BT - Book 1 - Chapter 47

“Oh sit down,” her voice was pleasant and disarming, but with an undertone of command as it halted Micah’s half-rise from the chair.

A woman in her early thirties entered his vision from the side.  The first thing Micah noticed was that she glowed faintly.  Her shoulder-length silver hair framed pleasant if nondescript features as she carried a tray laden with an intricately painted porcelain teapot and four cups.

She was slightly taller than Micah, her face filled with a matronly smile that looked out of place on her younger features.  Humming quietly to herself, she set the tray down on the short table in front of Micah and began pouring the steaming brown liquid into each of the four cups.  One by one she put the cups in front of the slightly tacky and over decorated chairs.

“What’s going on?” Micah asked the woman as she took a seat to his right.  The room was rather large but spartan.  The walls were wood and the floor was covered with carpet, but beyond those details there was little else of note.  It was lit, but from no obvious source, and the only entrance was an archway that revealed nothing but foreboding mist and darkness.

There wasn’t even any furniture other than the table and the chairs.  The more Micah looked around the room, it appeared to exist for no other reason than to serve as a comfortable but bare meeting place.

The woman picked up the teacup with both hands and brought it to her mouth, blowing on the steaming liquid before taking a sip.  A moment later, a look of absolute joy blossomed on her face.  She set the cup back down before answering Micah.

“I think you’ve guessed who I am,” she smiled at him slightly.

“Mursa,” Micah responded, the word a statement rather than a question.  Between her appearance and the strangeness of the encounter, there couldn’t be another explanation.

“Very good!” Her laughter was like a clear chime.  Beautiful, but at the same time Micah couldn’t help but notice the slightly condescending tone to her voice.  Like he was a prized pet that had just performed a particularly clever trick.

“See Ankros,” she called out to the empty archway  “I told you that he was one of mine.”

Micah turned to look at the entryway.  Something stepped through.  The breath was knocked out of him as Micah tried to comprehend the terrible power roiling off of the being that suddenly shared the room with them.

For a brief moment, it was like staring into the heart of a star.  Energy flashed and writhed chaotically, constantly changing yet as older than mana itself.  The air seemed to leave the room as the entity poured itself inside.  The liquid fire flowed around Micah, and pressed him into his seat before coalescing into the form of a large, well-muscled man.

Micah let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  Sweat covered his body as he tried to draw air in with ragged gasps.  The man tossed his head, the mop of unruly, dark hair fluttering slightly in some unseen wind.

“Mursa,” Ankros’ deep voice rumbled as he walked across the empty room with great and purposeful strides.  “My choices are not stupid.  They just seek to prove themselves in combat.  The stupid ones take on challenges above their skill.  They don’t last long.”

“Micah,” the god nodded at him as he took a seat on Micah’s left.  A great dark hand reached out and brought the teacup to his lips.  A moment later he sighed in appreciation.  

“Even if this was only an excuse to get us all to incorporate,” he flashed a smile of startlingly white teeth at the goddess, “I have to say that I approve.  It’s easy to lose yourself in the mists and forget about simple pleasures like a cup of jasmine tea.”

“Drink your tea Micah,” Mursa smiled his way as she picked up her own cup.  “We still have to wait for my other brother before we can begin and he’s been a bit ornery lately.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he leaves us waiting on purpose.”

“I am not ornery,” a clipped and annoyed voice came from the entry.  “I am simply precisely on time.  It is not my fault that neither of you can keep a schedule.”

Micah turned in his chair to look at the newcomer.  A tall thin blonde man wearing an immaculate suit walked to the open chair.  Much like Mursa, he seemed to glow from within.  Unlike her, he didn’t carry an ounce of warmth or cheer.

“Ankros,” the man shook his head at the other god.  “Your aura is leaking again.  You’re probably suffocating the poor mortal you’re inflicting this entire charade upon.”

“It builds character,” the huge black god grinned back.  “Plus, he’s already been to Elsewhere and back.  A couple glimpses of little old me isn’t going to shatter his psyche.  He’s a big boy.”

“Now that Luxos is here,” Mursa smiled at the two men before turning back to Micah.  “I think it’s about time we explained things to Mr. Silver.  He’s made it much further than any of us expected, and it only seems fair that we let him know the rules of the game he’s playing.”

