The Goddess Gambit

by B Michael Stevens

  "No. I'm what humans would call a goddess."

  Jon heard the words, but couldn't quite make four out of two and two. His eyes averted from hers and darted all over her face, trying to find any hint of a lie.

  "A... g-goddess?" he asked, gulping. She slipped her head a little to recapture his gaze with hers and squeezed his hand.

  "Well," she said with a grin, "it's a bit more complicated than it seems on the surface, but, yes, essentially. I don't age. I don't need to kill life to sustain my own. I can shape powerful Strange, and I won't die of natural causes."

  "But you can be killed?" Jon asked, then instantly regretted it when her smile dimmed.

  "Yes."

  Jon took in her round, brown eyes. He could see his face reflected in their perfect pools, and like a diviner, he could see beyond her eyes reflected in the reflection of his eyes and out into the cosmos.

  "I'm not sure why. But I believe you, Lily, er... I mean, Maya."

  "I have been called many names throughout your planet's history. But Maya is my favorite because it was given to me by someone very special. The name Lily Sapphire, and the persona that goes along with it, is just a ruse that I came up with so that I could move within your nation easily. Being famous opens a lot of doors. And it made my quest much easier!" She grinned again, her dimples melting Jon's normally stoic exterior.

  "Quest? What quest?" he asked.

  "The one to find you, of course!" She beamed. "Well, you and Wyntr."

  "Me?" Jon nearly coughed, remembering his encounter with her at the show. "And who's Wyntr?"

  "There is a lot to explain. Let me try, okay?" She turned, keeping his hand in one of hers. "Walk with me." They strolled across the plateau towards the stone buildings. While the building materials and construction techniques were more primitive than anything Jon had seen even in the Shanty, they were incongruously more uniform, and altogether more pleasant. To a one, they were abandoned, the only sign of life in the area being Maya, Jon and the sunbathing lizards, some of whom would lift their heads as the walking pair approached and then bob them vigorously up and down until they had passed. Despite the ghost-town feel of the cyclopean village and the lack of human occupants, Jon could smell the lingering scent of something spicy in the air.

  "Copal," Maya explained when she noticed Jon sniffing the non-wind with a look of mild puzzlement on his face.

  "This is the nagual of my first home. The place where I was given the name Maya. My people burn tree resin to honor the gods and their dead. Do you see that?" She stopped walking and pointed into the blue sky. Jon followed her finger and saw a bright star, suspended like a jewel in the morning sky. "That is Xnuk Ek'. Or, what the people of Earth-Before-The-Storm, the predecessors of Home, called Venus. The Morning Star. This city and temple were built to worship and observe it. Long ago, I lived here, along with another being you would call a god."

  Jon nodded, listening without interruption, willing to entertain her. He couldn't explain it, but he felt at peace, whether because of Maya, the place, or something else, he did not know. Maya tugged on him gently, and they resumed their slow walk.

  "This one, named Enki, possessed a powerful artifact, called the Anvil, and he kept it in his sky-fortress named after your Venus, the Morning Star." Maya paused, both in speech and in step. Jon looked at her and saw upon her face a look of sadness he hadn't believed possible.

  "Enki died, trying to save this planet and all on it from enslavement and destruction. But he failed, and this world, not the Wayak' Lu'um, but the real world, the physical world, is in Hell." She raised her gaze to him, and Jon saw a pain beyond words hiding behind her eyes.

  "No argument here. It is pretty hellish out there. That's why the Republic—"

  "No, Jon. It's not a metaphor. Earth, the whole planet, and everyone on it, is literally in Hell."

  009

  “WAIT, WHAT?” Jon asked. “Doesn’t that just mean bad?”

  “Oh, I see.” Maya bit her bottom lip. “Yes, of course. You wouldn’t know such a thing, growing up in the Zigg.” She paused as if collecting her thoughts and then launched into an explanation.

  “Many of the people that lived in your land before the Storm believed that Hell was a place where bad people went.”

  Jon frowned.

