Tag Archives: mythology

General Fiction, The Little Gods

The Aeonian Ball

“Yes, wife,” Theodore ‘Teddy’ Hoodwink Samuel mumbled, patting his Caballus’ hand as they walked under the eves into the packed Aeonian Ball upon Mount Olympus, “I will be sure not to embarrass you, dear. No, I won’t drink too much wine–“

Teddy kept mumbling affirmations, half listening to his wife’s litany of instructions for the evening. They were at the top of the world. In fact, just above the world here; Mount Olympus overlooked the mortal world and the palace at its centre overlooked Mount Olympus. It was awfully fancy.

Around them crowded the mythical world: centaurs flexing their muscles and stamping their hooves, satyrs lounging around, winking at anyone they thought they had a chance to bed, a flash of white showed a pegasus somewhere while a wide birth naturally formed around a sphinx and a minotaur that were deep in heated conversation to their right.

But these were rabble compared to the divine members of the Pantheon that had gathered there. Each great god and goddess of the Pantheon had a circle of sub-mythicals that had formed around them sycophantically trying to gain their favour.

With the roar of a stormy ocean, Neptune’s voice boomed out around a circle of tittering nymphs regaling some or other tale of his power. His boastful tales were only ever outdone by Mars, who had surrounded himself with a noxious bunch of harpies and sirens who gazed up at him in awe as he, no doubt, told them some story that ended in him killing something. Mars always ended up killing something.

The attention-seeking Apollo–ever dramatic!–stood on a chair and was making grand gestures to his crowd, no doubt reciting some poem or making some vast, world-shaking prophecy. Wherever there was Apollo, he was sure the Three Fates lurked; an overly-dramatic bunch, the Three Sisters always had a respectful crowd trying to garner favour and hoping for a good prophecy or two about them.

Not to be upstaged in their own home, Jupiter and Juno sat above the masses and on their golden, not-so-subtly-raised thrones, casting their gaze on their subjects below. Far below, just how they liked it.

“Yes, dear,” Teddy sighed, what were they doing here? He was the God of Irony and his wife was the Goddess of Arguments. Not exactly powers likely to shape the course of history or be involved in world-shaking prophecies. Little gods like them were often the nieces, nephews, second cousins and distant relatives of this pretentious bunch but, tradition dictated that family was always invited for these occasions. Gods lived a long time and family was important.

“And, Teddy,” Cally droned on, her red hair bellowing behind her and her sharp eyes shooting daggers at all their marginally fancier relatives mulling around them, “It is also very impor–” she froze and Teddy felt her grip tighten on his, snapping out of his gloomy contemplation and he looked where her she was looking.

Her sister was standing there: Influffi, the Goddess of Clouds in a flowing white dress with her husband, Oblivus the God of Forgetfulness, stood before them. Oblivus’ robes were inside out and he was looking wide-eyed around him like this was the first time he had ever seen the inside of the Palace. It was not. Influffi was absentmindedly inspecting a glass of wine in her hand as if she had forgotten what it was for.

“Hello, sister. I hope you are well,” Cally managed to make the greeting sound like a curse, “I am glad you found your husband,” she added as an afterthought, which triggered a slightly confused look on Oblivus’s face. He had been lost–technically, he had “forgotten where home was”–but it had resolved peacefully when he had simply turned up back at home. No one–not even him–appeared to know where he had been.

Not exactly world-shaking prophecy stuff, Teddy thought wryly, but at least he made it home peacefully.

Well, almost peacefully. Teddy gulped and tried to smile politely while ignoring that the last time he had seen Fluffi, she had ended up with decidedly less clothing on. At his wife’s direction, he had gone to console her about Oblivus’ absence and, well, wine, bad judgement and irony had gotten involved. His memories were fuzzy about the exact details but his wife was quite certain that she knew everything.

All water under the bridge, he tried to convince himself, but he knew better. Cally had forgiven him but not forgotten.

“Oh, Cally,” Fluffi exclaimed, her expression flowing into a warm smile, like the sun breaking through the clouds, and she threw her arms around her sister. Fluffi was a truly malleable, flexible person. Teddy could feel his wife stiffen just before she let go of his hand but when he looked up, he saw a flash of happiness on her harsh face as she embraced her sister back. They had always been close sisters and a stab of guilt pained him at his indiscretion.

Teddy nodded at Oblivus, who crinkled up his face like he was trying to recall who Teddy was. Or maybe he was angry too? Or he was angry but he had forgotten why? Sometimes Teddy wondered if Oblivus remembered that he was the god of forgetfulness. Ironic.

In a mild panic at the moment, Teddy coughed and muttered about getting everyone some wine before scampering off, dodging a lumbering minotaur. He hoped it would take a long time to locate wine but, at that moment, the arrival of Bacchus with all his party friends indicated otherwise.

Teddy sighed. It was going to be a long night.

***

“…and then legionnaire’s wife came home, but Teddy’s protection still held true!” Cally finished her story, her and Fluffi roaring with laughter, even Oblivus was laughing, “Ironically–yes, dear, I am going to make that pun!–Teddy cannot cast his little blessing on himself! Bad for him but good for me!” Cally was wiping tears from her eyes, staggering on her legs, and Fluffi buried her face in her husband’s chest as both of them held their sides from eruptions of laughter.

