Our Little Gods 1: RABATEA, the first World of the Daughters.

Chapter 29.

'I know why I am here. I must help these people and guide them to freedom from the old gods and goddesses. I know there must be battles and my enemies will be formidable. I know there will be scores of dead and I fear being the reason for so much pain and destruction. It rakes my soul and keeps me awake at night.' (Confessions of a Living God, The Veviensis. By Etran Shish)

Atacherel was riding his wheeler with the important guest he would have to escort to Sancto later this day. Arcros of Haven, the city founded by the Veviensis herself on the Godsend Island. He was their elected leader. Atacherel as Balà born, on these Isles: The Sillaribes, kept having conflicted feelings about this city on the Godsend. Its people were refugees from the early days, who, after wandering aimlessly, most likely, in the wasteland; happened on the Ring Sea. How and why these fools decided to go and land on the Godsend was beyond him. Atacherel would have had them all deported back to the Broken Lands or the Dead Lands or to any of the innumerable nameless cities that had sprouted out like a rash in the aftermath of the Event.

But he knew he was thinking like an extremist and overreacting since the Revered Emissary, the Veviensis herself, had founded their 'city' and named it. An apt name in fact, he was thinking: 'Haven'. Of course most of the resentment of Atacherel for the people of Haven found its roots in the lateness of Balà exploration of the Godsend and the Ring Sea. If only they had been there sooner. If only he had been there sooner... He had been the youngest Balà to captain a fast-sail and the first to sail to the setting side outpost after the Event; it took him less than a month, the fastest crossing ever; he supposed some of his crew still hated him for it. But he has gained his rank as commodore. Then, he took three fast-sails and one short-hull on a full circle trip round the Ring Sea. His log had been copied over a thousand times and circulated in many of the great cities of the world. He recently heard talk of a Vaaratan translation. He wasn't aware Vaarati had a written language.

The Ring Sea had had the reputation of melting the hulls of the ships attempting to sail its waters. Hidden wreckers, burning steam that could set the sails on fire; choking air also, these were all the legendary dangers of the infamous Ring Sea.

Yet he had decided to try and sail it nonetheless. His success, and the success of his log were of course due to the retelling of his encounter with the fallen Rehevîmes and the Revered Emissary herself. After all he was the first Balà to have seen the Veviensis with his own eyes. All his days he would remember the mists in the narrow part of the Ring Sea dividing to reveal a rock spur jutting out of the mainland. The top part was flat and the last of some tall trees shaded it. She was there. Standing. She was wearing what looked like a pelt gown. He remembered how her hair had seem blacker than night and alive with lights. They were so far apart and yet he remembered the feeling of being seen by Her, of his own soul being seen and being approved of. Her hand raised above her shoulder in a gesture that was at the same time salute and summon. Of how he knew suddenly there was a small cove with a sand beach just on the other side of the spur and that they should imperatively make land there this very minute. The wood of the hull was barely biting the sand that he was already in the air, jumping to land on this mountain fallen from the sky.

She was standing in the shade again, just where the trees yielded to the sand. She smiled.

She smiled at him and nothing else mattered. The walk to her was one of the slowest and longest of his existence. His body and his heart had never been so conflicted. Part of his mind tried to behave as the commodore his men had learn to respect, but the rest of his being felt an exhilaration that filled him with the desire to run in circles until he'd drop of exhaustion like a happy child. Then, as each slow pace he took towards her was a fight not to run and throw himself at her feet begging to be allowed to kiss them; he heard her voice. Her lips were not moving and her face, serene and beautiful was composed so he understood she was speaking to his spirit only. It was the voice of the mother he had never had. These were the words of love his father had never allowed to pass between them. And finally they were the acknowledgement of his faith, of all Balàs' faith. Centuries of being ostracized and hunted; centuries of hiding and then the slow rebuilding of their world on the far islands, the settlement on the Evening Island; the ravages of the destruction, the silence of their god about the mountain from the sky, the slow rebuilding after the Cataclysm. Their sheer existence was vindicated by the silent words of the Veviensis. She then touched his hand offering him the third flower of Maharaïa. Of the trip back, there are, in the end, few memories. The trades were with them and the sea was sleek and easy. They made the crossing fast. And the white ship of Helecto was waiting for them in the harbor of Vulgato. That has never happened before. Even after the giant waves of the Event had crushed the shores of the three islands never the white ship had sailed else than to and from the white pier of Sancto. As he was ushered on board and in the main cabin Atacherel saw three sitting figures veiled in white. He said nothing, he opened his hand and showed to them Maharaïa's flower. Nothing was said. But all was changed this day for the Balà.