Queen of Nothing (Marla Mason Book 9)

by T. A. Pratt

  “I’ve met three death gods. They were megalomaniacal, smugly superior, and sadistic. I made the second one into a better man, but I don’t have much confidence in the natural, or supernatural, processes doing the same. I could perch on the edge of chaos with my terrible sword and try to carve out the bad parts of the next god who emerges, but it’s a risk. They come out pretty powerful, it seems.”

  “You don’t have to talk me into your plan,” Elsie said, “and I assume you’ve already talked yourself into it. So. Are you going to follow this to its logical conclusion now?”

  “I don’t have much choice.” Marla rose from the throne. She held the terrible sword of death—her sword, now—aloft. The weapon twisted, shrank, and became a dagger: her old dagger of office, from the days when she’d been in charge of Felport.

  The alteration was entirely superficial, though. The blade remained the sharpest thing in any possible universe, capable of cutting astral tethers, carving up time, sending souls to oblivion, killing dreams, and performing metaphysical surgery.

  “Do you want me to do it?” Elsie said. “I’ve got a steady hand.”

  “No. I need to do this myself. Also, I don’t trust you.”

  “You gods are so wise.”

  Marla closed her eyes, turned the knife in her hands, and plunged it into her own mortal heart.

  The Dread Queen on Her Throne

  Bradley and Rondeau sat alone on the floor beside Pelham’s bier. Jenny Click had flown off a while ago, saying something about having worlds to burn.

  “We haven’t been beheaded and sentenced to spend eternity in a Goya painting or something yet,” Bradley said. “So maybe things are going okay?”

  “Why did Marla kick us out?” Rondeau said. “We came with her this far. Then she ditches us?”

  “I’m guessing, after losing Pelham, she wasn’t willing to risk losing us, too. Her and the New Death and Elsie and Genevieve are probably lobbing some major bombs at each other, anyway.” He glanced around the marble hall. “This place is still intact, though. Seriously, I’m hopeful.”

  “Good for you. You know who else was always hopeful? Pelly. He was such an optimist he made me feel like a cynic. Look where that got him.”

  Elsie Jarrow strolled out of a door in the wall that hadn’t been there a moment before. “Boys! Good news. Mr. Bones is no more. Marla opened a portal to the Outsider’s prison and dropped her husband into it, just like you’d feed a newborn mouse to a pet snake.”

  “Wow.” Bradley got to his feet. “That’s... well, she always comes up with something, doesn’t she? Where is she?” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait, you didn’t turn on her, did you?”

  “Ugh, no, why does everyone think that, it would be so boring. Her one-time assassin trying to kill her again? Where’s the twist? No, I was true blue until the end.” She wiggled her fingers. “Surprise!”

  “So why are you here instead of Marla?” Rondeau demanded.

  “She’s got a whole underworld to run, not to mention, I don’t know, seasons and things, cycles of rebirth to oversee, she’s busy. She’s also currently slicing out her own heart. Want to see?”

  Before they could answer, Elsie spun around, her skirts twirling, and then the whole room twirled, and when it settled down again, they were in a black-walled room before two jeweled thrones... and Marla was sitting on the floor, dressed only in a white shift, surrounded by blood. Her chest was a bloody ruin, and she held a pulsing red thing in her hands.

  Rondeau launched himself at Elsie, howling, but she froze him in the air with a gesture. “Bad boy. I didn’t do this. Marla’s wounds are self-inflicted.”

  Marla seemed entirely unaware of them, gazing at the twitching thing in her hands.

  Bradley reached out for her, but stopped himself. “What... why did she do this? I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t, Little B. You’re only human.” Elsie knelt and looked at the heart in Marla’s hand. B noticed it was still faintly beating. “Marla is cutting out her own mortality. Slicing out her mortal core. She has to give up her humanity entirely, and become wholly divine. Otherwise, the primal god-womb will sense the absence of such a spirit, and produce another death god to fill the vacuum. We can’t have that.”

  “Wait, so... what does this mean? What’s going to happen to her?”

  Elsie shrugged. “It means Marla has to give up her own immortal soul, for one thing. She loses her ticket to the human afterlife, and she’s stuck with... whatever it is gods get. There’s a lot of debate about that. Some of the gods think they get a whole afterlife of their own, way better than the one you mortals get, but I doubt it. The pure gods emerge from primal chaos, shaped by who knows what forces—human belief, human need, some metaphysical vacuum that nature abhors, I don’t know. But I suspect that, when they die, they return to that undifferentiated state, like a metal sculpture that gets melted down into raw materials again. One-hundred-percent recycled gods. That’s why you won’t see me give up my mortality. If I ever get tricked into losing my status as a trickster god, I’ll at least get my own afterlife down here to play in.” She shook her head. “That Marla. Selfless to the end, huh?”

  “You can let me go now.” Rondeau spoke through gritted teeth, barely able to move his mouth. Elsie chuckled and waved at him.

  He stumbled, then caught himself, and glared at the chaos god. “So, what... Marla’s going to go full-dread-queen now? All skulls and black tongue and no pity and laying waste?”

