Divine Assistance

by L. G. Estrella

  Reducing the number of such deaths wouldn’t be changing the nature of mortals so much as it would be tinkering a little bit. He’d have to be careful. Reducing those death rates too much would increase their population, but that alone wouldn’t help the other gods, the ones who needed more offerings and worshippers. Or would it? Surely, increasing the number of potential worshippers, combined with the steps Bureaucracy was planning to take, would only help further their cause. Yes, he’d have to discuss this with some of the other gods, but it was worth looking into. He was certain the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father would agree. They’d complained for some time now that there weren’t enough mortals, and they didn’t want to simply create more of them. Mortals were naturally suspicious of strangers, and having several million new mortals appear out of thin air would only make them more paranoid.

  * * *

  Death stared at the new mountain of paperwork on his desk. Was this his reward for being kind and benevolent? Apparently, it was. Although it had taken quite a few meetings, several decades, and threatening at least a handful of gods with his scythe, he’d done it. He’d gotten approval to reduce some of the death rates amongst mortals. After speaking to Muse, Wisdom, and Knowledge, along with various gods of healing, he had instructed his clergy on matters of medicine enough for them to make a difference. He’d have used the clergy of another god, but nobody – except the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father – had clergy suitable for the task. It was a simple matter of efficiency. He was Death. He gave orders, and his clergy obeyed. There was no bickering, no arguing, and no refusal. It was one of the chief perks of being Death.

  As a result, however, his temples had become revered as places of healing, much to the consternation of the gods of healing who’d helped him. Oops. People now viewed his clergy as miracle workers who could, with his help, stave off death and grant healing. The gods of healing – most of them, anyway – were less than amused. They’d been preaching these particular measures for centuries, but nobody had listened. Death, though, had only to speak his mind, and he’d been obeyed without question. To them it must have seemed horribly unfair, especially since the mortals were now giving him all of the credit.

  Death was now, somehow, the patron god of hospitals, and he’d been promoted to the top of the pile of the gods of healing, albeit mostly in an administrative role. His predecessor was one of the few gods of healing who hadn’t been upset. The canny fellow had seen a chance to fob most of his paperwork onto someone else, and he’d taken it without a second thought.

  Damn it.

  Death sighed. He was Death. He could handle this. He’d simply delegate more of his duties. Yes, the gods of healing had to listen to him since he was now technically their boss. There had to be at least a few of them who enjoyed paperwork. Perhaps he could convince Bureaucracy to streamline the procedures a bit, maybe cut out some of the red tape. He was her favourite twin brother, wasn’t he? Indeed, he was her only twin brother. Surely, she would take pity on him and help him out. Barring any of those options, he could always use his even larger supply of worshippers and offerings to bribe some of his new subordinates amongst the gods of healing to do the paperwork for him.

  Kindness

  Death was not easily angered. The nature of his duties had shown him both the very best and the very worst of what gods and mortals were capable of. As one of the Greater Gods – and arguably the mightiest of them all – he had also learned to temper his wrath lest he inadvertently harm those who were innocent of wrongdoing, for even a tiny fraction of his divine might could devastate entire empires. Yet it took every iota of his famous resolve to contain his fury at what he saw before him. Only the gentle touch of his daughter’s hand upon his own prevented the eruption of divine wrath that would surely have come if he’d been alone.

  Young Death’s fingers curled around his, grounding him and easing the great fury that had been roused within him. “What will you do?” she whispered. “This isn’t right.”

  He looked down at his daughter. She was such a kind, young goddess, so careful not to harm others unnecessarily. “Return to our realm,” he said at last. “I will handle this myself.”

  She nodded, and he waited for her to vanish through a door to their realm before he opened another door and stepped through it. However, his destination was not the Realm of the Dead. Instead, his door took him to one of the vast halls where the various gods of war met to make merry and observe the battles and heroics of their mortal followers.

  He had business with one of them, and he did not want his daughter around for it because it was not business of the pleasant kind. Some gods grew arrogant over the long, long years. They believed that they answered to no one. In a way, it wasn’t surprising since the gods of war answered to Annihilation, and the other Greater God had always been content to adopt a more hands-off approach. Death reached out to Annihilation and informed him of what he had seen and what he intended to do. The other Greater God gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. Death was free to do as he pleased, provided he didn’t make too much of a mess. It would also save Annihilation from having to go to the trouble of disciplining one of his own.

  Death’s lips curled. It was time to show a certain god the error of his ways.

  * * *

  Altius was a young god of war, no more than several centuries old. He had not yet been assigned a group of mortals to oversee, nor had he been given an aspect of war to represent. For the most part, he spent his time honing his skills in battle against the Void Born, waiting eagerly for the day when he would be called before Annihilation – or perhaps even the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father – to be given duties of his own. In the meantime, he occasionally served as a mentor and guide to mortal warriors who either lacked powerful patrons of their own or whose patrons were otherwise occupied. Indeed, the most famous gods of war often had dozens of potential heroes to watch over and guide. It wasn’t ideal work, but it was good, honest work, and he was sure it would help to prepare him for his future duties. He had spoken to many of the older gods of war, and they had all counselled him to be patient. His opportunity would come. He merely needed to be ready to seize it when it finally arrived.

