Airia smiled softly. Flynn had gotten to the crux of the matter. That she didn’t want to talk of it was written all over her face; that it was taboo to speak to mortals of it was betrayed by the hesitation on her lips. Lofty though she may be, Airia had been alone for a long time and it was enough to get her to set her principles and vows aside and let those truths out.
“There are many pantheons, all part of the greater whole, but those gods in each are most closely connected to one another. When one falls, the worlds we shepherd suffer for it worst and most grievously. It is important that if one lays down her divinity, another be chosen to take her place or, failing that, be soon found. Just a few years can cause real harm.”
“You said it’s been four hundred years?” Chari confirmed.
Airia nodded grimly. “I was one of three who inherited my power and status from Ukriasa the Divine. When we were at peace, the worlds under our reign flourished in a state of semi-harmony. And when we turned to quarrel with one another, Sechal was the first to fall. They had forged too deep a bond with Ukriasa, and remained too close long after she was gone. As we gods bickered for a hundred days in the streets of TseTsu, Sechal’s people warred against one another.”
The mountain temple and the field of forgotten swords. Was this the war Airia spoke of it, or was it just one of many? Did all of Sechal bathe in blood as their gods clashed?
“Fourteen hundred years ago, it fell upon me to bear the Essence of Eternity, with insight into the machinations of time and space. It is very likely the passages you’ve moved through along your way here were my work, eons ago.”
“So why open a rift?” Chari asked, skeptically. “Can’t a god just will themselves where they need to be?”
“All can, in their own ways,” Airia replied shortly. “It is true that there are streams we can follow to find our way through the worlds, but so too can some among us force our way directly, forging a path where none may exist. In most cases, the rift reseals itself, as though it were never there. Once in a rare while, the way will close incorrectly, and can be breached again, when complementing energy draws near.” She looked directly at Flynn. “This is normally reserved for gods, but the right sort of person can pick up a little power along the way … carry it with them.”
“Impressive!” Mack declared. “So what’s yer secret Flynn? How’d ya do it?”
“I … I don’t really know,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Fuck that,” Jean cut in, demanding. “If you ripped all these doors open, and someone’s so keen on offing you, why don’t they just come in and finish the job?”
“I closed the ones they knew about,” Airia explained. “It’s true, one of them could come as you did, if they happened upon an entrance. But you are my first visitors in several centuries. I find an invasion unlikely.”
Flynn felt the air around him, realizing there were fewer passages from this temple than there were tunnels leaving the chamber. Far fewer. Airia must have collapsed many of the ways from this place.
“Who were the other two gods?” he asked.
“The Hands of Fate, serving the Ebb and Flow of Purpose, were placed in the care of a woman named Kayra Kwarla,” Airia continued, “while the Mantle of Creation, and with it the innate drive to grow and construct, came in time to a Saryu priest named Taryl Renivar.”
At this, Chari perked up. Her eyes widened, as though she’d heard the name before. “Saint Renivar of Diamas?”
“He was born Taryl Lanwell,” Airia replied, as though in on some private joke. “I’m certain the historical texts have omitted that fact, if it was ever committed to paper to begin with.” Caught in the memory, Airia went on: “When I was sent to find him, he had set aside a lifetime of labor and good deeds to take a well-earned retirement. Although strong still, age was taking its toll on him in other ways. What I offered was considerably more time, and he spent a year contemplating what that meant before accepting.”
“So once yer a god … what d’ya do?” Mack inquired.
“We are curators of power.” She let slip some amusement. “In truth, we need do very little. We persist, and in exchange for immortality, our souls safeguard the well-being of humanity throughout the ocean of stars. Our time passes and we cede the power to another, with enough spirit remaining to leave this life when our time comes.”
“I’ve read a great deal of Saint Renivar,” Chari said. “I’ve drawn quote and inspiration from him. He’d have not taken such power.”
