Short Story: "Decree" (Original Fiction)

[deemoyza]

Decree | 999 words | Fantasy

The silence had begun gradually — several fewer voices lifted in praise, a smaller pile of offerings at the altar. Ephine had not worried, then; power shifted, beliefs wavered, but they always came back to her. Always.

However, when she awoke on her feast day and wandered the quiet halls of her celestial palace, she grew troubled. Strain as she might, she could not catch the sound of a single voice singing her name. The balcony railings were not festooned with flowers, as they should be, by now. And the altar, that beautiful work of alabaster and gold, stood bare and cold. No offerings, not even a copper coin, not even a meager crumb.

What had happened? Had they truly abandoned her?

No; there must be some other explanation. She returned to her bedchamber, threw aside the heavy curtain that hung along one wall, and approached the scrying pool in the niche beyond. She gazed into the still waters, called up images of all of her temples and shrines across the land, and found each of them deserted. Not a single person knelt at her likeness, not a single beggar huddled inside for warmth. A scrawny street dog hobbled up to the shrine at the center of the city, but Ephine drove him away with an exasperated sigh only he could hear.

So, life had not ceased to exist on the plane below. Why, then, had she? The uncertainty was too much to bear. Hoisting herself onto the edge of the pool, she dipped one foot into the water. She hesitated, trying to decide at which shrine to appear; choosing the one where she’d seen the dog, the one that stood among many people, she slid the rest of her body into the water.

Her journey was swift, and she emerged from the trunk of a dying tree behind her shrine, clothed in a plain dress of heavy material, sturdy boots on her feet to protect her from the lower world’s stones and thorns.

The air down here was foul, and Ephine coughed and shuddered at the stench. She acclimated quickly, however, and left the tree behind, walking down the slope to the pavement below, and looking toward the busy street at the end of the block.

People hurried past; vehicles rumbled along. Vendors cried their wares; shopkeepers swept their doorsteps. Nothing appeared changed. How had they forgotten her so easily?

As she set off down the street, she heard a high-pitched whine behind her. She glanced back and saw the dog she’d chased from the shrine. He approached her cautiously, and gazed up through sorrowful eyes. Ephine again replied with a sigh, but couldn’t deny her heart was moved. The only devotee who’d recognized her on her feast day, even if it was merely in an attempt to solicit food.

She rubbed her fingertips together and drew into being a hunk of meat, and set it on the ground for the dog’s benefit. She remained beside him as he ate, so that no one, human or animal, might try to steal his reward. When he’d finished, he gave a short, appreciative bark, then trotted off, sated.

As Ephine turned back toward the direction she’d been headed, something on the street caught her eye. A streak of red along the curb, running toward the gutter. She bent forward and inspected it more closely, seeing that it extended farther back, all the way to the shrine.

Ephine followed the streak, then examined the ground in front of the shrine. The asphalt here was black and shiny, washed free of the dust that coated the rest of the street. Washed free of something else, as well, something that couldn’t be scrubbed away entirely. Here and there, spots of red glinted in the sunlight, and the concrete curb had a rusty hue.

She let her gaze wander up, toward her likeness inside the shrine, and choked back a cry when she saw the statue’s head missing, its robes spattered with blood. Above the statue, a crude, handwritten sign was tacked to the wooden wall: “THE GODS ARE DEAD - BARDSLEY LIVES!”

Ephine knelt and reached into the shrine, tearing the sign off the wall and feeling around for the head of the statue. A shout from behind startled her, and she scrambled to her feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A soldier asked her, gun at the ready. “Worshiping the old gods is forbidden.”

Ephine glared at him, rage roiling in her chest. Who were these people to decide for everyone whom to worship? Had she been in her celestial form, she would have killed him on the spot, but her human form was weak, and as susceptible to pain as any creature of the lower world, so she simply shook her head.

“I was not aware of that,” she replied.

“Not aware? It was Bardsley’s first decree! Worship starts and ends with him; everything else is a waste of time and resources, a drain on society.” The soldier scowled and kept his gun trained on her for several moments, before shrugging and standing down. "I don’t believe it, either, but I have no choice. Just go. You’re someone else’s problem, now.“

Ephine nodded, and climbed the small hill behind the shrine. Once the soldier was gone, she stepped into the dying tree and emerged from the pool in her palace.

This situation could not stand; something must be done. She waited for the water to still again, then called up the image of Neris, the war goddess. A woman in golden armor appeared, and smiled at her.

"Ephine,” Neris said. "It is not often the deities of war and fertility speak. To what do I owe the pleasure?“

"It is no pleasure at all,” Ephine replied, “but I need your help. I will grant you all the warriors you desire, if you will right this wrong.”

Neris leaned forward. "I’m listening.“

Ephine recounted what she’d seen. "His name is Bardsley …”