Sins of the Soul

That stopped Izanami in her tracks. “Not recognize it for what it was?” Could that even be possible? Could the reaper have been unaware that the soul belonged to her? Could he have failed to understand the warning?

Despite her rage at having been robbed, she had to admit the possibility. She was confined to her realm, Sutekh to his. They did not mingle, and her minions knew as little of Sutekh’s ways as Sutekh’s likely knew of hers.

Years ago, she had done him a service, bringing to his attention a plot hatched by a pack of demons to infringe on his territory. In the centuries since, they had existed in uneasy truce because of that sole action, though she had not done it out of loyalty or friendship. She had done it for political gain, to ensure that though her loyalties lay with Sutekh’s enemies, she herself was not regarded as an enemy, but rather as a distant and cool acquaintance.

In repayment for the forewarning she had given, Sutekh had offered her a boon all those years ago. She had yet to claim it.

Outside of that single event, they did not interact. Their minions did not interact, save for the rare political foray. She had sent an emissary to him a time or two, and his son, Lokan, had come to her on occasion. But that was the extent of their dealings.

Izanami had had quite her fill of males who lied and betrayed and failed to keep their word. Moreover, she had had quite enough of men who expected a woman to stay quiet and meek in their presence.

Look where such behavior had landed her.

The first time she had mated with Izanagi, her husband, she had been lured by his handsome looks. She had run to him and commented on his great beauty, speaking before he did. Her actions had caused the greatest deities to curse them. They had insisted that she must be docile, be silent, let Izanagi speak first or their mating could never be successful. Young and foolish, she had denied her own strength, denied her nature, and allowed herself to be subjugated.

She’d had thousands upon thousands of years to wise up since then.

Given her experiences, she preferred to ally with Osiris rather than Sutekh. At least he showed a measure of respect for his sister wife, Aset.

“Mistress,” one of her servants whispered. “If the soul reaper was unaware, and no insult intended, perhaps it would serve you best if none were taken.” She paused, then finished in a rush, “The grand meeting of allies is less than two weeks hence.”

Izanami turned and waited for the girl to say more. She liked to weigh all views with unbiased care before making her final decision. So she spoke now without rancor or heat, and with genuine interest. “The soul of Crandall Butcher belongs to me, not Sutekh. He was buried according to my custom, given coins for the River of Three Crossings, his soul pledged as mine. Do you disagree?”

“No, Izanami-no-mikoto.”

Izanami noted the accord in her words, but in the hesitation and deference of her tone she heard all her servant did not say. The girl was uncertain, unwilling to overstep her position. She was fairly new to the Underworld, still finding her place. Izanami wished to draw her out; she wanted the opinion of one bold enough to speak. There was often wisdom to be found in the thoughts of others. It was no hardship to listen to varied perspectives before stating her own.

“Sutekh’s soul reaper harvested both heart and darksoul, neither of which were his to take,” Izanami said. “If I tolerate that insult, then I show the face of weakness to my enemy.” She kept her tone low and even, allowing none of her rage to color her words. Her fury was not directed at this hapless servant, but at Sutekh’s minion, the soul reaper who had stolen what was hers.

In truth, even he was not deserving of her wrath. It was Sutekh himself she must chastise.

“You may speak your mind without fear of repercussion,” she urged when the girl held her tongue. “You believe I should deny my claim to the soul?”

“No, Izanami-no-mikoto.”

“Postpone my claim?” What could possibly be in this child’s mind? If the girl did not clarify her point soon, Izanami would move on.

“I believe you should have the soul that was stolen. But instead of rallying the thunder gods and going to battle, send an emissary to Sutekh and ask for what is yours. Present a logical argument rather than a threat.”

Ask. A novel idea.

“Tact and politics,” Izanami mused. Then she took the girl’s point one step further. “And logic.” That was a weapon in itself. Sutekh fed on malevolence and chaos. If she went to him with rage, geared for battle, it would only make him stronger. If she approached with calm deliberation, it would offer him no sustenance.

Which might well enrage him.

“A volunteer?” she asked, knowing there was a strong possibility that whomever she sent might never return.