A Sliver of Redemption

2

Qurrah sat alone in a small tent, his hands probing the damp earth as his mind looped an endless replay of the past few weeks. He was supposed to have been a father, their child a gift given to Tessanna and him by Karak, god of everything wretched and dark. Then the birth, and the revealing of the lie. He shuddered, wanting to remember nothing of that long night, the blood, the sweat, and the still, still shell that was his daughter. Teralyn, his beloved had named the corpse…

“Qurrah?”

He glanced up, wiping away his tears. There were no torches or campfires nearby for light, but both the orcish and elvish blood in his veins granted him excellent vision in the darkness. When he saw the sleek figure sliding into his tent, her beautiful green dress rippling in the moonlight, he knew his tears would be seen by Aurelia's keen elven eyes. He said nothing, though he had much he wished to say. He knew so little of her. She was his brother's wife and, in a distant time, a friend. Now she was a stranger, wounded and tired.

“Harruq will be fine,” she said, breaking the silence as she crossed her legs and sat across from him. Outside the tent, the angels guarding him shuffled, their weapons clacking against their armor.

“He has certainly endured far worse before,” Qurrah said.

“You could say that,” Aurelia said, and Qurrah felt a stab in his gut. How many of his brother’s scars bore his name, scrawled with whip and dark magic? The elf saw the brief flash of pain in his eyes and quickly apologized.

“He told me what happened,” she said, tucking errant strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes refused to meet his. “Of what you wanted, and what he did. You have a good brother, Qurrah.”

“And you a good husband.”

Aurelia smiled again, a weak smile.

“Why is Tessanna not with you?” she asked.

Qurrah opened his mouth, a lie on his tongue. He closed it, and another lie replaced it in his heart. He brushed both away, and spoke freely to the woman he had so deeply hurt.

“Tessanna gave birth to a stillborn,” he said. “It broke me. I never could have anticipated such pain. And as I held that small, lifeless form, I knew a shred of what I had done to you. Guilt is a funny thing, Aurelia. I had never felt it before, and when it came upon me, I was a wretched child lost in confusion and self-pity. I waited in Veldaren for my brother, for I wanted him to kill me. Dying was preferable to living with the guilt I felt. Tessanna figured as much, and was furious at my cowardice.”

He felt more tears growing in his exhausted eyes. The gods damn it all, he was tired of crying, and tired of hiding it every time he did. He let his tears fall and his lower lip quiver.

“I saw no other way, Aurelia. You have to understand. I thought it would do him good, that maybe he could cut my throat, and the blood would cover some of the pain you two felt. But he didn't. He forgave me. For all of it. I didn't need blood or penance, he just…let it go.”

He fell silent. Aurelia huddled her knees to her chest and pressed her shaking fist to her mouth. She stared at him, taking in every movement he made, every twitch of his eyes, every sad, whispered word.

“Harruq said he forgave you,” she said. “Did I ever say the same?”

Qurrah shrugged and stared her in the eye.

“Years ago, when you two married, I told my brother I was proud of him, and that he’d found an excellent bride. I meant those words. I still do. Please, Aullienna was…”

“Don't,” Aurelia said. She stood, her shoulders stooped and her head bowed by the low fabric of the tent. “Just…don't. Not tonight, not while my husband lies bleeding and bedridden with fever.”

She stepped outside, whispered something to the angel guard, and then glanced to Qurrah, who did not look back.

“The others want you executed,” she said. “I'm not sure Harruq can stop them.”

“Will you stop them?” Qurrah asked. The quiet stretched out longer and longer.

“Good night, Qurrah,” she said, slipping away.

It was the answer he deserved, he knew.

T hulos looked upon the city from the castle doors, his skin cold marble in the bright moonlight. Velixar stood beside him, quiet and attentive. Thulos had summoned him to listen, and so he would.

“I cannot hear my brothers,” Thulos said, his eyes watching the land beyond the walls where the distant army of Ashhur camped. “Either of them. But you say you hear Karak's voice, and so I speak to you, in hopes that through you he may speak to me.”

The wind blew. Velixar heard Karak whisper for him to hold his silence. In time, Thulos resumed.

“I will tell you much, mortal, so that you may understand what it is I came for, and why it is I seek your lord. I need you to understand, to ensure Karak hears the truth.”

Thulos gestured to the stars above.

