Lacus Timoris

TIMELINE: AUGUST 17, 2017. FOUR DAYS TO THE ECLIPSE.

Judy's advisor is a smart man. He'd have to be, to hold his position for more than an afternoon; people who aren't clever tend to fail once they hit a certain level of academia. That's not a judgment—Judy's own parents couldn't understand half of what she said before they died, even when she was speaking one of their shared languages, and they were both brilliant. Their brilliance was just focused on other things, leaving matters like accreditation, thesis defense, and class planning to people with the mental room to care.

Judy cares. Judy cares a lot. The current record for most languages spoken fluently by a single person is forty-two, and she plans on beating that. Professor Middleton, who probably speaks languages numbered in the hundreds, doesn't count. He's never going to sit down with the people who maintain the Guinness Book and let them put him through his paces, because if he did, he'd be revealed as something more than human. Which means, given the way the scraps of magic still left in the world protect themselves, that he'd go through the whole process, only for the examiners to forget, if he was lucky. If he wasn't lucky, they'd turn out to be alchemists, or they'd be in a terrible accident before they could report their findings, and he'd have to carry the guilt over their deaths forever. Either way, he won't be appearing on any official lists.

Judy isn't like him, isn't the living incarnation of the concepts behind spoken and written language. She has a natural talent for languages, but she has to work at it, has to study and make an effort for every new sentence structure and scrap of syntax. Chang'e isn't a goddess of language, never has been so far as Judy can tell, and she's gone digging for every obscure myth and retelling she can find. Being able to read them in their original dialects helps a lot, and yet she's never found a mention of the goddess who maintains the peach orchards on the moon having a gift for Scrabble, much less the foundational blocks of language itself. That means she's not cheating when she goes for the record, and that means she needs to do things according to the rules. Which means degrees and advisors and so much homework that sometimes she wants to scream and start throwing things.

Dictionaries are heavy. They make surprisingly effective projectiles.

And because her advisor is a smart man, when she walked into his office this morning, emotionally loaded for bear and ready to pick a fight over basically anything, he had gone immediately into damage-control mode. He didn't agree to anything that was going to hurt her academically, but he also didn't bring up the increasingly sensitive subject of Professor Middleton's Language Acquisition course, which she needs to pass in order to continue with her current research focus.

(Judy chose Berkeley for her graduate work out of a list of possible colleges based on their linguistics department before it became common knowledge that one of their junior professors and rising stars was a cuckoo of Reed's creation. "Common knowledge" in this case meaning the Seasonals found out, and once the Seasonals knew, all the pantheons were quickly informed, since every group of gods worth knowing had at least one member associated in some way with the seasons. By the time she'd learned the unobtrusive man with the wire-framed glasses and the tendency to drink too much coffee before classes was also the metaphysical equivalent of a thermonuclear device without a safety, she'd been two years into her graduate program and well established within the local Lunar community. Starting over without a good, believable, mundane reason would be virtually impossible. "I'm afraid I'll attract the attention of the man who just walked into a glass wall because he was so busy yelling at the baseball scores on his phone that he didn't realize it was there" isn't a reason.)

Thanks to her advisor's uncharacteristic sense of self-preservation, Judy leaves the meeting far calmer than she expected, ready to go and deal with Diana. Like Middleton, Diana is a teacher at the school, but as she teaches textile arts—the much-maligned "underwater basket weaving" course was one of hers, and she still defends it when people bring it up—she's at far less risk of attracting Middleton's terrifying regard than Judy is.

Some people have all the luck.

Judy lopes across campus with the quick, efficient stride of someone who's had someplace to be since five minutes before she was born and hasn't missed an appointment yet. She smiles and nods at other students as she passes them, endlessly pleasant, endlessly polite. It's easier that way. She's done the research; the amount of energy she expends being nice to people she'll never see again is far less than the amount expended if she has to deal with someone whose bad day explodes all over her when they decide she's being antisocial. Managing the feelings of others shouldn't be her job, and yet it's a job she's willing to do if it means she doesn't have to fight.

