A Martinez - Divine Misfortune

The lighting on the soundstage dimmed as the director spoke. The crew put tints over the spotlights to tinge the air red. The carpenters quickly tore down the set as a new set of walls was wheeled in to make a shadowy and darkened room.

Gorgoz’s phantasm grew taller and more menacing. He flipped his hood into place, hiding his face except for his two huge bloodshot eyes.

“If you thought he was so damn dangerous,” asked Lucky, “why would you choose to follow him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” replied the director. “I needed an edge, and why would I settle with a small boon from a castrated deity when I could have access to all the raw power of a true primordial force? No offense about the castration comment.”

“None taken,” said Quick.

“And now it’s gone bad.” The director said, “Well, I guess I can’t complain. I made my decision. Nothing to do but watch it play out.”

“You’re awfully calm about this.”

“Hey, it’s his problem.” The director pointed toward the television. “Not mine.”

Lucky pondered how the subconscious could be so blithely oblivious to the perils of its physical aspect. But then again, why should anyone expect a mortal’s subconscious to be any more logical than any other part of his mind?

“Would you mind telling us where to find Gorgoz?” asked Lucky.

“I wouldn’t mind,” said the director, “but I don’t really know. I did meet him once, but it was a secret ritual in an undisclosed location.”

“Can you remember anything? Anything at all?”

“It was a few years ago. The details are kind of fuzzy. It was a dark room. Dusty. Smelled like rotten fish.”

Several stagehands rushed in, throwing sawdust into the air. Several others carried in buckets of carp, placing the buckets in out-of-the-way corners. The director walked over to the set.

“There was a bunch of neophytes there. We all had on robes to hide our faces.” Phantasm players crowded the set behind him. A wardrobe assistant threw a robe on the director. “There was the traditional Dirge of Gorgoz.” He knelt before the phantasm in Gorgoz’s role. They started chanting.

“Excuse me,” said Lucky, pointing to a robed figure standing beside Gorgoz. “Hate to interrupt, but who is that?”

The actors in the memory kept chanting, but the director raised his head.

“That’s Gorgoz’s First Disciple,” he said.

“You didn’t see his face, did you?” asked Lucky.

“Sorry.”

They resumed their chant.

Lucky picked his way across the stage, avoiding disturbing the ritual. He circled the First Disciple.

“Morph,” said Lucky, “I suppose that since this guy didn’t see the face and this is just his memory we can’t see his face either.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Morpheus said, “No. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why did you pause?”

Morpheus half-paused. “No reason.”

“Don’t tell me you’re holding out on me, buddy. You have to know a few extra tricks, right? Some kind of dream god cheat code.”

“Maybe there is something I can do, but there are certain risks. Things can go wrong.”

“What can go wrong? You’re Morpheus, god of dreams, master of the realm nocturnal, the big kahuna. Quick and I will stand aside and leave it in your able hands.”

“Okay. Fine.”

Morpheus waved his hand at the hooded assembly and spoke in hushed, reverent tones. “Right now, this is only a memory, a dim recollection of past events seen through one set of mortal eyes. But all memories, no matter how distant, no matter how distorted, have the shadow of truth underneath. Even the most imperfect memory is a window-”

“That’s terrific,” interrupted Lucky. “Love the metaphysics. But we’re a little pressed for time.”

“Basically, I just reach back and use my powers to re-create elements of the memory that the director couldn’t know.” Morpheus cracked his knuckles and clapped his hands. The lights snapped on bright and clear as everything was illuminated with the absolute light of truth. The scene froze.

Lucky hopped back into the set and walked over to the First Disciple of Gorgoz. He pulled back the hood.

“I have no idea who this guy is,” said Lucky.

“What did you expect?” asked Quick. “A major movie star?”

“Would’ve made things easier.” Lucky searched the disciple’s pockets, but he came up empty. “That was a waste of time.”

Morpheus snapped his fingers. “Check his pockets again.”

The second search turned up a wallet.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s a dream. Who is to say that the guy didn’t have his wallet on him?”

“Morph, I like your style.” Lucky found a driver’s license. “Can I keep this?”

“Sure. What do I care?”

The phantasmal player of Gorgoz chuckled coldly. “You are as ridiculous as ever, Luka.”

“Easy, big guy,” said Lucky. “Don’t get lost in the part.”

Gorgoz stood. He pulled back his hood. The actor’s face was gone, replaced with the twisted true visage. It’d been a few centuries since Lucky had seen Gorgoz face-to-face. He hadn’t gotten any prettier.

“Easy, Gorg, ol’ buddy.”

“Always with the endless obnoxious chatter,” said Gorgoz. “You blather on like a sideshow barker rather than a true god. It’s no wonder the mortals have lost their fear of us.” He roared, spewing slime and spit into the air. “You dare violate my domain, in the soul of one of my followers!”

“I don’t remember him being so eloquent,” said Lucky.

“He’s a manifestation of the director’s unconscious,” explained Morpheus. “Not an exact copy.”

Gorgoz pounced, seizing Lucky by the throat.

“Gorg, Gorgie, Gorgster,” choked the god of prosperity.

“Quiet, you babbling fool,” hissed Gorgoz. “Prepare to suffer the consequences of your trespass.”

“Uh-oh,” said Morpheus.

“Uh-oh, what?” asked Quick. “What’s gone wrong?”

“I warned you it would be dangerous. The simulation is out of control.”

“Uh, guys,” squeaked Lucky. “Could use a little help here.”

Quetzalcoatl sprang across the soundstage. He was batted aside with an offhand slap from Gorgoz, who chuckled with a low rasp.

“Look at you, god of blood and death. Look at what they’ve made you into. Luka was always a fool. But you… you were worshipped by an empire.”

Quick rubbed his jaw. Being immortal didn’t make him immune to pain, and Gorgoz, even in this form, packed a mean backhand.

Lucky transformed into a hulking beast, forcing Gorgoz to release him. The set broke into chaos as the phantasmal players scattered in all directions.

“Okay, Gorg!” roared Lucky as he pounded his huge fists together. “You asked for this!”

He pounced on Gorgoz. The two gods tumbled through the set, smashing their way through the faux brick walls. The shudders and booms of their titanic struggle shook the soundstage.

Quick and Morpheus waited a few moments. Neither god was terribly concerned. Immortality made even the most savage combat between deities an exercise in idiocy.

“Should we intervene?” asked Quick.

“This is my set!” screamed the director. “I’m in charge here!”

Lucky flew through the air, colliding with the overhead scaffold lighting. It all came crashing down. Lucky, back in his shorter, Hawaiian-shirt form, crawled from the wreckage. Patches of fur were missing here and there, and half his tail had been sheared off.

“For a simulation, he packs a helluva punch.”

Gorgoz tore his way through the set. He leveled a finger at the director. “This is your fault. Not only do you fail me, but your weak mortal mind reveals secrets unfit for these fools to know. Now you shall suffer the consequences of your failure.”