Happily Ever Awkward

by T. L. Callies

  “Harder. Please.”

  She tore her mouth away and continued to struggle fiercely but futilely against his unyielding grasp.

  “How fascinating it will be to whittle away your strength, my dear,” he said.

  He dragged her inside the cavern, pausing just long enough to kick a spray of sand over Paul’s body. “The earth shall inherit the weak.”

  Laughing, he left Paul with a lone Zombie. It knelt beside the prince and gently closed the boy’s wide, tear-stained eyes.

  As the Zombie stood, a single tear streaked his own cheek. Jeremy had seen many atrocities, but this one broke his unbeating heart. Picking up a shovel, he began to bury the body of the prince.

  I’m sorry.

  That part of the story always breaks my binding.

  It’s so tragic, I…

  …I don’t think I feel like being read right now.

  . . .

  . . .

  Thank you.

  I feel better now. Please, read on.

  THE END

  AND THEN…

  33

  PAIR-A-DICE

  In case you were not sure, that was not “The End”.

  It was “An End,” to be certain, but not the final, definitive, no-more-story-beyond-this-point “Ending.” That “The End” is still a few pages away.

  Therefore, you should stop thinking about putting me down and start focusing on the fact that Paul blinked awake.

  “Jahalael’s beard, what a dream,” he said.

  He lifted a hand to wipe his eyes and was surprised to discover he could see right through it. Horrified, he flung his hand away, but since it would only go as far as the length of his arm, he could do little to escape its awful intangibility.

  In the process of trying to do so, however, he discovered that his hand was not the only transparent part of his body — the rest of him was see-through as well!

  Reeling from shock, he stood up only to experience an even greater shock.

  He stood in a casino.

  It was a vast casino, as wide as the very sky, but a casino nonetheless. Nothing but marble and gold, it reminded Paul very much of a temple.

  And for good reason.

  Large gods and small gods and horned gods and animal gods and bearded gods and bald gods and robed gods and naked gods and every other kind of god in between gambled heatedly, one with another, over strange games that involved balls dancing upon spinning wheels, or the alchemy of combining cards with different symbols, or the simple act of rolling a pair of dice.

  Small, chubby angels drifted about the casino bearing goblets of ambrosia for the gaming gods. On a nearby stage, a small band plucked strangely soothing music on harps.

  Paul wandered from one bizarre sight to the next. Completely dazed, he eventually wound up at a dice table where most of the activity appeared to be centered — a contest between two rival gods.

  Because most gods tend to look the way we want them to look, I will avoid describing either of the contestants in much detail. As with all things related to religion, their appearance is best left open to your interpretation.

  The first god was dark and brooding, and his name was Gauron.

  The second god was fatherly, bearded, and amiable. His name was Jahalael, and he was blowing on the dice in his hand.

  “Hey, no blessing the dice!” roared Gauron.

  Jahalael winked at him and rolled the cubes, producing the sound of thunder. Literally, the sound of thunder, loud enough to be heard around the world. The dice grumbled to a stop, each displaying a single pip — known in certain circles as “Sea Serpent Eyes.”

  “You lose, Jahalael!” laughed Gauron. “Your little prince is dead!”

  One of the lesser gods standing near the table noticed Paul among them.

  “Hey, who let the vapor in?” he demanded. “This club is supposed to be restricted!”

  When Jahalael saw what the lesser god was referring to, he hastily ushered Paul through a side door.

  Outside the casino, a field of golden clouds rolled gently past. A plaque on the door they’d just come through read:

  HOLY PERSONNEL ONLY

  As Paul stumbled along behind Jahalael, a group of beautiful, scantily clad angels drifted down and attempted to force-feed grapes to him. So confused and disoriented was he that he swatted them away as if they were mosquitoes.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where am I?”

  “Oh, this?” Jahalael asked. “You’re dead.”

  Paul’s mouth dropped open and one of the gorgeous angels promptly shoved a grape into it.

