Live Like a God

by Taylor Kole

He didn’t need to reach across the bed to know Junea had left while he slept. The anchor on his heart and the pit in his stomach provided enough evidence.

  Their final night together had been the sweetest to date. No lovemaking, just hours entwined and a graceful silence filled by him rubbing the hardening spot on her abdomen where his child grew.

  Forty minutes after waking, Josh trudged outside where Cronin, Orion, and two male servants waited.

  The morning suns glowed soft, but when Josh saw the outline of the main gates, he sighed. The golden guard escorts would arrive within the hour.

  He planned to meet them at the exterior wall to keep their wicked feet out of Reysona for as long as possible.

  “Good morning, JoshRidley,” Cronin said.

  “Let’s hope,” Josh said. He descended the steps, clasped hands with Orion, and inspected the pair of shirtless men. They wore eye shadow, perhaps rouge upon their faces, lip coloring.

  “Being alive during your time,” Cronin said as he led the small party down the steps, “will always be the greatest honor of my life. You have blessed Reysona with fame and an eternal pride. Gods be praised.”

  “Here, here,” chimed Orion.

  Josh stopped at the bottom of the steps and surveyed the gathered citizens. Silent, huddled on the sides of the roads or before their homes, watching.

  As Josh passed the first group of people, the man, woman, and child smiled encouragingly, and with appreciation.

  “Your deeds will save the lives of thousands across many generations,” Cronin said.

  “I could have done more,” Josh said. “That first week was all but wasted. I spent all that time recuperating when, in actuality, I was ready to go the next morning.”

  “You did more than a hundred men in a hundred lifetimes to help our people,” Cronin said.

  Josh wasn’t sure, but didn’t want to spend his last minutes debating. He wanted to ask about Junea, but understood Cronin’s constant talk was a subtle reminder to avoid the topic.

  The two shirtless male escorts, whom he had noticed bustling around the outer hall of his chamber the last few days, were clearly present to draw suspicions away from his relationship with Junea.

  If he knew pretending to be homosexual would keep her safe, he would French kiss every man in town. He only wished he and Junea had been able to say goodbye on his actual day of departure.

  With a heavy sigh, he accepted that they had said plenty the night before.

  At the main gates, Josh turned to see the townsfolk gathered around him. Although he was leaving them for good, they seemed content, giving encouraging nods and smiles when their gazes met his.

  Josh smiled and nodded in return, and as he stopped by the main gates, he asked the question he had mulled over much of the past week: “What happens if I choose to stay?”

  Anxiety crossed Cronin’s face before he glanced beyond the main gate and over the villagers. “What happens to us?”

  “I mean to me, a god. Must I go at this specific time for my own health?”

  “You do not need to leave for medical reasons. You are a god, JoshRidley, and could last here many lifetimes. The founding gods arrived on this land and stayed for seventy-five years, seeding the land with descendants and animals bred down until they possessed normal constitutions.”

  “Have other gods stayed?”

  “One, long ago. He was hunted down by a team of gods from your world and taken within a week. Everyone who aided him was put to death by the god hunters. Since RobertJohnson’s arrival, it is known villages assume responsibility for convincing their Lords to leave. If they do not…”

  Silence followed.

  Josh knew the man wanted him to go. Not because he didn’t respect and care for Josh—Cronin was like a father-in-law—but because the consequences outweighed the advantages.

  Knowing his body wouldn’t melt cracked the window of a possible return open an inch.

  Josh understood the dangers of RobertJohnson, the golden guard, and the army of Atlantis. Picturing hunters, courtesy of LLI Security, added another frightening scenario. Would they arrive with modified Rottweilers and German shepherds?

  With the growing crowd’s attention on Josh and his escorts, Josh realized he had mainly glimpsed the common folk when going to or returning from a hunt.

  One of the male servants cried out, “Oh, JoshRidley,” as if heartbroken, leaned as if to kiss Josh’s cheek, and whispered in a totally different, masculine voice, “Your child shall grow to age, m’lord. My life for him and lady Junea.”

