God of Emptiness

by Walt Popester

  “What would you have done with me?”

  Godivah didn’t answer that question. He just said, “To send your mother away was a mistake, that night. I can’t deny and I can’t fix that. But later on I asked—yes, I even asked—that you were sent here, where your soul was imprisoned until the Hermit took you away.”

  “For a moment, I thought the Hermit might be you.”

  “Me? No. Here the Hermit was tortured, for a long time, and then eliminated in the worst way—a process which canceled his presence and erased even the smallest fragment of his being. End of the story. Pain makes a man go beyond the boundaries from which happiness keeps him away, and I pushed myself much further, penetrating the dark forest of blasphemy. The funny thing is, the right punishment for the Hermit was written in Dawn, that damn black book that he himself had brought here.”

  The right punishment for having created me. Dagger looked around and only then did he notice a minor detail that put in a different light all he had seen until that moment. These children are all the same age. He watched a couple of boys approaching a brother of the Sanctuary, who poured a thick, frothy liquid in their mouths. They are being drugged and can’t sleep.

  Godivah stopped and looked down on him. “I will fight them with you. I will fight against their presumption of being like a god, when in truth they are merely prostitutes of existence. I think you’ll do it at the end, but you need a guide.”

  “Will you be my guide?”

  “No. Of course not. Someone more powerful than me has already put everything in motion.”

  Cra! a crow replied, annoyed.

  “My faithful winged messengers believe that he was awakened,” the Holy Father revealed. “Only one god could be so crazy to do that, to allow the man who witnessed the great beyond to walk again among the living.” He smiled, pleased to see Dagger astray, as he led the boy through a door.

  Lancet windows on one side of the corridor overlooked the courtyard. The ensiferum light was cropped by their wrought-iron framing forged to portray Ktisis sitting on his throne, Ktisis creating Skyrgal, Ktisis creating Angra, Ktisis who was never depicted as the mad god willing to use the pain of his children to alter the rules of the All.

  Godivah accompanied him to the end of the corridor, where a flight of stairs dived into the darkness. “Warren is waiting for you at the bottom of the abyss he’s made of his existence. Stay awake with him. It will do you both good.” He turned back.

  Shortly after, Dagger heard some children greet Godivah happily and had the chills. All the same age.

  He climbed down into the dark toward a sound of running water getting louder and louder. The underground river runs here, too. He walked until he found himself standing before Ash, lying on a marble bed. From that angle Dagger saw his gray face above the soles of his feet abandoned to the side. The purple light penetrated a slot at the top of the wall and fell merciless on his body, highlighting the black plot in turmoil under his skin. The oval room had no furniture except a trestle table with some bottles and two black, worn straw chairs.

  Warren was standing by the cold bed, partly touched by the light, his hands folded on his chest in a sort of silent prayer. When he noticed Dagger, he raised his face, unable to say anything.

  “Hey,” the son of Skyrgal tried to say.

  “One day. Not one more, red-eyes. It’s all that’s left to him.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before the rest.” Warren took one of the chairs and sat astride it, leaning his elbows on the seatback, his eyes fixed on his brother.

  Dagger sat on the opposite side of the death bed, in the light. “Why didn’t you tell him what happened to you, too? He could save you.”

  The white blood didn’t even look at him. “If Godivah knew what I am destined to become, he would weed out my soul and hide me in the depths of this place, as he’s done with other people on…other occasions.”

  Dagger looked down. The channels under Ash’s skin had become thick and swollen like varicose veins.

  “Don’t ask me,” Warren anticipated him. “I won’t do that without your help. I know Araya gave you something, the last time you met him.”

  “You always know everything.”

  “At least everything the Agent Orange knows. Give it to me.”

  Dagger put a hand to the leather bag hanging from his neck. He fumbled inside it, avoided the coin he had found in the Council Hall at the Fortress, and took the mushroom Araya had given him. He watched it between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Split the bread of mind with me, brother,” War said. “Because you see, there’s nobody here.”

