Aid

OF GODS AND MEN

Chapter 5: First of the Firstborn

         Tarsus and Finnian had been at the Good Shepherd for hours, sitting at their usual table toward the back of the place.  The tavern was unusually crowded this night.  Bustling crowds of shepherds, merchants, and other folk milled about with ales in hand.  There was a general sense of excitement in the air as men and women milled about with ales in hand excitedly greeting old friends they hadn’t seen in months.  Tarsus, with the help of several ales, allowed himself to be swept up in this excitement.  It felt right to him that: tonight of all nights: he should be greeted not with the drudgery of the old, but with the thrill of the new.

“Come with me,” he exclaimed to Finnian, who sat across from him.

“Are you mad?” Pell asked, clearly trying to be stern.

“Maybe,” Tarsus laughed at the admission.  “I know this whole thing sounds insane, but I swear to you Finnian…it felt like the hand of fate reached out to me today.  I feel like I have made a choice that will define the rest of my life.”

“No one choice defines anyone’s life,” Finnian retorted.  “Trust me on this.  The choices you make, you have to make every moment of every day for them have any sort of impact.”

“That sounded awfully wise,” Tarsus said accusingly.

“Drinking doesn’t affect me the way it does most people,” Finnian said.  “My mind actually gets sharper.  Gods, I wish we had a chess board right now.  You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Come on Finnian,” Tarsus emphatically whined.  “Think of the fun we’ll have together.  A beautiful woman needs our help.  You live for this sort of thing.”

“Speaking of which,” Finnian put on his stern face again.  “Please tell me you haven’t agreed to go on an impossible quest because a pretty girl asked you to.  Even I am not that stupid…especially when I’m drunk.”

“No, of course not,” Tarsus reassured.  

“Really?”

“Truly,” Tarsus said more earnestly.

“Because everything Berk said about her was dead on.  You saw, she didn’t even try to deny it.  She’s more than likely a lunatic,” Finnian shared in a quieter voice.

“Why?  Because she says she saw Malthus in a dream?  We see the gods all the time.  We feel their presence when they’re near.  Why is it so hard to believe?” Tarsus concluded.

“Because no one has seen Malthus: in a dream or otherwise: for a thousand years.  And he’s a showoff Tarsus!  We know this.  Every home in the kingdom of Malthanon has The Great Works of Malthus as proof: his book, his self-portrait….oh, his self-portrait…” Finnian had been gesturing wildly with his hands for emphasis.  Suddenly, he stopped and sat straight up looking wide-eyed at Tarsus.  “Do you remember the pose?”

“Don’t do it,” Tarsus said, trying to suppress laughter.

“Of course I’m going to do it.  I always do it,” Finnian said as he stood up from the bench.

In an effort to recreate this pose in a crowded tavern, Finnian pushed himself backward into the crowd behind him.  He put his left foot up on the bench and popped his chest out heroically.  His right hand was balled into a fist and placed on his hip, the elbow sticking out prominently.  His left arm he brought up and out in front of his chest, bending his forearm as though a bird was perched on it in front of his face.

“Remember this?” Finnian asked in his pose.  “And there were eagles.  One perched his arm, about to take off, and then a hundred others in front of him in mid-flight; as though he’d conjured all these birds to chase after rabbits or something.”

“I remember,” Tarsus said through strained laughter.

“There were so many eagles in fact, that the painting suggests the wind from their wings had blown Malthus’s shirt clean open.  The tails of his shirt are dangling in the breeze of the eagles’ backsides,” Finnian finished.

Tarsus laughed harder.

Suddenly, a cloaked man wearing a hood over his head appeared out of the crowd of other bar patrons.  He seemed to have tripped, falling right into Finnian.  The pose was broken.

“Sorry,” the man said.   

“That’s alright,” Finnian said as he helped the man up onto his feet.  “It might be better to put the hood on when you’re outside, though.”

“Thank you, young master,” the man said as he stumbled back into the crowd of the tavern, disappearing.

“Drunks, eh?” Finnian said as he resumed his seat.  “Anyway, you tell me how a GodKing who has a mandatory portrait of himself built into the structure of every home in his kingdom can go a thousand years without once hearing from his loyal subjects about how great he is.  Unless…”

“Unless what?” Tarsus pressed.

“Unless Malthus is gone,” Finnian said.  “That’s the only reason I can come up with for the fact that no one has seen him.”

“Maybe,” Tarsus conceded.  “Maybe he got bored.  Maybe he’s somewhere trying to live differently.  People change.  Why not gods?”

“No one really changes,” Finnian said sourly.  “And gods…think about it, if you had all that power and could live forever, would you ever change?”

Tarsus considered this a moment.  “I think I would.  I think I would have to.  It would get boring, wouldn’t it?  Staying the same throughout all of eternity?”

“Fine; maybe the girl’s not crazy,” Finnian humored.  “But that doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth.”

“She’s not lying,” Tarsus said assuredly.

