by J. Langland
“Are djinn not immortal?” Tom asked, surprised.
Tamarin grinned at him. “Not at all. We are mortal; we just live for a long period of time. Longer than humans, orcs and dwarves, but less than the Rios Alfar and their close kin.”
Tom nodded with a wistful expression.
“Your D’Orc friends? Their lifespan, their history is as inconceivable to me as I am sure it is to you.” Tamarin moved towards the mapping table. “Not as long as the gods, obviously, but still nearly unimaginable.”
“How old are the gods?” Tom asked, suddenly struck by the thought of gods dying.
Tamarin shrugged. “As old as their followers have believed in them. That is why it is so critical to them to expand into new planes of existence. Mortal races and their civilizations only exist so long. The gods must diversify their support base across many planes of existence to ensure their power supply and thus their longevity. The more they can diversify, the more stable the pantheon or the god.”
“Or the god?” Tom asked. “Aren’t gods tied to their pantheon?”
“No. Pantheons can be family, friends or allies. Many of the oldest gods join multiple pantheons to further diversify their power base. They have multiple alliances and connections,” Tamarin said.
“Like Phaestus,” Tom said, a lightbulb clicking on.
“Exactly—he is a perfect example.” Tamarin spun to face Tom, grinning with delight. “He is an Olympian, a Nyjyr Ennead, jötnar, several dwarven pantheons and numerous others. As well as being a member of the Tartarvardenennead.”
“The Tartarvardenennead?” Tom asked, having never heard the name.
“The Nine Wardens of Tartarus.” Tamarin smiled. “To be completely honest, it is a new phrase for me as well. After you reopened Tartarus, I went and did some research.”
“So who were the nine?” Tom was extremely interested to know this.
“That is not widely known; it is, in fact, considered a closely guarded secret. However, from what I have seen and heard since being here, clearly Orcus, Völund, and Phaestus; most likely Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth. After that, it would be pure guessing; one would think this Vosh An-Non, Orcus’s general. That makes six; I have no clue as to who the others might have been.”
“This keeps getting more and more complicated,” Tom complained.
“Indeed, which is what makes it so interesting.” Tamarin smiled at him. “I am sure you could ask the others; they would have to know.”
“Probably a good idea; in particular, if there are other ‘partners’ in this black site I’ve suddenly found that I am in charge of.” Tom shook his head, thinking of everything he was learning, yet still needed to know.
Suddenly something hit him. “You said there is close to a million years of written history here?”
Tamarin shrugged. “That is one estimate made by djinn who have studied here. However, there could be older items.”
Tom shook his head, trying to conceive of that. “So then some of these plane-hopping deities—deities I may end up going against—could be a million years old?”
Tamarin shrugged again with a frown. “I have no idea, only the speculations of my teachers in various classes. You would probably not be surprised that the gods are extremely jealous of their true nature and interplay. Very few welcome djinn inquiries into their history.”
Tom sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I can’t even imagine someone being that old.”
Tamarin chuckled. “Exactly. The existential dilemma.”
Tom was silent, thinking about such beings before realizing that there was something wrong with what Tamarin had just said. “Wait. The existential dilemma? The anxiety at the heart of existentialism is that one’s lifespan, one’s influence is so limited that it will, in the scope of all time and space, be meaningless. If one is a plane-straddling million-plus-year-old deity, I hardly think existential dread is going to be a problem. Such beings could clearly make some impact.”
Tamarin smiled. “Ahh, you speak of mortal existentialism. Existentialism is a two-sided coin. On one side, which is the side of which you speak, is the dread of a tiny, short-lived nothingness in the grand scheme of things. That is mortal existentialism; the true immortals worry about the dread of an eternity of existence. The never-ending, unceasing torment of eternal meaningfulness. Or worse, near meaningfulness.”
That rather stopped Tom cold. He was not sure he even understood what it meant. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked.
