Divine Assistance

by L. G. Estrella

  He took a deep breath and pressed his hands against his sides to keep them from shaking. Above him, the crows and ravens scattered, soaring up into the night. It was often said that the gods walked amongst mortals to test them. Had he passed? He must have if Death had chosen to save his life.

  * * *

  Two years later, the old man and his wife passed away on the very same night, not more than a minute or two apart. They met their ends far more gracefully than the bandits had. They had been expecting Death for months now, and they were glad to be passing together. Yet there was something else that soothed the old man’s worries.

  “Hello.” It was the little girl from the festival. “I’m here to take you to the afterlife.”

  “Did you enjoy the candy?” the old man asked as his wife stared at the girl. In the two years since the festival, Death’s clergy had announced that he now had a daughter. Temples to Young Death had sprung up alongside those dedicated to her father, and people had rushed to bring gifts and offerings in a bid to win her favour. In a twist that had brought a smile to the old man’s lips, Young Death’s clergy had made it very clear that she was not interested in offerings of gold or other riches. A small offering consisting of candy, cookies, or cake would suffice.

  Young Death nodded and grinned. “They were great. Thank you.” She gestured, and a door of shadows opened up beside her. It was more than big enough to fit the old man and his wife although neither of them looked old anymore. Instead, their spirits looked much as they had when they’d first married: a young man and a young woman, both in good health. “I’d normally use my scythe to claim souls, but you can use the door if you want.”

  “Where… where will we be going?” The old man couldn’t help but feel a twinge of fear. He was sure he’d lived a good, honourable life, but had it been good and honourable enough?

  “Justice will be the one to judge you, but I think you’ll be fine.” Young Death giggled and lowered her voice to a whisper. “She actually likes candy more than me. I shared some of your candy with her, and she loved it.”

  Paperwork

  The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation and chaos. Thousands of men fought and died amidst the muck and mud of what had once been a pristine plain watered by several streams. They had gone to war over lofty ideals, but none of those ideals mattered anymore. To the soldiers locked in combat, all that mattered was survival. There were no parades here, no victory marches, stories, or ballads. Instead, there was only blood, steel, and pain. Arrows rained down, and masses of cavalry thundered into tightly packed ranks of infantry. Tattered banners and broken battle standards shifted restlessly in the wind, and the lingering calls of horns and trumpets hung in the air.

  The gods of war were very busy, but there was one god who was busier than all of them put together: Death.

  The mighty god stood on the battlefield, hidden from mortal eyes and made completely intangible by his powers. This battle was the latest in an increasingly bloody series of conflicts between these two particular kingdoms. What had been a minor border dispute over what was essentially a pile of useless rocks had escalated into all-out warfare. There had already been thousands of casualties during this battle, and there would be thousands more before the day was over.

  The streams that had once crisscrossed the plain had been completely clogged by the bodies of the dead, and their waters had long stopped running clear in favour of running a deep, bloody red. Had Muse been there, she would most likely have come up with something suitably tragic and moving. Alas, Death had never been an especially gifted poet, so he could only describe the scene in a more factual manner. It was a mess, and he was the one who had to collect the souls of the slain.

  Back in the old days, before mortals had become so numerous, he had taken the time to reap each soul individually. Of course, those days hadn’t lasted long. Mortals had gone forth and multiplied quite prodigiously, and the number of souls he had to claim each day had risen as well. With his power, he could easily have blanketed the entire mortal world with a simple command that would drag the souls of the dead straight to his realm. However, that would have been incredibly boring, and he enjoyed taking little trips to the mortal world on a regular basis. He liked his realm – it was his, after all – but it could get rather dreary at times.

  Death was also a scary thing for mortals to face, and he felt that it was his duty to help them – the good ones, anyway – make the adjustment as smoothly as possible. Over the years, he’d found that appearing to them in person really helped. Of course, a normal person could never have visited the souls of so many mortals on their own. There were too many of them, and normal people couldn’t be in two places at once. But Death was not a normal person. He was a god – a Greater God, in fact. Being in more than one place at once was trivially easy for him. Sure, he had countless spirits and lesser gods to serve him, but they were mainly there to smooth things along and to handle things in the event that he somehow managed to get himself killed or were otherwise incapacitated. His ability to be in multiple places at once had also come in handy as a party trick, and it helped him keep a close eye on his daughter. Young Death could be so mischievous. Being in multiple places at once also gave him a chance to watch the battle unfold from multiple points of view.

  Mortals had developed increasingly sophisticated battle tactics, and their weapons had grown increasingly effective too. It was a pity that their reasons for going to war hadn’t changed or become even a little bit more sensible over the years. Still, he had to give his fellow gods credit. The gods responsible for inspiring and aiding blacksmiths had done an excellent job. He could still remember when mortals had been waving copper and bronze around as if they were the deadliest things in Creation. It had been vaguely adorable.

