Chapter 25
The Choice of Free Will
The demon horse circled the skies of Mundiraj and those of the town watched it warily. The encampment of two Romitu armies had brought many odd sights, and their priests warned them daily of the doom the gods intended for them. A few ran through the streets decrying this as another sign that the final battle was nigh. Most, however, went about their business, their eyes cautiously upon the sky.
As the creature drifted lower on the city thermals, it became apparent that it had a rider. In contrast to the black of the horse and the occasional bursts of flame and smoke, the riders were dressed in bright armor with a blue and white tabard. And, as it came lower, it trended more towards the eastern side of town, where the encampment was. And, so, it passed out of the interest of most residents.
The garrison in the camp, however, grew alert. No general call to arms was made. The lieutenant on duty did not do so, since one individual was unlikely to be a significant threat. And a repositioning of the defense could make them vulnerable if this was a ruse. She did not order the main gates of the encampment shut either. To do so might betray undue wariness, and it would be pointless, given what they were tracking could fly. However, she did order the gate guard out onto the threshold.
The creature alighted a moderate distance away from the gate. Outside of immediate threat of combat, but well within bow range. “Greetings, traveler,” hailed the lieutenant from the top of the tower. “Do you have business with the fort?”
“I am Desdemona, Knight of Grania. I have business with Demara, her priestess,” said the rider. She stood in her saddle, and the emblem of grain could be easily seen on her tabard.
“I will send her word,” said the lieutenant.
“I would rather save you the trouble and go myself,” said the rider. The lieutenant looked hesitant. “If you require it, I will leave my mount and weapons beyond the gate.”
“I do not wish to give offense,” said the lieutenant. “If you allow me to confirm with the officer on duty I am sure we can do you the courtesy warranted by your station.”
“It is no matter,” said Desdemona. She dismounted and took a smoking great sword from her back and hung it on her saddle. She whispered a few words to her mount and walked toward the gate.
“I will post guards to ensure no one gives trouble to your steed or belongings,” said the lieutenant.
Desdemona nodded in acknowledgment as she walked past. She saw the banners of the 22nd and 31st armies. These were not ones she had worked with before. They stared at her as she passed. Not terribly surprising, given her demonic appearance. She figured they were wondering the same thing she was: is this a friend or an enemy.
She didn't need to be told where to find Demara. She would be in the kitchens. Didn't matter if it was her own temple, or the camp of those sworn to kill her god. Desdemona just had to user her nose. Where there was smoke, there was fire, and that would be where the ovens were. It helped that every single Romitu camp was laid out the same.
A soldier stood by the door and held it open for her. Doubtless a runner was sent to let Demara know she was on her way. They were efficient in ways like that. The highest evolved killing machine the world had seen. And now they hunted the gods.
She had once been a killing machine. A poor choice of parents had left her with demon tainted blood. Having no solace amongst her people of birth, those of her blood took her. They trained her and gave her the great sword that hung from her saddle. A fearsome weapon for tracking down and returning demons escaped from their torment. Until one day she exercised that small spark of self will that was buried deep down inside and made a choice. That choice was witnessed and raised to a god's attention by the priestess whose doorstep she stood on. The goddess recognized the action and absolved her damnation. She didn't bless her; she just removed the predetermination set by her blood taint. Her choices were her own now, for good or ill. She had served Grania since then, most often through Demara. Yet here she stood: once more hunting, bringing doom. Was it what she was good at? Or was she just gravitating to previous patterns?
“I'll be right with you,” said Demara. She had two pans sizzling on the hot plate that she kept throwing vegetation into as she chopped. Once they were in, she opened the doors to the ovens, pulled out the sheets and, with a jerk, slid the scones on them onto a cooling rack. The sheets steamed as she dumped them into the half-filled sink. Then back to add a dash of some oils to the sizzling pans. She reduced the glow on the hot plate, covered them and dusted her hands off. “It's good to see you Desdemona.”
“And I, you,” said Desdemona. Then she paused.
“I know why you're here,” said Demara. “Let’s just get it over with.”
