Illegal Gods

by James K. Pratt

  Did he know I just cursed him?

  As though he’s invisible, I cannot curse him. Ugh, I’m having a really bad day.

  I follow the atheist, who has now turned his back to me and is heading up a hill.

  “But telling me why you don’t believe in the gods tells me nothing about your belief in this other God.” I catch up to the atheist at the crest of the small hill. He’s fast for an old fool. I stand beside him as he looks down at his fiefdom of smelly cows while they drink water at the edge of a pond.

  He continues to watch his dirty animals as he says, “While the gods fawn over the aforementioned powerful, my God cares about everyone, but has a special place for the oppressed and the forgotten.”

  I roll my eyes at his empty platitudes. “He’s gone.”

  “No, not for us. He is waiting for a time to reveal himself to the world again.”

  Why am I here trying to gather information from a dust-eating fool? He sees the absence of his God as proof of a grand plan. Speaking to this man is a mistake. Wise people live in cities. He knows nothing, as would anyone living out in this place.

  “Thank you.” I walk down the hill.

  “Wait, aren’t you forgetting something?”

  I turn back to him, not sure what the fool is speaking of. We gods are absentminded, but I know I did not forget anything.

  He walks up to me, takes my hands, and says, “You tried to give me this.”

  That instant I feel . . . different. For the first time in physical form, I notice my stomach inside me. It feels… bad, like knives are cutting my stomach. Also, I feel like I'm spinning.

  This must be what food poisoning feels like.

  Instead of walking away, I choose to vanish. I reappear in my city, Pazurish-Ningal. My muscles quiver. The vanishing and reappearing have sapped my energy.

  That man wasn’t very helpful, but now I know what I am up against. A strange God whose choices make no sense, a God who loves losers. And even some of his dust-eating followers are powerful.

  A Plan

  People pack the commons room of the Inn. Only an occasional cough or sniff can be heard. Otherwise, only Morn or Erich speak. Somehow, I manage to get to the center of the room, next to the table, and beside my friend Swindle. Being an orc, many wanted to kill him since many of his kind were involved in the riot. But since Swindle is Morn’s friend, no one hurts him.

  Erich lifts his head from the map. “If we are to save our city I’ll need volunteers. The mission is simple. On the way to my friend’s house, we will gather any survivors. Numbers can only help us reclaim our city. From the house, we go to the palace. If this Inn still stands, so must the palace, with its stronger walls and many soldiers. Are any of you willing to help?”

  I look to the crowd. Many of these people don’t appear to be soldiers, fighters, or adventurers.

  Swindle raises his hand. Damn it, Swindle, why did you have to raise your hand? I’m not raising mine.

  One person in the crowd points to Swindle. “Yeah, take the orc. His kind ruined our city! Take him. Better him getting killed than any of us.”

  Morn looks to this angry man. “Avison, is it?”

  The man nods. His long, curly hair resembles black octopus arms.

  Morn speaks again. “Swindle helped save three people by bringing them here.”

  “One of those people was me,” Mina the necromancer says.

  Others nod.

  Morn continues, “Mina, whom he saved, has surrounded the Inn with wards, protecting us. Any ghouls will burn if they get close to our Inn.”

  Erich smiles at Swindle. “I will take all the help I can get. Thank you, orc.”

  Morn looks back to Avison. “You’re a paladin, are you not?”

  Avison nods to that, his eyes narrowing. He surely doesn’t like the direction this is going.

  “You should go, too,” Morn adds.

  “What?”

  “Well, you thought Swindle should go, and Erich still needs help. Besides, your weapon is blessed and therefore powerful against the undead.”

  The logic sounds good to me.

  Avison’s face hardens, turning red.

  “I’ll take his silence as a yes,” Morn smiles. “That makes a party of three. Anybody else willing to help?”

  Before anyone answers, something rips Erich’s attention away. He eyes something behind me. “Goblin, what is your name?”

