“What could you all possibly be quarreling about?” asked Reuben.
Zuetal explained, “Humanity and their actions divide us. We hardly agree much of the time anyway. For the last several of your generations the debate that has brought us such bickering has been about Karthild. We made the magic stones for humanity. Unfortunately, you discovered them too soon; it was before the intended time in the tapestry of history. That was Arneph’s doing, of course, his sphere of influence is luck, after all. But once the deed was done it could not be taken back.”
“So things are ahead of schedule. Why would that bother you or any of you?” asked Reuben.
Zuetal stopped smiling, “Because humanity was too young for their newfound power; they misuse their gift. The peoples were not advanced enough in their understanding. Your artificers create dangerous flame and protective barriers, never caring to learn what else it might do. The hearts of humanity, their beliefs, wavered as they freely used the magic we created, thinking themselves masters of their own world. Not all of us were willing to take second place to our creation. The only true use of the magic stones would lead to the right honor of the gods.”
Reuben let that sink in. He had never given it much though, not caring for the magic stones or their users that much to begin with. He could see Zuetal’s point, though. He would be the first to admit that he had a somewhat jaded view of humanity’s morality, but it was true that Karthild was used primarily as a weapon or for travel.
Zuetal continued, “We… disagreed, about what ought to be done when Karthild was discovered. Childlike as humanity is, you have not been bereft of all wisdom. They did not understand Karthild, so they sought to control it. Therefore, only the powerful and rich have had access. Even in their misuse, they still respect power. Your Karthild users seem to focus on its destructive uses more than anything else, seeing only the potential for might. If Kormog was flattered at first, the charm of it has long ago worn off. His domain is war, and as the fledgling Karthild grew, people trusted more to their magic than to their prayers. Another that has felt especially maligned is the god of travel, Aigid. Your portals are an affront to her continually and her shrines in the wilderness are in hurtful neglect. Yet Aigid is always moving, that is her nature, and she does not dwell with anger long. Would that more of us were like her in that regard. Kormog and Arneph are less forgiving. The god of war is a proud individual; might, destruction, vengeance, these are his and his alone. He, the power he wields, is why your world burns. Together, Arneph and Kormog are working together on this, against the will of the rest of us.”
The thought of it weighed heavily on Reuben. That the patron deity of his own chosen profession would turn and destroy his own followers, destroy the very world, was too much. Ever since he had been a little boy he had liked swords and armor and tactics. It was his calling, he had always felt. Although he’d not been an ardent follower of Kormog, full of fiery zeal like some, he had said his prayers many a day and night when he was in training. So he had an answer. Kormog, god of war, vengeance, whose name was invoked for righteous forbearance and justice in the face of evil. And this, this was the power behind the destruction of his homeland, the death of his mother, the perishing of all the little hopes and dreams of countless peoples across half the world. He had long ago gotten rid of his small talisman of Kormog, the onyx inscribed circle that bore two crossed swords. That had been years ago, when he first started to become angry that all efforts to stop the cinder lands had been in vain. Through the leaden feeling in his stomach, a question bubbled up. It had gone unnoticed at first, but the shear peculiarity of it pushed aside his other feelings, “Hold on a moment, I thought you just said Arneph had a hand in humanity getting Karthild to begin with. Why would he be angry about it?”
Zuetal explained, “As I said, we all act according to our natures. Arneph is a strange one, the dual god, luck and fate combined. He is double minded. As luck, it pleased him to mess with the plans set in place. As fate, the eternal symmetry of the perfect plan has been marred. Ever since then he has become at war within himself, never satisfied no matter what he does.” Zuetal paused, looking at the green grass, the cool waters, “I pity him, for he can never know tranquility such as this garden.”
“What does Kormog want?” asked Reuben, “How can we make him stop; convince everyone to quit using Karthild?”
