by Kyle Olson
If not, then at least she had her back-up plan.
Speaking of which.
Jasmine Reith finally acknowledged the unsure, worried faces around her.
“Sorry, a bit of shock at having won,” she said with a short, practiced laugh to put those around her at ease.
Smiles returned and Sejit joined them in celebration, albeit in her typical reserved manner.
An hour or three later, because who was keeping track of the time, Sejit finally shook off the crowds and returned home for a night of rest. The following days would be busy as everyone got ready for the move into the capitol building next month.
“Ah, the intrepid hero returns triumphant,” said Wophin, bowing deeper than usual when greeting her, “Shall I put on the feast?”
“What would I ever do without you,” Sejit said as she kicked off her shoes, followed by damp clothing.
Formalwear always felt so constraining, and it was so hot, no one should be forced to wear two or even three layers in a desert. What she wouldn’t give to return to the simple clothing of ages past, or even better, the days when clothing was optional.
“Probably lead a slightly less interesting life,” Wophin said as he picked up after his mistress without complaint, though he did hold the moist bra by a strap away from himself like it threatened to give him a plague, “As well as one with substantially less wine, seeing as how myself and my wit are inseparable. Unlike you and your clothing.”
Sejit shook her sandy-brown hair out and stretched, relishing the cool air on her skin. “Excellent idea with the wine, I could use something to calm my excitement,” she said with no particular enthusiasm.
Wophin nodded, depositing the laundry in the chute before heading to fetch a bottle. Sejit eased herself into her favorite overstuffed chair in the study. It held that honor, because, unlike all the other furniture, which was leather, it was covered in soft cotton.
Stretching out, splaying her fingers and toes, getting all the joints to pop just right—a content sigh escaped her lips and she unwound. She could actually get some thinking done, or rather, all she needed was…
A full glass slipped into her outstretched hand. She took a sip.
Now she could get some thinking done.
“Things are going well. This troubles me,” Sejit said, peering at the wine as if it were a fortune teller’s crystal ball.
“If it’s any consolation, madam, Ifon is cleverer than you give him credit for, Daontys is most assuredly up to something, Hu’phed’s whereabouts remain unknown, and Tess will probably explode and ruin everyone’s plans, not just yours.”
“Yes, that is some consolation,” she said with a note of amusement, “Though I disagree with your assessment of Ifon. I know him well.”
“Ah, but to know him well means you see him as you see him, rather than as he is.”
She quirked a brow and began to speak, but changed her mind before the first word left her lips, and instead said, “You might not be entirely wrong.”
“Truly? I’ll have to mark the occasion on my calendar! Tonight is special.”
“Yes, ha ha ha,” she remarked, dry as the vintage in her glass, “Perhaps, then, I should focus my efforts upon Ifon first.”
“Perhaps,” Wophin nodded, standing with his hands clasped at his back, “But really, everyone should be dealt with first.”
“That is the problem, is it not?” Sejit sighed, slumping down into the chair, legs splayed out into a most unlady-like posture, leaving her just upright enough to be able to drink without requiring any sort of special effort or potential messes. “Sometimes I wonder if this is worth the effort. A return to my old life might not be so bad.”
“Your old life,” Wophin said, as if he were tasting the words and found them in dire need of some spice, “If I remember right, your old life led you to visit your son at war to say your farewell.”
The cool, comfortable room became an icebox.
“How do you know that?” came Sejit’s words, each an icicle threatening to shear off and impale Wophin. A pair of lion-eyes threatened to devour him, but he shrugged them off. Even allowed himself a smile.
“A chance conversation with a certain someone. He didn’t know it at the time, likely still does not, but from it I deduced your true purpose.”
Some of the frost thawed, but one could still slip and fall if they weren’t careful.
“Tarkit does like to chat. I suspect he and Sophia have had a few by now, not that it matters.”
“You could say his penchant for chatting gave you a reprieve from your old life,” Wophin said, drifting towards the exit lest he push the bounds a little too far by hanging around, “And while I know you don’t care, I’ll add that I believe the world is a better place for it.”
He vanished from sight with the last word, escaping anything she could’ve said in response.
Which left her to mull.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Large, east-facing picture windows to let in the early morning light, a quiet atmosphere, and most importantly, meticulously cleaned tables. Daontys sipped his coffee, which as far as diner fare went, was palatable. He placed the mug upon a napkin, which had been folded neatly in half, taking care to ensure it was centered. As well, the napkin and mug were the same distance away from both the long and short edge of the table.
The thin man with his knife-edge features and pressed suit was a curious newcomer to the blue-collar regulars, but someone with a tie that loud and yellow had to be decent enough. Besides, he’d said his pleases and thank-yous to the waitress, even if the tone was suspect. Just how the suits were.
He’d been expecting much worse, but then the last time he was in a diner had to have been a few decades ago at the least. Not just the tables and floors and booth, but even the windows were clean. It was nice to know that some mortals still had a sense of propriety, despite their low station.
