The Eighth God

by Matthew Ilseman

in Issue 154, November 2024

1

It is said that the gods are Seven in number, but in Zeliaka it is whispered that the gods are Eight. – Salahan the Sage

Obbo Karonga ran through the serpentine streets of Zeliaka. As he ran his turban fell off revealing his shaven black skull. His white robes fluttered. His sword swung in its sheath.

Behind him came four men with swords. 

Karonga wondered who was after him. There was the High Priest of Zorga whose coffers he had pillaged. There was a rich merchant whose stores he had stolen. There was the smuggler whom he had cuckolded. 

He ran through the Great Market with its shouting merchants, passed the temple of Sorya the fertility goddess, turned right by one of the many spires in the city, went behind a stable of camels, and entered a twisting alley.

He then came to a wall too high to scale. He stopped, drew his curved akrafena sword, and turned to face his pursuers. They stopped and drew their scimitars.

“Obbo Karonga, thief, we are the Temple Guard of Gorsanas. Give yourself up,” said the lead pursuer.

“What do you want with me?” replied Karonga. He did not know why the war god’s High Priest wanted him. He had robbed the temples of the other six gods, but he had not gotten around to Gorsanas.

“The High Priest has ordered you captured or killed. That is all we know. If you value your life, you will give yourself up.”

“You will have to take me,” Karonga said.

“Very well,” said the leader as the four advanced.

Karonga dodged the first guard’s slash. He pivoted like a dancer and decapitated his attacker. The second guard came at him. Karonga sprang forward and cleaved his skull. Then he stepped out of reach of the third attacker. He made sure to keep both remaining attackers in front of him.

They stood still for a breath. Then the third guard raised his sword and screamed the war cry, “The gods are Seven and Gorsanas is their king!”

His slash was fast cutting Karonga’s robes. Karonga’s was faster, disemboweling him. That left one.

The last guard did not attack. He held his sword ready, but with his free hand drew something from his robe. It was an opal. He held it up. It shone in the sun. Then he began speaking in a language Karonga could not understand. It was the Black Speech of sorcerers. 

A great drowsiness fell on Karonga. He became weak. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

Cursing, Karonga passed out.

Obbo Karonga was a boy again in the jungles of the South. His family had fled their village when their king’s brother had seized the throne. Karonga’s father, ever loyal, had fought beside his king to no avail. Now, they hid in a cave in the jungle. Outside, their enemies searched to kill them.

“You must flee from here,” his father told his mother. He stood at the mouth of the cave with his akrafena sword in his hand.

“If we leave here, they will find us,” said Karonga’s mother.

“Not if I hold them off,” said Karonga’s father. “It is the only chance you have.”

“But you will die,” said Karonga.

“Yes.”

His father came over and kissed Karonga’s mother. Then he knelt down to look Karonga in the eye. He said, “Karonga, I want you to remember this. A man must be willing to sacrifice everything for those he would protect.”

Then he stood up, raised his sword, and walked toward the cave’s mouth. Karonga’s mother started to speak. Then she stopped.

At the mouth of the cave, Karonga’s father turned and said, “I am a warrior. I will die with my sword in my hand.”

Karonga and his mother wept as his father walked out of the cave.

Obbo Karonga woke up. At first, his thoughts were of his father who had not come back. He had always believed his father a fool for leaving them all alone. 

Then he noticed he was tied to a chair in a large room filled with many shelves of books and scrolls. A small idol of Gorsanas sat on his right. The war god looked angry. An altar was on his left. A hawk had been sacrificed on it. An elderly man in flowing purple robes and black turban stood next to the altar staring down at the hawk’s entrails. He stroked a long white beard as he murmured to himself.

He looked over at Karonga. He said, “Oh, you are awake. I am the High Priest of Gorsanas.”

The High Priest did not look like Karonga thought he would. Karonga had always imagined that the fanatical priest of the war god would have been a large warrior. Instead, he looked like an elderly scholar. Karonga wondered how this could be the man who had driven the unbelievers out of the desert.