Many of them smile and wave back. She even knows a few of their names, the natural consequence of spending several years running across the same campus. She's never taken an art class here, never plans to—her main artistic activity is calligraphy, and while she's skilled, she doesn't feel the need to take it from hobby to profession, doesn't want to turn it into one more obligation—and still, she's a common sight around the department.

The reason why is just wrapping up a beginning weaver's course when Judy reaches her classroom door. Diana isn't currently stepped up into her divinity, which means she's just Professor Kira Williams, an ordinary middle-aged woman. She's tall and thickly built, ornately braided hair shot through with veins of incredibly pure white that started coming in when she first manifested as a facet of Diana, and look more appropriate to her age with every year that passes.

Most Lunars gray early. Judy herself started at sixteen. It's one of the only signs of aging the Peaches of Immortality can't conceal or erase, and in this case, it wouldn't matter if they could; Professor Williams believes divinity isn't the same as immortality, and that if it were, her aging would have stopped on its own, not because she drinks a few peach smoothies a week. She hasn't requested so much as a sip of peach juice since Judy came to campus, and it doesn't seem like she's going to start any time soon. She's aging the way everyone else does, and one day, when age catches up to her, she'll pass quietly into whatever waits for incarnate goddesses when they die.

Professor Williams wears jeans and a brightly colored smock, which means she probably has a painting class after this one. She sees Judy in the doorway and nods acknowledgement without stopping what she's doing, continuing to move among her students, nudging and helping them toward their desired results. She's old-fashioned and a little on the crunchy granola side of things, with her socks and sandals and office full of macramé she made herself, but her student assessments are always spectacular, and her graduates often go on to actual careers in the arts.

Judy retreats to the nearest bench to sit and absorb the sunlight while she can. It's been a long week. She'll be glad when it's over. Tonight is her turn to step into the sky above the Impossible City and shine down on a populace she's never known, one who doesn't care if she smiles and waves on her way to class.

Some people say that when Moons die, they get passports to the City. They can go there forever, if that's what they want to do. As long as it's not forced, Judy thinks that could be a pretty decent severance package. She wants to be the greatest natural linguist in the world (she's not natural, she's a moon goddess, but no one made her that way; her parents, Moon rest their souls, were ordinary people whose squalling, screaming infant daughter just happened to attract the attention of a cosmic force), and that means being in the world, for as long as it takes. It doesn't matter if Middleton will always outperform her. She'll know the truth, and that means she can win.

Shining over the City is the ultimate manifestation of what a Moon can be in this world. It's more relaxing than a week of good sleep or an orgasm so strong it takes your breath away. That's why they have to take turns, why there have to be so many of them passing the mantle around. It would be easy to get addicted to the sky above the City, to fall so deep into the pattern of waxing and waning in that psalm-bright air, that if one Moon had to do it alone for very long, they'd forget how to step down. They'd stop being human, and if they stopped being human, the Moon would leave them, because what's the point of having a mortal manifestation that refuses to be mortal?

No one knows what would happen to them after that. If it's ever happened, it was so long ago that it isn't even a cautionary tale anymore. Maybe one of the moon stories has the seed of that event tucked deep inside, wreathed in image and metaphor until it doesn't bear any resemblance to what actually occurred. Judy doesn't know.

Supposedly there's a Moon somewhere in Oregon who studies folklore for a living. Maybe she'd know. But that would require caring enough to ask, which would take energy, and right now, Judy doesn't have any. Right now, she has the sun, and the bench, and the sound of someone sitting down beside her.

Judy cracks open an eye, and there's Professor Williams, smiling kindly. There's a hard glint in the older woman's eyes, and Judy knows if she wastes her time, she's going to face the consequences. Professor Williams doesn't suffer fools easily.

"Are we alone?" she asks.

The professor nods. "For the moment."

