Fragile Chaos

by Amber R. Duell

  * * *

  Realm of Brisa, Goddess of the Sea

  Against every myth ever told about Brisa’s queendom, it was not at the bottom of the sea. The stories, however, were right about it being a palace of glass. The exterior was made of a million panes held together with bronzed metal. A fountain at its front fed a lake around the building. The water filled the inside of the glass enclosure, mirroring the walls and ceiling. Interior walls offered privacy and kept out unwanted moisture. Bright white pillars held the solid structure up at its center. Hallways branched off the circular common room, providing rooms to Brisa and her household—now less than fifty men and women.

  A rectangular slate temple with a curved roof stood nearby. Cattails sprung up along the white pebbles scatted around the perimeter. Inside, gleaming blue tile scrolled across the walls, forming wave after wave. A banner of pearls and shells covered the altar across from the sacrificial pit. Two semicircle railings stood on either side of the pit, leaving a straight line of site through to the glass entryway.

  Most of Brisa’s queendom was covered in sprawling fields and gentle, rocky hills. Small ponds dotted the land, but a single river flowed through the property. The riverbed spilt in two; one branch of the river fed the Black River in Death’s kingdom, and the other dropped off into a waterfall at the edge of the War God’s kingdom.

  * * *

  Realm of Leander, God of Death

  A muted sun shone down on the white, rocky landscape of the Netherworld. Opaque peaks protruded from the ground, casting shimmering blue and yellow shadows over the ground. The air felt frozen with the lack of life—still and unforgiving. Few sacrifices made it longer than a week before asking to move on.

  The front side of the largest mountain was a castle made entirely of opal. With delicate carvings and pointed towers, it was something one would expect from a storybook. Inside, were sweeping staircases, detailed ceilings, and elegant archways. While no decorations hung on the glimmering walls, each room was covered in rich area rugs and comfortable furniture. A warm, green fire burned without kindling in Leander’s private fireplaces. Living alone, he never bothered to light the others.

  The backside of the mountain held a more ominous purpose. A wide, black river cut Leander’s realm in half, keeping the waiting souls on their side of the realm. Leander was able to walk across the surface untouched to reach the dead, but if one of the crystalline souls tried to cross, they would be forever trapped beneath the swirling water with all of Drea’s failed, monstrous creations.

  On the opposite shore, onyx pillars stretched up between two mountains on the other side, showing the souls what they most wanted to see. While they were usually calm while waiting, albeit confused, a riot sometimes broke out if the shore became overcrowded. Leander did his best to usher the souls through the looming archway to the afterlife in an orderly fashion, but it was particularly difficult in times of war.

  * * *

  Realm of Astra, Goddess of Love

  White and gray columns held up a balcony that ran the entire length of Astra’s two-story square palace. A frosted pink and white skylight shone down on the double staircase in the foyer. Crystal chandeliers hung in each of the two-hundred rooms, and someone was always playing a musical instrument. It could be heard almost anywhere with sheer curtains billowing from glassless windows.

  Despite the lack of belief, Astra would visit the mortals on a regular basis. Her walled-in temple was surrounded by six sets of four pillars. The five alcoves belonging to her siblings were each set at the top of a separate staircase inside. An infinity symbol carved from marble served as her altar before the pit with a wide, single-wick candle at its center. A river flowed near the entrance with paddleboats waiting by the dock. Flowering trees grew across the hilly landscape. A stone path lined with always-blooming cherry blossoms could be followed throughout the realm.

  Most residents preferred to spend time in the common areas: pillows covering the flat roof to enjoy the stars at night or the atrium that opened to the entire first floor with a deep-set pool at its center. With seventy-five servants remaining along with seven husbands, there was always company to be found in either place. While Astra loved each of her sacrifices equally, she hadn’t truly accepted any husbands in the last nine hundred years. If the men chose to stay, she honored their sacrifice and encouraged them to find love elsewhere in the household.