  “Ah, that’s not quite right; bit of a simplification,” she scolded herself. “Damned souls are sent to Hell to be tortured by devils. What you need to understand is that Hell is a prison. Built by the gods, by Marduk. To house his adversary.”

  Jon nodded slowly. A dim understanding was beginning to form in his mind. “And now the entire planet is in this god prison?”

  “Yes.” Maya nodded.

  "I've seen and heard some crazy shit in the last couple of days, starting with the night I first saw you," Jon said, accusation in his voice, "but this wins the war."

  Maya frowned at him. Feeling slightly guilty, Jon toned it down and tried to play along. "So why can I still see the sun, the moon, the stars? Where are the devils and the tortured souls?"

  "Do you really need to ask, Jon? The Harvesters. They collect, they harvest. You've seen it yourself. They collect the souls of everyone they can find. They bring them to Tartarus. That's where the real torture begins."

  Jon gulped. He didn't want to believe her, but something told him she was telling the truth.

  "Originally, before the Storm, what you call Hell was nothing but Tartarus. An island in a void. A pocket dimension. A prison built for the express purpose of housing Enki, the god I spoke of. He was the only soul to be tortured. The rest was a story originally told to confuse the followers of Enki," Maya explained as best she could.

  "Enki is the Devil?" Jon asked.

  "That's what your ancestors were told. But his only crime was to try to help all mankind. To free them from the yoke of his race, the race of gods, and Marduk who ruled them."

  "I'm starting to get lost," Jon said.

  "Don't worry. We can discuss the details of history later when we have more time. For now, know this: Enki's weapon, the Anvil, was what he was going to use to do just that. Liberate all sentient life from slavery. When he attempted this, for the second time, after he escaped Tartarus, Marduk and the other gods threatened to destroy the Earth, and all life on it. They nearly succeeded. For at the critical moment of their battle, Enki was betrayed by his closest friend, Umbra."

  Maya's words hung in the air, heavy, ominous.

  "Umbra?" Jon whispered. "The man who aids the Harvesters?"

  "He is no man, Jon. He is like me. An Annunaki. A god."

  Jon rocked on his heels, and shook his head slightly, like a drunk trying to throw the cobwebs of the hangover from his skull.

  "Umbra betrayed and murdered Enki, and tried to claim the Anvil for his own. Instead of using the artifact to uplift all life, he would use it to usurp Marduk as ruler of the galaxy. I will not let that happen." Maya stopped walking and studied Jon's face. Looking for something...

  "I know this is a lot to take in. You have to trust me, as I trust you," she implored.

  "None of this makes sense. You haven't explained why this is Hell, or how I can see the sun and stars," Jon parried her plea.

  "When Enki broke out of Tartarus, he attempted to use the Anvil to free mankind. When Marduk realized what Enki was about to do, he made to destroy the world. Enki would have beaten Marduk in this race, were it not for Umbra's betrayal. But because of it, Enki could not finish the task, and only had enough time for a bold move. A terrible choice had to be made." Maya paused, weighing her next words carefully. Jon listened.

  "In order to save the Earth from certain annihilation, Enki used the Anvil to place Earth where Marduk could not reach it." She stopped and looked to see if Jon understood. Seeing only a creased brow, she tried again.

  "Enki shifted the Earth, and all on it, into the pocket dimension that he had broken free from. Enki put Earth in Hell."

  Jon had no words.

  "That's
why you can see the stars, and the sun and moon. It was a shifting. An overlap. The size of the pocket dimension now mirrors the size of the original. Although, the void of the cosmos here is all but empty. Think of it as the turning of a radio dial. You still have those, right?" Maya asked.

  "Um, yes," Jon stammered.

  "Okay, well, when he used the Anvil to place Earth outside of Marduk's reach, he basically turned the dial of the universe. We—Earth, and everyone on it—have shifted one station over. Just a slight turn of the knob. Our pocket dimension, our prison, is just a few degrees off from the rest of the universe, like a ghost. Our current dimension is superimposed over the other, but separate. Like overlapping cells in pre-Storm animation."

  "Huh?" Jon inquired.

  "Never mind," Maya corrected herself and then tried again. "It's like this," she said and held both her hands up, then passed one before the other, fingers splayed out wide.

