by Peter David
“Don’t worry,” said the god. “Your skepticism, your independent thought—these are the things I value most in you. Do you think I’m not tired of the constant kneeling, prostration, and shouts of ‘Yes, Lord’?”
“Well, I…”
“I have retained the love of challenging discourse and need for mental stimulation that I had before my ascension, and it is not often now that I get to enjoy it. In fact,” Xant continued, “being omniscient has taken away most of the opportunity, but I always learn something interesting when I am with a mortal. It is part of the reason I have sought you out. I speak to those who know to hear not with the ears of the body but with the ears of the mind. Many have sought after the truth and have not been able to find it, but when the mind has been opened to me all things are knowable.”
This time, I was the one who smiled first. “You have much greater depth than your High Priests allow us to know. I still do not consider you my god, Xant, but you do fascinate me.”
The god smiled back at me. “Thank you, Eben.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Truthfully, I admit that I do enjoy the ‘Yes, Lord’-ing just a bit.”
We had reached the center of the marketplace, where we stopped.
“Yes, I enjoy learning things from mortals,” Xant said. “But now it is time for you to learn from me. Pay close attention.” He turned to face the crowd. “Out of all these people—where am I to be found?”
I scanned the faces of the crowd—here and there some looked similar to Xant, but none looked very close. “I don’t see you.”
“Then listen for me.”
I heard nothing but the distant sound of hoofbeats, getting closer.
“Yes,” Xant said reluctantly. “That’s it.”
I didn’t know what he meant, and I turned in the direction of the sound. And I saw a band of marauders on horseback, coming through the town at full gallop. The people in the market scattered in fear before them.
The marauders drove forward with unsheathed weapons, slicing at the crowd without regard to whom they might hit. Old or young, male or female, it made no difference to them—they were in the way, and so they were cut down. I saw an old man lose a hand above the wrist, I saw a girl of no more than twelve summers fall to a blade, and I saw an infant’s blanket trampled. I could not tell if the baby was still wrapped in it.
Chaos was all around me, and it seemed all that I could do was keep my balance—yet I was spared. No steel touched me, no hand attacked me; the only thing that assaulted me was a cacophony of terror and smells of blood and death.
In the frenzy, I lost sight of Xant. We had become separated in the melee, and I feared for my life away from his protection. I cried out, “Xant! Where are you? Where have you gone?”
“Over here,” I heard his voice call. I was able to hear, because the screams and other noises had begun to abate.
I looked desperately around me. The battle—if a massacre on the order of what I had just witnessed could be graced with that name—was, for the most part, over. The invaders were milling about in the market square, slapping each other on the back and laughing as they cleaned their blades. I still did not see Xant.
“Over here, Eben,” I heard him call again, and realized that he was speaking to me alone, directly to my ears.
Where are you? I thought intently, as if my words would make him speak more clearly. Show me!
“I am right in front of you,” the voice said sadly.
I turned and saw naught but the butchers who had slain the crowd. Then one rode forward, dressed in the finest armor. He surveyed the carnage his men had wrought, and began to laugh.
“Xant…this is you? This barbarian?”
“No,” said another of the horde who had ridden up behind his leader and stopped, looking straight at me. “This is me. The barbarian’s right-hand man.”
It had been a bloodbath.
There had been no mercy. The village had been scoured.
Xant was the last to leave the field of battle. He had surveyed the carnage—no, he had supervised it. He had presided over the destruction of the village. After all the soldiers went away, I looked on as the god stood quietly in the ruined market square, watching the shadows cast by the fire of burning buildings, listening to sounds only he could hear.
Later, Xant and I walked down the path and away from the village. He appeared to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, and I…I was still staggered by what I had seen, and trying to come to grips with the fact that Xant had been an active participant in such a heinous act. Is this the kind of behavior that qualifies one for godhood? I thought bleakly, aware but no longer caring that he could hear my unspoken words.
