A Wayward God

and when Heidi was close enough, I drew the sign of protection on her arm. To her, it looked like nothing happened. To me, letters were drawn on thin air, and fused onto her skin. “What are you doing?”

  I shrugged. “Protecting you. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  The next day, I spoke with Katharos again when he had a little free time. The wind was picking up again, sweeping the miasma through the town; rain might be on its way. He didn’t have much to say, and he seemed depressed and distant. I wasn’t good with expressions, but even I could tell something was wrong. “Are you okay, Katharos?”

  “In the past month, many people have died in Ga.” He sighed. “I feel completely responsible.”

  “Why have so many died? Are you at war?” I asked. It seemed incredible that a war might have started since the last time I’d observed his doings from up on my cloud.

  “No. There’s been a severe, unexplainable increase in homicide and accidents.” He paused, probably going over some of the more horrific cases in his mind. As a king of a small country, Katharos often had his hand in handling such cases. Probably he felt like he was losing control of his people. “I feel like I need to cut my vacation short and go home…”

  It must have been Death. He was openly killing Katharos’ people in droves. Why? I couldn’t begin to guess. His motives seemed to be getting more and more confusing to me.

  I looked up at the sky, envisioning the clouds my brother and I had shared in the past. The long talks and mutual respect we used to have for each other was just an echo now, and he seemed to live to make me suffer. First he banished me, then he threatened both me and Heidi’s village through the Mahesha boy, Nikolai, and finally, he was killing the people of my most loyal worshipper, Katharos.

  I turned back to Katharos. “Where do the Mahesha live?”

  Katharos gave me a look like I was crazy. “I know you’re a God Joshua, but if you’re thinking of going there, don’t. The Mahesha are a hateful species, especially to outsiders.”

  “I’m merely curious.”

  He seemed incredulous, but he answered. “They live many miles due north of here, underground.”

  As a God, I knew what he meant by underground. The Mahesha’s eyes were sensitive to light, which is why Nikolai had visited me in the night. If my brother was baiting me to confront him like I thought he might be, I knew he would be waiting for me the underground city of the Mahesha, with his mortal woman, Hephzibah.

  Katharos hugged his knees and put his four-fingered hand on his cheek, going back to the previous subject. “This is my fault… all these people killing themselves. I must not be doing my job correctly.”

  I looked over at him. Though I felt guilty, I didn’t tell him that the predicament his people were in was because of me. He had enough trouble on his mind without having his faith compromised. “Don’t blame yourself, Katharos. You do your job better than anyone I’ve ever seen. I’m proud of you… I saw how you saved that girl’s life—how you lost that finger.”

  I was referring to a time, two years ago when Katharos was diffusing a fight in the streets between a Mahesha woman who had defected and one of his own people—a rather large man—the fight had quickly escalated and the man, wielding a knife, attempted to stab the woman, but Katharos stepped between the two and put up his palms to protect her. The attacker had slowed his attack just enough to only cut a single hand. Most of the fingers had been damaged, and one had to be amputated.

  “I don’t make things worse, but I can’t seem to make them better…” he sighed.

  “It’s not your fault,” I repeated. “It’s everyone else’s.”

  Katharos looked at me for a moment, recalling that I’d said mortals displeased me except for him and Heidi. “There are good people on this world, Joshua. You will see.”

  I looked at him intently; I wanted to believe him, to say I knew there were plenty of good people in the world… but I couldn’t. From up on my cloud I’d seen seven acts of evil for every one act of good. I couldn’t find it in my graceless heart to forgive. And, at the same time I couldn’t find it in my heart to tell this to Katharos. Even though his acts of good were undone so readily by the bad, they were a spark of light that needed to be protected from the darkness.

  Later that morning, I worked in Heidi’s garden some more while she went out to the market. When she came back, and after watering a few plants, she gave a heavy sigh. “They’re dying again…” she was referring to her plants. “And they were doing so well.”