Teddy managed to crack a smile. He did not find the story as funny as apparently everyone else did, despite being involved in it. He gulped down his wine and filled it up again quickly from the nearby amphora.

At least the wine was good, and all of them had had plenty to drink.

“Yes, well,”,” Fluffi, changeable as ever, flowed straight onto the next topic, “What do you think the Big Prophecy of the evening will be? There always is one at these Balls. Maybe something to do with Venus? She hasn’t featured much these days…”

Teddy snorted, “She’d be one of us Little Gods, if she hadn’t slept with Jupitor and wasn’t so beautiful,” his wife’s hand tightening on his made him realize what he had said. In a panic, he kept babbling on, “But, well, you know, it won’t be any prophecy about one of the Little Gods. No Prophecy of How the Corners Met, or How Clouds Changed the World, or like… Hey, wha-what? Why is everyone so quiet!?”

He stopped. Confused as his sphere of awareness expanded from the three people he was talking to–whose faces had just gone deathly pale–to the whole ballroom in the Palace that had gone absolutely silent.

“What is going on!” he said, looking around when, through a clear parting of the crow, he saw the Three Sister pointing in his direction. The hair on the back of his neck was starting to rise. No… No, they were pointing directly at him!

“The Destroyer of Worlds, the Ender of Olympus, the God that is not a God!” all three of the Three Fates were dramatically proclaiming together, their words harmonizing as they all pointed at Teddy. Mythicals love a good prophecy and the crowd of gods, goddesses and magical beings were hanging on their every word, “He will bring an end to our world, changing all things by changing nothing! He stands there, the vile Bringer of the God-slaying Apocalypse!”

And then things began to happen very quickly.

Rage exploding across his face, Jupiter was rising from his throne, his thunderous voice booming out, making the walls of the Palace shake as thunderclouds began to appear and lightning flashed out. Apollo was leaping forward, declaring that he had seen the vision too! Juno was waving at the Palace guards as the crowd surged forward, none too friendly. A spear suddenly in hand, Mars began to push through the crowd shouting about killing…

“Run, dear, run!” Cally–Goddess of Arguments and the Sayer of the Last Word–whispered as she pushed Teddy away and stepped in front of him to face the descending hordes, “Now wait a second, you three sisters, we need to talk–“

Teddy was a lot of things but brave was not one of them. He was already out of the Palace and–under fast-growing thunderclouds flashing lightning–he sprinted down Mount Olympus before he realized what he was doing.

***

The ground next to him exploded from a bolt of lightning, raining jagged chunks of Mount Olympus on him as he ran. The air smelt thin and he could taste copper at the back of his throat. Was it blood? He could hear the hooves of the pegasuses pounding down the sky just behind and above him. A clap of thunder rattled his bones and another lightning bolt hit somewhere else. There were shouts from behind him and a spear shot over his head splitting a boulder some yards ahead of him.

He put his head down and kept running!

Why is this happening!? He could hear his inner voice whining but the cries of the gods and goddesses hunting him drowned that miserable voice out. Why!? Just behind him, he could hear the bellow of a minotaur charging, the clang of metal and another bolt of lightning lit up a tree to his right, temporarily blinding him.

Unfortunately, that also meant that he did not see an awkward stone, and his foot caught on it. He tumbled forward, shrieking, and rolled, his momentum carrying him further and further down the steep slopes of the mountain. Rocks cut him and bruised his soft parts and the last thing he remembered before the darkness took him was an image of Mars charging–spear retrieved from the rock–bearing down on him with murder on his face.

***

“…be anyone, really, as the world is full of not gods. Isn’t that right, Nona? Nona, isn’t that right?“

There was a pause before a begrudging grunt of agreement came.

Slowly, the world came back to him: light, form and shape, sound crept in and then the pounding head hit him. He lifted a hand and the touch prickled with pain where he had obviously hit his head rolling down the mountain. He licked his lips–the bloody copper taste was still there–and lifted his head to a strange scene.

His wife was standing over him with the consort of heaven looming over her and shooting murderous looks at him. Mars stood off the side with a bizarre frustrated look twisting his face, placidly poking the ground with his spear. Apollo was there too, shaking his head. Wreathed in light and with a shared expression as if they had just eaten something bad, Jupiter and Juno stood in front.

No, not quite in front… In fact, Cally stood facing the Three Sisters with the hordes that were out to get him behind them. And, what was even more unique was that everyone was just listening. No one was trying to murder him.

“And, if you are honest and not dramatic about it–no one likes an attention-seeker!–Decima,” Cally was saying, wagging a finger at the Three Sisters, “and are more careful which words you use in throwing around these ‘Prophecies’–” Teddy could hear his wife’s inverted commas and sense the collective silent gasp that everyone did not make at this insinuation, “–Teddy’s name did not actually feature anywhere in this ‘Prophecy’, did it, Decima?”

Blushing and dropping her gaze to the ground, the middle Sister mumbled something while poking a rock with her toes.

“I am sorry, Decima, please speak up. What did you say?”