  Pulling away, the man added, “I will never love another.” His feminine lilt had returned.

  Josh noticed most of the villagers simply watched the farewells. To influence the few who seemed surprised, Josh took the second man by the hand and drew him in for an embrace.

  As the villagers pushed closer and formed rows; his eyes locked onto a hooded figure three rows back, and he smiled.

  As if noticing he’d been spotted, Flavius dropped the smile, placed his arms against his side, and bowed.

  They had shared their own goodbye most of the previous day. Just the two of them, stalking the forest, talking about life and morality.

  Past acolytes had received leniency from RobertJohnson’s rule, and a lifetime of glory from the honor, but the golden guard would interrogate Flavius and he remained at risk. To lessen the scrutiny, they had separated at the outer gate and limited public contact over the final week.

  Sure, Josh accomplished things to improve the quality of life in Reysona, but oppression still ruled. Same as in Chicago, he assumed. Conformity was expected. Penalties followed deviation. At least Josh’s world only shunned a person socially or stole their freedom and property. In Betaloome, blood was spilled.

  With that in mind, he squeezed the shoulder of the servant next to him, faced the village, and shouted:

  “I came from Earth, but I will always be Reysonan!”

  Smiles stretched across the morning. Starting with Orion, a one word whisper grew in rumbles until it reached a booming chant. It arrived in all octaves, from all directions: a thank you, a you’ll never be forgotten.

  “JoshRidley!”

  “JoshRidley!”

  “JoshRidley!”

  Standing watch outside the dilapidated wall, Josh searched for a glimmer from the golden guards. Orion had stayed in the village. One of his two escorts tapped Josh and pointed north, along the outer wall. With the sun nearing its full luminosity, the glint of polished armor reflected across the forest minutes before their shapes took form.

  Josh appreciated that they traveled on foot. One encounter with a mounted opponent had been enough.

  Nearing, he found no RobertJohnson at their lead and considered that an additional blessing.

  “Hail, Joshua,” Gatacon sneered as he stopped ten feet from him and clipped his battle axe across his back. His men spread out, many taking the opportunity to relieve themselves or rest.

  Blood was spattered on Gatacon’s chest plate.

  Noticing Josh’s attention, he said, “This is a treacherous nation you inhabit.” The way he spoke conflicted with the sentiment, for his words lacked fear, and his eyes shone with exhilaration.

  Fighting the urge to ask if everyone made it all right, Josh stayed mute, and assumed the last hour or more of their journey had been free from eviscerators sightings or tracks—courtesy of JoshRidley.

  Up close, without the star of RobertJohnson shining, Josh appraised the golden guards. The first surprise was the contrast in ages. Some of the men looked to be in their teens, while Gatacon, the oldest had to be fifty by Earth standards.

  RobertJohnson’s genes dominated—noses that looked infected with fungus, receding hairlines, withdrawn chins, CroMagnon bone structure—but by their variety, these men had different mothers.

  Josh shook his head when thinking how easy it must have been for RobertJohnson to decide to stay here as a god.

  One youth stood out as handsome,
which in this crowd meant he possessed average looks. He stepped beside Gatacon and snarled at Josh and his escorts.

  “Looks like you and Joshua have something in common. Perhaps you two need a moment together?”

  “Ah, Perea,” Gatacon said as he eyed the two servants hungrily, “I fear I’d be too much man for our departing guest, but his jolly men do have a certain...appeal.”

  Josh cringed at the hunger in Gatacon’s eyes.

  Hoping to lessen the odds that his servants would have to take their roles further, Josh stared down the road leading to the Hall of the Gods. “Shall we go?”

  “Guards!” Gatacon shouted.

  The men snapped into action, moving double-time to surround Josh and his servants in the same block formation they had employed when RobertJohnson arrived at Reysona.

  Once organized, twelve feet separated him, Gatacon, and his two guards from the men ahead of him and behind; there was six feet of room to either side.

  Addressing his servant, Josh said loudly, “You have served me well. You may return to your homes.”

