Wee Piggies of Radiant Might

by Bill McCurry

  “Will you please cease fiddling with that collar and put your head through the noose?” With one hand on her hip, Sakaj successfully implied that her words were a request, a command, and an insult woven together.

  Harik slurred as he answered. “I still find it incomprehensible that Krak requires our presence with such urgency, since your ‘window onto man’ has to date demonstrated an absolute lack of worth and shows no promise of providing value in the future. How does he get this thing to lay flat?” Harik writhed, trying to adjust Krak’s favorite coat into a better position on his shoulders, and he once again smoothed the fur collar. It was made from the surpassingly fluffy tail-tufts of infant manticores. Harik had complimented his father on the coat many times, and he had giggled upon finding it unattended. However, when Harik filched the coat to admire himself in it, he found that the Father of the Gods possessed a mighty frame with a chest of mythical dimensions, and Harik’s merely godlike chest seemed sickly in comparison. Thus, the collar wrinkled.

  “Take that off, you idiot.” Lutigan swayed as he yanked his own noose down around his neck. “You look like a mouse wearing a steel pot. Besides, there’s no one in the Dark Lands for you to impress into rutting with you.”

  One of Krak’s mostly unclothed demigoddess servants was holding a mirror in which Harik could admire himself. The God of Death winked at her. She smiled and winked back.

  “You two proceed without me,” Harik said. “I suspect this is nothing of consequence really, just some trifle Krak may have mentioned and that Sakaj misapprehended to a stupendous degree. If it does amount to something, return and fetch me.”

  Sakaj stepped between Harik and the tarty servant. “I don’t think I could have misunderstood the words ‘most profound crisis since the beginning of time.’ I also doubt that I misheard ‘bring Harik and Lutigan, or everyone will be destroyed forever.’ Those are simple and unambiguous statements, if you ask me.”

  Harik frowned and fluffed the collar once more.

  Sakaj launched a vehement sigh his direction. I just wanted to bring these fools back to the Dark Lands so Krak might not kill me right away. Two more stupid gods bumbling around ought to confuse matters. And if necessary, I’ll think of a way to sacrifice one of them.

  But the two inebriated gods hadn’t wanted to go. The Dark Lands were boring, except for the horrifying parts in which Cheg-Cheg tried to kill them. Krak’s mansion contained plenty of liquor, food, and balconies with warm breezes. It also contained a staff of lovely servants ready for some cheerful frolicking on one of the plush couches or divans. Lutigan and Harik had explained with great emphasis how much they did not want to go to the Dark Lands.

  Sakaj’s mistake had been telling these sated and recumbent gods, “Krak commands our presence in the Dark Lands.” It was a lie of course, but it should have been easy to believe. Yet they had refused to go, and each of their subsequent refusals forced Sakaj to restate Krak’s supposed command with more emphasis and less relation to the truth. Her final effort included limitless wine and love slaves for everyone who obeyed Krak. Also, those who disobeyed could expect to be chained to a stone and eviscerated every day for a thousand years, with their entrails arranged to spell out profane verses belittling their sexual prowess.

  That had finally gotten them moving. Sakaj hoped they were too drunk to remember any of this. “Harik! If you don’t come with us, I’ll tell Krak that you called him too impotent and stupid to be obeyed. And I’ll tell him you’re putting your nasty hands all over his things.”

  Harik hissed an oath so monumental that Sakaj blushed, but he slipped the noose over his head and shrugged out of the voluminous coat. “Perhaps you should hold in mind that I am capable of prevaricating to your detriment, should you choose to—”

  Lutigan kicked Harik in the shin. As the God of Death yelped and leaned forward, Sakaj shoved him off his chair. After a short interval of kicking, spitting, and drooling, Harik, in his inert form, suspended from the beam.

  “I’d trade him for a crooked spear and then burn the spear.” Lutigan grunted. Then he jumped off his chair, followed by Sakaj half a breath later.

  Sakaj had gained more experience with the Dark Lands than any other god, and perhaps more than any other being in existence. She possessed a crude ability to arrive there a modest distance away from the common entry point. As she swung and kicked toward elevation, she shifted her desired entry as far from that common point as possible, which should also be as far from an enraged and murderous Krak as possible. At the last moment, she convulsed with panic, realizing that she might have unthinkingly placed herself in that damned, not-so-mystical pond again. Then she elevated.