Decima coughed and looked up. Ignoring her red face, she then spoke in forcefully flat tone, “No, Cally, no it did not, but, it’s like, the Prophecies are more feelings and we as feelings we know–“

“Right, well, we cannot go accusing people of horrible things based on your feelings, can we,” Cally cut Decima off and moved on to the next and final Sister, “And, thus, Morta, there is absolutely no evidence at all that suggests my dear, sweet, gentle, somewhat-dumb husband will end up causing the end of our world and destroying anything at all. None at all. You do agree, don’t you, Morta?”

Morta blinked, looked at her two sisters, who avoided making eye contact, and then very slightly nodded before dropping her gaze and trying to sink into the ground.

“Right, then it is agreed,” Cally firmly declared, casting her gaze across the gathered gods and goddesses who all were suddenly inspecting the ground or their fingernails, “This was all just a big misunderstanding and we should not be so quick to jump to conclusions before trying to murder someone. Not least of all, murder family. Come, dear, get up, let’s get you home and mended up. We’ve had quite enough of this age’s Aeonian Ball.”

Teddy fumbled his way up, his wife helping him, and they turned to walk down the mountain. Already some of the gods and goddesses were starting to wander back up the mountain. There was still wine, dancing and orgies to be had and, honestly, they were never actually going to kill Teddy… Maybe Mars would have, but not them! Never. It was just a misunderstanding and the Three Sisters needed to up their game, sort out their ambiguity and, perhaps, take a course in logic.

Somewhat supporting his weight on his wife, Teddy stumbled down the steep, ragged slopes of Mount Olympus. The two of them walked in silence for a while before Teddy looked behind him and saw that no one was following. He squeezed his wife’s hand and she squeezed his back, but then a thought struck him.

“Ah, dear,” he began, tentatively, “the Three Fates are never wrong. How did you do that?”

Cally smiled and looked at him with her sweetest look, eyes sparkling, “The Sisters may be able to tell the future, dearest one, but they aren’t the Goddess of Arguments. Logic is not their strong suit!”

He blinked and nodded, shaking his head. He knew. He had lost many arguments with her over the ages… And then another thought struck him! This thought felt like one of Jupiter’s lightning bolts as it shot down his spine, his skin grew cold and a dark pit appears in his stomache.

“Then I, Theodore Hoodwink Samuel, God of Irony, will indeed end our world,” he breathed out in shock and horror.

They had stopped walking and his wife turned to him, deep concern on her face and tears appearing at the corners of her eyes. She reached out and hugged him tightly, and he hugged back as if clinging to the edge of a cliff overlooking the abyss. The pit in his stomach was growing…

“Yes. Yes…” she whispered, tears suddenly streaming down both their cheeks as their embraces grew tighter and more desperate, “Yes, Teddy, you will, and, I guess, after all, that is the irony.”

Fantasy, The Little Gods

Little Lies

Far below, she watched the aristocrats and patricians swarm in, out and around the centre of Rome. Their white tunics and red sandals differed them from the drabber toga colours of ordinary people, but their actions and words distinguished them even more and these were what attracted her to them. Or them to her. She could never decide though she would pretend to know if anyone ever asked her.

“You see, my sister, Veritas,” she spoke over her shoulder, her gaze never leaving the bustle below her, “believes in truth, is truth and all it represents. How very noble, and ignorant of her,” she chuckled under her breath–Veritas was actually her cousin–and continued speaking, “How little she understands the human condition. Human society does not exist despite falsehoods, but because of them. We have happy relationships because we hide nasty truths from each other and ourselves. We have peaceful societies because we lie about royalty, class and privilege to each other. Truth is a prison–immobile, unmalleable and impersonal–while lying is the key that frees us from it and allows us to be who we want to be.”

Far below, aristocrats spoke quietly together, every second word a lie, half-truth or omission. Patricians exchanged falsehoods and insincerities below to gain position and power. Everyone with every breath in every moment and with every word added to the body of lies underwriting society.

“I, on the other hand,” she eventually broke her gaze from her ignorant worshipers and turned to the listener, “I see society’s true character: untruths and lies. Not a big lie, not a horrendous one, just countless little lies all stacked up precariously on one and another.”

“You are Parum Vera, Goddess of Half-truths and Little Lies, Patrician of the Patricians, Whisperer of Greyness and Mistress of Makeup.”

The being that stood before her was hard to look at; not ugly or hideous, but physically hard for you to make your eyes focus on it. If you did not actively concentrate, your eyes slid off its image and your mind wandered. With immense effort, though, if you did manage to focus on it for even a few seconds, whatever you saw was fleeting and left your mind the moment you looked away, leaving you only with a strange sense of hollow vastness.

Parum Vera smiled, a strangely insincere act on her somewhat round and pouty face, and nodded, “Yes, just call me Vera, brother. And what can I do for Ignotus , the Being of Distraction?”

Ignotus smiled, or at least Vera got the feeling that he smiled. Even for a goddess–albeit one of the minor goddesses–she visually struggled with Ignotus. She only called him ‘brother’ because she had to call It something and they were related. Truth be told, she had no idea what It was, but, truth had never been her strong point, so she kept to her story that It was her brother.

