God of Emptiness

by Walt Popester

  Dagger followed him. “For a Messhuggah the good lies in the purpose, not in the means.”

  “Music for my ears.”

  “And that makes potential pieces of shit of you all.”

  “Oh yes, that’s true.”

  “But you’re nice. At least when you’re sober.”

  The Agent Orange smiled imperceptibly. “I see you’ve spent some time with my people. That’s good. It will avoid most of the unnecessary questions.”

  “Did you hear what I did at the Fortress?”

  “This is one of the unnecessary questions. Beware, don’t waste my time. I read it in my father’s last message, before the Fortress was laid siege—”

  “But Araya’s dead!”

  The Agent Orange raised an eyebrow. “Dead? You want poor Sahid to die laughing? I don’t know what Dad’s problem is with death, but he seems unable to kick the bucket.” He started walking again. “It must be a promise he made, or something like that. He doesn’t like to talk about it, at least when he’s sober. Anyway, we won’t get rid of him so easily. He faked his death so that he could move behind the curtains. In the end, who can supervise that den of snakes more than the dead? Aeternus, Crowley, Marduk…dead, all dead. That place itself has been dying since always and my father wanted to be one with it, perhaps to become like them and act on the same level. Messhuggahs do it often, look at me. All the Guardians thought there was bad blood between him and Warren. Instead, my father had instructed the white blood to secretly infiltrate the New Disciples—the young cancer of the Fortress. Sometimes, Dad can be a damn genius.”

  “I seem to recall that I was there, too.”

  “Um. Yes, you were one of the puppets on the stage, unaware of what was really happening.” As a shadow crossed his face, the Agent Orange added, “I’m sorry for what happened next. I’m sorry about your brother. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. Olem would have been useful to us, even though…” He moved his narrow pupils on Solitude. “He’s still here with us, somehow.” He smiled faintly. “Now tell me how did my brother die.”

  Dag didn’t ask how the Agent knew of Kerry’s death. Among all his qualities, Araya’s firstborn could definitely count to five. So Dagger told him what had happened until their encounter with Missy.

  The Messhuggah frowned. “Missy is just an experiment of Aeternus.”

  “A successful experiment, I’d say.”

  “Nothing compared to what the First could do if he finds the Hermit and gets his hands on Benighted. I know you’re beating yourself up about that, wondering who that Guardian is and why he’s so important, but nothing will be clear, now. You would understand nothing about Benighted and the importance of the correct key to understanding what Ktisis wrote in the ancient times.”

  “A key to understanding?” Dagger didn’t dare break the silence that followed.

  The Messhuggah sighed. “The appearance of everything depends on how you look at it. Nothing is revealed to the wicked eyes—imagine the knowledge of a god. You need an act of total faith, you need to humiliate your body and mind to reach the divine knowledge. The Hermit is the only mortal who read all Benighted, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. That’s why he shouldn’t fall into the Disciples’ hands.”

  “The problem is that They are positioned better than us on the chessboard.” Dag turned back and watched his friends sitting on the ground and debating. “And maybe They’re even more determined than us. Angra’s transition to holy diver is of no importance, if he will reincarnate in the next universe. They want Megatherion, the end of all, and each intermediate result will be only a partial revenge.”

  “Lucid analysis.” The Messhuggah nodded. “Yes, you may have noticed that They are…particularly stubborn. Some of them hide in the same Fortress, others were ousted from the temple and now have taken shelter in Asa, the ancient port of Adramelech beyond this desert nothing.”

  “Where all the slaves are going to?”

  The lizard didn’t reply to that. “They don’t know anything about the Hermit since long ago, and this is the only advantage we have. Because now we know he’s still somewhere on this world and we must find him first.”

  “How do you kn—”

  “He managed…he wanted to get in touch with us.” The Agent Orange reached into his left sleeve, making a letter appear.

  Dagger read it:

  Hey, lizard! I am still here on Candehel-mas. Alive, or something like that.

  Do you still wake up crying when you dream the Red Dawn?