  “Hard to say! Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Elsie peered at Marla, then whistled. “No, wait, I take that back. It looks like she did a little more surgery on herself, now that I’m looking more closely. She cut off some her god-self’s nastier attributes. Let’s see, what’s on the cutting room floor... looks like she got rid of the total indifference to individual human lives, and the sense of detachment that in a human would be termed psychopathic, and the vengeful streak. Well, well, well. Marla’s committed some acts of radical self-improvement. I guess she figured out a way to do better, after all.”

  Still seemingly unaware of them, Marla squeezed her hands together, crushing her own heart between her palms, squeezing hard. Tears leaked form her eyes, sparkling in the light that shone from the cracks in her fingers. When she opened her hands, a single diamond rested on her palm.

  After a moment, the diamond crumbled into dust, and Marla lifted her eyes to them.

  “Hey, guys.” Marla cleared her throat. The blood around her vanished, and her disheveled shift was replaced by a loose white silk shirt and matching pants. She stood up, absently wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “So. Uh. I’m afraid I have to regretfully announce my... imminent retirement from public life.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rondeau said.

  “No more month-on, month-off deal. I’m the one and only deity down here now. I can’t do the part-time god thing anymore.” She sighed. “I used to talk about duty, you know? I was so upset when I was ousted from Felport, because protecting that city was my responsibility, my life’s work. But when I was offered the opportunity to take on a much bigger duty, I didn’t want it. I felt this job was being forced on me, and, well... I’ve always had a contrary streak.”

  “I notice you didn’t cut out that part of yourself,” Elsie observed.

  Marla ignored her. “I was selfish, and I fought against accepting my new role. I was happy to take the advantages of being a god, while shirking the responsibilities. I can’t afford to do that, not any more.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll miss seeing you around upstairs,” Elsie said. “I –”

  “Elsie, I thank you sincerely, and I owe you a favor I’m sure you’ll call in one day, but for now—please fuck off.” The queen of the dead waved her hand, and Elsie vanished. “Gods, I was sick of her.”

  Bradley couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, us too. So... that’s it? You’re withdrawing from mortal life? Doing the god thing full time?”

 
; Marla nodded.

  “Why can’t you still hang out in our world sometimes?” Rondeau said. “Reva wanders around up there, you know? Elsie does too.”

  “Elsie does whatever she wants, and Reva’s people are the living, Rondeau. My people are the dead. I might make the occasional appearance on Earth, I’m not going full isolationist like Skully did, but... gods shouldn’t dwell too long among mortals. We distort things. Alter causality. Make people join cults, or commit murders, or burn things down. We have a spiritual gravity—even during my months on Earth as a mortal, I drew trouble to myself, and summoned cultists, and....” She shook her head. “It’s just time for me to move on, and step up.”

  “I played Dungeons and Dragons in high school,” Bradley said. “Our characters were eventually so badass they became demi-gods. After that, the dungeon master wouldn’t let us play them anymore. They were too powerful, so they got transformed into non-player characters: handing out quests instead of going on them them.”

  Rondeau and Marla looked at B for a moment. “Nerd,” they said, in unison.

  Rondeau smiled at Marla, then frowned. “Seriously, though? First Pelham, then you? I have to lose both my best friends today? I hope you’re ready to level up, B, because I’ve got vacancies in my innermost social circle. I’m not playing Tunnels and Trolls or whatever with you though.”

  Marla snapped her fingers, and Pelham emerged from behind her throne. He looked just as he had in life... except, if anything, he seemed happier.

  Rondeau hooted with joy, ran to Pelham, picked him up, and spun him around. Then he put him down and frowned. “Crap, you’re still dead, aren’t you?”

  Pelham nodded. “I am, regretfully, no longer among the living, though I am coming to terms with my new circumstances. I will be very sorry to see you less often, my friend.”

  “Yeah, yeah. It wouldn’t bother me so much if I thought I was going to end up here someday, but I don’t know what happens when I die. Who knows if the band will ever get back together?”

  Bradley put a hand on Rondeau’s shoulder. “We’ll do some research, man. Maybe we can figure something out.”

  Pelham turned toward his queen. “Mrs. Mason. You look well. Pure divinity suits you.”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I won’t get pimples or split ends anymore. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, Pelham.”

  He waved a hand, like his death was a matter of no importance. “To die in your service is a privilege.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way... because I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do a little more service for me. I know you’re owed an eternity in an afterlife of your own choosing, so it’s entirely okay if you say no.”

  “If I created my perfect afterlife, it would likely involve me working with a simulacrum of you, Mrs. Mason, so I am pleased to help the real you, instead. How may I be of assistance?”

  Marla smiled. Good old Pelly. “I need a steward to help me rule here. I’ll take a few weeks to show you the ropes, and set everything the New Death screwed up back to rights. Once I make sure it’s all ticking along smoothly, I’ll put day-to-day operations into your hands, but only temporarily. I won’t be gone long. A month, at most, I think.”

  “Where are you going?” Bradley said.