  These soldiers were using steel weapons, which was a considerable improvement although it wasn’t like steel posed any threat to someone like him. In all honesty, there weren’t many weapons – even divinely forged ones – that could harm him. He’d have to pay the smithing gods a visit later. Young Death wanted a more mundane weapon to practice with since her scythe, which was an extension of her divine powers, was not something she could practice with easily. Her control wasn’t good enough yet. She would most likely kill whomever she happened to hit with it, and accidentally killing the people she was training with was hardly conducive to improvement.

  Death was broken from his contemplation by the appearance of his twin sister, Bureaucracy. The goddess frowned faintly as she surveyed the growing carnage. She was probably thinking of all the paperwork her bureaucrats in the mortal world would have to do, along with the paperwork the gods of war were supposed to submit. Knowing them, the paperwork would be at least a week late and filled out incorrectly. Death’s brows furrowed as his sister turned away from the battle to frown at him. Odd. She was displeased with him, but he couldn’t remember doing anything to earn her ire. He definitely hadn’t done anything to increase her already formidable stack of paperwork. The Supreme Mother and Supreme Father had shaped Creation, but to a large extent, Bureaucracy was the one who kept the whole thing going according to some semblance of order.

  “Have you filed your tax return, brother?”

  Death blinked. “My what?”

  “Your tax return.”

  Bureaucracy sighed and shook her head as a rampaging mortal riddled with arrows unleashed a bloodcurdling roar before making a heroic charge toward his enemies, intent on slaying as many of them as possible before he succumbed to his injuries – only to slip on a puddle of blood and impale himself on his own sword. Poor fellow. Death would have to break the news of his death to him gently when he collected his soul. No aspiring hero wanted to hear that they’d accidentally killed themselves in the middle of an epic charge. Hopefully, whichever god of war he venerated would give him credit for the idea, as opposed to the execution.

  “Since when do I have to file a tax return?” Death asked. His frown deepened. Anyone else would
have been terrified, but Bureaucracy was a Greater God and his twin sister. She wasn’t the least bit bothered. Indeed, she met his frown with one of her own. “I’ve never had to file one before. If I recall correctly, I had an exemption.”

  “That is correct. However, there have been several amendments to the divine tax code.” Bureaucracy summoned a book that was almost a foot thick and tossed it to Death. He caught the book and opened it. The monstrosity was thousands of pages long and written in miniscule text that only a god’s keen eyes could ever have made sense of. It was also condensed by Bureaucracy’s power, which meant that the actual manuscript was probably billions of pages long, perhaps more. “You are holding a copy of the current divine tax code, complete with examples, explanations, and thorough explorations of all possible loopholes, exceptions, and special considerations. The important thing to note is that as of this century, which began this year, all gods – or their authorised tax representatives – must now file tax returns at least once every hundred years.”

  Death tossed the book back to her. She was a genius at summarising things, so she’d only taken it out to make a point. He had no doubt whatsoever that she’d written a much shorter and more practical guide to the changes. He’d have to ask her for it later when she was in a better mood. “Why have there been changes?” Unlike some gods, he was not fond of playing politics. Unlike them, he had real work to do.

  “The main reason is to help less popular gods.” Bureaucracy dismissed the book with a wave of her hand and pulled out a notebook. The writing on the page shifted to accommodate her thoughts, and Death’s keen gaze was easily able to follow along. “One of the more unfortunate tendencies mortals have is to gravitate toward either the worship of a regional god or the worship of exceptionally powerful gods. This has resulted in a polarising effect in which many gods, who nevertheless perform important roles, are left without a suitable amount of worship, to say nothing of their lack of temples and organised clergy. This trend has not improved despite the growing number of mortals. If anything, it has only gotten worse.”

  Death nodded to himself. He could see where Bureaucracy was going with this. The gods could be divided into four major groups. At the top of the proverbial pyramid were the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father, two beings who were capable of moulding and shaping Creation as they saw fit. Their will was more than law – it was reality itself. Below them were the Greater Gods like Death who either embodied key primordial concepts or were otherwise vital for the operation and continuation of Creation. Below them were the gods assigned to specific phenomena like the various gods of the wind or the smithing gods. At the bottom were the minor gods, beings of divine origin who served the other gods. Death, of course, had an entire army of minor gods and spirits at his command although he was more than capable of doing everything himself. Their presence, however, did make his life easier, and they did a lot to make his realm operate more smoothly.

  Technically speaking, the gods did not need mortals to survive. Their divine energies were the stuff of Creation itself. Only someone capable of manipulating the very fabric of Creation – like another god or the Void Born – could kill a god. Simply destroying their bodies was pointless. It would hurt, but a god could always reform their body later, once they’d gathered enough power. It was true that gods could obtain additional power from being worshipped by mortals, but any increase in power was highly relative. Greater Gods like Death were incalculably powerful. Even the unified prayers of every single mortal in existence wouldn’t have increased his power in an appreciable manner. It would have been like trying to see the increase in the ocean after throwing in a bucket of water. But for a minor god, such as the god of a particular stream or hill, such prayers could have a significant effect. It would be like throwing a bucket of water into a bathtub – the difference would be easy to see. It was why minor gods often went out of their way to care for their followers. A shrine or temple in their honour could vastly increase their powers.