Zuetal shook his head, “I do not think that would work, even if you could manage it. Kormog is wrathful, for his honor was injured. As he is the god of war, he cannot be stopped if he does not want to be stopped. You might as well try to stop the sun rising. The debate has gone on long enough that what Kormog wants now is to wipe the world clean and start anew. His righteous anger will not be assuaged. He will have his victory, he will have the mastery, it is his nature.”
Reuben tried another approach, “What about Arneph then, any way to get him to stop cooperating with Kormog?”
“If anything, Arneph is the worse enemy to have. It was his design, after all, that was broken. Fate has a heavy hand in the course of history. He will never forgive himself, I believe. It was his idea to unravel the world, so to speak, so that it might be set on the right course. He convinced Kormog, you see, and together they are unstoppable. Between them they possess the intellect and the might to reach their goal,” explained Zuetal.
“So that’s it then, we’re just doomed? How about we kill them, or try something, at least,” said Reuben.
“No, you do not kill a god,” said Zuetal. “The most you can do is harm their power in your world. Even that would not be easy, however. Kormog has many followers, which means he is very strong in both your world and within our realm.”
Reuben thought about that, even his own past. Then, “What about Arneph, I never see any missionaries for him outside of an infirmary.”
“There is more than one way to influence through followers,” Zuetal responded, “Kormog likes numbers, but Arneph likes individuals. I suspect that he has found a champion to enact his will. Someone already powerful in mind and purpose that he has steered and helped grow. The person would be imbued with borrowed power, of course, but still mighty. The closer they work together, the more like an avatar the champion would become. It may even be possible for one of us, at that level of dedication, to directly control the champion at times.”
“I think I met him,” Reuben said. Recalling the leather-robed figure at the destruction of Tekuda. Something was bothering him about the methods used by the gods, “Why not just show up and stomp around? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
Zuetal’s smile returned, like the sun escaping a bank of clouds, “For you, yes, a direct approach would be simple. Your approach is not possible. Humans may travel to our realm but not the other way around. That is not how we designed the world. We shut ourselves out. It was thought best. We have our reach into your world through what we embody.”
“I thought I saw Ibdal, in different places, when we spoke,” Reuben said, “He showed me a bunch of times he was present in the world.”
“I suspect he showed you his influence in events. That was different, he was not there physically, but was manifesting his will,” said Zuetal. “You’ll never stop Kormog, I’m afraid. There are too many people that provide him with power. Some directly, through prayer and acts of worship, but there are others, even if they don’t know it, that give him strength. Your world is a warlike place, with violent people. Your acts are reciprocal with Kormog, the more you fight, the more you need him, the more he blesses your battles, and so on. It feeds into itself, and mercy is not nearly so attractive as violence, I am afraid.”
“So what can we do?” asked Reuben.
“That will be discussed soon, when Ibdal returns with your friends. Mercy and Fate are always at odds with each other, probably because they so often end up influencing the same person, but with different goals. They prefer quality of person and precision of moment. I’ve no doubt Arneph chose someone to work through,” said Zuetal.
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The words sank in, an echo of a previous conversation niggling at the back of his mind. It was pushed aside though, for at that moment, in a rush of blue light with golden edges, a portal opened nearby. Zuetal remained seated, but Reuben jumped up in alarm, reaching for his sword pommel. He relaxed when he saw that Ibdal stepped through, and followed quickly by Pim, Lucius, and one other, someone he did not recognize.
“Pim! Lucius! Are you okay?” Reuben rushed forward to greet them, but stopped when Pim turned away like a frightened child, hiding herself behind Ibdal. “What happened!?” Reuben cried.
“Quietly, please,” said Ibdal, his finger to his lips, “She is still recovering.”
Ibdal turned to Pim and led her a short distance away, where she sat down. Lucius walked up to Reuben, and began shaking his hand in a businesslike way. Despite the formal nature, Reuben caught the relief in Lucius’s voice as he spoke, “It’s good to see you again.”
Bewildered, but glad, Reuben said, “Yes, I’m grateful to see you both. Where did you end up, anyway?” Reuben observed the stained clothing of his companion, “Looks like you found some chow at least.”
