"Wanted: God, Chapter Two" by Garon E. Whited

It was some time before James was in any condition to talk again.  Corym simply waited and luxuriated in the pool.  When James finally calmed enough to talk, Tessa placed a goblet of some amber fluid at his elbow.

“I confess that I do not understand your grief,” Corym said.  “She has never existed.  How can one mourn that which has never been?  Besides, had she existed, she would have been only a servant.  What would be the point of mourning?”

“That’s not the point,” James argued.  “I saw her.  I remember her.  And I remember the look of terror on it as she rippled into nothingness.  I did that—I can’t believe it, but I have to believe it.  What you’re telling me is that I did worse than kill her, I undid her!”

“Surely killing her would have been worse?” Corym asked.  “If she existed, killing her would have caused her to end.  If she never existed, then she never even had a beginning and knows nothing of life or death.”

“Yeah, but I have to live with knowing what I’ve done.”

Corym nodded.  “Ah, yes.  The burden of being God.”

James bit back a sarcastic reply and took a swig of the drink instead.

Whatever it was, it went down like sunlight on a beach.  It spread through his body and made everything tingle.  His hair tried to stand up.  His pulse quickened and his blood raced.  James held the goblet up and stared at it.

“What the…?”

“The nectar of the gods of Zera,” Corym replied, smiling.  “Is it not better than the nectar of your own world?”

“I’ll say!” James replied, taking another, more cautious sip.  A feeling of well-being suffused his entire body.

“It is not as flavorful, but substantially easier on the throat,” Corym added.  “The divine drink of your own is, of course, not without a certain appeal.”

“It’s the aftereffects you have to watch out for,” James assured him.  He sipped from the goblet again.  “What exactly is this stuff, anyway?”

“The nectar of the gods of Zera.”

“I got that part.  What’s in it?”

“Nectar.”

James sighed.  “But where do you get it?”

“The servants bring it.”

“All right.  Where do they get it?”

Corym looked puzzled.  “They fetch it in accordance with the will of the gods.”

James sighed and put the goblet down.  “Never mind.  I can see it’s pointless to ask about the economy of Heaven.  All right, let’s go back to the beginning, here.  Corym, I’m not God.  A god.  Any sort of god.  In my own world, I’m a hack writer—a second-rate hack, at that.  I’m a man, not any sort of divine…” James gestured vaguely, “…thingy.  I don’t understand how I could have done anything to the woman I saw, much less why you think I’m the God you want.”

Corym shook his head, smiling.  “Lord, Lord, do not taunt your servant so.”

“What the—?  Corym, I’m telling you the truth!”

“As you say, Lord.  I do not understand, but I will go along with your words.”

James put his face in his hands again.  Stubborn, stubborn deity!

“Okay, look,” James began, lifting his head.  “What makes you so sure I’m God?”

“Because I am what I am, Lord.  I am the god of all things lost or hidden.  We needed God, did not have God, could not find God… and what cannot be found, that is my domain.  It is what I am.  I delved into the hidden places beyond the world and drew forth you.  I know you for God as surely as a man knows which of his hands is in the flames.”

“How can you be sure, though?”

Corym sighed, exasperated.  “Within the metaphor of your claim, you are a bard, yes?  One who writes stories?”

“Yes.  I write a lot.”

“Then within that metaphor, if you come across a long-forgotten work of yours, hidden away for years, would you fail to recognize it?”

“Well,” James said, thinking.  “No, I don’t think so.  If I wrote it, I’d always remember a little of it, and I’d recognize my handwriting for certain.  It would be too familiar to miss.”

“I am the Lord of the Lost, God of Hidden Things.  Seeking you was my handwriting; your presence here is my work.  There can be no doubt.  You are the God we require, no matter how strange the things you may do or say.  I know this.  I cannot doubt it any more than you can doubt you have drunk of that cup.”

James took another sip.  “I see.  So you couldn’t possibly be mistaken?”

Corym shook his head, expression grim.  “I am a god.  This is what I do.  What you ask is on a level with asking if Veltin ever shocks himself with a thunderbolt, or if Baran ever grows tired of killing!”

“I see.  All right.  Thank you.”

“How else may I serve you, Lord?”

James took off his slippers, saying, “You can find my notebook.  I can’t think about this for long without scribbling something down.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then here you are,” Corym said, and held it out.

James lowered his feet into the steaming pool and accepted the notebook.

*   *   *

Having been snatched from his own world by the Lord of Hidden Things, James was confused and distraught.  He was getting a grip on the situation only slowly.  Gods!  Gods that needed him to be God!  That was insanity!