“Every one of them holds a single world filled with life. Celestia was the first to create such a place, and I was among the other gods, jealous of her beautiful creation. So we scattered, with the blessing of He Who Judges. We were all mirrors of his glory, but Celestia seemed special, elevated somehow. We created similar lands, for we only sought Celestia's splendor, not knowing how to create it on our own. When she created man, we did the same. But hers were the first, ours just shallow, imperfect imitations.”

Thulos drifted off, his mind in times far beyond their own. Velixar waited, glad for the chance to absorb what he’d heard. Karak had whispered to him of other worlds, but never had he heard of their creation, nor mention of He Who Judges. Did gods themselves also have gods?

“I created men, much as Celestia did,” Thulos continued several minutes later. “I armed them with weapons, and I opened a door to her world and let them through. My pets killed every shred of life. It was petty jealousy, nothing more, and I have forever carried the shame of that single, human moment. As punishment I was banished to my own world. Celestia created elves to heal the destruction, and in turn, the others of my kind copied her creation. She hoped the elves’ docile nature would allow her to rest, and in this she was correct.”

“You created man, and shaped worlds, yet here you stand before me in flesh and blood?” Velixar dared ask. “Why did you not wave your hand and dismiss those you fought today, and with a word split their very beings to water and dust?”

“Wave my hand?” Thulos said, a hint of anger giving life to his words. “Deny combat to a foe, however unworthy? What do skill and strength matter, what do I matter, if I render all need of such things pointless?”

He dismissed Velixar with a shrug of his head.

“You are too ignorant to understand. You crave only victory, not the battle itself. Karak has certainly fallen far if you are his wisest pupil.”

Velixar accepted the stinging rebuke, knowing he should have stilled his tongue. The minutes crawled as again Thulos seemed to dig deep into a memory spanning thousands of years, searching for words to attach to moments that shaped entire worlds.

“Besides,” Thulos said at last. “I can no longer do so. I am not a proper god, not as I once was. Neither is Karak or Ashhur.”

“How is that possible?”

“I came to Him,” Thulos said. “Told Him what I would do. The men of my world were ruthless, vile, and ignorant. I hovered outside it, peering in, and I felt that was the flaw. With His blessing, I shattered myself. Once we were Kaurthulos, all one, but afterward we were Ashhur and Karak, Kirm and Ra, Thulos and Verae, gods of Justice, Mercy, War, Order, Death, Life…”

He shook his head.

“I left the outside. I left all my power, and to the mortal world I fell. In time, I saw my error. The world was no better. Now my creations were divided, battling over worship of my various incarnations, putting one virtue higher than another, as if Justice were at war with Order, or Life in eternal conflict with Mercy. As Thulos, I was everywhere, for I was War. As my power grew, I slew my brothers, prism refractions of my own being. Each time, I felt myself returning to wholeness. But then Karak and Ashhur fled here, to the world they once helped destroy. Tell me, Velixar, what happened here, after my brothers denied me my right to ascend, to look from the outside once more and wield all of my divine power?”

“Karak and Ashhur created man, and then through man, waged war against each other,” Velixar said. “Celestia imprisoned both, and so my master has called out to you. He wishes to be freed from his cage, to campaign at your side.”

Thulos chuckled, the deep sound frightful in the night.

“I'm not sure that is possible. I wish to be whole. This conquest across the stars, it is merely preparation. We were told of a time when He Who Judges would view our creations, preserving for eternity those he deemed good, and casting into fire forever those he considered ill-wrought and vile. I seek to gather the power of all the stars, all the worlds, and all the gods, and in a loud voice declare to Him that all is good, and that I accept no judge. I do not need Karak as an ally. I need him to return to me, so we may be whole once more.”

“You ask his death,” Velixar said, his heart surrounded by the creeping feeling of betrayal.

“I ask his atonement,” Thulos said. “Does a stream die when it joins a river?”

Velixar listened for Karak's answer, but none came to his ears. Thulos waited, saw he would be given no answer, and then swore in a language Velixar knew nothing off. A massive fist slammed into the stone of the castle. Cracks ran in all directions.

“How do I free them from their prison?” Thulos asked.

“Celestia must be defeated,” Velixar said. “She gains her strength from the health of this world. Burn its trees, poison its rivers, and kill off her elves. We will find a way.”

“Pray to your god you are right,” Thulos said, trudging back into the castle. “And pray you both understand the inevitable future that awaits you.”