  He was enjoying some food and drink in one of the vast halls that belonged to the gods of war in Annihilation’s realm. As usual, there were places set aside for them to peer into the mortal world, and many of his peers were exchanging stories of the battles they’d fought against the Void Born. The centre of attention was Skaliros, the patron god of a kingdom that shared his name. That kingdom was known throughout the mortal world for its many heroes and great warriors, so Skaliros was much admired. Yet, as of late, a change had come over the older god, one that made Altius uneasy. Skaliros had grown increasingly prideful, and his boasting had taken on a nasty edge. It was less jovial now and more tinged with mocking, haughtiness, and hubris. No longer did Skaliros offer wise words of advice through his stories. Instead, he was quick to mock and criticise.

  Skaliros had also ordered the ruler of the kingdom he watched over to wage ever-bloodier wars against neighbouring nations. It had gotten so bad that even the kingdom’s farmers had been taken from their land and pressed into service on the front lines, leading to widespread famine.

  Such actions horrified Altius although perhaps that was because he usually associated with the gods who presided over righteous battle – battles for a good or noble cause – and who was he to question the wisdom of an older god? Skaliros had been guardian of that kingdom for longer than Altius had been alive, and his decisions had always been for the best. But even so, Altius had delved into divine law, and he had found that although Skaliros’s recent actions were not expressly forbidden, they were still deeply frowned upon. Pointless, needless wars were not Skaliros’s domain, so he should not have encouraged such conflicts without Annihilation’s formal approval.

  Skaliros and the gods around him were laughing merrily at some jest at the expense of a young god when all of the torch
es that lit the vast hall flickered and went out. The gleaming crystals that shone with the light of the sun followed suit an instant later. When the torches and crystals came to life once more a moment later, the light they gave off was bitterly cold, so much so that all of the gods in the hall began to shiver. A dread silence fell over the hall, and an eerie stillness settled upon them all. Power – the kind that could drive even a god to their knees – thundered through the hall. A god was coming. No. A mere god could never have done something like this. It was one of the Greater Gods, the oldest and mightiest of the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father’s children.

  A vast door of infinite darkness appeared in the middle of the hall and swung open to admit the one god in all of Creation that no one in the hall would have dared to face if they had a choice. Annihilation was their lord and master, as well as a Greater God of incomprehensibly vast power, yet even he would not have been confident of victory against the one who had appeared before them.

  It was Death.

  It was not often that Death walked these halls. Although Death and Annihilation were usually on good terms, the oldest of the Greater Gods only ever lingered in Annihilation’s realm in the aftermath of a battle against the Void Born. Yet even then, he rarely lingered long. It had been days since the last skirmish against the Void Born, and the eyes that blazed within the darkness of his hood spoke of a terrible fury that had all of the gods and their attendants wishing they could flee. But not one of them moved, for to move would draw Death’s attention, and none of them wanted to feel Death’s gaze upon them.

  As if to impress upon them the seriousness of the situation, Death raised one hand. The space above his hand warped and twisted, screaming in pain, and a scythe appeared, blacker than the dead of night, so sharp it could split starlight. A single touch of the weapon could kill, and it was said that merely pointing it could do the same. Indeed, Altius had heard stories of Death felling entire armies of the Void Born by merely summoning the scythe and letting loose a small portion of the cosmic energies that raged within it. He hadn’t believed those stories before. He believed them now. The air around the scythe glowed with iridescent colours beyond description even as the scythe itself seemed to drink up every shred of light and radiance in the hall. It was an impossibility made real – a nimbus of brilliant colours amidst an endless ocean of limitless darkness. It was only after a moment’s contemplation that Altius understood. The scythe was cutting Creation itself, tearing into the very fabric of all that was, had been, and would ever be. That iridescence was the blood of Creation, a swirling, seething rainbow of possibilities.

  “Skaliros!” Death’s voice snapped out like a whip, and the gods closest to Skaliros abandoned any pretence at courage and scattered like a flock of frightened pigeons. The god himself was frozen in place, mouth opening and closing frantically. Yet no words could leave his mouth, and Altius could not blame him. He had felt the might of many gods, but all of them, save Annihilation, paled before Death. If the power of a normal god was a candle, then Death was the sun, such was the difference in power. “Explain yourself.”

  Skaliros finally found the strength to speak. There was no arrogance or hubris about him now – only the simpering that came from the weak in the presence of the overwhelmingly strong. “Lord Death,” he began, his voice filled with as much humility as he could muster. “I do not know what –”

  “Do not lie to me.” Death’s reply was delivered in barely more than a whisper, but it carried all the force of a shout. To lie to Death was madness. It was said he could see through all lies and deception, for death revealed all things and people for what they truly were. “I have been to the kingdom you watch over. I have seen the starving people. Too many times have I seen them – far too many for my liking. Yet it was no normal famine that did this, nor is your master, Annihilation, responsible. Indeed, I would not be here if the kingdom’s woes were his doing – he is a Greater God, and his authority in such matters is far beyond yours. But you – you do not have such authority, yet you have created this famine by ordering the farmers from their lands to fight in wars that serve no purpose. It is not the will of the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father that such things occur, nor have any of the other Greater Gods given their approval. Skirmishing I could ignore, but outright war leading to widespread famine, all of it without cause or reason or justification? That is not our way. That cannot be our way. You will say that you have broken no law, but even that is a matter of debate. Without doubt, you have broken the spirit of the law. And so I ask you again. Explain yourself.”