Xant led me through the forest, toward a clearing up ahead. He finally broke his silence. “I know you have questions, Eben. You should not hesitate to ask them.”
From all the thoughts turning through my mind, all I could manage to summon up was “What…what happened to the people of the town?”
“The usual. The surviving men were slaughtered anyway. The women were taken to be concubines in harems or as cheap labor for wealthy households. And the children were led into slavery, the raw fuel and materials from which the war machine’s next generation would be built.”
“That—that is truly horrible, Xant.”
“It was the way of things. It was what was done.”
“But it has just been done, just now! Can’t these people still be saved from that horrible fate? Can’t you help them?” I cried.
“Both they and their persecutors are long gone, Eben,” the god quietly replied. “I am the only one left. I show you what and when I need to show you in order to make my point clear. Now follow and watch again.”
By this time we had entered the clearing, and I could see now that it was the place where the marauders had made camp before their attack on the village. Those who had returned first were already reveling in their victory, enjoying the spoils of their plunder, and they paid us no mind. We approached the most ornate of the tents, located near the center of the camp, and Xant pulled the flap back. Inside, I saw the one who had led the attack against the village, eating a sumptuous meal with his bare hands.
“My lord Shadis,” Xant said to the barbarian. I stared at his addressing someone else as “lord.”
“Ah, Xant. Come in. I was beginning to think you couldn’t find your way back from the town.”
Xant entered, and I quickly followed. I whispered to Xant, “Shadis? Who is he?”
“An absolute brute,” Xant said, making no effort whatsoever to be quiet as he answered. Indeed, Shadis seemed wholly unaware of Xant’s comments to me. He continued to rip the roasted meat from the bones that lay on his plate. “A savage who cut a swath across a continent, all for his own power and glory. And he may have the worst table manners in the galaxy.”
Shadis belched loudly, as if to underscore the point. “How went the cleanup?” he said, his mouth half full of food.
“As expected, my lord,” Xant replied, turning to his leader, his conversation with me ended. “There are no farmers left that would dream of opposing you now.”
“You sound almost disappointed, Xant.”
“I do not see the wisdom of scouring the land simply to stamp out minor discontent. You command the mightiest hammer, yet you use it to squash the smallest of enemies.”
“You would rather I wait until the enemies become larger, and could pose an actual threat?” I could not tell if Shadis actually spat at Xant, or if it was simply the force of his speaking combined with the fullness of his mouth.
“I do not see how ones such as they could ever threaten your rule.”
“Of course they couldn’t! I crush them before they can!”
“And with this, you hope to hold on to your empire forever? You already rule as far as you can possibly see. Why do you want more?”
“If it is good to rule over the few, how much better it is to rule over everyone? It is my destiny to be exalted above every co
ngregation and every people, prominent in every respect, with all people as vessels for my divine vision, having become master over every power that could thwart me.”
“Even the power of nature itself?”
“I would smite the stars themselves if they dared oppose me!”
Xant merely looked at him, his face blank. Whether he was showing deference to his commander or the caution one shows when faced with a stinging pygram, I could not tell.
“Listen to my advice, Xant,” Shadis bellowed. “Do not show your back to enemies and flee, but rather, pursue them as a strong one. Be not an animal, with men pursuing you; but rather, be a man, with you pursuing the evil wild beasts, lest somehow they become victorious over you and trample upon you as on a dead man, and you perish due to their wickedness.” His voice grew louder, deeper. “Wretched one, what will you do if you fall into their hands? Protect yourself, lest you be delivered into the hands of your enemies. Entrust yourself to this pair of hands and no one will be victorious over you. The soldiers say, ‘May Shadis dwell in your camp, may he protect your gates, and may his mind protect your walls.’ Do likewise, Xant. Let my will become a torch in your mind, burning the wood which is the whole of weak-nehhkk!” And Shadis began to choke on his food. He gestured wildly for Xant to help him.