“The reading of entrails,” the priest began, “is a very intricate art. I believe that a hawk’s entrails are best. Some say a lamb’s. Others say a person’s, but I find that repellant. I have read both a lamb’s and a hawk’s. The signs are the same. Dark days are ahead.”

“What does that have to do with me?” asked Karonga.

“Everything,” said the High Priest. “You are Obbo Karonga, the master swordsman and thief. You are the man I need.”

“You are saying there is some prophecy about me in the entrails?”

“Don’t be arrogant,” said the High Priest. “You are not mentioned. What is mentioned is that dark days for Zeliaka will come. I do not believe that the followers of Kersaises will attack, though it is possible. I fear, however, the threat will come from an even darker source. Have you heard of the Eighth God?”

“Supposedly, there is some secret cult here in Zeliaka. I don’t know if it’s real or not,” replied Karonga.

“It is. The cult is, unfortunately, tolerated by those in power. Actually, many of those in power belong to it. It might actually come that the Sultan allows them to worship out in the open. If that happens…”

“What?” said Karonga.

“Dark days. The Sultan will have turned his back on Caliph Talos’s dictate that there are only seven gods. In the old days, we used to execute unbelievers. Now, we have to tolerate them because the Sultan wants to trade with the Northern continent.”

“So?” said Karonga. “Where I come from we believe in hundreds, if not thousands of gods. They are said to be in every animal, plant and rock. Let people worship what they will!”

“Preposterous. If we add the Eighth God, we will have to add the Northern God Kersaises. If we allow that, we may as well add a tenth or even eleventh god. No! I will not allow it! And you will help me!”

“Why would I?”

“Because you have killed three of my men. You have robbed six temples. If I give you to the Sultan, he will turn you over to his torturers.”

“That is a very good reason,” said Karonga.

“Yes. I would not have minded if my men had killed you for your desecration, but since they did not I might as well use you. Why did you rob the temples, by the way? You know that you would be tortured to death if caught. To say nothing of the wrath of the gods.”

“The gods did nothing for me when I was young. I thought they owed me.”

The High Priest pondered this for a moment. Then he threw his hands up.

“There is another reason,” continued the High Priest. “I will give you gold and jewels if you help me.”

“That is an even better reason. What do you want me to do?”

“I need your talents as a thief. There is something I want. Something that I could use as leverage over the cult.”

“What?”

“The idol of the Eighth God.”

2

The city of Zeliaka is a magnificent city equal to any of our own in the North. It is large and prosperous. It is known for its spiraling towers and almost labyrinthine streets. The Great Market sells anything one can desire. Yet there is a dark side to the city as well. It was built over the catacombs of an outpost of the cruel Malrean Empire. These have become home to all manner of rogues and some say even worse things. – Algon the Traveler.

Obbo Karonga sat on a pillow surrounded by drunken revelers. Naked slave girls walked around with platters of food and wine. A man next to Karonga smoked hashish. Karonga, for his part, merely sipped a cup of wine.

When he agreed to steal the idol of the Eighth God, the High Priest had told him of a merchant who was said to be one of the cult’s leaders. The merchant was known for throwing wild feasts. These the High Priest believed were to cover the cult’s ceremonies.

Karonga had not minded sneaking into the merchant’s palatial estate disguised as a guest. There was plenty of wine. There was sumptuous food. He enjoyed the food a lot. He drank, though not enough to dull his wits.

Mostly, he listened and watched. He heard two thaumaturges talk of the demons they could summon. He heard merchants talk of the price of goods. He even saw one of the Sultan’s wives with the Sultan’s own brother. He took it in and patiently waited for some clue as to where the services of the Eighth God were held.

His dream came back to him. He could not help realizing that this was a world away from the hunger and privation that he had known as a child. A world away from what had killed his mother. After the death of his father, he and his mother had tried to cross the desert to Zeliaka. His mother had died on the trek. Karonga had tried to continue on without her, but soon ran out of food and water. He was found by a group of nomads. They gave him water and took him to Zeliaka. There he had learned to steal to survive. He had gotten good at it and learned the art of the sword. 