“Yet he did. Taryl understood the rules when he accepted the mantle.” Airia paused, then added, “and I truly think he did mean to abide by them, after a lifetime’s service to his fellow man.” A moment passed in mourning of a bond between two deities lost. “Though we may sometimes convene and make conversation, as gods we spend our better days apart. Decades, sometimes centuries, would pass before one might find another near. Usually, we are content to live in the world and …” Airia smiled fondly. “I still recall summers in that Arizona movie theatre, eating stale popcorn.”
The comment surprised Flynn, and he almost wanted to ask when this was and what movies she’d seen, wondering if they had seen any films in common. It was so hard to find anyone on Earth who had taken the time to go through cinema archives.
“Years passed. Kayra or I saw Taryl from time to time, and we would exchange words,” Airia continued. “It became clearer that living in the world was not enough. He wanted to be part of it, affect things for the better, using the power he had not just to drive humanity’s impulses, but to fulfill needs and resolve woes.”
“What’s so bad about that?” Mack asked.
“We don’t accept the power of gods to act as them,” Airia said. “Do favors for humanity, and they will more than thank you; they will pay you homage. I have seen too many cling to the teat of a loving god, as they could not find their way without her. Children grow up believing a god will provide, and will not reach for the stars when they think another will lift them.”
It was clear that Airia understood more than she let on.
“Taryl wished to act a god. Ascertaining this, Kayra and I met with him. We bickered. Like those mirroring our quarrel, we too turned violent and clashed, and Cordom shuddered as though under a storm. The cathedral fell when we took the fight to a dying rock named Terrias, tearing earth apart before the vicious duel concluded.”
“The storm in Cordom—?” Chari murmured in disbelief.
“Gods. Raging. Kayra and I bound him to the ground, rooting him to the world’s core, but we had no more strength left. Not like him. Not enough to finish what we had started. And so we left the man, chained and furious, and walked away. And just like that, we were broken. A triumvirate of gods, come apart.”
That Earth’s present state of ruin was tied to a dispute of three beings, however powerful they might claim to be, seemed preposterous. Yet if Earth fell within this trinity’s territory, same as Sechal, then it was a difficult claim to refute. Sechal had felt like a haven after their fortunate exodus, but came to reveal itself to be a sad and lonely place. The land was alive, true, but its people were gone, and perhaps the grass and the trees were simply be the last to go on a certain downward spiral. The world Flynn, Jean, and Mack called home seemed not so doomed then; on Earth, some still held the belief that the land could become verdant again and perhaps the callousness and lawlessness that overtook it might one day be resolved.
If all Airia had told them was true, Earth might never climb back up. It was the world Flynn was born into, but it was as much the world he had made. He had taken every opportunity that came his way, sown dissent where he could profit, and talked people into giving up those most precious to them for what he convinced them they needed. He may have not made the world what it was, but he kept the gears turning.
But was this too much? Was this beyond his depth? Flynn knew the measure of his guilt, but had meant to reach for solutions he could affect. Meddling in the circumstances of purported gods,
disregarding whatever grasp he had of what they could do, seemed madness and a way to an early grave. If he died now, the weight of his sins would never begin to find balance.
Jean gave him a look that asked, Is that it? Can we go? Mack was twiddling his thumbs diligently, looking to Flynn to take action. If Jeannie’s not gonna pick a fight, Flynn imagined he would say, then you probably should just do something.
However content Airia was to end her story, it wasn’t yet over.
“Why didn’t you find a successor?” Flynn asked the fallen goddess.
Airia’s sigh blew softly past her lips.
“I tried. I journeyed for a time between worlds, much the way you did. I followed familiar paths and strayed for years, at times to places I didn’t know.” Smiling to herself, as if realizing she had forgotten to explain a fundamental part, she said, “Choosing a successor isn’t so easy as plucking a face from the crowd. There’s an inherent knack that one must possess, and that even a lesser Mystik such as myself can still find.”
Mystik?
