The days that followed were difficult for Mejias, despite the celebratory spirit throughout the city with the purification of the plague. The citizens brought gifts to their door, small carvings of lambs and branches of cherry blossoms filled their kitchen until they ran out of glasses to put them in and instead hung them on the ceiling to dry, the occasional petal drifting down from above, a blossom rain. Hija had no remaining family, no one else to claim them, and realizing that had Mejias sobbing all over again. No one would miss him except for her. And miss him she did, deeply. They cremated him, mixing his ashes with fragmented cherry blossoms before setting his urn in a small shrine on their rooftop deck, creating a small altar to him, surrounded by sticks of musky sandalwood incense. They placed beeswax candles to be lit whenever Mejias needed to burn paper prayers to honor his memory, tiny poems she wrote to him, words she wished she could have read to him in person. It was a custom inhabitants of the city had long performed, and Mejias seemed to draw some comfort from the ritual of it.
The city had made an entire monolith dedicated to the fallen, their names carved in the white marble of the stone, embossed with a gold that glinted in the light reflected from the palace. It stood tall in one of the palace courtyards, the height meant to represent how the city was overshadowed by the disease. How it seemed insurmountable until Mejias came and brought them a light to guide them out of the darkness, almost literally calling down the sun. The gate remained at the dais before the steps leading to the front of the palace, open to all that required it. Eventually no more plague victims required its service, but people still passed through, seaking purification, to absolve whatever perceived sin they might be carrying. It didn’t seem to have any effect as far as Iseult could see, but sometimes just the action was placebo enough, she mused.
Orikka had not returned after their death, leaving Mejias and Iseult alone in their home. Despite how quiet they had been while living together, Iseult found their absence intensely conspicuous. She contemplated calling the ancient god, but ultimately elected not to, she wasn’t sure Mejias was ready to see them again after their last meeting, and Mejias needed her now more than Orikka. She had no idea what form the murder had taken, but couldn’t imagine it to be a happy memory for the girl. Eventually, she thought. There was an infinity of time laid out before them, and perhaps in some distant time she might be ready to see her parent again. That and, she was a little ashamed to admit, she wasn’t sure how best to help her sister, and worried that any action she might take could be the wrong one and send Mejias spiraling further into self-abasement, leaving Iseult taking no action at all, a sort of decision fatigue. The inaction caused her even more anxiety, leading to an endless feedback loop of negative emotion. It was exhausting, and Iseult wasn’t sure how much longer she could go without something breaking, either her or her sister.
A knock on the door interrupted the heavy solitude of the house. Most of the new devotees simply left their offerings on the doorstep, too awed to talk to Mejias directly, so either it was a particularly forward one, or this visit was something else entirely. ‘Mejias! Door!’ Iseult called out, unable to open the door herself. Mejias came stumbling out from her room, still bleary eyed from her late morning, her hair a mess on her head and her long pajama shirt skewed on her still growing frame as she muffled a yawn with a palm still impressed with the wrinkles of her bedding. Not the most dignified looking god, Iseult thought, not without compassion. Mejias had taken to sleeping in late into the mornings, still mourning the loss of Hija, and her own betrayal. She had not been able to forgive herself, and each cherry branch gift pushed her further and further into depression and despondency.
Mejias hastily ran a hand through her hair, haphazardly trying to straighten out a few tangles before she swung the door open. ‘Hello?’ her previously muffled yawn managed to work its way out through her welcome. Her mouth fell open and eyes widening, ‘Oh! Um. Hi?’ Iseult peered around her. An entire procession was standing outside. Zichu and her entourage had come to visit.
‘Can I offer you something? Tea?’ Mejias said awkwardly, holding their tea pot up in its clumsily crochet cozy as the older god and a select few of her dedicated devotees crowded around their breakfast table, the remaining lazing out on the rooftop deck above. ‘Please,’ murmured the prophet, gracefully folding her gown under her as she took a seat, ‘do you have any berry tea? I’m afraid I don’t do well with caffeine, it gives me horrible foresights, flighty incomplete things devoid of context. Very distressing.’ Her voice was slightly muffled by the embalming fluid filled mouthpiece she breathed through. The host of devotees surrounding her were all adorned with ornate heavy clothing, chandelier-like, which was threaded with gold and stitched with dazzling jewels that was at odds with the homey warmth of their kitchen, the gems sewing into the fabrics throwing rainbows across all the surfaces. Sheer veils were pinned in their braided hair, covering their faces, an homage to the god’s own lack of eyes, that her vision came from some source besides. Zichu’s face, however, was uncovered. She was not ashamed of her appearance, and refused to hide. The changes to her body from the stone were a mark of her godhood, something no mortal would ever have to bear. They were a demonstration of her strength, her supremacy over a painful adversity, so she wore it proudly, a testament to her powerful will.
‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ the god said graciously, as Mejias fumbled, trying to find enough mugs for all of the visitors. ‘Um, yeah, I mean, of course!’ She said with a slightly frantic cheer, ‘it’s an honor to welcome the god of visions into my home.’ Zichu’s mutilated face quirked in what might have been a smile, ‘yes, I’m sure. Sja was quite worried about my visiting, you seem to have acquired a notoriety for banishing gods to the land of the dead.’ Mejias flushed to her ears, turning back to the counter of drinks to hide her face. ‘And the lady ghost, is she with us too?’ Zichu delicately inquired, turning her face around, as if she might be able to locate Iseult. Mejias whipped back around, eyes wide. The god chuckled, ‘no no, I can’t see her, at least not in the ways you might assume one sees things.’ ‘How do you know about her, then?’ Mejias asked, wary now, ‘have you been watching me?’ The god tilted her head, ‘I apologize for the intrusion, I don’t have control over the things I see. And you happen to have been a frequent subject.’ Mejias set a mug down with a little more force than necessary. It was Orikka’s old mug, the one with the monkey-rooster on it. Iseult wondered if Mejias had noticed. Their entire shelf of mugs had been cleared out in order to offer all of the assembled a drink. ‘And why are you here now? Finally got tired of spying on me?’ she said, aggressive. Zichu shrugged. ‘I don’t have any particular reason, I simply go where I have seen myself to go. I have, however, brought you a gift. An apology, of sorts.’ She waved her hand airily and an attendant got up and bowed, leaving briefly before returning with a small cherry blossom tree in a porcelain pot with a lamb pattern, how would she know, Iseult wondered. The blossoms bloomed continuously, open and closed, open and closed, a beautiful loop, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly.
‘I understand the people have been giving you cherry blossom branches, that they see their symbolism as aligned with your actions, your values. So, I thought I might give you one as well. To honor you and what you have done for Sonsoliel. This one, however, is special.’ Iseult stared at the tree, mesmerized. There was no end to the loop, it just kept furling and unfurling, gracefully, without haste. A beautiful eternity. ‘There is a garden, in the palace, underneath a glass domed ceiling. The oculus of the room perfectly aligned with the eclipse, aligned with this tree beneath it, such that the eclipse beamed down on its branches as it was reaching the peak of its first bloom. I thought it a fitting gift for you, to memorialize your moment of triumph.’ Though the sentiment was said without any malice, with only sincerity, Mejias’ face had gone pale. Zichu seemed to realize something was wrong, ‘please leave us,’ she directed to her attendants. With only a moment’s hesitation, they got up and bowed, leaving to join the rest on the rooftop. As the last one left, the older god’s face turned from their steps to Mejias. ‘You are not proud? You have performed a miracle for the citizens, they love you.’ She inquired. ‘I, it was a misunderstanding. I didn’t do it for the citizens. I only ended the plague because my friend died. It was a selfish choice. And even now, the gate is not for their benefit. It is only coincidental that it purifies the plague. It was made for the gods.’ She stopped, biting her lip as she looked away, still ashamed.
‘Ending the plague could never be a selfish choice, no matter what the reason,’ Zichu said gently. ‘And if the gate benefits more than just the people of the city, then so be it,’ she waved her hand dismissively, ‘that does not negate what you have done for Sonsoliel. You have saved an entire city, freed it from something when no one else was able. When your actions are preordained, prophesied to occur, there is little to be gained from fighting the future, your efforts are better put in defining your motivations. While there are many things out of your control, you can control the intention with which you put something into the world, and the entire spirit of a thing can be changed in such a way. You are the one that gives a thing meaning. You have made something magnificent for an entire people, no matter their designation, and you deserve to be proud of what you have accomplished, not ashamed of it,’ she commanded the younger god. ‘Now,’ she scooted her chair a slight bit closer to Mejias, burned fingertips gripping the table’s edge as she pulled herself closer, ‘tell me about this business with the gate benefiting gods. I have seen some pass through it in the future, but it is still unclear to me why.’ Mejias smiled, a small one, but still a smile.
