CHELSEA
&
SWINDLE
BY JAMES K. PRATT
CHELSEA & SWINDLE:
Illegal Gods
Copyright © 2019 James K. Pratt
Kindle Version 1.179 –May 2019
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Table of Contents
It’s Darkest Near the Gallows
City of Stone
The Smoke Still Rises
The Young and the Conspiring
A Plan
Why Swindle?
Streets of Pazurish
Spying Hope
Atheist Priest
Lost Wizards
Palace
Run from the Black Mass
Adventurer’s Inn
New Clothes and More Strange Friends
Searching for Swindle
A Lesser god
Killing Swindle
Death with Many Offers
Dagger Fall Swin an Ally?
A New God
Battle of King’s Gate
The Green Lady
Books by the Author
It’s Darkest Near the Gallows
Many princesses think they’re goddesses, but unlike them, I am one.
I love racing meteors as they tumble burning to the ground. But I stop inches from the earth; my father never lets me touch the surface. He thinks if I spend time on the ground, I’ll cause trouble with the mortals.
I hate that.
But he’s mostly correct.
Today, something distracts me from my race. A plume of smoke rises from what is soon to be my city, Pazurish-Ningal, which is two miles away.
As always, I fly invisibly over the land. The last part of the city's name is my own, Ningal. Mother watches over it until I come of age, and then I will take my place as the goddess of my people.
On most days I stick to the clouds overlooking the cities. I watch people the way mortals watch ants. People-gazing lets me forget my own problems, like when Father yells at me or when my mother is sad and wants to ignore me.
No one is outside today. But wait, if there was a fire, then why aren’t people outside?
The smoke is like a giant monster, hovering over my city and gushing from hundreds of ruined buildings. The bodies of the dead lay unclaimed in the streets, as if no one cares.
Remaining invisible, I dart down to the center of Pazurish-Ningal. I use god-sight to see what happened. God-sight lets me see in ways most mortals cannot. In the city center, I see an orange cloud of rage. The orange is darkest near the gallows.
The courtyard is empty now. But I see signs that it was far from empty last night. Mud cakes the ground of the court. The green of the grass barely peeks out from the muddy surface. The clawed footprints of orcs and small footprints of goblins cover the court, along with others.
I sense a sharp spike in emotion from last night. Their anger caused a riot that burned my city. But I look deeper into the fiery orange glow to see who turned my city ablaze. Those responsible are mongrels—orcs, goblins, and even minotaurs.
Who was to die on the gallows?
My first-sight catches a possible source of the riot, a tiny goblin who walked the gallows last night. The goblin is not there now; instead, a hollow representation of him stands in his place, his phantom. It looks like a pink ghost, but it’s not his soul— just a marking of it.
My god-sight tells me the goblin is very young, probably around seven.
It seems the goblin is the source of the anger. But why be angry when he is getting what he asked for? Why care?
I look back to the throng that once stood before the gallows. These mongrels see their kind hang all the time.
So, what at the gallows enraged them?
The noose wasn’t used. The goblin may still live.
What happened? Clues must be elsewhere in the city.
I fly along the narrow roads and can see people hiding in homes and buildings, many huddled together. The yellow aura of fear hovers over all of them. But why? The riot is over. What still scares them even now?
I see a dead body move, but not under its own power. It jerks while something pulls it into the darkness. In the dim light of the building, I spy a strange creature. A ghoul. It drags the corpse into the dark. A ghoul is a mummified mockery of what it was in life. Only its pointy ears suggest elven origins. The ghoul walks on all fours like a monkey. No hair on its body. The mouth is elongated like a dog's.
This is a moment when a human would sigh. I don’t, because I don’t breathe.
I tried breathing once . . . it was weird.
Ghouls normally hide, especially during the day. If ghouls aren’t hiding, things are bad. Humans fear them and make an effort to kill them, especially in a city.
I see people huddling in buildings, but no one makes a dash to the city gates.
A faint purple shade of magic hovers over the closed locked gates. Legal gods don't hide magic, but I know this color and the illegal god behind it. This is the work of my uncle Anu, the god of death.
I want to do something but can’t—Father’s rules. If a god is looking, they will see me use magic. In the eyes of one with god-sight, using magic is like waving a torch at night; it gets noticed.
I might lose my city before I get it. I’m about to do something I don’t like to do. With a thunderous boom, I dash across the sky.
I’m going to see my parents.
City of Stone
Our home is made of stone cut from the mountains. No normal mortal can climb this high. Many tried. Many fell.
The pillars at the opening of my home are as tall as some foothills. Each pillar is topped with faces. My father, with a cold expression, faces outward on each of the pillars, with my mother to his right. It's overkill, if you ask me.
Only the whispering wind through the many halls gives me company as I march through.
What if my parents are too busy to care? What then?
After a bit of searching, I hear them in the Great Hall.
Enki ignores me while he guards the doorway. That's best. He waits outside. He's in human form now, standing at six and a half feet tall. Though powerful, he is a mere messenger god and remains outside to pass messages as needed. His face sags with boredom.