“You needn’t feign recognition at the term, the concept,” Airia said, and Flynn held his tongue. He had heard the term before, from Scytha back on Sechal. “When you are awakened, gifted beyond what mundane humanity has given you, you become something more. Even though I am no longer a goddess, I am still more than human. As are you all, just for passing through the paths of gods in coming here.”
Jean sat up. “So just ‘cause we hopped a few portals to get here, we’re what? Better than other folks?”
“There are benefits that set you apart,” Airia said. “But I would not say ‘better’ so lightly. Such hubris will see you undone when you least expect it. Shall I go on?” The last question was asked curtly, and Jean merely shrugged, prompting Airia to continue. “I did, in time, sense someone who might be able to inherit my role.” She shook her head, pained. “It should have been simple. It should have been done. But Taryl had already gathered worshipers, ones whom he had gifted with power. Ones who could find me, track me.”
“So … ya fought them, right?” Jean asked, practically begging not to be disappointed.
“As the Mystik of Eternity, I could have cut them all down,” Airia said decisively. Yet she followed that with an ashamed, “But I was a shadow of the goddess I once was. I ran. For many worlds. I took the paths I knew and I hid the power away in the care of one I trusted, fleeing until I came back here, siphoning shut every conduit they knew. And I’ve been here since.”
“And what of Kayra?” Flynn asked. “What about the Mystik of Fate?”
“I don’t know what happened to Kayra Kwarla. But for all these years, I’ve had to believe she made it, and—more importantly—that her power is secreted away as mine is. There is still no Mystik of Fate to replace her, and Taryl would not have left my trinity to sit so precariously for so long, had he the chance to fix things.”
Chari asked why, her interest again piqued at mention of her distant predecessor’s name.
“If our power teeters too far and topples,” Airia said, “then his does too. Have no doubt, he wishes the trinity restored—only on his terms. He would not have needed nearly four centuries to find another candidate. They are perhaps one in millions, at best.”
“And if his power falls completely?” Chari asked.
“Then all goes dark.” Airia was troubled by the prospect. “Bleak as things are now, there are still many worlds that support life. Like a windblown flame it could all go out.”
*
Airia Rousow excused herself soon after. They were, she reiterated, free to depart, but no one was in a hurry to go anywhere. Airia poured forth a little of what power she had left, breathing to life and growth a single tree, whose fruits nourished hunger and slaked thirst. Flynn understood why she wanted them to stay longer: She wanted their help.
The four divided and took to rest. There was no sense of day or night in this forgotten sanctuary, but time had been so transient for the group already, from Earth to Sechal to TseTsu, that doing away with it was at least less jarring than he expected. The facilities were less than ideal, of course—there was no place to bathe, for one. Likewise, they traveled out of courtesy at least a few rings away from the center to find a place to relieve themselves.
Flynn found himself contemplating just how many bodily functions true gods had to trouble themselves with. Perhaps none lingered here long enough for it to be a concern. As the others rested, Flynn studied Airia with great interest. Loftily though she carried herself, her moods cycled subtly through frustration and contempt, and he reasoned that their recent arrival had only made things worse for her. In spite of having been alone for centuries, a passage Flynn couldn’t reasonably imagine experiencing in true isolation, she hadn’t been especially sociable.
Chari had sought her out not long after she’d finished her tale, perhaps to reconcile belief with fact, and interpret what it all meant. Mack, too, had talked with her in private, but there Flynn had less certainty about what, which bothered him a little. Airia did smile at least once while the two conversed, though it may have just been Mack being clever.
As the fruits disappeared from the tree, what must have been a few days passed. Their matron stressed that she would not supply any more, as it had taken too much from her to flourish even the one. Airia herself never ate. So far as Flynn observed, she never slept either.
“Who is Taryl Renivar?” Flynn had asked Chari in their first hours there. “You never mentioned him before.”
“Never once did I have a reason to. He lived over twenty-six hundred years ago. How many Earthly saints have you conjured in conversation?”
“I’ll admit, Earthly saints aren’t exactly my forte,” Flynn replied, trying to figure the ratio of TseTsuan years to Earth years. “Sorry, then. But what do you know?”
