H - 122: Here We Are (Patreon)

He had been here before, in a sense. It had been very much like this, when Hii-Amat had pushed him back into himself after his initial apotheosis; being confined to a mortal body again had felt downright disorienting, on top of the odd sensation of impact that had come from being returned to that shape so abruptly.

This time wasn’t nearly so bad, though. Back then, he’d come back to himself directly under the glare of Atraximos the Dread, with as yet no idea he had any means of surviving. Now, Kaln was kneeling in a belltower above a beleaguered city that was suddenly at peace again, under the aegis of a benign goddess.

Actually…this seemed like a little too much peace. Even with the colossus spiders gone and the great Eclipsian spell finished, it shouldn’t be this silent.

He straightened, and immediately recognized the issue. Kaln was still facing the cathedral, around which the three drakes were suspended in midair like sculptures. Immediately at hand, Shadrach stood in the midst of pouting over the disappearance of the conjured sorting algorithm, light itself stilled in the process of coursing along his staff and his sleeve caught in an odd shape in the midst of being ruffled by the wind.

“A privilege of divinity,” Anessima said with a tinge of amusement. “We should speak, before you move on, and I fear a convenient time will not naturally present itself. The largest disaster has been addressed, but not its immediate cause, and since you are here I cannot imagine you will not have to take a role in that, Kaln. Whatever resolution comes from it, the repercussions of these events are going to keep you fully involved for some time yet. So I have…stolen us a moment.”

Kaln looked down at his hands, then flexed his fingers. It all felt very normal again.

“I seem to still be…fleshy. Is that because of you freezing us like this?”

“You are not yet at the point of ascending beyond the physical, or even close to it,” she said, smiling. “Full ascension takes time—not a consistent, fixed period, but you should expect a process of years, unless you prove to be a truly exceptional case. Do not be disappointed if it happens over what would normally be the course of a mortal lifetime. Nor is the process smooth or even; you will experience plateaus, blockages, and breakthroughs. The latter are often accompanied by a surge of miracles.”

She gestured out broadly over the city.

“I will admit I did not scruple to take advantage of your breakthrough to help limit the damage during this crisis. As I told you, there are many reasons gods must be painfully circumspect in our actions; a godling is mortal enough to move without many of the same repercussions. It will probably be some time yet before you can again grant power to others in the way you just did; the meaningful change for you is having moved closer to the ultimate form your divinity will take. I think it suits you well, Kaln, and will make you an asset to the world. Lending the power of the dragon to those who would protect others during a crisis. You are on a positive track.”

Kaln opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded. No response to that felt quite appropriate.

Anessima shifted, also looking out across Boisverd; she was facing toward the Palace, but did not seem to be focusing on anything in particular.

“That…stunt with my priestess,” she said after a pause. “That was at the shadow’s instigation—its idea, in fact. Of course, I knew Izayaroa would never harm an innocent, and expected she would be more confused than offended, otherwise I would never have agreed to it. The point of it, Kaln, was to watch how you reacted. Beings such as myself can see the motives underlying a person’s actions—particularly when they are forced to react to a situation for which they have no plan. It was a way of reassuring me that you would not be a danger to my people; the shadow approached me specifically to make the case that you would be a good neighbor, that your presence would acquire no intervention on my part. At that time, it seemed a very plausible motive. Lesser gods operating within the domain of their greaters do need a measure of forbearance in order to pursue their objectives unhindered, and of the four of us, only I would be likely to take exception to a dangerous godling. Well, I and perhaps the Jongleur, but that little shadow would be unwise in the extreme to try playing tricks upon him. Obviously I did not trust the little creature, and made it known I would keep a wary eye upon its movements within our realm. It agreed to this with good grace.”

Kaln frowned up at her. “Wait… Reassure? How did it get from that to…”

The Shepherd looked down to meet his gaze. “And then you defied it, chose forgiveness and compassion over revenge. And suddenly, the shadow began trying to avoid my attention—and when I managed to corner it, spewed vague platitudes, evaded my questions, refused to reassure me about you. It used my very suspicion of its motives to create the impression you had become dangerous, all without taking the risk of telling me an actual lie.”

Kaln gaped at her in outraged shock. “Oh, that devious— Well, shit. That definitely would’ve worked on me.”

