by R. E. Vance
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There are several Others fighting over a tin of condensed milk. A desperate-looking harpy leaps on the vile substance and swallows it before any Other can get to it. A particularly grumpy dwarf punches the harpy so hard in the stomach the winged creature throws up what she had just eaten. The dwarf dives for the bile-covered mess, but before the dwarf can lick it, a cerberus trots in and laps it down, three tongues licking the floor for nourishment. Asal can hardly believe what these once-divine creatures have been reduced to and trots outside of the tent.
Better to be out here in the cold and rain than in there with that.
Finding a bit of shelter under a dying tree, Asal leans against it and wishes that the branches were full instead of useless stripped twigs. If he were a normal Other, he might consider burning a bit of time so that this tree could grow leaves and shelter him all the more. But Asal is the great onocentaur and his magic does not work through will. Rather, it works through request. Gods, Others, kings and queens can ask Asal to perform a great deed—whether it be carrying a heavy burden or deliver a dangerous message. If Asal sees this request as noble, then his magic flares within him and provides him with the power needed to accomplish the request.
Asal wonders if such use of magic will age him like it does when other Others use magic. He’s not sure, but concludes that one way or another it would be good to know.
A hand touches Asal on the shoulder. Turning, he sees a passionless gargoyle made entirely of diamonds. Most gargoyles are made of stone or mud. Some from marble. But diamonds—Asal has never met one of those before. He must be of noble make.
“You are Asal, the Great Carrier of Burdens, are you not?”
Asal straightens up. “Yes?” the onocentaur says, excited that this Other knows him. “I am indeed,” he says with far too much aplomb, given where they are. “I am he! I am the onocentaur that once—”
The diamond gargoyle puts up a hand. “I am not interested in your stories. My employer is, however, interested in offering you an exchange.”
“Oh?” Asal says.
“Yes—he wishes to give you a pass on the boat.”
“Tonight’s boat?”
“Yes. It is scheduled to leave in less than an hour. You could be on it, but for a price,” the diamond gargoyle says without moving a muscle.
“Name it!” Asal says.
“Poseidon’s trident.”
Asal looks at the diamond gargoyle. “But ... I was tasked to deliver it to Irkalla.”
“Yes, and Irkalla is no more.” The gargoyle says it will all the emotion of a chair. A boring, plain-looking chair at that. “Your task is done.” He reaches out a crystal hand that sparkles despite the dark night. In it sits a ticket.
Asal mulls this over. The gargoyle is right. Irkalla is gone. And what’s more, so is Poseidon. And the trident, although an interesting relic, possesses no power. At least not for him.
And that ticket in the gargoyle’s hand is so very, very tempting. It would mean getting out of here. It would mean getting that much closer to Paradise Lot. “OK,” Asal says, removing the trident from the leather straps that held it to his back and handing it to the gargoyle. “I agree.”
“Very well,” the diamond gargoyle says. “Present this to the sentry at the gate. The human will let you through.” And with that, the diamond gargoyle—and Poseidon’s trident—leaves the shelter of the dying tree, but not toward the boat. Rather, the gargoyle walks toward the shanty town that is the opposite direction from the dock and the boat that promise so much.
Asal gallops to the gate. He presents the human sentry with the paper. The gargoyle was true to his word, for the human opens the gate. Without ceremony or joy, the sentry points to the ramp. “Better hurry,” the human says. “The boat won’t wait for you.”
Asal doesn’t need to be told twice as he canters up the ramp and toward Paradise Lot.
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The boat is no less crowded than the shore. Others stand shoulder to shoulder on a deck that Asal knows was not meant to carry so much weight. In the three days and three nights he’s waited to board the nightly boat, he never imagined it to be so ... so dire. He hates it here more than the shore. At least on the shore there was somewhere to move. Here all he can do is stand still and wait.
What else can he do? Pray—there are no gods left to listen. Have faith—Asal has faith in himself, it is the rest of this motley crew that worries him. Hold on to hope—he supposes that is probably the only thing he has left. Hope. Hope that this boat will not sink. Hope that the other parts of his journey will go smoothly. Hope that he’ll make it and that upon making it, he will be able to build a life in Paradise Lot.
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The boat blows its foghorn and, with the roar of its engine, it starts moving. A nervous pixie takes flight, buzzing around Asal—once, twice, three times—before finally settling on his nose. Asal will never understand why pixies do that. He supposes that when you are the size of a hummingbird, you best make sure people know you are there lest they accidentally step on you. Then again—they might do that just to be annoying.
The pixie looks around nervously. “How many miles between here and the first stop?”
“I don’t know. A hundred, maybe?” Asal really doesn’t know and just said the first number that came to his mind.
“No good, no good, no good.” The pixie takes to the air, buzzes around another four times before landing on Asal’s head. From the crown of his skull, he hears, “I can only fly twenty miles before I have to rest. I’ll drown if the boat sinks too far from the shore. I’ll drop from exhaustion and I’ll die. I don’t want to die. I don’t. I don’t!”
