Divine Assistance

by L. G. Estrella

  He smiled faintly as Rabble and Mischief both reached out to him, and the three of them swiftly came up with a plan.

  This was going to be fun.

  * * *

  The highlight of the festival was a personal appearance by the king. In keeping with tradition, he would come forth and display the blessed sword that was the symbol of his authority to rule. Blessed by a god of war, it could only be wielded by the rightful king and his rightful heir. The king’s role was to show he could still wield the weapon and was thus still worthy of the crown. To do this, he would draw the sword from its scabbard and touch it to the shoulders of the great lords of the kingdom, all of whom were descended from those who had once vied with the king’s family for control of the kingdom in the long ago days of bloodshed and war. It was a magnificent occasion, and everyone in attendance was sure to come in their finest clothing. It was one of the few chances that commoners had to lay eyes upon their king and the great lords, albeit from a considerable distance since the best spots were reserved for those of high standing – or great wealth.

  This was also the exact opportunity that Mayhem, Mischief, and Rabble wanted. The right words spoken in exactly the right way to exactly the right people had some of the merchants feeling especially anxious. Those with concerns sought out other people with concerns, and matters were soon being discussed that would be better left unspoken. A cursory glimpse into the minds of the most suspicious conspirators revealed that there was indeed a plot afoot to kill the king during the ceremony where he would be far more exposed than normal. Rabble had confirmed the presence of the assassins. They had been competitors in the arena, using the competition as an excuse to enter the city without drawing too much suspicion. As for Mischief, all she needed to do was to make sure the street kids – and Jared in particular – were in the right place at the right time. The boy would have to seize his destiny with his own hands.

  If everything went well, Mischief’s new friend would be a prince, and the others would no longer have to worry about where their next meal would come from. If there was one thing Mischief had learned about Jared in the short time she’d known him, it was that he looked after his friends. It was the perfect plan, but they needed to be careful, lest other gods interfere. They were clever and cunning, but they weren’t Fate although not even she could guarantee everything. After all, they’d beaten her before, and they could do it again if they had to.

  * * *

  King Rainer III was not a happy man. In fact, he was the very opposite of happy. There was no doubt in his mind that at least two of the five great lords were conspiring against him. However, he had yet to gather any irrefutable proof, and his position was not so secure that he could simply accuse them without incontrovertible evidence. Worse, he still had no real heir to succeed him. If he were overthrown, the kingdom would be plunged into civil war. Nor could he sire an heir due to an ailment he had suffered in the past. At this stage, his only hope was to pray for a divine miracle or to last long enough to find a suitable successor from the nobles vying to succeed him. It was a complete debacle, and if he didn’t love his kingdom and his people so much, he would have died years ago from sheer frustration. So far, his prayers had gone unanswered, and his potential successors were proving to be a thoroughly uninspiring bunch. Perhaps he should start praying to Death. The Greater God could either kill him or wipe out his enemies. Either would do in this case.

  As he made his way onto the stage that would serve as the location for the most important part of the festival, he took a moment to steady his hold on his sword. The blade of his ancestors was a mighty weapon indeed, forged by one of the smithing gods on behalf of one of the gods of war from metal that was from beyond the mortal world. It had been blessed by a god of righteous war and given to his ancestors. It could cut through steel with ease, and in his younger days, he had wielded the legendary blade countless times to preserve the safety and freedom of his people. Yet he was no longer the deadly warrior of his youth, and age had robbed him of most of his once vaunted prowess. But he could still get through this ceremony. The kingdom expected it – needed it – and he could not allow his enemies to see any further signs of weakness. Like jackals, they were circling him, just waiting for him to stumble and fall.

  He drew the sacred blade with a flourish, even if his old bones protested the swiftness of the motion, and the gathered commoners, nobles, and merchants let loose cries of awe as the blade shone with an eerie, cold, blue-white light. As the first of the great lords stepped forward to swear fealty again, Rainer nodded to himself. This great lord was a loyal man, and he would serve any successor Rainer chose with honour and distinction. Alas, he was the oldest and least of the great lords. Otherwise, Rainer would have gladly chosen him as his successor. He would have done well.