  Dagger divided the mushroom in two, handing the biggest half to the white blood.

  Warren led it to his mouth and chewed it, still watching Ash’s face. “He seems to be waiting.” He poured the wine, sipping it.

  “For what?”

  “To discover the truth. To see the true appearance of the light at the end of the world.”

  Dagger looked skeptically at his mushroom portion, before shoving it into his mouth. “Why are we at the Sanctuary? From what I’ve learned, Benighted may be here. Do you want to read it and learn—”

  “No.” Warren shook his head. “Not anymore, at least. Not now that I’ve seen. No one is so crazy to still want the power after having known its true face. The most indestructible chains are tight around the wrists of those who possess it. You become a slave of the game you created, and you can’t get out of it. That’s the problem of the Disciples, and the reason why the Holy Father will help you.” He watched his glass. “Hey, look, it’s full of colors. It looks like a salad of light.”

  Dag wondered what was the meaning of those last words, when the mushroom began to dance in his mind too.

  *

  Dagger awoke with his head against the wall, half-naked. He put a hand to his face, pulling a shard of glass out of his skin. What the…?

  The remains of the broken bottles lay around him. Running a hand on the wall, he felt that someone had engraved some disproportionate characters on it.

  “Oh Ktisis.”

  “Yes, Dag.” Warren said behind him. “It’s you who wrote that. You repeated over and over, Mother, mother, what have you given birth to? You never said forever could ever hurt like this.”

  Dag read,

  Ride the snake

  Walk the road to the east

  I’m in hell, save me

  “Sometimes it was hard to say who was speaking, the boy or the god. Funny to think that both of them were still you.”

  Dagger turned back. The early morning light came through the high slot in the darkened room and poured down on the white chest of Warren. He held a sword in his right hand, its tip touching the ground, while his left held the severed head of Ash. The long, disheveled hair of his young brother seemed a curtain about to close forever on his tragic face. His mouth was half open. His absent eyes watched with a beginning of wonder the final show—the last lights.

  Only compassion showed on War’s face as his strong arm lowered, handing his brother to darkness.

  “War…what did you do?”

  “Once I envied you, you know?” Warren said. “All that power, wasted like that. Now I understand how eternal are the hatred and the love of a god, and I know that there’s no hope for you. You can only move forward on the path laid out beneath your feet.”

  Dagger watched the white blood come forward, in the dark and then in the light and then in the dark again, the head of his brother in his hand.

  “It’s you who took him away.” Warren grabbed him by the neck, shoving Ash’s head inches from Dagger’s. “What a great power you have, you and your only Blood Brothers. How many times will you do it again? How many of us will you sacrifice for your need to feel like us? You’re not! You’re alone. A god is alone!”

  “You are my Blood Brothers!” Dagger trembled with rage, but Warren tightened the grip on his neck, taking his breath away. “Hotankar…remember? The
only family we had…all of us. You…too.”

  War shook his head. “You must respect what you are,” he said to his face. “My master already told you that. You are the lone wolf of which you speak in your sleep, and you’ll be the only one to stand when we all will fall. You’re stronger than all this. Your destiny is to be alone.”

  “Then it’s not worth it. I’ll let them find me and reach their fucking Megatherion.”

  War shoved him to the center of the room. Finally, he put his brother’s head on the marble table, next to Ash’s feet. “Don’t you ever say that. Godivah wants to help you. Time is running out and he knows it.” He rested his back against the wall. The only thing left of him were two white eyes staring out of nowhere.

  “And you. What will you do now?”

  “The sea,” Warren answered. “Can you believe that? I want to reach the sea. If only you had seen, Dag. I’m tired. So tired.”

  “I need you! Ianka, Erin…damn it, they’re still out there where people are dying! We must look for them. We must—”

  “There’s only one beast that you must face and that’s the one inside you. No one can help you do that. Follow it up to the mystery and don’t think about us, we’ll be yet another wound that someone will use against you.” Warren looked at him one last time. He seemed to slide down the wall, toward the door, and disappear.