As he sipped on the steamy, bitter brew, he watched the pair of waitresses and cook through the order window in the wall behind the counter. They held themselves to a certain standard, based on their neat attire, free of splotches and blemishes, on the way they moved. Sharp and with purpose.
Yes, he could say he liked the place. Almost enough to make him want to strike up a conversation with the owner.
A small bell above the entrance chimed as the door swung open, followed by a set of footsteps that held a certain step to them, a sound that was the same no matter the surface or sole. Daontys put on a polite, amiable face as the slab of god approached and slid into the booth across the table.
“I’m glad you could break free from your retinue this morning to join me,” Daontys said, maintaining the gesture.
Ifon drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out in a rush through his nose.
“Seeing as how you wished to speak personally,” Ifon said, drumming fingers against the table, “I assumed it must be important enough for me to delay my meeting with the Secretary of International Trade.”
“Worry not, this shan’t take long. I merely wish to make a proposal,” Daontys said, bringing his hands together atop the table and interlocking his fingers.
The crisp waitress approached with a measure of hesitation, seeing as how there were now two suits in her diner, one of which looked like he’d be more at home in a forest somewhere with an axe in hand.
“Can I get you anything?” She asked, timidly.
“Coffee, black,” Ifon said, giving her a cursory glance.
“Sure thing, one coffee coming up,” she replied, tottering off on nervous footsteps that became less nervous the farther away she was.
Daontys studied the god, appraising him. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected him to respond so soon after the request and without any sort of debate or fuss on the matter.
“Get on with it, then.”
He cleared his throat, “It’s simple. I wish for an alliance. With Sejit winning her election she is poised to begin conquering the region w
ithin the year, if not in a few months. Then there is the matter of Tess, who for the past two weeks has vanished. Likely she’s up to something. They’re a dangerous combination.”
Ifon leaned back, head cocked. For a long while he just stared, as if seeking to probe the depths of Daontys’ thoughts. Nothing was said until the waitress dropped off the coffee and he gave her his thanks.
He picked the hot mug up and downed half of it in one go. It clanked against the table, dropped almost haphazardly.
“An alliance,” Ifon began, spinning the mug in place by its handle with a finger, “I’ll admit I’ve thought about it as well. Recreate the old days, the old glory. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Which is why I’ve brought it up,” Daontys crooned, face crooking in a smile, “Though not necessarily to reforge the glory days. I admit I have beckoned a few lesser gods to my cause in recent years, but they are, shall we say, children in need of a home. With your joining, however, it might be reasonable to call it a true pantheon.”
“Hmph. You always did eat up all that “Father of the Gods” shit.”
“A shorter title than Winter’s Champion, Grand Conqueror and Lord of the Wolves, don’t you think?”
“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in a while,” Ifon smirked.
“We did earn the titles bestowed upon us by the mortals. If nothing else, they possess a keen sense of observation.”
“If nothing else. I must say I’m surprised to hear you want to work with me again, knowing what you know.”
“You mean your history with Sejit?” Daontys unlocked his hands for the second it took to wave one, to brush away the concern, “I know the full extent of that history, worry not.”
A bitter taste filled Ifon’s mouth as he took another sip of the dark-brown roast.
“And you do not mind? I must say, it is a tempting proposal, but…”
“…But? Aurphel was at its peak when we were at our zenith. With an alliance we could, possibly, begin that climb once more, place the world and ourselves at its peak.”
“Things are different, now. Just because it was, once, doesn’t mean it can be. Besides, there’s another reason why I’ve never done more than think about it.”
“What might that reason be?” Daontys began to tap his thumbs together.
“In the case of those two, Tess provides Sejit with what may as well be a source of unlimited funds, and in exchange, Tess can rely upon Sejit’s strength. They each have something the other wants. What can you provide me that I do not already possess?”
Daontys turned his head one way, then the other, as a bird of prey would consider a distant pup. “Come now, we have much to gain from cooperation. While neither of us has need of the other’s strength, alone we would each find Sejit a difficult opponent in the best of circumstances. Together, she becomes trivial and thus we are safe. We could even begin overt moves meant to contain her, or provoke her into a foolish engagement.”
“I wonder about that. Say one of us discovers some advantage, some resource we could use to leverage a victory without the other knowing. If I believe I can defeat her alone, what incentive do I have to maintain our agreement? What incentive would you have? The world does not need two rulers.”
“Is it such a strange concept to not wish to rule?”
“No,” Ifon said, shaking his head, “But you’re aware I do, Father of the Gods. If you desire for mortals to be free of our influence, then why would you aid me? Why do you not live in a hole in the ground somewhere? Instead, you drape yourself in finery, dabble in their finances and whisper in the ears of senators.”
Daontys’ smile never wavered. He even chuckled. “I suppose it is blatant hypocrisy. It’s difficult to give up the fine things in life once you’ve tasted of them, I’m sure you can agree, and it is so dull without entertainment, is it not? As for my whispering, well, even the most patient of us can only remain idle, watching them err without learning, for so long.”