"Is there somewhere we could go to make sure we stay alone?"

The hard glint softens, replaced by puzzlement. "Is there a reason you need to speak to me in private and couldn't wait for office hours, my dear?"

"Yes, and if I say it and we're not alone, we're both going to have issues. So is there somewhere we can go?"

Professor Williams stands with a sigh, offering Judy her hand and pulling the younger woman from the bench. Judy goes willingly—this is why she came, after all—and doesn't take offense when the professor drops her hand as quickly as she took it, not allowing the contact to linger. Moons don't like to touch each other when they can avoid it. They're all manifestations of different human ideas about the identity they share, but there's only one moon in the sky at night. There's a dissonance to the contact that the human nervous system isn't quite equipped to deal with.

Professor Williams starts to walk away and Judy follows, into the building and past classrooms both empty and occupied until they reach a large supply closet. Professor Williams gestures for Judy to follow her inside, then shuts the door and turns to face her. As she does, her dark eyes glint silver, and the air around her begins to sparkle with a pale, impossible light.

Diana.

"You didn't need to step up to speak to me," says Judy, without heat. She'd probably have done the same if one of her juniors had come to her and asked her to go somewhere alone with them, refusing to explain the reasons why. It's self-protection, and it only makes sense.

The Moons aren't like the Seasons. They cooperate. They get along. But there are old stories about times when one member of the pantheon decided they wanted more time above the City, and started taking people out of the rotation the old-fashioned way.

If she hadn't been there when Máni came through the gate with Aske's blood on his hands—if it hadn't been Máni, who clings to mortality like it's a lifeline—she might have suspected him of doing exactly that. Younger Lunars are more likely to be tempted by the sweet City air, even though they're less likely to have the power to do anything about it.

"I think I do," says Diana. Judy can hear Professor Williams under the voice of the goddess, but she's faint, an echo, like the woman is speaking down a long hallway. Diana's really nervous, then, if she stepped up that fast and that far. Judy has to fight the urge to step up to match her. Chang'e isn't as powerful as Diana. If Diana saw her natural reaction as a threat…

No. Better to stay as she is, and let the old image of the mortal petitioner kneeling before the divine placate Diana's anxieties. Judy takes a deep breath, pushing her own anxieties aside.

"Máni went to the City last night," she says. "He was late coming back by over an hour. I had to hold the gate open and wait for him to return with the key."

"That isn't my concern," says Diana. "I'm not the one who makes sure you come and go when you're supposed to."

Somehow, no one is, and somehow, that doesn't keep them all from sticking to the schedule like they're being managed. Even the ones like Máni, who'd rather not do anything that involves showing up for work, still know when it's their turn, and still show up. Maybe it's the actual moon, somehow, some intrinsic part of their shared identity reflecting down through the whole pantheon.

"I know," says Judy. "But I had to wait, and it's important you know I waited. I was at the gate before Máni came out. He didn't have a chance to hide anything from me. But he was late."

Diana frowns. Her irritation is starting to fade, replaced by concern. "All right."

"When he came back, he was carrying Aske's body. He found her dead on the ground inside the everything, right in front of the window. And Diana—she hadn't stepped down when she died. She was bleeding blood, yes. She was also bleeding moonlight. How could she be bleeding moonlight?"

Diana stares at her. When she speaks again, the voice of Professor Williams is stronger, more evident. "Judy, are you seriously saying we have a dead student on our hands?"

Judy shakes her head, quick and sharp. "No. I was able to convince Máni that being found with the body of a dead white girl from Minnesota would cause more problems than it solved, and she was still bleeding moonlight, so it wasn't like we could hand her over to the coroner. He left her in the corridor, just inside."

"Who shines tonight?"

"I do. Abuk is supposed to be there for the handoff. I was hoping you could tell her before it's time to go, so that if the body's still there, she won't be surprised."

"And if the body's not there anymore?"