  "I uh..." Jon stuttered. "I think I get it."

  "Good." Maya's smile returned.

  "And the Drops? They are part of this?" Jon asked.

  "Yes. Though I'm not sure how, or why. I am sure that somehow Umbra and the Harvesters are connected to it."

  "Mmm. All right. I'll play."

  Maya beamed with satisfaction and then continued to walk along the path, Jon following.

  Jon held up a finger. "Wait. One thing I don't get: You keep saying that Enki was going to use this, uh, Anvil, to free humanity. Free them how?"

  Maya nodded her understanding, bit her lower lip, winced and then seemed to relax as if she had decided to answer the question after initially not wanting to. "He was going to make all of humanity like me."

  "Like you?" Jon asked, unsure of what she meant.

  "Undying. Immortal. And with the ability to shape Strange."

  Jon squinted one eye and looked at her sideways. "Whoa, hold up there. How is that liberating? Death is natural. And Strange, well, that's not. It's... evil." Jon heard his words as he spoke them and flinched imperceptibly. He knew this was the old him talking, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  "Do I seem evil to you, Jon?" She smiled again. Jon opened and closed his mouth a few times, but didn't know what to say.

  "The Strange you first saw me shape, it was only to find you. Is that evil?"

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you. The shapings revealed you to me. I've been looking for you for over eighty years." She reached out, re-taking his hand in both of hers, and squeezed it.

  "Eighty years? But, you're so young..."

  "Immortal goddess?" Maya grinned impishly and raised one eyebrow.

  "Oh, yeah. Right." Jon laughed at himself but quickly turned serious again. "Why me?" It was, Jon felt, the most important question he had asked yet.

  "The shapings tell me that you are the only one who can access the Morning Star, the fallen fortress of Enki, where the Anvil lays hidden, safe and protected from Umbra. Do you recall the girl I mentioned, Wyntr?"

  "Uh, yeah, I think so," Jon lied, having already tried to absorb everything he had been told and having failed somewhat.

  "She recently came to the attention of the resistance here in Home. She is a foreigner. She can shape Strange. We have reason to believe that she knows the location of the Morning Star."

  "The hidden fortress?" Jon asked, catching on.

  "Yes," nodded Maya, smiling.

  "Okay." Jon returned the nod.

  "She has been captured by the Ministry of Social Purity for violating Strange laws. That's why I let myself get arrested: to get close to her."

  "Huh," Jon said, nodding but frowning.

  "Go with Lucy, my guardian. She will take you to the Vault. There, she will present to you a test. After you complete it, she will offer you a serum. Take it. It will give you the power to overcome all the obstacles that stand in your way. Then, together with Lucy, come and rescue Wyntr and me from the Ministry. Then we can all go to the Morning Star and retrieve the Anvil."

  The trail they were on came to an end, having run through the abandoned stone village of lizards like a meandering brook. It ended facing the sea again, the trail having gone over the edge, like a waterfall. Jon stared out to the sea, so blue and bright it seemed to be lit from underneath.

  "You've told me what Enki and Umbra both meant to do with this Anvil. What do you want with it?" It was a fair question, and he suspected he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear her say it.

  "To finish what my—" She stopped, as if catching herself, then continued, "To finish what Enki started. To liberate all life. To destroy Umbra, the Harvesters, as well as Warbak and the State."

  "Now that is where you lose me," Jon said, turning to her, "Warbak and the State. The Military to which I belong—"

  "Used to belong," Maya interrupted, her voice kind.

  "Used to belong," Jon repeated. "It's the last bastion of hope. The only defense in the whole world against the chaos out there. The only force capable of fighting the Harvesters. And win. You talk about taking them out? That's when you start sounding like an esoterrorist to me. The Republic is the only thing standing between humanity and extinction."

  "That is your Chairman talking. The truth is, Warbak serves Umbra, and is working with the Harvesters. You have been lied to."

  "You expect me to believe that?" Jon asked.

  "I hope that you will believe it," she countered.

