He shook the thought away. He couldn’t think about Her. Not now. Not when He needed to concentrate.
Light filled the void. The darkness divided itself into the endless forest of columns He was so familiar with. And His power spread through it like an ocean wave.
“Let there be light,” He whispered as his power made it so. “Let there be joy. Let there be laughter.” He could feel the afterlife behind those pillars forming. Nebulous pleasant sensations that would keep the souls of the dead from suffering. Pleasant prisons that would keep them here, instead of allowing them to go mad with hate and regret and push their way back into the world as spirits.
“Let there be peace.”
His power made it so.
He gasped for breath a few times. The task didn’t render Him short of breath, but He felt that it should, and little gestures like that were one of the things that separated Him from the others. He did feel drained, though, but drained of power, not of body.
Maehala was no small miracle. It was His kingdom in centuries past, and it represented a considerable investment.
It was within Isadon’s power to shepherd all the dead here. A sweep of His arm, and He could give all the lost souls the rest and peace they deserved. But if He did, it would be the last thing He ever did. It would take much of His remaining energy, leaving Him nearly helpless until His rise in Lublis was raised.
He couldn’t afford that.
They would come, though. He could not allow them to suffer as they were now. Isadon cared for the dead. He had braved immeasurable danger and trauma for the power to ensure that their rest was peaceful, and He would die again a thousand times over if it meant that He could stop that suffering.
Maehala would attract the souls of the dead on its own, to a degree. The light would draw them through the dark void between the worlds. While those who had been dead too long might disbelieve any change in the featureless blackness around them, new souls would eagerly plunge towards it. It would have to be enough for now. He could do nothing else.
Maintaining Maehala would be a careful undertaking. He would need to carefully control how much of His power was funneled into it. After raising Athala in exchange for loyalty, He at least had a source of power, but it would not be enough. His remaining power would be drained to keep the lights on here. But He could last a week or two. Long enough, perhaps, for his rise to be returned in Lublis.
Isadon was about to return his attention to Neuges, and try to get to know His new followers a bit better when he sensed another presence in Maehala. His first thought was that a soul required his attention, needing a simple chat for closure, or some explanation of what had happened. But this presence was too large for that.
There was another God in Maehala.
His heart leaped into His throat and turned to stone there.
She had returned.
But no. No God would come to Maehala unless they truly cared for something in it. And She had made it abundantly clear that She did not care for Him or His kingdom. If She did, She wouldn’t have let it fall to ruin. Or killed Him, for that matter.
There was only one God it could be. Only one would care to speak with Isadon, long dead God of Death.
“Otwin,” He said without looking around. Instead, He stood up straight, squared His shoulders, and clasped His hands behind His back. “How fitting it is for you and I to be the first dead in Maehala in centuries, even if We don’t indent to stay.”
“Do not get comfortable,” Otwin’s voice was heavy, rolling, and without source. A shame He had not come in true form. “The life You have been given again is not permanent.”
“Of course, my King.” Isadon gave a bow, made somewhat awkward as Otwin showed no physical form here. “Don’t insult Me by implying that I would go back on My word.”
“As long as You understand,” the voice said, a touch of a chuckle behind the words, “You will have to give up Your power again once all this is done. You will die, permanently. If You struggle to accept that, I would prefer to know now, rather than at the hour of judgment for the others.”
The way Otwin spoke so casually about His impending murder disturbed Isadon. The tone was so cold, so much like Ydia’s.
“I have been meaning to talk to You about that,” Isadon said, trying not to grimace. He swallowed hard. “I have a condition to add to My part in this plan. I would have mentioned it earlier, but I disbelieved that We would make it this far.”
“You dare?” The King of Gods laughed. It was a good-natured sort of laugh, and Isadon felt a glimmer of hope for His request. “You presume to alter the deal? What could You possibly demand that I would agree with?”
“Maehala!” Isadon cried, spreading his arms and gesturing at the endless forest of columns around them. “Maehala itself is My condition. Having come down and seen it gone was too much for My heart to take. I can’t give up My power willingly without Your assurance that the dead will have somewhere to go.”
“You think to outsmart Me?” Otwin said, the deep voice growing slightly impatient. “You seek a legacy. You seek to keep Your name on the lips of mortals. To hide here as You did in Marska, and usurp Me when the time is right.”
“Never,” Isadon said quietly. He felt it deep within His bones. “I don’t want any legacy. No power, no memory, no existence. Nothing. All I want is for Maehala to live on. All I want is for the dead to know peace. Whatever means You want to undertake to ensure My eradication—I don’t fear it. All I fear is the day that a void once again awaits the souls that pass beyond the world.”
“Why?” Otwin asked, but the curiosity had bled from His tone. “Why do you care so much?”
“You know why, Otwin, my King,” Isadon said with a smile. “I am the God of Death. Of the dead. I asked to be this. Everything I did was to be here. To create this. If You don’t understand My motivations, then perhaps You should search Your memory.”
There was a silence. Isadon wondered if Otwin was actually searching the past for the moment that set Him on this path, and tried not to think of it Himself.
Eons separated Him from that moment. That had been something that happened to a mortal. Even if it still drove His heart.
“I accept your condition, Isadon,” Otwin said at last. “You have my word, as the rightful ruler of this realm: When I am the only God left on Neuges, Maehala will not fall to ruin again.”
Isadon felt a weight lift off His shoulders, one He didn’t know was there. His dream would live. But shortly after, a new weight settled in its place. When Otwin came to Isadon at first—just two dead Gods in hiding, speaking through mortal shells—the plan had seemed like nonsense. A fever dream they shared in the slow-motion death throes before their murderers could finish the job. But now?
Now Isadon needed Otwin’s wild plan to succeed. The fate of Maehala—and all the dead of Neuges—relied upon it.
It was time to get to work.
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About the Author
Riley S. Keene is a clever pseudonym for a strange married couple, also known as Robert and Kristen. We live in the Pacific Northwest and enjoy the rainstorms, lack of sunlight, and excess oxygen that come with living in that part of the US.
Our ultimate goal as an author duo is to write entertaining fantasy novels that are inclusive but not preachy. We strive to include as many cultures, settings, and characters as we can without relying on stereotypes or tropes. Doing so requires a lot of research and hard work – and we’re the first to admit that it’s never as in-depth as we would like. So we encourage you – if you find something in our books that doesn’t represent a lifestyle, culture, or setting correctly, please contact us. We’d be happy to be educated. It’s kind of our thing.
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Available soon!
July 31, 2019
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