Goda’s Slave – Chapter 42: Mahara’s Death and Rebirth

Kanna Rava fell over the foot of the bed. The sheets were wrapped around her ankles and they held her back like tangled vines when she rushed towards the exit, so instead she slid head-first onto the floor. She knocked over the cup of yaw tea that she had left behind. Though it spilled and flooded her nostrils with its bitter essence, now that her face was pressed to the ground, she could finally smell the faint remnants of unburnt Rava Spirits coming from the stove.

The mixture was hard for her to swallow back. She freed herself with frantic kicks and groped for her clothes in the dark. She could not remember where Goda had thrown them, so she crawled around like an animal until she felt her hand graze the rough fabric, then she scrambled to her feet and pushed through the door.

“Goda!” she called. “Goda, goddamn you, don’t do this to me!”

But the giant was nowhere within the confines of the barriers. Everywhere she looked while she staggered through the yard and fought to dress herself in the dark, there were only empty shadows cast by the moon. Not one of them held Goda’s presence. Even when she closed her eyes and searched for the giant within, to see if she could set herself behind Goda’s perspective again, there was nothing; there was only a tangle of snakes dancing in a void. It was as if the immaterial cord between her and Goda Brahm had been snapped in half.

Kanna ran towards Lila Hadd’s house, ignoring a pang of sharp pain that throbbed where Goda had been. Every window in the house was dark, and she could see nothing but her own reflection when she peered into them, so she ran to the huge doors that had shut her out. She banged on them wildly with her fists; she screamed into them as if someone were standing directly behind them, actively holding the locks closed.

“Lila!” Kanna screamed. “Lila, you slave-driver, you glorified jailer! Let me out! Let me out!” She grabbed for the knobs and tried to rattle the doors, but they were so heavy that they barely budged. It felt like they had been barred with a plank from the inside, deadbolted, chained, sealed with every possible padlock.

Kanna jerked her head up when she thought she saw some curtains rustling. On a second floor window, where the moonbeams reached, she could just barely see a crack between the twin sheets of fabric. She could just barely see two small eyes gazing out at her with almost no reaction—with only mild curiosity—and this served to infuriate her further.

“Lila!” She stepped back to try to better see the woman’s face. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew she was in there and you led me right to her. For what? For what? So that she could abandon me again, and I could be tortured by her absence? So that the one thing in my life that means anything to me could be torn away, taking another piece of me with it, until there is nothing left of me? Is this the practice you speak so highly of, Lila? Is this what it means to surrender to the naked idol of Mahara or to that god of yours—that Samma—who lives in the bowels of the Earth with the rest of the dung heaps that give rise to that cursed flower?” Her voice was raw. “Answer me! Stop staring and answer me, you witch! At least offer me that dignity, if you’re not going to free me from this torture!”

But Lila’s eyes glared in the light as her gaze shifted toward the far wall where Goda’s small paradise lay. Kanna followed the gesture with confusion, but she found that the garden had fallen into darkness, shaded by the canopy of its single tree, and so nothing stood out to her at all. When she quickly turned back, Lila’s eyes had disappeared and the curtains swung lightly in her place.

“You can’t just ignore me, Hadd! I’ll scream at the top of my lungs! I’ll wake up the whole city! I’ll throw a rock into one of your windows and climb to freedom myself if you don’t open these goddamn doors!” Kanna slammed her hands in fury against the delicate lines of the wood. “You’re no better than a serpent-sucking Middlelander, you hear me! If you let Goda kill herself, you’re no different from that monstrous engineer who wanted to shock her to death in the cuffing room!” When still no answer came, she kicked the frame of the door and turned back to the prison that encased her like a shell.

In the dark, she crouched and felt around the ground with her hands to see if she could find a stone big enough to hurl into any of those mirrors that lined Lila’s house. Warm tears had already started to fall into the grass and mix with the cold dew, and she hated that she cried so easily, because it blurred her vision and made it harder for her to see things as they were. But as she crawled and more warmth began leaking from her nose and mouth, the sensation of her throbbing heart overshadowed all of her experience. The pulse spurted through the hollows of her chest, into her throat, into her ears, into every inch of her head.

“Shut up! Shut up!” she screamed. “How can I save her when I can’t even think? How can I think when you’re being so loud?”

She pressed her hands hard against the sides of her head, because the throbbing had turned into radiating pain. Her elbows dug into the pebbles on the ground between the sharp blades of grass, and she groaned and writhed and resisted the surge of agony that washed through her. The pain rose and fell like waves in an ocean, with every gush of blood from her heart. It grew more intense at every peak. It felt like the ground beneath her knees was undulating, too—pulsing up and down, breathing in and out—along with every stroke of pain.

She had squeezed her eyes shut to fight the dizziness of this delusion. But then she felt the crack of a drumbeat so hard against the bones of her knees that it rattled the earth around her, and she thought she could hear the windows of the cottage shaking nearby.