“Don’t enter, girl,” he says, his eyes turning from bored to angry. I might feel sorry for him if he wasn’t so condescending.
“First off, my name is Ningal. I need you to pass a message for me.”
He growls, “Don’t waste my time.” He doesn’t even look at me.
I hate him. I’ll just wait.
I listen, mindful not to enter until the right time. No use coming in and being a distraction to a conversation that has nothing to do with me. They’ll just kick me out.
Through the door, I hear the voice of my mother, Inaana. "The atheist threat was always in the city. I personally cursed a man who ran an orphanage for unloved children. His crime was harboring an atheist boy, a human-orc half-breed of all things. But more importantly, Anu is responsible for the fall of Pazurish-Ningal.”
“Yes,” says my father, Marduk, punching the table. “A firm stance is necessary against Anu and his creatures. The city is too much trouble. We must destroy it.” That received a roar of agreement.
“The champions must come,” Marduk bellows.
For some reason, as I walk to the door, I don’t think they mea
n the heroes of my city. This sounds like something else.
“There is already a small but prepared group of adventurers able to reclaim Pazurish-Ningal,” said another god.
That’s good news. Maybe I don’t need to ask for help. My parents will just back this group and my city will be safe.
“No,” my mother said. “The adventurers are not strong enough. We cannot allow Anu to have a city. If Anu wins the city, other lesser gods may join forces with him. Ningal’s city must be entirely destroyed.”
Why is it that my parents never seem to care about me? I swung the door open. "No, I'll go." All eyes were on me. "I can protect my—well, what is to be my city.” Thankfully, I caught myself. I had to be really careful with my words.
No one spoke for a moment. Gradually, all eyes turned to my father.
Cowards. Have your own ideas for once.
My father looked over the assembled gods and demigods, and then he fixed his gaze upon me. "Girl, this is a war against an illegal god. It is not for you."
I stomp my foot on the ground. "But I can be more subtle than your champion.”
My father sighs, waves his mighty hand, and looks away. “You have never touched the earth. You do not know what it is like. Enki, get her out!”
Enki tugs at my arm, saying something in a bored tone. I promised myself that I’d save the city; my parents be damned!
The Smoke Still Rises
Tuk’s large, coin-shaped goblin eyes stare into the smoky city. We are standing guard on the roof. From here we try to keep the ghouls at bay. Tuk points below and into the distance, “There, Chelsea, I see—a human. He’s being chased by dogs.”
“They’re ghouls, Tuk,” I say, raising my bow and nocking the arrow. I want to fire, but I'm worried about hitting the person.
The riot calmed hours ago, but smoke still rises. I can taste it in the air. The silence is broken only by an occasional scream. The quiet is so strange that at times I can hear my own heartbeat.
Aiming, I pull back the bowstring. This man is wearing heavy armor. It protects him, but it’s also slowing him down. The armor suggests he’s a soldier or an adventurer. I just want enough space between him and the ghoul so I can fire without hurting the man. But one ghoul gets close enough to reach him.
I have to risk it.
Twisp!
I fire . . . and miss. The arrow lands between them.
The ghoul halts and screeches at me.
I stomp on the roof. “Swindle, open the gate!”
During the riot, we ran to the Adventurer's Inn, knowing it would be safe.
Up on the roof, we are out of the reach of any ghouls. My best guess is that a third of the city has burned. Maybe more.
"This isn't my fault," Tuk whispers to me, looking out at the ruined city. It’s not the first time he has said this.
“I know.”
Another adventurer comes up on the roof, so we go down the ladder.
I walk down the hall and see the man who ran. He’s already sitting in the commons room, leaning forward and wiping the sweat from his brow. I hear his heavy breathing even twenty feet away. What little I see of his face reveals that he is not only wounded but burned. The side of his shaved head is reddened. The tip of his weapon pokes over the table’s edge, drizzling drops of undead ichor onto the floor. A thick puddle of blood forms, black as ink.
He lifts his head up. It’s Erich; he helped massacre Tuk’s tribe. Tuk may try to kill him. I might try if I stood in his shoes. I look to Tuk, who stood next to me just a second ago; he’s gone.
Morn says to Erich, “Sorry to ask so soon, but what’s happening out there? We are getting little news.”
“The palace is boarded up,” Erich says, sitting up straighter. “All of the gates exiting the city are locked by Anu’s magic.”
A gasp fills the room. Anu is an illegal god. We all knew about the gates being closed. We tried to leave early this morning, but we didn’t know why they were closed. Swindle swung at the gate with his hammer, and he failed to make even a dent. When he struck the gate, magic stripped the hammer from his hand and flung it twenty feet away, where it smashed a brick wall.
Someone asks, “Where is Claude?” Claude is the leader of the band of adventurers in Erich’s group.
Looking down, Erich spoke. “I—I don’t know . . . we got separated.”
“What happened?” Someone else asks.