  “Came as quite a shock to me, too. I had a lot riding on you,” the god said.

  Paul spat out the grape. “I’m dead? I’m really dead?! But if I’m a ghost, that means you’re…”

  “Jahalael the Omnipotent.”

  Jahalael slipped on some tinted spectacles. This god wasn’t just omnipotent; he was omnisuave.

  Paul instantly knelt, his face buried in the clouds. “Oh, my Lord, most high Jahalael, I meant no offense! Please do not smite this pathetic worm! Glory to your name! Glory to your name! Glory—”

  “Please, that’s enough,” Jahalael said, trying to pull Paul back to his feet. “Thank you. Get up, you’re embarrassing me.”

  At that moment, the casino’s side door banged open and Gauron burst out, trailed by an entourage of lesser gods. He made a beeline straight for Jahalael. “You’ve had enough time to lick your wounds. I want what you owe me.”

  Jahalael held up both hands and tried to calm his rival. “Hold on. Double or nothing, my champion still completes his Quest.”

  “Your champion is dead!”

  “A technicality.”

  “He doesn’t stand a chance down there!”

  A sly look crossed Jahalael’s face. “Then let’s up the stakes. If he fails again, I’ll forfeit my godhood to you. I’ll become mortal. However, should he succeed, you yield to me so I alone am sovereign here. Is it a bet?”

  “Ha!” Gauron scoffed. “Don’t be foolish! You can’t win!”

  “Then what have you got to lose?” Jahalael took a carefully calculated beat, one he had been planning for eons. “Or… are you simply afraid?”

  That stung Gauron. “So be it! For all of heaven!”

  He whirled back into the casino surrounded by his toadies.

  Paul stared, dumbfounded. “Why… why does everyone keep betting on me?! Look, I couldn’t rescue Luscious the first time!”

  “Well, you’re definitely the underdog here,” Jahalael agreed. “But I see greatness in you, Paul. Why else would I gamble the fate of the universe on you?”

  One of the angels had managed to sneak another grape into Paul’s mouth, but it was unclear whether he choked on the piece of fruit or upon Jahalael’s words. “Wait a minute, did you just say ‘fate of the universe’?”

  “Well, yes, a Spell of Unmaking pretty much means universal apocalypse.”

  Paul’s shock had reduced him to a state of simply repeating whatever anyone said to him. “‘Spell of Unmaking’? ‘Universal apocalypse’?!”

  “The Spell of Unmaking is why Seeboth needs to sacrifice Luscious,” Jahalael said. The god draped himself across a tuft of cloud, languidly crossed his legs, and began ticking off points on his fingers. “He’ll be able to undo the seams of reality, render the gods powerless, and gain total power over the omniverse. It’s quite spectacular, actually, but the proper alignment of planets only occurs once every thousand years—”

  “I’m not qualified for this! You can’t put this in my hands!”

  “Already did.” Jahalael leaned forward and whispered, “And not so loud — the other gods don’t know. They think it’s just the princess thing.”

  “Lord, please, you have to tell them!”

  Jahalael laughed as if that were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, Paul, they’d never agree to the bet if they knew. Just trust your god. I’ve been planning this for a long time.
That, and I’ve got a little gambling problem.”

  Paul couldn’t believe what he was hearing. With a snort of disgust he said, “You’re as bad as my father—” Then he remembered this was not his father, that this was an omnieverything heavenly being, and he immediately dropped to his knees. “Have mercy, lord! Forgive my disrespect. I meant no offense!”

  “None taken. I like your father’s style.” He reached out and gently rested his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Now it’s time for you to go.”

  “But… but Lord Jahalael, you have to step in!” Paul pleaded. “I’m cursed, you must know that. I’ll just fail again!”

  Jahalael looked upon Paul with the kindest, most compassionate eyes in the universe. As unending rivers of love and warmth flowed out of him, he said, “Paul, that curse is a lie, nothing more. You give it power over you if you choose to believe in it. So… don’t believe in it.”