Ifon remained unconvinced, so Daontys continued.
“As for my tacit approval of your goals, well, we are both aware that when Sejit is no longer a threat, we can go our separate ways if it comes to it. In the days of the Fionsys, we worked together despite grievances. We understand one another. I do not believe you would betray me, and I hope you hold me in the same regard. Until she dealt with, it behooves us to cooperate.”
“Yes, I remember working together,” Ifon said, none-too-fondly, “Those were tense days. But yes, you are correct. You never were deceitful towards those who could, if it came to it, oppose you. Honor when it suited you.”
Phrased like that, it sounded so… grotesque, mercenary. And after all the thought he’d put into this line of conversation specifically to avoid that. Sometimes the path of least resistance, of greatest success, was not the sunniest. True leaders understood this. Did Ifon?
“Something to that effect, yes, but you make it sound an ill thing,” he said, sharp features honing themselves further.
The mug on Ifon’s end of the table spun round twice more before he replied. “Sunbird, I suspect mortals have influenced us far more than we give them credit for. I’ve brokered similar agreements using that twisted logic when, not all that long ago, I’d never have entertained such a daft notion. I believe I understand your point.”
“Even the master learns something from those beneath him every now and then.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Very well, I’ll agree to us working together on one condition.”
“Excellent! What is your condition?”
Ifon leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “If you betray me while Sejit is a threat, I will have my retribution even if it means I lose everything.”
“Is that all?” Daontys said with a short, nasal laugh, “I accept.”
Daontys raised his mug, and Ifon did the same. As far as celebrations went, it was rather lacking—even by the poorest of mortal standards. A covenant that would decide the fate of the world, sealed over coffee. Maybe Ifon was correct, maybe they’d changed in ways they never realized.
“To the rise of a new empire,” said Ifon.
“To Sejit’s downfall,” said Daontys.
With that, porcelain clicked together and the pact was made. Sejit had long been an irritation, even at the height of the Fionsys Empire, its pantheon, when he was the head of 40, 50 gods. Even when Ifon had been part of that pantheon, they couldn’t bend her. Thanks to her, the empire couldn’t expand south. Thanks to her, they were subject to constant raids and intrusions.
This had been a long time coming.
The first step towards my victory has begun. Now then, the next thing is to let slip word of our alliance to force her on the defensive…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Yf’s lap was warm, comforting. Sophia tried to speak but couldn’t make her throat work. It just refused, or maybe she couldn’t spare the effort from breathing. Breathing. There was a dim awareness of someone speaking. Tarkit. He was speaking to her. What was he saying?
She couldn’t, couldn’t understand. Thinking was so hard. So was the breathing.
Living was so, so hard. So tiring.
Some part of her felt like she ought to be scared but being scared was so much work.
She didn’t want to die, but…
She was tired of work. Tired of many things. So much to worry about. Her parents, her cats. Sejit and Tess and Wophin and Tarkit and Yf. Would they be worried about her? What did they know. Though, there was lingering regret. Her parents deserved something, a goodbye. The cats, too. Well, they’d just have to… understand.
Sophia’s vision faded out like a lens losing focus and dimmed like a sunset until only darkness remained. This was it, then? She could feel herself shutting down, and all she could do was sort of watch over it like she was a spectator in a tower, observing a factory beneath her slowing to a halt.
Her breaths stopped. The pain in her back, in her body, faded away. With no pain, she coul
d finally get some sleep. So tired.
One by one her thoughts faded away until a solitary notion remained: This was it. She would be no longer. Or would she? She’d always told herself there was nothing. Nothing sounded great right about now.
Then that notion too, faded into… nothing.
Darkness enveloped the entirety of the being called Sophia.
It was strange, then, when her eyes opened again. Although, open wasn’t the right word, but it was the best way she could put it. Neither was it wholly correct to assume she had eyes, the way the view looked. Maybe it was more like a gathering awareness. Such as it was. Something to think about it.
…Thinking was something that should not be happening.
To the best of her knowledge, when people died, they did not think and look into… Well, there wasn’t anything to see, really. Her awareness was aware, yet all that rolled out before her was a vast emptiness. A perfect void.
Voids being what they were, there wasn’t much to catch her eye, mind’s eye, or any other sort of eye. As she looked around and began to walk—which spurred another series of thoughts, which resulted in her concluding it was less walking and more drifting on imagined steps, considering she didn’t have legs—around, she then attempted to pat herself.
Which resulted in more of the same.
I’m here, but I’m not. I can see, but there’s nothing to see. Is this real? Am I real? Or…
“So this must be the afterlife,” she said, but it was more that her thoughts were loud enough for her to hear them in a way that was slightly different than thinking them. As it was, the whole experience was putting a damper on her beliefs. She was supposed to be dead, and being dead meant no thinking, seeing, moving, or talking.
Well, given the bleak surroundings, it may as well have been all that.