The Women Who Marry Ghosts

The Request

When Uperi awoke the next morning, she was relieved to find Apo gone. She rolled onto her side, holding her face in her hands for a moment.

The spirits were wrong, and now they're dead, she knew now. Apo was meant for me. She felt moronic for believing, even for a moment. Her husband had only been a dream.

A certainty, not in the least comforting, settled in her belly. To her terror and resignation, it felt like truth.

She curled up tighter and closed her eyes, picturing the dream and retracing her steps. (No, not a dream. But it wasn't real, either.) She had received Apo's child with all the love and devotion a half-Apo creature deserved. Next, he helped her carry his nephew, her perfect half-ghost baby boy, then – then...Apo's brother. He had come to them. He had whispered something to her but she couldn't remember it now. He said something to Apo, too, but she hadn't heard. She wasn't sure what Apo meant when he told his brother he was less than a man in life. She guessed it had something to do with their trip into the wilds. Their interaction had reminded Uperi of old beer – bitter, laced with years both recent and long passed.

Then, when her husband left, and left for good, she and Apo had...For one of the few times in Uperi's life, she blushed.

She pushed onto her back, staring at the top of her hut. How long has she wanted him? Loved him? Did it happen all at once last night, like a flood, or did it happen drop by drop over the years, the way rain fills a lake? She took him for granted. Assumed he would be stepping in tandem, somewhere close by. Sometimes hidden, sometimes not. He had always been there, and sometimes she forgot he wasn't actually a part of her. Separate, but hers. Separate, but joined. Except we aren't, and never will be. Not in the ways that matter. She closed her eyes once more, trying to remember it. She didn't know he could want her like that. Her stomach swooped, her veins scorched when she remembered the way he looked, with hunger and tenderness as he greedily devoured her. When he kissed her, the weight of their long history together vanished like smoke, like dust. The release was dizzying. Sadly, Uperi thought of a shooting star – gorgeous then gone, and gone forever.

Uperi knew the Seer would be exhausted, but she needed to see them. Ask them what it meant that Apo had banished her husband, and what it meant she was grateful for it.

The Seer dozed outside their hut in the morning sunlight. A few apprentices buzzed around, sweeping and frying patties and fermenting beer. Uperi urged them away. To her shock, they complied, retiring to the shade. The Seer snorted awake when, wordless, Uperi sat down next to them.

"You again." The Seer did not sound happy about it.

"I dreamt of him." Her voice sounded hollow.

"You mean you saw him," the Seer corrected. "Dreams are not real." Uperi shrugged, unconvinced.

"Apo told him to leave and never come back." She did not expect the Seer to chuckle.

"Good for him."

"And Apo and I–"

"Don't say it out loud, ever."

The last person who was caught with someone who wasn't their partner had their bits seared and branded, so everyone they joined with would know their shame. The elders considered adultery blasphemous, since it flouted the spirits' decrees. Uperi couldn't bring herself to care.

Uperi's wet lashes fluttered open when the Seer patted her hand.

"What do I do now?" Uperi whispered. The Seer sighed.

"I asked if you knew the cost. This is it. This is how you pay."

Uperi shook her head. "I do not want it."