by Taylor Kole
Josh noticed Gatacon’s hand creeping toward the handle of an enormous battle axe.
“…was if someone told you my rules for my Earthly guests?”
Fearing speaking would spring him into action, Josh stayed quiet, and thought of the directions he would dodge, how he would kill the first guard to his right with a fluid chop and then leap over the small house beyond him.
“Rule one,” the older god said, “no bottom dweller—including touring gods—may enter my beautiful paradise, Atlantis.”
A couple of the golden guards chuffed their approval.
“We try to keep a certain level of… sophistication in our top nation. Mixing lesser genes would dilute the overall aesthetics.” He looked to his ghastly unattractive men for their supporting nods and then back to JoshRidley. “And the only other rule applies to you, Joshua. Joshy-poo. No god lives in Betaloome except me. When your time is up, my sons will escort you to the Hall of the Gods, you’ll go back to the wifey, the two kids, and the ever important smartphone. You can rehash your uneventful slaying of an eviscerator while at a noisy pub. And be thankful you won’t be here for the approaching Year of the Mantis.” He stepped closer, examining Josh’s impassive face. “Of course, if you’re the adventurous type, with the financial means, you may return to Apotheosis. I almost did so myself, many lifetimes ago.”
Gatacon nudged his steed forward.
“But if you are foolish enough to return to Betaloome,” RobertJohnson continued, “I will be here within seven days. I’ll make the eighth your last in the land of the living.”
Josh suppressed his urge to make the man a liar by snatching his blade and dicing him in half.
As if reading his thought, a sly smirk tugged at RobertJohnson’s mouth, and he inched forward, fingers twitching near his own clipped sword.
Josh only knew of his own speed. With that information to draw from, he believed he could do it.
RobertJohnson might possess more cruelty and strength, but at this distance, the deep crevices around his eyes and the loose skin on his throat exposed his age. Age brought decreased reflexes. Josh felt as fast as a neuron transporting signals across the brain.
Still, the smug smile remained. They both knew if Josh managed to split the god’s torso, nothing would stop the golden guards from doing the same to Josh and everyone else in Reysona.
RobertJohnson stood patient, seemingly content to call Josh’s bluff.
Killing this man was the right call, but Josh wasn’t ready to martyr himself, or his village. And the idea of turning the reins over to Gatacon made him tense.
“You seem a sufficient coward,” RobertJohnson said as he relaxed. “Do you agree to obey my laws?”
Having abandoned the physical option, Josh swallowed the lump in his throat. He thought of Junea and his pledge to avoid a confrontation, and he nodded.
“Disappointing, really,” RobertJohnson said. “I had hoped you would have heart. But your world makes such soft men.”
Josh tried to toughen his features, but the mention of his world conjured flashes of a blue-suede couch, heated leather seats in the Cherokee limited, office chairs engineered for support. Here, the lack of dangers in Josh’s previous life seemed embarrassing.
He hated absorbing these verbal abuses. He feared they pulled him back to him prior to Betaloome—the cowardly Josh—but taking this punishment would keep Cronin alive, Junea safe, maybe the entire village from being razed.
“Look upon true fear, my sons,” RobertJohnson said.
A few men chuckled.
“I’d still like my pound of flesh,” Gatacon said as he unclipped a small axe from a second clasp, and nudged his horse in the mayor’s direction.
Cronin dropped his head. His shoulders slumped and he lowered himself to his knees.
Seeing a man submitting to being butchered knotted Josh’s stomach. He stepped in front of Cronin. Staring at the bald, gray-haired ogre made his blood boil.
If Gatacon tried to hack Junea’s father, Josh would lash out and handle the rest with instincts. He widened his stance, and surveyed the opposition.
Gatacon’s horse paused, sniffed in Josh’s direction, and trotted backward. Gatacon kicked the animal onward. Other golden guards closed in.
