Malock didn't quite know what to think of that, but the thought was driven from his mind when he got his first truly up close and personal look at the Throne of the Gods.
And what a marvelous city it was. All of the buildings appeared to be made out of crystal, rubies, emeralds, and other precious stones and metals that Malock could not even begin to name. The streets were paved with snow; at least, that's what it felt like underneath his feet. The stone was not hard, but soft and comfortable, yet capable of holding the entire weight of the city on top of it.
Crowds and crowds of katabans—that had to be who these people were—filled every street. There were young children, adults, and old people, much like you'd see on any street in any city, but these people looked different from the people Malock knew. Their hairstyles ranged from practical bowl cuts to extravagant flame-styles and those were the more conservative ones. Malock wondered if magic was what made those hairstyles possible, but he dismissed the thought instead to focus on his mission.
The katabans watched the sailors walk through the streets with varying expressions. Some of them looked on in disgust, because the dirty rags worn by the sailors contrasted so sharply with the beautiful streets of the city that even Malock felt embarrassed by it. Most simply watched with interest and wonder, as if they had never seen so many mortals before in one place. The children in particular looked on with big eyes, but whenever Malock looked at them, they turned and scurried away. Those few children who didn't look away had the eyes of elders, as if they had already lived a full, rich life and were ready to die happy.
Yet none of the katabans stopped them or asked who they were or what they were doing here. Actually, quite the opposite occurred. Wherever the crew of the Iron Wind went, the crowds of katabans parted. Even the big scary ones with rippling muscles did not stand in their way.
The crew themselves were utterly silent as they walked, aside from the sounds of their booted feet walking along the pavement or the occasional cough or sniffling. There were certainly a variety of interesting things on display in the city (such as a salesman hawking a potion that allegedly contained the healing tears of Atikos), but no one stopped to look at these things. For that matter, even the most oafish of salesmen went silent wherever the sailors passed, as if they were a funeral procession rather than a group of mortals about to meet their destiny.
Malock immediately understood the general silence and deference of the katabans. They had known that Malock and his crew were coming, most likely because Kano told them. He further speculated that Kano had ordered all katabans to allow the sailors to go to wherever the gods lived unmolested, although he was surprised that Tinkar had not ordered any to do otherwise. Perhaps the God of Fate hadn't expected them to make it this far.
Whatever the case, Malock wondered where they were going. He asked Vashnas this question.
“To the Temple of the Gods,” Vashnas replied. “That is where the gods gather whenever they are visiting this island and it is where Kano likely is.”
“So you know where this Temple is?” said Malock.
Vashnas nodded as the group turned down a street. “The Throne is different from how I remember it, but the basic layout appears unchanged, so I imagine we'll find it quickly.”
'Quickly' was perhaps an understatement because not five minutes after she said that, the group turned down yet another street and found themselves in what appeared to be the center of the mighty city. It was a wide-open square, with a shallow, creek-like moat of water surrounding a magnificent building that put Carnag Hall to shame.
To call it a palace would be an insult to the building's greatness. It towered above their heads, not quite as big as some of the other buildings, but large enough to give off the impression of divine power. It had dozens of turrets and towers, each one individually crafted to reflect a different god, from the fiery flames of one tower to the flowing waves of another. Water poured out of the channels into the tiny creek-like moat surrounding it; pure water, even purer than the clear ocean around the island. Massive gates, made of the most brilliant marble and pearl, shone in the light of the streetlamps, carved with a symbol that resembled a sun radiating heat. A short bridge connected the Temple of the Gods—for that was what it had to be—with the rest of the street, but even that short bridge looked magnificent, as if the God of Sculpting himself had designed it.
Perhaps the most striking aspect of it all, however, was the raw energy radiating from it. There was no mistaking that energy for anything other than what it was: The very presence of the gods themselves, manifested so strongly that it was a wonder it didn't kill the entire crew of the Iron Wind right there and then. It was so powerful that even Malock feared for his life.
