Vex, Arktos, Kaskae — her anger and passions writ into reality that lot which had befallen each of them in turn, and again Lecter reeled within himself at the losses, gathering up as so much dried wood, to be burnt into ash by the bitter fire of Shearwater's collapse. Furthermore, the pale shaman had known the issue of Nanuq and Koios at their birth; he had doted upon them all as the future of the Bay, and not had the singlemost breath of betrayal besieged his mind. It was not until Koios had fallen to death, and Siku had turned her back upon Shearwater to spawn some distant, mountainous abomination, that the realization of the Bay's lost god-blessing had occurred to the shaman.
He had failed them, he had not pressed himself to be heard in Nanuq's deaf ears, nor had he ripped the entrails from the wicked Aktaie himself despite the twisted desires of the Warchief. In his very power as Angakok, as Shaman, he had let slip the demons of hell, had aided Nanuq in her very release of them upon Shearwater Bay with his silence and with his pride. Lecter was no more than offal in his own mind, and that of his God, surely, and this would be his lot. He deserved no less than the utter darkness of the Black God's back turned to him, perhaps for a time, perhaps for eternity; he deserved the sinking, sickening emptiness in his soul.
Jinx had inquired of their fate, and he blinked, clearing his eyes of the haziness that had seen fit to creep into the corners of his vision. She was resplendent in her cold anger, her pale form a beacon for all that was right within the Bay, all that had been breathed into her. Here was Jinx Kesuk's birthright — a broken packland, a smattering of followers, a legacy of betrayal and heart-rending sorrow. And yet Lecter knew that she would restore the balance desired by all elements of their world, that she would rectify the wrongs wrought by Nanuq.
In the fleeting glissade of a moment's time, Lecter recalled how he had come to Nanuq, how he had fought alongside her in the fierce insanity of his youth. Dare he not speak it — but that fire was Jinx's inheritance, also. He saw it in the righteous flash of her flame-gaze, in the lovely angles of her body, now rounding with a woman's flesh; the bud had blossomed, but he was no less loose of its tendrils than he had been before. Her verve would deliver unto her the answer, though it would take its time in the creation.
We are the only ones of the Bay who remained true to our paths, Lecter suggested with a halting glance into her fire-eyes. I have never forsaken Sos and you have never turned your back upon the Gods or the Loa. Even in fickle youth, you have remained true. Not knowing enough about Kerberos to gauge whether or not the sea-spawn's presence would be blessed or damning, Lecter eschewed commentary on that front.
Perhaps we are here to rebuild, to strive for balance instead of one-sided piety, the shaman murmured, drawing on the strength of the his spirit-blessed companion. But show me he who claims to know all, and I shall show you a fool. He was struck by an feral, cloying desire, a demand from the very marrow of his bones, to regain his former self, but from the same locale spawned the knowledge that he would never be the same again, that he was changed evermore, and could not return to whence he had come.
But perhaps this was for the greater good — the Bay had fallen, and those who had escaped its demise had been brought unto this place to create a more pious strength upon the righteousness of their actions and the bulwark of their combined existences as the Gods' Chosen.
For whatever purpose we have been placed here, I remain in service of the Kesuk line, Lecter murmured, the soft ice of his voice a respite from the otherwise haunted violence of his usual tone. The glacial eyes lifted to her own, some vague sense of renewal and determination shining in their depths, and he drew a long breath that was at once both invigorating and tangible with its own tension. I am yours, Jinx.