Quite possibly literal insanity.  James wasn’t any too certain about his mental state, and the evidence of his senses merely reminded him of the problem of the brain in a jar:  How does one tell what is real and what is imagined?  The answer:  One can’t. 

James accepted that he might be insane.  But, for the moment, playing along with the gag seemed a better course than curling up in a ball and whimpering.  Besides, the idea of being an absolute ruler and omnipotent deity wasn’t completely without appeal.  Still, he had doubts about his ability to convince gods—or figments of his imagination—of his divine right.  That could be sticky.

What happens to the dreamer when the dream turns to nightmare?

“So what do I want to do?” James asked himself, as he sat on the edge of the pool and soaked his feet.  “I have a possible hallucination, a probable psychosis—dreams this vivid don’t come naturally—and more than one delusion.  Do I really want to go with this dream and become King of the Gods of Zera and stay in the loony bin?  Or should I resist a little and see if I can find a way out?”

All authors are a little crazy.  When they get crazy enough, they can’t write, and then they aren’t authors—they’re inmates.  Then the gods laugh, wherever and whatever they are.

Then let them laugh, James decided.  I’ll do what I please.

*   *   *

James tucked the pencil into the spiral wire of the notebook and set it aside.  Corym, who had waited politely, stood up in the pool and walked out of the water.  His servants dried and dressed him as he spoke.

“My Lord?”

James glanced up from the notebook.  “Didn’t I ask you to call me ‘James’?”

“So you did, an I most humbly beg your gracious pardon.”

“Oh, stop it.”

Corym smiled.  “If you are ready, garments have been prepared for you.  Once you have attired yourself in suitable raiment, we should proceed to the amphitheatre and introduce you.”

 “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about that,” James hedged.  “How long have the gods been bickering?”

“Months.”

“And how long will they keep bickering?”

“Forever, I fear.”

“Good.  Then I don’t have to go demand homage right this second, do I?”

Corym frowned.  “I suppose not, but it is not meet that proud Zera have such dissension—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” James interrupted.  “I’m sorry about that.  But as long as they keep to themselves and just argue, they’re not doing any real harm, right?”

“True enough.  Yet they do no real good, either.”

“A fair point,” James agreed.  “I’d still rather look around the world a bit first, get a feel for the place.  I’m new here, remember.  If I’m going to be running things, I might as well know what I’m running.”

“Ah.  Yes, of course.  Forgive me; I should have considered that you might wish to regard your realm.”

James gritted his teeth.  “That’s not what I meant.”

Corym grinned again and chuckled.  “Shall I not taunt the God of Zera?”

“So long as you don’t really take me seriously, go ahead.”

“As you say… My Lord,” Corym replied, still grinning.

James sighed.  “I guess I’ll get used to it.”

“Whither then shall we go?  What is it you wish to see?”

“Well, I was thinking of just a sort of general tour around.  I don’t even know what the nearest town is like, or even where it is.  What continent is Zera on?  How many continents are there?  How many nations?  How many wars are going on?  Do they use magic?  What’s the local technology level?  Do people know about steam power?  Atomic power?  Do they know lightning is static discharge, or do they still think it’s—”  James broke off, frowning.  “Never mind that last.”

Corym looked thoughtful.  “I see what you mean.  As little as I know of your world, you know so little of mine.  It must be difficult to rule a world when you know nothing of it.”  Corym nodded to himself stroked his chin.  “Very well.  We shall repair to the Tower of Sight and there gaze upon the whole of your creation.”

James hesitated, then shrugged.  “I had in mind to take a road trip, but looking the map over first might be a good idea.  Let’s go.”

Corym led him along the shadowed paths of the Hidden Garden.

*   *   *

The Tower of Sight was, of course, the highest tower of them all.  James had a good look at the city of Zera, home of the gods, as they walked through the marbled streets toward their destination.  A few details bothered him.

“Corym?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are we walking?”

“You wished to view the world?  We are going to the Tower…”

James shook his head.  “No, no, no.  I mean, why are we walking.  Can’t you just whoosh us there, or call up a magic carpet, or some other sort of conveyance?”

“No.  It is forbidden.”

“Why?”

“It is not meet that anyone should look down on the gods.  Nor is it dignified for the city of proud Zera to have her skies cluttered with the buzzing travels of servants.  And other, lesser creatures, such as horses and donkeys and mules, would inevitably foul the perfect streets of the city.”

“Doesn’t that make getting around a little inconvenient?”

Corym shrugged.  “It is the way of things.”