An embarrassed cough sputtered out of Lucius and he looked away, “Ah. About that. Let’s talk about something else.”
The other figure, the one Reuben did not recognize, walked forward. She was as tall as Reuben, with long flowing silver-colored hair, though she appeared to be otherwise hale and youthful. Her manner of dress was like that of a wandering pilgrim, a simple brown robe tied at the waist with a blue cord, foot wraps that stuck out of her worn-looking boots, and a walking stick in her hand. She walked briskly over from the portal, which had just closed. “You lot have kept me busier than I’ve been for some time. It wasn’t easy, you know, even for me. Our realms are separate for a reason, and those barriers do not become easily crossed, but I do.”
“Please, Aigid, hold your temper for another time. It was not done out of mischief,” said Ibdal.
“Oh please, mischief. If I thought that, I’d have left them where they were.” She snorted contemptuously then raised her hands in acquiescence, “Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with then. We’re all here that are coming. So what’s the agenda, Ibdal?”
“You’re Aigid?” interrupted Lucius, “I thought she was…uh…well...different?” Lucius voice wound down as he realized the type of person he was addressing.
“Silly,” Aigid said, without rancor, “If travelers come in all shapes and sizes, so does their patron change appearance when it suits her.”
“Come then, it shall be the three of us, for now,” said Ibdal. Addressing the travelers, “Why don’t you take a rest while we confer.”
Reuben nodded gratefully, and grabbed Lucius by the shoulders, gently leading him away. He was doing his best not to burst out laughing, though he was secretly happy that Lucius’s common sense, or lack thereof, was intact.
* * *
Zuetal, Aigid, and Ibdal had secluded themselves by the waters edge. While the gods were conferring, Reuben and Lucius and Pim were meandering around the green hills. Reuben had been rather concerned about Pim at first, but she seemed to be coming around towards normal. When they had first starting walking she had followed along slowly, and they had to keep intentionally slowing their own pace. Now, her steps were more purposeful. There was a thoughtful look on her face, replacing the frightened look that she had worn earlier. There was still plenty of light in the sky, although the pastels on the horizon were deepening in color and the stars above becoming more pronounced. Looking up, Reuben even fancied that the color was finally draining from the heavens. He wondered what night would be like here, if it ever came.
As they were walking, Lucius had told them of his encounter with Volmaetria. The strange black sand shore, the beautiful waterfowl, even the feast. He withheld nothing, even the semiconscious state he had been in when Ibdal arrived and helped him. After his rescue he had been left with Aigid in her realm. He had been weary and frightened, exhausted from his ordeal. What he could remember though was like a great empty space, filled with black night but dotted with innumerable stars in constellations grand and complex in their form, yet simple in their elegant grace. “They were almost like doors, without looking like them,” He’d told his companions, then felt silly for saying so, and was unable to figure out what he’d meant by it.
Reuben likewise had shared his experience with Ibdal and Zuetal. He’d thought about leaving out some of his less proud moments, but decided against it. It was too bothersome to make up witty repartee for his parts, when it was too obviously the case that he’d just ranted about and overall made himself out a rather boorish messenger. Pim had not yet spoken. They were about the furthest from the small grove of trees when they stopped to admire the waving fields in the fading light of the closing day. A sense of relief came over the group. Lucius was pondering his experience and started to voice an observation that had been developing in his fertile mind, “I didn’t expect them all to be…” Lucius stopped himself.
“To be what?” Reuben said.
“To be so human,” Lucius let the question fall from his mouth.
Reuben was going to laugh, but stopped. He had not thought about it like that before. It made a certain amount of sense, in a way, but if so it left just as many questions. “Maybe they’re not human enough,” he replied.
Pim broke her silence, “Where was I?” She sounded calm now, but there was still a distant look in her eyes.
“Ibdal found you, wouldn’t say where,” answered Lucius. “I was hoping you could tell us.”
