Other Gods first chapter only, Page 2

  And no one understood you when the corpse was still walking around, masked, breathing, looking as alive as everyone else.

  Everything, from the cheap box to the far-flung locale, implied this man, Galion, had not been loved and would not be missed.

  Something tolled dumbly within Averil.

  Is this my future?

  Averil looked from one blank, uncaring face to another. None stared back, even to give a gentle smile.

  A woman, old, wizened, stepped forward, her black cloak hanging from her, shielding her like a frozen black waterfall. “I speak for Death, and she speaks for you. This man has walked among us, lived, failed, and succeeded alongside us. And now he sleeps within our fair city.”

  Averil frowned at her. Everything she said felt wrong to him, a lie.

  Galion was one-of-a-kind — who else has lived as long as the gods? And he disappeared, so there’s no body to sleep. The gods just hate him so that they seek retribution, even if it must be in common words over an empty grave.

  Someone must say something of worth for him.

  The woman droned on, but Averil couldn’t hear it, these were the same words any Death follower would say over a stranger in the street. All around the other people stood, staring at the casket as though to make sure it could not pop open, its owner leaping once more into the affairs of their masters, the various gods.

  Averil heard the man in spectacles whisper to another mourner — “Of course we’re having a feast later.” He added, glancing down his nose at the other man, “You think we’d be the only ones not celebrating?”

  The woman had disappeared, departed in that famously quiet way of her kind, just sort of gliding out of the picture. Everyone broke up, disbanding amid soft laughter. Averil watched them scatter in four directions before he had thought of any words to say.

  He moved closer, all alone now and wishing he had something to toss, some measure of meaning to impart — but that was the thing about being a ghost in your own life; you had little of substance to give.

  He unfastened the necklace, lifting it above the coffin. “What is this? Do you want it back?” The pendent fell from his hand, but the chain, wrapped in his fingers, caught it. It swung in the winds, which were increasing as a foretold storm began announcing its presence, rumbling in from the far edges of the horizon.

  Averil stepped away from the grave, and peered at the first heavy, dark gray cloud being pulled across the sky overhead, its breeze whipping against his faded coat.

  ***

  Averil walked around the tiny graveyard, swaying between trees, unable to read names on worn-out, corrupted tombstones. The storm was growing, pounding closer with every rage of thunder. Averil slipped the silver chain back around his neck. For once, his office and the mundane rigidalities of his life held no appeal; they offered no balm upon this day.

  Raindrops erupted from the skies and Averil dashed for a small, decrepit building adjacent to the yard. He passed under a great beam of gray stone and stepped inside. A fear seized him, choking the breath from Averil as he walked into the black.

  I shouldn’t have brought this necklace into the house of a god.

  He could not name why, but the whole of his body told him to run from this place. He turned to stare out the doorway, but it was unnecessary, the harsh, heavy refrain of the rain changed his mind before even his eyes saw the deluge.

  Shaking away his trepidation, Averil walked down a little hallway, drawing farther into the temple itself. At its heart lay an ill lit room filled with pews, and a long black velvet cloth unfurling to an alter in the far back. Averil also saw a row of books on a shelf against one wall and he walked forward, pulling close to their rich smell, trying to read the dim titles in the near darkness. They were as friends to him, but friends unnamed. He then seated himself on a lenient pew, absorbing the night-spun mystery from all directions. Tiny, slim windows betrayed the storm outside.

  His gaze fell upon the alter — a unlit few candles sat, sinking into hard waxen moats, their smooth shine covered with a dusty layer of nonuse. No other offerings remained here.

  I have seen mantles crowded with golden statues and jeweled trinkets in the larger temples.

  Averil said aloud, “Has Death abandoned you for better ground?”

  Just then thin, pale fingers reached out and set a tiny figurine on the alter. “Think not so low of this place.”

  Averil started, leaping around to stare at a cloaked figure in the half-light. Thunder collapsed all around them. As soon as the creature pulled the hand back, Averil could make out no part of its form.

  The black hollow of a face turned, resting invisible eyes upon him, its hood hiding everything. Neither spoke.

  Averil summoned what courage was left to him. “I did not mean to offend.”

  The figure answered in a subdued, female voice. “All are welcome here. Your pain blinds you to caution.”

  Averil shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The woman didn’t move, so Averil started to rise. A gesture of her hand stopped him. “Rest while the storm rages.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Terma. I do not know your name, but I do not need it.”

