The Galactic Pantheon Novellas
By Alyce Caswell
Copyright © Alyce Caswell 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The Flickering Flame © Alyce Caswell 2018
The Shifting Ice © Alyce Caswell 2018
The Whispering Grass © Alyce Caswell 2019
The Creeping Moss © Alyce Caswell 2019
ISBN: 978 0 6485444 2 5 (EPUB)
ISBN: 978 0 6485444 3 2 (Print)
Cover design by Hampton Lamoureux, TS95 Studios © 2020
Contents
The Flickering Flame
The Shifting Ice
The Whispering Grass
The Creeping Moss
About the Author
Also by Alyce Caswell
The Flickering Flame
CHAPTER ONE
‘Full disclosure: yeah, I look pretty hot, but I come with baggage. A whole galaxy full of baggage. I also happen to be the goddess of fire which I understand is a bit of a deal-breaker. You mortals tend to want a marriage that lasts a lifetime, not an eternity. You’d get immortality out of it, but then you’d have to stay with me until the end of time. Shudder.’
Finara, goddess of fire (the Firine was her official title in the Galactic Pantheon), sat back in the booth and waited for her companion to respond. She lifted her glass, either painted neon pink or containing a viscous material of the same colour, and held it to her lips. The resort’s galaxy-renowned drink, apparently. It had some fancy name but it clearly wasn’t all that important because it had slipped her mind. In her domain there were innumerous planets with unstable volcanoes, flaming lakes and raging bushfires — she couldn’t be bothered to remember every little detail about every little world that fell under her control.
If the mortals required her immediate attention, she gave it, but never any more than they needed. She looked after them because it was she had been created to do. Finara still wasn’t sure the mortals deserved her assistance — or anything else from her, really.
Occasionally she indulged in some public fire dancing. It seemed to be the only thing Finara did that merited any adoration from the mortals. She was hired by hotels to perform impossible feats while wearing fun skimpy outfits and then used the money she earned from doing this to visit her favourite brothel, the Enocian Harem. Humans generally refused to supply goods and services to someone who didn’t have any coin-chips to spend.
When Finara had finished her shift at this particular hotel today, mopping a towel over her forehead, she had noticed a giant vidscreen announcing a bout of speed dating in the bar. It had occurred to her that this would provide a cheaper alternative to the brothel. Her coin-chips could go into other exciting things, like flashy clothes and shiny baubles.
The human sitting opposite Finara in the booth was an improvement on the previous offerings. This mortal was well above average in height, unlike the others who’d plonked themselves onto the red leather seat in the booth. Finara was quite tall herself, so this woman pleased her immensely. She’d had short lovers and hadn’t found any inadequacies in them, but she preferred their eyes to meet her own instead of her (admittedly ample) chest.
The mortal woman’s skin was somewhere between bronze and tan, and her brown eyes were dark and deep, as though they held delightful mysteries. And that mouth…large and promisingly sensual. Finara hadn’t seen her date’s tongue yet, but she imagined its length would be more than suitable for her needs.
Finara should have had soothing hazel eyes, but she preferred to keep them aflame, the fire that obscured her pupils and irises held there by constant concentration. Finara had never managed to darken her olive skin through exposure to sunlight, though thankfully she wasn’t as pasty as Kuja, the rainforest god. Finara had been born with brunette hair, but she kept it black to reveal her permanent mood: rebellious.
Except her racing off to have sex with mortals hadn’t turned out to be anywhere near as rebellious as what her brothers had done. Sandsa, the Desine and oldest sub-level god, had thrown away his position in the pantheon to be with a mortal woman, however briefly. Then Kuja had challenged the Creator God, their father, pleading for the right to marry the mortal he loved.
When the Ine (the name Finara and her siblings used for the Creator God) had revealed that his children had been allowed to fall in love all along, this had caused something of a stir among the gods and goddesses — previously they’d gone after and punished any sibling who had dared to look at any mortal for too long. Finara continued to enjoy bedding anyone who was keen, but the activity had lost much of the danger and, with it, a lot of the fun.
The woman on the other side of the booth reached up and patted her hair as though to ensure everything was in place. Finara wasn’t sure why. The mortal’s hair was a mass of frizzy coils that looked like they would never sit the way they were told to; what the gesture did instead was make the crescent-shaped scar that ran through her left eyebrow all the more obvious.
‘What exactly does a fire goddess do?’ the mortal asked.
This didn’t match the responses Finara had been getting all evening. Mostly people had laughed when she’d announced her identity. One man had even run with it by pretending to be a Chipper, an agent responsible for enforcing planetary laws across the galaxy, and had said that he would spank her for being a sub-level god. The Chippers worshipped the Creator God and inserted chips into their temples (hence their name) in order to reach him; these chips gave them special abilities which aided them in protecting the Creator God’s mortal children.
Finara had enjoyed the accompanying images in the man’s mind when he’d tried to seduce her, but she was a little over men of late. Her brothers were always slinging insults and powers at each other, trying to prove who was the best of them, but her sisters were more reserved. Finara could simply walk up to them and begin a conversation, no exhausting ego required.