  * * *

  Realm of Theodric, God of War

  A dirt path led away from the circular stone temple at the edge of Theodric’s realm, winding through a grassy field, and up a hill. A gray stone mansion at the top was surrounded by a circular wall. Passing under the entryway, the packed dirt gave way to fine black gravel that circled the interior courtyard. Turrets capped the corners of the twenty-eight room mansion.

  Most of the rooms were covered in dust, and used for storage. Two bedrooms and a bathroom were used on the second floor by Theodric and his advisor, but the war room was occupied most frequently. High windows covered the back wall with seats beneath each. On either side of the doors hung an array of weapons—swords, guns, throwing knives—and, to the right, maps were tacked from the ceiling down. Books and scrolls lined shelves. The war table stood useless in the middle of the room. Theodric moved the colored glass pieces across the black base out of habit now instead of necessity.

  Even in times of peace, Theodric was preparing for the moment that harmony shattered, but without his full power, he was no longer able to see things like he needed to. Hundreds of spies were scattered across the world to keep him updated. Three hundred male sacrifices were left living inside the outer wall. A sacrificial bride had never made it out of the main chamber of the temple.

  Behind the mansion stretched a wide forest. Animals were no longer present, but a small brook laced through trees. Upstream, a waterfall spilled over the edge of rocky cliffs, filling a pool and feeding the brook. A mountain range began at the edge of the tree line, and didn’t stop until it reached the Between—a dark abyss holding the six god and goddess realms together. The threat of being banished into the nothingness was usually more than enough for Ebris to keep everyone in line.

  * * *

  Gods of Old

  Long before the world came into existence, there lived three Old Gods. But, as they began to fade, they regretted never having created anything worthwhile and feared being forgotten. With the last of themselves, they created a pantheon of six siblings that would do what they never had:

  Ebris to guide the siblings.

  Drea to create a world teaming with life.

  Brisa to rule the unpredictable seas.

  Leander to help souls find their place in the afterlife.

  Astra to aid in matters of the heart.

  Theodric to steer the living through their conflicts.

  Ostran War

  For thousands of years, the mortals worshiped their gods and goddesses, but with each generation, fewer believed in their existence. Ebris, like his creators, feared being forgotten, and pushed his siblings to do more for their worshipers. Drea, Brisa, Leander, Astra, and Theodric went along with their brother’s requests out of respect for him, but everything changed when Ebris ordered the continuation of the Ostran War.

  Theodric began the conflict to reward the Ostran Emperor by extending his territory, but with every victory meant to end the war, Ebris forced Theodric to press forward until the entire east was embroiled in the bloody conflict. It wasn’t until the mortals assumed the war was a sign the gods had abandoned them that Ebris ordered its end.

  Ebris ripped Theodric’s power away, calling him reckless and impulsive. None of the siblings dared stop Ebris for fear he would turn on them next. But, while no one crossed Ebris, the ordeal ruined their trust of one another. The gods and goddesses began to work as separate entities instead of one, and it wasn’t long until the disconnect caused mortals to turn away from their creators completely.

  A glass pawn explodes in a shower of yellow du
st, and I grip the scrolled edge of the war table. Beneath the new layer of powder, a kaleidoscope of color decorates the onyx tabletop. Orange, purple, white, blue, pink—every eastern country is in play, but gray pieces dominate the board.

  The Ostran Emperor won’t stop. Not until every man and woman bends the knee.

  This… I never should have agreed to this. To the utter destruction of five prosperous countries in exchange for a few pretty brides and wagons full of gold. They aren’t even my brides, my gold. Not that I want either, but they belong to Ebris. Or they used to before Ostra turned to me in gratitude of so many victories. Victories that should have ended last year when Ebris demanded I stop the war.

  But it was one order too many, and I didn’t listen.

  Why didn’t I listen?

  A white pawn slides back—a retreat—then bursts, the dust landing among fallen brethren. I grip the fabric of my linen shirt and press against the sharp twist in my stomach. There’s no move I can make, no shifting of pieces on the board that will stop Ostra from annihilating someone somewhere.

