Pantheon

Blessing

To Moa, the skies on the Realm of Inder have always been a little bit boring. Mostly they cycle through the same color of blue, in varying shades depending on the weather or time of day, which, despite occasionally being really pretty shades of that one color, only puts it at level six out of eight on the Sky Handsomeness Index. Sure, sunrises and sunsets are when Inder decides to experiment a bit, for once, but it still has the effect of a fed up artist splashing gaudy paint on a canvas in a last ditch attempt to make something unique. Don't lose hope, Inder. Some people still love you for you. Like Torr, who is still mad at her for making up the Sky Handsomeness Index in the first place.

Torr was also the one who said that this storm system would be one of the biggest that Inder has seen in a long time, though, and storm systems interfere with the elements in the air in a way that makes gaudy sunsets into strange, vivid masterpieces. Abstract watercolors – Inder's hidden talent.

Moa is a shrike today. Her deep blue feathers glimmer with a sheen of iridescence, in honor of the occasion, and her beak is altered from a shrike's natural vicious sharpness and turns up at the edges like a grin. For some unexplainable reason, Aur is humanoid, bright red hair clashing with reddish-brown skin. They sit carefully weightless at the very top of the tallest tree in the Inderin forest, waiting for the storm to roll in and justify choosing this place for a date between two goddesses.

The watercolors start to roll in as the storm front sitting on the horizon mashes into the beginnings of sunset. They have a perfect view for watching the immense system roll over the forest. Aur nestles into Moa's needly feathers, absurdly sensitive human form already cold even though the storm's barely started. For once, neither of them speak.

The storm hits, and the air is electric. Aur derandomizes every lightning strike so they aren't in any danger of being hit, more out of consideration for the little town of Blessing nestled in the trees below than self preservation. Soon Moa's feathers are soaked through. For the entire night, nothing exists but them and the storm.

And then naturally, Moa gets bored.

She can never stay in one place for long, not the goddess of travel. The next morning, she drags a sleepy Aur down to Blessing to slip into something human for the next few days.

"Ggghh, Moa. What are we, like – " Aur yawns hugely and fakely, draping herself over Moa's shoulders. "Why're we, like, here exactly?"

Here is the tiny Blessing market-circle, locals and Into the Journey merchant-travelers already setting up their wares despite it still being basically night. Moa dropped the shrike and stands as a young woman, soft brown skin and hair like a black raincloud. Aur is the same humanoid form, but stretched lankier so she's just a little taller than Moa.

"We're travelers on my temple – on Into the Journey, Aur, stop it – that's our cover story," Moa murmurs, hoping no one can read lips. "And we're exploring the town or something before ITJ leaves when the storm's over. You don't have to pretend to be tired. Quit it."

"Oh yeah, sure, yeah, great cover story. Yeah, all travelers get up at asscrack-o-clock-in-the-morning every day, that's plausible – "

"Listen – " Aur lets out a loud, honking snore that draws several stares their way, and Moa giggles despite herself. "Listen, if you think that any Inderin has a concrete sense of time, in the middle of a storm system when they can't even see the sun – "

"Good point," says Aur, and stands up.

Even though its sky could usually be better, Moa likes Inder a lot. More than Aur does, anyway, because to her it's not nearly as interesting as Rriu's reliance on currents or Ai and its alien Fair – but that's Aur's sort of thing, of course. Moa's thing is humans.

(But human as a term is pretty restrictive, which isn't what she wants. She loves Rriu's People of the Mer, and all their half-air half-sea hybrid children. She loves the magnificent Myriad, and Lowa's Upsides and Downsides, and Inder's own hungry Conyans and feathered Diricals and slithering Zhedicks and –

– you really can't call the Fair human – )

Wow, she is good at tangents.

Moa loves sentient creatures.

Inder has a lot of good ones.

The Inder humans are probably the most devout, and the second most creative after the ones on Myriad (way distinct from the Myriad themselves). Maybe it's the extra oxygen in the air – the massive flora and fauna on Inder, the photosynthesizing Myriad themselves on Myriad? Anyway, here it results in a lot of faith-based art – like, a lot. It's why travelers come to Inder. Inderins have to rely on faith a lot, in their delightfully nomadic existence between the forest fires and the unending turf wars of the three species that share their Realm.

Blessing is a fairly new colony – only around a year since its last split, Moa's favorite kind. She and Aur, who warms up quickly as usual, are not-quite-touristy temple-travelers for the brief days until the storm moves on. They help preserve food and distill ink, and are repaid with food and crafts. One old man offers them a love charm, to invite Ashkyrell to bless their relationship. Aur thinks this is very funny, because the last time she talked to Kyre she nearly got punched, even though the old man is obviously trying his best and even nearly drew Kyre's sigil right.

Inder in a storm: great place for a date.

On the last day, Moa gets distracted by a stall selling jewelry made with shed Merlie scales, and Aur doesn't notice and keeps walking, and they lose each other. It happens. That's not the interesting part.

The interesting part is that as Moa is talking to the lady running the stall, about her sick merchant-traveler cousin and her children and her unborn son, the lady gasps, and stumbles, and bends double like she's going to faint.

It takes Moa half a second to realize that the lady's gone into labor, and another two to yell for a doctor, and another three to decide to leap into a fuzzfly's form and follow her as she's guided away.

On Inder, they sing as you give birth. The choruses wind around the darkened birthing room, the woman's wails and the baby's eventual shrieks rising in a strange kind of harmony.

Moa sits fascinated on the corner of the ceiling. Has she ever witnessed something like this before?

Her own birth – well, "birth" – well – was nothing like this.

It looks so small.

Tiny fingers curled like scallops. Swollen, gummy eyelids, soft domed skull. Milky, indistinct cries, and thoughts like spasms so hard Moa can feel them in the air.

She was nothing like this.

Sitting in the smoky room, frozen and hyperfocused for forty-eight hours, Moa is sure that the act of human creation outstrips the marvel of the divine.

The mother names him Rainingsong.

On the third day, she leaves his side for the first time. To eat, to stretch her legs, to help with the postpartum cramps. Moa doesn't know. After she has been gone for some time, Moa unfolds from the restricted fuzzfly and into something similar to her human form, but allowing the cracks and lines of agelessness to flow across her skin. She approaches the finally sleeping Rainingsong, who blinks awake at her approach.

She smiles at him, and it feels like a soberly inadequate gift - only then he smiles, far younger than he should, and she feels blessed. She leans in and brushes a feather-light kiss to his forehead.

There's a gasp from the doorway, and Moa looks up and locks eyes with his mother. She's frozen, the split second of shock before the awe and joy and relief set in.

Moa nods to her minutely, and shivers out of the room to appear beside Aur. She can still hear the shouts of the mother now, as she swoops up her baby and kisses him, halfway across the town.

"Moanuni! Oh, my child! Oh, my child, Moanuni has blessed you and blessed this town and this day! Oh, Moanuni's Rainingsong, the goddess has Called you!"