A little wind gusted around them and plucked a leaf from one of the oak trees.
Lalo watched, fascinated, as it spiraled downward and settled at last in the breast of Gilla’s gown. Then a new voice spoke from behind them.
“Why do you call on Us and Shipri? This is the Face the people of Sanctuary pray to now!”
Lalo jerked around, flinched as he saw what had answered them and then stumbled over his own feet, trying to get between it and Gilla. But she had always been broadly built and big-boned, and she gripped his arm and stayed beside him.
The Thing that had spoken looked on his confusion and laughed. Lalo stared, realizing in horror that it was female, wrapped in scorched robes from which pale smoke rose in ghostly trails, with singed hair that lifted as the wind caught it and sent up little spurts of flame. It-Her-face glowed like a lantern, as if the fire that burned Her lay within, and the features of that face were contorted in a demon’s mask. “Dyareela,” he breathed in appalled recognition.
The goddess responded with a terrible smile. “That is one of the names by which men pray to Me, it is true. But it was you who first called Me, daughter.” She beckoned to Gilla. “How shall I reward you?”
“Demon, go away!” hissed Gilla in revulsion. Dyareela laughed. “Still you do not understand! I neither come nor go-I am! Only my Faces change…”
“Then change your Face again,” groaned Lalo. “Three weddings were promised, and one of them royal, to redeem the land! I would have come to them as Lady of love’s fire! But Sanctuary has chosen to see Me otherwise!” Wind whirled around them, and when the falling leaves touched the hair of the goddess they burst into flame.