Theta

by Lizzy Ford

  My position as a member of the Sacred Triumvirate was complemented by an indisputably royal title, wealth built up by my family over the course of ten thousand years, and the favor of the gods. When I needed someone dead for any reason, my principal High Priestess, Theodocia, had coordinated it using whatever elements of my power she needed. Or, she chose to execute someone herself. Blessed by Artemis and Thanatos – the God of Death – Theodocia held rare, special favor from two deities. My will was always done.

  My entire life, death had also been easy.

  A month after leaving the pampered safety of my former life, I understood death with clarity I did not before. The first time I took a life, I spent ten days trying to scrub the feeling of his warm blood off my hands.

  The man at my feet was my tenth kill since then. He was destined to die at my hands this evening, no matter how difficult it was for me to kill him or what I might one day feel regarding my actions. Out here, in the chaos of the world abandoned by the gods, there was no room for guilt or remorse or hesitation. Beyond the walls of DC, where all of humanity had been stripped of its dignity and civility, these emotions were a death sentence. Whoever flinched first, or showed mercy, died.

  You should not have been there the night a god took your body, I told the corpse silently. But you were, and this is how it must end for everyone in your position. I can promise you, I will murder those responsible for your suffering, your lost soul and your death.

  I wiped my palms on the cloak I wore and replaced my weapons. The scent of rotting flesh was in the air, and my nose wrinkled.

  My new protector, a scarred, massive ginger named Herakles, rounded the corner into the narrow passage between two buildings. He was sweating, and his weapons were covered with blood. He hadn’t touched the handgun at his hip; neither of us did, not when ammunition was scarce and valuable. He killed with his hands. I used knives.

  “You okay?” Herakles asked, eyes searching my face.

  Some of my revulsion at killing melted. Herakles always asked about me first, always tended to my wounds before addressing the matter at hand. His approach to doing business was the opposite of mine. I preferred to deal decisively with what was before me and then handle the fallout and consequences – physical and emotional – after the loose ends were tied.

  On days like this, when some distant part of me that I refused to acknowledge felt the full impact of murdering a man, I appreciated Herakles’ more humanitarian approach.

  I nodded.

  “Are you hurt?” he pressed.

  I shook my head.

  “I told you that was a lucky knife,” he said with a faint smile, eyes on the bloodied hilt of the weapon I’d sheathed.

  Lucky was not the word I would use to describe the weapon I’d used to kill four men this week.

  But … in truth, the men I slayed were already dead.

  Herakles knelt beside the dead man. “This one is maybe three days old.” He flipped open the man’s vest, searching for weapons. “Did you get his name?”

  I wrote the answer in the dirt beside the body.

  Herakles gazed at it then shrugged. “This is your domain, not mine. His name means nothing to me.”

  My protector was very different than me in this respect, too. He could barely read and hardly knew any of the deities. If he ever had a formal education, it stopped too early for him to understand many of the complex religious, scientific, cultural and mathematical concepts with which I was familiar.

  At first, our differences had left me feeling alone in a crowd. It was not until I began to appreciate and admire the talents where Herakles was superior to every other person on the planet – even the gods – that I understood how two puzzles pieces like us could work together.

  I wrote three more words in the dirt.

  “God of Roads. Hmm.” By his expression, Herakles was not impressed. “Any lead on Zeus or the others?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, let’s keep going.” Herakles stood and walked away from the dead man.

  It was harder for me. Not because I didn’t think my choice was the right one – it always was – but because I didn’t like the idea of leaving behind a person who had been abandoned first by the gods. I wasn’t like them, and I wouldn’t behave like them.

  When I didn’t move, Herakles sighed and stopped walking. “All right. We’ll burn him, so no one else can use the body. Let me grab the others.”

  Thank you, I responded telepathically. He couldn’t hear me. No one out here could.

  My eyes fell to the corpse again. The cowardly gods had stooped to a new low at some point within the past five years, since the Holy Wars began. While on Earth, the gods and goddesses existed in energetic forms humans could not see. To communicate with normal people, the deities would possess the body of a human messenger – usually one of the priests or priestesses dedicated to them, or another human with the dormant gift of telepathy – in order to pass on a message. The interactions lasted several minutes, never more, because the deities respected the human’s life. When they possessed the body of a volunteer, the gods pushed out the soul of the human temporarily and caused the host’s body to start to die.

  Somewhere along the line, the deities had begun doing more than passing on messages. They possessed bodies – and stayed, until the human forms rotted out from beneath them. They leapt into another body at that point, and the process repeated itself over and over. None of the gods and goddesses we’d found would share with us the reason they chose to possess humans instead of remaining in their energy forms. Herakles and I had concluded their existences had been in danger, or it would not have become a widespread necessity.

  I knew none of this when I’d lived inside the walls of DC.

  Then again, most of the horrors I’d experienced since leaving had been suppressed by the media and politicians. No one could render the gods-forsaken war zone outside of DC pleasant, but they had definitely managed to keep our focus inside the protected area and edited out the harsh reality the majority of survivors in the world lived in. According to the media lie I’d believed, SISA and the military were purportedly using martial law to help those outside the walls establish colonies capable of sustaining themselves and ruling themselves with order.

