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“Hey,” says Sarah, sitting next to Helena on the edge. Below them someone is burning meat and sugar in Helena’s temple, and Sarah greedily breathes in some of the smoke. When Helena gives her a look, Sarah just grins at her. The joys of thief-gods: no guilt.
“Hello,” Helena says.Down below someone is begging, and Helena tastes blood and sweetness on her tongue and agrees to the price. The fire goes out. When he gets home he’ll have the money he wanted; it’s not Helena’s problem what will happen after that.
They both watch him go. Sarah is frowning. Her leg is bouncing, hop-hop-hop.
“I want something,” she says abruptly. “Heard you’re the one to go to for that.”
Helena is. Wants, hungers, desires, small shames. “Do you have a sacrifice,” she says, amused.
“No.”
“Well!” Helena says. “That is end of that problem. Bye bye.”
Sarah’s face twists, displeased. “You have to help me,” she says, like that is a sentence that is true.
“Why?” Helena says.
“I can’t go on like this,” Sarah says. Her eyes break away from Helena and land on the next person in line at the altar. Please cure my baby’s sickness. Helena loves babies, but sickness is tricky and not necessarily something she is good at. It’ll all depend on the offering. Her eyes go back to Sarah; Sarah’s eyes stay below.
“I’m – sick of being some shitty third-rate thief god,” Sarah says hoarsely. “There’re better gods to pray to, I don’t get shite from these arseholes. I’m starving. That’s something you’re good at, yeah?”
The offering is money. Helena doesn’t care about money. She probably won’t be able to save the baby. The fire goes out.
“You took my offering,” she says mildly. “Tsk tsk tsk, shitty little third-rate thief god.”
“Not funny.”
“Mm,” Helena says, “I think it is funny.”
“Help me,” Sarah says. “You can get a cut of what they give me, if you want, but I’m gonna flicker and fade out soon if these ungrateful shites don’t start payin’ attention.”
And now Helena is fully considering Sarah. It’s true that she’ll die if the people below them forget how to believe in her; it’s a concept Helena has thought about, maybe, but never had to deal with. Sarah is here and alive and if Helena doesn’t help her she won’t be. Consequences. The people below she never has to deal with again, if she doesn’t want to. Up here everything is real.
“I can’t make them believe in you,” she says. “Too much.”
“I know,” Sarah says. “Figured you’d have – something.”
“Be something no one else is,” Helena says. “The world has so many thieves. What is it missing? Who is praying to the wrong god? Whose prayers aren’t being answered?”
Below them: a woman holding her daughter’s hand. Mm. The temple is clearing out, fast; no one likes to watch a child sacrifice. They’ll all blame her, like they wouldn’t do the same if they were going through what she was going through.
“You’ve got a lot of mothers at your temple,” Sarah says offhandedly. Her eyes are sharp, but they aren’t meeting Helena’s eyes so Helena isn’t cut by them.
“Yes,” Helena says.
“You’re not a fertility god.”
“No.”
“Hm,” Sarah says. Below them the silver glittering of a knife; Sarah shudders, gets up and walks away without a word. Helena stays where she is. She doesn’t look away.