  Paul blinked his transparent eyelids.

  He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

  “Um… that’s it? Really?”

  “Yes,” Jahalael said.

  Then he said, “No.”

  Then he sagged back in his cloud and said, “Okay, Paul, I’ve got to level with you about this, and I don’t want you to get mad. Yes, you are cursed… but it’s my fault. You see, I set the whole thing up to skew the odds against you.”

  “What?!”

  “When you’re playing dice with the universe, you’ve got to do something to hedge your bets. But I can fix you — that’s my ace in the hole!”

  He pointed a finger at Paul and a little squiggle of lightning zapped out to touch Paul’s chest right above his heart. And that was it.

  “There, all better,” Jahalael concluded, as if that did, indeed, make things all better. “So, are you ready to go save the world now?”

  Paul was not. He felt no different than he had a moment before. He just felt angry. “I can’t believe it. My own god. You had no right!”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Jahalael said, tapping his lips thoughtfully. “Your creator… omnipotent… all-knowing… technically, I had every right.”

  Paul couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe so, but… do you have any idea what you put me through all those years? For a bet?! Why… why should I do anything to help you?”

  “Paul,” said a soft, deep voice behind the prince.

  A stern-looking figure wearing the most glorious suit of shining armor Paul had ever seen stepped before him. In his hand he carried something Paul knew well from the sketches in countless history books — a distinctive oblong shield.

  “Sir Whitethorne?” Paul said as the air whooshed out of him.

  The mighty warrior looked even more regal in death than he had in life. Paul immediately fell prostrate before him.

  “Hey, who’s the god here?” Jahalael asked with mock indignation.

  Sir Whitethorne leveled his iron gray eyes upon the prince. “If you can’t do it for the universe, or your father, or even for him… then do it for me. I’m dead and gone, but the world still needs heroes. The world needs you.”

  The Father of Chivalry gently tapped Paul’s shoulders as if knighting him.

  “You’re the only one who can save her, Paul,” the legendary hero said. “And she needs you — now.”

  Paul looked up and his shimmering, translucent image flared hotter, his eyes flashing brighter. “For her. Yes, you’re right. I would die for her — again.” He leaped to his feet. “I must return! And I will make Seeboth pay!”

  Jahalael nodded appreciatively. “Righteous anger — it’s a good look on you.”

  He waved his hand and Paul dissolved.

  Moments later, back in the casino, he waved his hand again, rattling a pair of dice.

  “Come on! Daddy needs a new halo!”

  He rolled, and thunder split the sky.

  34

  THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

  A motley collection of ships rocked at anchor before the ramshackle outpost of Vanguard. Beneath a murky sky a’grumble with thunder, surly sailors slouched along the dock toward the island’s lone structure, a seedy, tottering patchwork of driftwood and wreckage that defied all reasonable theories of engineering and architecture to remain standing.

  This tavern was called The End of the World, and that night it was unusually still.

  Except for one voice.

  “You think you little flesh sacks have it tough? I could tell you stories…”

  A dark and smoky no-nonsense affair greeted the hardened visitors who chanced within the tavern. At that moment, though, every hardened visitor was finding it surprisingly difficult to maintain his or her hardness. Every one of them cowered at their tables, their frightened eyes frozen on the bar.

  The barkeep himself, a towering man with skull-cracking hands who up until that moment had feared nothing, now busied himself with the improbable task of wedging his body into a six-inch gap between a stack of ale kegs behind the bar.

  Not one person inside the tavern wanted to be near the thing that stood hunched over the bar, but everyone inside the tavern was too terrified to move.

  Worrt the Demon had that effect on humans.

  He towered over the bar, throwing back one ale after another. Already, he had emptied nearly every jack in the place, and they cluttered the counter all around him.

  He was a little drunk, and as everyone knows, when one is operating a Demon, one should not drink alcohol.