  The truth was the opposite.

  People slaughtered one another for food and unpolluted water sources.

  SISA and the military raided settlements and colonies for food to help feed those in the protected zone.

  Deities slaughtered humans for hosts.

  The world outside DC was a horrifying battle for survival.

  Herakles returned a moment later and deposited two more dead bodies beside the man I’d killed.

  Stepping aside, I watched the people’s champion and former Olympian tear wood off the side of a building and bring an armful to the corpses. He arranged the wood with military efficiency and expertise then stood and sprayed the makeshift pyre with petrol.

  The only good thing to come of the deities possessing people: when they were in the bodies of their hosts, they were vulnerable. They could be killed permanently in a way the gods and goddesses couldn’t be when in their other forms on Earth.

  “Three total. Were there any others you noticed?” Herakles asked.

  I shook my head.

  “No one will talk,” he growled. “How can these parasites discard a human life like trash?”

  Knowing another human lost his life to a selfish god tore me apart, too.

  Knowing we’d removed three more deities, even minor ones, from Earth this night filled me with triumph.

  I had sworn to rid the planet of the foul supernatural beings. I never expected it to occur in this fashion, just as I never expected to become one of the only people outside the wall capable of tracking the deities who had taken human form.

  A priest or priestess would be able to do it as well. However, those with even the smallest telepathic gift who had managed to survive the bloody onset of
the Holy Wars outside the walls were the first possessed by the deities.

  I moved to stand beside Herakles. A lighter was in his hand.

  “I have yet to learn a proper prayer for people like you,” Herakles murmured to the dead. “But even if I knew one, I don’t think I’d waste my time appealing to the very gods who did this to you. After what I’ve seen, I believe in only two gods: Thanatos and Hades. They alone never fail in their service to anyone. For what it’s worth, I hope Hades finds your souls, wherever they have gone, and takes them to safety.”

  If you can hear me, Hades, please destroy the souls of the gods who did this. Thanatos, please protect the men who lost their spirits to a parasite and guide them home, I added silently. Unlike the rest of the gods, I held far less anger towards those of the underworld, who seemed to largely stay out of the political and Holy Wars mess making up my world. Even gods and goddesses could die, and their souls had to go somewhere. The gods of the underworld didn’t discriminate and were the most neutral entities in existence.

  We watched the fire start to burn the boards before it leapt to devour the clothing the men wore. Only when the corpses’ skin began to melt did we turn away.

  Glancing up at Herakles I made a familiar sign in the air, that of a Z.

  “Yeah,” he agreed grimly. “None of our hunters can find anything out about Zeus’ whereabouts. But he has to be here. Somewhere.”

  I nodded. Zeus was my primary benefactor, and he was the ruler of the deities. The list of reasons behind why I wanted to find him was long and increased daily.

  Herakles and I walked away from the alley where the bodies burned. He was always on guard, and his eyes sought out any sort of danger. I trusted the three-time Olympian, who towered above everyone else I’d ever met, with my life. He was tough on the outside and soft on the inside, a combination I had never really experienced before. Everyone I knew was hard on the inside, capable of measured concern and affection, but never selfless love. Even Theodocia had turned hard inside, when she was touched by Thanatos five years ago.

  Though he could tear a man apart with his bare hands, Herakles was selfless. He was good, and his heart was so very sweet. His existence was a reminder of why I had to fight on days when my anger at the gods was not enough to motivate me.

  Our convoy of seven vehicles waited for us in the parking lot of an abandoned mega-store less than a block away. Ammunition was rare, but petrol was everywhere, a relic of a bygone era that had ended suddenly five years ago. Clothing, land, tools, and some other products were in large supply across the country. When the Holy Wars began, it was estimated eighty percent of humanity was destroyed overnight, leaving a surplus of resources where there had been a hearty dearth before.

  In the moonlight, the gray asphalt glowed. The warm air smelled of summer rain and the first traces of what promised to be the most humid week yet.

  Herakles and I climbed into the command vehicle, an armored Jeep, and headed back to camp. My fleet of vehicles was over five hundred strong, thanks to the members of Mama’s army with mechanical skills. On our compound, we lived in a world of selective modern conveniences. Solar and wind power provided electricity. Running water was in place, and the engineers in the army had expanded the existing sewer system to accommodate the number of men and women in the army. They were also responsible for the entrenchments and other defenses around the mall we’d taken over upon being expelled from DC.

  That was where the modern conveniences ended. Our communications were limited to radios. About forty percent of my army on any given day was absorbed in the logistics of feeding us. They hunted, tended farm animals, skirmished with SISA and military forces, and traded precious ammunition for fruits and vegetables. I hadn’t had the time to establish a farm, but it was on my list to start next spring, assuming I wasn’t able to take DC before then.