Xant went to stand behind Shadis’s chair. Reaching down to the table, he picked up a cloth napkin, still unused. Then, with the speed of a striking serpent, Xant grabbed Shadis by the neck with one arm, jammed the cloth into the man’s mouth and covered it up with his hand.
Shadis struggled for what seemed to be a very long time while Xant held on to him, his dark visage betraying no emotion. The captain tried to reach for his attacker, but failed. Finally, after a hard shudder, Shadis collapsed in Xant’s grip and the god gently, almost tenderly, brought him to rest on the floor. He removed the napkin from the dying man’s mouth as Shadis looked up at him, unbelieving. “Why, Xant?” he gurgled. I could not believe that he still had strength enough to speak. “Why have you done this thing to me? Why have you betrayed me?”
“Because you are a fool, Shadis.”
Shadis struggled for his last breaths. “Why…am I a…fool?”
“Because,” said Xant, “you insist on taking everything personally.” He knelt, and kissed the captain’s brow. “I’m sorry, my lord.” And I heard the last breath escape from the body of the man Xant had sworn to follow.
“Do you see, Eben?” Xant did not look at me.
I stood mute. What I saw was one of Shadis’s hands, still clenched around a bone from his last meal.
Xant finally turned and met my eyes, half accusing, half pleading. “Do you understand why I have done this thing?”
“Why you have killed—killed this—” I waved halfheartedly at the body of the one he had slain.
He advanced on me. “Do you ever wonder why a man would want to take on such a burden as godhood?” He strode over to the captain’s desk, taking a swallow of the wine that stood in a flask there before continuing. “He takes it on because it must be borne by someone, and because the one who bears it now is a bloody butcher who sours and savages everything around him. It is a duty, do you understand that? I hated what Shadis stood for, even as I was sworn to uphold his command. He was my ruler, and I knew that in a universe such as this, someone must always bear the burden of leadership. I decided that there was no one who could do it better than I. Certainly I could be no worse than he was. It is a painful, horrible burden indeed, and it has tested me and tainted me. But I had to take it on if there was to be the hope of a better world.
“So I have done things that disgust me,” Xant continued, “and I have done things that demean me, but I have done many right things as well. I have worked to build a world that would no longer need me. I have used my position of power to preach, to proselytize, to prevent pain. It is better to preach faith and justice from a throne than from an armchair, is it not, Eben? I have become unto a god so that I might try and rid people of their need for gods.”
I sat down wearily upon a stool, staring at the man Xant had slain, unable to take it all in. “This is not how I was told it had happened.”
“I know. You probably got the story of how, in the time of our world’s greatest struggle over a millennia ago, I appeared with a glowing angel over each shoulder, full of wisdom and foreknowledge, a beacon of light against the darkness.”
“ ‘Xant is light, we are darkness,’ ” I intoned.
“Eben, it never happened. Not that way. Oh, there are a few grains of truth buried here and there in what they call ‘the true word of Xant,’ but they are hidden deeply, and can be identified only with great diligence.”
“But—what did happen then?”
Xant grimaced. “Every god has his disciples…but it always seems to be the traitor who writes the biography.” He pulled back the tent flap, and, instead of the camp from which we had come, I saw a laboratory beyond the opening.
We entered the lab, and as we passed through I looked back toward the tent we had just left. It was gone. By this point, I was not surprised at all.
One of Xant’s people was inside the lab. He was dressed in a white coat and was scurrying briskly back and forth among his beakers and books, his flasks and flames. He was oblivious of us.
“It was a mere twenty years after I had gone beyond. My deeds had already achieved fame during my lifetime, but they now became burnished with the fire of legend. Eventually, as I grew more remote from the understanding of my people, I also became set in their minds in a certain way. They grew placid and conservative. Mortals like their gods to be predictable, after all—surprises don’t go over very well on this sort of scale. In any event, the ultimate result was that they ended up relying on me more, rather than less.
