David Dalglish: Blood Of Gods

“Paladins? Never heard of them,” said Patrick.

“I would think not,” Ahaesarus said, placing his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “The brother deities decided the order was unnecessary. They had learned that granting men that mantle was counterproductive when the gods themselves walked the land. For if that god erred, it would be his very faithful that confronted him.” The Warden pointed at the mound beneath which Bardiya was buried. “With that in mind, it is here, on the very spot where Ashhur’s most faithful servant, the one who was willing to righteously defy him, has been laid to rest, that a new Citadel should be built. It is here that the paladins of Ashhur must come into being.

“You are the best there is. Preston, you and your boys have proven your dedication to Ashhur’s teachings. Allay, you led your people to your god’s side when most others would have sought safety. And Patrick, Ashhur told me time and again that of all his creations, you were the most beautiful. You have shown that through every waking moment of your life.”

Patrick thought of his past, of all the women he had bedded, of all the men he’d killed. He thought of his doubts, of the times he’d cursed Ashhur’s name when the going was rough, of the numerous occasions he had wished for his life to come to end.

“I think you overestimate me,” he said.

“I think not,” retorted Ahaesarus. “I think that if one man embodies all it means to be a child of Ashhur, it is you. Ashhur himself believed it, and so do I.”

All grew silent. Patrick closed his eyes. Ashhur, is this right? He didn’t expect an answer, yet he received one nonetheless. Warmth spread through his belly, extending down his arms and legs, causing his fingers and toes to tremble. He saw Ashhur’s likeness in his mind, hovering over the world and smiling down on him. He saw Nessa and Corton and Bardiya and Tristan, the light surrounding them nearly blinding, their hands reaching out for him, their lips mouthing the same refrain.

You are loved.

Patrick opened his eyes and took a step onto Bardiya’s burial mound. He dropped to his knees. The warmth continued to fill his deformed body. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“I dedicate my life to you, your Grace,” he said, staring at the heavens. “I will be your servant. I will protect your children. I will live my life to the fullest and show others the way. I will call others to join me, and together we will help lead the meek through Afram, until they reach the Golden Forever beyond the stars.”

Allay smiled. Preston nodded firmly. Joffrey, Ryann, and Big and Little Flick slowly got on their knees, themselves looking close to tears. Hands fell on Patrick’s shoulders. Ahaesarus looked down on him with pride.

“It is done,” the Warden said. “You are the first.”

Patrick sniffled. “I guess I am.”

“And for your sacrifice, you have received your reward.”

“My reward?”

Patrick yelped as he felt a sharp, momentary pain in his scalp. He rubbed the sore spot as Ahaesarus leaned over and placed something in Patrick’s palm.

“Your reward.”

Pinching the gift Ahaesarus had given him, Patrick raised it up to his eyes. It was a single hair, long and curly and so silver that it seemed nearly transparent in the bright sunlight. A wide smile came over Patrick’s lips.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”