  None of the guards reacted. Some looked to Gatacon, who eyed the men and Josh.

  “Let them go.”

  The line parted, and after more hugs, a peck kiss, and a servant shedding tears, they broke free, and left.

  Seeing the gate close, Josh heaved a sigh.

  “Have no fear, Joshua. My men are by far the finest warriors in Betaloome and will get you home safely. I imagine we’d be gods in your realm as well.”

  Staring at the various stages of male pattern baldness, ratty hair, and beat-up grills, Josh sucked in his breath and slightly shook his head.

  Life in the hyper-judgmental big city might be a touch unnerving for Gatacon and crew.

  “When contact with a demon comes,” Gatacon said, “stay close to me and watch the magic of brute force trained to precision.”

  An hour into the hike, Josh observed the magic.

  A trapper fence lay to the side of the road and rather than go around it (a viable option), one of the golden guards drew his sword, pressed the tip against the filament, and rattled the fence ever so lightly.

  On the third series of shakes, a black monstrosity the size of a bear cub emerged from the foliage.

  The guard shook his sword again. The spider crept closer, then paused.

  While this happened, two more golden guards, equipped with long spears stalked the creature, who, despite its eight eyes, seemed blind to their approach.

  The moment the spider leapt at the bait, the two guards stabbed, scoring direct hits. With the spider pinned down, flashes of gold and silver blurred the scene. Weapons rained. Seconds later, men stepped back, exposing a shredded and leaking spider.

  “That is how you kill a demon,” Gatacon sneered.

  Josh was impressed at how well the golden guard worked together.

  Nevertheless, these men were slower than Josh. They seemed to strain with the weight of the oversized weapons and armor. When done with the flurry of hacks, many were winded, needing to rest a minute before the group continued.

  Josh could slay a score of the beasts without feeling any fatigue.

  This revelation made it even harder to leave.

  His physical superiority didn’t let him believe he could defeat all of them at once. Given a hundred attempts against half their numbers, he would lose every time, but knowing he had less to fear made the return option that much more appealing.

  The final leg of the trip passed uneventfully.

  Reaching the entrance to the Hall of the Gods put the golden guard on alert, as if they expected Josh to revolt near his final destination.

  Unclipping his scimitar didn’t help matters, as men leapt back and held their weapons at the ready, but he wasn’t planning to resist. He simply wanted to retire his weapon right here.

  After he removed the harness and laid it on the ground, he motioned for the golden guards to grant him space.

  Once clear, he leapt into the air, showing his escorts the jump of a pure god. On the descent, he aimed the tip at the ground and slammed it into the soil. Rising from his crouch, he found his weapon buried two feet.

  Planted, the ivory handle rocked at eye level. A flag proving JoshRidley was more than legend.

  After a minute’s admiration, and without facing Gatacon, he headed toward the door.

  “Feel free to return to us, Joshua,” Gatacon called. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Josh didn’t answer, but as he thudded from the acrylic ledge to the arena floor, he thought that if a way for him to raise the capital presented itself, Gatacon might regret his words.

  Over the past three weeks, his rambling mind had drawn a blank on how to gather even half the needed money before Junea’s birth. With a heavy sigh, he removed his tunic, sat in the middle of the stadium, and waited for his vacation to end.

  XVI

  Journeying from the shrunken world of Betaloome to the real one of Earth was like passing through a sifter that dropped Josh into a wormhole. After a glass tube extended into the Hall of the gods and suctioned him, his consciousness whizzed through a kaleidescope of colors, similar to the affects of closing your eyes and rubbing the outer lids. He recalled attempting to focus through the process, yet feeling befuddled. Drunk. Lobotomized. Unable to grasp the tiniest of concepts, and then present in his full form. Whole.

  After his eyes adjusted to the dimming white glow, his brain worked enough to inform him he lay on his side in the glass igloo inside the building of LLI. The cool, man-made smoothness of the floor on his bare skin registered first. Followed by the sludge of his body.

