I do not feel that same connection. “What shall I call you?”
“I am still your father, but if you are more comfortable with Balthazaar, use that.”
Because I do not know the answer to that question, I ask, “Are you happy?” truly wanting to know. We spent last night feasting, all of the convent gathering to share stories and hear of the latest adventures. He seemed happy beside Annith, but now I am less sure.
He looks down at the earth under his feet, the faint breeze ruffling his hair, his face no longer unearthly white, but touched by days spent in the sun and the blood that now flows under his skin.
“Yes.” It is such a simple word, but there is much behind it. He looks at me. “I am happy.”
“You don’t miss being Death? The power you held then?”
A hint of a smile. “I miss not needing food. I tend to forget that I need it, and remember at inconvenient times.”
I cannot help it, I laugh. “Is that why you are out here digging in the dirt?”
It is hard to tell, but I think he blushes faintly. “I am planting something. See?” He squats down and points to a row of seedlings at the base of the stone wall. “Belladonna.”
“Are we running low?” I had wondered if the convent would still make poisons.
“No, I just like the flowers. Like being able to touch the soil and bring life from it rather than death. Although”—he stares ruefully down at the seedlings—“I am not very good at it.” He points to the second row, which has begun to wilt.
“They need water,” I say gently.
His forehead creases. “Water. That’s right. Serafina told me that.”
“Here, I’ll get some for you.”
When I return with a bucket and ladle, I show him how to water the young plants. As we work together, I dare to say, “What can you tell me of the Dark Mother?”
He shows no surprise at my question and begins gently tapping another seedling into the ground. “I see her mark upon you. It has grown stronger since we last saw each other.”
The black pebble that I still carry hums with warmth. “Is that why my power seems to be growing, expanding in some way?”
Finished with his seedling, he looks up at me again. “Is it?”
“I am able to do things—Gen is able to do things—we’ve never done before.”
He shifts his gaze to stare at the ocean, his gray eyes the exact same color as the sea. “I wonder if it is your powers that have changed or you? From what the others have told me, you were broken and wounded when you first arrived here.” He looks at me with pain in his eyes. “And I am deeply sorry for that. But as you grow stronger now, so do your powers. Or rather, your willingness to explore your own powers.”
That makes sense, and yet. “Sometimes, it feels as if the power is . . . loose . . . in the world, now that . . . now that it is not held by you.”
“Oh, that is also possible.”
“How can you not know? You are—were—Death?”
He rests his arm on his knee. “And you are human. Do you understand all that being human entails? Why some are strong and others weak? Why some seek joy and others seek to destroy it?”
Now it is I who look away. I do not like that he doesn’t have all the answers. Or mayhap he no longer has them—they have slipped away with his godhood. “Father Effram said something once about the original covenant between the Church and the Nine.”
Balthazaar smiles. “Gods, we were young. And the Church so full of hubris.”
“Well, that part has not changed much.”
“When we first entered into the agreement with the Church, they wanted to keep our powers contained. The covenant stated we could not bear sons, because the Church was so blinded it only saw men as threats to its power.” He smiles. “Of course it was Salonius who discovered that loophole, and once we found it, we took full advantage. Gods do not like being restricted, even when they must agree to it.” He falls silent again as he stares out at the thick green grass rolling its way down to the shore. “But I have now seen how much the convent has forgotten. How many powers they have stopped using. How many they did not know they possessed.”
“But why? Why would they not hang on to those with both