Wendell and the God
There wasn't a cloud in the sky, which worried him.
Too many clouds would bring the same kind of worry; Wendell had taken to worrying about everything after the gods of the sea and sky had rebelled against their brethren, leaving humanity caught in the crossfire. It was strange to think that way – newscaster after newscaster had their own take on what was happening, their own pithy phrase to describe the fact that not only had the pantheon split, but at least two of the major godheads were trying their best to destroy the skittering, intelligent insects spread over the face of their planet.
Orin himself, father of the gods, had made an appearance on every television, and sent his voice out over every radio wave, letting the people of earth know that the issues were of a “domestic nature” and that the gods would appreciate “patience and understanding” from humanity.
Wendell snorted out loud as he thought of it. People were dying across the globe; drowning in floods, struck by lightening and flung into tornadoes, and Orin had the audacity to ask for patience? Perspective made all the difference, Wendell supposed; to Orin, they were worth nothing more than the other creatures on the planet, all created by the hands of the gods.
Another step forward and his leg caught on a root, almost sending him to the ground. The mountain climb was difficult, to say the least, but he was tired of waiting around for something to happen or someone to save the day. To his left, a large rock under a shady tree beckoned. He was already a third of the way to the summit, and better to rest now and succeed than die of dehydration or missed footing just before he reached the top.
Sitting down heavily, he pulled a waterskin from his belt and drank deeply. He was no mountain climber, no outdoorsman, but he had fared better than most of his neighbors in the last few weeks. Three men on his block had lost their wives to the lust of the sky-god, Ilir, and six men from work had been swept away by the minions of Horax, duchess of the water. Wendell had been single and childless, with nothing to lose but himself, and neither of the rebel deities had wanted any part of him. In a way, it was blow to his ego, but he could deal with it if it meant he remained alive.
No one on earth knew exactly what had caused the rift among the gods, though many suspected it had to do with Orin's daughter, Zephonie. She was a halfling, part god and part human, and while nowhere near as powerful as her father, she was one of the few halflings still living. Most were stillborn, as their human and godly sides struggled against one another, and nine in ten ended their mother's lives as well. Zephonie had been doubly lucky – both she and her mother lived, and while her powers were muted, they bore a strong resemblance to those of Orin.
Ilir had taken an instant liking to her, and there were some rumblings in the immortal realm about a possible uniting of two families, but Orin had forbidden it. He had never cared for Ilir and his lecherous ways, seemingly blind to the fact that his own daughter had come about through just such lechery. Simply refusing permission to marry hardly seemed like enough provocation for a double-god rebellion, but the passions of the gods, much like their powers, were heightened.
Wendell stood, working a knuckle into his back. The longer he tarried, the greater the chance he would be caught by the minions of any of the gods, to say nothing of the two that were out to kill his kind. Mount Eysol was forbidden, the home of the gods off-limits to those with mortal souls. Wendell, however, was of the mind that if the gods could break the rules then so could he, and he wasn't about to sit around and wait for death to come find him. He'd go seek it out.
He had taken only three more steps when the trees around him shimmered and and then disappeared, leaving him standing on empty space. Blackness descended on him, and he could feel the touch of a mind greater than his own pressing down on his consciousness. It was as though he was being studied, examined by an incorporeal hand with crude motor skills. It was unpleasant, to say the least.
“Hey!” He called out sharply. “Watch what you're doing there! I need most of this stuff intact t live!”
There was a sudden withdrawal of the pressure, replaced by a sensation of vast amusement.
You dare tell me what to do, Wendell Case? A voice sounded loud in his mind. I could destroy you in an instant. I am your god. Orin, he suspected, from the haughty tone.
“Not really,” Wendell said as casually as he could manage, given the circumstances, “you may have created my predecessors, but my mother and father made me all on their own, without any interference from you. You've never done anything for me directly, and now you've decided to allow your sons and daughters to destroy my home. Go ahead and kill me, but you won't solve the problem. Others like me will come.”
That was almost certainly a lie, since he hadn't met anyone else who was willing to attempt what he was trying, for fear of their own lives. For him, cowering in a corner and waiting for death made no sense; he might as well go out in a blaze of god-angered glory.
You intrigue me with your audacity, tiny one. Of course, had I not encouraged you to come up here in the first place, I would destroy you, but since you are to be my avatar, I will let your offense slip past.
“Wait! What?” Wendell felt confusion washing over him.
Wendell, the voice was laughing at him now, he was sure of it, your bull-headed courage made you an excellent choice, but the very notion of ascension came from me. I am your god, after all.
This was not going to plan at all. Not that he had a plan – but he was certain if he did this would be well outside its bounds.
I will teach you what you need to know, Wendell, and then you will destroy my rebel siblings. Come.
With that, the pressure on his mind lifted, and a portal sprung up in front of him, a gateway to a world he had never seen. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through.
- D
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