  Think, Theodric. Think.

  The Emperor’s only legal heir is sympathetic. If I dispose of the father, the son will control the armies. Stop the armies. A breath builds in my chest, and I let it out slowly. It won’t be a popular decision, but it’s direct.

  I barrel for the temple at the edge of my realm. My sword hangs heavy at my hip as if it senses my plan and the grief my siblings will give me for it. Four of them anyway—Astra has been begging for an end to this longer than Ebris has. She may embody love, but something tells me she’ll be willing to forsake one man today.

  I step into the center of my stone temple and hurdle myself to the mortal realm. My shields lock firmly in place, rendering me invisible to the mortals in black robes. They kneel around the sacrificial pit as cloying incense drifts lazily overhead. Behind the altar, the High Priest leads a prayer for their next victory.

  “No,” I whisper, weaving my way to the exit. Since Ostra’s campaign began, they’ve sent at least a hundred brides in thanks. Then I sent them directly to Leander in the Netherworld precisely so when this day came, I would have the freedom to do what needs to be done. “Your victories are over, Priest.”

  Outside, there’s no trace of the war that ravages half the world. Soft clouds dot the bright sky and a warm breeze carries the scent of citrus up from the orchard at the bottom of the hill. A herd of goats graze their way across the grassy plain. And, rising just beyond a glittering stream, white pillars of the Ostran palace stand stark against the lush grounds.

  My stride is purposeful. Direct. The Emperor should be in his chambers for a midday respite, dressed in silks and furs, while his people slaughter their way across the continent. Because I made them attack the Sulyiv Peninsula. Because my brother wanted to reward Ostra with a small portion of costal land.

  No. I grip my sword. This is my fault. I should have told Ebris I wouldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t push forward as the years went by. Wouldn’t bring another country into the fight. I should have stopped it when I had that chance…

  But I can fix it. I can.

  “Stop,” Brisa calls.

  My steps falter. Of course she knew I would do this eventually—it’s the only solution left. But we’re too far inland for my sister to interfere. Not that it’s ever stopped her before. I detour into the orchard, stepping over creeping roots and around low, gnarled branches laden with bright fruit.

  Brisa blocks my path with Leander following at her heel, his face hollow. “Theodric, stop,” she says, her voice hard.

  My nostrils flare. “I can’t.”

  “You’re right. You can’t kill the Emperor,” she snaps. “He’s Ebris’ most loyal sovereign.”

  “Not anymore.” My thumb brushes over the ruby imbedded in the hilt of my sword. “Ostra has taken enough.”

  “It will never be enough,” Leander says quietly. “The souls continue to fight in the Netherworld, and dozen have been lost to the Black River, shoved by their enemies. There must be peace, Theodric, but I’m not sure this is the best way.”

  “When is the last time Ostra offered anything to their King of the Gods?” I look between them, waiting for an answer they can’t give. It’s been too long to remember. “When is the last time Ebris’ high priest sang his praises? Their loyalty is hollow. It belongs to whoever gives them what they want most, no matter how many people get hurt. No matter how many of Drea’s lives are ripped away.”

  “And you think it all right to take another?” Drea asks.

  I glare over Brisa’s head to my eldest sister lingering at the edge of the trees. “The son will be a different kind of ruler.”

  “Who do you think made the Emperor the way he is?” Drea caresses the twisting branches as she moves to stand between Brisa and Leander. “Do you think he would be so hungry for victory if you had not given him one right after another? If he had lost men and resources? Instead, you made him invincible.”

  Yes. Yes! It’s my fault.

  I followed Ebris too well and then not at all. The battle six months ago blew up in my face, completely eliminating a clan settled at the base of the mountains. The countries allied against Ostra were driven in opposite directions, and there’s no way to regroup the scattered troops without passing through Ostran occupied territory.

