The Hollow Heart by Marie Rutkoski

THE GOD

NIRRIM’S ELYSIUM FLEW OVER THEsea, its wings the color of sunrise. When it grew tired, it rested on the rocky beaches of what the Herrani call the Empty Islands. It daintily ate shellfish, and tucked its beak under its wing, against its green breast, to sleep. The weather grew cold but it did not snow, and the bird, whose ancestor drank the god of discovery’s blood, followed its mistress’s command north through clear skies.

As I watched it fly, a tremor echoed along the edges of the immortal realm. Even those of the pantheon who paid little attention to human affairs noticed that someone was trying to blunder into our home … that someone, indeed, had succeeded. The footsteps were blatantly human: a weighted stride, a balance of uncertainty and purpose.

No one has entered our realm for eons. What was left of the hundred—save the pariah god of thieves and his dead brother, the god of discovery—gathered to watch Sid of the Herrani come.

In Ethin, my daughter confronted the obvious culprit. Tell me where Sid went, Nirrim demanded.

I don’t know, Annin said.

I don’t believe you! The guards said Sid showed them an Elysium feather. If you did not help her escape, show me the red feather that I gave to you. Show it to me now.

But Annin could not.

Traitor, Nirrim said, and grabbed Annin’s arm hard. I treated you like a princess. I gave you a palace for a home. This is how you repay me?

Though Annin was short, she made herself stand as tall as she could. She tipped up her chin, her soft cheeks flaming with courage. What will you do to me? Annin asked. Will you punish me? Hurt me?

And Nirrim, who remembered how much she had once loved Annin, slackened her grip. Tell me, Nirrim said, power gathering thick in her throat, all that you remember about Sid’s escape.

I don’t know where she is, Annin said, which was true. But since Nirrim’s question had been broad enough, Annin was forced to share her memory of Morah’s secret map—which was, of course, no longer in the tavern for Nirrim to find. All Annin could tell her was that Morah had gone into the jungle beyond the city wall, and that Sid had left to find her.

The tremor rippled more strongly. The surface of our realm shivered like a soap bubble does, right before it bursts.

I was the first to see Sid of the Herrani enter, and her eyes widened with terror as she beheld me. Few humans can look upon the gods and not shrink, especially when they are met, as I met her, with anger at her audacity. What gave her such boldness? Who was she, to think she might enter our world and live?

I admit a begrudging admiration. I acknowledge a sense of my misdeeds returning to haunt me, and an awareness that my anger at her was also at myself, for breaking my vow to the pantheon, for costing Irenah her life by giving her a child. Sid was the shape of my guilt. My grief. I can lie to others, but never to myself. I knew that Sid’s presence here was the result of many human years—of generations—and that she was here in part because of me.

And I was curious, too, about Sid’s purpose here—even how she saw me, and our world. My brethren appeared before her. A human cannot see us as we are. It would shatter her mind. Instead, she absorbed her knowledge of us and our world in the only way her mind could: by translating our infinity, our wholly alien natures, into something that looked almost human.

Sid said, I am here to speak with the god of thieves.

Death peered at her and said, I know you. Death noticed the dagger at her hip and how its hilt bore his sigil, the sign of the Herrani royal family. He was pleased to be remembered—mortals do not usually honor the god of death—and to the boiling cauldron of emotions in me was added something new: fear. I cursed this troublemaking human. No good could come of this, certainly not for me, and my secret sin.

The Seamstress, Death’s consort, said to Sid gently, The god of thieves is not here. He has been banished from this realm.

You have no business here, mortal, warned the god of vengeance.

She might, drawled the god of games. Anyway, I am bored. Are you not bored? I think the god of hospitality would agree that we should help the little human. Come, it will be fun.

Indeed, Hospitality said, it is already too late to turn her away.

Child, said Death to Sid of the Herrani. You have come here for nothing.

I disagree, said the god of thieves, and we all turned, and saw that he had been among us all along. He must have entered our realm some time ago, and stolen our knowledge of his presence.

You see! the god of games crowed. I told you this would be amusing.

The rest of us swelled in rage, ignoring the mortal in our shock that the god of thieves would dare return. His expression forbidding, Death said to the god of thieves, You have not served your punishment.

The punishment was unfair, Thievery said. You blamed me for Discovery’s death, yet who among you is pure of guilt? You, too, have toyed with the mortal world. You have made favorites. You gave them children. The god-blooded of Herrath are your doing as much as mine.

Sid diminished in our consideration. We nearly forgot her.

But in Herrath, Nirrim’s people searched far and wide for Sid. They sent Rinah, with her gift of manipulating plants, into the jungle to examine the trees, the leaves, the roots, the vines. She listened to them, wandering until she found a swathe of destruction, a way cut through the vegetation. It was fresh. It had wounded the jungle, and the jungle was eager for Rinah to find out who had done this.

Sid’s body was discovered in the clearing—alive, yet trapped in a kind of sleep that could not be broken. Her muddied skin was warm to the touch. Her chest rose and fell with her breath. Nothing, however, could rouse her.

Morah was taken from the temple. Guards came to place Sid’s body on a bier, and bring her to the queen.

Death, said the god of thieves, if I can prove the unfairness of your punishment, will I be welcomed home?

Death inclined his smoky head.

I dared not disagree. I did not want Death’s attention to fall upon me.

Go ahead, mortal, the god of thieves said to Sid. A smile grew across his face. Dread grew within me. Thievery said, What would you have of me?

Nirrim’s heart, said Sid.

Oh, this? Thievery lifted his palm. We could all see the rosy beauty of compassion glowing upon it.

What do you want in exchange? Sid said. Ask, and I will give it to you.

The pantheon went terribly silent. Even the god of thieves, I think, was stunned. Desperate mortals always offer too much. They never see the trap that has been set for them. You do not bargain with the gods, let alone in their realm, let alone with all of us looking on, our attention focused upon you. There is no game you can play with us and hope to win.

Sid of the Herrani, although she did not know it yet, had already lost.