Finnian gave him a questioning stare.  Tarsus could see the condescension in his friend’s eyes, and he suddenly remembered Cecily’s request earlier that day.

“At least, she wasn’t lying about the dream,” Tarsus clarified.

“I’m going to say this one more time,” Finnian said in a mockingly sympathetic tone.  “I know what fiery red hair and a healthy bosom does to a man.  There is no shame in admiring the loveliness of the female form.  But don’t let it turn you into a fool.”

“I swear to you Finnian, this is not about her beauty.  I honestly believe she needs help on this quest.  And the quest…” Tarsus bent in low, speaking in barely more than a whisper.             “To see out the sword of Malthus…”

“Is desperately needed,” a strange voice finished.

Tarsus and Finnian both sat up straight.  They clutched their hands to their stomachs.  This was a feeling they both knew well; it was a slight tug in the pit of their stomach, as though something was pulling the inside of their body to the outside.  Tarsus noticed the large crowding the tavern had quieted as well.  Everyone had a hand to their stomachs; everyone was looking for the god amongst them.

In the seat on the bench next to Finnian, the backside of a man; at least, what appeared to be a man; slowly turned.  

All eyes fell on this man.  He looked as most gods chose to look: achingly beautiful, with the light of grace and dignity radiating out from him as though he were a star.  Yet he was so glorious that he put many other gods to shame.  His ebony locks shone in the candlelight like onyx in the high noon sun.  His blue eyes were as clear and deep as the Crystal Sea.  He was neither overlarge nor undersized, but was somehow possessed of a strong stature.  Yet for all the strength he may have possessed, his smile betrayed a nurturing warmth.

The god looked from Tarsus to Finnian and back; even while every other eye in the place was fixed on him, yearning for his acknowledgment.  “As you were,” he said in the most melodious voice Tarsus had ever heard.

Suddenly, everyone in the tavern turned back to their conversations. The din of humanity had been born anew, and Tarsus was pushed out of the reverie this god had put them all in. 

“Pardon my lord.  Who are you?” Finnian asked in awe.

“Do you know Tarsus?” the heavenly figure asked.

“I am sorry my lord.  I…don’t,” Tarsus said regretfully.  For some reason, this god had trusted him to know and he had disappointed.  In that moment, Tarsus loathed himself.

“Could you not even guess?” the god asked again.  “Of all the folk in this town, your knowledge of me and my kind is unmatched.”

“But there are so many of you,” Tarsus said, trying to justify his stupidity.

He searched his mind, but without a name it was almost impossible to decipher which god was sitting before him.  They could change shape, and did, often.  They were bound by no earthly confines, and so unless they ruled a kingdom any one of them could be anywhere at any time.  And long gone were the days when they ruled over only one element of the many that combined to form the storm of humanity.  There were no more gods of love or war or the hunt.   They had abandoned those roles, choosing instead to enter the world as masters building kingdoms in their own image and honor.

But their names; their names were sacred.  That was a code that even gods lived by.  Perhaps the only code, so far as Tarsus knew.  For while they did not want to be confined, they did want to be known.  They wanted to be revered and adored and worshipped; therefore, at least one piece of them had to stay the same.

He thought frantically, desperately, about everything he had learned of the various gods’ personalities.  Malmira was a matronly goddess; she saw the people of her city as her children, and encouraged everyone who worshipped her to call her “mother.”  

Brandor was a warrior god, who insisted on fighting everyone who challenged him at their level.  It could be god, man or beast he fought, so long as the fight was evenly matched.  If he won, he’d mark his opponent with his seal.  If he lost, he’d allow himself to be marked in any way his opponent saw fit.

Pox was a wily deity, who played tricks on man and god alike for his own amusement.  The story went that rather than build a city of his own, Pox planted an apple tree in the capital city of any kingdom built by another god.  People passing by the tree would find the most beautiful apples hanging from its limbs, but when they tried to pick one the apples remained held fast to the branch; or the apples would be filled with worms; or the apples gave them terrible stomach pains.  The effect changed from city to city, and thus each capital of a god’s kingdom had a Pox tree somewhere within its bounds.

All of these gods and more flew through Tarsus’s mind.  It seemed like an hour had passed before he finally found one tether to grab onto; one god he’d read about who always prized looking his absolute best.

“Adulatio?” he asked hesitantly.

The god across from him gave a wide smile that filled Tarsus with warmth.  He guessed right; and the rapture of guessing right in that moment made him feel better than any living man in Arden.

“A knowledge of the elder gods is so rare to find these days,” Adulatio said.  “Bravo, Tarsus Cole."  
“Elder?  You?  You look like a man in his prime,” Finnian said with reverent solemnity.

“Thank you child,” Adulatio said, turning his fair countenance on Finnian.  “I am now as I choose to appear.  Yet I am old.  First of the firstborn.”

“Who are the firstborn?” Finnian asked.

“The gods,” Tarsus answered immediately.