Pim shook her head, “I remember… bad things… smoke.” Then she shuddered, “Never mind, I don’t want to remember. Except… you’re wrong. They’re not human at all.”
“What could they be talking about?” Lucius asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Reuben, “In my mind it’s simple, they are gods, they owe it to humanity to act. Otherwise, what’s the point of ‘em?”
“From what you said,” countered Lucius, “Maybe they can’t stop it. Maybe we have to help somehow. This fellow with the glowing eyes, Arneph’s priest or whatever you called him, that sounded important.”
“No doubt, but how can we find one individual in a whole world. Even if we could, how do we kill him?” said Reuben.
They debated the probable likelihood, Reuben keeping his calm in the face of Lucius’s earnest discussion of some of his newest research regarding Karthild and how it might apply to their need. As the two bickered a bit back and forth, so small as to be imperceptible, the wind was picking up. Pim was the first to notice; she was bored with the conversation and had been watching the lazy patterns of wind in the field. She had her side to the breeze and it kept pushing her hair into her eyes. The others noticed too, especially as it continued to rise in intensity. The fields of gold were no longer languidly rolling, it looked more like an incoming tide. An unexpected rush of wind, violent and cold, buffeted the grain, knocking swaths of crops down in places. It did not spring back up.
“Weird,” said Lucius. His eyes were roving over the sky, but not a cloud could be seen. “I would have expected rain.”
Reuben grunted noncommittally. It was strange, he could admit, although he would be at a loss to know just what passed for normal in the realm of the gods. He looked over at Pim, who had that far away look in her eyes again. That look frightened him more than the wind. Reuben got up, “Keep an eye on her, I’m going back to see just what they plan on doing to keep us from being blown away.”
“I’m not sure they want to be interrupted,” Lucius began.
“I’m sure I don’t care,” replied Reuben. He paced toward the ring of trees with its small pond, where the deities were still in council. Zuetal surely would know what was going on, he thought.
Reuben had only gotten a short distance when Lucius’s urgent call reached him, “Reuben, look, the fields!” Reuben turned and followed the line of Lucius pointing finger. What he sa
w made his mind go numb; color was draining from the field of gold, tarnishing it with a grey patch that was growing swiftly in size and intensity. Stalks wilted to the ground, then languished as if in withering heat, bending and twisting as they wilted. The wind shifted, and panic rose in the mind of Reuben as the unforgettable smell of sulfurous cinders reached his nose. He noticed several other patches of the same phenomenon.
“Lucius, come quick, we’ve got to get out of here!” Reuben ran back to his two companions.
Lucius and Reuben each grabbed one of Pim’s arms, trotting along and keeping her steady as fast as they might. A low humming sound was chasing them onward. There was still enough light to see by, though Reuben wished fervently it was the high noon he had experienced earlier. With the happy-looking sunset colors in the sky, it made everything feel like a dream, the kind that feels real but suddenly you know its not, and that the nightmare is about to begin.
“What is it?” Lucius asked, gasping out the words as they half carried, half led, Pim along between them.
“Cinder lands, I’d bet my life on it.” Reuben replied.
The patches of discolored earth were in a line. Reuben glanced carefully as they went, trying to ascertain what was happening. He thought there might be five or so and in the center of the patches the ground was seething, sending up tendrils of white smoke, with shimmering air above like a hot street in midsummer. Out of nowhere, a series of violent tearing sounds, somewhere between shattering glass and ripping fabric, sounded in staccato blasts. Crimson as an open wound, edged with a inky black, portals had opened in the middle of the spreading patches of ash and smoking cinder.
Lucius stopped short, nearly toppling over the other two before apologetically saying, “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Doesn’t it, though,” Reuben muttered darkly, “Let’s see what they have to say about it.” Reuben gestured toward Zuetal, Aigid, and Ibdal, who had just emerged from the trees not far from their position. As they went forward to meet them, Reuben noticed, since he was looking for it, that they seemed surprised, but not concerned, about the metamorphosis happening out in the fields.
Litany of Wrath Page 24