“Wait,” Micah frowned, looking at the three most powerful gods of Karell as they bantered lightly.  “You didn’t expect me to make it this far?  What did you think was going to happen?”

“I thought you were going to die in the first invasion,” Ankros responded flippantly as he took another sip of tea.  He turned to Mursa.

“You know Mursa,” he gestured at the teacup, tiny in his huge hand.  “This is delicious, but I can’t help but feel like we need some food to compliment it.  Maybe like those little sandwiches you brought last time.”

“Fine,” Mursa rolled her eyes and reached her hand to the side.  Micah’s breath froze in his throat as reality itself rippled and her hand passed into mists and darkness.  

Except it wasn’t her hand.  It was a tendril covered in thousands of fronds made from soft silver light that positively thrummed with power.  The ribbon of power twisted and squirmed through the mist, grasping at something indeterminate before pulsing brightly enough that Micah was forced to blink repeatedly to prevent his vision from being damaged.

Her hand returned and Micah let out a shuddering breath.  The impossible shapes and angles of her appendage seared into his memory.  She put another tray on the table, this one covered in small sandwiches.  Their crusts were cut off.

“Cucumber and watercress sandwiches just for you Ankros,” she addressed her brother with an easy smile.

“And yes,” she continued, turning to Micah.  “I expected you to fail when that awful Martin character forced you to cast rituals far above your level in high stress situations.  I truly thought you were going to rip a hole into Elsewhere or get yourself possessed.  You were only a slight inflection of your voice away from some truly interesting possibilities.”

“And I am a pessimist,” Luxos cut in dourly.  “I thought you were going to die in each timeline before you managed to use the return yet you managed to prove me wrong.  Good for you I guess.”

The god didn’t even look at him while speaking, instead reaching out and picking up a sandwich before delicately putting it on the saucer next to his teacup.  He took a sip of the tea before returning it to its plate.  Quietly, the deity produced a napkin from his suit’s pocket and laid it on his lap before he began nibbling on the sandwich. 

“Regardless,” Mursa smiled at him cheerfully.  “You’ve succeeded where thousands before you have failed, and I think that warrants a small celebration and an explanation.”

“Succeeded?” Micah asked incredulously, a hint of anger in his voice.  “I’ve fallen from one failure to another.  I’ve been enslaved and tortured by others for years at a time.  Even this last time, my victory was short-lived and hollow.  The tools that you gave me to fight back made me into a monster.  I was barely even human at the end.  Obviously I exuded toxic energy that destroyed everything I touched, but even my emotions weren’t my own.  I was quicker to anger, less likely to empathize with other humans.  You’re the deities.  By what metric is that a success?”

Luxos snorted, but he kept eating his sandwich.  Mursa just smiled at him.

“By the only metric that matters, Micah,” she took another sip of the tea.  “You’ve seen and done things that have hardened and developed your soul to the point that you can directly handle the essence of Elsewhere.  You’re the first mortal in almost a millennia that has made it this far.  Our last candidate was much more promising than you and she failed right before the final step.”

“Dakkora,” Luxos spat the word angrily.  “At least this new one has a shred of common sense.  She didn’t even notice the energies from Elsewhere changing her.  Decades of manipulating events and training disappearing in an instant because our pet megalomaniac decided to try and summon a Prince of Elsewhere onto Karell.  Of course the ritual didn’t work.  The Princes are almost as powerful as lesser gods.  The energy needed to bind them would rip a mortal apart.”

“Admit it Brother,” Ankros erupted into laughter.  “You just didn’t like her because she tried to tear your church down.  Frankly?  I thought the girl had spunk.  Trying to set herself up as the dark queen of the mountains and take on all comers.  I just wish I’d thought to give her a blessing rather than our sister.  That’s the kind of attitude I can get behind.” 

“That certainly didn’t endear her to me,” Luxos sniffed before taking another sip of tea.  “At least this one has the right instincts.  Protect his homeland and his family from marauding hordes.  Now if we could just speed things along, I would appreciate it greatly.”

“Dakkora?”  Micah asked, looking at each of the deities, his eyes wild.  “Karin Dakkora?  I was told that she went against the teachings of the gods and had to be destroyed?”

“Hardly,” Mursa set down her teacup and steepled her fingers.  “Luxos’ followers are a bit liberal with the truth when it serves their benefit.”

“She was a madwoman and the people needed to be protected,” Luxos bit back, eyes flaring like stars as a pulse of energy pushed Micah back into his seat.