Adulation turned back to the half barbarian sunsword and nodded, giving his blessing to the answer.

“The gods came first.  Then came mortals,” Tarsus finished.

“Who brought the gods?” Finnian asked.

“We have always been here,” Adulatio said patiently; like a father trying to explain why the birds fly to a child.  “Ever since the beginning of Arden.”

“What brings you here now my lord?” Tarsus asked.

“Your quest Tarsus Cole,” Adulatio answered softly.  He turned to Finnian.  “And yours, Finnian Pell.”

The both of them were awestruck: baffled.  They sat silently, neither one of them daring to move or speak.

Adulatio eyed them both.  He grew stern and leaned in to the center of the table.  They both followed suit.  “The woman who has come to you is telling the truth.  She has seen Malthus.  He reached out to the people of his kingdom with his fading strength, and only she; one of the last of his disciples; was open to receiving him.

“What do you mean…his fading strength?” Tarsus asked.

Adulatio’s brow furrowed.  He looked angry.  “Curse me and my incessant tongue.”

“Forgive me lord,” Tarsus said as tears began to well in his eyes.  “I did not mean to offend…”

“Hush child,” Adulatio held up his hand and gave Tarsus a small smile.  “It was not your fault.  You asked an obvious question.  It was my blunder.  Malthus’s secret…is a grave one.  No mortal knows it; not even the captain of the KingsGuard.”

“Would you tell us lord?” Finnian asked.

“Finnian!” Tarsus scolded.  He couldn’t believe the audacity of his friend.  

“Ha, that’s alright.  You are a brave soul young Pell,” Adulatio said, putting his heavenly hand on Finnian’s arm.

The impish young soldier beamed.  He instantly sat up straighter on the bench and bowed his head in gratitude to the god that sat beside him.

“And you Tarsus,” Adulatio said turning to Cole.  “You are a virtuous young man.  I know now that I chose rightly.  You two can save Malthus,” Adulatio proclaimed.

“Save him from what?” Tarsus asked.

“Agony,” Adulatio said.  “As we sit here, Malthus lies on the floor of his throne room…dying.”

“Impossible!” Tarsus exclaimed louder than he expected to.  He bent back in to the center of the table.  “Nothing can kill a god.”

“Some things can,” Adulatio corrected.  “Some…forces can.  But gods cannot simply be erased from existence.  We all hold a power inside us, an ancient living power that separates us from mortals.  If one of us is to die, that power must be transferred to a new host.  Malthus has lain dying now for a thousand years.  It is that power that keeps him alive; suffering each day until he can be released.”

“I don’t understand,” Tarsus’s mind was reeling with these new revelations.  “Cecily said Malthus needed the sword to fight off a great evil.  If he’s dying…well, that can’t be true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Adulatio said, taking on that fatherly tone once more.  “The sword is an extension of Malthus: an extension of his power.  It is so with anything we gods create.  For as long as that sword has been lost, Malthus’s power has been diminished.  But for Malthus to die and the power to pass on, he must be made whole again.”

“Hence, the quest,” Tarsus concluded.

“Yes,” Adulatio said solemnly.  “There is no telling how much longer Malthus can withstand his torment.  That is why he reached out.  That is why you must help Cecily Thorn retrieve Malthir as quickly as you can.  Because if Malthus succumbs to his suffering before it can be brought to him, he will find a way to bring it himself…even if half of Arden has to be destroyed to do it.”

Tarsus and Finnian were struck dumb.  They sat there, thinking to themselves.  This had gone beyond an impossible mission that could be failed and forgotten about by the few who knew of it.  This was now a quest for the fate of the world.  They had dreamed of this as boys; played long and involved games that spanned months of imaginary battles, dragons slain and princesses saved.  But this was not a game.  It was not exciting.  

Tarsus thought back to his first day reporting in to Thaddeus Berk as a part of Briarden’s militia.  He thought about the moments leading up to his first real battle.  He remembered, all too well, the feeling he felt at both of those times: fear.  More than fear, it was a crippling terror.  In both of those times, he felt there was just too much to comprehend; too much at stake; too much lying on his shoulders.  He sat there, trying to understand how he became a part of a fairy tale and how he could have ever seen fairy tales as simple stories before.  He never thought about how the heroes felt.  The adventure always moved swiftly passed too much fear or too much doubt.  There was always just enough to know that heroes weren’t perfect, but not so much that they ever seemed…human.  Finnian’s words suddenly sprung back into his mind and he realized his friend was right.  To go on this journey meant having to choose, every moment of every day, to keep going. 

All of these thoughts raced through his mind, and with each one he came to a question he kept asking himself over and again: could he handle something this big?

“What happens when…if, we bring back the sword of Malthus?” Tarsus finally was able to ask.

“One of you will have to kill him,” Adulatio answered.  “And thus, the power of the GodKing would pass on to his slayer.”

“One of us could become a god?” Finnian asked in disbelief.

        “Yes Finnian Pell.  One of you could become god.”