Staked

“And what about you?”

“Mhathini was about to get married, which was apparently to be the sum of her future. But then she got in that car accident that landed her in the hospital. I am fairly certain from what I could glean of her remaining memories that it was not an accident but rather a suicide attempt.”

“What?”

“Her family is so very abusive. Not physically—I mean verbally. Lots of assertions that Mhathini is stupid and ugly and things of that nature. She didn’t think the marriage would improve matters. And of course the marriage is off now—the man married someone else while she was in a coma—so at this point I am reminded daily of how useless I am.”

“Well, that’s bullshit and you should move on.”

“I think Mhathini tried to do just that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, Granuaile, but you are speaking from a place of tremendous privilege.”

“What? I am not—”

“Hold that thought, please,” Laksha says as we arrive at the tea shop. They have three outside tables and we sit at one, where Orlaith can join us. After we place an order, Laksha picks up the thread of our conversation. “Think about it, please: You have money and the ability to go anywhere you wish on the earth without spending that money. Plus significant physical abilities. These assets make you think it is simple for women to leave abusive situations.”

“I never said it would be simple—just that you should do it. And you have significant abilities too, Laksha. There’s nothing keeping you here except your own will. If the situation is unbearable, then why have you decided to bear it?”

Laksha shrugs noncommittally and looks down at her lap. “This is my karma.”

I snort in disbelief. “How do you figure that?”

“I don’t know what happened to you that night with the rakshasas and your father and Durga…”

That’s not a night I wish to relive, so I say, “The short version is that I’m here and all the rest are not.”

“Yes. I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, after my austerities and prayers, after all of my efforts to battle the rakshasas, during the moment I was likely to do the most good, my help was firmly rejected.”

“Rejected how?”

“I left my host body’s mind, you see, to do battle with the raksoyuj in the ether, as I promised you I would. And while I was in the ether, the woman died—I don’t know how, for she was alive when I left. And Durga told me—not verbally; these were words I heard in the ether itself—that it was not my place to help, that my place was in my necklace, and then she forced me to return there.”

“Durga said that exactly? You’re not paraphrasing?”

“She said that. And then my next memory is of you telling me to inhabit this body or you would leave my necklace behind to be found by whoever walked by. So this is where I am supposed to be.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t follow. I told you to inhabit that body because it was the only one I could find on short notice. I was in a hurry, and that is all. I was not acting at Durga’s instruction and this was never intended to be a prison sentence for you—and I remind you that it’s not a prison of any kind. You can leave that body right now and you know it.”

“No. I am stained by my past, and regardless of your intent in the hospital, I know that this is where I belong.”

“You belong in an abusive household for trying to help me? I’m sorry, Laksha, but I must reject that premise completely. Durga could not have meant that you are never to help anyone again. Why would she want that? Her words applied only to that situation—because you truly couldn’t have helped with my father. That raksoyuj was formidable, to say the least. I mean, Durga had to make an effort to kill him. He was a challenge. I’m sure she didn’t mean for you to sit here and submit passively to some patriarchal toad for trying to help.”

Laksha bobs her head to either side, a noncommittal gesture, and our tea and biscuits arrive. We spend a minute with the rituals involved in serving it—milk and honey, the clink of spoons on porcelain—and then Laksha speaks again.

“You have given me new information and I’m grateful. I will consider it, I promise you, and act should I feel the need. You are right that I can leave at any time. But you are completely dismissing why I am staying.”

I shake my head, uncomprehending. “No, I don’t mean to be dismissive. I guess I don’t understand.”

Laksha flashes a smile at me over her teacup. “That is both likely and easily forgiven.”

“Help me out a little bit?”

She sips, savors the tea, and puts down her cup. “This is not my meek acceptance of systemic misogyny. I am not in need of your rescue. What I need is to atone for centuries—centuries, Granuaile!—of my own cruelty and arrogance. So whether Durga meant for me to be here or not is immaterial. I feel I need to be here, to feel what it’s like to be at the mercy of an arbitrary, power-mad individual like I used to be. I am learning. I am becoming empathetic and understanding the horror of how I used to behave. This is where I am on my spiritual journey. Where are you on yours?”

I flinch because the tone of her voice feels like a slap. “I’m not really on one. Gaia is my jam, and she’s in favor of life on earth. That’s about it. Journey’s over, I’m at my destination.”

“You haven’t told me everything. You’re different. Something else has happened to you besides the death of your father. What am I missing? Is it something to do with why you’re holding your arm awkwardly?”

Yes. She’s missing what Loki did to me, and my determination to never let something like that happen again. Being at the mercy of an arbitrary, power-mad individual has very little to recommend it—I knew from experience with both Loki and my stepfather—but if she feels that it’s necessary for her own personal growth, then my opinion doesn’t matter. Still, her question and its answer shift my vision a little, allowing me to glimpse what she must be seeing: I’m much angrier and more aggressive than I used to be. And, yes, I have cause—but the tragedy is that I’ve lost that giddy wonder I had when I first became bound to Gaia. There was peace too, which I felt even while being pursued across Europe by Artemis and Diana. It’s all gone now.

“You’re missing why I came to see you,” I say, knowing that she would recognize I wished to change the subject. “I need a way to hide myself from divination and wondered if you knew how I could make it happen.”

Laksha grimaces at me, sucks at her bared teeth, and squints her eyes. “You think I can help you with that? I have absolutely no talent in that kind of magic. If I did, I wouldn’t have been so surprised to see you.”

“But … oh. I guess you’re just my go-to for advice. I had a problem and I came to you first.”

Laksha affects a Southern accent, which she must have picked up while living in Asheville, North Carolina. “Well, ain’t you just sweeter than peaches?” She drops it and continues more seriously, “Advice is easy enough. Go see those Polish witches we dealt with in Arizona, if you know where they are. They put a cloak on your boyfriend’s sword. I was able to remove it, because I’m quite good at destruction, but I could never create something like that.”