  When Sakaj awoke in the Dark Lands, she drew air into her lungs rather than water. That was a relief, and she used that air to express her relief with half a sigh. The second half was cut off and trapped inside her by a ponderous force descending on her throat. She looked up, writhed, and grabbed at the all-powerful, sandal-shod foot of her father as it pressed her neck into the dark grass. None of that helped her, so she offered a gesture of inoffensive submission and just accepted whatever Krak wanted to do to her.

  Krak bent, wound his great, rootlike fingers into Sakaj’s hair, and dragged her upright while she gagged. “You’ve completed my happiness, daughter. You live, and now you can sit at my knee as we watch all our hopes fail because of you and that nitwit Fingit. We could also toast to our grisly extinction if only we had a single damned thing to drink in this place.” Krak lifted her to his full height with the deliberation of a glacier and then shook her. She felt hairs popping free of her scalp. “Thank you, my daughter. Thank you for being such a selfish, petty, arrogant little scut of a god. You’ve done a phenomenal job of destroying us. We can now celebrate the dregs of our glory.”

  Sakaj tried to glance around, but she couldn’t see past Krak’s monumental shoulders and head. With a shadowy grin, she said, “If I’d known we were celebrating, I would have worn a nicer dress.” Maybe those would be her last words, but they sounded better than, “Please, please don’t kill me.”

  Krak dropped her, and she clambered upright, hand pressed to the half-bald patch on her scalp. She saw Fingit standing just behind Krak’s shoulder, like a good little sycophant. Harik and Lutigan stood farther back. Lutigan’s shoulders were sagging, and Harik’s eyes appeared terrified and were full of tears.

  Krak looked at the sky, and Sakaj joined in as everyone else looked too. She scanned the scene. Let’s see, this is some sort of run-down wooden building lit by a torch or two. It’s nighttime. The Nub’s tied and gagged on that bench, and that man looks to be guarding him. There’s the Farmer talking with his hooligan and ignoring the Nub. Well… damn it to my mother’s heart.

  Then Sakaj jerked upright. “Maybe there’s time! I can call the Freak!” Without waiting for anyone to agree, disagree, or throw a shoe at her, Sakaj sent the image swirling and shot it across the landscape to find the Freak. Everybody stared at her as she spoke up through the window onto mankind. “Daughter. My daughter, heed me. Your mother calls—come to her. Now. Don’t make me wait. Young lady, you come here right now!” The Freak continued creeping through a narrow, wet cave, and she didn’t acknowledge Sakaj’s call in any way.

  Fingit punched her on the arm. “Give up. I expect she’s shutting you out without even knowing it. If only you were strong like in the old days, huh? Then she couldn’t ignore you.” He shrugged and gave her a dry smile.

  Sakaj glowered over at Harik and scrambled for something to say that would dissuade him from bargaining with the Farmer and stealing Sakaj’s glory. Harik shrugged at her. “I already have a significant active bargain in progress with the Farmer. I attempted to strike others with him, but he has refused.”

  Krak grabbed Sakaj’s arm. “Don’t drift away. I want you right beside me to watch all this.” Krak swung the image back to the Nub.

  The Farmer and his hanger-on strode out the building. On the way out, the Farmer nodded
to the soldier guarding the Nub. The man looked around, sat down on a wobbling chair, and held his sword across his knees while he watched the Nub breathe.

  Lutigan said, “I hope the little shit-eater is smart, because he sure doesn’t look tough.”

  The gods settled on the grass. Fingit and Harik started arguing about whether existence could continue once Cheg-Cheg had murdered all the gods. Over the next few minutes, they concluded that the monster was really just destroying himself and he’d go away if only somebody could make him understand that. Krak commanded them to go right out and explain it all to Cheg-Cheg. Or, if they’d rather, they could shut the hell up and let Krak enjoy the end of existence in peace.

  Sakaj didn’t look away from the Nub. Before long, he smacked the bench with the heel of his remaining foot.

  The soldier spit on the wooden floor covered in sloppy grime. “What?”

  Still gagged, the Nub pushed up with one elbow until he sat on the edge of the bench. He bent forward and strained as if he were passing a crocodile egg.