  I look over my shoulder. In the far back of the room, I see Tuk’s eyes—piercing orbs of angry death. He must have thought being in the back of the room and being very small would have hidden him.

  Darn it, Tuk, do you have a death wish too?

  “Name is Tuk,” he says, taking my side.

  Recognition fills Erich’s eyes. “Have we met before Toook?”

  Anger flares in Tuk’s eyes. “I said Tuk. My name rhymes with—”

  I slapped my hand on his mouth and say, “It rhymes with luck.”

  “That’s what I was going to say," Tuk says in a muffled voice glaring at me. With my hand removed, Tuk scowls at Erich, who keeps his gaze on him. “What?”

  Erich shrugs and says, almost to himself, “They all look alike.”

  That much is true. It’s hard to tell goblins and orcs apart, but I’ll never tell Swindle or Tuk that.

  Someone asks Erich what’s wrong.

  Erich answers, "A goblin from a tribe we razed stalked us into the city. He was put on trial for the death of Seth.”

  “And you think it’s him?” Someone else asks. People from the crowd chuckle.

  Tuk stands barely taller than knee-high. So, the idea seems a little hard to swallow. Yet Tuk’s gaze remains fixed on Erich.

  Darn it all, Tuk, just leave the room. Why didn’t you stay out of sight?

  “You’re right; that’s crazy.” Erich claps his hands together. “Any other volunteers? We’ll be short a wizard, at least until we find my friend.”

  “Mina is a necromancer,” someone suggests.

  Mina nods to that but doesn’t speak.

  Several people object. "No, we can't lose her. She is our one fighting chance. She'll do the best for us here."

  “Agreed. We need you here, Mina,” Morn says. “So, does anyone else know any magic?”

  I shake my head. I know only a handful of spells.

  But some idiot in the crowd points me out. “She knows some magic.”

  I’m going to kill whoever that loudmouth is! “Not enough to be useful. I only know five very basic spells.”

  “Like what?” Erich asks.

  I sigh. Start with something useless so he won’t want me. “I can make light.”

  “And?” Erich asks.

  “I can make an orb of light move.” Another useless spell.

  “And?”

  I thought of the next most useless spell. “Invisible hand.”

  “Good for distractions,” Erich says.

  “Um . . . shadow.”

  “Enough to hide us?”

  “Yes.” Damn.

  “That’s four,” Erich nods. “Go on.”

  “I can make noises out of thin air.”

  “Distractions, good.”

  Why me? “I guess.”

  Erich tilts his head, “Are you half-elf?”

  I hate questions like this. Being an orphan means answering these questions and having people feel sorry for you. I don’t tolerate feeling sad for myself, so I especially hate getting it from others. “Maybe?” I shrug.

  “Maybe?” Erich's eyes narrow.

  “She’s an orphan,” Morn says. “Taken care of by a friend of mine.”

  “Sorry. But please come with us. You might save us all.”

  Just my luck. I’m going to die.

  Why Swindle?

  Swin’s gaze sticks on me even while I glare. We are alone, in an empty Inn room with two beds. He looks at me calmly. I can feel my face scrunched with anger. “Why, Swin? Why did you volunteer to go?”

  “Chelsea, t
here are people in the city who need our help, even if we are working with Erich. Today we are on the same side.”

  “I get that, but why you? There are plenty of people who hate you because you are an orc. They could have gone.” My hands wave about as emotion bursts from me. Now that I am talking, I realize how angry I am.

  Swin lowers his gaze. “All I know is that I will get you out of the city.”

  “You know that?”

  “I know,” Swin says, in his calm and certain voice. It’s weird; sometimes he just knows things.

  Now I can’t just stand in one place. I have to pace, or I will burst. “Speak to me, Swindle, how do you know that? Really talk to me. Is this God of yours really going to help? When I look outside, I don’t see a God who cares. I see a mess. I see death. And I’m scared. So, talk some sense to me.”

  “I will get you out.” He says the words in a calm voice. I hate that.