Kanna snapped her eyes open. Finally, she looked up from the dirt and out at the path in front of her. She awakened to the rise and fall of the Earth, though she could not understand at all what she was seeing.

The ground was breathing. She had felt it before, during other times when her skin had seemed like it would crack open from all the pain—but the breath had always been so faint and so fleeting, that she had assumed it was her imagination.

This time, though, she could see it. Even in the dark, with only the glow of the dew drops in the moonlight shining on the grass, she could see how the Earth was breathing in and out, as plainly as her own chest swelled with air.

“What is this?” Kanna whispered. She pressed her hands to the dirt to try to rise up, but the rhythmic quaking of the Earth made it too hard to stand, so she remained prostrated with her head held low. “What…is this?”

Still, she knew somehow that it wasn’t a what. She could feel the presence, like a single, infinite, invisible eye that looked upon her, that looked from every place above and below at the same time. It looked at her from outside her skin and inside her skin. It even looked out at the world from behind her eyes.

“Who are you?” Kanna said, louder this time. The pain had started to fade, but her heart still pulsed wildly, and her angry tears had turned into ones born from an emotion she could not name. That river came in torrents because…

The eye was looking upon her with love. It was more love than she had ever felt in her life and it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at all.

And it terrified her. She could not make sense of it. She could not find reason in it.

“Who are you?” she shouted. The infinite stare was like a presence that began to rush up both out of the ground and down from the heavens to fill her, a powerful breath that swelled into her lungs and made it hard for her to find the boundaries of her body against the Earth. The barriers between her and the world outside began to dissolve on their own. Even the barriers that made up her prison began to shake and flicker, as if they had merely been a mirage.

It felt like her body would burst into pieces to let everything outside come inside, to let everything inside rush outside, to make it all the same thing.

“Stop! Stop! Please, I can’t!”

But the burst was so powerful, she could not resist it. All of the strength in her body, all of the strength of her will would have never been enough, because every particle of her was loved—even the pieces of her that she hated, even the pieces that had made her feel helpless and trapped within the walls that surrounded her, even the pieces of her that judged and screamed and could not believe that Kanna Rava was worthy of something so unconditional. All of it was swelling, pulsing with a searing love that had engulfed her like a flame and was nearly killing her.

When she thought at last that it would kill her, when she let out her final breath into the cold night and surrendered to her death, the steam from her mouth quickly dissolved into the air—and with it, the presence disappeared.

Death had left her. It had blown through her as if it had been just a gust of wind charging through a hollow.

And very suddenly, she was all alone.

Kanna collapsed fully onto the ground and made mud of the dirt below her face. For the first time in her life, she felt worship for the ground that held her up. She could not kneel low enough. She breathed in the earth and remembered what she had told Goda Brahm centuries before:

Make me surrender. That’s all I want from you: for you to force yourself on me. My entire life has fallen apart, and all the desires I might have had in this world have been stripped from me, except for this one perverse craving that I can’t shake: I want you to be the animal that pounces on me in the forest, and bites the back of my neck, and pushes my face into the dirt.”

Goda had not pounced. She had not sunk her teeth into Kanna’s skin, she had not pressed her claws into the back of Kanna’s skull, but still Kanna’s nostrils were filled with earth all the same. She laughed into it. She coughed.

Is this what it means to be alive? she thought to herself. Does it mean to resist the world around me so that I can be separate from it, so that I can cough out the dirt with prejudice instead of letting it become part of me? When I die, does that mean that I will go back to being the dirt, the trees, the stars, and everything else I’ve resisted all my life? When I die, will I become Goda, too? And Goda, when she dies, will she…?

Kanna lifted her head up towards the sky, no longer timid, no longer afraid to see that the world was still lightly breathing against her.

“I must go to her,” Kanna said.

Whether she lives or dies, I must be there to witness her. Because I love her, I must witness her no matter what she does. I must see her finally for who she is and what she is. Though we separated a long time ago and it may be longer still until we are that One Thing again, I must accept the truth I’ve resisted from the beginning: I am Goda. And I deserve to be loved as I am.

Because all her thoughts had been exhausted, Kanna stood up without thinking that she couldn’t. She ran through the grass, her feet naturally falling along the trail that she had cut through the yard with Goda hours before. She followed the path to the giant’s paradise. She straddled the tiny fence and jumped over without using the gate. Once she was inside, she raced past all the fruits that called out to her hunger, and she pressed herself hard against the trunk of Goda’s tree. It too was breathing; she could feel it rising and falling against her hands like a beating heart. She could see little sparks in the ridges of the bark, pulsing streams of light that flowed like veins.

“How could I have made an idol out of you, Goda Brahm?” Kanna whispered against it. “There’s too much of you to fit inside a carved block of wood, or stone, or bronze. There’s almost too much of you to fit inside me.”