Now he was surrounded by people who had never had to struggle to survive. He did his best not to hate them.

At midnight, some of the guests began to quietly slip out. Eventually, the dubious merchant, an incredibly fat man in a white turban and black robes, made excuses and left. He had done it once before to tryst with one of his slave girls, but this time was different. This time he left alone.

Karonga followed him out into his pleasure garden. The moon was high in the sky. Dodging behind trees, Karonga stalked the merchant. The fat man came to a statue of a shapely maiden. The maiden was naked except for a necklace of stone roses. After glancing around and not seeing Karonga hidden behind a tree, the merchant turned one of the stone roses.

There was a creaking sound and the statue slid back. Where its base had been there was now a stairway. The merchant descended down into it. Then the statue returned to its original position.

Karonga came out from behind the tree and walked over to the statue. He knew it had to lead to the catacombs beneath Zeliaka. Unlike many of his fellow thieves, who used them as a hiding place, Karonga hated the catacombs. He knew that the city guard would not go down. Yet he chose to live on the outside. When asked why, he always said he hated the putrid air in them. The truth was he had always felt a strange uneasiness in them.

Still there had been times when he had to go down and this was no different.

He turned the rose on the statue. The statue creaked and the secret passage opened. Karonga took a deep breath and descended. 

With his hand on the hilt of his sword, Karonga entered the catacombs. It was lit by torches that hung on the walls. Bones of the dead lay within the insets in the walls. The air smelled of death.

Karonga felt fear in his heart. Though he could not see anyone, he could not help feeling that he was not alone. Still, he went on.

Karonga thought about what he knew about the catacombs. They were not built by any human race but by the Malrean Empire. He did not know much about the Malreans except their reputation for cruelty. They were said to be an inhuman race of sorcerers far in advance of any now living. They had come from an isle in the far North. They had conquered the Northern Continent and built outposts in the deserts of the Southern one. Eventually, the followers of Kersaises drove them back to their isle. 

Stories were still told of their experiments in sorcery. All this meant that anything could live in the catacombs. Even a god.

As he cautiously stalked through the catacombs, he heard chanting. It grew louder and louder. Eventually, he came to the door of a large chamber.

Inside it were about fifty people dressed in black cloaks. They lay prostrate on the floor. Before them was a large stone altar and beyond that the idol Karonga had come to steal. It was not made of silver or gold like the idols of the Seven but of black stone. It was a circular disk with images of a single eye and several wickedly fanged mouths carved in it. It hung on the far wall of the chamber.

Karonga did not enter. Instead, he kept to the side of the door. He also kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

The cultists repeatedly prostrated themselves before their idol. They chanted in what sounded like the Black Speech that sorcerers used in casting spells. Karonga found the sight eerie. 

Then the chanting stopped. The worshipers rose from the floor. One of them, the fat merchant Karonga had followed, went up to the idol. He turned to look at the other worshippers.

When this happened, Karonga’s heart skipped a beat. He feared he would be seen. Fortunately, he was not.

“Bring forth the sacrifice,” commanded the merchant.

From the side of the chamber came two large men with scimitars in their belts. They dragged along a woman in chains. She vainly resisted. She was naked except for her manacles and chains. Her skin was light brown. Her hair black. Her large brown eyes pleaded for mercy.

They chained her to the altar.

Karonga felt immense pity well up inside.

“Now,” said the merchant. “I will make the sacrifice as did my father and his father before him. For generations we have worshipped the god of the dark. He has granted us wealth and privilege.”

He took a dagger from his belt and raised it over the woman.

Karonga told himself not to do anything. That he could not rescue her. That he would die in the attempt.

Nevertheless, he drew his sword and rushed into the chamber.

The merchant saw him. He pointed and said, “Intruder. Kill him.”

One of the cultists blocked Karonga’s way. Karonga cut him down. Then he ran to the altar. The merchant came at him with the dagger, but Karonga decapitated him. Seeing their leader killed, the other cultists fled out of the chamber.

