Plumes of smoke dance around the head priest as he stands on the dais, stoic and smug. He has lit a sage wand, as other priests walk the aisles with their heavy perfumes and oils. Anything to hide the smell of the several packed sweaty bodies within the temple. And the decaying flesh and maggots.

“Azure, most high, we thank you.” They chant as they walk by. 

A wooden cart accompanied by four unlucky lower priests drags, its wheels squeaking under the weight of the dead calf. An offering to Azure.

It seemed every deity demanded flesh. 

The sun was shining through the stained glass windows, projecting tiny color dots on my knee. I take my finger and aimlessly trace a small oval.

_Has anyone tried offering potatoes to the Gods? Something we have in surplus. And, potatoes have skin._

__

I rub away my small imaginary potato from my knee and close my eyes. The heavy perfumes were making me dizzy and I would much rather just smell the decay.

“You think if Azure said we should all throw ourselves through these glass windows, they would?” Lilith muttered next to me, nodding her head towards the crowds.

“If he speaks it, they would not hesitate.” I answered, opening my eyes to look at my older sister. Her face, deceptively beautiful, masking her sharp tongue and assessing eyes.

“You mean if _they_ speak it.” She said, nodding to the priests as they made their way back to the dais. Their bright, blue robes were like a beacon, shining against the dark plumes of smoke. They had different types of clouds stitched on their sleeves, invoking some weird hierarchy, with the head priest having the biggest cloud. Priests and priestesses, the voices of the Gods. 

And besides this God being the God of the Sky, Azure was also the God of all Gods. Of all life. And, apparently, of this dead calf.

“They are merely a herd seeking a shepherd.” Maren said, from my otherside. My eldest sister, who was the shortest of us all. Her rage made up for it though.

Lilith and Maren typically did not attend temple, as I was usually accompanied by my younger sister, Ruya, or my mother. No one in the family _likes_ going to temple but we all understand the necessity. Lilith and Maren just have a harder time hiding it.

One time, while attending worship at Cyra’s temple, Maren swiped the fire goddess’s chalice, claiming what immortal needs glassware? Whereas Lilith “accidentally” lit one of the priestesses on fire, her defense being they shouldn’t just hand candles out to everyone.

It was hard to not agree with them.

But mother was sick and Ruya was covering the shop today. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to attend temple by myself.

Outside the mandated law put forth by Ventra’s governor, where at least one member from each household has to attend worship once a month for each of the 12 high deities, there are other reasons to attend temple.

Comradery. Gossip. Intel. And in some cases, gold.

After we stand up to say thanks to Azure and bless the offering, my sisters and I disperse, no longer sitting next to each other.

The priests will have their sermon today and we will have ours.

It is not uncommon for people to talk during the services of the Gods. So long as it is in Azure’s name. It also helps the Sky God has the biggest temple, allowing chatter to not carry to the front where the priests drone on.

I find my seat next to Liam, the town’s blacksmith. “Good morrow, Liam. Azure has granted us clear skies for worship.” I say, resisting the urge to grind my teeth and instead offer a small smile.

“Couldn’t agree more, Sanja. A fine, fine day in the name of Azure.” Liam said, who nodded. “Perhaps he will bless us with some rain, though.” He let out a small chuckle before looking around. He lowered his voice, “Tell me, how goes the efforts?”

Liam and his forefathers have owned the smith and surrounding forges for centuries. Lately though, funding from the governor has been diverted. To the upkeep of the temples, and the addition of new ones. The mighty 12 deities demanded it, their priests and priestesses said. They also said Axil, the God of Peace and his sister, Marres, the Goddess of War, have reached a truce and Ventra should not waste efforts in war preparations.

Lilith had snorted at this announcement when read over dinner, loudly asking, “Is that how they think war works? We just pretend it doesn’t exist?”

“And no one questions that all the vengeful, rageful deities are Goddesses.” Ruya had added, ripping up the announcement.

“Quite the compliment.” I said and my mother laughed with us.

It is no coincidence all of Azure’s priests are donning new robes, each cloud stitched with the funds from Liam’s smithy. 

The blue was burning my eyes as I peeled them away and said, “Maren and I have secured ebony ore and steel from neighboring mines. They should continue to bring their supplies for the rest of the quarter. And this,” I pulled a medium sized bag from under my robes and plop it on his lap. “A donation to help keep your employees happy.”

Liam’s eyes were wide, swelling with moisture, as he quickly placed the bag in his pocket. He wiped at his eyes before schooling his face to neutrality.

“I will stop by later to honor Morphina.” He said, an octave above a whisper.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It is always a deity who is credited.