“I have an idea for something glorious and I need you to convince the mortals to build it.”

***

His joints hurt and no amount of wine seemed to dull the ache. Vast splendour surrounded him but, in his early seventies, it had also cost him a lot. First, subtly, and then in open civil war, he had worked his way up from equestrian to senator and, finally, to Emperor, but all things came at a price and he now was in the sunset of his life.

A lifetime to get here, but what did he want to do with it? His joints ached and he felt tired. All the power in the world and all he wanted was wine, a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

Emperor Vespasian sighed and took a long sip of his wine as the man before him droned on. The Rationibus or royal accountant of Rome was a strange, balding little man with slightly bulbous eyes who had served under at least three of the four emperors during the Year of Four Emperors. A dubious track record, at best.

He did not like him but he did need him. The Empire was large and needed to be organized.

The numbers droned on and the wine slid down his throat. He rubbed his knees and leaned back in his gilded chair. What should he now do with his power? What legacy could he leave–beyond this position–for his two sons? How would history remember him?

Suddenly, he realized that the Accountant had stopped talking and was looking carefully at him. He cleared his throat and nodded, and the Accountant smiled.

“Perhaps, Emperor, could I step beyond my duties and make a suggestion?” the Accountant continued without waiting for his agreement, “Following your successful siege and subjugation of the rebel city, Jerusalem, we have a plentiful supply of slaves and your treasury is well endowed, yet the people grow increasingly irritable and restless. The late Nero had embraced them on his estate and, while however despicable and dangerous such an act is, it has left a vacuum that could be useful. Too many slaves collapse the price of slavery, too much gold creates unhealthy desire, and the peoples’ restlessness combines with these to make for a dangerous civil union…”

The Accountant paused here and narrowed his bulbous eyes, obviously trying to see if Emperor Vespasian was following his hints. Whatever he saw satisfied him, and he pushed onwards eagerly.

“What if we were to turn Nero’s old estate–where he let the common people walk–into a vast entertainment building? When built, we could stage entertainment for the masses and, as it is being built, it would draw on many thousands of slaves–keeping this market healthily tight–while also obliterating Nero’s toxic legacy with your own improved one….”

Emperor Vespasian smiled! His mind was suddenly racing.

“Yes!” he said slamming his wine down and a grin spreading across his face, “We will build the Flavian Amphitheater! We will tear down that stain on the city, the Colossus, and make mine in its place! A great idea!”

Of all the ideas from all the aristocrats and patricians, it was his accountant that had solved his legacy for him. He would build!

In the moments that followed, Emperor Vespasian did not stop to think where his accountant could have come up with such an idea or what–or who–had been the inspiration for it…

***

“Six thousand slaves, ten years and much more gold later,” Ignotus growled, smiling, “and we have the Colosseum. I would ask you how you influenced the mortals to build it but I am not sure you would tell me the truth, sister.”

At midnight beneath a full moon, they both stood on the top of the concrete stands looking down on the eerie circular stage far below them. Soft snoring, growls and an occasional roar could be heard from the cells below it but the stage stood empty and awaiting tomorrow’s show. Empty seats with rigid class order cascaded down from their perch until the floor of the amphitheatre was reached. Here, surrounded by screaming blood-thirsty crowds, gladiators, slaves and animals fought to the death for little more than the onlookers’ entertainment.

“A beautiful plan, brother,” Vera smiled, “and one that I benefit from. This building is built from a lie to a little man, to hide another’s lie and it perpetuates so many of society’s current lies. Even the name, the Colosseum, is a lie, as Emperor Vespasian actually named it the Flavian Amphitheater, yet people and history will forget that, perpetuating the lie. What I do not understand, brother, is what you get from this structure?”

Once again, Vera got a distinct impression that Ignotus was smiling–even grinning–but she had long ago given up trying to see–or remember–any detail of the creature.

“Future poets will call it ‘bread and circuses‘, emperors and kings of civilizations yet-to-come will replicate its model and build copies of it all over the world to host games that people everywhere will faithfully watch, talk about, write about and discuss to the exclusion of all else,” and then Ignotus, the Being of Distraction, the Demon of Diversion, and the Blur of History laughed–a strange, deep, growling static that made Vera’s pale skin crawl–“You, Vera, have tricked the mortals into building the greatest of mass distractions ever invented; years from now they will build stadiums and beam it into people’s very houses and pockets and they will call it: Sport.”

The Little Gods

A Minor Fate

At first, he was not aware of what woke him. Quiet filled the dark room, broken only by the breathing of the naked woman lying next to him. But then, as his eyes adjusted to the night, he saw the funny little man. The plump figure was rocking back and forth on his heels while crouching and staring intently at the inside of his bedroom door.

“Hey–” he mumbled getting up, “Hey, what are you doing here?” He was not worried and did not reach for the sword in the far corner along with the rest of their scattered clothes. The strange man did not look like a thief and, even if he was, he was pretty sure he could best him in a fight.

The strange man jumped immediately to his feet and stared wildly at him, “Par-pardon, my friend,” he began stammering as he wrung his hands and kept glancing nervously at the door, “Pardon on the intrusion, but I am seeking a little sanctuary and thought this room would serve that purpose.”