Tamarin grinned. “It is something I do not truly comprehend, but it is well known to the very long-lived races, such as the alfar and the oldest djinn. Demons, gods, avatars—all true immortals must face it.”
“Okay,” Tom said, still not getting it.
Tamarin smiled. “At its most simple level, how do you spend eternity without getting bored? At what point do you need to take a rest?”
“Okay, I get that, I have heard about gods and demon lords playing games with mortals to amuse themselves,” Tom agreed.
“Yes, that happens a lot. However, that is just the most obvious sign of this dilemma. There is a reason that mortal memory gets hazy with time. For the sake of sanity, it has to be purged/submerged so that we can continue to exist in the present and not be lost in the past. For mortal creatures, sleep plays a big role in this sifting, storing and offloading of memories. Now imagine living forever, without sleeping, without truly forgetting,” Tamarin said.
Tom shook his head a bit. This had all crossed his mind in his old cave as he sat there, bored for hours on end. “Yes, that could be a problem.”
“According to what I’ve read, Orcus, in addition to needing the mana generated in Doom for Doom itself, which creates competition with the D’Orcs, wanted D’Orcs to get tired and have to sleep,” Tamarin said.
“So you are saying that sleeping, which I thought just let us collect mana more efficiently vs. Doom, also serves as a way of offloading memories and history?”
“Exactly. That is, at least, the theory we have in Djinnistan, based on the conversations of the many djinn that served Orcus have reported,” Tamarin said. “He indicated that it would help his troops withstand the stress of eternity. To have a chance to clear their mental decks, to get a daily respite from consciousness and reality.”
“That’s pretty heavy,” Tom said shaking his head. It was, however, exactly the sort of respite that Tom increasingly found himself longing for. He thought for a moment. “It also explains why, once Doom shut down and the D’Orcs no longer got tired, and many stopped sleeping, so many of them gave up the will to live. It was this immortal existential dread!” Tom smiled. This made so much more sense now.
“Excellent point!” Tamarin agreed. “And when it comes to how long an immortal can cope with existence before they need a respite, or a respite greater than even sleep can provide; well, that explains the Phoenix Cycle,” Tamarin said.
“You mean the bird that dies and is reborn in flames?” Tom asked.
“Exactly. Almost every culture in the multiverse, every god and pantheon has a concept of a cycle of birth and death, of re-creation.” Tamarin said. “There are tales in almost all religions of the death and rebirth of gods.”
Tom was starting to lose track. “So you are saying that even gods are mortal?”
“By choice,” Tamarin said excitedly. “Current djinn thinking says that gods and immortals eventually get overwhelmed by immortal existentialism and need to stop and start over, even as their followers do in many cases.”
Tom stopped to think of that for a minute before responding. “So you are saying that there probably are not many million-plus-year-old gods? That eventually they have to reboot?”
“Reboot?” Tamarin gave him a puzzled expression.
“Start over, shut down and restart themselves,” Tom explained.
“Yes, like the Phoenix story,” Tamarin agreed. “Just as with mortals, at some point all gods either give up and cease to exist, or engineer a rebirth. T
hey just accumulate too much memory, too much history and need to clear the books, so to speak.”
“And if they never did this?” Tom wondered aloud. Not so much a question as a thought.
“I would think they would break down, perhaps go insane.” Tamarin shrugged. “This is all very speculative. It’s the sort of thing we djinn love to argue about for stimulation and pleasure.”
“Lord Tommus?” A voice from Tom’s left caused him to turn. Approaching them was—Tom had to stop and dig deep, touching briefly at their link—Erestofanes, one of the relatively few demons living in Mount Doom prior to his acquisition of Lilith’s army.
“Erestofanes, did we wake you?” Tom asked the demon, who was, he now recalled, the Chief Librarian of Doom. “I fear we were speaking way too loudly for a library!” He smiled bashfully.
Erestofanes chuckled. “My lord, do you have any idea how long it has been since there have been any voices in the library? Let alone a booming one.” He shook his head, grinning. “I am just happy to have anyone in the library, other than my assistants. I typically only see Völund or Phaestus every decade or so. We have not had that many patrons since the Incident.”