She felt a presence again—a pair of eyes. This time, they were all too human, all too simple and material. When she turned to look, she saw that it was the stare of the wooden Goddess coming out from behind the tangled brush. It was the statue that had watched as she and Goda had coaxed each other towards the edge of death at the base of the tree.

“Even still, you’re a shameless voyeur, Goddess,” Kanna said. “Well, I’ve given you a show. You’ve seen the world through my eyes and experienced human pain and bliss and sensuality. Now pay me in kind: show me how to leave this place, or I’ll knock you off your pedestal like I did for the giant.”

When the Goddess didn’t respond and offered nothing like the presence she had felt before, Kanna huffed. Though her snakes were still oddly silent and the undulating ocean had calmed, she had access to some of her frustration, so she stalked over to the statue and kicked it right in the base with gritted teeth.

“Useless idols,” Kanna began to say—but between her own words, she heard an echo rising up inside the wood.

It was because the Goddess was hollow.

Kanna’s eyebrows furrowed at first, but then the realization hit her all at once. With a sharp breath, she bore her feet down on the earth, and she pressed her hands up against the Goddess’s face. It took most of her strength, but she was able to shake the statue’s foundation, and with one final push, she tipped the idol off its pedestal.

It fell onto its side and rolled along the ground until it hit the fence.

All that was left before Kanna’s feet was a bottomless pit where the Goddess had been. And though the passage was too dark for her to see much more than the first few rungs of a ladder dipping into the ground, she saw that the hole was just wide enough to accommodate the shoulders of a giant.

So it was true what she told me, Kanna thought. The Goddess was the pathway out all along.

Though her snakes writhed with fear at the prospect of descending into the unknown, Kanna neither obeyed them nor suppressed them. As she turned and crouched and dropped her bare foot on the first ledge, she offered the serpents the same love that the All-Seeing Eye had given her. Some of them accepted it and died, while some of them cowered from the light of Kanna’s presence and hid in the recesses of her mind, but either way she was able to keep them from paralyzing her.

Rung by rung, she descended into the Earth. As she did so, she felt the cord of energy that flowed through her spine grounding itself deep into the unknown below her. She also felt it rise up above her like a jet shooting into the sky, even though the moon and stars had already begun shrinking into a smaller and smaller point of light overhead. It was as if she had become a giant and nothing that surrounded her could contain her anymore.

When she reached the bottom rung, she could not see or feel anything below her. There was no ground, no wall.

She let go.

She heard the metallic ring of the ladder crying out in the darkness as it lost the burden of her weight. The moment her feet grounded themselves on wet stone, she knew exactly in which direction to go. She had been possessed by a spirit and every movement flowed without effort or thought.

Kanna could feel the walls breathing before she could see them. As she walked into the pitch darkness on faith, following the sound of her own footbeats, the serpents soon began to light her way.

They appeared on the walls in glowing streaks as they had the first time she had seen them in the shrines. They came one after the other, dozens, then hundreds, shooting like comets everywhere she looked. In time, she felt them rising up under her feet, too, like the swell of a coming flood. But because she was part of that same flow, they all moved through her and around her without resistance, and she kept walking without questioning their presence.

She kept going with her eyes trained on the end of the tunnel, where she could see a tiny, growing point of light.

The serpents had begun to surround her more closely, to crowd her, to seek her gaze and attention. She sensed some of them spiraling up her legs, but instead of feeling like they held her back, she used the force of their movement to lean onward, until it seemed more like she was hovering in the air rather than trudging through them.

A pair of twin serpents wrapped around her arms, and finally she glanced down at her many children. She had given birth to all of them. She looked between her legs where a small pulse of pain still lived from what the giant had given her, and she saw that she was giving birth to the snakes every second, with every step.

Because she could see her demon children and because she loved them and because she could use them to carry her forward, a single thought of self-judgment birthed itself as well and slithered around in her mind.

What does this make me? she said.

But she knew already. She was conscious enough in the moment to surrender to what it meant.

I’m a witch.

I’m a priestess.

They’re the same.

The snakes carried her closer to the end of the passageway, and as they did, they grew more and more numerous. They appeared from the walls because they knew they could trust her to let them live and die without judgment.

By the time the mouth of the cavern had grown large enough that she knew it would soon spit her out, sounds began to echo overhead. A swell of warmth—of steam—struck the side of her face and joined the cold mud that had painted it. She looked up towards the tiny spots of light on the ceiling and was met with warm water dripping on her face. Flashes of skin danced through the drain holes above, as well as the sounds of hushed conversations, loud confrontations, and even the soft echoes of passion that awakened a desire in her still.

I’m underneath a bathhouse, she realized.

As Kanna began to finally shift into the moonlight, the snakes only multiplied, until they squeezed her from every angle, and her muscles writhed and tensed upon that final push—a rumbling contraction—that expelled her with all her serpents into the outside world.


To be continued…