“I am Spurius of the Third Gallica,” he said, now sitting in bed and looking intently at the nervous little man, “What could you possibly want in my bedchambers late at night? You are no thief nor murderer? You are not even armed, nor does it look like you would know how to use a sword or spear if you had one?”

The strange man nodded and attempted a friendly smile that came out more as a twitch, “Hail, Spurius of the Third Gallica. You are correct that I am not here out of bad intentions. I am hiding from my wife and I just felt that a man like you would understand that. You see, Spurius, my wife is not just anyone. She is the Goddess of Arguments, the Sayer of the Last Word. She is Caballus and she is angry.”

Spurius had drunk wine in the evening but he had not thought that he had drunk too much. Yet his head hurt. Ironic given the situation. He stood up slowly, finding his feet and reached for a leftover partially filled goblet. Almost contemplatively he stared down and it and then swiftly downed it before walking slowly to the corner to get his clothes. He chuckled softly as a thought occurred to him, “It is ironic that the cure for too much of something is more of it, is it not?”

The strange man nodded solemnly but did not answer. He seemed to be waiting for something or some response.

As Spurius swung his crumpled tonga over his shoulder, he began to speak. The Roman military practised and rewarded logic and practicality, and he had come far in his career as a soldier. “As unusual as that story is,” he began as he fastened the toga in place, “if your wife is a goddess, then you would have to be a god–“

“I am the Great Immortal God of Irony, Theodore Hoodwink Samuel, the Gi–“

“What!?” Spurius snorted but then lowered his voice with a careful glance at the nearby sleeping woman, “I have never heard of such a ridiculous thing. In fact, I have never heard of the Goddess of Argument nor the God of Irony.”

“–ver of Chuckles, or Teddy for short,” Teddy ended what sounded like an ironically long list of titles somewhat deflated, “Well, we are the lesser known gods, the Little Gods. You know, the kinda sub-pantheon below the big names. Ignotus the Being of Distraction? Lardum the God of Bacon? Luci the Goddess of Diamonds? Oblivus the God of Forgetfulness? Influffi the Goddess of Clouds? Any of these ringing a bell? Any?“

Spurius stood frozen, his headache slowly receding and his mouth hanging open. He shut it quickly and reached for his sword. The metal was colder than the warm night air and it felt comfortable in his experienced hand.

“Teddy,” he began slowly, narrowing his eyes and slowly stepping forward “Firstly, Teddy is a strange name. Secondly, I have never heard of any of these deities and, finally, suggest you leave my room by the means you entered it else you will leave it another way.”

Teddy’s face paled and he began to back slowly away from the sword-holding legionnaire, “Please, Spurius, I am the God of Irony, but I am also mortal! It is the greatest of ironies, but please afford me sanctuary here just for the night and I will grant you a blessing?”

It was a large bedchamber and the room led out onto a cool balcony. Spurius suddenly felt sorry for the strange man and, since he was up, the wine had tasted good and some male company may not hurt. He tucked the sword under his arm, grabbed a nearby amphora of wine and nodded towards the balcony.

“Sure, Teddy the Mortal God,” he chuckled, “I will grant you sanctuary here until the wine runs out and, in exchange, you will grant me immunity from angry wives. Now, please do share the tales of all your Little Gods with me, I am curious… How do the Hebrews feel about Lardum?”

***

When the door shut, Spurius found himself smiling. Maybe it was the wine. Indeed, those amphorae of wine had lasted much longer than he had expected but Teddy was also much more entertaining than his first impression had created. Quite a talkative guy, actually, once you got a few cups of wine into him.

“Teddy”… What a strange name! All he had said was that it was ahead of its time, which was ironic because when the time arrived when it was correct, they would have all become forgotten.

Teddy had gone on to tell him all about the Little Gods, the sub-Pantheon as he called it. Such wild and wonderful tales! Teddy had told him about how the God of Northern Walls and the Goddess of Southern Walls had met at a corner, or how the Ignotus, the Being of Distraction was so distracting that no one could remember if it was a god or goddess, or something else?

Teddy had told him about how the infuriating Titillatio, the God of Tickling, had been caught in bed with Pluma, the Goddess of Feathers, and how her father had tried to beat Titillatio with a stick. But the stick had exploded into a cloud of white fluff! Indeed, this white fluff still blows through our world making everyone randomly sneeze and attaching to everyone’s dark garments just before special occasions.

Teddy had then turned to a story about how Oblivus the God of Forgetfulness had almost forgotten to turn up for his marriage to Influffi the Goddess of Clouds, and how he had indeed forgotten his vows at the wedding. Luckily Influffi was an immensely malleable woman and Oblivus had merely looked at her and seen what he needed to say.

More recently and, perhaps, more relevantly, Teddy had told him how everyone had just forgotten where Oblivus was!