  “In fact, I will tell you stories!” he slurred. “It ain’t easy bein’ a Demon, you know — bedevilin’ human souls, comin’ up with new, more efficient methods of torment all the time… but I don’t wanna just be a Hell spawn all my life! I got dreams too, you know! Fall in lust with a succubus… live in my own private hell… picket fence of bleached spinal columns — but no!”

  Worrt crushed the pewter mug in his paw, squirting a geyser of ale into the air.

  “Some evil wizard tricks me into givin’ him immortality. Th’ next thing I know, I’m in a thousand pieces and he’s tossed me all over bleedin’ time and space! But I’m patient, I am. Put myself back together. Took an eternity. Had to crawl through the Netherhells on my lips till I found my limbs, I did. That’s right, on my lips.”

  He pounded the bar with his fist and split it in half.

  “On my lips! So don’t talk to me about bad days! But I did it anyway, and I found my way back to Earth so I could finally take my terrible, bloody, gooey, messy, sloppy, sticky revenge on this Seeboth guy and… NOW I CAN’T FIND HIM!”

  He wheeled to face his captive audience and bellowed, “He’s moved! Can you believe it? Of all the stinkin’ luck!”

  A drunk passed out near the bar jumped up in his seat, jolted awake by Worrt’s tirade. Through bleary eyes, he looked at the massive shape before him and the even more-massive pile of empty mugs behind it. Outraged, he rose unsteadily to his feet and staggered toward the bar.

  “’Ey, lubber, save some o’ that ale fer us—”

  Worrt swallowed him in a single gulp.

  Everyone else in the tavern gulped as well, though their gulps did not involve swallowing a human being.

  The barkeep flinched as Worrt reached over the counter, but the big Demon simply grabbed a keg with one paw before shambling off to a dark corner, the drunk thrashing inside his huge jowls the whole way.

  “I deed to bwood,” Worrt said around his feisty mouthful. “And don’ bodder me while I’b didesting.”

  None of the tavern’s patrons had any intention of bothering the Demon. They may have been the scum of the earth, but they weren’t fools.

  The door slammed open.

  Jack Bravado lurched inside. “Hey, what’s a sailor hafta do around here to get a drink?”

  All eyes snapped to Jack, then they snapped to the darkest corner of the tavern. Worrt the Demon glowered at the intrusion.

  Jack staggered to the bar. When the barkeep made no move to assist him, Jack began to feel a bit self-conscious, which was alw
ays his cue to begin blustering. “Oh, I get it, you think I look like I’ve had enough. Well, that’s no concern of yours! Jack Bravado knows when he’s had enough! Besides, you don’t know what I’ve just been through. Daring escapes, fighting pirates, partying with Flitterlings — and just now, I dropped a prince off to get slaughtered by some ‘Seeboth, Lord of Shadows’ guy…”

  That got Worrt’s attention. He craned forward to listen. When the drunk in his mouth continued to thrash, Worrt punched his jowls to stun him a bit.

  Jack continued his sob story for the barkeep. “I think I’m entitled to all the inebriation I can afford. Do you hear me? I would like a drink!” Still the barkeep refused to move. “Yeah, okay, okay, I do feel a little guilty for leaving him — but after the way he told me to… ah, never mind. Just get me good and drunk, I’ll forget all about it.”

  Worrt disappeared from the corner in a puff of sulfur, leaving the drunk lying there confused and covered in Demon spit.

  Worrt reappeared only a few inches tall, perched on Jack’s left shoulder. Leaning in toward the captain’s ear, he whispered, “You should go back to help your friend. Back to Seeboth…”

  Although Jack clearly heard the words in his ear, he remained completely oblivious to the physical Devil sitting on his shoulder.

  “All right, I know,” he said. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to — perhaps his conscience? — but it seemed to make perfect sense to him that he carry on a conversation with a strange, disembodied voice. “I suppose I should go back, but gods, what could I do? I can barely walk. I’m in no condition—”