“Expect to find me here fairly frequently. Both for research, but also for the comfort of being surrounded by so much wisdom,” Tom told the librarian.
Erestofanes smiled brightly, revealing his razor-sharp fangs below his nose and two sets of eyes. The demon was literally four-eyed, as well as four-armed. Tom assumed he was pretty good at researching multiple books at the same time. “Excellent,” the demon said. “That will be most welcome. And should your lordship have the opportunity, I would like to discuss restarting our acquisition program at some point.”
“Certainly! Have Zelda schedule a meeting of all involved parties,” Tom said cheerfully. He would love to restart accumulating knowledge for Doom. “I am sure much was missed in four thousand years.”
“Yes, truly,” Erestofanes sighed. “However, there were four occasions where Hephaestus was able to recover select works from the Libraries of Alexandria on a few Earths before their destruction. I suppose it was one of the benefits of being part of a pantheon worshipped by the people who built the libraries.”
“The Library of Alexandria?” Tom asked in amazement. “That is impressive.”
“Thank you m’lord. Hephaestus, of course, deserves the credit,” Erestofanes said, smiling. “We recovered numerous original works. I personally enjoyed the work of the playwright named Homer. Hephaestus recovered original copies of several of his works.”
“Really? Wow, I would love to read them, although I’m not sure demon universal translation works on writing,” Tom said.
“You would be surprised. Demon sight is pretty good at translation. Given how important contractual negotiations are for demons, it comes rather built-in. However, admittedly, I try to take the time to study the various languages natively. I have picked up quite a few during the last four thousand years. I’ve had quite a bit of free time, what with so few visitors to the library,” the demon said, ending with a sigh.
“We will work to change that,” Tom said, smiling at him. “I am certain we have numerous people that will want to visit. Tamarin has mentioned that the djinn used to study here.”
“Yes, indeed.” Erestofanes smiled at the djinni. “They are lovely patrons and were of great assistance in helping us make new acquisitions.”
“And we need to bring our mana-using team back up to snuff. I assume there are books on wizardry, animagic and shamanism?” Tom asked.
“Oh my, yes,” Erestofanes said, rolling his eyes. “From many different worlds and systems. Also a superb collection of science and engineering books. You know we have one of the most comprehensive collection of Altrusian writings anywhere in the multiverse.”
Tom pursed his lips and nodded. “I had not known that, but am not surprised, given that they were involved in a lot of the work done here.” He didn’t mention Tartarus; he was not exactly sure how widespread knowledge of the black site had gotten outside the circle of his commanders.
“Indeed, indeed.” Erestofanes nodded. “Although, when it comes to trans-dimensional-temporal engineering, I have found the works of the Gallifreyans to be a bit more accessible in their approach.”
“The Gallifreyans?” Tom asked, feeling his sanity once more under attack.
“Yes. They are from a planet and plane with great mastery of time and space, from a technological perspective. Currently—hah, hah, excuse the obviously illogical term—they have located their planet in its own pocket universe. Now, admittedly, the Altrusians do handle the more magical aspects of the subject better; however, the Gallifreyan approach, while a bit more limited, is more solidly wedded to traditional principles of physics, matter and energy. They do tend to ignore mana, which I suppose is logical in that they are from a very high-tech plane, but they have managed to get a decent understanding of animus and have been able to do remarkable work on animatic regeneration and reincarnation from a technological point of view. Which, interestingly, is not something many high-tech dimensions have been able to do.”
“Uh, yes,” Tom said, trying to cut off what he was pretty sure was going to be a very pedagogical lecture on what he suspected was one of the librarian’s favorite topics. “This is incredibly useful, and I want to discuss this in great deal, but tonight I had come mainly for some calm reflection.”
Erestofanes stopped and shook his head. “My dear, I am so sorry. I got pulled off on to one of my tangents. I have a terrible habit of doing that.”