  Averil smiled and, as the woman took a seat across the aisle from him, he felt unworried by this visitor. “How long of Death?”

  “Long enough to understand the suffering of another.”

  Why does she care? Why must my every conversation end when questions begin?

  Averil glanced out the slits of windows, but the rain pealed harder than ever against the glass.

  No escape.

  Averil looked up at the dark ceiling. “Maybe I do complain sometimes — is that a sin?”

  “Depends on the religion. What’s yours? Power? Wisdom?”

  Averil smiled again. “If you knew who I was you wouldn’t ask me about gods.”

  “I’ve just never seen someone look like you do who didn’t belong to the wrong one. It’s an imprisoned look.”

  Averil stilled a shiver. “You don’t need a god to wall you in. May I?” Averil reached forward and picked up the tiny stature. “It’s beautiful — who is it of?”

  “The last dancer. A human representation of the final thing you love before dying.”

  The words shook Averil, though he could not understand why. He moved to replace the figure but it fell from his trembling fingers onto the stone floor. He reached down for it fast, as if to undue the damage.

  Sheer horror touched Averil’s features. For as soon as he grasp the offering two happened at once — his necklace tumbled out of the folds of his shirt, and the woman gave a soft whisper of a gasp. Averil somehow managed to set the stature back up on alter as he stumbled away from the woman. Averil moved to tuck the necklace inside his clothes but —

  “Stop.” The voice had much more power this time. “Is that your god?” She repeated herself, louder this time.

  Averil stepped forward, a hand outstretched in front of him, almost to calm — or at least quiet — her, as though her words would summon a deity to this forgotten shed of a temple. “No, no. My god is— I don’t have a god and I don’t know what this is; you do?”

  The faceless black of the hood stared at him, and Averil almost moved to run, for rain and winds held little power against the emotion brewing in this woman’s voice.

  Averil’s curiosity won out over his fear. “Terma, who’s necklace is this?”

  Her voice was still suddenly, withdrawn. “Only a god can answer that, but none will.”

  “But you recognize it.”

  “Yes.”

  The rain leapt and laughed outside, its anger passing, its swelling gifts of water playing down from the skies. Without the thunder, the quiet was eerie, bracing in the darkened room. The droplets outside could not cut through the silence.

  Averil could feel a cold sweat take him from all sides; with his brea
th restrained inside his rib cage, he felt like he had just run a race. He turned toward the hallway, hating himself for leaving the one person in Restāre who might have the answers he sought. “I’d better go.”

  “Averil . . .” A shock, upon hearing his name, seized Averil’s heart and resounded a second later when the woman reached up and pulled back her hood.

  And Averil found himself staring at the immortal face of Death.

  Averil gaped in horror. His body had forgotten how to move; a statue could have felt more free.

  With her cloak pulled back, the goddess’s full glory was revealed. Her hair coiled and braided around her head, drawing close to the skull, with shards of smoky crystal shining out. She waved a hand over the lifeless candles, watching small, bright flames erupt, dazzling the alter with light. Death smiled at him. “If you don’t know anything, as you said, then I apologize in advance for the pain.”

  Her cold, smooth features were not distorted and cruel as Averil remembered another god’s being, but Death’s words and black eyes chilled his heart. Averil could feel her power filling the room like a fog, and drifting out into the day. Terror aborted any rational thought, and so Averil, the man above all others forbidden alliance with a god called out—

  Oh god of Darkness, please protect me, please save me.

  A crack of thunder, in abeyance from its kin, sounded. A second later Averil’s master, the most malevolent and feared god of the world, appeared.

  Chapter 2

  This is where chapter two would start.

  And now for this class I’ll add the end matter –

  Let’s assume –

  They lived happily ever after.

  THE END

  Author’s Note

  Something very important about your book, such as historical clarification.

  Acknowledgements

  In an ebook these go at the end. Time to thank all the good folks that got you here.

  About the Author

  Katherine Cerulean grew up in the countryside, home-schooled near Athens, GA. She has been writing seriously for sixteen years, starting with screenwriting and then moving into novels.  Her completed novels are Other Gods (a fantasy) and A Caged Heart Still Beats (a love story). She is the founder of the Athens Writers Association. She is also the author of How to Come Alive: A Guidebook to Living the Life of Your Dreams. Her next novel Fall Street, a coming of age story, is in progress.

  Read the first chapter of Fall Street at www.katherinecerulean.com/my-novels/fall-street.com

  www.KatherineCerulean.com

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