Hemma sat in the bed alone, door closed and locked. Fosta had left shortly after without a parting word, and locked her into the room with no dress and no way to clean up. She could feel him dripping out of her as she sat there and felt sick to her stomach. She grabbed one of the blankets from the bed and did her very best to rid herself of any trace of the greedy god before wrapping herself in the clean blanket from the floor. She laid down, aching and crying until she fell into a fitful sleep.
When she woke the door was open, and on the table next to her was a pitcher and cup of water. Hemma sat up and thirstily drank two full cups of water, forcing herself to slow down and sip the third so she didn't get sick.
Her entire body ached, but one place in particular hurt more than anything. Standing slowly, she half hobbled to the door, leaning on the frame and looking up the stairs. She had still had no clothes, the remnants of now two torn dresses laid in small puddles on the floor. Somehow, putting the rags back on felt more shameful than standing in the nude. She knew she must look a mess, covered in bruises, black smudges, sweat, tears, and blood. Making up her mind, she strode up the stairs to where she suspected the god waited. She would make him face what he had done to her. She wouldn't try to cover any of the damage done. Each step was met with an ache deep inside, and each step helped fuel her righteous anger toward the barbarian who had caused it.
On her way up the stairs and past the locked doors, she heard sounds coming from behind each door that she hadn't heard before. A short pause beside one door was met with what sounded like a wounded animal, yet was eerily familiar to Hemma in a way she couldn't place. The door was still locked, to her relief. If she was honest with herself, she was not mentally prepared to meet whatever horror laid on the other side, nor was she in a physical state to protect herself. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was breathing hard.
Looking around the space, Hemma strode forward, ready to see the reaction of the god to her unruly state. She rounded a wall of stacked books and too late realized the god was not alone. She was met with two sets of eyes and quickly tried to hide herself behind the books, all the building anger evaporating under their scrutiny.
"Ah! She is finally awake!" Fosta exclaimed, much too happy and smug, not at all the reaction Hemma had been hoping for.
"Come here tribute and present yourself for our guest!"
Unable to disobey out of shock and fear, Hemma came to stand beside the god who put a large arm around her shoulder, as one would a friend or lover.
The stranger, a woman, who stood in front of them displayed the reaction Hemma had been hoping to get out of the god who was now acting as if he had not just violently taken her purity. The woman looked appalled, worried, and horrified at the state of the human in front of her. The woman's demeanor quickly changed from horror to outright anger toward the god at her side.
"How dare you treat her like this! I don't even know you anymore, uncle. All these years alone and one would think-"
"Exactly! Alone! That was how I wanted it. Don't come forcing your fantasies of romance onto me. I was perfectly fine as I was."
Fosta shoved Hemma at the woman and turned his back on the two. "Clean up your mess, or see her placed with the others," he snarled as he strode out of the room, toward the stairs. The sound of a door slamming could be heard echoing through the cavern.
A moment of silence followed, and the woman slowly approached Hemma, as she would a frightened animal.
"It's okay," she said, reaching a hand out to brush Hemma's hair out of her eyes. "I'm here to help."
Now that Fosta's intimidating presence was gone, Hemma felt all that anger rise to the surface again. She took a step back, breaking the unwanted contact. "Here to help?" Hemma questioned with a laugh. "Here to help?! If I understand this all correctly, you are the reason I am here in the first place, so I can be his what? Lover? Wife? Whore? Is this what you wanted? To throw an innocent into the lion's den in an attempt to cheer him up? To watch him pounce and play with his food? No, I think you don't care a single bit about how well I'm doing."
"No! No, you must believe me, I didn't think this would happen! He wasn't always like this. I thought..." The woman took a breath, once again looking Hemma over. "I thought you might remind him of the one he loved so long ago. You look so much like her..."
"I am not some pawn to be used in your games." Hemma ground out, her anger quickly being overtaken by exhaustion. Seeing the slump of her shoulders and tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, the woman stepped forward once again.
"Come," the woman said, gently taking Hemma's hand and guiding her toward a far wall. She pressed a rune carved into the rock, it glowed, and a hole opened in the rock the size and shape of a passageway.
...