Vashnas fearlessly led the crew over the short bridge right up to the massive gates themselves. Up close, the gates were inscribed with writing in a language Malock could not read, yet which he understood to be the language of the gods. Every letter appeared to have been crafted with individual, exquisite care, so that even though it was impossible for Malock to read, he knew that it was above and beyond anything mortals could create with pen and ink.
Their journey was cut short, however, when something massive jumped down from one of the nearby towers and landed on the street in front of them, blocking their access to the gates. Even before the giant rose to its full height, Malock had no trouble recognizing the Verch or, as it was properly known, Messenger-and-Punisher.
Of course, the rest of the crew—barring Banika, Vashnas, and Jenur—had never seen it before. Most of them cowered in fear at the massive, tentacled giant, while the braver (or perhaps dumber) ones had drawn their weapons and looked prepared to battle.
Messenger made that strange sucking sound again and a moment later a familiar green blob of ooze shot from its obscured face. The blog splashed onto the street, its grime stopping just short of Malock's boots, and then a familiar upper humanoid body rose from it, looking exactly the same as it had on the day that Messenger had mistakenly taken Telka away.
“Messenger,” said Malock, holding up his hand to signal to his crew not to attack it. “I did not expect to see you, of all entities, here. I thought you would be out running errands for the gods.”
Messenger grunted. “Special request from Kano. Be gatekeeper for day. Boring as wood.”
Malock had a hard time understanding how even a job as routine as gatekeeper could ever be boring in such a majestic city, but he nodded anyway and said, “Well, since Kano summoned me, I must ask you to step aside and let me inside. That is what I am here to do, after all.”
“Fine,” said Messenger. “But no crew. Stay out.”
“What?” said Malock. “Why can't I bring them in with me?”
“Tinkar's orders,” Messenger said.
“So he's here, too?” Vashnas said, her voice a mixture of dread and anticipation.
Messenger looked at her closely for a moment before saying, “Yes. Malock, Vashnas, and Kinker must go in alone.”
Malock raised an eyebrow. “Did you say Kinker?”
“Yes,” Messenger said, nodding. “No understand?”
“No, no, I do,” said Malock. “But why Kinker?”
“Not understanding,” said Messenger, in obvious reference to himself. “Messenger, not god. Ask them if you wish to know.”
Malock looked over his shoulder at Kinker, who looked as shocked as anyone else at his being singled out. Nonetheless, the elderly man joined Malock and Vashnas at the front of the crowd, perhaps because he did not dare disobey the dictates of whichever god had summoned him inside.
“What about the rest of my crew?” said Malock to Messenger. “You aren't going to harm them, are you?”
“No,” said Messenger. “They stay. I watch.”
“Ah,” said Malock. “All right. As long as you don't harm them—“
“No reason to,” said Messenger. “After doctor, no trust myself.”
Malock was surprised to hear what sounded like
regret in the Messenger's voice. True, it was always difficult to gauge the emotions of non-mortals, but the way the Messenger looked away—if only for the briefest of seconds—and its tone of voice told the prince that it was ashamed of having taken Telka mistakenly.
Then Messenger went back to its usual stoic demeanor and said, “Malock, Vashnas, and Kinker. Enter now.”
The Messenger slid out of the way as the gates creaked open inward; not fully, but just enough that three mortals could slip through without trouble.
Malock looked between Vashnas on his left and Kinker on his right. “You two ready for this?”
“I have been ready for thousands of years,” said Vashnas.
“I'm not,” Kinker admitted. “But there's not much I can do about it, so I suppose I have to be.”
Malock nodded. “Then let us enter. Today, my destiny will finally be fulfilled. This I know.”
So the trio of mortals passed through the gates, Malock certain that whatever lay beyond them, whatever Kano was going to tell him, whatever Tinkar was going to try to do to them, they would be able to handle it.
