Page 6 of The Winter Goddess

The First Death

Death was louder than I thought it would be.

I could hear the gods murmuring—about me, I was sure, though I could not make out the words. My eyes were closed, but I knew I was back in my god form, could feel the litheness in my limbs, the strength in my body, which could once again bound across mountains, swim to the darkest part of the sea. The only thing that was missing was what I’d longed for most—winter. And as I realized that I opened my eyes and jumped to my feet, letting loose a string of curses so violent that Manannán blushed and Dagda covered his ears.

I thought Danu might reproach me, but she said nothing, just waited until I’d stopped seething and then gestured toward the other gods looking down at me from their thrones. “Ask her what questions you have.” She smiled as though this were a pleasant little game.

“How did it feel?” Morrígan leaned forward, eyes glittering. “To die?”

“I don’t know.” I was not sure how to explain the paralysis of my limbs, the creeping darkness, the sense of my heart slowing.

“You must have felt something.” Dagda flicked a tear out of his eye. “ I did and I was just watching—”

“I wish I could have tried it,” Lug interrupted, clapping his hands together and grinning. “I think I—”

“You don’t know for what you wish ,” I said viciously. “You watch and you play with me as though—as though I’m one of them—as though I would be eager to come back and give you a report on every moment of pain, every time darkness floods my vision, every time—”

The gods erupted in a clamor of voices at my words, but before I could make sense of their speech, Danu swept her hand and they fell silent. “Do you not see? You live as we once did, as we can no longer. These lives can be a gift, if you would let them.” She looked at me, her gaze steady. “Tell us, what did you feel before you died?”

I looked down at my blue hands and felt a cold but weary anger. There was no point in trying to fight against Danu’s will. There never had been. “I was cold. And confused.” And alone , I did not say.

“Were you frightened?” Danu did not meet my eyes.

“Yes,” I said stiffly, hoping that if I was truthful this would all end.

“If you’d stayed with the villagers, celebrated their festival with them, you would have survived. They would have kept you warm through the night.”

“I would change nothing.” My voice was loud. “I vowed long ago I would not attend one of their solstices again.”

“I don’t know why,” Danu sighed. “They’re wonderful, full of dancing and revelry and…” She trailed off as she met my furious gaze. She had forgotten the solstice we’d spent together. She’d forgotten what happened. She must have, for her to say such a thing. Her eyes darted away from me, and when she turned back, her voice was formal, as though she were giving a speech. “What have you learned about mortals? What has your punishment taught you?”

“I have learned,” I spat, “that they are foolish and slow. They bleed and they hurt, and their flesh is weaker than a just-opened bud in spring.” I thought for a moment of Siobhan’s daughter, of the sorrow I’d felt at learning of her death, but Danu already knew about that. She knew and did not care.

She waited but I said no more, and she shook her head, weary. “Well, I can see you have really learned nothing. Perhaps in your next life.” She pointed her finger at me.

For a long moment there was nothing—

No sound.

No smell.

No touch.

No feel.

Then, light.