Of course, Influffi had been distressed about her lost husband, and so Teddy’s wife–Caballus and Influffi were sisters–had ironically sent him to comfort her. At this point in the tale, Teddy had somewhat awkwardly manoeuvred around the topic, but Spurius was fairly sure he knew why Teddy’s wife was angry with him and it had a lot to do with what had transpired while he had been comforting Influffi…

Spurius chuckled as the door closed and yawned. The sun would be up soon and his duties would start shortly. The naked woman remained fast asleep in his bed and, indeed, his wife would be back soon and so–

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three loud bangs rang on the door just behind him and he froze midstep. He suddenly realized that he had left his sword back on the balcony but he dismissed this thought immediate as unimportant. It was probably Teddy back for something or other.

Spurius swung around, flipped the latch on the door and opened it. He had only a split second to comprehend the immeasurably angry, red-haired woman on the other side of it before she stepped inside and swept the room with a furious gaze.

“Where is he, Spurius? Where is Teddy?” her calm, soft voice was at odds with her face and eyes. Spurius was no stranger to women and, indeed, he always feared when his wife stopped shouting and started talking softly and calmly.

“I-I, he, uh,” he stammered, trying to find his word and resisting an urge to flee, “Teddy is gone. He just had a glass of wine and left, but I do not know where to.”

The angry woman–Caballus, he assumed–narrowed her raging eyes for a moment and then nodded.

“I believe you are actually telling the truth there, Spurius,” she began keeping her voice terrifyingly flat, “Well, mostly the truth as a bit more than a glass of wine was drunk. Teddy tends to do that to wine but, ironically, he often cannot hold his liquor.”

Suddenly, her eyes darted to the naked woman in his bed and they narrowed again with a new, more terrifying type of intensity, “That is not your wife, Spurius,” she said, her eyes snapping back to him!

Spurius felt small. Tiny! The floor was roaring upwards and the walls grew dark as they reached toward the heavens. The red-hair Callabus loomed over him a thousand foot tall, thunderclouds of black smoke and fire raged above her as eyes turned to furnaces and chains sprang from all sides to slither across his frozen, frail limbs.

“HOW UNFORTUNATE, SPURIUS OF THE THIRD GALLICA AND HUSBAND TO DONNA THAT THAT IS NOT YOUR WIFE! HOW UNFORTUNATE FOR YOU, GIVEN MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH MY OWN HUSBAND!” lightning flashed from the clouds and struck the looming walls sending chunks of rock flying about him as the wind picked up intensity and the raging being of endless fire reached out to grab his small, chained, mortal form, “HOW UNFORTUNATE FOR YOU–“

Suddenly a blinding light flashed! The chains disintegrated as the walls slid down and the room lightened from eternal darkness to merely mortal night, the raging fiery storm and its wind subsided as the world suddenly felt its normal size again.

Spurius blinked. He blinked again and then rubbed his eyes…

He was alone in his bedchamber and standing at his open, empty door. He must have drank too much wine. There was no red-haired goddess of fire bearing down on him just like there was no longer any naked woman in his bed. Far too much wine! Had there ever been a Teddy..?

And, as Spurius stood there wondering, a soft breeze like the universe exhaling blew out of the chamber and he thought he heard a familiar woman’s voice on it saying the last word: “A blessing against angry wives! How ironic…“

Science Fiction

The Thing That Matters

God, Lucifer, Buddha, Shiva and all the angels, demons and mythological beings of the cosmos looked very worried. Each and every one was scared. They were lined up sitting, lying or lurking on one side of a great table just around the corner from reality.

On the other side of the table sat only three, indescribable beings of immense and immovable power: one of solid matter, one of empty space and one of infinite time.

“Why do you matter?” asked Matter.

“Why should you take up space?” asked Space.

“And what future do you think you have in our universe?” asked Time.

“If all life disappeared from the cosmos, hydrogen would still be hydrogen,” Matter stated as an irrefutable fact, “All the planets and suns would still exist, and all the elements would still remain as they are now. The universe would not notice your disappearance.”

“You need us, but we don’t need you,” added Space.

“So why should you have a future?” repeated Time, creating a sense of deja vu in the room.

All the gods started talking at the same time. The demons howled while angels sang, snakes hissed and old gods screamed of blood, war and sacrifices. Matter waved his hand for silence and Space opened the floor to them to speak one by one.

“Life is filled with love,” God spoke, “Men, women and children–as with all of life’s forms–are beautiful beings filled with love, and love cannot be replicated without life. None of you three can replicate the gravity of star-crossed lovers nor the tenderness of a mother with their child, nor the bond of a dog and his master. Yes, all matter, space and time will be unchanged without us, but the cosmos would be poorer without the love that we inspire in each other.”

“Is this the same love that chops down forests, depletes oceans and molests children?” asked Matter, “Or maybe the same love that brings war, disease and famine? Maybe it is the same love that offers us hatred, racism, sexism and bigotry while destroying all other forms of other life around it?”

“If love comes at such a cost, is it really worth that much?” asked Space.

Time smiled and moved to the other gods.

Lucifer intoned at length about lust and desire. He spoke about the tangled bodies of lovers and the passion of lives that burnt brightly. Then Buddha spoke about reincarnation and the wisdom of many lifetimes accumulating with the good deeds of humanity. Other gods spoke of wonders and empires while older gods spoke of blood and bonds. Some spoke of worship of the stars, Sun and Moon while others spoke of the intricacies of ritual, the knowledge of man and the elements of a savage nature.

