Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

An excerpt from the Book of Morgan (3:11:17)

Oh,the misery. Here I am, raised to godhood and possessing power I once could never have fathomed; able to reach across time and space with my will, yet chained and burdened more than ever-more than even most mortals. While once I could run across fields and feel the cool breeze on my brow, I am now a common conscript in an unending war and an abominable father who consumes his own young.

My own mortal father, who died so long ago thatthemeasure of years has little meaning, once told me that the end justifies the means. I have seen such terrible means that set me to weep, and the promised end is always one step ahead of me, so I find that axiom has longsinceworn thin. The unbearable alternative, however, is defeat. If I were to give up, or lay down my burden for just a heartbeat, my world would be set upon and devoured by beings much more callous and desperate than I, so I must continue my unholy duty and ready myself to go to war again.

I have long grown tired of this struggle and,as I return weary from the eternal battlefield, my thoughts once again return to simpler days, when I was young, foolish and unfettered. I made many, many mistakes in my mortal life and my only solace now is that I do not have the freedom of choice to make any more. Forever I must toil at my task,never averting my eyes from the horizon and never forsaking my people. Through my diligence, mankind itself will survive, but their sacrifice will be untold.

I weep each time my feet touch upon the soil of my world and I feel the beautiful earth beneath my toes. It should be a time of joy, but I cannot put the unbearable cost of my task from my mind and so I set to work like a man possessed. Each scream and plea for mercy is torture to my soul, but I cannot allow myself to be swayed. Each corpse set at my feet is like a skewer through my heart, but I cannot risk even a moment of compassion. One by one, each soul freed from its vessel will add to my strength,empowering me and fuelling me with vigour to go on. Only when I am sated from the flesh and life of my people can I return to the war with any hope of persevering.

Countless souls will be wiped from the earth and thrown into my jaws, but the few that survive may live on. There is suffering, I know, but the alternative is annihilation. Even this eternal cycle of life and death is better than an infinite emptiness. Whilst we exist, there is hope. I have longagolost the will to go on with all this-yet I must.

I accepted this burden willingly, but without any measure of what it would require. I only hope that when I am done, someone-anyone-can find the compassion to forgive me. Sometimes, my own grief is overwhelming and I will my existence to come to an end, but even the luxury of death isfarbehind me. A god cannot die so simply.

It has been a long time since I was a man and I now find it difficult to understand the workings of the creatures I once walked amongst and loved; yet tirelessly I forge on. Only in lucid moments such as these can I think as I once did and remember that I, too, was once human. Time passes altogether differently in this existence and sometimes the Ages seem to pass like sorrow-laden heartbeats.

I can feel the time is coming again. The eternal war goes on, but would soon falter without me and so I trust my vessel will be ready soon. I pray again that this time will be the last and that my servants will have done their duty, so I will not have so much bitter work to attend to myself. Yes, I can feel the gateway being readied,so I must stand ready to make my harvest.

I did not think being a god would be quite like this. I sometimes wonder what my people must think of me.

What is a ghost but a man with no body?

What is a man but a ghost in a skin?

Each envies the other on the Day of Mourning

when the widows start wailing and the old women sing.

— old Kabushy husbands’ saying

They dared not approach Kalid, for the town had a legion of Paatin encamped around it. They learned from the odd villager and huntsman they met on the road that even greater numbers of desert-men had recently returned unsuccessfully from the mountains and had departedagainimmediately. No one could say whether they had gone north or south or simply turned back to the east. The locals had no wish to ask them and the Paatin had no wish to tell.

Samuel and his companionsmadetheir wayalong the back roads and forest paths, heading east to towns that Balten knew well. These lands had once been the Earldoms of Glass, gathered under King Rike,a rich and fertile land high on the steppes of central Amandia, peaceful and quiet for centuries-until the Empire had crossed the mountains. Further east were the Eastern Reaches, which was a wide and barren land that led into the Paatin wastes proper.

It was surprisingly easy for them to make their way, for the Paatin had made no effort to set up roadblocks or checkpoints or other things that the Empire typically employed in times of war. Any settlements not in the direct path of the Paatin were untouched and many of the people they met had no idea their land was now occupied. As such, the party made good time and did not have nearly as much trouble as they feared.

They spent a couple of weeks crossing those lands, hiding on sight of Paatin troops, avoiding the main centres of population, but the time was otherwise uneventful. It was only when they reached Tosah on the very edge of the Earldoms that they saw the effect of the Paatin-for the town was gone,razed to the ground and demolished as if in effort to remove all hint of its existence. It had been the main hub of travel for merchants who had come from the desert and those who lived in the region, but now there was nothing at all but an expanse of flattened rubble. Rumour had it that the Imperial garrison had scoffed at the requests to surrender, and the Paatin host had shown them no mercy.

There was no sign of Lomar or where he could possibly be hiding and so after a half-day’s hiatus,they had no choice but to push on. Balten led them onwards, into the Eastern Reaches, where the trees were sparse and the riverbeds were dry and cracked. They only approached the odd,small settlement that he indicated would be friendly, for the people here were increasingly inhospitable. Some were obviously of mixed blood while others had the same dark skin as the Paatin invaders. It was still a long way to the Paatin capital, so Balten explained, but their influence extended even to these distant reaches of their territory.

Finally, after Samuel had lost count of the days, they found themselves surrounded by lands of baked rock and blowing sands. A few spiny shrubs existed and the occasional lizard scurried across their paths, but otherwise the earth was barren and devoid of life, open and featureless from horizon to horizon. Balten led them across a tiny strip of a stream, with withered sticks jutting up from its pitiful banks. One step and they were over it.

Balten stopped and took note of the landscape. ‘This is the start of the great wastes-the lands of the Paatin. From here,there is little else but rock and endless deserts.’

‘How many deserts are there?’ Ambassador Canyon asked.

Balten was set to answer, but Sir Ferse took his turn to speak and he reeled off his description as if reading from a cartographer’s report. ‘Countless deserts lie to the east, like seas of sand and stone. They stretch into the unknown and beyond, for no one,savethe desert people, has any desire to delve into such unforgiving places. The varieties of desert are as endless as their number: all manner of barren plains, windswept crags, sandy dunes and salty wastes. The most precious treasures of the deserts are the sparse wells and springs. The locations of these secret places are guarded fiercely by the desert folk: nomadic and secretive people, wary of those outside their tribe. Their skins have been made dark by lifetimes under the sun. Their women are rarely seen, but it is said they are treated well and even act as matriarchs in some families. The deserts are many and impenetrable, but their mysteries are even more so.’