The walk to the pools was much shorter than Hemma's hike to the library, much to her relief. Her body was threatening to collapse in on itself at any moment.
The woman helped Hemma down the stone hewn steps leading into the water. Once submerged, Hemma felt relief. An hour of soaps and oils later, Hemma laid on the steps with her head just above the water.
"What is your name?" Hemma asked the woman who now sat on the edge of the pool with just her feet in the water. As she bathed, Hemma had gotten a good look at the woman and saw that her face held the same kind of young/ageless features that Fosta's did, except, instead of deep seated anger and bitterness, her features were kinder with lines that indicated laughs and smiles under different circumstances.
"You can call me Ospree if you like. My friends call me Ossy."
Hemma's eyes went wide, suddenly making the connection. "How are you Ospree? You look nothing like her! Was that you the whole time?"
Ospree laughed softly, "Yes, it was me. I take on many different faces and forms, whatever suits me in the moment."
"And you tricked me into taking the black stone."
"I would say I chose you, yes. The priests are convinced it is all fate or random chance, but the gods have always influenced the odds of the draw."
"So, you're a god. I haven't heard of you." As soon as she said it, Hemma regretted it, fearing she might have offended this god with unknown power. But Ospree only laughed again, some of that familiar jovial attitude coming through.
"I imagine you haven't. Mostly, only the old gods are known to humans. The younger ones, like myself, are given the opportunity to establish our name among mortals. I have seen no need to. In fact, I find a significant advantage in remaining anonymous."
This made Hemma admire the young goddess a little bit. This goddess didn't care about fame or followers, she worked in the background by choice. She stood up out of the water and was met with a blanket that went down to her ankles. Many of the aches and pains were dulled after the bath and it felt immaculate to be clean once again.
"Why do you help him?" Hemma wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer.
Ospree, turning out to be the same talkative personality Hemma had met in the Village, hopped on the opportunity to fill the silence.
"I took on the assignment of attending to my father's brother's duties while he was indisposed a few centuries ago. And then I just never left. He needed me you see, after... He wasn't well for a long time and I felt sorry for him, so I stuck around and helped where I could. Fosta used to choose the tributes every year, carefully selecting those he could help and those who needed to be judged, but he started letting it fall to chance. One year a boy no older than 10 was chosen to face judgment. Fosta is honor bound to tear out corruption of the soul and the weight of the trauma he must have caused weighed on him more than anything I have ever seen. After that year I insisted on taking over."
"I don't understand," Hemma pried for more information, taking advantage while she could. "Why not just let the boy go. What did he do?"
Ospree took a moment to answer. When she did, her words sounded like she was choosing each one carefully. "It isn't that simple. The world used to be much more violent than it is now. Powers of evil corrupted even the gentlest of souls. Fosta found a way he could help the worst of these people, but the humans resisted. So, Fosta turned the winds against the people until they were willing to make a deal. In exchange for peace with their god, Fosta demanded the sacrifice of one corrupted soul to heal every year. A blood oath was made, binding the high priest and Fosta into this contract."
Hemma listened intently, unfamiliar with this legend. "That doesn't sound so bad, healing corrupted souls, I mean."
"There is a reason they call it judgment," Ospree said, looking more serious than before. "Corruption winds its way around a soul, weaving itself into the very makeup of a human's essence. To remove it is no simple task. It is excruciating for the human, and not everyone makes it out whole. The worst cases destroy the soul completely, leaving an empty husk behind."
Ospree looked haunted at the memory of it. "It is the reason he has never chosen a woman."
Hemma couldn't help but blanch at that thought. After her own experience with the god, she couldn't imagine him having any chivalrous notions toward women.
Seeing her skeptical look, Ospree gave her a small, sympathetic smile. "Like I said, he hasn't always been this way. The centuries have made him..."
"An asshole?"
"Yah, I guess you could say that," Ospree laughed. "He doesn't have the same love for life that he used to. And after he lost the one person he cared for more than himself, well, he really lost all care for humanity."
They both fell into silence after that, Hemma processing this new information, and Ospree wondering if she had shared too much or overstepped again.
...
After the bath, Hemma felt like a new person. She was given another dress, identical to the one before, but this time the color of sage.