“If all life disappeared from the cosmos, hydrogen would still be hydrogen,” Matter stated as an irrefutable fact, “All the planets and suns would still exist, and all the elements would still remain as they are now. The universe would not notice your disappearance.”

“Nothing that any of you have told us changes this fact,” Space added, “You need us, but we do not need you.”

Time smiled and leaned forward. It was the eldest of the three. Space could be cold sometimes and Matter was just stubborn. Neither of them remembered the loneliness of the beginning because Time had been there on its own before Space and Matter had formed. Those dark, miserable beginnings had softened Time a bit and it felt that life should be given a second chance to prove itself, but it was only one vote among three.

“Listen, guys,” Time said, trying to be encouraging, “Just give us something we can use. Anything would work, really. Why does life matter?”

The other side of the table fell silent. It felt like everyone had spoken by now and they were at a loss for what to say next.

Then a small voice piped up from the background. All the gods, demons, angels and other cosmic entities turned around and looked at the back of the room.

It was Science. He was one of the new ones and no one quite trusted him.

“Gentlemen and Lady,” he said, nodding at Time, for he knew that only women take all the time in the world, “Life has given us humans, and humans have given us knowledge, understanding and technology. If you would answer me, Space, Time and Matter, what did you call yourselves before man named you?”

There was silence in the room as the old gods all turned around to stare at Space, Time and Matter. They looked at each other and Matter shrugged.

“We did not refer to ourselves at all, Science, there was no need to. But hydrogen was still hydrogen, and–”

Science smiled and interrupted Matter, “Exactly, humans named you. They have also measured, documented and recorded all your attributes. Like they are steadily doing so for the whole universe. They are witness to your creations, Matter, and your size, Space, and they are subjects to your passing, Time. They are not just the librarians of existences, but they are its audience as well and its guardians as well.”

“That may be true,” Space said, nodding a couple cosmos, “But why does that matter?”

“Because,” Science said, walking passed the old gods to the front and pointing behind the three into a dark, ancient corner in that cosmic room, “Even you three have a master. Even the three of you will cease to exist one day.”

Something stirred in the corner of the room. All the gods, demons, angels and other cosmic entities strained to see what it was in the darkness, but it did not seem to have a form. Space, Time and Matter all glanced nervously at the spot, though, and Time cleared her throat.

“Yes, as the Singularity formed us, so will it eventually eat us all. Why is this relevant?”

Science’s smile widened, “No matter what you throw at life, it finds a way to survive. It has even begun to leave the planet and reach into the vacuum beyond it. And, benefiting from the passage of time is in fact life’s greatest achievement as evolution exponentially strengthens it and knowledge compounds across generations.”

The room was silent as all present beings hung on Science’s every, precise word.

“No matter what, gentlemen and lady, life finds a way to survive. Life wants to survive. That means that life’s ultimate goal will be to find a way to survive the Big Collapse when the Singularity stops expanding and starts contracting and destroying reality. That means, gentlemen and lady, that life is your only chance of salvation beyond the realm of the Singularity. With all of the matter, space and time in the world at your disposal, have any of your three found a way to survive the Singularity’s ultimate reversal?”

Space, Time and Matter all shook their heads in silence. The room was quiet. Even the old gods had their eyes wide open, straining to catch a glimpse of this mystical Singularity. Many of their own myths had called it different things, from Ragnorak to Apocolypse, Day of Judgement, Armageddon and many, many others.

In some shape or form, they all knew it was coming.

But only Science had an idea how to survive it, even if he had not thought of it yet.

Matter smiled. He might be stubborn, but he preferred existing over not existing. That was the essence of matter, after all. Space nodded too.

“Very well,” Time said, ending the meeting, “Life may need us to exist, but we may also need life one day too. There is no harm in letting this experiment continue.”

Great cheers erupted from God, Lucifer, Buddha, Shiva and all the angels, demons and mythological beings of the cosmos, but Science just smiled. He knew the real work was only just beginning. In that dark, ancient corner, the Singularity still slept. One day, Science knew, he would have to face it and, one day, he knew, he would have to defeat it.

Fantasy, General Fiction

Shadow in the Sky

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“I tell you, I heard something.”

“So what if you did? You talk too much.”

“Don’t you ever wonder?”

“Hmmmffft…”

“No, don’t ever think that there is more than this water and these rocks and–”

“Whatever. You talk too much. You should focus on eating.”

“Didn’t you hear that?! Please tell me you did? It was right there!”

“Yeh, I heard it. It was you blowing wind out your hole again because you like the sound of yourself.”

“Ha ha, very funny. I tell you, there is something happening here.”

“Hmmmffft…”

SPLOOSH-ZIP-WHOOSH!

“Oh god! Oh god! Get out of here! Everyone go! He’s gone! The shadow in the sky moves! It took him! Aaaaah…!!”

*Many minutes later*

“I tell you I heard something.”

“So what if you did? You talk too much.”

“Don’t you ever wonder?”

“Hmmmffft…”

“I tell you, there is something about that shadow in the sky. There is a darkness to it. Have any of you seen Fred? Or Joe? Hey-hey you! Have you seen–”

SPLOOSH-ZIP-WHOOSH!