  Dagger sat on the ground, devoid of energy, with Solitude laying on his legs. He caressed the blade, which answered with a faint shimmer. “With you I’ll never be alone.” He thought he heard Olem’s voice again, You will survive. You’ll fight to the end to erase the shame flowing in all of us. He turned one last time to look at Ash, and his white, decapitated body, before stumbling up the stairs.

  He reached the porch, breathing deeply the cold night air. The door leading into the heart of the Sanctuary was open. You’re waiting for me, right? He walked through it and found Godivah waiting at the foot of the fountain, surrounded by stone children. His eyes were as silent as the eyes around him. He seemed to be part of the sinister sculptures.

  CRA!

  “My birds don’t lie,” the old man said. “We haven’t got much time.” He led him past one of the six doors, then down a narrow staircase.

  They came to an underground crypt—a restricted passage crowded with dusty tombs and half-erased epitaphs, with a pit at the end.

  Again Dagger descended into the bowels of the putrid nothingness. Beyond a threshold, there was nothing more but the echo of his own footsteps.

  “Go forward,” Godivah ordered.

  Step by step, Dagger penetrated into the darkness until a sinister glint emerged. The face of Ktisis appeared out of nowhere. There were more Gods of Emptiness all around him: a furious Ktisis and a clement Ktisis, a ruthless Ktisis or a sneering Ktisis.

  When the purple ensiferum light arose on Godivah’s hand, Dagger found himself at the center of a round room, surrounded by eleven armors shaped on Konkra’s appearance. He had arrived at the foot of a curious metallic structure similar to the bow of a ship, stretched along the ceiling and constituting its cornerstone. Mayem! Dag realized he was beneath the Hammer of Skyrgal, and he was observing the tip. Its interior was hollow, and a short staircase, carved into the metal, led to the bare, unadorned throne inside it. Nothing had been added from the outside.

  “This is the Shadowthrone,” the Holy Father said. “The seat of the present regent of Molok, dug into the heart of the Hammer where the soul of Ktisis was once trapped. We forged these armors with the metal obtained from the proceeding.”

  Dagger watched the fangs grinning to him. His true nature.

  “I can’t sit there, though,” Godivah continued. “The price would be too high. The soul of its former occupant has left indelible signs of its passage—a malignant and ferocious power able to corrupt the spirit and the body. It must be a peculiar feature of a god’s blood and soul. Think about what happened to Crowley, and the effects of the distillates derived from your blood.”

  “You know many things.”

  “I have many friends—swift messengers able to get around every barrier.” The Holy Father stepped into the circle of armors and watched the throne. “Mayem has a bad temper, even more than manegarm. If it doesn’t have a will of its own, it surely knows what it likes and what he doesn’t like.”

  “But you managed to dig it.”

  Godivah shook his head. “It was a man come from far away to do that.”

  “The Hermit?” After saying that, Dagger expected the umpteenth hole in the water.

  Instead the Holy Father nodded. “It’s he who forged the armors you see around you, to worthily host the souls of the original Disciples.” He took a few steps, gathering his thoughts. “After being expelled from the Fortress, They crawled for centuries in the desert—immortal nomads—and for years the Sanctuary hunted them down. It was a desperate struggle, fought with dedication and the spirit of sacrifice, though to no avail. Once killed, They came back to life. It was the nature of their curse to experiment with a humble mortal body the grotesque spectacle of eternity.” He lifted the light, bring it at a level with his own eyes. Now Godivah had two Ktisis at his sides, one smiling mockingly, and the other angrily shouting. “Then came that man. He showed us the way to solve the problem once and for all. Eradicate their souls and imprison them inside the mayem. We thought this metal couldn’t even be scratched. He extracted so much of it out of the Hammer to make twelve armors to house them forever. Their living coffins.”