  “Hold on to it,” the soldier said.

  The Nub strained again, producing a spectacular five-second fart that spanned an octave and a half.

  “Gah! What did you eat, a demon’s balls? Fine, come on. Stay in front.”

  The Nub hopped on his one leg to the door. The soldier pointed left and gave a little push, knocking the Nub flat on the grass. The solider helped him stand, but on the one-minute hop to the latrine, the Nub fell twice more.

  At the latrine, the Nub held up his bound hands.

  The soldier leaned against the wall. “Forget it.”

  The Nub raised his eyebrows and shrugged at the soldier.

  “Hell no, I’m not wiping your ass! Just shit and get moving.”

  The Nub looked at his belt and then back up at the soldier.

  “Fine! Face the wall.” The soldier lowered the Nub’s trousers.

  The Nub relieved himself, was reclothed, and hopped back to the wooden building, where he flopped onto the bench.

  “Our hopes rest with this boy?” Harik dropped his face into one hand. “We deserve to be extinguished.”

  Lutigan sneered. “I may never have seen a more disappointing performance by a sorcerer.”

  Krak held up a hand. “Hush. You’re acting ungodly. Of all the times one should be dignified, death is the most important of all.”

  “What bullshit!” Sakaj overheard Lutigan whisper to Harik, but Krak didn’t react.

  “I wish we had something to drink.” Fingit sat up. “I can bring drinks here from the other side—”

  “Stay here.” Krak dropped his hand like a felled tree onto Fingit’s shoulder.

  Sakaj lay back and put her hands behind her head. She examined the little stick that the Nub had picked up on one of his falls. None of them saw it. How long will it take them?

  The Nub had turned his back to the guard, his hands worrying with the stick. It wasn’t much longer than his palm, and Sakaj saw nothing unusual about it. It wasn’t even straight. The boy gripped it with his left fingers only since his broken thumb stuck out useless. He scraped at the stick with his right thumbnail and fingernails.

  About a minute later, the Nub started sawing at the ropes with the little stick. The ropes began fraying.

  Sakaj stood. “Perhaps we should recruit the Nub to lead our armies against Cheg-Cheg. He did not merely fool his guard. He fooled all of you.”

  Before the exclamations, insults, and expressions of insecurity died away, the Nub cut through the rope that was binding his hands.

  Lutigan raised his voice over everyone else. “Don’t get excited. He has one leg, two free hands, and a tiny stick. He’s a pissant baby sorcerer.”

  The Nub rolled off the bench and flopped onto the floor like a ham. Before the gods could express dismay, the Nub reached out and jabbed the top of the soldier’s foot with the end of the stick. The thing must have been pointy as well as sharp on the edge, because the soldier yelped and bent over. The Nub grabbed the soldier’s collar with the fingers of his left hand, stabbed him beneath the ear, and dragged the stick halfway around the man’s neck. As blood sprayed from the neck wound, the soldier fell backward in his chair, over, and onto the floor. He gasped, writhed, and bled.

  “Yes!” Fingit stood and clapped his hands toward the sorcerer’s image. “Listen to me, Nub! Nub!”

  Krak grinned. “You’d better get to bargaining with him before someone puts a sword through the little cripple’s head.”

  All of the gods shouted and gave advice, but the Nub did not call. He used the soldier’s sword to pull himself upright, and then he hopped to the door again.

  “Nub! Listen to me! Listen!” Fingit shouted.

  The Nub didn’t appear to have heard Fingit at all.

  The Nub won’t call Fingit. He won’t even answer the grimy dwarf. He thinks Fingit has deserted him. Sakaj punched Fingit on the arm. “Not like the old days, eh?”

  Fingit swore and then walked off a little distance to pout.

  “He needs to get moving!” Lutigan growled.

  Sakaj saw Louze, the torturer, ambling back to the rotting house. He would spot the Nub in less than a minute. The Nub turned right and hopped toward the scaffold, the toy-strewn grass, and the woodpile that held his leg. He tripped and fell under the scaffold, and the sword flew out of his hand into the darkness. He sat up, looked toward Louze, and froze.

  “Call me now!” Fingit shouted.

  The Nub whispered, “Harik!”