"I think it will be. No one has access to the everything except for us." Judy looks at her gravely. "What could have done this? What could kill a Lunar inside the everything? Do we need to be worried about killers coming through the window from the City?"

"No," says Diana. She sighs, heavily, and Judy realizes she doesn't know how old Professor Williams is, how long she's been carrying the mantle of the goddess and splitting her existence between the mortal and the divine. "Thank you for telling me about this. It's important that I know. And that means I have something it's important for you to know, too."

"What's that?" asks Judy.

Lunars tend to cluster together. It makes it easier for them to manage the rotation, since the gate can only be opened with a special kind of key. Judy doesn't know how the keys are made, but she assumes they must be, since they're physical objects; they can be lost. That doesn't mean all the Lunars currently incarnate will be in the same place, or that it would be safe if they were. Berkeley is one of the larger current clusters—and she has some theories about why that might be—but it's not the only one.

So it's not entirely a surprise when Diana says, "I was speaking with Launsina, in Maine. One of her juniors died recently, the manifestation of Wu Gang. They found his body outside the gate, but he was bleeding as you describe, red mixed with silver, like he hadn't been given the chance to step down."

Judy never met the man, obviously, but she still feels a pang at the name of his manifestation. Wu Gang is one of the Lunars who supposedly shares her version of the celestial moon, chopping down an ever-growing olive tree forever as punishment for his crimes. None of the stories have him anywhere near her orchards, and so she supposes they're neutral toward each other, if not intended to be friends. Still, inside her, behind the wall she keeps to separate mortal from manifestation, she feels Chang'e begin to weep.

"Chandra reports much the same, only in her case, the fallen god was Wadd. Otherwise, the same pattern. Found outside the gate, dead but manifest."

"Ours is different," says Judy, trying to fight back the feeling of creeping dread. "Aske didn't make it out of the everything. Máni says he found her next to the window."

"Máni, or David?" asks Diana.

The difference is essential. Divine senses are sharper than mortal ones; if David found the body, he might have missed something. Judy shakes her head.

"Máni told Chang'e what happened before he stepped down."

"I would like to speak with her," says Diana.

Judy has been expecting that request since it became apparent they were looking at more than one death. Still, she catches her breath, steadying herself, before she says, "Of course," and lets the wall come down.

Chang'e is anxious. She doesn't like this any more than Judy does. No god likes to be reminded that they can die. She surges forward so hard and fast that Judy barely has a moment before she's washed away, banished into the depths of herself, and Chang'e is fully incarnate once more.

She understands that the Seasons, once they claim their crowns, exist as human and concept together always, the two beings sharing one body and one set of goals. The human can rise and fall within their season, allowing it to take however much control they feel is right, and in that regard, it's a lot like the divine stepping up and stepping down that Judy endures, but the human and the metaphysical are always present, always combined. For the Lunars, it's not quite like that.

Chang'e is always herself, distinct from Judy, the woman who carries her. They exist together, and they speak together when they choose, but which percentage of which is present varies from moment to moment. When Judy is fully stepped down, she's just a human, with nothing special about her save for a sharp tongue and a gift for languages. And when Chang'e is fully stepped up, she can grow a peach tree out of nothing with a brush of her fingers to the soil, and the fruit it bears will heal any ill, grant youth and even immortality to the one who consumes it.

"Wu Gang, truly?" asks Chang'e, as soon as she has sufficient control to choose her own words. "I didn't even know he was manifest in any of his aspects. How long ago did he find himself?"

"That matters less than his death," says Diana. "He was found outside the gate but was otherwise as your mortal half describes: human and divine at the same time, bleeding silver that didn't fade. His body was taken by Launsina; her portfolio includes the seas, and so when she asked the waters to rise and claim him, they did. His bones rest at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"Didn't his mortal aspect have a family?" asks Chang'e. "They'll miss him."

"He was a former felon who worked at an under-the-table mechanic's shop. No one will miss him," says Diana.