  A wiser god would have thrown himself upon Death’s mercy and begged for forgiveness. Even Altius, who had not lived nearly as long as Skaliros, knew that Death was not cruel. True, his duties seemed cruel to many, but he took no great joy in them, and he was not cruel to others despite his great power. If anything, Death was the kindest of the Greater Gods, for he understood the value of a life far better than any of his fellows. But Skaliros? The arrogant fool rose to his feet and replied with the courage that only wounded pride or foolishness could give.

  “Who are you to command me?” Skaliros spat. “I am a god of war and amongst the greatest of my kind. That kingdom is mine to command, a duty I was given by the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father themselves.” He scoffed. “Pointless fighting? No. They carry out my will – that is the point. Mortals are weak. They must be led to glory, and I will lead them to glory. I will –”

  “Be silent.” Skaliros’s words died in his mouth, and every god in the room recoiled as if they too had been struck by Death’s words.

  A tremendous weight fell upon Skaliros and drove him to his knees. He tried to stand, but the force upon him grew until he was forced to sprawl upon the floor facedown. The floor, wrought of divine stone and masoned by the gods gifted in such things, cracked and buckled, yet this onslaught, this overpowering force, was nothing more than Death’s displeasure. Had Death used his true strength or had he brought his scythe to bear, Skaliros would have been killed on the spot, consigned to the afterlife until Death allowed him to craft a new body to contain his divine energies. Skaliros struggled mightily, but his struggles grew weaker and weaker until at last he fell still. Death gestured and tendrils of shadow appeared, enveloping the downed god and dragging him through a door made of shadows.

  “Let Justice judge your actions – and let Torment see to your punishment if you are found guilty.” Death turned away as the shadowy door swung shut and vanished, and his gaze, pitiless and stern, raked over the crowd. “Who else knew of this? Who else knew of Skaliros’s actions and did not speak of them to those with the authority to judge him? I know his kind well, a braggart such as he would have boasted to many of his deeds.”

  None dared to speak, so great was their fear of Death’s wrath. Yet Altius could not stop himself. He was an honest god – perhaps too honest for his own good.

  “I knew.” Altius did his best to keep his voice steady. “But I said nothing.”

  Death’s terrible gaze fell upon him. “Why?”

  “Because I was afraid.” Altius gulped. “I am not a powerful god, nor am I one of high standing. Who was I to question a god like Skaliros? Who would take my word over his?”

  Death’s eyes glowed with fire that no colour could accurately describe. “Is that so? Then why speak now? Perhaps you feared Skaliros’s ire, but my power dwarfs his as the ocean dwarfs a stream.”

  “Because my shame has grown greater than my fear, and I wish to be a just god. You have the right of it – the mortals deserve better than the guidance they have received from Skaliros. We are gods, but we are not infallible. We should help the mortals become more, not make them our slaves.”

  Death said nothing for a long time, and then he chuckled. His scythe vanished. “Well spoken, young god. Consider yourself promoted. For the time being, you will preside over the kingdom in Skaliros’s place since I have no intention of returning it to him, whatever Justice may decide. I will, of course, make
an appearance to the mortals to explain the situation.”

  Altius gasped. “But… but why me? I am not counted amongst either the strongest or the wisest of the gods of war.”

  “Because you had the courage to come forward and admit your mistake.” Death’s gaze swept over the hall. “I know that some of you knew, and I will see you censured as well. Ignoring a breach of divine law – or failing to notify someone of a possible breach – is a crime in and of itself, albeit one overlooked for minor offences. Yet this was no minor matter. I will let my sister handle you.” He turned to Altius. “For now, young god, you should familiarise yourself with the kingdom that has been placed under your care.”

  * * *

  Death appeared in the middle of Skaliros’s temple at the heart of the kingdom’s capital. A wave of disgust flowed through him. The temple was draped in fine fabric and gilded with silver and gold. Offerings of food and other riches were clustered near the altar and several smaller shrines. To demand such tribute – Death had been right to send the other god to Justice.

  He allowed the clergy and the rest of the city to sense his presence, and it wasn’t long before everyone had gathered at the front steps of the temple to hear him speak. His eyes narrowed. They were all here: royalty, nobles, merchants, craftsmen, and commoners – and they were all thinner than they should be. How had it gotten this bad? The mortals must have been afraid to defy their patron god, no matter how mad his orders, but that was not their fault. What could they have done against a god like Skaliros? No, the fault lay with the gods who had failed to oversee and correct him before his common sense had given way to foolishness.