“Hii-Amat was right,” the goddess said ruefully, “about everything. There is no shame for anyone in being tricked by a god of trickery—but none of us can say we performed our due diligence in this matter. Our confrontation could have been avoided had either of us dared to approach each other earlier, to share information. And in that regard… I believe I must bear the greater responsibility. It is only sensible for one in the more vulnerable position to be standoffish; I would have risked little by approaching you. Not even your consorts are much of a threat to me. But it is not in my nature to take assertive measures, and so…”

“Here we are,” Kaln said, nodding.

“Here we are,” she repeated with a sigh. “It’s an awkward position for me, little brother. Were I counseling others in this situation, I would advise that it would be wisest to move forward as friends, and that keeping score of wrongs and favors done is harmful to that goal. But here and now… I am the one who has done you some amount of good, but also great harm. Wiping the slate clean would seems a self-serving suggestion.”

“Funny,” he replied with a grin, “that is also the advice I’d give anyone else in this situation. And not because I’m so very clever; it’s the advice Hii-Amat gave me, and she clearly knows what’s up. Well, I believe I was told that any impactful experience could be formative for me, so I can hardly pass up the opportunity to be the bigger person than a major goddess. I hereby forgive you, Anessima, and no take-backs. If I have eternity to look forward to, then this is the kind of eternity I want.”

He held out his right hand, deliberately widening his grin.

“Friends?”

“Friends, then,” she agreed, smiling but reaching down to give him a solemn handshake.

“Give me a bit before you pop by for tea or anything,” he added with a wince. “After I tell them the whole story… Well, I’m not sure how much effort it will take to bring my wives around, but I suspect it will be at least a little. None of them are unkind, or…wholly unreasonable, otherwise I would not value them as much as I do. But dragons are kind of fundamentally…intolerant of insults and offenses.”

“Perhaps it is as well,” she said gravely, “if you have consorts who jealously guard your pride. A compassionate nature such as yours, little brother, can be taken advantage of.”

“Speaking of things Hii-Amat was right about,” Kaln went on more seriously, “she warned me of the risks of becoming…too closely entangled with other gods. Apparently any strong lines of connection can lead to becoming a pantheon?”

“I gather she did not explain in much detail what that means, precisely,” Anessima said. “Well, there are nuances to the actual experience, but in general there is little more to it than any mortal understands. Gods in a pantheon are…interconnected in a way that is profoundly difficult, very nearly impossible, to sever. Indeed, we must be wary of these connections; it is a miserable thing, to be bound eternally to others who cannot uphold your values or goals…or whose personalities you cannot bear.”

She hesitated, regarding him pensively for a moment, and then smiled again.

“For my part, I will be…reticent, for a time. We should share information about the shadow’s movements, and any other matter which affects us both, but it probably is wiser for us to maintain a circumspect distance, at least for now. Your divine imprint is still small enough that the risk is minor. And perhaps by the time it grows…things will have changed. Knowing what I now do, Kaln—or rather, knowing you as I now do, I find I would not reject the idea of welcoming you to the ranks of my brethren. But that, of course, is not my decision to make unilaterally. You will have to meet and reach whatever accommodation you can with the others, in time.”

“It feels…kind of presumptuous,” he said hesitantly. “The four of you have been guiding entire civilizations for six centuries.”

“Longer,” she said quietly. “We four were revered in ancient Valereld, and even earlier. The scattered tribes of the Vales became a great empire, which was brought down by a great destroyer, who was finally felled by you. Each a transition which shaped the fates of our people, determined the conditions in which they related the world, and even defined themselves. A newcomer you are, Kaln, but you are also a link in a very long chain. It would be wise to bear in mind that you have a claim upon this land. That will matter, now that the people of the Evervales are about to become aware of you. Plenty of them will recognize it.”

“I see,” he murmured. “Hm… Well, it’s a good thing I have people whose advice I can ask about this.”

“And by the time you need to do the asking, I believe you will have even more people,” she agreed, smiling again. “Remember, it is not only friends and family who have important lessons to teach you. Acquaintances can be very instructive, and enemies…even more so.”

“That actually reminds me,” he said with a sudden frown. “I had plenty of time to think, when I was stuck in that bottle, and for obvious reasons I devoted a lot of it to why the Flock had suddenly intervened to kidnap me. I had a thought which, now, makes me… Well, uncertain whether you’ll be okay.”

“Me?” she said, raising her eyebrows inquisitively, but still smiling.