  I would pay to see it. The sun never rises in this nameless place.

  Do you want to take a walk on the wild side?

  Then have him reproduce. And then send him back to me.

  Damn Aeternus, Skyrgal sucks his anus!

  Dagger raised his face to the narrow slits of the black pupils in front of him. “What kind of a message is this?”

  “A written one.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “But the handwriting is not that of the Hermit. I committed to memory the texts written by his own hand—the few remaining ones. My father keeps them jealously locked up in the Poison library. That’s powerful stuff, very powerful.”

  “Then why does Araya think it’s really him?”

  “He doesn’t think that. He’s sure about that. My father still wakes up crying when he dreams the Red Dawn, when he dreams of the night when the Gorgors and the Disciples were reduced by Skyrgal to their…current states. That’s not something that everybody knows, only his children, or someone he held close. And then, my father says that the style in which this message is written does remind him of the Hermit: so…competent and ironic at the same time.”

  “It was dictated by the Hermit and written by someone else.”

  “I’m impressed. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  It took a moment to Dagger to realize that the lizard was being sarcastic. “I begin to understand why you’re so hated.”

  “We’re not hated. We’re feared.”

  “What about the last part?”

  “You mean that have him reproduce? Well, my boy, I don’t have paper and charcoal but I think you too got half an idea about its meaning. Imagine what would happen if your power were divided into ten parts, or twenty! Imagine if they could be scattered all over the world. Imagine if you—”

  “With parts you don’t mean children, right?”

  “Um. Actually, my father thinks so, though I believe the concept should be a little interpreted. Anyway, think about what would happen if all these creatures were scattered around the world!”

  Dagger was running out of jokes. “It would become unlikely to recompose the soul of Ktisis. And that would prevent Megatherion…nearly.”

  “Nearly!” the Agent Orange repeated. “At least enough to stop sleeping on a bed of nails every damn night.”

  “So the fate of the world depends on what I do with my…?”

  The Agent thought it over, then nodded. “That’s kind of a simplistic way to put the matter, which doesn’t consider the forces that move and destroy Creation, but…yes, roughly, yes.”

  “I think I’ll throw up.”

  “Remember that for a Messhuggah the good lies in the purpose—”

  “—not in the means,” Dagger finished. “Not in the fucking means.”

  The Agent Orange looked down on him and it seemed like he wanted to burn Dagger with his gaze. Only after a moment did Dag realize the double meaning of his own words.

  The lizard turned toward the horizon. “Have him reproduce. And then send him back to me. It’s all about finding the Hermit, now. Perhaps he will intervene with your offspring, or maybe…I don’t know. His mind was a bottomless pit even when he was alive—a flood breaking down every obstacle.”

  “You’re missing a small detail.”

  “I think I know which one.”

  “Where the Ktisis is he?”

  “It was understood that I haven’t the faintest idea,” the Messhuggah re
plied. “That man, or whatever he’s become now, is outside of my control as he’s always been, even as a child. He’s afraid of being intercepted and this is why he doesn’t write clearly where he is, even if he’s making us understand that it’s him, and only him.”

  “He says: The sun never rises in this nameless place. Is there anywhere on Candehel-mas where the sun never rises?”

  “No, besides poorly timed jokes.”

  “Um.”

  “I agree.” The Agent Orange shrugged. “It’s a puzzle. I’m sure that one day you’ll tell me the solution and I’ll feel terribly stupid.”

  “When I die, I go to my father in a world of black stone. There’s no sun, there.”

  The Agent Orange thought about that.

  Now you don’t laugh any more, wrinkled dickhead?

  “My father mentioned the matter, once. Interesting.”

  “Yeah,” Dag said with satisfaction.

  “So you say that he, too, might be there?”

  “Yes!”

  “Aren’t you leaving out a detail, perhaps?”

  Silence. “Which one?”

  “He says, I am still here on Candehel-mas. He says that at the very beginning.”