  But I hadn’t meant for any of those things to happen. It was an oversight after a straight fifty-three hours of work. I forgot there were already Ostrans in the area, so when I sent the allied troops there for a victory, they walked into a massacre. A sharp pang of regret hits my chest. So many innocent lives were lost that day…

  “I was doing what was asked of me,” I say carefully. At least, I had been for ninety percent of the war. “Now, please. Go back. Pretend you never saw me here and let me direct this conflict toward peace.”

  Brisa flicks a quick glance at Drea. “We can’t pretend we never saw you.”

  “Please.” I meet each of their stares, and a hysteric desperation bubbles within me.

  The constant prayers of each High Priest buzzing in my head, the endless stream of sacrifices flowing into my realm, the never-ending demands of war. The strategizing. The watching. The waiting. The exploding pieces. The ever-thickening layer of glass dust that has turned my war table into a graveyard. My shoulders droop, but I tighten my grip on my sword.

  “Please. I’m so tired. I should have ended it when Ebris asked but I…” I was angry at being manipulated into creating such a disaster. I still am, but I shouldn’t have refused to listen out of spite. I wince at the hard truth of it. “This has to end, and putting the son in power is the only solution I have.”

  Astra rushes into the orchard, the layers of her blue skirt flying out behind her like tendrils of fog. She clutches Brisa’s arm and mumbles, “Ebris is coming.”

  My heart lurches. I could have given the Emperor a clean death by now and been back at my war table, directing Ostrans home. I shake my head and sidestep Leander. But Drea is faster. She stands in the path leading to the palace and shoots me a withering look.

  They won’t let me do it. Won’t let me end my own war.

  Not my war. His war.

  This one had never been mine. I simply hadn’t realized it soon enough. And then my pride… My stupid, stupid pride…

  “You will not touch him!” Ebris’ roar rumbled down the hill before him.

  I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. When I open them again, Ebris is in front of me, breathing heavily. “What would you have me do then, brother? Let Ostra take the entire continent?”

  “What else can be done? If you had listened and exercised some restraint then—”

  My fist collides with his jaw, sending him back three feet. I shake out my hand and step forward to do it again.

  “Think twice, Theodric,” he growls. A blaze dances in his blue eyes. Daring me. Warning me. “If you had ended this when I told you to, we wouldn’t be here today.”


  I’m not sure if I want to laugh in his face or choke him. “You asked me to gift Ostra a portion of the Sulyiv Peninsula. I did. Then it was land at Butaelo’s border. Then a claim over the waterway in Kezbia. It all blurs together after that, but I gave you everything you asked for.”

  Ebris lunges and balls the collar of my shirt in his hands. “You did this. Not me.”

  “You helped.”

  His grip tightens.

  “You wanted Ostra back,” I say low enough that the others can’t hear. “You wanted them to stop praying to me, stop sacrificing to me. That’s the real reason you wanted the war to end, isn’t it?”

  “Shut up,” he snarls.

  A bitter grin tugs at my lips. “It had nothing to do with how quickly your plans were spiraling.”

  My back slams into the soft earth before I realize Ebris had moved, shoving the air from my lungs. His knees pin my arms into the dirt, then his hands are around my throat, his thumbs pressing against the hollow. “You’ve proven yourself too irresponsible to govern something as important as war.”

  I lift my head from the grass. His thumbs dig deeper, but I speak around the pressure. “I’ve been planning wars since I took my first breath.”

  “The Old Gods told me this might happen.” His eyes narrow. “And in case it did, I was gifted a way to deal with it.”

  My lips curl in disgust. Ebris is the only one who remembers the gods that created us which makes it impossible to contradict their edicts. He can put whatever lies he wants in their mouths, and what can we do? Accuse him? With what proof?

  “The Old Gods foresaw your greed? Your vanity?” I ask.

  Someone inhales sharply beside us. Astra or Brisa, maybe, but I don’t dare pull my eyes from Ebris.

  “A few years will do wonders for your attitude.” Ebris moves one hand from my throat to the center of my chest. “Prove yourself worthy of your title.”