After stopping Gatacon, Josh would go for the nearest man’s shield. Then—
“Leave him,” RobertJohnson said, grabbing the reins of Gatacon’s horse. “JoshRidley has given me due respect. We will leave his town unharmed.” To Josh, he said, “Kneel, JoshRidley, and we will leave this dirt bowl without killing anyone.”
Gatacon cleared his throat as he backed his horse up and returned the axe to its sheath.
From his peripheral, Josh watched Cronin peer at him. He turned his attention to RobertJohnson.
The arrogant god nodded ever so slightly, urging him to obey.
The heat inside Josh intensified. He stepped back as a frightening truth settled into his core. He had reached his humiliation threshold. One more insult, any additional gesture of disrespect, and all the confidence and epiphanies experienced over the past weeks would evaporate, taking more than he had gained, leaving him even less of a man than the day he arrived.
The realization he was willing to die over pride freed something in his soul.
Seconds passed without any incident greater than warriors shifting their weight.
Expecting the scale-tipping comment to come at any second, he tensed.
The sound of a sword leaving its sheath drew his attention to the back of the crowd.
To combat the rage inside him, to fight off his body’s desire to make the first move, he thought of Junea in his bed, of kissing her. Each image carried an unwanted message: he jeopardized his child, and others with his pride.
These men were looking for any excuse to slaughter.
RobertJohnson tilted his head in curiosity. “Joshua?”
Using all his willpower, he cooled himself from the brink of eruption to a simmering outrage. From outrage to anger. Anger to agitation.
Cronin quivered next to him, reminding him that to save lives, he only needed to kneel. With effort, and while maintaining spiteful eye contact with the burly God, he lowered himself onto one knee.
“He stares with disrespect,” one of the golden guard said. “Drop your head.”
Josh knew he should obey, but a line in himself had been drawn. He could bend, but no further. With his heavy knee indenting the soil, the grain of dignity offered by holding eye contact was all that held him together.
Another sword left its scabbard.
Josh kept his gaze, prepared to leap backward and retrieve his blade. However, his greatest hope lay in calling a bluff of his own.
RobertJohnson’s voice cut through the tension. “Let him be,” he said dryly and turned his back, moving toward his mount. “He has complied with my every wish like a good servant. I thank you for that, Joshy-poo.”
Josh rose as RobertJohnson mounted his saddle.
Cronin pitched onto his palms and breathed deep gasping breaths.
RobertJohnson’s horse neighed as the ruler of Betaloome made his massive weight comfortable on the braced saddle.
“Remember the rules, Joshua.” A beat for emphasis, and he turned his horse around and led it through his men, who followed him out of the open gate.
Two minutes seemed eternal, but finally, like a supernova retracting to the size of a pinhead before blinking out of existence, the golden guards vanished, and the gates were drawn shut.
To soothe his assaulted dignity, Josh made his way over, and, using one hand, latched the twenty-foot board, and secured the gates.
As he passed Cronin, the mayor rose and expelled a heavy breath. “You did right, JoshRidley. We are alive, and you kept your honor.”
Kept his honor? Josh turned around to see if the man was mocking him, but he remained bent over, breathing heavy, his hands on his knees.
Villagers sneaked out of the buildings. A dog darted across
the road.
“Had you provoked them, you might have escaped or been spared, but every living thing in these walls would have been killed. Today, or the night you return to Earth.”
Josh continued on. His anger burned steady and flickered with shame. “How am I to best a god that travels in a pack?” he asked the air.
Ten strides later, Cronin replied, “Gods may ascend in the coliseum.”
Josh continued as if he hadn’t heard him. Most of him wished he hadn’t, yet it sparked hope, creating more inner turmoil.
He needed to be alone.
To Josh, the quiet represented all of Reysona sharing in his disgrace.
XIV
As Josh lay, spent from another bout of wake-n-mate with Junea, the dread of his back to back recurring nightmares since RobertJohnson’s interruption resurfaced.