  Dagger felt the greatest idiot in the worlds, when those words rained down on him like an ice bucket. He thought that everyone probably felt that way after a dialogue exchange with the Agent Orange. In the end he’s an ancient creature. “Yes,” was all he said. But how old? “I do understand why you’re so hated.”

  “Seriously, it’s written right here, you see?”

  “I see. I got carried away.”

  Orange laughed, but not at Dagger. He seemed genuinely amused. “Now it’s up to you, my boy. The last place where the Hermit was seen alive is the Sanctuary, and that’s where you’re headed. You’ll need to go past the tower of Sabbath and yes, you need an expert guide for that. Warren is a good guy and he’s my new apprentice. He’s pretty good, you know?”

  Dagger had a sinister premonition. “Are you trying to make me understand that it’s him who’ll guide me from here on?”

  The Messhuggah shook his head. “I never try to make anyone understand things. I don’t need it. Come on, why the brown face? I’m a little short of agents on this side of Agalloch walls and…I’m not saying this lightly, but judging by the choices you made without my brother Kerry, I think it prudent not to trust you. Throwing yourself into the arms of Sahid would have been madness. He was a merchant and would have sold you to the highest bidder. With a little luck, the Disciples would have got their hands on you without even getting their flabby asses out of their chairs.”

  “What does everyone find so special about Warren…?”

  “Hey. I ask you to trust him like Araya would, otherwise you’ll end up in the hands of the next slaver who will repeatedly sodomize you and your little friends using your own blood as lubricant. I’ve found a situation of power and I’ll stay here as long as I find it useful. The Fortress is besieged by the citizens of Agalloch and I can’t contact my father since—umpf—too long. My last order was to keep the Sword safe until the roads would be freed from those insolent, rude rats. Humans always get in the way, they can’t help it. They can’t bear hunger, thirst, fatigue, anything! First chance they get—zak! You see them with a pitchfork in their hands trying to complicate the plans of those who have the right to command them.”

  “Is the Sword here?”

  “Of course. Warren moved it away from the fire according to our instructions, otherwise we’d be in deep shit.”

  “Uh, how good he is.”

  “Take it easy, the worst part is on the way. I must also take your dagger. It’s risky to let you go around with that thing—it must return to the Fortress as soon as possible. I suggest taking Redemption to the other side of the portal, now that the Node in the temple of Ktisis has been destroyed by Kam Kres. We must keep the four elements as far as possible from each other. The Sword at the Fortress, Redemption in the world Beyond, and the armor…”

  “Right, what happened to the armor?”

  The Agent Orange stretched his green lips in a thin smile. “Warren will tell you. Don’t believe him when he’ll say that it was all his idea. That boy has a flaw. He boasts too much and people don’t even realize that. In fact, he’s fragile and insecure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Dagger put a hand to Redemption. He turned it over in his hands, watching it. Then he handed it to the Agent Orange and turned away. “I’ll keep the sheath. It’s a gift.”

  “Oh, look here. Your Friends. The only safe place. What a nice thing to say. And all those rings—six.”

  Dagger was irritated.

  The Messhuggah held him where he was. “Boy, do you understand that this is the only way to send you around in the world, this world, in search for the Hermit? The other components of Ktisis must be as far as possible from you. It’s the only way to…ensure this world a minimum of security. That armor won’t be of any use without the dagger, even if they got you. I wish I’d been there when you joined Redemption to you and swept away a whole Tankar army—I’d have given my right eye to see such a thing!—but that must never happen again. All this fascinates and frightens me at the same time.”

  “The ass on the grill is mine.” Dag could only think about how much he loved that dagger. Damn, we went a long way together…

  “You still have a beautiful piece of manegarm on your back, from what I see. Talk to him. Those weapons feel more than you think.” The Agent Orange gave him his wrinkled hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, third-of-Konkra. You don’t often shake hands with a god. Tell your little girlfriend not to do stupid things and conceal better her identity, especially with mortals. All mortals. She must have a problem with hormones.”

  “Hormo-what?”