So that is what is bothering this little being. She fears drowning. She fears dying. Well, so does Asal. So does everyone on this boat. It is common knowledge that the last boat sunk and thirty Others drowned before a school of mermaids arrived to save the rest.
Asal doesn’t know what to say, but then it occurs to him that he can help this little creature and help himself at the same time. “Pixie,” he says. “What is your name?”
There is a flutter before the pixie lands on his nose with a plop. “Wismeeya,” she says.
“Hello Wismeeya, my name is Asal.”
Wismeeya nods.
“I am an onocentaur. In fact, I am the onocentaur that once carried the great Mead of Poetry across the—”
Wismeeya gives Asal a blank look before resuming her nervous scan of the boat. Asal knows that her fear is interfering with her interest in him. Under other circumstances, she would be riveted by his stories. But here, on this boat, there is too much fear to listen. “Wismeeya,” he says. The pixie doesn’t look at him. “Wismeeya,” he repeats more forcefully.
“Yes,” she stammers, her tiny head staring into one of Asal’s eyes.
“I am the onocentaur cursed to carry all those who task him. I cannot burn time, but I can be tasked with great deeds. If this boat sinks, call out my name three times and ask me to take you to shore. My essence will obey. I will save you.” The words come out of him before he can stop them. Say my name three times... So often he has told God and Other, mortal and immortal those very words. Words that have always meant great adventure. But now his words only serve to comfort a scared little pixie.
Wismeeya’s eyes cloud over with tears. “And yourself?” she asks.
Asal isn’t sure. He supposes that he will be saved, too. How much time would be burned by such a request? It is possible that he will not age at all. But then again, he could very well make it to shore only to collapse from extreme age the moment she is safe.
He honestly does not know. But what good would it serve to tell Wismeeya that? He is Asal, the great onocentaur that once carried the weight of wisdom and poetry on his shoulders. And saving this pixie will be just one more great deed in his long list of great deeds.
He nods. “I should be fine.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Wismeeya says.
> “There is one condition, though,” Asal says. “You must tell the world of what I did. I am Asal. The great onocentaur...” On the tip of his nose he can see Wismeeya nodding off to sleep. The poor little creature literally exhausted herself with worry and now that she feels safe, fatigue has overtaken her.
Asal puts her in the breast pocket of his shirt where she can sleep in relative comfort. Then he tells her all his great deeds so that she can dream of him. That is almost better than telling someone who is awake and can interrupt with annoying questions that do not progress the story.
Once he tires his tongue, he pushes through the crowd toward the boat’s edge. The water is churning under its weight. It will be some time until they reach Paradise Lot.
He has heard they are friendly to Others there. He has been told that he will be safe. He has been promised that he will be looked after. The sky is overcast and the wind is biting, and still he smiles. Soon, he thinks. Soon we will get there.
Wismeeya stirs in his pocket. He drapes his scarf over his shoulder so that it falls over his pocket, offering the pixie a bit more protection from the cold.
Asal knows Paradise Lot will not be like Valhalla ... but anywhere is better than here. He’s heard it’s safe. Beautiful. Filled with Others and devoid of humans. He’s not sure if the rumors are true. He very much doubts that they are ... but he carries hope within him. It is, after all, the only thing that he has left to carry in this new GoneGod world.
He takes in the night air as he closes his eyes to sleep. Soon he is asleep, dreaming of a new home and carrots.
The End (for now)
How to Read Paradise Lot:
Season One - The GoneGod World
Episode One
Episode Two
Episode Three
Episode Four
-Also available in novel format: The GoneGod World: A Paradise Lot Novel
Season Two - Keep Evolving
-Only available in novel format: Keep Evolving: A Paradise Lot Novel
Season Three - Crystal Dreams (to be released in November 2016)
-Only available in novel format: Keep Evolving: A Paradise Lot Novel
Season Four Onwards - TBA
Also available in the Paradise Lot universe:
-Paradise Lot Presents: Interludes
-Paradise Lot Presents: The Curious Case of the Bone Flute Troll
Author Bio:
R.E. Vance lives in Edinburgh with his wife, recently born child and imaginary dog where he enjoys a beautiful city, whisky (Scottish spelling, not mine) and long walks. All he really wants is to quit his job and write stories based in Paradise Lot. All he really hopes for is that his child is healthy (ten fingers, ten toes and at least two eyes is a good start) and that eventually he can can get a real dog so that he can have an excuse to go on even more long walks.
Connect with me –
Website: www.paradise-lot.com
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: https://twitter.com/GoneGodWorld
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gonegodworld
Good Reads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13910709.R_E_Vance
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/re.vance
Find Out How Everyone Met:
OK—so we’re accumulating quite the cast. We have the angel Penemue, the succubus Astarte, the poltergeist Judith, the golden fairy TinkerBelle and the demigod of refuse CaCa, all living under one roof. But how did this come to pass? Well, I’m in the process of writing a series of short stories on how they all met. These stories will NEVER BE SOLD, reserved solely for fans of the series.
CLICK HERE to sign-up and I’ll pass on everyone’s origin stories as they develop!
Dedication:
For my mom …
Who really likes the character TinkerBelle …
I promise she’ll be back