Quun, or Wentoki were to appear. “They have forever underestimated me. They assume I care only to harvest souls and keep them here to draw sustenance from them. The prayers of the dead are thin broth compared to the devotion of the living. They think I am weak because of it.”
“But you are weak, Grija.”
Grija’s dark eyes became molten hatred. He lashed out and the collar around Nessagafel’s throat tightened. Pure fury flowed through it, constricting it. Agony pulsed into the elder god. It turned Nessagafel inside out. It melted his bones into ivory plasma which Grija carved into an intricately decorated sphere, trapping the rest of his father’s essence.
Pain rose through Nessagafel as bubbles through boiling water. He could not speak and would not scream. He could barely twitch. Pain played over him as argent lightning arcs, then sank deep like fangs into flesh. It melted him from the inside out, churning him into a roiling lump of unrecognizable existence.
“Weak? Weak? Is that weak?” Grija assumed human form to more properly strut his outrage. “You are in my power . Do not forget that, Father. You will obey me. I do not need you to succeed. I wish to return to you the freedom you have long been denied because my brothers have wronged you. Their oppression wearies me.”
Nessagafel allowed himself to gasp weakly, feeding Grija’s ego. As quickly as he could, the elder god hardened the lines pain made in his essence. He clung to that lattice, pouring himself into it. Through it he could read every outrage Grija had known since the moment he burst into existence. As with every other instance of torture, Grija used his own pain as a model for that which he visited upon his father. Instance by instance, he gave Nessagafel what a lack of omniscience denied him.
One does not escape a prison, one escapes the warden .
Grija paced and prated. “You alone are capable of understanding what I put up with, for we are both trapped here. They think they tricked me into accepting the Underworld as my realm, but I knew what I was doing. I will have all the power eventually.”
“But you were not content to wait.”
“Impatience is only a vice to those who lack the intellect to see the inevitability of the future.” Grija closed a hand into a fist. “All is to be mine, so why wait?”
“Why, indeed?”
Grija narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that? What do you know?”
Had Nessagafel felt the need, he would have shrugged. “Is it not curious that you are the god of Death and, yet, you have not died?”
“Curious, but immaterial. Were I to die, I would simply bring myself back into existence.”
“Create something from nothing? That is quite a difficult task.”
“But you did it.”
“So how hard can it be?”
Grija laughed. “Exactly.”
“Not hard at all.” Nessagafel chose to smile, but Grija could not recognize it as such. “I made death from nothing. I made all of you from nothing.”
“And yet, here we are.” Grija shook his head. “But you shall be freed soon, to be my vassal.”
“I prefer agent .”
Grija’s eyes sparked and pain drilled through Nessagafel. “Be pleased I do not make it slave .”
Nessagafel grunted and became quiescent.
“I am not fooled, Father.” The god of Death shook his head. “Do not think I have not considered treachery on your part. I have taken precautions.”
I am certain you have . Nessagafel formed an eye and stared at Grija. I do not choose to believe they will be effective .
“Soon, Father.” Grija waved a hand and the glow surrounding him blinked out of existence. “Gods will tremble and gods will die.”
Chapter 12
T he trio of ships stood out, in part because of their enormous size. The hulls had been made of a black wood and the ships were so broad abeam that little of the deckhouse could be seen from the riverside. Six tall masts rose from the center of the ships, but none bore any canvas. They drifted upriver slowly, and had
“But you are weak, Grija.”
Grija’s dark eyes became molten hatred. He lashed out and the collar around Nessagafel’s throat tightened. Pure fury flowed through it, constricting it. Agony pulsed into the elder god. It turned Nessagafel inside out. It melted his bones into ivory plasma which Grija carved into an intricately decorated sphere, trapping the rest of his father’s essence.
Pain rose through Nessagafel as bubbles through boiling water. He could not speak and would not scream. He could barely twitch. Pain played over him as argent lightning arcs, then sank deep like fangs into flesh. It melted him from the inside out, churning him into a roiling lump of unrecognizable existence.
“Weak? Weak? Is that weak?” Grija assumed human form to more properly strut his outrage. “You are in my power . Do not forget that, Father. You will obey me. I do not need you to succeed. I wish to return to you the freedom you have long been denied because my brothers have wronged you. Their oppression wearies me.”
Nessagafel allowed himself to gasp weakly, feeding Grija’s ego. As quickly as he could, the elder god hardened the lines pain made in his essence. He clung to that lattice, pouring himself into it. Through it he could read every outrage Grija had known since the moment he burst into existence. As with every other instance of torture, Grija used his own pain as a model for that which he visited upon his father. Instance by instance, he gave Nessagafel what a lack of omniscience denied him.
One does not escape a prison, one escapes the warden .
Grija paced and prated. “You alone are capable of understanding what I put up with, for we are both trapped here. They think they tricked me into accepting the Underworld as my realm, but I knew what I was doing. I will have all the power eventually.”
“But you were not content to wait.”
“Impatience is only a vice to those who lack the intellect to see the inevitability of the future.” Grija closed a hand into a fist. “All is to be mine, so why wait?”
“Why, indeed?”
Grija narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that? What do you know?”
Had Nessagafel felt the need, he would have shrugged. “Is it not curious that you are the god of Death and, yet, you have not died?”
“Curious, but immaterial. Were I to die, I would simply bring myself back into existence.”
“Create something from nothing? That is quite a difficult task.”
“But you did it.”
“So how hard can it be?”
Grija laughed. “Exactly.”
“Not hard at all.” Nessagafel chose to smile, but Grija could not recognize it as such. “I made death from nothing. I made all of you from nothing.”
“And yet, here we are.” Grija shook his head. “But you shall be freed soon, to be my vassal.”
“I prefer agent .”
Grija’s eyes sparked and pain drilled through Nessagafel. “Be pleased I do not make it slave .”
Nessagafel grunted and became quiescent.
“I am not fooled, Father.” The god of Death shook his head. “Do not think I have not considered treachery on your part. I have taken precautions.”
I am certain you have . Nessagafel formed an eye and stared at Grija. I do not choose to believe they will be effective .
“Soon, Father.” Grija waved a hand and the glow surrounding him blinked out of existence. “Gods will tremble and gods will die.”
Chapter 12
T he trio of ships stood out, in part because of their enormous size. The hulls had been made of a black wood and the ships were so broad abeam that little of the deckhouse could be seen from the riverside. Six tall masts rose from the center of the ships, but none bore any canvas. They drifted upriver slowly, and had
Similar Books