  “Well, could you pray we find Dirk and the rest of our brothers and sisters? Because it looks like they are all dead—just dead.”

  Swin looks calm. I don’t know how he does it. Then he hugs me. “Don’t worry. They are safe.”

  After a second, I pull away from his embrace. How can he know that? That’s stupid. They are probably dead. I stop pacing. Sometimes his optimism makes me want to scream. Why can’t he see that things are bad? “Damn it, Swindle! What are you talking about? The world may well have become hell.”

  “I know it looks bad.” Swindle rests a hand on my shoulder and smiles. “All I can say is that the other children in the orphanage are safe. Dirk got them out before the gate magically closed. I just know it.”

  That might be true. I want it to be true.

  It makes sense, I guess. We saw coins, jewelry, and junk on the road near the city gates, suggesting a rushed exodus before the gates closed. Maybe. Maybe Dirk really got the kids out, as so many others did. But all I know is that the world is unfair, and it is far more likely they are dead. That is the safest bet, because if I get my hopes up, they will be crushed. Let Swindle believe what he wants.

  Swin pats my shoulder. “I'll find a way to get you out.”

  No, don’t be angry. He’s only trying to help, after all. This is why you love Swin. He’s brave and kind when no one else feels like being either. He’s like Dirk in that way. I feel my heart beating slower. I want my words to be kind to Swin. He deserves that. “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

  I leave the room, wanting to be alone. One of the many good things about Swin is that he knows when he is needed and when he is not. I find a closet and close my eyes.

  Streets of Pazurish

  I think I slept, because when I open my eyes, I know time has passed. At least it feels that way.

  Getting my thrusting spear, I go to the commons room.

  “Take this,” Mina says. She puts a wand in my hand. “You’re going to be fine, Chelsea,” Mina adds.

  Not you, too. How do you know I’m going to be fine? Like Swin, she is saying things she knows nothing about.

  Mina walks with me out of the Inn.

  I look at the wand and turn it over in my hand. “Thanks, Mina. What does it do?” It’s an ash brown stick. The holding side is thick, and it comes to a dull rounded point.

  “Thank Morn,” Mina says, walking beside me. “It’s from his collection. It fires a light that burns the undead.”

  Now I have two weapons: a thrusting spear that is strapped to my back and a wand. Both are good for keeping the enemy at a distance in their own way. I’ll leave my bow behind.

  Erich catches my eye and says, “We will only be fifteen minutes at the most. Hopefully, we’ll find my friends at the home of Corvinus and then head for the palace. At the very least, we might find people on the way and save lives. All of you who volunteer are very brave.”

  I don’t want to be brave.

  “You’re putting that wand in the hand of a child?” says Avison, pointing to my wand. “Give that to me.”

  Mina scowls, “Chelsea has more experience with the undead than you do. Furthermore, she can wield it better because she knows magic.”

  Avison curses and reaches for my wand.

  Swindle shoves himself between us. “Back off, or you’ll be making your way to the palace with a limp.”

  "Do as the orc says," Erich commands.

  I didn’t expect Erich to say that. He didn’t refer to Swin by his name, but he did back up his move with Avison.

  Avison’s face fills with hatred and betrayal. His eyes lock on Erich, but he backs off.

  “We’ll take the King’s Road,” Erich says. “Ghouls don’t like daylight and will lurk in the shadows. Also, the road is very wide and will let us see the enemy coming. Furthermore, ghouls will want to avoid us because we look dangerous. The undead want to “live” as much as we do. They will be more interested in easy targets.”

  Swin, with a sickle at the ready, takes the lead. That fool! Not only does he volunteer to go on this mission, but he risks his life even more by taking the front. I think Swin is trying to prove himself, but I want him closer to me. In his thinking, he's looking out for everyone. Damn it, Swindle!

  Ghouls do not like direct attacks, so Erich—being the most experienced fighter—takes our rear. I’m ahead of Erich, and Avison is in front of me. Swindle leads our group as we stride down the road.

  “Why are you an adventurer, orc?” says Avison with a growl.

