Gods and Chaos- Prologue

Prologue

Copyright Luke A. Wildman

                There was mold growing on the god’s face. If it had formed a beard then the appearance might’ve been more divine, but instead it was a wide swath of fuzzy green that forested the chiseled nose and scowling lips. Those were the only facial features still recognizable.

                Kale thought that the scholars should've taken time to clean the idol up before presenting it to the King’s court. But despite the desecration of age, it was still ominous.

                The relic stood taller than a man. Its mass of grey stone had once been garbed in flowing robes, but the details, if there’d ever really been any, were long worn away. It was a crude thing, with a dark presence surrounding it.

                A scholar coughed. “Your majesty, I present to you Murlack, god of ancient Ezron!”

                The court was duly impressed, demonstrated by a smattering of respectful applause. Then the King raised his hands for silence.

                 “Behold the mighty god in all his crumbling splendor! See how well he has guarded his people, dead now for a hundred years! People of my Kingdom, I ask you: whose gods are real? Those like this one, deities of the fallen civilization our ancestors ground to dust, or those who have prospered our fields, guarded us with peace, blessed our kingdom?”

                Cheering erupted in the court.

                “He should not say such things,” Thella sighed. She shook her head as she joined Kale at his side.

                “And why not? It’s all true, Thell. If Ezron’s gods were alive, Ezron would be, too.”

                “You don’t believe any gods live,” Thell pointed out. Kale noted that her hair was recently woven into a braid. Probably preparation for serving at the feast.

                “True, and I’ve never been struck down for my lack of belief,” he retorted. He would need to have his own hair braided soon. Perhaps Alna could do it tonight.

                The King raised his voice again.

                “We honor our gods with fame, glorious deeds, the best of what is ours. By courteous conduct and noble character we honor them. The old gods demanded bloody sacrifices for appeasement!” The King gestured dramatically to the idol, letting his words linger. Then he loudly whispered, “But our divinities are not so! They ask only that we serve them and stand right. If we do, we will be uplifted! So I beg you, my people!” he was roaring now. “I beg you to tell me! If we stand right with the gods at our back, what need we fear?”

                There’s never been such a leader as our king, Kale thought. The monarch had captivated his court. He was pacing, and now he ran before the idol itself, spitting on its base.

                “Mighty god, tell us of the world’s beginnings! Reveal the future! Do something, good or bad, and inspire the fear of you in us!” The crowd dutifully hushed as the King waited defiantly for a response. Of course there was none. A sneer slowly painted his countenance. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he drew breath. . . .

“As you desire, so it shall be. Let the judgment begin.”

And the lips of the god, which had parted like a flitting shadow to whisper their words, returned to a stony scowl once more.