  “Oh, contradictory messages sent by a body of twelve hundred years that still works like that of a dumb kid.”

  “Oh.”

  “I assure you that on the other side of Sabbath there are a lot of people who might get excited about the idea of putting their hands on Angra’s daughter. And I mean literally. Orgor, that pig, is out of control lately.”

  “So it’s not the first time you met her.”

  “Oh no. And her mother was crazier than her, judging by the Genesis chronicles. No wonder her father, Angra, repudiated her. She was raised—or hidden—by the Dracons of the Poison until the day Araya put her after you.”

  Dagger felt a deep sadness hearing those words. “Seriously?”

  “It’s a difficult world, boy. It always has been.” The Agent Orange shrugged. “Go, now. Warren is waiting for you with the details of the mission.”

  Is there at least one aspect of my life that they don’t want to control? Lost in his thoughts, Dagger reached his friends still sitting in a circle on the ground.

  Warren saw him coming. “Hey, little Dagger. Sit down with us, will you?”

  Fragile and insecure…a fragile and insecure white son of a bitch. “I’m fine standing. Just talk. Someone saw you—”

  “Shhh. I already know what you’re gonna say. Someone saw you leave the Fortress with the armor and the Sword, waa, waa.”

  “I’m sorry, but the Agent Orange does that much better.”

  “I agree,” Ash agreed.

  “If someone saw you that day, it’s only because you wanted to be seen,” Dagger said. “The question is: Who the fuck was inside that armor?”

  “Crowley,” the white blood answered without too much beating about the bush. “Crowley Nightfall. You know him, I think. A rather decadent fellow.”

  Dagger dropped to his knees. “What…what the hell did you…?”

  Ianka came to his aid, “I think he means to say, What the fuck did you do with Crowley?” He tried to use the same tone of voice suggested from his friend’s face.

  “I suppose to call you red-eyes is a little out of place, at this time.” Warren handed the hooka to his brother and lay down on the grass, his hands cla
sped behind his head. He coughed. “Shit, who did you think there was inside there—Aeternus? No, half-dick is still at the Fortress and he means to stay there for a long time. He’s going to be one of Araya’s headaches now. The prince lizard became the new Pendracon, since the Fortress was a tad short of Dracons. It’s just that he doesn’t answer anymore to our birds. No one does.”

  “Yes, but Crow?”

  “I brought him to his Tankars, what do you think? They deserved that after all they’ve been through. By razing the Fortress to the ground I think they wanted to send us some kind of message. They’ve been looking for a messiah for centuries, so why not make them happy and give them one?”

  Dagger clenched his fists. “I think you’re leaving out at least a couple of details. As always.”

  War tsked. “Of course. What do you want to talk about—the need to take a position in the Tankars’ civil war? Or maybe about the message sent by Exodus with the mass suicide of Assado, namely: Let there be war between us, but send away the external element? Do you want to talk about the questionable moral sense and the fickleness of a hodgepodge of stray dogs ready to follow the first messiah who—?”

  “I just realized that, by doing so, you gave the Armor to the Tankars.”

  “Some Tankars,” the white blood pointed out. “Those who’ll serve our purpose.”

  “And…our advantage in that?”

  “Shit, jerk—everything! One: to keep you and that damn dagger as far as possible from the armor, Orange surely told you that, already. Two: to open a new front and give the Disciples a new enemy. And three…” War didn’t continue.

  “Three?”

  “I don’t know what’s point three, but an idea of Orange must necessarily have a point three. Although the proposal I made to the lizard shouldn’t be entirely discarded.”

  “Which one?”

  “The usual solution, remember? To lock you up inside an amorphis crate and bury you alive where no one would ever find you.” He smiled amiably.

  “One day you’ll do it.”

  The white blood pointed his finger at him. “One day everyone will agree that this is the only solution. But I respect hierarchies. If the lizard has other plans for you, I can only bow and hear what he has to say. You’re a danger, of course, but with a lot of potential. And then They created you human. I think that to know you buried underground and going crazy would break his heart. And the ones of us all.”