  “Well...” She leaned back in her throne. “You and Rondeau haven’t quite seen the last of me. Before I settle in here permanently—or however long I last—I have a few pieces of unfinished business to take care of on Earth. I’d really love it if the two of you would help me. Call it one last hurrah.”

  “Like the party you throw for your buddy, right before he has to start a prison sentence,” Rondeau said. He sounded glum, but then he perked up. “I do like parties.”

  “So that’s the party bit taken care of,” Bradley said. “What’s the business part?”

  “First of all, I need to unfreeze Nicolette, and try to set that whole mess right.” She sighed. “That’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to. Nicolette’s not gracious at the best of times, and she’s got legitimate grievances this time. I have some other wrongs I need to set right, too. Plus some people I need closure with, some farewells I need to say, some hash to settle, that kind of thing.”

  Bradley cocked his head and stared at her.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I’m being perceptive at you, Marla. What aren’t you telling us? What else do you have to do?”

  She tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Look. It’s just. Here’s the thing. I’m the main god of Death, now. There’s a way things are done here. It’s halfway between tradition and natural law. Basically, if I’m going to rule down here... I need to find a mortal consort to rule beside me.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Rondeau began to cackle. “Oh, man. This is the greatest thing ever. You have got to let me write your online dating profiles.”

  “I can set you up with some guys I know,” Bradley said. “Or girls maybe too? Or neither, I’ve got some genderfluid friends who’d make good gods, I bet. Just let me know your parameters. I never got a real handle on your sexual orientation, to be totally honest.”

  “There are some eligible descendants of royalty,” Pelham said thoughtfully. “It is important to think strategically when considering a marriage. After all, you aren’t just Marla Mason any more, you are also a regent. We should wait a respectable interval after the death of your first husband before we plan the wedding, of course....”

  “A wedding!” Rondeau howled. “Yes! We have to throw a big wedding! I know just the right chapel of love in Vegas, the officiant dresses up like an elf from The Lord of the Rings movies, it’ll be great.”

  “You can all go straight to Hell,” the queen said.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks first and always to my wife Heather Shaw and our son River, who love and support me, and who both in their own ways give me the help I need to keep doing this strange book-writing things. Thanks to my tireless agent Ginger Clark, to my inventive artist Zack Stella, to my splendiforous cover designer Jenn Reese, to my patient copyeditor Elektra Hammond, and to the indomitable John Teehan of Merry Blacksmith Books. My occasional writing buddies Effie Seiberg and Erin Cashier make this less of a lonely business. Finally, and most importantly, my great thanks to the more than 300 people who supported this project on Kickstarter. (The future is a wonderful place.) Say their names: @RhiReading; Aaron McConnell; Adam Caldwell; Aitor; Al Clay; Alexa Gulliford; Amy Kim; Andreas Gustafsson; Andrew and Kate Barton; Andrew Felle; Andrew Hatchell; Andrew J Clark IV; Andrew Lin; Angela Perry; Ann Lemay; Anne Roberti; Anton Nath; Arlene Parker; As Shadow; Audra Johnson; Ava Jarvis; becca; Ben Esacove; Ben Meginnis; Besha Grey, Queen of Bourbon; Beth Bernobich; Beth Rheaume; Beth Wodzinski; Bill Jennings; Brian Jackel; Brittany; Bryan Sims; Bryant Durrell; C.C. Finlay; Caity Zimmerman; Caleb Wilson; Carol J. Guess; Cat Rambo; Cathy Mullican; CE Murphy; Chad Bowden; Chad Lowe; Chad Price; Chelle Parker; Chris Connelly; Chris McLaren; Christian Decomain; Christian Lane; Christian Stegmann; Christin Steinbruch; Christine Chen; Christine Maia-Fleres; Christopher Todd Kjergaard; Christy Corp-Minamiji; Chuck Lawson; Cinnamon Davis; Claire Connelly; Claudius Reich; Cliff Winnig; Colette Reap; Colleen L; Colon Anderson; corey; Corey Klinzing; Craig Hackl; Craig Marquis; Cynthia Anne Cofer; Dan Percival; Dan Walma; Dana Cate; Dani; Dani Danooli Daly; Daniel Ethan Winter; Danielle Benson; Danika Hadgraft; Dave Lawson; Dave Thompson; David Bell; David Bennett; David Burkett; David Green; David Harrison; David Martinez; David Rains; Dean M. Roddick; Deanna Stanley; Deb “Seattlejo” Schumacher; Dena Heilik; Denise Murray; Don, Beth & Meghan Ferris; Donald Mayne; Duck Dodgers; Duncan McNiff; Ed Matuskey; Eduardo; Edward Smola; ejhuff; Elias F. Combarro; Ellen Sandberg; Elliotte Bowerman; Elsa; Emrya; Enrica P; Ergo Ojasoo; Evan Vigil-McClanahan; Evangeline Z; EY; Ferran Selles; Feyrie Southeast; Fred Kiesche; Gann and Constance Bierner; Garret Reece; Gary Singer; Gavran; Glenn Seiler; Glennis LeBlanc; Glyph; Greg Levick; Grumpy
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