  “In accordance with the most ancient and noble of our treaties,” Rainer intoned loudly, so all could hear. “And in front of the entire kingdom and the gods themselves, I call upon you to renew your oath of loyalty. Do you pledge yourself and all your line to me and mine once more, to serve king and kingdom with equal distinction, to defend our people and safeguard their prosperity?”

  “I do,” came the great lord’s reply, and he knelt to accept Rainer’s favour. Cheers rang out from the throng who had assembled to watch.

  Rainer repeated the procedure again before he came to a great lord that he did not trust. Great Lord Varen had long envied the throne, and once Rainer had been forced to admit that he had no legitimate heir, the younger man had harried him relentlessly, putting forward his own son as a potential successor. It was only a matter of time before the ambitious fool dragged the kingdom into a civil war that would destroy it. As Rainer prepared to ask for the oath of fealty, he caught a glimmer of something out of the corner of his eye. It was blind luck – or perhaps the gods had heard his prayers – but he moved just far enough to avoid the arrow that should have gone right through his left eye.

  Pandemonium erupted.

  “Protect the king!” bellowed one of his royal guards. “Protect the king!”

  Rainer was vaguely aware of the rush of combat around him, but most of his attention was focused on the man in front of him. Another arrow raced through the air, and he jerked his sword up on instinct. The sword saved his life, but the arrow knocked the weapon out of his hands. The crowd spilled forward as more traitors appeared from their midst, dressed in Varen’s colours. How had this happened? How long had Varen been plotting to assassinate him and seize the throne?

  Varen got to his feet. He knew better than to reach for the king’s sword. It would never allow him to wield it. However, there was no mistaking his intentions as he drew a knife and swiped at Rainer. Only the reflexes and instincts he’d honed over a lifetime of battle allowed Rainer’s old, weary body to avoid the blow, but the younger man pressed his advantage until Rainer lost his footing and slipped. The king reached for his sword, but Varen jabbed at his hand with the knife, forcing Rainer to jerk his hand back or risk losing it. Not far off, his royal guards and loyal great lords were locked in battle against a seemingly endless swarm of traitors. They could not help him now.

  There was greed and madness in Varen’s eyes, but Rainer didn’t bother speaking to him. Varen had publicly attacked a king. There were only two ways this could end now. Either Varen would succeed and take the throne, or he would fail and be executed, along with whoever else was involved with his plot. Varen stalked forward again, readying himself for a final, decisive attack. Rainer could feel his breath burning in his lungs. He tired quickly these days, far too quickly.

  And then a boy fought his way through the crowd and tackled Varen from behind. The two tumbled to the ground, and Varen threw the boy off and rounded on him with his knife. Rainer wanted to praise the boy for his courage, but he had no time for words. Instead, Rainer struggled back to his feet, chest heaving, as the boy looked for something – anything – he could use to fight. There was something strangely familiar about the boy
, Rainer thought. It was a niggling sensation. Yes, the boy reminded him of –

  The boy picked up the blessed sword, and the blade came alive once more, blue-white light spilling outward.

  Varen’s eyes went impossibly wide at the sight, and he took a step back. The hand holding the knife trembled as the sword’s radiance brightened until he was forced to cover his eyes to keep from being blinded. In that instant, the boy lunged forward and drove the sword into Varen’s chest with the panicked clumsiness of someone who’d never wielded a proper sword before. As the great lord fell, his supporters began to throw down their weapons and plea for mercy. Loyalists poured into the area, and Rainer’s royal guard finally broke through the cordon of traitors and formed a defensive circle around their king. As Rainer straightened, a hush fell. Everyone was staring at the boy but not simply because of the sword. At last, with the threat of death gone, Rainer could see it. Looking at the boy was like looking at a younger version of himself.

