The Undying God (25 page)

Several months ago, she confided to
Astalla why she felt called to the faith. For five years, she
suffered a tragic relationship with a man, objectified only for her
sexuality and abused for any transgression. The slightest social
imperfection, any disrespect or scorn, was met with
violence.

Every night, he demanded she give
herself to him, and when she resisted, he would spiral out of
control. He never forced himself on her, but beneath her religious
garments, Ava still bore the scars of his assaults. She never
understood how a man who claimed he loved her could beat her, force
her to the brink of death, beg for forgiveness and convince her
again of his love—only to beat her into submission the following
night.

Ava hoped he would change. She
remembered the days they spent together before they were married,
when they danced in the taverns and fell asleep in each other’s
arms. He would take her across the countryside on horseback and
cuddle with her under the starlit sky. Somewhere deep inside her
husband, she knew part of that man remained.

If only he would promise to never harm
her again. Her hopes were crushed one bruise at a time.

At last, she sought shelter within a
local temple, where she believed he couldn’t trace her. After the
ordeal, Ava vowed to never love a man again.

As she dwelt in the temple, she mingled
with the clerics and disciples. She was unaccustomed to their
kindness given her years of abuse. Ava wanted so dearly to thank
the priests who granted her sanctuary, and she longed to help
others the way they salvaged her.

In time, she grew to be the most
devoted cleric in Astalla’s temple, overthrowing the misconception
that women couldn’t lead a congregation. In fact, Astalla regarded
her as the most inspiring cleric in Praemenon.

She offered refuge to others in their
times of need and she helped victimized women escape situations
once similar to hers. Astalla could only marvel at her selflessness
and commitment to charity. She viewed Ava as an idol for all of her
followers to emulate.

“Astalla, what is wrong?” a distraught
Ava said. She could sense that something was amiss several days
ago, but Astalla would reveal nothing.

The deity almost couldn’t bring herself
to inform Ava about the tragedy. She trusted her perhaps more than
anyone, but because of their relationship, she wanted to shield her
from grief. However, she needed to know about the threat facing
them.

“Blessings upon you, Ava. I have asked
you to join me tonight to enlighten you about troubling events.”
This statement alone captivated the high cleric. Astalla walked
toward an arched window and peered into the mist-wreathed
courtyard. “Ava... you have always been by my side. And now I need
you more than ever.”

“Of course, Astalla, but I don’t
understand. What is happening?”

Astalla’s throat tightened.

“A man by the name of Margzor has been
attacking my followers in the temples.” It barely even felt like
her voice as the words spilled out. “He is traveling across the
city-states, hunting down my priests and disciples. He is coming
here.”

Ava’s blood ran cold. She almost felt
too weak to stand on her feet.

“We must evacuate the temple,” Astalla
continued. “Margzor cannot kill my followers if he cannot find
them.”

“Some must stay behind. You’re weak…”
Her demigoddess turned away, attempting to hide any apparent
weakness, but the damage was done. “You haven’t responded to your
disciples’ prayers for days.” Astalla spun away from the window,
looking shocked. “You haven’t felt their prayers…?” Astalla didn’t
realize how weak she had become.

“I cannot die,” she whispered
fearfully.

Ava immediately sputtered, “We will not
allow it. The temple will be maintained by guards
constantly—”

“This isn’t just about me!
This
is about the souls in the afterlife!” Ava froze like a moth caught
in a web. The thought inspired horror in her. She could only
imagine the torments Margzor could inflict on the dead for
eternity.

Chapter 26

Margzor almost felt like a boy again.
But instead of the nostalgic innocence he knew so long ago, he felt
only fear. Shadows dripped from every branch and tree, saturating
his world. Darkness thickened like blood in water, and the
silhouettes of trees writhed to the tormenting moan of the
wind.

No matter where he ran, he was haunted
by chilling memories. Hundreds of them swirled in his conscience, a
cyclone that threatened to tear his sanity apart. In the eye of
that storm, one memory in particular brought him peace.

That memory was perhaps the most
enjoyable and hideous of them all.

His dreams brought him more joy than
anything in the world. However, it was a bittersweet feeling, for
his pleasure was always accompanied by dread.

Beauty plagued his mind each night,
dreams that fed on the vulnerable thoughts of love inside, only to
become a nightmare. The emotional confusion transformed Margzor
into an explosive disaster waiting to happen. What would trigger
him?

He could not remember how he became so
obsessed with love, nor could he determine if it was possible to
reverse this process. It impaired his ability to sleep, to think,
to survive. It threatened his most vital functions.

He could imagine nothing more
horrendous than never bringing to reality the essence of his
dreams. To never know the warmth of a lover or the kiss of a woman
was unconscionable.

Yet, he could not shake the feeling
that he was hideous. The demon had inspired the most potent hatred
in this tortured soul. It had not created the violence in his
heart; the demon was merely awakening it.

No matter how hard the demon attempted,
though, it could not pierce the defense mechanisms of his mind and
discover what had produced such animosity. It ceded at last to the
fact that it could not look that deep inside him. Instead, the
demon focused on how it could manipulate him further
still.

Your sexual obsession is sinful,
it hissed. Margzor paused in his steps at the disturbing
accusation. He could not imagine why these feelings inside him were
wrong. Sex encompassed more than pleasure; he imagined it was the
most affectionate, loving, and beautiful thing in this dying
world.

He yearned for someone he could kiss,
make love to, and fulfill. She could undo this, everything that had
befallen him since his childhood...