The two large men who had chained the girl to the altar drew their scimitars. They attacked Karonga. One slashed at him but Karonga leapt aside. The other tried to get behind Karonga’s back. The wily thief did not let him. He leapt out toward his left and then struck at the nearest of his attackers with a downward slash. The man tried to dodge but was not fast enough. Karonga’s sword cut open his torso from shoulder to rib cage. His attacker collapsed.

The other man looked at Karonga only to turn and flee. Karonga let him go. Instead, he took the keys from the man on the floor who groaned. He tried to grasp Karonga’s ankle but could not.

Karonga unchained the girl who burst into tears.

“Do not worry,” he said. “It will be alright.”

After sheathing his sword, he went over to the circular idol. It seemed attached to the wall. He lifted it up with a grunt. Then he took it from the wall and placed it on the altar. There was a dark hole behind it. He realized that it was not an idol but a door. To what he did not know. Karonga stared at it for a moment. 

Beyond the door was only darkness.

Karonga barely noticed the girl clutching his arm and trying to pull him away. Instead, he stared into the darkness. It seemed to move. He could not tell if it was shadow or some kind of dark substance.

Then something happened that he could not really comprehend. The darkness opened its eye. It was large and shone red. Then mouths opened, revealing dagger-like teeth.

Karonga heard laughter inside his head. It was an inhuman laugh. A horrible voice spoke, “Thank you for freeing me. I have been trapped here for centuries. Now, I am hungry and must eat.”

The darkness vomited forth from the hole. It knocked down Karonga and the girl. It rushed into the catacombs. Pulling himself up, Karonga heard screams and a sound like the gnashing of teeth. He knew that people were dying. The Eighth God was hungry. It was eating its own worshippers.

Karonga and the girl fled.

3

The creature that we have summoned from the outer spheres is uncontrollable. It is a being of darkness that consumes all life.  We can not use it against our enemies like we had planned.  It will not heed our commands. It kills wantonly and consumes all. We had to sacrifice half our human slaves to cast the spell that imprisoned it in the catacombs. Even so it will not be enough. A human will have to be sacrificed once a year to keep it trapped.

-Letter of the commandant of the Malrean garrison in what would later be called Zeliaka.

Like a black shroud, the Eighth God enveloped Zeliaka. There was no sun during the day. No stars and moon at night. Only a great eye hanging in the pitch black sky over the city. Horrible light shone from the eye. It was a deep red glow that made everything hellish.

The city’s inhabitants were trapped. They could not pass through the wall of darkness that surrounded the city. Those who tried were eaten. Inky black tendrils would descend from the sky and pull men, women, and children into mouths of gnashing teeth. 

The High Priest of Gorsanas had led his soldiers against the god. They were all slaughtered. Though the soldiers could cut the tendrils of the Eighth God, they could not cut their way through the wall of darkness. The Thaumaturge’s Guild had cast every spell they could to no avail. They too were slaughtered.

Some killed themselves in fright. Some went insane. Others prayed to the Seven who did not answer. 

Ironically, the catacombs where the god had dwelt had become the safest place to hide. It seemed to have no desire to return to them. It also seemed to have no desire to kill Karonga. For his part, he doubted that would last. He feared that when all others were dead it would come for him. So he hid.

With him was the woman he had rescued. Her name was Salma. For three days, they survived in the catacombs on cooked rat and bottles of wine they had found in a former thief’s den. As they hid, he planned their escape from the city.

On the third day in the catacombs, he told Salma his plan. They sat by a fire of burning bones over which a rat roasted on a stick. Karonga sat with his sword in his lap across the fire from Salma who now wore a tattered robe she had found.

“There was a smuggler I knew,” he said. “He could sneak in anything under the guard’s noses. He did not even bother with bribes. No one knew how he did it except…”

“Except you,” said Salma.

“Yes,” he said. “We got drunk one night and he told me he had a secret tunnel that led far outside Zeliaka’s walls.”

“And you know where it is?” asked Salma, her large dark eyes showing the first hope in them that Karonga had seen.

“No,” he admitted. “But I think I can find out. The smuggler told me he kept a map of the catacombs that showed where it was.”