  The boy’s looks and his ability to wield the sword…

  “Who is your father, boy?” Rainer asked.

  In a trembling voice, the boy replied, “I never knew my father.”

  “Is that so? How about your mother? Who is she?”

  This time, the boy gave the king a name he recognised although the woman was, apparently, dead. He’d sired a bastard once, and the boy had died early, little more than twenty years old. However, he’d been fond of whores, and the name this boy had given had been one of his favourites. In that case… this boy… this boy was his grandson. True, he wasn’t legitimate, but Rainer could take care of that. He was a king. They were related by blood. He chuckled. Perhaps the gods had not forsaken him yet.

  * * *

  King Jared watched his children play in one of the gardens nearby with his grandfather. They were a mischievous bunch, and his old grandfather, who had abdicated to let him take over several years ago, had received something of a second youth while taking care of them. It seemed as though the burden of kingship had been responsible for many of his ills, and having some rambunctious great grandchildren to dote on had swiftly restored his good cheer.

  He would never forget the day he had learned who his grandfather was. King Rainer had taken him in, legitimised him, and seen to his education and training. His friends – the other street kids – were given places in the palace as well. It was the only thing he’d asked for in exchange for going with the king. They were given jobs and training of their own, and they still served in the palace, only now with Jared as their friend and king. The only one he hadn’t been able to bring with him was the little girl they’d met on the day of the festival, the one who’d found them food, gotten them new clothes, and urged him to go to the fealty ceremony. They had never seen her again, and he’d always wondered…

  He shook his head. If he ever found her, he would do his best to repay her. His life was better than he had ever dreamed possible although it had not always been easy. There had been so much to learn, and winning the confidence of not only the king but also the nobility, merchants, and commoners had been extremely difficult. Yet he was now the respected king of a prosperous kingdom. Admittedly, he’d received some help. Some truly unusual and unlikely events had conspired to aid him, and he made regular offerings at the temple of the gods that were most likely to be responsible although no god had yet appeared before him to claim responsibility. Giving his children one last glance as his wife went to help his grandfather, he turned his attention back to the documents in front of him – a king’s work was never done – only to find a familiar little girl sitting on his desk.

  She hadn’t changed a bit. She was exactly as she had been on that day. Her hair was still fiery red, and there was still a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. She even had the same teasing smirk on her lips. She kicked her legs back and forth, and he knew, then and there, that she was no mere mortal. He was about to drop to his knees, but she held up one hand.

  “There’s no need for any of that, Jared. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “We only knew each other for a day, but I’d like to think we are, yes.” Jared smiled. “I never got a chance to thank you – for everything. The others would like to thank you too. Sara works in the stables now. She’s one of the senior grooms. She loves the horses, and they love her. She still has her rat too although none of us can quite believe he’s still around.”

  “Oh, I might have had something to do with that. Anyway, I’ll stop by and see them later, but you’ve given me ample thanks over the years.” She giggled, and he saw an endless vista of stars shimmering in her eyes. “I’ve won quite a few bets against gods who said you couldn’t pull it off.” She snickered. “If it helps, Bureaucracy likes you. She’s impressed by how quickly you learned to handle paperwork. She even thinks there are some of us who could stand to learn from your example.”

  Bureaucracy? Jared’s mind spun. She was one of the Greater Gods. “I… I thank Lady Bureaucracy for her kind words.” He paused. “But… which god are you?”

  “Me? I’m Mischief, but I think you might have guessed that already.” She cackled. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” She glanced outside. “Your grandfather belonged to one of the gods of war, but you and yours? My siblings and I would like to lend a hand.”

  “Your siblings? You mean… Mayhem and Rabble?”

  “Yep.” Mischief reached up to close his mouth since his jaw had dropped at some point during their conversation. “Take care of yourself, Jared. And if you ever need any advice…” She vanished, leaving her voice to echo through the room. “You know exactly where to go although you might want to build us a better temple. The one we have now isn’t exactly great.”