  “No! The Void suck it to eternity!” Fingit screamed, aiming a kick at the God of Death.

  Harik sidestepped and stumbled a little. He slurred a bit when he said, “The young man knows what he wants.”

  Sakaj bared her teeth. Oh, Harik’s going to do it. That nasty, mincing, porcelain god is going to set all this right and be the hero, and I’ll be the runt piglet for the rest of time. I should kill Harik instead. One insane blow. He won’t have a chance to leave his body before he’s dead.

  May the Void drown me in shit. I’m not going to let this happen. I don’t care if we all die.

  Sakaj leaped two steps toward Harik and kicked his feet from under him. His back hit the grass, and he stared up at her with his stupid, fish-eyed expression. She didn’t hesitate before hurling herself down at him, the point of her elbow aimed at the center of his face. Krak and Fingit were yelling, and Lutigan brushed her shoulder as he grabbed for her. She landed with all her weight on Harik’s nose, smashing it with a crunching sound that provided her enormous satisfaction. His nose penetrated his brain, and the God of Death’s eyes went blank in an instant.

  Now everyone was shouting. As Krak stalked toward her, Sakaj rolled to her knees and said, “A shame about Harik. He won’t be collecting from the Nub now, though.”

  Everyone stopped, and Sakaj stood. “However, the Nub knows my name. I predict he’ll call on me. So, unless you want to scratch at dirt, grunt, and pass waste from your butt like humans for an eon or two—at best—I’m the only chance you have left.”

  Fifteen

  (Sakaj)

  Harik’s dead, smashed face stared up into the window on man. He looked as if he were still longing for the power—and the license to gloat that he’d almost won. Without the Nub’s power, the gods might still have a small chance to escape annihilation, only to fall into degradation.

  Sakaj gazed at the corpse’s face from one foot away. That slop-pool was far more concerned about gloating than about saving the gods.

  Lutigan sighed. “I never liked Harik, but he was family. Maybe the rutting dog jumped away in time. But he was surprised, and he was drunk, and he never was all that bright.”

  Fingit squinted at Sakaj, who still crouched over Harik’s body like a panther, feral and regal. He whispered, “Maybe the Veil didn’t make her crazy. Maybe she’s crazy all on her own.”

  Sakaj turned and grinned at him.

  Every god had elevated every other god thousands of times, exc
ept for Krak, who had never been elevated by one of his children. They had murdered out of anger, frustration, or just because there wasn’t anything else fun to do. The victim always returned the next day, in all his divine perfection, so it hadn’t mattered that much. The Dark Lands had introduced them to death everlasting.

  Krak stomped toward Sakaj, who could almost feel the ground trembling. She stood, and he stopped chest-to-face with her, overwhelming her slight form with his imponderable presence.

  She set her shoulders back and smiled at him.

  Krak spoke with the sound of mountains being crushed. “Betrayer, you have slain your brother and snatched your chance. So make it good. Do you need power to trade?”

  Sakaj stepped away from Krak and shook her head. “I hid the power that Fingit gave me when he first swindled the Nub. Back when he was in love with me.” She blew a kiss at Fingit and looked back up at the Nub, who still crouched in the darkness.

  “Harik! Harik!” the Nub called to the gods. “Where are you? Are all the gods at some festival? Who takes care of existence while they’re drunk and screwing around?” The Nub giggled with a touch of hysteria. “Harik?”

  Louze had come within a hundred feet of the Nub when the sorcerer silently called, “Sakaj?”

  Sakaj answered, “Yes, mighty sorcerer, I hear you.”

  Fingit looked away.

  Sakaj smiled at Fingit’s back. I suppose he’d almost rather be expunged from the universe than watch me appropriate his sorcerer.

  The Nub appeared from darkness. “What’s wrong?”

  “How do you mean, Nub?” Sakaj asked.

  “You called me mighty sorcerer, even though I’m squatting here all beaten up with things cut off me and filth on my ass. I’m as vain as any other sorcerer, but I’m not pure-bone stupid. So, what’s wrong?”

  “Are you quite certain you wish to speak to the Goddess of the Unknowable in that way?”

  The Nub shrugged. “Oh, I apologize for saying that. I also want to say that your approach is as clumsy as it is obvious. I could call you a sickly cow too, but that would be rude.”