“And you know where the map is?”

“Yes, the problem is that I have to go above to get it.”

“Where that thing might eat us,” she said.

“Me,” he said. “I will go alone.”

Salma was quiet for a breath. Then she said calmly, “No, I will go with you. I am only alive because of you.”

“No, you don’t need to risk your life,” replied Karonga.

“Yes, I do,” she said more earnestly. “I can not let you do this alone. I have to go.”

“That is brave of you, but is it wise?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I remember something that Kersaises said. That there is no life without courage. That the cowardly are already dead.”

It had been a small surprise to find that Salma was a worshipper of Kersaises. The Northern God had so few followers in the city. Still, it made sense that the cult would abduct someone the city guard would not care to find.

What surprised Karonga more was Salma’s steely determination. She seemed gentle, not strong or fierce, and was obviously terrified, but there was something in her that made her go on. It was a strange mixture. Karonga realized that it was one that he could learn to love.

“All right, but we need to be careful,” he said.

“We will be,” she said, touching his hand. “But I believe Kersaises has sent you to save me.”

Karonga did not know how to reply. The only god at work he could see wanted to eat them. He said nothing.

Later after Karonga sharpened his sword and Salma had spent time praying before the fire, they went to find the map. They traveled through the twisting catacombs as far as they could. Unfortunately, they had to travel a fair distance above ground. So when they came to the trap door that led to the street above, they stopped.

Karonga took a deep breath. Salma took his hand. Whether for her sake or his, he did not know. Slowly, he lifted the door that led above. Karonga raised his head out.

He spied out at the street. It was an empty alleyway. He looked at the sky. It was pitch black. There was no sun or moon or stars. Hanging alone in the sky was the great eye of the Eighth God. Radiating from it was a vicious red light. That alone lit up the city.

Karonga fought the urge to close the door. Nothing happened. The eye did not seem to notice him. Karonga pulled himself out and then helped Salma. She too looked afraid but said, “Let’s go.”

Together, they raced through shadowy alleys hoping that the eye would not see them. This part of the city was a labyrinth of old buildings. It was only Karonga’s memory that allowed them to navigate it. Then they came to the Great Market.

Karonga saw something he had not expected. He stopped and pulled Salma into a dark doorway. He whispered for her to stay as silent as possible.

The Great Market was a large open area that in normal times was filled with merchant stalls. Karonga had expected it to be empty. It was not. People of every age were gathered in its center. Many wept hysterically. Around them a group of men armed with scimitars kept watch. Karonga recognized some of them as members of the cult. 

The great eye stared down at the captives casting a blood red light on them. Inky black tendrils protruded from the dark sky and reached toward the ground. One of the guards led a woman holding a baby to one of the tendrils. It wrapped itself around the woman. She tried to give the child to someone, but was stopped by the guard.

The two were borne up into the sky. Then the great black curtain that was the body of the Eighth God changed. It opened a giant mouth with nasty teeth. The woman and babe were pulled inside. The teeth closed on them. Blood fell from the sky.

More tendrils descended. They entangled the other captives and pulled them into the mouth. A rain of blood fell. The cult members sang praises to their evil god.

Karonga was struck dumb with horror. It was only Salma pulling on his hand that brought him to his senses.

“We have to wait,” he said. “Until the god is done.”

“We have to help them,” said Salma.

“There is no helping them.”

So they waited until the last captive was consumed. Until the last drop of blood fell from the mouth in the sky.

The cultists ceased singing. They conversed for a time and then wandered off into the city. Karonga suspected they were probably searching for more victims. He wanted to kill them, but he did not move until they all left.

Then, pulling Salma along, he dashed across the market. The eye did not seem to notice them. Karonga expected tendrils to descend and seize them, but they made it safely to the other side.

They ducked into an alley that led to a great house. It was three stories tall with a garden on the roof. Karonga’s friend, the smuggler, had been a rich man so he had built a large house for him and his three wives.

“This is it,” said Karonga. “This is where my friend lived and kept the map.”