  I didn’t like offering suggestions at the best of times, but because I liked Heidi, and I knew she didn’t judge me like the Gods did, I felt comfortable with saying, “have you ever thought about trying something else?”

  “Like what? I haven’t got any talent but tending to crops. It’s the only thing I ever learned from my father.”

  “You have the passion to do whatever you want, Heidi.”

  “You should know that women can only have two jobs; being a wife or being a mother. I don’t want either, and people look down on me for taking up my father’s work.”

  “I don’t think you’d make a good mother…” I agreed in a murmur.

  “Exactly. Why’s life so unfair?”

  I had no answers for her. Indeed, I agreed with her. “Maybe you can find a way to make it fair…”

  After that I went back inside the house to be by myself. I sat alone on my bed and stared at the wall. I supposed I really should leave the village as Nikolai has warned. But where was I to go?

  I was scared. It was more than possible to die when my powers were stripped away. And here… I just felt safe. But if I cared anything for Katharos and Heidi, I should leave at least a day before Nikolai said he would come.

 

  And those days passed quickly. I decided to leave silently without telling Katharos or Heidi. I had become exceedingly close with them for the past few days. They were intriguing creatures, and so horribly flawed, which made them all the more exciting. While I hated most other mortals for their wretched flaws, Heidi’s and Katharos’ were somehow endearing. They hid nothing and knew their issues. They knew that their lives were worth no more or less than anyone else’s… but they were wrong. In my eyes, they were.

  I never said very much to them, but listening to them talk was a joy. Katharos would tell me what it was like to try and run a country, and how it sapped the strength from him, and made him bone tired. The fact that he tried so hard, despite his health issues was admirable.

  And then there was Heidi. Heidi never got sad or depressed like how Katharos often got. Heidi got angry. It seemed as if nothing could bring her to tears, as if she was fed up with them, and preferred now to get angry at her problems until she solved them or they went away. Heidi could talk all day about nothing, too, which I found amusing. She once spent an hour talking about how she always wanted a suitable dress to wear to formal occasions, although she had none to go to. She talked of things that seemed irrelevant and mundane, and they were. She didn’t pay attention to the things everyone else seemed to think was important in life: politics, money, or getting ahead. Those were the things that, in her eyes, made people the greedy, selfish, uncaring vindictive mortals she was used to dealing with. Indeed, the only thing she seemed to care about was her garden, which was dying. And that made me sad because I couldn’t spare any waning Godly powers on it.

  She was always awake before I was, and I would find her sitting on the large rock in front of her garden, just looking miserably at her crops and garden. I would walk up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, which gave her no comfort. In fact, she looked at me as if I had an agenda.

  On the day before I decided to leave, while we were eating in only each other’s company, I said plainly, “you don’t like me much, do you Heidi?”

  “You’re a great help... but no. I don’t particularly like you.” She said truthfully.

  “Why?”

 
“Because you’re a stuck up snot and you don’t seem to care about anything.”

  I wasn’t offended. I had weathered worse insults. “You’re right,” I admitted. “I can’t find it in my heart to love mortals.”

  She looked at me with downcast eyes. “…if you are a God, you should be required to love us.”

  “If you don’t love one another, what reason would I have to?” I countered drily.

  “You ought to be above that sort of thing,” she said simply.

  I gave her a look. “It isn’t that simple. Love isn’t for foul creatures. I could no more love mortals than ants swarming my foot.” I didn’t feel the need to explain myself further.

  “Are you going to say that to Katharos? He loves you even though he knows nothing about you, simply because he’s stuck on the notion that you’re a God.” She said testily. “Katharos is like a little brother to me. Don’t you dare say anything to depress him further. As it is, all he feels like doing with his free time is sleeping.”

  I ignored her. I looked away expressionlessly. She had no right to say such things against me. She was a lowly mortal. In a way I was glad the conversation had happened as it did because it gave me some reason to want to leave the village.

  Sick of her attitude, I left the house after that, and grumpily sat by myself. I heard some children screaming nearby. Curious, I followed the sound. I followed it for some time