“Well, it’s to do with aspects. The only motive I came up with for you to suddenly be hostile toward me was that…you’re the goddess of perseverance, after all. And you are a primary goddess, of an entire…not even a civilization, I guess, but a whole family of them…because they all have in common something they have to endure. And then… I removed it. Are you… Is this going to harm you, in the long run.”

“Ah.” Anessima’s smile faded, but rather than perturbed, she merely looked pensive. She turned again, once more looking outward, panning her gaze slowly around the toward and gabled roofs of Boisverd spread all around them, with the sprawling forest in all directions beyond and every horizon blocked by snow-peaked mountains. “Well, your thought was partially correct, little brother. I am indeed a primary deity due to the…peculiar circumstances of the societies in which I am revered. So it is for all of us. In old Valereld, we four were relatively minor deities. The god of craftsmanship and ingenuity, the god of hunting and the wild… A god of, if I had to pin him down, finding humor in the bleak randomness of existence. My brothers all had minor cults—they served a role in imperial society, but a limited one. I, by contrast, was more…situational. I had my own temples and my Flock, even then, but I was certainly no primary deity of the empire. The Valeri turned to me in their darkest hours. Hard times come upon everyone, eventually, and it served them well to have someone in whom to find solace during their travails.”

She sighed softly, reminiscently, once more wearing a smile—this one smaller and sadder than before.

“Indeed, yes, we became the core of faith in these lands under the reign of Atraximos because those who followed our ways did not challenge him. We are all gods of endurance in our way, my brothers only differing in the specifics of their approach.”

Anessima turned back to Kaln, smiling broadly now, and inclined her head deeply toward him.

“Truthfully, little brother, not even I would dare predict what is going to unfold now. The change you have wrought was sudden, and too enormous to calculate. These things have a way of…spiraling, beyond the view of even the wisest of us. But when I think about a future I would want for my people, I find myself imagining being, once more, a minor deity. One called upon at each soul’s need, not leaned upon by an entire civilization.”

She reached out to lightly rest a hand on his shoulder, and gave him one brief squeeze.

“I would like that. It would certainly reveal a better fate for my people… But I also would like that. I believe it suited me better.”

“Well, hells, I don’t want to be in charge!” Kaln protested.

The Shepherd grinned, gave him another squeeze, and let go. “Ah, there it is. The tragic last words of the best person for the job. Chin up, little brother: you have consorts who are very familiar with that fate, and can help you through it. But now, I have stolen as much time as I can justify, and you have the remainder of this mess to put right.”

“A part of me wants to protest that I didn’t make the mess,” he said sourly.

“Not most of it,” she agreed, “but you know very well that you played a role in knocking over these dominoes. More importantly, who made a mess is seldom as important as who cleans it up. Taking responsibility can be a way of seizing power; it is usually best if those who don’t desire power do so, before it can be snatched by someone who does. Remember, Ar-Kaln Zelekhir: trust your mortals. Guide them in advance, and when the time of crisis comes, trust them. You and they are better off if you support them, rather than fighting their battles.”

The goddess of perseverance took a step back from him, and bowed once.

“I look forward to our next meeting. May it be on pleasanter terms.”

Suddenly she was no longer there, and Kaln could feel the wind—as well as smell smoke, and hear the sounds of a city that had just survived catastrophe, but not unscathed. Distant voices cried out, and while nothing seemed to be visibly collapsing, the sounds of crashes echoed from multiple directions.”

“Oh. Well, there she goes, I guess,” Shadrach said irritably. “Gods, man. Always gotta be so damn enigmatic. If you survive long enough to properly ascend, Zelekhir, try not to do that cryptic spooky thing they all love so much where they pretend to be profound but in reality just don’t want to be actually useful.”

“I think it wouldn’t be in our interests if they solved all our problems for us,” Kaln said thoughtfully.

“Ugh.” The mage rolled his eyes. “Well, come to think of it, you’ll probably never be truly cryptic. That’s the upside of this pathological inability you have to shut up and stop shmoozing everybody.”

“Good work today, Shadrach,” Kaln said cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, great. So are we done?”

“Not yet,” he said more seriously, pointing at the Palace. All three drakes were now winging straight toward it, Pheneraxa in the lead. “A million colossus spiders didn’t just pop up out of nowhere, and getting rid of them didn’t settle the cause of this. And it looks like the kids know where the trouble’s coming from. Get us in there and let’s shut this nonsense down before anything else kicks off.”