“So, how long is this walk?”

“From the place where we emerged from the Hidden Garden?  Perhaps an hour.  We have covered much of that distance already.”

“All uphill,” James noted, grumbling.  “Explain to me again why we can’t ride a horse or something.”

“It is forbidden, as I said.”

“By whom?” James asked, sweetly.

“God.”

They walked in silence for several steps before Corym jerked to a halt.  James paused with him, smirking and waggling his eyebrows in query.  Corym had the grace to look sheepish.

“Shall I summon a chariot for us?” Corym asked.

“No, now that I see our destination.  It’s been a good thing to look Zera over, too, and it raises some questions.  Any particular reason the streets are made of marble?”

“God wished it so.”

“Same song and dance for the buildings made of gold and silver?  And windows made from… what?  Is that sapphire?”

“Some of them, yes.  There are other gemstones.”

“And the streetlights?”

“Why, diamonds, of course, burning forever in cold flame.”

James shook his head.  The place was definitely over the top.  It was a model made by a poor architect, or a jumble of toy buildings dumped from a child’s hands, not a city.  There was no consistent pattern, not even a consistent style.  The place was constructed of valuable metals and both precious and semi-precious stones, but it lacked most of the details. 

There were no gutters in the streets, no downspouts on the buildings.  No chimneys dotted the skyline, and there were no locks on any of the doors.  A thousand separate buildings dotted the winding streets of Zera, each different from every other.  There was no courthouse, no police station, not even a single store.  No restaurants, no marketplaces, no banks.  No industries placed their offices in Zera—there wasn’t even an office building. 

Every building was the home of a god, greater or lesser, separated by smooth stretches of marble streets and yards that resembled a sculpted parks.

Who mows the lawn?  James wondered.  Do the trees ever have leaves fall?  What happens to the grass clippings?  Obviously, it’s perfect because it’s supposed to be.

I’ll bet there aren’t even any bugs in the lawn.

James restrained himself from criticizing.  After all, it wasn’t his… problem…

Hmm.

“Corym, who laid out the city?”

“God,” Corym said, just as James answered with him.  Corym looked at him curiously.

“Yeah, I figured.  Did he ever say anything about why he laid it out this way?”

“Not that I recall.  It has always been so, flawless and perfect since the beginning of Time.”

“How did I know?” James grumbled.  “Flawless enough to deserve a staple in the navel.  This isn’t a city, this is a Hollywood back lot.  A Hollywood back lot filming a B-movie.”

“Beg pardon?”

“A city is more than the structures, Corym.  It’s a living, breathing thing, not a sterile collection of buildings.  Well, it is if you’re not living in a third-rate fantasy novel.  I’m not feeling a lot of respect for your former God.”

Corym sniffed.  “That is your privilege, Lord.”

“I’m sorry, Corym.  I don’t mean to sound… unkind, I guess.  It’s just, well, you want me to take over the job, and I don’t see that the last guy had a lot to recommend him.  I don’t see anything that looks remotely self-supporting.  The whole place strikes me as fabricated.”

Corym hesitated before speaking, obviously considering his words.

“James, I do not understand how God worked his works, nor his reasons for doing things as he chose to do them.  It is not in me to question the ways of God.  But… lately… since our acquaintance… I have come to wonder about things that should have troubled me sooner.  So, if I seem defensive, perhaps it is because your questions cut close to things that I… things I have failed to see.  Or things I have failed to ask myself.”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” James agreed, and changed the subject.  It seemed wrong to have a god confessing.  “Is that the Tower up ahead?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  I look forward to taking a gander at the world.”

“It is worthwhile for its own sake,” Corym agreed.  “But, if you do not mind, allow me to finish what I was saying.”

“Go for it.”

“There are things I should have asked myself months ago, but I have failed to do so.  Things I could not think about, or would not, until we met.  There are questions that disturb me, not only for the fact of my failure to see them, but for their very nature.”

James nodded.  “I have my own blind spots.  I’m not sure what they are, but I’m sure they’re there.  Kinda the nature of the beast, you know.  You can’t see a blind spot, but sometimes you can see the edges where they start to vanish.  So you think you’ve found the edges of one of your own?”

“Indeed,” agreed the god.  “One that I should have seen centuries ago—for am I not the Lord of Hidden Things?”

“You’d think you could find such things,” James agreed.  “So what’s the blind spot that’s bothering you?”

Corym was silent for a few more paces, frowning darkly.  At last, he caught James’ sleeve, stopped, and they turned to face each other.  Corym hesitated for a moment before asking his question.

“Who killed God?”