  Coming from the frame he had inhabited over the last thirty-nine days, this one seemed grotesque, like wearing a fat suit someone had pumped full of lard.

  Standing highlighted the flab covering every inch of his person. Its dangling weight created a circular fupa that swayed and jiggled with the slightest of movements. The sag of his breasts and the liquidity of his backarms depressed him to the point of momentarily wanting to rush headfirst into the glass wall and brain himself.

  With the sliding sound of a hockey puck over ice, the igloo shifted, leaving a doorway for him to exit.

  A shadow of a man waited beyond it.

  Standing naked, Josh felt absolute disgust. He couldn’t look the lanky man in the eyes as he waddled out of the door, toward the pile of clothing waiting on the wooden bench near the lockers.

  Dr. Ferrel watched silently.

  Josh could only imagine how repulsive viewing him must be. His shrunken private parts, which had shriveled to a stubby thumb, seemed to share in his anguish.

  Tugging on his lightly stained tighty-whiteys illuminated his weakness. The cotton Hanes felt as if they were lined with lead and his muscle fibers blended with Jello.

  “Mr. Ridley,” Dr. Ferrel said in a hushed tone, as if Josh’s ear might be too sensitive.

  Josh paused putting on his sock.

  “You’re welcome to spend a few hours here. To regroup. The transition can… fatigue. My recommendation for the next few days is for you to feign illness. The small lie will provide time to readjust to normal life.”

  Normal life? What was that? Josh thought as he pulled on the heavy shirt. It laid like a yoke across his shoulders. He would follow the doctor’s advice, because illness stirred in him. He had never felt so unhealthy.

  “The disorientation you feel will pass in a day or two. Reality will set back in and you will reflect on this experience in fondness. Trust me.”

  How could I have let myself get so soft?

  Without the escort of half-gods, and the threat of the Atlantean army massacring him and Reysona or LLI sending in hit men, he would have stayed in Betaloome and tried to negotiate a truce with RobertJohnson.

  In the end, the persistence of his new loved-ones tilted his scale. Sitting here, he only wanted to sleep. Maybe track down Skinner and learn about his experience—possibly discuss them returning to Betaloome together. P
art of him wondered how Karen’s weekend had been.

  “There is a physician in the other room,” Dr. Ferrel said. “Have you sustained any injuries?”

  “No, nothing serious.” Josh had killed three vicious spiders, a dozen powerful eviscerators, and two queens without suffering more than a few pokes and scratches. Remembering the worst of it, he probed his right forearm. A long scrape stretched from his elbow to the halfway point of his wrist.

  Running the soft flesh of his palm against the wrinkled pink of his skin troubled him.

  Clenching his fist, he squeezed with all he had. Instead of feeling a surge of power, a tear welled and spilled down his cheek.

  “This will pass, Mr. Ridley. I promise you. When it does, you may find you’ve earned a special memory that will shine through the rest of your life.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Josh said. A beat and Josh heard the doctor’s steps patter toward the door and pause.

  “If you decide to return,” Dr. Ferrel added, “the fee doubles. Again, it will be a one-way trip. Apotheosis offers twice as much land mass as Earth and is populated by hundreds of gods. We would need six hours notice and a cleared payment. Also an hour to brief you on the social dynamics of the territorial world.”

  Josh kept his head down, thinking about the cellulite encasing his abdomen.

  “Good day, JoshRidley.”

  At the sound of his combined name, he lifted his head and watched the doctor exit.

  As had been his habit before all this began, Josh would listen to the advice of the people in the know. He would play sick and await a day when he didn’t feel feeble and ignorant.

  He finished dressing and stood.

  Knowing he would soon see Karen conjured a guilt sodden montage of the infidelity committed over the previous weeks. Trudging toward the door, he accepted he might need to play sick for more than the suggested two days to overcome his losses.

  XVII

  Playing sick occupied the first day at Josh’s condo, but tarnishing a six-year record of perfect attendance drew seven phone calls from the office (four from Bruce). That, and Karen’s behavior, made it impossible to continue the ploy through day two.