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The thought of so much power actually scares me.
I’ve been here many times, and the scenery still takes my breath away. I know we’re not anywhere in the First Dimension, or Earth realm as some call it, as everything is too perfect. The sky is too blue, the sunshine too luminescent, and the clouds too symmetrically fluffy. The green grass spread over rolling hills shimmers, and the air is perfumed with jasmine and gardenia. I have no clue where it comes from, but I can hear a harp playing distantly—a calming melody that seems right in this place.
The dais is set under a sprawling gazebo complete with thick Grecian columns of silver- and blue-veined marble. Spread around are chaise lounges and sumptuously squishy pillows you can sink down into for relaxation and gossip.
Except as gods, we don’t do that. Instead, we sit at a round table with no head seat, as all five of us are equal.
Well, except I’m not exactly equal because I have no clue what the hell I’m supposed to be or what I’m doing.
“Greetings,” Veda says as she moves to me. Her hands come to my elbows, and she leans in for an air kiss on each cheek.
“Hello,” I say, still suffering a severe case of impostor syndrome next to the beautiful woman with pale skin and black-to-silver ombre hair. The god of Humanity looks younger than me, but she’s as old as time.
When the gods are feeling officious, we dress in Grecian-style robes with red capes, but on most occasions, we wear what we want. Today Veda is in a pair of slouchy, faded jeans that sit low on her hips, a halter top of brown suede with beads sewn in tribal patterns, and her feet are bare. Very hippie, and I’m most comfortable with her.
“Come sit with us,” she says, and whether she meant it to, that statement still suggests I’m an outsider trying to fit in.
At the table, Onyx sits ramrod straight and no one would need to guess she’s the god of Conflict. I’ve never seen her in anything but battledress of bronzed breastplates with shoulder and shin guards. Her skin and irises are as black as a raven’s wings. She’s the fiercest thing I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen some stuff in the Underworld. The only thing that makes her somewhat approachable is her modern-day hairstyle of a vivid pink mohawk. She gives me a nod of greeting.
To her left sits Cato, the god of Nature. At almost seven feet tall, he’s the largest of the gods and commands lightning bolts with a mere wiggle of his fingers. He, too, is dark skinned, but it’s more caramel colored, and his eyes are molten gold. He’s almost too beautiful to behold with his sculpted cheekbones and patrician nose. Despite his physical perfection, Cato is usually down-to-earth, and next to Veda, he’s the nicest. Cato loves contemporary clothing, especially if it’s bespoke. I don’t know much about fine clothing but I’m betting the dark charcoal suit he’s wearing cost a mortal fortune.
“Hello, Zora,” he says with an incline of his head. “I had hoped you would bring your dogs with you today.”
“My apologies. I didn’t think of it,” I say, but it actually had crossed my mind and I chose not to. I’m clinging to mortal parts of my life and want to keep them separate.
The look Cato gives me is gracious, but I can tell he doubts my words. They all know I’ve got my struggles.
“I much prefer cats,” Circe says in her breathy voice, the last of our Council. The god of Fate is a mystery I’m not sure I’ll ever figure out. At times she appears flighty, and at others, wickedly dangerous. As always, she’s in full dress and makeup, her platinum-blond curls styled à la Marilyn Monroe. Her lips bear ruby-red stain and her complexion is flawless. Today she’s wearing a retro dress of white silk with red strawberries embroidered all over. It has a fitted bodice, capped sleeves, and a swishy skirt.
I’ve got nothing to counter her comment about cats. I like them fine, but I do prefer dogs.
“Sit,” Veda says with a hand at my back, and I take the chair between her and Circe.
“Let’s begin,” Onyx says and launches into a summary of the major conflicts across dimensions, realms, and the universe. The scope of the gods’ rule is so vast that I can’t quite understand how we keep track of it all.
I try to pay attention, I really do, but some of it bores me. The only time I perk up is when Onyx mentions Maddox and his great prowess on the battlefield in some dimension called Rashtaharaman. He gave Onyx the outcome she wanted and earned immense favor with her, but Maddox was created to be a warrior. He, along with his brothers Carrick and Lucien, have served the gods in thousands of wars and battles over time.
However, as modern times brought forth more peace than conflict, the value of demigods on the killing fields has lessened. Carrick is fully retired from having to do such things, but he earned that respite when he helped Finley avert the apocalypse against Kymaris, queen of the Underworld. Maybe Maddox will be able to stop one day as well.
As for Lucien, well… he’s dead, and it doesn’t matter anymore. He was a casualty of the apocalypse, thrown into the Crimson River where his soul is being tortured for eternity. It’s something that sits horribly with me since I reign over said river, which originates in the Underworld.
I could bring him back, I’m sure of it. I mean, it’s never been done, but all I’ve been taught since becoming a god is that our power is without end, limited only by imagination.
Regardless, it makes no difference because it has been decreed that Lucien shall not be reincarnated. That was an edict passed among the Council before I ever became a god and there is nothing I can do.
When Onyx is done, Cato tells us of a dying planet in a distant galaxy on the verge of extinction because of pollution and overpopulation. He wants to extend a mercy and obliterate it with a redirected meteor.
Cato calls for a vote. “In favor?”
Veda, Circe, and Onyx all raise their hands.
I don’t want to obliterate anything, but my hand goes up too. I’m not confident enough to stand against them, not only because I’m the newest member, but because I don’t understand the greater good that supposedly comes with the gods controlling all things.
The meeting goes on and on. Humanitarian rewards are doled out, Circe appropriately meddles in the fates, and Onyx continues to bemoan that there’s too much peace, which tips the scales of balance too far in one direction.
Cato’s gaze swings my way, and those golden orbs of his are nearly hypnotizing. “And what say you of the Underworld, Zora?”
I blink rapidly and take a calming breath. I don’t like being on the spot. It’s hard enough trying to figure out my role in this complex new life of mine but for the other gods to look to me is unsettling.