“Only what I was taught, which, bear in mind, is entirely suspect,” she replied. “As Airia said, he spent his life doing good deeds. The stories spoke of a man who rejected churchly donations to make his bed and fill his belly, using every hour not spent preaching in aid to those around him. He never accepted payment, save only what day’s meal one might spare.”
“Commendable though he sounds,” Flynn said, speaking from the belly of his own culture, “where I’ve come from, the man would be considered a sap.”
“He may well have starved some days,” Chari conceded. “Still, he lived to an old and healthy age. The tellings are less certain following his retirement, whether he died of old age or he was taken by ascended servants to the infinite arms of the Goddess Hapané. But the consistent belief still stands that he got it right the first time.”
“Got it right?”
“Taryl Renivar did not reincarnate,” Chari clarified. “He passed on from TseTsu. He left the world a spiritually perfect man.”
Flynn had never known a man of such stainless honor who hadn’t gotten screwed over in the end. What up-to-date information Flynn could get on Renivar was exclusive to Airia Rousow, who was admittedly biased. He watched her, wondering what she was looking for.
Her library was impressive, likely accumulated over the entirety of her tenure as a goddess. Assuming that the library didn’t itself predate her. There were no books written in the pain-inducing scrawl on the walls of the mountain temple on Sechal, and nearly every language represented was unknown and unrecognizable, save for some Earthly texts in the mix—Nietzsche and Machiavelli, at the least. Chari may have recognized a few texts of her own, as she skimmed the shelves with interest.
Airia poured over her materials obsessively, seemingly on a quest for solutions to a problem that seemed to have none. There was too much innate power in her to safely leave the temple, but not enough to ensure her success if she did so. Before her arrival in this sanctuary centuries past, her tale following Renivar’s binding could not have covered more than a decade. If the danger she faced was grave then, it was not hard to imagine how much worse things might be now.
Wheth
er Renivar and Rousow’s enmity was fairly represented was up for question, but it seemed hard to dispute the underlying problem. Airia’s arguments had been at least convincing.
*
Some time later, Flynn found himself sitting atop an archway with Mack, who had climbed up to get a better view of the oblivion beyond.
After Flynn had shared his conflict over Airia’s case, Mack replied, “I’m surprised, Flynn-o. I figured you would just dive in and do it.”
“Part of me wants to. But I don’t usually take a job without knowing all the angles. It was just as important for knowing how to play someone else as it was to avoid being played.”
“But we’re kinda in the dark here, huh?” Mack caught on.
“Enough of what Airia says lines up with what we’ve seen and experienced. My biggest problem in Cordom wasn’t how I looked; it was what I knew. It’s hardest to lie when you have no truth to skew.”
“Airia does got all the truth, assuming there’s any truth at all,” Mack agreed. “I guess it means we either take the job or go home, right?” He paused. “Well, maybe not home home.”
“You know neither of us would be satisfied with that.”
“I’m just runnin’ with what I see, Flynn-o. I see some redhead in trouble, I don’t think about whether or not I’m gonna help her,” he told Flynn, almost dismissively. “Mostly, I might just think about how.”
“… You do know that even on a bad day, Jean could flatten you?”
“She’s still got her good parts!” Mack protested.
Flynn shrugged, then slid off the arch and dropped back down to the ground. He thanked Mack for his input, adding, “You know how to keep things simple, don’t you?”
“Well, you know,” Mack shrugged. “It’s easy to have a clean moral compass when it only points in two directions.”
Flynn left Mack feeling a little more resolved. Still, he envied those whose understanding of “the right thing” could come so easily. He’d operated too long in the absence of right and wrong, believing himself still lost in the forest. Was it truly doing right when you could only mimic what you’d seen others do before? Still, Flynn found himself conflicted between two wants: He neither wanted to lose his friends, nor this opportunity to do some good.
Outcasts of the Worlds Page 21