Fantasy, General Fiction, Science Fiction

Beyond the Dreams of Men

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The Babylonian gods were the first. Their believers and their faith died off long before many of the others. The Great Dragon Queen, Tiamat, and the vicious, spiked warrior, Marduk, would be the last to go as they defiantly fought each other in their endless conflict. But, no matter their status, Tiamat and Marduk still went like all the rest of them.

Other gods in other ages would whisper about it. They would wonder if Tiamat or perhaps Marduk (some wondered if it was the Moon Goddess, Isis, perhaps?) that had wrought it, but in truth it was far older than that. It already ancient by the time Tiamat’s black, scaled form lumbered up to it.

Some periods there would be many turning up at it. For instance, when the Roman Legions spread like a virus across the old world cutting down resistance and smothering old gods. It did not help that the vacuum from the Empire’s collapse was filled by Christianity and its own conquering uni-god.

Then there was the push by England, Portugal, Spain and France across the world drove. These imperial nations drove expansion and knowledge. Cultures meshed and the Christian way conquered many around it. This ideological push was not victimless but sent the old, previously-harder-to-find gods away too.

The cruel irony is, as America rose, world wars rolled off like vicious claps of lightning and then technology, trade and the times all changed, so too would the Christian god take that final walk towards it.

It is the fate of all gods to eventually be forgotten.

In the old, cold mountains that men cannot see, at the top of the highest peak in the ancient rock thrust from the centre of the molten Earth, there exists the final resting place of the gods. Cut as a clean tomb with ancient, unpronounceable words carved into the side of it by hands that even the gods have no knowledge of. Despite the freezing temperature and howling, blizzard at these heights, the tomb’s stone is warm to the touch without a single snowflake covering it.

“Welcome, brothers,” says the hard-to-see Gatekeeper as the Christian god approaches flanked by both the round Buddha and the sharply-defined Ishmael-like god. The Gatekeeper comes from a time before shapes. It comes from a time before forms when only light and darkness existed to weave your essence together. And, so the Gatekeeper is little more than a denser part of the air, a thicker breeze with snow and cold that is filled with more darkness than you would expect. But his voice comes from everywhere or, perhaps, it speaks directly into your ears.

All three of what were probably the most powerful gods to ever walk through the minds of man are out of breath. It is a long walk from dominance to oblivion, and it is cold and lonely.

“Welcome, brothers of substance and shape,” repeats the Gatekeeper, darkness pulsing before the Tomb of the Gods, “All three of you have executed full, colourful lives, but nothing–not even me–lasts forever. Your cycle is complete, but before I open the Gate, each of you can ask me one question.”

Buddha steps forward. He is surprisingly fit for a large man and has already caught his breath. When he talks his soft, deep voice warms the very air it vibrates through melting the snow around the four of them with little green grass shoots beginning to poke through.

“Gatekeeper, what is the purpose of everything?”

The Gatekeepers ethereal form pulsed a darker shade of shadow. For a moment Ishmael got the distinct impression that it was laughing, and then it spoke.

“Buddha, there are as many answers to that question as there are those that can ask it. Existence is a fact, purpose is a choice and destination is fate. To try to understand one of these principles without accepting the other two is to not understand it or them at all.”

Buddha bowed his head for a moment, but then nodded and stepped back. The sharply defined, piercing-eyed Ishmael prototype stepped forward to stand before the Gatekeeper. The wind fell quiet for just a moment in anticipation and the two other gods held their breath.

“Gatekeeper, what happens to us now?”

The wind blasted a bigger than usual gust of snow across the group of gods. They were so high up that the sky looked almost star-speckled and black like open space. The Gatekeeper, though, as far as any of them could tell seemed oblivious to all of this. Perhaps it could not see? Perhaps it did not fully exist within the same dimension that they did?

“You have ninety-nine names, but can you remember naming yourself? You are at the ending, but can you remember the beginning? There is a place beyond even the dreams of men that sits outside of time and space where building blocks of this storyline are stored so that they can be used in the next one. You always have ninety-nine names and, while you are good at existing and great at choosing your purpose, you are always bad at accepting your fate. What happens to you now has happened before and will happen again.”

This answer was met with silence, broken only by the howling wind’s low key through the rugged mountains around them.

And then the Christian god steps forward. Light from his golden face bouncing off the snow around them, but completely ignoring the ancient shadowy form of the Gatekeeper.

“Yes, Yahweh,” the Gatekeeper asks, as the Christian god pauses, “what is your question?”

Yahweh pauses and looks thoughtfully at the Gatekeeper before beginning to speak, “Gatekeeper, if we have done all this before and we will do it all again, then what is the purpose of this cycle of fate? Does it not render our choice void as inevitable fate awaits us that we will repeat forever? What is the purpose of that?”

Just before the three gods of a soon-to-forgotten mythology stepped through the gate to elsewhere, the Gatekeeper’s short answer would hang in the air before them and ring in their ears. Each one of them would try to burn it into their memory in the hopes that they would remember it next time around.

“To prove me wrong, Yahweh, to prove me wrong.”