Using Freudian techniques, the theme of each dream could be understood as him being disgraced by a rival god. In the dreams, RobertJohnson rarely appeared as a man. He arrived as a fly, a shadow, a veiled woman, but the overwhelming message of each conveyed Josh’s ineptitude.
In his dreams, he tried to strike. Summoning all of his anger, frustration, and humiliation, he punched and fought, but moved feebly.
For Josh, mornings brought relief. Junea’s specific method of welcoming him to each day helped revitalize him.
Guilt and shame sometimes followed the coupling.
An argument could be made that he and Karen occupied different realities. That argument only softened the truth of his daily infidelity. He felt so unworthy to be called a god that he slept most of the afternoon.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he chastised himself for his inactivity. He wanted to leave Reysona as safe as possible. He decided to reconvene with the hunters today. A raid might lift him from his slump.
Junea’s hand slid across his muscular back as her hair brushed his shoulder. She kissed his cheek.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. I want to assemble the hunters for a second raid.” He beckoned the nearest serving girl as he stood. She rushed over, dropped to her knees and offered a brass urn. He continued talking while relieving himself. “Being that it’s four hours to their borders, I am thinking we will leave in the afternoon, camp, and I’ll enter the tunnels in the morning. If things go well, we will return around the same time tomorrow.”
“I think that sounds wonderful.”
“Perhaps have the information ready for the third run, so we may head out the following day.” He nodded at the servant.
Excused, she stood, and scampered out of the room, careful not to spill.
He turned to find Junea facing away from him. His body warmed at the sight of her long, slender back as she tied her auburn hair.
“I will be counting the hours until I return,” Josh said as he crawled across the mattress and kissed her.
She rose, wrapped a robe around herself, and said softly, “My only request is that you stay sharp and return safely to me.” A smile and she entered the lavatory.
Josh tilted his head, wondering if her words carried deeper meaning. Like, should he come back after the vacation ended?
Deciding they didn’t, he crossed the silent chamber and waded into the steaming bath, where Bellora waited at its edge.
The last two days Bellora had conceded the area near the bed to Junea.
Josh and Bellora hadn’t spoken since her threat, but he was comforted by the fact that she hadn’t revealed his relationship with Junea to RobertJohnson or the golden guard. It showed that her emotions had run high and she had spoken carelessly, and her silence was evidence that she had come to regret her impulsiveness.
Judging by the absence of other servants, it appeared Bellora had staked out bath time as her own.
Attentive, yet no longer overtly sexual, Josh took the new demeanor as an apology. One supportive comment from Junea cemented his forgiveness. Of course, Junea lacked all of the facts. He hadn’t found the courage to tell her about Bellora’s attempted blackmail.
At his approach, Bellora dropped her garments. She kept her eyes and head down as she waded in after him and sponged his chest.
The warm water cascading over his soaped hair drowned out other thoughts. Allowed him to focus more clearly on his woman’s words: “Stay sharp and return to me safely.”
Did she mean come back to Betaloome?
She knew he had to leave for good.
Her attempt to convince him to return seemed natural. He expected the topic but she avoided it for now. Perhaps pride buried the suggestion or she worried his only possible answer would hurt too much.
He empathized with her desire to have him return. Pain worked deeper in his chest as his exit date approached.
He had heard of couples falling in love over a weekend or during a passionate night, being married, and easing into a comfortable deep love, but Josh had believed love at first sight was a Hollywood pitch written to sell movie tickets.
Not anymore. He loved Junea. Full stop.
The thought of Gatacon showing up after Josh left and cleaving her body in two brought him to the brink of combustion.
Josh would stand against an entire army to keep her safe. The growing certainty she carried his child doubled the sorrow of his predicament.
Bellora exited the tub and took position to the side of him to knead his muscles.
Too much troubled him to select a single topic and figure a solution, so he tried to relax.