  A silence descended on them, the rhythmic and gentle crashing of the waves below doing little to sooth the tension in the air.

  "Look," Jon broke the silence after a minute, "I get that not all Invasives are bad."

  "Displaced," Maya corrected. "They aren't invaders, Jon."

  "Okay, fair enough," he conceded. "I understand they aren't all evil. But before they came here, before the Storm, our world was perfect. A utopia."

  "That is just another lie you've been told," Maya said, a pained expression on her face. "I take no pleasure in telling you this, Jon."

  "You say that Warbak is helping the Harvesters, like Umbra. You say that everything I have been taught is a lie. Where's the proof?"

  "Just as stubborn..." she murmured, almost to herself.

  "What?" Jon asked, leaning in.

  "Oh, nothing." She inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. "Here, maybe this will help." She stood abreast of him and reached her hand out towards the sky that pressed upon the sea. She made a brush of her hand, moving it across the vista from left to right, and the sky before Jon's eyes rippled like an unsettled pond. The distant horizon, where the sun met the water, wavered away and was replaced by a collage of moving images. Jon peered at them, and then was pulled into them, no longer simply seeing the events portrayed in the pictures, but now experiencing them.

  "I'm sorry, Jon," he heard Maya say. Her voice sounded like an echo, making its way from the shore of a foggy coast to a boat, floating farther and farther away with each swell of the tide.

  Although distant and dreamlike, her voice remained, even while her image was long gone, replaced by the immersive collection of past events that she meant for him to experience firsthand. She began to relate a new tale to him, speaking like a narrator, or guide.

  "You have been told that before the advent of the Drops, before Strange and the arrival of the Displaced, that Earth was a paradise. That mankind lived peacefully in perfect harmony, and that once the world is rid of Strange and Displaced, it will return to its former glory, to a utopian state." Her voice, for it was the voice of Maya, was no longer the cute and meek voice of Lily Sapphire. Her voice now was loud, amplified as if she spoke through an electronic megaphone, and wrathful. The voice of a goddess in her fury.

  "This story is a lie. Behold, your true history."

  Jon, himself now a protean facsimile of his former self, was displaced from one haunting scene to the next, first a desert, then a city, old and made of sandstone block, similar to the cliffside village he had just been strolling through with Maya. Then onto another, and another; each repres
enting a different epoch of human history on earth, each era filled with war, murder, rape, genocide, torture. The images flashed by, in front of and all around Jon, faster and faster. Although his eyes could never have processed what was going on in each scenario, the emotional auras of each one was wholly and completely downloaded into him. He felt each one as if the events had happened to him personally.

  He was Cain, and he was Able. He felt not only the rock, both in hand and on head, but he felt the greed, the anger, the fear and the pain. He was the Pharaoh, and he was the slave. He shed the tears and cracked the lash. He was the young woman, and he was the rapist. He was the phallus and the vulva. The blood and the semen. The fist and the bruise. He was the infant, animal, and human, he was the racing heartbeat and sucking death that loomed closer, inch by inch. He was the child, and he was the drunk. He was the cigarette burns and the dark, locked room. He was the hammer, the nine-inch nail, the one who drove it and the one who bore it. He was the hungry, he was the fat. He was the plague borne by rat. He crossed the sea by boat bound by chain and counted the money in the captain's quarters.

  He was the musketman and the woman that buried her son. He was both giver and receiver of the poisoned blanket. The quiet worshiper and the keeper of the keys at the Gulag. His hands pinned the yellow star, his chest wore it. He was the scientist and the pilot, he was the rice farmer who watched the sky turn to fire when the planes came. He was the man calling his wife on the phone before jumping from the 97th floor. He was the woman who took that call.

  The tour happened fast, all the pain and hurt of human history in its totality, experienced and downloaded within minutes. Each occurrence a drop, coming down and into Jon like a deluge. So many drops, so many, until they formed an ocean of suffering. A black, sunless sea of sorrow, and Jon felt himself going under, sinking into the depths of heartbreak and despair. Each cry for help he attempted only resulted in the gulping down of more of its salty bitterness. He was drowning in the existential misery of mankind.