-
The Temple of the Gods reminded Kinker of the Temple of Kano back home on Destan. Of course, that temple was nowhere near as majestic or large as this one. The Temple of Kano was old and full of evil, not helped in the slightest by its decayed outer appearance. Unspeakable crimes had been committed there, once even by Kinker himself, and the place reflected the smallness of mortal minds (he was surprised to be thinking such things; perhaps it was the presence of the god affecting his thoughts).
The Temple's lobby was immense and wide-open, reminding Kinker more of the open seas than the inside of a building. The immense ceiling was supported by pillars made of marble and that same white stone that paved the streets, the pillars themselves carved with images of gods.
On either side of the path leading to the very end of the lobby were statues of the gods. It wasn't just a few statues either, but hundreds, maybe even thousands, of statues, each one representing a different god or goddess. It astonished Kinker, as he, Malock, and Vashnas made their way down the lobby, at how few gods he really knew of when he saw the dazzling variety of statues that took up almost the entirety of the massive lobby. He wondered who all of these gods were and exactly what roles they played in keeping the balance of Martir.
Of course, not all of the statues were in one piece. Quite a few appeared to have been smashed and not recently, either. Kinker vaguely recalled Malock mentioning something about some war between the gods that had occurred eons ago, near the beginning of time, and wondered if these smashed statues represented the fallen gods and goddesses from that conflict. He certainly felt no desire to pick through the smashed statues, although he wondered why they hadn't been cleaned up yet, considering that they took away from the lobby's magnificence.
Another striking feature of the lobby was its absolute silence. Outside of the footfalls of Kinker, Malock, and Vashnas, there was no sound to be heard. And this silence was not like the silence back outside, when the katabans were watching the crew make their way through the city. Rather, it was a kind of imposed silence, as if excessive noise was against the law here. This silence made Kinker feel very small, much smaller than he normally did.
Thus, he was glad when they reached the end of the lobby, where they found some human-sized double doors that were unlocked. Malock had no trouble pushing them open and he was the first to step through the threshold into whatever room awaited them. Even though no one had told them to enter, Kinker understood why Malock did; he could feel the presence of the gods drawing them to this room.
The 'room' they walked into was not a room at all. Even calling it a chamber was an insult to its size and majesty. It was like walking into a full-sized area stadium, complete with sand pit in the center, and stands rising up on all sides. The stands, however, were not quite stands, but rather thrones of varying heights and sizes. There seemed to be as many thrones as there were statues of the gods, except each throne was completely empty.
Moreover, the ceiling was a glass dome, so clear that Kinker at first thought there wasn't a ceiling at all, and light filtered in through the dome. Despite the bright light shining down on them all, it didn't make Kinker feel any happier. He instead felt tense.
The trio reached the center of the room, where they stopped and looked up at the hundreds of thrones that stood up all around them. As Kinker noted before, however, every throne was empty. There were no gods in the room, even though Kinker could still feel their energy and presence flowing through the room like a mighty wave of the ocean.
Malock scratched the back of his head as he looked around, frowning. “Where is everyone?”
Vashnas, too, was looking around, but she was scowling rather than frowning. “I imagine Tinkar, being the coward that he is, ran as fast as he could when he realized Bifor failed. He obviously didn't want to die today.”
A powerful, aged voice swept through the room just then, saying, “I have always known of your low opinion of me, Vashnas, but I never realized just how lowly you think of me. Truly, the years have done nothing but make you bitter; bitter and arrogant.”
When Kinker blinked, there was suddenly two other beings in the room besides himself, Malock, and Vashnas. The first was a young woman, perhaps in her thirties (although Kinker instinctively knew she was centuries older than that), sitting atop one of the thrones in the lists before them. He might otherwise not have noticed her if her hair had not been flowing—quite literally, like water—down her shoulders. In fact, her whole body was a clear blue and she herself was completely naked, which somehow didn't seem inappropriate on her.