  “How could he do that?”

  “I still don’t know. It was part of the agreement that he could remain closed down here—closed from the outside—for twelve days. One for each armor, I suppose. I respected my side of the bargain, but I couldn’t resist the temptation and at the dawn of the sixth day I came to the threshold of this room. Spying on him was impossible without revealing my presence, but all I needed to do was keep my ears open. That man was speaking in a language unknown to me, and so far nothing strange…the problem was all in the voice that answered him.” He approached the furious Ktisis and donned a manegarm mesh glove. He put his hand to the god’s chest and pulled out a dagger in every way similar to Redemption.

  The sparks forced Dagger to close his eyes, but soon they faded and he could see again.

  A knife of raw mayem now divided the sharp gaze of the old man from his. “Each armor has a knife that fits perfectly into the cuirass, carrying the damned soul to its final abode. Twelve armors to house them properly, he said to me, as he got out of here. Then you can be sure they’ll never come again, and at least their body will find peace. So we did, smoking them out of their hiding places in the desert. The secret was to act simultaneously, quick as a lightning in the sky, otherwise only one Disciple could bless other simple mortals with his own blood.”

  “But you didn’t make it.”

  Godivah sighed. “No. No we didn’t.” He put the dagger back into the armor. “It often happens in our existence to walk a long way and get to the point where a few steps—just a few steps more—would be enough to reach our goal and enjoy a well-deserved rest. We weren’t able to do it. We captured only ten of the twelve original Disciples who abandoned the Fortress, cursed by Angra. Now They are here, imprisoned in the armors you see around you.” He himself turned around to watch them. “Two more, just two more, and the light would have finally triumphed, mending the rift between gods and mortals.”

  “You missed Aeternus,” Dag didn’t express that as a question. “The last step at the end of your march.” He touched the surface of an armor, that seemed to return his gaze. One of them was made of raw mayem, while a gap broke the circle where the twelfth one should have been. Dagger took its place and rested his back against the wall.

  “And his brother Korkore,” Godivah continued. “We never knew where he was, but Aeternus…every detail in the last hiding place we discovered spoke of his presence—and every dismembered carcass of all those who had made off in his pursuit. Yet
he was not there, and neither was the armor that would have hosted him.”

  “Ktisis. In the end you did him a favor, giving him a nice outfit to go around and plot his plots. Certainly, it wasn’t hard for him to find people to curse, and others to influence.” He watched the silent man.

  Godivah bowed his head, deafened by the call of his memories, or perhaps only of the souls around him. “I asked the man who had forged the armors what he wanted for his help. Enter in your ranks and serve the Emptiness, he replied. Protection, I understood. I didn’t ask his story, for I didn’t need it. He had the look of a man on the run, one I knew well.”

  “The one in the eyes of all who came to this place, I suppose.”

  “Don’t suppose. Don’t judge. Not you.” The old man raised his face. “I accepted him as my personal student. His name was Baomani and oh…he was really smart. He quickly climbed the hierarchy of the Sanctuary to become my right hand.” He smiled sadly. “But one day a beating of wings came to stir the winds of destiny again. A messenger of the gods perched on the windowsill of my room and called and called, insistently. From under my bed sheets, I watched Baomani as he read the message tied to the bird’s leg. Since then nothing has ever been the same. I still wonder what was written there.”

  Dagger came forward. “I’ll give it a try: Hey Baomani, it’s me, Aeternus. Even if you’re hiding in the asshole of the world, I know that you’re there and I’m coming to get you.”

  Godivah listened. “Close enough,” he said. “But the message probably ended with: Bring him to me. Then Baomani really used all his power, of which I had only had a little taste until then. He managed to steal the very soul of Ktisis and fled from here.”

  “He must have convinced me…I mean, he convinced Ktisis. Probably the god agreed to take a walk outside. In fact, I always had a few problems staying in one place too long. Especially inside a mayem hammer.”