“There is some concern that you haven't received your instructions,” said Desdemona.
“You mean the visions, omens, and oracles all screaming at me?” asked Demara sarcastically.
Desdemona smiled, thin lipped. “We wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I will not preach hate,” said Demara. “I will not preach lies. This is not religion, this is politics. It is not a valid request.”
“Your god orders it,” said Desdemona.
Demara raised an eyebrow. “So?” she asked. “That doesn't make it the right thing.”
“Is the hubris of these people infective?” asked Desdemona.
“They made a perfectly reasonable offer,” said Demara. “One, I must say, I had some hand in negotiating. You too.”
“It was not deemed reasonable by Grania,” said Desdemona.
“That's not true and you know it,” said Demara. “Any rational person can see that. Jesca declared at Greymount that any souls that wanted to go to their reward in heaven would not be interfered with. If they did not, they would be willing to bring them back to life.” She looked exasperated.
“I don't know what the goddess thinks, I only know what she said,” said Desdemona.
“What do you think, Desdemona?” asked Demara.
“I think the premise of your argument is false,” said Desdemona. “It is presumptuous to place mortals on the same level as the gods. They are of a different order. When it comes to the metaphysical, they have the authority, the sole authority, to determine such things as a soul's eternal rest.”
“Twaddle,” said Demara. “They are not of a different order. Grania once walked this earth. Sky Father too, although much longer ago.”
“But now they do not. They have been raised to a higher calling,” said Desdemona. “You would not let an acolyte in the temple set the liturgy?”
“I would if it was better,” said Demara.
“But who can judge that?” said Desdemona.
“Sometimes it's just obvious,” said Demara.
They glared at each other for a while. Demara pulled the pans from the plate and tossed their contents onto a cloth, tied them up, and tossed them in a basket.
“What message would you have me take back to our goddess?” asked Desdemona.
“I don't care,” said Demara. “Make something up. She's got her hands tied by those she serves. But do you?”
“What do you mean,” said Desdemona.
“Your mission is over,” said Demara. “It's just you and me now. Not herald and errant priestess. You know what's going on.”
“A pissing war?” asked Desdemona.
“More or less,” said Demara. “But there is a point to it all that everyone seems to have forgotten.”
“I'm sorry. I seem to have missed it,” said Desdemona.
“The gods want to create a heaven for their worshipers. The Romitu want to create heaven on earth for everyone,” said Demara. “Eternal life up above or eternal life down here. The gods cannot object to the stated aims of Romitu since they are the same as their own. The only difference is that souls eternally residing in heaven create mana for the gods to use. For their own ends. Those residing here do not.” Desdemona nodded slowly. “So, ul
timately, the god's objection is only self-serving, no matter how they dress it up.”
“Do you really think it is as simple as that?” asked Desdemona.
“I do. Any way I've cut and sliced it, it comes back to that,” said Demara. “The potential of the new magic removes the traditional need for the gods. But the genii is out of the bottle. It's not going back in. This change is permanent. They tried to do this before. Back when they were just the Hundred and Forty Four. It didn't work.”
“So you think there is no future for the gods?” asked Desdemona.
“Not in those traditional roles. If they could get over themselves all they would have to do is seek new roles. That's what I tried to show them.” She shrugged. “Too much of a stretch for them I guess.”
“Well,” said Desdemona slowly. “Assume you are right. What Grania says is not necessarily what she thinks. That may imply that it is not necessarily a stretch for all of the gods.”
“I'm listening,” said Demara.
“I will return to her service,” said Desdemona. “But I will look for signs that Grania understands your message. If so, I will encourage them. Her influence is not great. But I think those driving this are more likely to be dislodged from their path by subtle influences.”
“Yeah,” said Demara. “It's only going to work if they think it is their own idea.” They both smiled. She handed Desdemona the basket. “There are some fresh scones in there for you and some other stuff for Pookie. The locals have something called 'fire weed' that I thought might please the palette of a demon horse.”
Desdemona peeked in. “I thank you, from both of us.”
“Just don't get them mixed up!”