New Gods
Thank the Maker for Celestra.
She was just rogue enough to make the others angry, just unpleasant enough that those around her were uncomfortable, and from what the red-faced messenger had told him, this time she'd really put her foot in it – stirring up a War of Ascension in which the victor had been promised a “spot amongst the gods”. Most mortals – and some gods – didn't know that was possible, but with enough effort and a willing sacrifice, just about anything could be made to happen. Fortunately, the number of willing sacrifices in the Eleven Lands were few and far between, and the pantheon only saw a new member every few millennia. As far as Jessum was concerned, they needed some new blood.
He waved at Farsham on his way to the Meeting Dome, but didn't bother to stop and chat. The god of fire was a strange little thing, obsessed with the element he regulated almost to the point of unhealthy obsession. It wasn't simply that Farsham wanted to speak about the flames he created and doused around the Kingdoms, but that he seemed to consider each one special, feel that each one was precious. Jessum had heard rumors from several of the Love goddesses that Farsham kept a fire burning at all times outside his manor, and that in private referred to the blaze as his “child”. That went too far.
Waving to several minor deities as he sped up the steps to the Dome, he wondered idly how the other gods viewed him. His position as the Lord of Wind was important enough, and without his help snow would never melt and mills would never turn. He did his best to keep to himself and not interfere with the schemes of those around him, but that didn't mean he was clueless. The hope, however, was that the others would see him that way.
When Celestra had approached him fifty years ago, he'd been reluctant to even let her in the door. She had a reputation for seducing even the most chaste of males – man and god alike – and then wrapping her golden fingers around them and making them dance to her tune. For three weeks he'd kept her at bay, cooling her heels outside his home while he tried to fathom her intentions. No information he had gathered told him she had any plan or sinister intention, and he had finally relented, letting her lithe form slip into his chambers.
Instead of the debauchery he'd expected, she'd sat down lightly on the edge of his bed and fixed him with a gemstone glare.
“Time for a change,” she'd said, leveling a finger at him, “and I know someone who's due for a promotion.”
At first, he'd refused to listen, but Celestra sat patiently, describing her plan anew every time she came to its conclusion, and slowly he began to see the wisdom in her words. Magnus, the Elder, was becoming less observant, and he had not been diligent in his management of the last Great War. Three gods had perished where only one was required, and Magnus refused to hear any discussion on the subject. That in itself was cause for concern – the large, red-bearded god was their first among equals only by consensus, and had no to right to forbid discussion or order any of them to fulfill his demands. Unfortunately, many of the younger crowd were willing to go along with Magnus simply because of his age and his vast anger, and argued it was easier to do what he wanted than fight him tooth and nail on every issue.
They were right – Jessum had let himself be led several times – but so was Celestra. And so the plan was born.
“Jessum,” Pip caught his arm as he came to the top of the Dome stairs, “it's madness in there. You may want to just turn around and go home.”
He smiled. The young God of Rivers was a fresh-faced boy of only three millennia, but his heart was in the right place. Jessum had taken the shorter deity under his wing and they had quickly become friends.
“I appreciate the thought, Pip,” the god's full name was Pipponelous, though he'd never heard anyone use it, “but this concerns us all. We need to make sure this is properly dealt with.” He'd hate to have to kill Pip – hopefully, the younger god would be amenable to the new political structure.
Debate was in full bellow when he entered the Dome, Celestra screaming at Magnus about how he was “old and incompetent”, while he hurled back insults about her indiscretion, using words reserved only for the basest of harlots. All was going to plan.
“Enough!” He bellowed, and the Dome went silent. He had been around longer than most of the gods in the room, and all listened when he spoke. “We have a problem, but screaming at each other won't solve it. Celestra, what have you done?” He moved down to stand beside her, just as she had instructed.
“Only what I must! This pantheon needs new blood, someone to lead it into the next age and beyond. The victor of the war below will be granted a rightful place as one of us!”
“And just where will you get a sacrifice, Celestra? Who will volunteer for such a task?” Magnus' tone was patronizing.
“Indeed,” Jessum said, “Though there are many that would speak the words of command,” he took a deep breath, “Come to me, o spirit of the willing, breathe into me your sacrifice.” The sounds felt heavy as they left his mouth, archaic. “Where will you find someone to speak those of release?”
“I come, willing and able, my dying breath for your strength.” There was an audible gasp in the Dome as Celestra spoke, and before Magnus could move, Jessum had the dagger in his palm buried in her golden chest. Power surged within him.
“Bow!” He roared, and the Dome shook. “A new day has dawned, and a new God is born. I am your master, now!”
They bowed.
- D
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