Karonga tried the servant’s door. It was locked. Normally, he would have picked the lock, but he wanted out from under the eye and its hellish red glow. So he broke a window and climbed inside. Salma followed. Karonga exhaled once inside. 

They were in a large antechamber with a staircase. They climbed it to the second floor. There they found them. 

It was a ragged group of people. They had apparently fled the Eighth God and its worshippers. They sat in a large room looking despondent. When they saw Karonga and Salma they looked horrified. A woman spoke up.

“Please don’t hurt us.”

“We mean you no harm,” said Salma. “We are survivors like you.”

“You have to help us,” begged the woman.

Karonga’s heart felt for the woman, but he knew that there were too many of them. He could only protect Salma and himself.

“Of course,” said Salma before he could answer.

Karonga swore but could not find it in him to object. Reluctantly, he told them of the secret tunnel and that he would guide them there. He knew it would be difficult if not impossible. Still, he had to get the map first and even that was dangerous. It was hidden under the roots of a tree in the roof garden. He feared being closer to the eye.

Fearfully, Karonga went up the stairs. Salma stayed with the refugees trying to keep them calm.

Fear grew inside him as Karonga climbed the stairs. When he got to the third floor, he went into his friend’s bedroom. He wondered what had happened to him and his wives. He hoped they had used the tunnel to flee the city.

He found a jug of wine. He drank from it. He looked at the bed. There he had made love to one of his friend’s wives. It was one of the few things he felt guilt over. He had stolen and even killed but that had been a betrayal of one of his few friends. He wished he could undo it.

Now facing the possibility of death, he wondered what his life had been for. It did not amount to much. He had mostly only cared for his own needs and desires. Then he thought of Salma. At least, he could say he had saved her.

Steeling himself, he went up the final flight of stairs to the garden. The great eye hung in the black sky. Karonga did not know if it saw him.

He felt more exposed then even when he was on the street.

He walked over to the tree at the center of the garden. He dug under the roots with his hands all the time feeling that the great eye was watching him. Sweat ran down his forehead. He found the scroll. Hurriedly, he pulled it from the earth and all but ran back to the stairs.

Before he went down, he heard the Eighth God’s voice inside his head. It said, “What have you there?”

Karonga looked up in the sky. The eye stared down at him. He was too afraid to say anything. He just ran down the stairs.

On the second floor, he met Salma and the refugees. He said, “We have to get out of here. It saw me.”

“No,” screamed an old woman. “It will see us. The eye will see us.”

“I already see you,” said a voice. The refugees screamed. Red light flooded the room. Karonga saw the eye hanging outside through a window. It said, “Karonga, since you freed me I was going to eat you last. If you work with me I will spare you. Bring these scraps of food to me.”

Karonga looked at Salma and the refugees. He could save himself, he thought. For most of his life, he had looked out only for himself. Not since the death of his mother had anyone shown him mercy. What did he owe anyone else? All he had to do was agree.  

“Go to Hell,” he said instead.

“I was born there,” said the eye. “I will return when I have eaten my fill.”

Tendrils burst in through the window. Glass flew. They grabbed the old woman who had screamed. She started screaming again. She was pulled outside. Then she screamed no more. More tendrils came in.

Karonga charged forward. He drew his sword as he ran. He slashed at a tendril. To his surprise his blade severed it.

“Run,” he shouted as he slashed at the tentacles. “To the catacombs.”

Everyone ran. One man threw himself out a window in panic. Salma began to shout telling the refugees to follow her.

The refugees ran after her down the stairs. Tendrils stretched out but Karonga blocked the way. He severed one after another. When the last person had gone, he followed.

They burst out on the streets. The Eighth God’s eye floated just above the street connected by threads of darkness to the rest of. It burned red.

The refugees were on the verge of panic, but Salma shouted “This way to safety.”

The refugees followed her as she ran down an alley. Karonga followed. The eye floated after them.

“Do not take my food,” the Eighth God’s voice boomed. “I hunger for blood and flesh.”

They ran through the Great Market. A young girl, dropped on the ground by whoever was carrying her, cried. Karonga stopped to help her but not before a tendril wrapped around her. She was pulled into the mouth in the sky.