  “To make a difference,” Swindle says.

  “Futile. All they will see is the crime.”

  “What crime?”

  “How do you think half-orcs come about?”

  Damn it, Avison, leave Swin alone.

  Swindle doesn't answer while he passes through smoke that floats into the street from a burnt house.

  “Ha! You want to do good, but all you are is a monster. I bet the mongrel in you is so filled with hate that—”

  “Avison, shut-up. He just wants to help,” Erich says.

  I looked to Erich behind me. “Thanks.”

  I only hope Avison can keep his mouth shut the rest of the way. Or at least if trouble finds us, that he’s eaten alive by ghouls.

  One can pray, right?

  Spying Hope

  I rest in my temple in my city, Pazurish-Ningal.

  Sitting by the sacred fountain of my temple, I dip my hand in the water, and power gushes into me. But oddly, my stomach still feels bad. How can that damn atheist from the desert be so powerful? Do my parents fear the atheist God?

  If a man in the desert can give me back my curse, then this God is powerful. Is that why they want to wipe the atheist nonbelievers out? No—forbid the thought.

  At the head is a statue of my likeness. The statue is pure ivory white. The hair is longer than mine is now. The pool is sky blue with golden reeds painted on the bottom. Torches illuminate the stone gray walls.

  The temple is empty. I have no idea where the priest ran off to.

  I need to help the people of Parzurish so they can save my city before Anu destroys it. For a second, I wonder, why my city? Anu does not act without reasons behind his choices. What are his reasons now?

  I clear my head of the thought; it’s not important.

  With god-sight, I look through the walls of the buildings. There must be survivors nearby. I spy three people walking. Everyone else is hiding. I can use the three. They have a magician. Good. The wizard is a girl? Odd. There aren’t many female spell users.

  Maybe the group is heading to the palace. They will serve my purpose until better humans become available.

  Reaching them while sick might prove troublesome, but I can’t risk teleporting again. Using that kind of powerful magic will get me caught by my parents or other gods. I must walk.

  At the door of my temple, silence greets me. It’s as if the whole city is waiting to attack me.

  No ghouls are nearby, so I won’t be bothered yet.

  I run across a street named after me, then I duck onto an
other one, which is only wide enough for two people walking shoulder to shoulder.

  Something is about to happen. My stomach feels like a brute grabbed it and wrung it like a towel. I stop and lean against the wall as my mouth gushes warm bitter liquid that falls onto the stone walkway.

  Everything about being mortal is terrible. No wonder some kill themselves.

  But oddly enough, now I feel better. Still sick, but better.

  “Are you okay?” A girl’s voice rips my attention from this strange experience of vomiting. She’s the wizard I’d spotted. She’s sixteen at most.

  “Hello.” I step from the narrow street onto King’s Road.

  Someone puts a hand on my shoulder, and a deeper voice asks, “Are you okay?”

  My sickness vanishes and my stomach settles. I turn and face this person who healed me. He’s a half-orc! Just like with the desert atheist, I didn’t see this creature with my god-sight.

  For a god without a temple or statues, he does appear to have power, or at least his followers are powerful. The half-orc gives me a warm smile but holds a sickle in his other hand. Removing his free hand from my shoulder, he continues to look at me with concern.

  “What’s your name?” The orc asks, his voice kinder than his people normally are.

  Why can an insignificant creature heal me?

  I answer the orc, “My name is Ningal.”

  “Oh. You are named after the Goddess of the Reeds,” says the wizard girl, her eyes bright. Then she frowns with concern. “Are you sick?” She has brown hair draped over one shoulder. In her right hand is a wand, and a heavy spear is strapped to her back.

  “I feel better now,” I say, putting my hand to my stomach.

  “My name’s Chelsea,” says the girl-wizard, tilting her head. “Have you been bitten?”

  “No. I’m only sick,” I say.

  A skinny black-haired human walks by. “Try and keep up. We have a wizard and princess to find.” I don’t like his tone.