Mirrored from Sythyry.
Once in a while, generally by mistake, or even without realizing it, I defy some of the gods. The current defiance is of Hressh-Huu, the great and whistly queen of the air, who rules the climate with a sceptre made of pure elemental silliness. She’s not terribly malicious as gods go, but she’s not exactly gentle or nice. She enjoys making the month of Oix be extremely hot or extremely cold or extremely ridiculous.
But she does not do so indoors.
Nearly all of Kismirth is indoors, except for some promenades, and some piers, and some pavillions, and some petunias in pyroclastic pergola-pots, and, I suppose, a paladin or two.
Which means that it was already the third of Oix before I even actually noticed that it was Oix.
Which is a bit of a shame, really. It’s a hot Oix around here, and being a bit of a pyrotechnical lizard, hot Oix is a treat for me.
Well, and the other reason it’s a treat is that the Orren all strip down to nothing much, and go swimming all the time, to keep cool. Always worth watching … but there’s not much of that in Kismirth. I visited the Sinking Pond of the Elegant Azure Tiles, and watched the Orren cavort in the heavily-sculpted water park I crystallized for them out of the stuff of unformed madness. They were having fun, but it wasn’t so different from last week when the weather outside the city was mild as milk and meek as a mink.
Which made me realize, I’ve pretty much built Kismirth as a fortress against several of the gods. Hressh-huu’s ordinary duties and devastations cannot touch us here. Flokin? We’ll be having no accidental fires; even my seven-winged burning thing, that fearsome metrophage from a crueler era, cannot bite our walls. Merklundum? No river runs through Kismirth, no lakes to sink or swell, though our own plumbing could clog and cause a bit of a stinky floodlet, if we’re not paying attention. Lenhirrik? The plants that grow here grow by our labor, in window-boxes and magicopontic gardens that germinate and fruit by great effort. We might get a mold problem after a floodlet, if we’re not paying attention. Kvarse? We do not have rats. That should be underlined: We do not have rats. I’ve never heard of a city without rats.
No, the gods we should be worried about are the subtler ones. “Here”? Oh, yes, “Here” is here; we’ve got more space distortion than any seven other cities of Ketheria, even if one of them is the origami-folded New Kottarnu. Does that hideous black-chitinned god rub his hands together in his secret lair (viz. anywhere) and plan some dimensional ruin for us? If so, his spawn hCevian is unaware of the matter; hCevian thinks that “Here” is generally amused by us. Iraz Halix? We’ve magic a-plenty; we are an exhibit for what wizardry could do for everyone, if we let it. If theology is any guide, Iraz Halix loves us. Shax Shay Shaz, Birkozon, Iraz Varuun, Tenmen? I don’t know why they should care about us at all.
I was sitting in a fireplace in a parlor (a sign that I am favored by “Here” is the great plentitude of parlors all about me) meditating upon these matters, and upon other deep mysteries — such as where to take Arfaen out on a date — when a goddess appeared unto me, and the fury in her eyes.