Nediah sprung to mind. If Sun could not take me back to my time, surely He could pick me up and place me in that city. But then I thought of Ristriel, of his oath to me. He had pledged to guide me to Nediah, to protect me, if I would protect him in return. While I had not sworn with words, I was part of that oath, and abandoning him now sang of wrongness. I knew keenly what it was like to be alone, to be afraid, and I couldn’t go back on my word to force him to suffer the same fate. We would part at Nediah, yes, but such was expected for both of us.
My hesitation must have concerned Sun. “Consider Me. I cannot stay any longer, so I ask that you consider Me.”
I managed to nod. He began to brighten, readying to leave, but I stopped Him with, “Wait.” The hope on His face almost silenced me, but I had questions and didn’t want to lose the opportunity to ask them. “How are Elta and Fosii?”
If He was disappointed I wasn’t running into His arms, He didn’t show it. He thought a moment, perhaps trying to remember whom I spoke of. “Your attendants? They are well enough.”
“Enough?”
“Whispers of war unsettle most.” A flame licked His shoulder.
“And, Sun”—I stepped closer to Him, and His fire shrunk, as though He was trying to make it more comfortable for me. I smiled at the simple gesture—“our daughter . . . what did You name her?”
His eyes softened. “She is called Surril.”
“Surril,” I repeated, the name godly and perfect. “Surril.”
He moved toward me, the heat stronger but not unbearable, and tucked a knuckle beneath my chin. It heated me down to my toes, as though I had submerged into a steaming bath just on the brink of being too hot. “Consider Me,” He repeated. “I will return.”
Retreating, Sun flashed so brightly I had to turn away. When I looked back, He was gone, and the dawn had broken, illuminating the pond and crowning the trees. To my surprise and delight, all of the threads and needles Elta had given me in Sun’s palace rested on the Earth where Sun had just hovered, along with an empty canvas. I knelt and picked up the bundles, whispering my thanks to the dawn before tilting my head back to the blue heavens.
“Surril,” I whispered, and smiled. “Dearest Surril, I miss you.”
And though I could not see the stars, in the back of my mind, I heard the faintest tinkling of laughter, like a child taking her first steps, and my heart was full.
When I returned to camp, Ristriel was nowhere to be seen. I searched in the woods for him, then retraced my way to the pond and back. Not even a pawprint gave him away.
“Ristriel?” I asked, quieter than my normal volume. I didn’t think shouting his name in these unfamiliar parts wise, in case those godlings came looking for him again. I hadn’t the faintest idea what they might do to a mortal, or mostly mortal, who got between them and their quarry, but neither did I care to test them.
I escaped. That was what he had said, when I asked about his pursuers. Escaped from what? Surely this softhearted godling was no great criminal.
Unease stirred. What if he had been captured in my absence? But the pond was not far from the camp. Surely I would have heard it. Or there would be some sign of a struggle.
But what else could have become of him? He could not have gone hunting again, not in the day.
I searched the nearby woods once more, but found not even a broken twig.
As I wandered back to the still-empty camp, the chill I’d accumulated from the pond rushed into my bones.
I had just been in the presence of the Sun God Himself, and I had not asked Him for help because I felt indebted to a stranger who had made an oath to me. And now Sun was gone, and so was my guide.
Trickster.
I fell onto my blanket, the hard forest floor jarring my knees. He’d left me. He’d left me. He’d left me in the middle of nowhere, with no roads, no people, no means to protect myself. He’d lied to me, used me, and now I was worse off than I had been before, utterly lost with only the rising Sun to tell me which way was east.
I had never felt more alone than I did in that moment.
Eyes burning, I leapt to my feet and grabbed the edge of my blanket, whipping it into the nearest tree as hard as I could. It didn’t even give me the satisfaction of a good whoosh in response, and the tree was, of course, unharmed. Dropping the blanket, I dug my hands into my hair. Twisted my braid. Paced the camp back and forth. Turned toward the Sun and shouted, “Come back! Please!”
I might not have known a lot about eternal law, but I was sure it dictated something about Sun’s eternal patterns and His abilities to help me. He had told me He had little time to speak, and from what Elta had told me, He risked much by splitting Himself, especially with an ongoing war. If He returned to me, I was sure it wouldn’t be soon.