‘What does a fire goddess do?’ Finara mused. ‘Aside from wasting my time in this dive, you mean? I do some fire dancing here and there. Shit pay, but it’s something. A woman’s got to fulfil certain needs. Coin-chips help with that.’
‘Ms Fire Goddess — ’ A disapproving frown warped the mortal’s features. ‘ — that doesn’t sound very godly. Shouldn’t you be keeping mortals out of danger? Suppressing volcanoes that are about to erupt, for example?’
Finara scowled and set down her glass with an audible thunk. ‘Firstly, the name is Finara. Secondly, I can’t just tell a volcano to settle down. The eruption would get a lot worse if I tried to do anything. And besides, you have two legs — you can run away. You mortals don’t need me to help you with that.’
Silence. Well, as much as silence could be in this place; the bar was filled with the murmur of voices and a lilting jazz tune that was just loud enough to force the couples to lean into each other to make themselves heard.
Finara was starting to wonder what she’d said to offend her companion when the mortal cleared her throat noisily, reached beneath the table and pulled out a silver prosthetic leg. She dumped it between them, knocking over Finara’s glass in the process.
&n
bsp; ‘You can buy those fully functional synthflesh legs, they’re much more realistic,’ Finara said, her lip curling up towards her nose as she surveyed the pink puddle her drink was forming on the table. ‘They’ve been out for at least five hundred Old Earth years.’
The woman’s scarred eyebrow slid up her forehead. ‘We mortals can indeed get top-of-the-line models. If we have deep pockets.’
Finara grimaced. She supposed she wasn’t the first person to mention it. ‘Sorry — I shouldn’t have said that. But still. If your warning systems are even halfway decent, they can give you enough time to hobble off before a volcano explodes.’
The woman stared at her. Unable to restrain herself any longer, Finara delved into her companion’s mind, finding disbelief mixed in with indignation. There was also an unexpected spike of humour.
‘I’m Grace Pendergast,’ the mortal said. Her lips quirked into a smile. ‘And I’m glad I am not one of your followers. This meeting would have destroyed any adoration I had for you.’
‘Great, that means I still have plenty of opportunities to make you adore me.’ Finara straightened her glass then brought a pink-stained finger to her lips to suckle the alcohol from her skin. ‘Grace, huh? I could have sworn that name went out of fashion around the time everyone realised they could reach their creator just by sticking chips into their temples. Kind of lose the awe of the Creator God when you realise he’s actually listening to you.’
‘I suppose it’s hard for you to feel awe for your own father,’ Grace responded, picking up the leg and concealing it beneath the table once more.
‘Yeah, he’s pretty shit when you actually know him,’ Finara said with a sigh. ‘Omniscient but completely lacking in any emotional capacity. He chose a human mother for me and my siblings just to get the right mix of raw power and compassion.’
Grace leaned back in the booth, surveying Finara through narrow eyes. ‘I think you needed a little more compassion in your DNA mix.’
‘You think?’ Finara smirked. ‘Hey, you mortals don’t deserve my compassion. None of you worship me, not really. You only remember me when there’s a fire or an eruption and you think flattering me with nice words will make me turn nature against itself for you. The nerve.’
A siren pierced the room before Finara’s companion could respond. Since a portly woman had been using an antique bell to denote the end of each speed dating session, this caused several pairs of eyes to shoot up towards the vidscreen on the wall above the bar.
Pyroclastic flow expected in five minutes, the screen announced while an accompanying voice read out the words. Make sure you’re safely within the hotel’s forcefield!
Finara clucked her tongue, irritated. She’d felt the flow coming, but she had ignored it far longer than she usually did because she had started to enjoy Grace’s company. The hotel was well protected by its shield generators, even this close to the cluster of volcanoes that had made the planet Arksaw famous — apparently they resembled the face of a famous mediaist if viewed from orbit — but there were always some thrillseekers who wanted to dance with danger.
‘I better go make sure everyone’s made it behind the forcefield,’ the goddess said, levering herself out of the booth.
‘Is that concern for us mortals I hear in your voice?’ Grace asked.
Finara snickered. ‘Well, the more people who survive this, the more tips I get during my shift tomorrow. You should come to my next performance.’
Three years ago, she would never had this conversation, nor would she have dared to teleport in front of mortals. But ever since the Creator God-loving Chippers from the Galactic Law Enforcement Agency (GLEA for short) had started saying that it was imperative to get along with the other gods and their followers, there had been less of a need to hide her existence and what she could do. Exposing herself as a goddess was no longer going to incite an ideological war.
Finara blew a kiss at Grace.
And then a swirl of fire roared up around the Firine, encasing her body before it completely erased her from the bar.
• • •
Grace Pendergast stared at the empty space her date had left behind.
So too did everyone else in the bar, completely gobsmacked. They’d probably had the same spiel from Finara but, judging by their expressions, they hadn’t believed it. Grace hadn’t believed it either, not really. Her date had been too irreverent, too improper…and she’d had little regard for mortals. Everyone knew that the Creator God loved all of them, cherished them, protected them. Surely his immortal children would do the same.