Tom chuckled. “No problem at all, and actually quite enlightening. However, I had wandered down here to do some thinking and introspection.”
“Of course, of course. Your prior self came here quite often for that,” Erestofanes told him. That was not what Tom wanted to hear. “Well, I shall let you wander,” the demon said. “You may be interested in examining some of your prior self’s portraits.”
Tom shook his head slightly in puzzlement. “Multiple portraits? I would not have thought O—my prior self to age and thus not need portraits at different stages of life.”
Erestofanes nodded in agreement. “Indeed. He—you—did not age except by choice; however, you—uhm, Lord Orcus—this is quite difficult to keep straight…”
“Just refer to my prior self and current self as if we were two different people.” Which we are, Tom thought.
“Yes, very well. Indeed. Uhm... oh yes, he liked to have portraits done of various forms, shapes, bodies that he frequently transformed into. Over time, detailed memory gets hazy, thanks to sleeping, as you two were discussing, and having accurate portraits enabled him to get forms correct which he had not recently assumed. Sort of a continuity check, if you will.”
Tom blinked. “How many different forms did he have?” From his experience and discussion with Rupert, having lots of forms could be tricky.
“Oh my, let us see, many. Certainly one for every race he routinely worked with: his default orc form; actually about a dozen variants of his orc form; a couple human forms; dwarven; several species of giant; even several alvaran forms, if you can believe it. Then of course, he had custom demon forms, his hearthean form, his I’iskatha form, his—”
“I think I am getting the idea; no need to list them all. I am sure I will see them soon enough in my wandering,” Tom said, cutting the librarian off.
“Indeed, there are a number of gallery rooms with his portraits, as well as portraits of his various friends, colleagues and enemies, of course.”
“He managed to get his enemies to sit for portraits?” Tom asked, surprised.
“Sit? That might be a strong term in some cases. Strapped to a rack, or strung up in a stockade, frozen by a spell, so many different methods…”
Tom laughed. “I get the idea.”
“And in many cases, he purchased the portraits from others. That is, for example, how he got the portraits of the other demon princes.”
&
nbsp; “So he has portraits of the other princes?” Tom asked.
“Yes, multiple. Typically, of their most common forms. His goal was for his agents to be able to recognize them in their different forms,” the librarian answered.
“That seems like a very good idea.” Tom nodded.
“Would you like me to guide you to one of the galleries?” Erestofanes asked. “If not, the library map can direct you to them, as well as interface with the card catalog system and locate any book, scroll, picture, artifact, relic or whatever else the library and museum contains.”
“Hmm.” Tom had to stop and think. It would probably be good to see what Orcus had looked like. At first he had assumed that he was a large D’Orc, but having listened to the others around Doom, he had come to the conclusion that Orcus had been a demon, not a D’Orc, because in fact, Orcus had created the D’Orcs.
“Yes, that sounds very interesting. Lead the way.” Tom gestured for the librarian to lead them.
“Excellent, this way…” Erestofanes led them across the room, over to the last aisle on the wall to their left. “Lord Orcus felt that his portrait gallery should be quite sinister, hah, hence to the left as we enter the library.”
“Sinister? As in the Latin word for left?” Tom asked.
“Exactly!”
“But Rome was founded and collapsed within the last four thousand years; Orcus was dead at that time,” Tom replied. Something wasn’t making sense.
“Perhaps on the worlds you are familiar with, but there have been a number of Latin civilizations throughout time. It is one of several pet cultures for the Olympians. As they move from plane to plane, they—like most pantheons—like to set up structures of power and social alignment that they are familiar with. Typically, they will have three or four variants of each spread around at any given time,” Erestofanes explained as he led them down the book-lined aisle.
“Individuals and names will vary from plane to plane and world to world, as will, of course, geography and history; the gods, however, tend to like things to follow certain predictable paths. Destinies if you will. If something doesn’t work out their way on one plane, they will tweak it for the next. And so on.”