“Now some of my followers came to think that my movement as a whole had lost its way since I had gone beyond, and resolved to set everyone else straight or die trying. The hardest of the hard core burned with the fire of true believers, ideological shock troops in a world that was no longer receptive to shocking. These hard-core believers soon began to alienate the people around them who were quite content to live in peace and prosperity. They spoke out and criticized their comfortable lifestyles. They banded together to have themselves elected and appointed to positions within the government, and from there they began a systematic campaign of harassment against those who did not remember the same Xant that they did.
“Worst of all, a number of them came to believe that a great god such as Xant desired—nay, demanded—great sacrifices. This one—” He indicated the man hurrying about in his white coat. “—was one of the worst.”
I stared at the little man. Old and slightly withered in appearance, he nevertheless moved briskly about his business as if possessed by some great purpose known only to himself. The man finally stopped in front of a machine that emitted an indigo light. He rolled up his sleeve and placed his arm under the light, which soon began to iridesce. As he stood there, I approached him and looked him straight in his eyes. He took no notice of me at all, of course, thanks to whatever camouflage it was with which Xant had surrounded us both—but still I felt that this man would not have seen me even had I not been shielded from his view.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“His name was Dr. Revoo. He was a physician, a man of science who healed the bodies of those who came to him seeking help, and yet he was also a man of great moral rigidity, just as dedicated to saving the souls of those around him. He believed that his inability to save all of the lives that were entrusted to him was a sign that those patients had been judged by me and found lacking. He was also…”
Here Xant paused for a moment, obviously searching for the right words. He sighed.
“Revoo was also one of the most fervent believers in what had become the false image of me. He ultimately became convinced that it was he himself, not his patients, who had somehow strayed from the path of righteousness.” The god’s voice gr
ew softer. “His devotion to me knew no bounds. Sadly, neither did the lengths to which he would go to carry out what he thought was the will of the one he served. Revoo believed that he had been tested and found lacking. But if he, Xant’s most ardent disciple, did not measure up—then, well, what about the rest of the world?
“He decided that only the greatest sacrifice would be sufficient to expiate the grievous sins of his fellow mortals. And he loved me so much, in his own narrow way, that he was willing to sacrifice his own life to do what needed to be done.”
Dr. Revoo finished with the analysis of his arm, nodded, and shut off the machine. He gathered a few notebooks into a carrying bag and left his lab, Xant and I following behind him.
The lab was a solitary building, standing high on a hill. A hundred meters below, people were harvesting fruits from a field. Revoo gazed down on them for a short time, then pulled a book from the bag—I could see it was a book of the teachings of Xant. He fell to his knees and began to read aloud from the sacred text:
“We give thanks to you! Every soul and heart is lifted up to you, Xant, who has been honored and praised with the name God. You have given us minds, that we may understand you; speech, that we may expound you; knowledge, that we may know you. We rejoice, having been illuminated by your knowledge. We rejoice because you, who once walked among us, revealed yourself to us. We rejoice because you share your divinity with us through your knowledge.”
“Poor soul,” I said.
“His thanks and rejoicing would consume a world,” said Xant.
I said nothing, but continued to listen as Revoo droned on. This particular litany, I knew, had eighteen verses, and it was coming to an end.
“We do not fear anyone except Xant alone, the Exalted One. We accept his light for our eyes, and cast the darkness from ourselves. We live in Xant, and we will acquire treasures Beyond, in the land where Xant now dwells. Wisdom summons us, saying, ‘Come to Xant, O foolish ones, that you may receive the gift of understanding, which is good and excellent. I bequeath to you a high-priestly garment woven from every kind of wisdom.’ We know that the eternal realm of Xant has no shadow outside of it, for Xant’s limitless light shines everywhere within it. But its exterior lies in shadow, in darkness. We give thanks to you, Great Xant, for the reflected light you allow to be cast upon us!”