A man in the adjacent booth grabbed his communicator and said loudly, ‘Put me through to the Chippers! I just saw one of those sub-level gods!’
‘No, you fool!’ the man’s date said, lunging across the table and knocking the device out of his hand. ‘Call Ton Tinel or another mediaist — they’d pay a shitload for this kind of exclusive!’
The bar descended into chaos. Rolling her eyes, Grace stood and took the only clear path to the door. Once outside, the only sound she could hear was the clacking of her heels on the tiled floor.
Immortality, she thought as she walked through the columned piazza that featured in the hotel’s advertisements.
Immortality, she repeated to herself as she entered her tiny, poky room.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, detaching her cheap prosthesis. There wasn’t a point in wasting her funds on a better one, because she wouldn’t be alive long enough to enjoy it.
Immortality, Grace mused. The gods have to live with their mistakes forever.
I’m glad I don’t.
She turned on her room’s vidscreen. Within moments it was filled with the frenzied face of a mediaist who happened to be holidaying on Arksaw — but not without their equipment, of course. The unsteady footage, provided by a vidcam being waved from the ramp of a starship, hurt her eyes but Grace squinted, focusing on the goddess who was grabbing tourists and throwing them into rings of fire. The startled and fearful humans didn’t die; they were being transported out of matching rings inside the forcefield, where they were safe from the fury the planet was unleashing.
Finara laughed throughout the entire affair. She even waved at the vidcam that was tracking her progress. Grace had a feeling the goddess could destroy the device without even blinking, but for some reason Finara wanted everyone to witness her using her powers, wanted everyone to know what she was.
When at last all the tourists had been evacuated, Finara held out her arms, welcoming the gaseous blast from the volcano. It tore through her, around her, then smacked into the forcefield before being diverted around the hotel and its denizens.
For an instant, the goddess remained visible in the pyroclastic flow. Her body became pure fire, then blew apart into a million pieces.
Grace nearly reached for her techpad, to start writing about meeting a sub-level god, but forced herself to dismiss the words that arrived in her mind, the words that begged to be Webcast to the galaxy, to anyone who would listen.
Those days were over. She was no longer a small-time mediaist. She was a cripple who deserved the fate she had inflicted on others.
Grace hopped over to the bathroom, a hand on the wall to steady herself. Once the water was running, she removed her slip of a dress, pausing to laugh at the floral pattern she had thought pretty enough to finally entice someone to divest her of her virginity. As a teenager, it had been a prize; to a woman on the wrong side of thirty, it was a burden.
A small part of her had hoped that she would meet someone at that speed dating event, someone who could convince her to forget the terrible mistakes she’d made, someone who could provide a reason to keep going.
There just didn’t seem a point anymore. Grace had lost everything that had ever made her life worth living.
She had one more week until her funds ran out. One more week until she too embraced the devastation unleashed by the nearby volcanoes.
Except her body, once vaporised, would st
ay that way forever.
CHAPTER TWO
When Grace emerged from the steamy shower cell, having spent a good hour in there while continuously hitting the ‘start’ button, she found her towel mysteriously missing. She groped blindly along the rail for a few seconds, perplexed, then nearly toppled over when the towel hit her stomach — she had caught it with the hand she’d been using to brace herself.
The mist inside the bathroom slowly cleared, revealing the source of the soft projectile.
Leaning against the door, as if she had a right to be there with her immortality, her scarlet outfit and her two functioning legs, was the goddess of fire.
‘Now tell me that wasn’t hot,’ Finara said with a laugh.
Grace hastily wrapped the towel around herself, grimacing when she realised that she had to surrender a view of either her breasts or her thighs. There was nothing she could do to conceal the stump that had replaced her right knee.
Grace fought for something to say, but somehow the only thing that came out was, ‘You could have at least handed me a bigger towel. This is indecent.’
‘Indecent is what I’m going to do to you after dinner.’ Finara grinned. ‘But forget about that. You must have watched me saving all those mortals. How good did I look, huh?’
Her eyes scanned Grace in a way that made her feel…not uncomfortable, but confused. What did the fire goddess see that the mirror did not show? Were Grace’s generous hips, wider than her cup size, somehow enticing instead of awkward?
Would Finara still look at her like that if she knew just how much blood was on Grace’s hands?
Grace cleared her throat. ‘Get out.’
Her discomfort must have shown — or had the goddess read it from her mind? — because Finara suddenly looked guilty.
‘Sorry,’ Finara said, then disappeared inside a roaring vortex of fire.
The goddess’ voice returned but it was muffled; she was now on the other side of the door, in the small bedroom. It sounded like Finara was complaining about the mediaist’s coverage of her appearance. Grace remained frozen in place, her breathing shallow, the soft towel sliding its way down her body and drooping onto the floor. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she threw the flowery dress back on, wishing she had brought one of her more comfortable and less revealing pantsuits into the bathroom with her.
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