  “Is that so?” He supposed this was his punishment for leaving politics to his peers. Really, out of the Greater Gods, Love and Muse were the two who enjoyed politics the most, and although Muse was fairly reasonable, Love was another story. He’d have to rectify that. He didn’t want Young Death to start her career at a disadvantage. Besides, it might be nice to attend more meetings. The gods and goddesses of the home and hearth always served the most delicious food.

  “It is. Allow me to provide you with an example. Although you do not actually need any help, you and Life chose to create Young Death. Despite her tender years, she has already accumulated a large number of followers. Your position and prestige guaranteed that. Indeed, she is actually the most popular of the young gods. However, most gods of similar age have very few followers at all. Our intent is to use the taxes, which will be deducted from the offerings and other gifts that mortals provide, to build temples dedicated to the various gods who are currently struggling, perhaps by grouping them together. This should ensure an increase in worshippers and the creation of a functional clergy. We also intend to run awareness programs and the like.” Bureaucracy’s brows furrowed, and the air thickened with power. “If things continue as they are, the decrease in operational efficiency will become significant. The minor gods may not do as much as you or I, but their tasks are still important.”

  “Do I really get that many offerings?” Death mused before realising that he probably did. A remarkably large number of people tried to bribe him and his subordinates into not claiming their souls. It was a foolish thing to do. He could not be bribed although he’d have to watch his daughter. She had quite a sweet tooth. He wouldn’t put it past some of the more enterprising mortals to try bribing her with a year’s worth of candy. In his case, there was nothing a mortal could give him that he couldn’t either make or take for himself. As a result, he’d ordered his clergy to use any offerings for temple maintenance and to fund various charity programs. He had a fearsome reputation, but he wouldn’t mind coming across as more benevolent toward those who lived good lives. After all, death was a part of life, and he didn’t want good mortals to be afraid of it.

  “Other than the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father, you receive the most offerings, gifts, and tributes from mortals.” Bureaucracy paused. “Admittedly, a lot of that is due to fear, but the numbers are nevertheless clear. The only person who gets anywhere near as much as you is Love, and we all know why.”

  “Yes.” Death chuckled. Their differing philosophies aside, Love was an amusing goddess. Her personality was mercurial, to say the least, but there were few who delighted more in their work than her. Naturally, there were times when she could be thoroughly aggravating, like all those times she’d asked him to spare foolish, young lovers who’d concocted extremely idiotic and bizarrely ridiculous plans to be together – most of which invariably resulted in confusion, accidental death, and general mayhem. Hmm… he’d have to see if those three were involved. Love always had been close to Mischief, and she got along well with Mayhem and Rabble too.

  “You should hire an accountant to do your taxes.”

  “Ah!” Death’s eyes lit up. “Can you –”

  “As the arbiter of all tax-related issues, it would be improper for me to do your taxes. However, I can recommend several gods who are eminently suitable to help you. Shall I forward you a list?”

  “I would appreciate it.” Inwardly, Death sighed. More paperwork? Well, if the gods his sister recommended were as good as she claimed, then maybe it wouldn’t add to his already monstrous bureaucratic workload. Anyone who thought that death was the end of paperwork was completely wrong. It was only the beginning.

  “Indeed.” Bureaucracy smiled thinly, a hint of amusement creeping into her expression as she vanished, leaving her last words to drift to him on the wind. “Oh, and the deadline for your tax return is this Friday morning.”

  “…” Death sagged. It was already Tuesday evening.

  * * *

  Having
completed his tax return with the assistance of a young but capable god who had spent the first ten minutes screaming about the lack of organisation – no wonder Bureaucracy liked him – Death turned his attention to his other paperwork. No matter how much of it he delegated – and he delegated a lot – there were certain documents that required his personal attention. His ability to appear in multiple places at once, and hence do multiple piles of paperwork, was very useful, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he could devise a better system to spare his daughter from some of the horror when she got older.

  He studied the forms on his desk. Doing them faster or multiplying himself helped, but he needed to get to the source of the problem. Yes, if he could identify the source of his paperwork and reduce it, then his paperwork would be reduced as well. As it was, the single greatest source of paperwork was appeals – documents filed by guardian spirits or other gods concerning what they viewed as the upcoming or recently occurred premature death of a particular mortal.

  Making mortals immortal would have fixed the problem, but mortals were mortal for a reason. Changing that aspect of their being was also not something he could do without grave consequences. Only the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father could do it without facing censure or enough paperwork to crush even the soul of a Greater God. The next best option was to reduce the massive death rate amongst mortal children. It was thoroughly depressing for him and his subordinates to have to claim the souls of so many children, and the vast majority of appeals concerned children who had died before they reached adulthood and achieved their potential. A similar argument could be made for reducing the number of people who died due to poor sanitation or hygiene. It was depressing stuff, and it was little wonder that he and the other gods deliberately deactivated their sense of smell in certain parts of the mortal world. The gods had indoor plumbing and state-of-the-art sanitation. Mortals did not.