The New World

Chapter Twenty-two

2nd day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Wangaxan (The Ninth Hell)

Jorim backed away from Nessagafel, but his efforts put no distance between them. The other god had not moved, of course. The Viruk could have pounced on Jorim easily, but he refrained. He watched Jorim and fear trickled through Jorim’s belly.

“There is no escaping this place, Wentoki, nor is there any escaping me.” Nessagafel chuckled, raising gooseflesh on Jorim’s arms. “I think you should want me to escape. I shall manage that trick with your help.”

Jorim narrowed his eyes. “You want to destroy everything, kill everyone.”

“You listen to Grija and the others? You believe them?” The Viruk god shook his head. “ They have every right to fear, Grija most of all. He was my first, you know. My first child. I created him with a thought-a half thought, really. I was not paying much attention. I merely wanted a witness to my creation, and he was what I got.”

Grija cowered in a grey heap, which shrank away to nothingness as Jorim watched. “Is he?”

“Dead? No. As long as he is remembered a god can never really die. His place can be usurped, he can become obscure or irrelevant, but die? No. I didn’t allow for that.”

“But Quun and Chado killed you. The constellation that represented you was ripped to pieces.”

“As attacks go, it was masterfully done.” Nessagafel clasped his hands together. “Had you helped them, I might have been so shredded that I could never have brought myself together again. You know you are the most powerful of them all. You are my most complete creation.”

“Are you flattering me?”

“It is not flattery, Wentoki. They are limited. They take their aspects from ordinary animals, but you, you are a dragon. As a man, you have traveled the world enough to know there are no dragons, and yet you exist. Did you ever wonder why?”

“There are many creatures of myth.”

“But none of them are gods, Wentoki.” Nessagafel did not step closer, but the distance between them shrank. “When I chose to first visit my creation and walk in flesh, I made myself into a dragon. I did not visit often, but I found the Viruk and the Soth worshipping that image. I chose it for you, and I made you in that image. I made you in my image.”

“But you are a Viruk.”

Nessagafel shrugged. “When the Viruk became self-aware, they chose to believe that their god had made them in his image. I had made them, of course, and felt no need to disappoint them. Now this form suits me, but I can change.”

In an instant the Viruk vanished and a young human boy took his place. “This should be more comforting to you.”

“It won’t make me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“That you tricked me into divesting myself of my divine nature.”

“That was unavoidable.” The boy held up his right hand and flicked the little finger. A black ring circled the base of it, pinching the flesh. “I used your nature to unlock the chains binding me here. This ring is all that keeps me from my full power.”

“It stops you from unmaking everything?”

Nessagafel nodded. “In fact, it does, but this should not be your concern. I would never unmake you.”

Jorim arched an eyebrow. “No? Why not?”

“Because I need you. Do you know why I created you last?”

“No.” Jorim watched Nessagafel and listened to his words. From the way the elder god was taking him into his confidence, the words were meant to beguile him. Flattery combined with sincerity and respect were intended to slip past Jorim’s guard, and might well have, save for his Anturasi upbringing. Countless sea captains had used the same tricks to win charts from him, and Jorim had never surrendered so much as a sketch.

“Grija, incomplete as he was, was suspicious. He talked to the others and plotted with them. I knew they would come after me. They had to. The old and the new cannot exist together. So, I created you in my image, to be my ally and my revenge. By failing to join with them, you allowed me to return from the void. Together we can sweep them from the heavens. Had they killed me, you know they would have turned on you, too. But I made you strong enough to defeat them.”

“If I could destroy them, I could destroy you.”

The child-god smiled. “Yes, exactly. I meant you to be my rival. Think of it, Wentoki. You wanted to be so much like me because I made you so much like me. I became flesh; so did you. I created the Viruk; you created the Fennych to kill my Viruk. I know it was a symbolic attack on me, but I’ve forgiven you that excess because we are so alike. I gave the Viruk magic; you gave Men magic. You have made me very proud.” His voice sank into a whisper. “And you have made them very jealous.”

Nessagafel slipped his hand into Jorim’s, and the dark void in which they stood melted as night before dawn. Green grasses grew up, and flowers thrust red and yellow blossoms skyward. To the right lay a swath of rain forest akin to that of Ummummorar. To the left the forests of Nalenyr. In the meadow, spotted antelope grazed. A clouded-leopard lounged in a thick tree branch. From the distance came the trumpeting of an elephant, and the coughed roar of a maned cat answering.

“When the others are swept away, Wentoki, we will reorder the world. You know that is what you have been doing. It’s what your grandfather has been doing: making things over again. He’s really doing my work- our work. We will make the world the way it is supposed to be. You and I, we can do that.”

“What about those I love?”

The child’s face brightened innocently. “We shall save them! We shall give them all they wish for. We will make them happy-happier than if they had died and gone to the appropriate heaven. We will do for them whatever you want. All you need do is unlock this last little restraint.”

Jorim frowned. “How are you restrained?”

“It’s a minor thing, really. I have my power back, I can travel to the heavens for a bit, but am still anchored here. I cannot reach the physical world, so my work must be accomplished through agents.” Nessagafel held his hand up. “Just slip this ring from my finger and my will shall be done.”

“There is one thing I don’t understand.” Jorim chewed his lower lip.

Impatience crept into Nessagafel’s voice. “What is it, then?”

“If you created me in your image; if I am powerful enough to defeat the others, then I am powerful enough to challenge you. Perhaps even to defeat you. Aren’t I the greatest threat you face?”

“You see? That’s why it was perfect. You and I strive against each other. We push each other to be better.”

“But don’t you fear that I will someday depose you?”

Nessagafel shook his head. “No. I made you my equal in all things, and then I gave you something I have no use for.”

“What?”

“Compassion.”

The child’s fist came around, changing from a pudgy hand to a Viruk claw. Nessagafel thrust his talons into Jorim’s stomach and yanked. Blood splashed and entrails gushed.

Jorim dropped to his knees, scrambling to stuff his intestines back in. As he reached down, his hands filled with glass needles that punctured his bowels. He tried to scream, but thorned ivy shot up from the meadow and threaded its way through his body. A green tendril grew out through one nostril, then wrapped around his head, closing his jaw tight.

All around him the ground rippled. Anthills erupted like little volcanoes. Bright copper ants swarmed toward him, like spokes on a wheel. Each tore out a little piece of his flesh.

Dark birds circled overhead. Their fierce cries split his head with lightning. The ants traveled the ivy, crawling within. Their fire coursed through him. Their venom melted his liver and its dark nectar nourished and encouraged the vine.

Nessagafel, once again a Viruk, eclipsed his view of the birds. “Study the vultures while you can, Wentoki. They will come and eat your eyes soon enough. Then all you will be able to do is linger in darkness, feeling the ants pick you apart. The agony should be exquisite and without end.”

The Viruk again raised a hand, and the ring around the smallest finger now appeared in white. “Unlock this and I shall unlock you. There is no escaping Wangaxan or me, Wentoki, save through granting me my freedom. The sooner you do this, the better for everything you have ever cherished.”

Nessagafel vanished.

The pain did not.