“We were heading to seek out Corvinus. I lost him as a building was burning.”
“If Anu is involved, what are the gods doing about this?” another person asks.
“The gods may feel the need to destroy the city,” Erich says.
Morn’s gaze drops, “They have little tolerance for failure, and the city being in ruin is seen as our fault.”
Everyone nods in silence.
“We are dead,” says another.
“That makes no sense,” I say, stepping into the commons room.
“The gods do not care for your reasoning,” Erich says. “They feel we should fight off any influence of the illegal gods. Most of the city is destroyed. That is seen as our failure to keep order. As a result, we are seen as part of the problem.”
For all their power, the gods seem to fail to understand nuance. The fall of the city was a perfect storm of conditions.
“I need to rest." Erich stares out a window. “I wish to see if my comrade Claude united with Corvinus and found a way to find out if the princess is alive.”
I look back to a hole in the wall that Tuk peers through. Tuk told me he had killed Corvinus during the riot. Erich will be looking for a dead man.
Morn nods to Erich’s words. “If we can find people, especially the princess and Corvinus, we can fight back. And maybe reclaim this city before the gods do anything rash.”
Claude thumps the table, though he looks tired doing so, and announces, “A party of four, including me, will leave in an hour.”
The Young and the Conspiring
My parents are stupid. Useless. I’m going to kill them.
Flying from my home in the mountains, I make plans to save my city, but I need to know why atheists are important. Those people are part of the reason my parents wish my city destroyed. But why? I need to know the secret reason they fear atheists. That means speaking to a nonbeliever. My parents hate these people. I do not know much about them. Only that they're called atheists for worshipping one god. One. Weird, huh?
I’m going to meet an atheist who others of his kind respect.
I need to change into human form, which is hard. It takes about five minutes. Despite being petty creatures, their bodies—and especially their minds—are complicated. I’ll be sixteen years old, with curly blonde hair just a few inches below the ears, and of course, I’ll have a slender body. One of the weirdest things about taking mortal form is breathing. I feel the air rushing into my nose and sinuses. How do people not find that distracting?
I touch the ground. I'm no longer floating. Gravity is pressing my feet to the ground, also not a nice feeling. The sun’s rays hit my skin hard. That is a sensation I like, oddly enough. I flew around the sun once but never felt it like this. It took me forever to get back home and I was grounded by my parents for being away so long.
This atheist lives in a grassy region filled with green hills. I like the place. Teleporting to him would give me away, so I’ll have to walk for a while. Walking is tedious. Just seconds into the walk, I already want to give up and fly to him just to get this over with. How do people tolerate walking?
Also, he herds cattle. Yuck.
I gaze upon his campsite, but my god-sight sees nothing. Curious, I change my vision to my second-sight, the way humans see things. Then I see him, which is really strange. Why did my god-sight fail me?
The atheist is slightly tall, about six feet. His skin is a leathery brown from being under the sun all the time. His face and grey hair suggest he only has half his life left to live.
It takes me a minute to walk
the path to his stupid camp. I resist swatting a cow that tried nuzzling its head against me. Again, I wish I could just fly and be done with it. He seems to be waiting for me.
Once close enough to speak to him, I say, “Excuse me, sir. I wish to speak to you on a metaphysical matter.” I wince as I remember that real sixteen-year-old girls never talk like that—ever.
“Who are you?” The man asks, then continues more emphatically. “What are you? Why are you alone?”
I cringe inwardly. Girls do not walk alone in the middle of nowhere—ever. I really stink at this. “Looking for you.” I figure honesty is best.
He looks at my empty hands. “Without water?”
Awkward. I totally forgot that mortals drink water—a lot of it. Especially on hot days. “It’s here,” I say, quickly making a waterskin appear. I’ve been pretending to be human for two minutes and I’m already failing. Being a dumb mortal is supposed to be easy!
“Alone?” The old man’s left eyebrow raises in a way that must mean he is skeptical.
“I’m very independent.”
He tilts his head and asks again, “What are you?”
“I didn't come to tell you what I am." I didn't want to lose my temper. It’ll make getting information harder. I calm myself down. “I came to talk.”
“Talk then.” He turns his back but gestures for me to follow.
“You are an Atheist Priest, are you not?” I ask, catching up to him.
“We don’t call ourselves that, but, yes, we believe in one God.”
“Why?”
“Why believe in one?” He asks as we walk by his tents. “Because there is only one real God. The others are usurpers that have oppressed the people and only care about the powerful.”
Usurper? That word infuriates me and my people. He has insulted the gods. As a goddess, I must curse him. Nothing bad, maybe just a case of food poisoning.
But I can’t, and I’m not sure why. The magic vanished inside him—gone. If I cursed him, I should be able to see the magic spell complete itself. But I feel nothing. It’s as if my power became invisible inside of him. Instead of the crazy man reaching for his stomach, he just chuckles, holding his gaze on me. It’s like he knows a great joke but is keeping it to himself.
Illegal Gods Page 1