“Even your pet here,” the god waved vaguely in Micah’s direction.  “Was almost destroyed by the fragments of her work that the two of you forced me to leave lingering on Karell.  Without your intervention, Sister, he’d be little more than another discorporated consciousness floating about the mists of Elsewhere.”

“He has a point,” Micah acknowledged the god of light grudgingly.  “I fucked up the last time.  I performed the ritual, but it almost shattered my mind.  I’m pretty sure it would have without your help.” 

“You did exactly as well as I hoped,” Mursa corrected him.  “For you to take the next step, it was necessary that you connect with Elsewhere directly.”

“But Micah,” she shook her head sadly.  “No mortal is going to survive direct contact with Elsewhere without scars.  The magic you’ve been learning has expanded your soul and mind to the point where I could intervene to save you, but compared to what could have happened, you emerged all but unscathed.  We might look all powerful, but matters of the soul are one of the few places where the gods are truly limited.”

“After all,” Ankros interjected between bites of sandwich, “if we knew how to manipulate souls, there really wouldn’t be much need for the Karell and all the experiments.”

“What does he mean?” Micah asked, his eyes widening.  Luxos simply smirked at him, but at least Mursa had enough character to look abashed.

“We created Karell because we’re lonely,” Mursa’s voice was hesitant for the first time.  Embarrassed.  “Between the Void and Elsewhere there were the sixteen of us, a handful of mindless spirits and the Princes of Elsewhere.”

“The Princes are boorish and awful,” the goddess’ face wrinkled as if she’d eaten something sour as she continued speaking.  “They spend all of their time plotting against each other and us.  All they can talk about is absorbing the Void into Elsewhere and conquering the mists.  They might be our cousins, but the Princes are absolutely terrible company.”

“So we created a new world,” she smiled wistfully.  “A nursery for the wisps and fragments of souls we skimmed from Elsewhere to acclimate them to the void and let them grow in a safe environment without the higher orders of daemons and the Princes feeding upon them.”

“That’s the goal of blessings,” her voice filled Micah’s ears as he felt his stomach dropping out beneath him.  “The souls that can handle more power are given it.  Those that can’t live out a life and are reincarnated into a new body to grow stronger until they too can accept a blessing.”

“Unfortunately,” the goddess smiled bitterly, “souls lose some of their vibrancy upon death.  That is why we’ve provided the status sheets to mortals.  They create an incentive for you to push yourself in each life and expand your souls to the point where you can accept greater and greater blessings after reincarnation.”

“The final steps are what we call candidates,” Mursa picked up her cup of tea, swirling it briefly before she finished speaking.  “Having a strong enough soul is important, but the conscious mind attached to that soul needs to be developed too.  You need to know enough of the workings of the universe, either through spellcasting, ritual magic, or martial arts.  Also, you need to be able to touch the very source of magic, the mists, and remain both whole and sane.  After your experiences, you now have met both requirements.  Micah Silver, you are now officially a candidate.”

MIcah looked around the circle of deities in confusion.  Ankros and Mursa gazed back, expectant looks on their faces.  Luxos simply drank his tea.

“A candidate for what?” He asked, frowning slightly.  “You just said a whole lot of words about your grand design and plan, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.  What is the point of all this?”

Ankros burst out laughing, leaning back in his chair to slap his knee.

“That’s what I like so much about Micah, Mursa,” he forced the words out between deep belly chortles.  “You talk for minutes without saying anything and he just points it out.  The boy has the heart of a warrior in him after all.”

The goddess pursed her lips, maintaining a stern facade for a handful of seconds before she smiled as well.

“Fair enough,” she replied, a hint of amusement to her voice.  “You haven’t spent eons playing these games so everything is new to you.  I shouldn’t speak to you like you’re one of our cousins when there is so much you don’t know.”

“From this day forward,” her voice took on a formal tone, lending the words an aura of finality, “you will only have one class available to you Micah Silver, Candidate.  Just like tributaries inevitably must converge on a river or lake, all martial and magical paths on Karell merge as well.”

“You asked me what you are a candidate for,” she finished, a hint of amusement in her grey eyes.  “You are a candidate to join us.  To make the sixteen into seventeen.  Young Micah Silver, if you continue to survive and grow, one day you will ascend above Karell and become a god.”

-- End of Arc 3  --