In the distance, Junea exited the bathroom and strode toward him. Her radiant beauty evaporated some of his concerns. At the edge of the tub she disrobed and sat with her calves resting in the water.
“How are you this morning, Bellora?”
“Wonderful, m’lady,” Bellora said as she applied greater pressure to his neck.
Junea raised her eyebrows at Josh mischievously as she eased herself into the tub and submerged.
Her playful spirit set his heart dancing. She had liberated his emotions and he loved her for that, but a prescient fear of the future tormented him. He saw Flavius tangled in the web of a trapper; RobertJohnson sending his posse back to pillage Reysona; Junea screaming in terror; Bellora sneaking off to meet with the god from Atlantis; the saluting boy growing up with one arm.
When Junea emerged, smoothed back her hair, and opened her eyes, Josh appreciated everything about her.
“Flavius won’t take being excluded from this raid lightly,” Josh said.
Junea laughed like sweet music. “No, I imagine we will need to keep him under guard. But you have time for another hunt. By then he will be better healed.”
Josh thought as much, and though the prospect frightened him, he would take the boy on at least one more adventure.
Junea swam over and sat on his thigh.
He wrapped an arm around her and held her close. He wondered how he could get the money needed to return within days.
Knowing the odds of a return were nil, he would keep his ambitions to himself.
If he returned, he would come back surreptitiously, and stay in the woods outside of Reysona until night one-hundred. Perhaps he could surprise the golden guard and foil their malevolency. Maybe he would stay robed inside the walls, observe how they investigated, and if they mistreated people, or identified Junea, he would reveal his presence, and if not he’d contact Junea and they could live in one of the lower realms.
If he entered on the uppermost Hall of the Gods, which would place him in Atlantis, RobertJohnson would learn of his arrival, and his return would be a short one. Presumably, RobertJohnson watched the second two Hall of the Gods insertion points. Still, he wouldn't man them himself, and whatever scout or team of half-gods he assigned to stake it out, would be easier for Josh to deal with, or would take longer to bring the news to RobertJohnson. His best chance was entering as low as possible. He couldn't risk the bottom level, where his odds of surviving across the nation were unlikely. This meant his best chance was entering in Dacathius�
�� Hall of the Gods.
A way for him to get the money and return without ensuring his death had to exist. If so, it remained outside of his grasp.
Another pang of guilt stabbed his chest. Closing his eyes, he bent his neck to allow Bellora better access. Hurting Karen brought equal despair. She was his significant other, and despite loving a woman the size of an insect, their relationship remained something Karen counted on.
This trip of might and magic pinned him into a no-win situation.
The water stirred as Junea moved to the steps and waded out.
“I will send for food and tell the hunters to prepare for a raid and to gather intelligence on the third closest mound.”
She motioned to an attendant who brought her a fresh robe. “We will have a nice morning and then you go make your plans. I want you well rested and informed when you leave.” She looked him in the eye. “Just remember, the only thing that matters to me is that you return.”
He watched as she donned a thick cotton robe and allowed her hair to be gathered and settled against the outside of the fabric by a servant.
Returning to Junea the way she and her people needed was out of the question. Unless he destroyed Karen financially and emotionally. Two things he could not do. And of course, his return would mean a series of mortal duels with proper warriors.
He would help Junea plan to hide well after he left. If pregnant, to keep that fact a secret, and how to best raise their child in seclusion. Perhaps when he or she reached maturity, his heir could help the village in the ways he wished.
As Junea withdrew to the private bathroom next to the bed, Bellora scooted closer, and pressed against him.
Abruptly, he stood, exited, and motioned for his towelers to do their duties.
Feeling famished, he welcomed the distraction of cooking and eating a meal, anything to help repress his urge to kill.
The demon queen had no idea what headed her way.
XV
Waking on his final day in Betaloome, day thirty nine, Josh opened his eyes and lay motionless, staring at the vaulted ceiling.