  Which isn’t looking likely, I admitted as I gazed out the window at the dark, quiet forests surrounding the small town in northern Virginia where we’d sought temporary refuge. The staggering count of personnel required to meet the needs of daily survival had caught me off balance when we first arrived here. It hindered my ability to plan for a large-scale insurgency against the Supreme Magistrate’s forces. My army was decent sized, but his was larger and better supplied. I didn’t plan to lose when I attacked. I had to be better prepared and fight smarter than they would.

  But my people also had to eat and needed clean water sources. Our focus since setting up camp was basic survival.

  This was the main reason we began searching for a few select gods and goddesses with gifts we could exploit to maintain the army and advance our cause faster. At the top of my list were two deities whose powers we could use to our advantage: Zeus and Ares.

  We arrived back to the compound and waited for the drawbridge to lower across the trench. On the other side was a wall built from cement taken from disassembled roads around the former shopping center.

  Five minutes later, we halted in the well-lit motor pool.

  Two men with M patches on their arms awaited us. One bore an additional patch with an image of a scroll, while the second wore a patch with a crown, which represented my elite command corps. I left the vehicle and approached them.

  They both glanced from me to Herakles, who trailed me. I wanted to think they waited because he was my mouthpiece, but sometimes, I sensed the army was a little uncertain of the tiny Queen leading it and more comforted by the presence of Herakles, who was beloved by every last soldier in my forces if not for his unmatched fighting prowess, than because he genuinely cared for the welfare of everyone he spoke to.

  “We caught SISA scouts near the south side of the city,” the commander reported when Herakles was standing beside me.

  I tapped my throat, which by now, everyone understood was the issuing of a death sentence.

  “Make sure the bodies are taken farther away this time,” Herakles added. “They were left within five clicks of the town last time. It’s too close.”

  “Of course,” the commander replied. “It’s not like SISA to send so many scouts after us. The military, I can understand, since our presence outside the walls is a military concern. If we interrogated them, perhaps we would know what the religious police seek.” His eyes went from Herakles to me.

  I tapped my throat again.

  “There you have it,” Herakles said with a smile. “The official word is no.”

  “We will obey the command at once,” the commander said and nodded his head in deference.

  I didn’t need them talking to the SISA scouts. I knew why the religious police were snooping around: because their leader, Lantos – my former lover, who had betrayed me – was looking for me. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of using his spy network to find me. When the time came, I would confront him myself with my lucky knife in hand.

  “We also received word from Theodocia,” the messenger with a scroll patch said. He held out an envelope to me.

  Though I wanted to tear it out of his hand and devour it, I accepted it with the grace and composure befitting my royal title. Theodocia’s letters came semi-monthly, and I incessantly worried about her in the period of time stretching before the arrival of a new one.

  “We also have a prisoner,” the commander said and cleared his throat.

  I looked up from the envelope to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow in quizzical inquiry.

  “He found one of our scouting teams,” the commander continued. “He said he has a message for you from someone you seek.”

  Tucking the envelope into the pocket of my cargo pants, I motioned for him to lead us to this mysterious prisoner.

  “Are you not under orders to kill deities posing as humans?” Herakles asked. He fell in behind me, and we followed the commander.

  “He gave us reason to consider him useful.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Herakles. At my expressive look, he spoke again.

  “Her Majesty wants to know what
you mean by this.”

  “He healed all the wounded and sick in the infirmary,” was the quiet response.

  There were several gods and goddesses with the ability to heal. Until I met this one, I wouldn’t know which it was.

  “Including my son and wife, who were stricken with dysentery from the initial source of polluted water we tried to use,” the Commander added. “And he’s not fully possessed.”

  I didn’t think it possible for someone to be halfway possessed. Either a god had forced its way into a human body, or it hadn’t.

  “That is a useful ability,” Herakles said with a considering glance at me. “Dysentery’s killed sixty so far.”

  My jaw clenched. Aside from dysentery, we’d lost another fifteen lives during negotiations with other towns for food, or at the hands of either marauders who lived in the forest or by the townspeople themselves. Another twenty-four were dead from hunting deities. I’d been to visit each family of someone who died, and we’d created a separate pyre for each man and woman. Every night, we held a new wake. The names and faces of those who had died were a blur in my exhausted mind, which was a source of embarrassment to me. If these men and women sacrificed their lives for my cause, should I not remember their names?

  Between managing an army, visiting grieving families, and hunting for deities, I barely slept. When I did doze, I had nightmares.

  I understood too well how useful a healing deity could be.

  But I much preferred a dead deity.

  We passed through the main shopping mall, whose stores had been converted into barracks where the soldiers lived with the other members of their units. Of the three anchor stores, only one had survived the gods’ wrath. It was transformed into our headquarters, which contained barracks for all the command personnel and common areas consisting of public baths, showers and restrooms, a dining hall, and a massive refrigerated storage area where we kept every last tiny piece of food that was brought in by hunting parties or left over from the nightly wakes. Soldiers slept in other abandoned stores throughout the mall. Outdoor kitchens prevented the buildings from becoming too hot and freed up living space. Most of the design aspects of our compound had been based off of Herakles’ ideas. He had a knack for the basic building blocks of surviving anywhere, with any kind of resources.