  Construction of a brand new temple to the three siblings – Mayhem, Mischief, and Rabble – began the very next month. They proved to be the most popular gods in the kingdom, and Jared’s descendants would often find themselves the beneficiaries of some very unusual but extremely hilarious occurrences.

  Lost Pet

  Wrath did not do patience very well. It simply wasn’t his style. Well, that wasn’t entirely correct. He could do patience when his work required it, but he didn’t enjoy it very much. And when Wrath didn’t enjoy things, collateral damage was alarmingly common. After all, there was a reason he was Wrath. Ruin might have been better at levelling entire empires, but no one did angry better than Wrath. Even Annihilation, the Greater God he served, had praised him for his ability to make anger both impressive and inspiring.

  And right now, Wrath was most definitely angry – very, very angry.

  Like many gods, Wrath had some pets. He had quite a few, actually, and he did his best to love them and take care of them. They were his pets, and although he could be stern at times, he only wanted what was best for them. His ill temper was reserved for others – his pets were another matter entirely. The gods and mortals who had suffered his displeasure would have been amazed to see him dote over the colony of hamsters he maintained in a quiet corner of his estate in the divine realm, and they would have been shocked to see him taking his pet salamanders for a walk, the fiery beasts trailing incandescent sparks in their wake. Unfortunately, one of his pets – arguably his favourite pet – had gone missing, which was why he was in such a foul mood.

  If something bad had happened to Cuddles… well, there would be fire, blood, and a whole lot of terrible vengeance.

  Despite his growing ire, Wrath knew that he should try to do things the reasonable way. He was in the divine realm, the home of the gods and the home of the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father. Obliterating this place in search of Cuddles was out of the question. He was thus forced to begin his investigation by speaking to some of the spirits and minor gods who served as his attendants. They helped him manage his duties, and they also took care of his pets when he was away. Hopefully, they had noticed something that would help him find Cuddles before his beloved pet got into trouble.

  “Have any of you seen Cu
ddles?” he asked. He didn’t bother to sugar coat his words or beat around the bush. The people who served him were well aware of his personality, and they knew how much he favoured honesty and plain speech over flowery language. If he wanted to talk to someone who could talk in circles, he’d talk to Muse or Love.

  “He isn’t in his cave, my lord?” one of the spirits asked. “I fed him earlier this morning, and he was definitely in there.” The spirit had the appearance of a kind, old man – a kind, old man made of ash and embers.

  “I already looked in there.” Wrath waved the comment away with one hand. Cuddles liked his cave, and he spent a lot of his time lurking in and around it. Honestly, Wrath had begun to wonder about what he would do when Cuddles got bigger. He’d have to make him a bigger cave or find something more suitable for his pet.

  “Have you tried the rock garden, my lord?” another spirit suggested. This one was seemingly made out of fire and lightning.

  “I have.” Cuddles loved the rock garden. Apart from his cave and his pond, it was his favourite place to be. Wrath had already looked there, and his pet hadn’t come forward to greet him with a big hug. That alone was cause for alarm. Cuddles was always looking for a cuddle – hence his name – and Wrath was worried that some unscrupulous god or mortal might take advantage of his pet’s good nature. If Cuddles died before Wrath could find him, he would have to get his brother, Torment, to speak to Death. Surely, the Greater God wouldn’t mind giving Cuddles back. He had enough souls in his realm already. “Have any of you seen him since his morning feeding?” His attendants all shook their heads. “That’s not good. He usually likes to play or have a nap after he eats. It shouldn’t be this hard to find him.”

  Wrath’s anger rose, and the air around him thickened and grew almost painfully hot. The spirits and minor gods shuddered, and he forced himself to calm down. This wasn’t their fault. Cuddles was an exceptionally cunning animal – more than cunning enough to escape even the most dedicated attendants.