

Callum extended a hand towards the candles, a small flame coming to life in his palm. He twisted his fingers, directing the flame to each candle, and murmured prayers.

As the priest lit the candles, River ran her prayer beads through her fingers and knelt before the altar.

The beads had belonged to her grandmother on her father’s side, and she’d used them for as long as she could remember.

The stone floor was cold through her stretchy leggings, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from praying to the goddess.

Crossing her chest in a religious gesture, she dipped her head.

Robes swished on her right as Callum joined her. From her peripheral vision, she watched as the priest placed his prayer book in front of him and opened his hands at his sides.

The godly man’s low voice filled the temple as he began speaking in Ancient Fae. The language, which had once been commonly used by their ancestors across the Indigo Ocean, was now a relic of times long gone and only spoken by scholars and temple workers.

River only knew a few words in the old language, but the familiar, lyrical tone of her people’s tongue brought her peace. The phrases washed over her, and her eyes slipped shut.