The other was an old man, sitting on the throne a few thrones away from the young woman. Whereas the young woman sat up straight with the confidence of youth, the old man was bent over, his veined hands gripping a staff topped with a clock. He wore robes as white as the sand on Ikadori Island, which contrasted sharply with his dark-skinned face, etched as it was with lines.
Though Kinker had never seen either of them in person before, he immediately knew who those two were.
“Kano, Goddess of the Sea, Sand, and Art,” said Malock, addressing the young woman. And to the old man he said, “And Tinkar, God of Fate.”
The young woman smiled at Malock, folding her hands in her lap. “I am pleased to see that you have made it here alive, Prince Malock. I am equally pleased to see you, too, Kinker Dolan.”
Kinker scratched his beard. “Really?”
“Really,” said Kano. “In fact, I am more pleased to see you than I am to see Malock.”
Malock looked like a shrunken jellyfish when she said that. “What?”
“It doesn't matter,” said Tinkar. “I am not even sure why we are speaking to all three of you together like this. I would rather deal with Vashnas in private, by myself.”
Kano shot Tinkar an annoyed look. “You know why we are doing this together, Tinkar. Or did you forget about the part where one of your followers tried to kill one of mine? I am certain that Malock would love to hear an explanation for that.”
Tinkar didn't look at all cowed by Kano's sharp words. “I have not forgotten that. Nor have I forgotten how you stubbornly refused my requests to order your prince to kill Vashnas, even though he was sleeping with her every night. Do you value the life of one of your servants over the life of your older brother?”
Kano rolled her eyes. “Older, maybe, but not any wiser.”
While the two gods bickered like children, Kinker noticed Vashnas reaching into her coat pocket. She pulled out that strange little disk from earlier, turned it over in her hand a few times, and quickly put it back in just as Kano and Tinkar returned their attention to the mortals.
“At any rate,” said Kano, “the point is, you three are all here for a reason and we, too, are here for a reason. And that reason—or, I should say, reasons—are what we are here to discuss.”
Malock raised a hand. “Excuse me,
great and powerful Kano, but may I ask where the other gods are? Why are you two the only ones here?”
“Because we're the only two gods who have anything to do with this conflict, mortal,” said Tinkar. “Of course, there is our younger sister, the Mechanical Goddess, but she has never been very fond of the Throne of the Gods and isn't likely to show up. Typical.”
“She didn't come because she had me come instead,” said Vashnas. “We're sick of the way you've treated us. I think it's about time that someone else got a say in fate, someone who isn't a jerk.”
Tinkar didn't laugh. Instead, he looked a bit sad. “Vashnas, I am sorry for what happened all those years ago. It's just that I don't—“
“No excuses,” said Vashnas, stepping forward, her hand reaching into her jacket again. “I've been waiting years for this moment. And I am not about to let it slip out of my grasp.”
She pulled the shiny silver disk out of her jacket and hurled it at Tinkar with amazing speed and accuracy. It sliced through the air and Tinkar didn't even try to dodge. He actually tilted his head to the side, allowing the disk to lodge itself directly into his neck, a move that shocked Kinker and Malock.
Smiling triumphantly, Vashnas pumped her right fist and shouted, “Yes! I did it! Your days are numbered, Tinkar, and there's nothing you can do to—“
Then Tinkar reached up and yanked the disk straight out of his neck. He looked at it in amusement as the wound in his neck rapidly closed up and then tossed the disk over his shoulder. A clatter of metal against stone was the last they heard of the disk.
Vashnas looked like someone had punched her upside the head. “What the hell? The Mechanical Goddess told me that would kill you. It was a direct hit. You shouldn't even have a head anymore.”
Tinkar chuckled. “Indeed, that little trick might have worked if you actually had been chosen by the Mechanical Goddess. If she had actually bothered to grant you some of her power. If she actually cared about your little vendetta against me at all.”
The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock Page 34