Inside Chang'e, Judy rages at the casual dismissal of a man's life, and Chang'e tries to soothe her without letting her own unhappiness show. She doesn't want to antagonize Diana.

There's a certain coldness that comes to the stronger gods, the ones who don't need to worry as much about their mortal halves. Diana has the power to make sure Professor Williams will never want for anything, to keep her safe and comfortable for as long as she serves as vessel to the goddess. So she forgets, sometimes, how fragile mortal lives and mortal relationships can be.

"Someone might," says Chang'e.

"That's their problem," says Diana. "He was still leaking divinity when he was consigned to the deeps. There was no way to give him to a human coroner without raising more questions than we have the ability to answer—or attracting the attention of the alchemists. Do you really think that would have been better for any human relations who might have come looking, to know the body of their cousin was stolen from the morgue? At least this way, he just disappeared. They may never know what happened, but that leaves them with the possibility of hope."

"I suppose," says Chang'e.

"I'm more concerned about the fact that Aske was found inside the gate. Who handled the hand-off when she went to shine over the City?"

"Um," says Chang'e. "It wasn't me. I don't… I don't actually know who escorted her to the gate. I'm sorry, Diana."

"You should know."

Should I?wonders Judy. She's not in charge of the Lunars of the area, has authority over them only in that she's a naturally pushy person and has organized them, to a degree, to her own liking. But she isn't responsible for them and can't actually tell them what to do. They listen because it's easier than arguing, not because she's their superior. It sounds like she's trying to blame us for her responsibilities not getting handled. Don't let her put this on us.

"You're right."

Coward.

Chang'e straightens, trying to ignore the small, angry voice of her mortal half. She wishes she could keep Judy pushed down as long as she needs to, give the woman time to calm… but it's hard to explain the glowing when she's not locked away with another goddess who glows even brighter than she does.

"Find out. We may have a traitor in our midst."

Chang'e stands a little straighter, eyes widening. "Are there any gods in common between the impacted communities?"

They don't discuss it often, but no single mortal manifestation can contain the full scope of a god. They would die for their hubris if they even attempted it. There are a dozen Dianas in the world right now, a dozen Artemises, and probably as many Chang'es. The big European gods may try to ignore her prominence, but the Mid-Autumn Festival in China celebrates her and the Chinese space program is named after her. She's an important goddess in her own right.

Manifestations of the same god tend to avoid each other when possible. There's a terrible dissonance inherent in sharing space with yourself, and the addition of their mortal aspects can make it endlessly confusing. Chang'e can probably get along with herself no matter what, but can Judy get along with whoever that other Chang'e also is? Dianas coexist better than most, in part because the core Greek myths they pull their belief from are so fragmented and varied. They're all different people, even as they're the same. That's one of the reasons they tend to wind up in charge of the regional groups, even when other, equally powerful manifestations are present.

Diana glances away, not immediately answering, and Chang'e frowns. It wasn't an inappropriate question. If there are concerns about traitors, looking for commonalities is what makes the most sense.

"No clear ones," says Diana. "You say Máni found the body? Is there any chance he moved it before he brought it to you?"

Chang'e's frown deepens as she sees the trap lurking below the question. Diana's asking whether Máni could have killed the other god, then moved her into the everything. She shakes her head. "No. I walked him to the gate. He already had the key from the previous night's hand-off…" She trails off. That's not possible if Aske never came out of the everything. Aske was the Moon over the Impossible City the night before, and if she died in the everything, Máni can't have had the key. It would have been with Aske.

Diana nods. "There, you see? He could have killed her as she stepped up, hidden the body, and come back later to move it into the everything."

"But that would have meant abandoning his post. The moonlight over the City would have faded or even failed, depending on how many gods were at their own windows, and we'd have heard about it by now."

"Would we? It's never happened in my knowledge. We all just assume that if something happened to interfere with the moonlight, the City would get us a message, but what does that look like, exactly? Is there a newsletter we don't normally receive that you think would show up in our inboxes?"