No, you cannot love,
the demon
harshly expressed.
What you mistake as love is only lust and
physical desire.

Margzor’s green eyes reflected sorrow,
and he repressed a stab of shame. He knew he should not feel guilty
about his feelings; they were in no way immoral or selfish. He
imagined what he could bring into another person’s life, how he
could bestow a woman the same love he so desperately
sought.

There is nothing worthy of love in
this world
, the malevolence whispered within him.
Humans do
not love each other; men and women hollow out their hearts with
hatred. You are surrounded by a world of hate, where every man is
an enemy and every woman despises you.

Margzor retreated a step at the hurtful
notion. Omnipresent hatred lurked out there, beyond the forest,
coagulating like a disease in society and its festering cities.
Their vain and superficial culture bred hatred, the value they
placed on one another based on beauty, social hierarchy, and
dominance. There was no denying this, he knew.

You are disgusting in their
eyes, something less than human. A creature.

Slowly, Margzor walked across the
forest and he contemplated his insecurity. He came to a stop as he
approached a shallow pool of water in a hollow stump. Margzor
studied his reflection in the water. He did not look like a
creature.

His fingers disturbed the opaque
surface, sending ripples to disfigure his reflection. He looked
like a mature man, not the fragile boy he once was. These green
eyes were not the unfeeling eyes of a monster, and his face was not
deformed. He would arguably be considered handsome.

Yet, he could not deny his inhuman
feelings. He did not share their social norms, their hopes, their
dreams. He was not a woman’s definition of a man. He was not a
human’s definition of sane.

Neither did he share society’s
goals.

No, you do not belong in
society
.
It is much too dangerous, superficial, and
dominant. They are destined for self-destruction.

Margzor didn’t dare dispute the demon’s
analysis; he had arrived at similar conclusions as his childhood
withered.

Humans are a violent and callous
breed that only loves one another in the carnal sense... but
nothing will quench their lust for blood.
Force is the only
way to change society. You can control your pain by eradicating
those who would do you harm. Eliminate the potential
abusers.

It flooded Margzor’s imagination with
fantasies about harming and controlling people. Violence and murder
was all he could see.

It coaxed him to sleep, inventing more
sexual fantasy. Every dream seemed to undo the eternity he spent in
isolation and anguish. Just one more dream, one more fantasy and
everything would be all right. Her fingers traced his lips, her
eyes plunged deep into his, she welcomed his hands across her body,
and with smoldering desire, she…

Margzor sighed morosely. And the more
he focused on hatred, the more the demon rewarded him with
dreams.

If he could never feel the pleasure and
joy of love, he would devote himself to hate.

The sunlight decayed and night
unfurled. His darkest fantasies awakened as he wandered the night.
Hate would always be there for him.

Animosity would fill the
void.

The sounds of the forest grew around
him, reaching a crescendo, crickets screeching in the darkness,
noises blending into a raging chorus. His footstep sounded like an
explosion to his ears and the world fell silent.

He was alone once more.

Chapter 27

The great exodus poured into the
streets outside the temple. One woman looked apprehensively over
her shoulder, confused by the evacuation. Ava had assured her that
Astalla authorized the exodus and it was vital to the safety of her
followers.

The faithful would be summoned when it
was safe to return to the temple. While the followers were
evacuated, many clerics would remain behind.

It felt surreal to her that the temple
was emptying. She would feel so alone without the smiling faces of
people she had come to know as family. Who would she consult for
guidance when her friends left? Ava wanted someone to stay, someone
to talk with and share her feelings. She didn’t want to repress the
doubts that tormented her heart.

However, Ava would not be
alone.

A brother and sister watched from the
balcony as clerics escorted hundreds from the prayer hall. The
troublemakers smiled at each other as they observed the strange
procession. They could not even begin to fathom what the clerics
were doing. Maybe the adults were in trouble. The very thought made
them giggle.

The friendly pair had been taken in by
Ava two years ago. They were too young to even realize their
parents were deceased.

“What is she doing?” the boy asked,
indicating Ava.

“I think they’re playing a
game.”

“Let’s play with them!” he exclaimed.
“Let’s hide! They’ll never find us!” He retreated from the balcony
in excitement and spun around to take in the surrounding
terrace.

He often played a similar game with
Ava, hiding among the upper levels until she found him. She didn’t
seem to understand the concept of the game. Ava would always gently
scold him and escort him to the first floor. He tried explaining to
her time and again that he was supposed to hide and she was tasked
to find him. His sister understood the game so much better than the
silly adults.

“Where would we hide?” the sweet girl
asked. The boy smiled impishly and took his sister’s
hand.

“Come on! I’ll show you!” He shepherded
her across the temple and they darted up a flight of stairs. He
knew of just the place where no one would find them. Sometimes he
would disappear into this secret chamber when the adults
prayed.

An ancient door awaited them in the dim
corridors. The boy had discovered the room several weeks ago. As
far as he knew, no one was making use of it. He exchanged an
innocent smile with his sister.

Ava would never find them.

* * *

Sometimes, Margzor wondered how he was
able to kill another human. He was not desensitized to violence. He
knew precisely what he was doing and he took sole responsibility
for his actions. Instead of guilt, he felt as though he had only
killed a lesser life form, like a parasite.

He knew such a lack of empathy
reflected hideously on him. How could a man so cold and heartless
be certain that he could love a woman? He dismissed the insidious
doubts inspired by the demon. He refused to believe he was a
murderer without a conscience.