Voice of the Gods

Epilogue

The man that walked hesitantly through the door was thin and lean. His clothes were simple but the cloth was not poor quality, and his sandals were new. Despite his nervousness, he walked with the ease of a man confident of his place in the world. His hair was gray and his skin wrinkled, but his gaze was direct and sharp.

Propped up on pillows, the Emperor of Sennon assessed the man out of old habit and with skill learned over his long life. Though he saw intelligence and confidence in this man, he also noted with relief the absence of a certain hardness of demeanor he had come to recognize in men who were ambitious, greedy or cruel.

But the man is a fanatic, he decided. I can spot them a hundred paces off.

The man took in the bed, the emperor and his companion in one quick glance, then dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor.

Not too proud, the emperor noted. Those god-cursed priests and Servants hate bowing to me. This man is smart.

“Rise.” The visitor obeyed, but kept his eyes downcast. “So you are the Wise Man of Karienne,” the emperor stated. “Do you have a name as well as a title?”

The Wise Man nodded. “My name is Eralayo Scribe. Or Ero.”

“You’ve been preaching for some time. If I was not so...” the emperor gestured at the bed “... so indisposed I would come to listen to you.”

“I am honored you say so.”

“Which is why I have brought you here. Tell me about this Maker you speak of.”

The Wise Man looked up in surprise. He glanced at the emperor’s companion, then met the emperor’s eyes again. His shoulders rose and fell as he gathered his courage. Then he straightened.

“We are all creations of the Maker,” he said. “Everything was made by him. Every animal, every plant, every man and woman. Even the dust beneath your feet. Even the gods.”

He paused and swallowed audibly. “The Maker made the world, and his purpose is a mystery to us. We wonder why he made such a flawed world. The Maker made creatures that we consider evil. But why do we consider them evil? Because they kill?” He spread his hands. “A reyna eats plants. Plants are living things as well. The reyna kills the plant it eats. We fear the leramars and the vorns because they can kill us, but they do not do so out of malice, but hunger. We dislike them because they eat our stock. That is not evil, just costly.”

The emperor smiled at that.

“We wonder why the Maker made mortals capable of evil,” the Wise Man continued. “There is much about the Maker that we do not understand. We have only just begun to perceive him. Perhaps in time he will allow us to understand more.”

The Wise Man fell silent, but his expression was expectant. He has preached so many times, he knows how to spur people into asking the right questions, the emperor thought.

“How do you know this Maker is not some figment of your imagination?”

“For some, they only need look inside themselves. To close their eyes and search. The knowledge is there. It has always been there. We have simply never stopped to look for it before, because the evidence for the existence of the old gods was so obvious we never looked beyond it. The Maker does not make his existence known through magic. As the gods were beings of magic, the Maker is a being of all. Of everything. Of the world.”

“You say the Maker created the gods. How is it that they were destroyed, then?”

The Wise Man shrugged. “He has given all things a weakness, perhaps to ensure that nothing can dominate forever. Eventually the gods’ weaknesses had led to their destruction.”

“And will the weaknesses of mortals lead to their destruction?”

“Perhaps. But not for a long time, I’d guess. We are a resilient creation, despite our weaknesses.”

The emperor smiled. He paused as his breathing became more difficult. His companion brought the burner of cleansing herbs closer. When his lungs had cleared a little, the emperor looked at the Wise Man again. “Does the Maker preserve souls?”

Again, the Wise Man shrugged. “I do not know. But the Maker does not waste anything. When we reap the ograsi, we kill the plant, but the stalk rots and feeds the soil, and the seeds feed and nourish us. Our bodies may return to the world in the same way, enriching it and becoming new life. It may be that our souls are the same.”

The emperor considered this. He nodded. “That is all for now,” he croaked, feeling constriction returning. “Leave me.”

The Wise Man abased himself again, then, wearing a thoughtful expression, left the room. Sagging against the pillows, the emperor breathed the fumes of the herbs once more, then looked up at his one remaining son.

“I like this man and his Maker,” he said. “What did you think?”

Herayla nodded. “I can see no threat in it and plenty of potential.”

“So you approve?”

“Yes.” Herayla’s brow furrowed. “We have had fifty years of lies and disorder since the gods died. We need something to unite the people. This idea of a Maker, who created all, has many appealing qualities. Especially the idea that we all have a few weaknesses. It can’t hurt for the people to expect and forgive a few bad traits.”

“Don’t push them too far,” the emperor warned.

Herayla smiled. “You know I won’t.”

“No, you are too clever for that,” the emperor agreed. “I have to admit, I’m glad it’s over. I just have to live long enough to declare that I, the Emperor of Sennon, who has traditionally never favored one religion over another, have converted to the cult of the Maker. It will be a powerful gesture. After that, the world is yours to rule.” He drew in a shallow breath and sighed. “I hope, for your sake, it works.”

Herayla smiled. “Don’t worry, Father. Whether this Maker exists or not, he can’t possibly make as great a mess as the gods did.”

The emperor chuckled. “I hope you are right, my son. I hope you are right.”