The God Contest Regina

“It’s a great huge game of chess that’s being played – all over the world – if this is the world at all.”

Lewis Carroll

A sense of complete insignificance washed over Bethany as she stepped into the hall, as if she were an ant in the palace of an emperor. The soft, rainbow light shone down from above and robbed her of protective shadows. She shivered and folded her arms across her chest, uncertain if it was from the chill in the air or the danger she now faced.

“I don’t belong here,” she whispered. “I should go back.”

She turned back to the door she had come through, but all she saw was a broom closet, its tiny, unremarkable door slightly ajar. If the vast emptiness still existed beyond, she no longer had access.

“Okay,” she told herself anxiously. “I guess I’m not going back that way. No where to go but ahead, Bethany.”

The corridor was silent but for the muffled laughter emanating from beyond the double-wide door at the end of the hall. The floor creaked as she walked down the hall, and the unwelcome sound filled the silence around her like water poured into a glass.

She felt like she was back in her father’s house on that fateful night, sneaking down the hallway with her grandmother’s yellow suitcase in tow. The decision that had started her journey to this very moment.

“I’d still rather be here than back there,” Bethany whispered, and was surprised to find she meant it.

Bethany reached for a leather-bound tome wedged haphazardly on the nearest bookshelf. She opened the cover, and its spine cracked in protest, its long slumber interrupted. It had a musty smell that reminded Bethany of the old encyclopedias in her village library – her after school refuge from the world – tucked away in a corner and forgotten.

The words on the page were nonsensical. The letters – if they were letters – floated across the page as if caught in the breeze. They danced and twirled, teasing the girl with knowledge beyond her comprehension. She flipped the page, and it was more of the same. She struggled to make sense of the mocking knowledge, but all she found was a headache.

“This is still a dream,” she reminded herself. “I have more control than in the other ones, and my senses are sharper, but it is still a dream. Right?”

A muffled cheer rose up from behind the double door at the end of the hall, as if to challenge her assertion.

“You’re through the looking glass now, Alice,” Bethany told herself. She carefully closed the tome and returned it to the shelf. Her heart raced as she approached the double door at the end of the hall, willing herself to be small and insignificant. “Time to see what lays beyond.”

She took a deep breath, lifted the big, brass handle, and cracked the door open just enough to let the voices carry through. She left it ajar and ducked into the nearest archway to stay hidden.

The sound of a spoon tapping on a wine glass echoed down the hallway.

“My friends, hear me!” came the regal voice of Authority. The laughter of the gods fell to a low murmur. “We are one week into the God Contest. One week into our replenishment. Thirty thousand have perished, and within their early deaths we find continuance. Thirty thousand have risen, and in their growing power we find fulfilment, with the promise of a grander and more fulfilling feast to come. The remainder recoil from their new reality, but soon they too shall choose which path they stride.”

A joyful cheer filled the chamber beyond, yet Bethany could sense tension rise above the cheers, like a single leaf floating on ocean waves.

“With the God Contest, we secure our continued existence as their guardians. As their gods. This is the price mankind must pay for our protection. Our rightful toll. Babylon, Choquequirao, Pompeii, Machu Pichu. Regina. They were a worthy sacrifice upon our altar.”

“Upon your altar!” called a voice from the crowd, the source of the growing tension. The voice was deep and malevolent, and filled with half-hidden rage. “You feast, Authority, while the rest of us sustain ourselves on scraps that fall from your plate.”

A darkness flowed across the crack in the double door, blocking its silver light, and Bethany drew back into her archway, sweat on her brow. The god was on the other side of the door, mere feet away. A pungent, deathly odor drifted off the god and drowned out the perfume of wine in the air.

Bethany hugged her legs tightly to her chest and held her breath, terrified of getting caught.

“You forget your place, Ah Puch,” responded Authority. His voice dripped with amusement, as if the lesser god were no more than a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Do not speak of a fair share. The souls of the fallen are added to your underworld kingdom, after all. Be settled with the role you were assigned upon ascension.”

“I know my place, though it is not the place you believe it to be. Everything changes, Sun God. Even your Holy Law,” spat Al Puch.

The double doors burst open, and the Mayan God of Death stomped angrily into the hall.

Bethany held in her terrified whimper and pulled her knees to her chest.

The god’s skin was stretched taught across his bones, as if he were starved, yet he moved with a quick grace that belied his appearance. He wore a grey stone mask that depicted an empty skull, its surface painted blue and gold. Red and white feathers adorned the top of the mask, and the god’s golden, cat-like eyes stared out from beneath. He was bare chested, and a tattered brown loincloth covered his waist, as if flaunting his sickly form. Carrion creatures followed in his wake as he marched down the hall with an angry, all-consuming purpose, his eyes focused on his destination.

A rat skittered over to Bethany and sniffed at her feet. Bethany forced herself to stay silent, but all she wanted to do was scream at the malevolence that wafted from the death god.

She sat perfectly still, and after a few seconds, the rat grew bored and returned to its master’s side.

Al Puch entered one of the antechambers off the far end of the hall, and Bethany let herself breathe a sigh of relief.

“The ruler of the Underworld was always one for drama,” laughed Authority, and the other gods laughed with him. “My subjects. My friends. Let us celebrate. A toast to the mighty Ares, who entertained us so well this day. A toast to the dead. And a toast to those who survived. May their growing energy fulfil us for years to come.”

Bethany heard the clinks of glasses raised in toast, but her mind was lost in endless questions.

Sacrifices? Energy? Are they… sustaining themselves off us? But they are gods. Why would they need to do that?