_“It is better this way.” My mom had said._

__

I gave a curt nod before getting up.

My sermon was done.

***

Maren and Lilith show up to the shop a half hour after me, their pockets heavier from swiping the offering plates. All in the name of Azure, of course.

Ruya was with her last client and I am reminded again why mother asked her to run the shop in her absence.

_Because sometimes steel should be gentle._

__

Her client was blubbering about how their temperamental neighbor is pulling her daughter’s hair and throwing rocks at her. Ruya listens, pouring her some tea and holding her hand.

Her only dream is to give her daughter peace.

Ruya prepares a bag for the client, telling her to have her daughter sleep with it tied to her bed. The client thanks Ruya and scurries out of the shop.

This sounds like a request for Maren, who will answer tonight. A few scares to the neighbor, a reminder to be nice, and then Maren will vanish into the shadows. A living nightmare warning kids to be kind. Or end up like her.

“Dorian’s farm was brought up _a lot_ today. Even the priests mentioned it during their prayer to Azure. _Oh Azure! Grant us rain to get us through this season’s drought!_”. Lilith stood up, impersonating one of the priests. I snort with laughter.

“They do realize the drought is the governor’s fault, right?” Ruya asked, locking the front door and turning the sign to CLOSED.

In addition to funds being diverted from Liam’s smithy, the irrigation systems have been rerouted to prioritize Nemor, the God of Water’s temple.

It appeared the God of Water, did not have enough water. Nor did the governor’s private fields.

“People would rather believe in controlled faith than the reality that they are being governed poorly.” I say, pouring myself a cup from the teapot leftover from Ruya’s client. It is still warm and I am thanking Ruya for that, not Cyra.

“That my dear, is why you are the one to go to the temples. You understand.” A sweet voice was heard from the top of the wooden stairs. My mother, short and beautiful, descends, wrapped in a feathered shawl. My favorite shawl. It is woven with different styles of knotted rope and feathers from all the different birds of Ventra. _A catcher of warmth, she called it._

__

“Yes, we know Sanja has the wisdom, Maren has the vengeance, Ruya has the foresight, and I, besides being the prettiest, have the strength.” My sisters and I throw loose tea bags at her as we all yell, _“Boooo!”_

__

Lilith lifted up her hands, blocking the tea bags before continuing loudly, “But why, _mother_, must we still lie?!”

We all stop throwing the tea bags and turn to our mother, both the matriarchy and patriarchy of our home.

It had always been us - our father, a lost spirit to us now, was never _really_ part of the fold. What my mother built was hers and her ancestors before. Generations of keeping this trickery going. Because that was what it was. An illusion. A shadow over the lights. And it is now ours. 

My mother joined me at the table, pouring herself a cup of tea. “Because, my daughters, if people refuse to acknowledge the problem, they will never believe the solution. We have to meet them where they are.”

We have been meeting the people of Ventra where they are ever since my ancestors set foot here. The same day the Gods did.

History, and myths for that matter, are always written by the victors. It was one of the first lessons our mother taught us. The Gods involvement in mortal lives has always been diluted, repackaged, and simplified over the years. They made sure their stories of victor, of valor, of goodwill were the only tales spun, the only ones written.

The reality is much simpler, wholesome even. Mortals chose to help each other, instead of relying on deities who only came into the picture when it was convenient to them. 

“If we choose to out ourselves, we are just as bad as the Gods.” Ruya said, quietly. My mother nodded with her. We all took a swig of our tea and suddenly I wished there was something stronger in it.

“We are giving the people someone to believe in.” My mother said, grabbing Ruya’s hands. Even Lilith and Maren’s eyes softened.

“Let’s re-route some irrigation systems, shall we?” I finally said, the dark gleam of determination back in my eyes.

Lilith and Maren gave me a wicked grin while Ruya stood up to get a scroll containing a map of the town’s irrigation systems.

A soft knock on our front window had us all turning. 

Liam the smith, carrying a pile of feathers.

My mother stood and motioned us to go to the back room.

We heard her open the door and Liam say, “Hina, thank you for taking me so late. I would like to make an offering to her.”

She motioned him in, “Of course, come in, come in.”

***

As the Gods took credit for the work of mortals, my mortal ancestors embodied their own deity to take credit from the Gods.

There is no Morphina, Goddess of Dreams, but we are her stewards all the same. Bring us your dreams, your wishes, your troubles, and we will catch them.

I recite this mantra, as my sisters and I dig out room for another pipe. To route water to Dorian’s farmland, releasing his dream to feed the people of Ventra.