They ran down the streets. Salma led the way. The eye followed. As they ran, tendrils would catch the slower ones. They were then borne up into the mouth in the sky and eaten.

They came to the entrance of the catacombs. Salma opened the trap door. The refugees began to push their way inside. A child screamed.

The Eighth God stopped. Then it laughed. It said, “You think you can get away from me in there? I was imprisoned down there for centuries.”

The last refugee entered the catacombs.

“Hurry,” Salma said.

Karonga knew then it was no use. The Eighth God would come after them. Someone would have to buy time for the others to get away. Karonga had lived most of his life caring only for himself. Now was different. He had someone to protect. He finally understood why his father had walked out of the cave.

Karonga said, “It will follow us in. The only chance we have is if I hold it off.”

“You will die,” said Salma.

“Yes.”

Tears appeared at the edges of Salma’s eyes. She came up and kissed him on the cheek. Then she buried her head in his chest. He knew then that in another life he could have loved her.

“What a touching site,” boomed the Eighth God. It burst into its terrible laughter.

“You’re a good man,” she said.

“No,” said Karonga, pushing her away. “I am a thief, a lecher, and a killer, but I am also a warrior. I will die with my sword in hand. Go.”

“But….”

“Go, lead them out. You are the only one who can.” 

He handed her the map. She took it and climbed down into the catacombs. Karonga turned to face the Eighth God. 

The eye floated in front of him. Laughter boomed in his head. The god was too busy laughing to do anything. Karonga grip tightened on his sword hilt. 

He stood alone before the Eighth God. He knew he was going to die. His fear was great, but a strange peace came over him.

For the first time since his childhood, Karonga prayed. He prayed to Kersaises, Salma’s God, to give him the strength to defend her. Then he went to meet his fate.

“You think you can kill me?” laughed the Eighth God.

“Come, false god, my steel hungers for your flesh,” Karonga said as he walked toward the eye. 

A tendril shot from the sky. Karonga dodged its grasp and severed it with his blade. Then more came. He slashed instinctively, cutting several, but one caught his sword arm. Another caught his leg.

Together with the eye, Karonga was dragged up into the sky. He was lifted above the buildings, above even the highest spire. He held tight to his sword. He looked down at the city where he had lived most of his life. It was empty. 

Then he looked up at the Eighth God. It said, “I wanted to eat you last after I consumed the rest of this world.”

“You are no god,” said Karonga. “I don’t know what you are, but you are no god.”

With his free hand he grasped the tendril that entangled his sword arm and pulled it free. Holding on to it, he hung in the sky.

“You will feed no more,” he said.

Then he slashed the great eye with his sword.

The Eighth God’s scream filled his head. The eye burst. Strange ichors fell from the wound onto the streets below. 

The Eighth God’s body began to dissolve. Karonga lost his grip. The tendril that held his leg dissolved. He fell past the spires of the city, until he crashed onto a roof of a temple. He felt a shock of pain as his spine snapped. He could not move as his life ran out of him. He knew he had not long to live, yet there was joy within him.

For he had wounded the Eighth God.

Salma exited the tunnel into the desert outside Zeliaka. It was a relief to see the moon and stars in the sky. To breathe the desert air.

She had been the last to leave. She had lingered hoping that Karonga would appear out of the darkness unharmed. He did not. She had waited.

Then a chill ran up her spine and she knew he was dead.

She looked at the city in the distance. The black veil that had covered it began to dissolve revealing Zeliaka’s many spires. Slowly, it dissipated to nothingness. Zeliaka stood empty in the moonlight.

Suppressing a sob, Salma turned and walked into the cold desert.

The ruins of Zeliaka are a mystery. The once great city was destroyed years ago. The nomads tell many tales of how it happened. They also advise travelers to pass on by. They speak of a blind monster that hides in the ruins waiting to trap any who are foolish enough to enter. –Tales of the Desert

©November 2024, Matthew Ilseman

Matthew Ilseman was born in Texas and lives in Colorado. His work has appeared previously in Swords & Sorcery.