Chang'e's cheeks burn red with embarrassment. "Then I suppose it's possible for him to have ducked away."

"Were you at the gate all night?"

"No. It's not part of the duty. You see the ascendant Moon to the gate, watch them walk into the everything, and close the gate from the human side of things. It disappears until the Moon begins their return journey across the City sky, and you can go do whatever you need to."

She doesn't mention that she didn't see him to the gate. In Judy's case, after missing the hand-off, "whatever she needed to do" had been asserting herself long enough to finish a paper that was due at the end of the week, drink two peach wine coolers, and flirt with brief, drunken abandon with a cute history major she'd run into on her way back to campus. Nothing special; nothing out of the ordinary or that Diana needed to know about.

Diana nods again, looking smugger. "Aske is dead, and that's a tragedy. Máni has some questions to answer, I think."

"He looked terrified."

"I would be too, if I had just betrayed the pantheon."

This doesn't feel right. Chang'e hasn't been a goddess as long as Diana has, doesn't know as many of the rules, but she doesn't feel like this is the time to argue, not with the air sparkling silver and Diana looking at her, so confident that she understands the situation better than Chang'e does. Still, she has to try one more time, and so she asks:

"Is there currently a Máni in either of the other communities?"

"I don't keep their memberships memorized. Go find him. Tell him I want to see him."

Something in her tone makes Chang'e shiver. But she nods, and says, "Yes, ma'am."

And then, to her surprise, Diana steps down, and it's Professor Williams looking at her wearily, not glowing at all. Just a woman like any other woman, soft and defenseless. She can move between states with incredible speed, and Chang'e knows that if she moved against Diana's mortal vessel, she'd be struck down before she could do any real damage. Still, it's a show of trust large enough to be confusing, and so she doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, barely even dares to breathe.

"I appreciate you bringing this to me," says Professor Williams. "I know the girl was a friend of yours. I'm sorry for your loss."

She wasn't,rages Judy. She was a junior goddess from Minnesota who barely had time to figure out how to shine before she died, and now her family is going to think all those stories about how dangerous California is are true. I don't even remember her name!

In some ways, that's the worst of it. There's no point in mourning for Aske: gods are hermit crabs, and humans are the shells they wear. Even if Aske is too minor a goddess to have more than one mortal manifestation at a time, she'll be fine. She's already back in her personal pantheon's version of paradise, catching her breath before she finds a new mortal shell to nestle herself inside. She's lost a few decades of human existence, at the most. But the girl she wore on her back, the girl with the wheat-gold hair and the mild echolalia that made every conversation with her like conversing with a deeply genial parrot, that girl is gone, and Judy never bothered to learn her name.

Chang'e simply bows her head, a moment of private grief for what's been lost.

"You can step down now," says Professor Williams, a sharp note in her voice. Chang'e looks up again, startled. It's not standard for them to order one another between states like this, and even Diana, who is largely accepted as the last authority among the local Lunars, isn't normally this blunt.

Still, she pulls back and drops down, and Judy is there once again, allowing her frown free rein as she eyes the older woman. "I suppose you want me to fetch Máni before tonight's trip to the City?"

"Not necessarily," says Professor Williams. Judy blinks. Her confusion fades as the professor continues: "It's your turn to see the City, isn't it? You can check the supposed crime scene, and tell me whether you think anything's been disturbed, before I confront him. We're in this together, after all." She smiles, the small, conspiratorial smile of someone who knows they're going to get their way.

Judy didn't survive this long in academia without learning to recognize the signs of someone preparing to take advantage of her. So she smiles conspiratorially back and says, "That sounds good to me," and she doesn't mean a word of it, and she's just glad that Diana, for all her qualities, was never a goddess of the truth. She'd be in real trouble if she were.

Something's wrong. And before she brings anyone to talk to the professor, she's going to find out what it is.