She suddenly understood what Oracle was trying to tell her in the golden disk’s hidden image – the dying woman, and the drinking gods – and it sent a deep chill down her spine.

Is this what you fight against, Oracle? Is this why you gave me your Eye? But what am I supposed to do with it, if I am only a meal to them?

Bethany collapsed against the archway, her heart racing wildly. She felt insignificantly small, and panic began to overtake her senses.

I… I need to get out of here. Oracle, let me out! How do I get out!

Bethany stumbled to her feet and ran down the hall towards the broom closet, desperate to escape.

Please, I don’t want to be here. Wake up, Bethany! Wake…

One of the chamber doors suddenly flew open, and a figure laden with an unmanageable armful of ancient scrolls stumbled out. He crashed right into Bethany as she fled, sending them both sprawling to the floor. The scrolls in the god’s arms flew into the air and scattered down the fall.

“My apologies. I didn’t expect to see another in the library at this…,” the voice began, soft and apologetic, until he trailed off in utter shock as his gaze fell upon Bethany.

Bethany knew that voice. She had heard it before. Scrambling backwards until she was pressed tightly against the wall, she swallowed hard as she stared upon a bespeckled man with a green ibis head.

“Th… Thoth?” Bethany stammered. She had only seen the God of Knowledge in his sacred ibis form at the end of his arena, yet she knew it to be him.

“Bethany?” asked Thoth in disbelief. “Impossible. You cannot be here. It’s not time. How did…”

His gaze fell upon her Oracle Eye, and its faint light shimmered in his presence, as if drawn to the god. His beak hung open in disbelief, and he dashed to her side so quickly that Bethany could hardly register his movement. Grasping the side of her head with gentle fingers, he studied her until his long, sharp beak rested against her cheek.

“She didn’t. She couldn’t have. This was not part of our plan. Oracle, you foolish deity. What have you set in motion?”

A torrent of questions entered Bethany’s head, but before she could ask the voice of Authority drifted into the corridor.

“That fool,” Authority spat, his tone vacant of amusement as he left the other gods behind and approached the hall. “He sows unrest and expects wheat to grow. Doesn’t he know he sows in earth as barren as his kingdom.”

All semblance of calm fled from Thoth as he grabbed Bethany and hauled her to her feet.

“Bethany, you must go. Now. Tell no one of what you have seen, or what you have heard. More than you could possibly know rests on your silence. Do you understand?” Thoth whispered as his eyes filled with barely contained panic.

All Bethany could manage was a slight nod as her heart threatened to burst from her chest.

“Good. Now wake up!”

“I… I don’t know how,” uttered Bethany.

“You must learn to control Oracle’s gift, child,” instructed Thoth frantically, his eyes flickering wildly between Bethany and the approaching god. “If any but us five see you here…”

Authority stepped into the hall, and it flooded with silver light. Thoth shifted to block Bethany from view.

“You must become strong, Bethany,” Thoth implored. “It is the only way we will survive.”

With a final glance towards the oncoming god, he thrust his beak into Bethany’s chest and through her heart.

* * *

Bethany bolted upright with a terrified cry. Her hands clutched her chest, but the phantom pain of the dream was already receding.

“It was just a dream, Bethany. Just a dream,” she recited to herself, tears falling as she pulled her knees to her chest and rocked in place. “You are safe now.”

Only that’s not true, is it? It wasn’t just a dream. None of them were just dreams. And we are not safe.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, then another and another, until she finally felt her heartbeat slow. Only then was she able to focus on her surroundings.

She was back at the refinery, lying on the couch in her office-turned-bedroom. It was the middle of the night, and the world beyond was lit in gentle moonlight. The soft pitter patter of rain against her window soothed her nerves, and she closed her eyes to listen to its pattern until her mind stopped racing and her wits returned.

Her hammer lay on the coffee table within easy reach, as it was that first night she had found herself at the refinery. Her two Emporium silver coins lay next to it, symbols of the trust and friendship she had found with Rocky and Emily.

In the corner of the room lay her grandmother’s suitcase, the yellow flowers in such contrast to the executive decor of her surroundings. Emily had changed her clothes when she was unconscious, replacing her blood-soaked clothes with her favorite, and only, nightgown.

They remembered my suitcase. My life. After everything we went through in the supermarket, they still remembered to bring it back.

The kindness of Emily and Rocky filled her with an unexpected strength.

Oracle. Thoth. I don’t know what your game is, but if it keeps my friends safe, I’ll do my part, whatever that may be. And I will get stronger.

She brushed her ankle with her palm and winced at her touch. The painkillers Zee had given her had worn off while she slept and left her mouth dry and chalky.

Rocky must have done some healing. It hurts, but not as bad as it did before. I hope he saved enough energy to heal Emily too.

A loud snore from Rocky’s room answered her, and, despite the terror that had settled in her soul, she found herself chuckling at the massive man’s slumber.

Sitting up on the couch, she started out the window and watched the rain fall against the glass.

She remained like that for hours, until the dream was little more than shaded memories and subdued emotions. Eventually, as her mind grew tranquil, the morning sun began to crest over the eastern ocean waters, sparkling gently off its surface.

The ocean. A week ago it was an ocean of wheat intersected by long highway. This contest may be a cage, but at least it is a beautiful one.

A sense of calm filled her soul as she sat in silence, until the final drop of rain fell outside, and the tiny puddles formed on the window’s ridge stilled.

She rose from the couch, opened her grandmother’s – her – suitcase and dressed.

Ready to face a new day.