There are gods above and ghouls below,
but not even wise men know what seeds either truly sow.
It was one of the daughters of Kali who first saw the vision. Those priestesses are often predisposed to
being warriors but occasionally some display other gifts. Thus Rahab Kali , seer and prophetess, would
stumble back from her crystal ball shrieking and wailing as her eyes bled. Twilight was upon the world, a
herald of the old mother had been born, one who spelled and odious end for their order.
This pronouncement was met with utter bewilderment and once Kali’s chosen had ascertained that their
best seer had been struck blind by the things she had seen, fear.
In the coming weeks and months, others would see a similar version of this future. Dreamers woke up
screaming and epileptic, entrail readers peered at remains in shock, second guessing themselves;
doomspeakers gauged out their own eyes so that they would no longer see the overwhelming omens.
With such universal gloom spreading through the hearts of their devout, the gods and ghouls took
notice.
Illuvitar, the gloam eyed sunderer, took mortal form and sought out Rahab Kali. Overwhelming her mind
he ripped out the memory of her vision and so beheld the threat that loomed over them all. As a ghoul
of the seventh circle there were few things he feared but in the face of this, even he trembled.
Angered by this weakness in himself he slew the seer, daring Kali to challenge him for it, and with a
shriek launched himself back into his foul domicile.
Kali would not notice this desecration of one of hers until months had passed. Many hallowed men and
women would cry out to their gods for guidance and revelation to no avail. The gods and goddeses were
otherwise occupied. For great things were afoot in the firmament above. And time passes differently for
those beings than it does for us.
Breaking tradition the gods and goddeses of different pantheons had gathered to contemplate the fates.
Arrogance and petty feuds were set aside and these aspects sought a solution to the turmoil in the
world. But first all must be made clear. The prophecies and visons must be pieced together into one
whole an explanation given to those who knew little of such things.
So rose Lotos the Announcer, solemn and true, a worthy bearer of such grave tidings.
“We need humanity. We need their faith, their sacrifices and offerings. Without them we would dwindle
and fade, mere aspects of the aether. They are the only true confluence of spirit and flesh. We
discovered long ago that this gives them unique natures that are better left unknown. This is one of those we judged useful and cultivate in a few of our chosen. Great events like terrible wars
or life changing moments have a psychic echo that bounces both forward and backwards in time. Some
humans, those we invest and open up, can hear this echoes.
This is how this vision of doom has come to us. If you consider what I have told you here you will find
cause for concern, but I urge calm. There are those of us who hold that the future is never truly set in
stone. Perhaps we may use these echoes as guiding stones to sail through the coming storm.
I now call on Ansi the weaver, that she may give form to this echo. We will view it in its fullest form and
thus discern the danger and a means by which we might avert it.’
Ansi came forward in the form that a stout dark skinned woman balancing a basket on her head. A
golden stool appearing just as she gracefully sat down. She pulled something from the bag, a clothe that
faintly shimmered, and began knitting eyes averted as she hummed to herself.
As one, they saw.
A mother screaming in pain midwives desperately attending to her. Two babies are born amidst a wash
of blood and sweat. A boy and a girl indistinguishable from any of the other newborn save their pupils
are a deep crimson – the color of spilt blood.
For some reason every spirit shies away from that hateful gaze. It transforms what should be an
innocent sight into something they all want to destroy. It is instinctual; a shrieking housewife squashing
a creepy crawly with the flat end of her broom.
The children are given into their father’s care, a mere farmer, and he weeps openly, mourning his wife’s
passing.
They see them in the care of a governess, sweat streaking down their faces as they race across a field in
some childish.
The boy has grown into a young man with a serious face who struggles up a bleak slope of some
mountain, striving against wind and storm on some unknown quest. The girl is fire incarnate, eyes lit
with mischief as she kisses a raven haired man in terran clothing.
The two twin stand beside a burning fire, sober eyed and watch the screaming faces within it. The boy
turn his face away as though unable to bear it and the girl smacks him forcing his eyes back to the wall
of flame.
And then blackness, and unnatural void, swallows everything. In it they see that the children have
reached adulthood; have blossomed into a deadly beauty. Three companions stand in their shadow. A
disfigured woman bent with age, a Karati man with white hair and a cruel smile and a young woman
with writhing snakes for hair.
With dispassion they pull down temples, put priests to death and tear out the tongues of priestesses,
deny the gods of the worship they rely on. Wars are waged and won, large swathes of the world disappear from the gods gaze as though veiled in some way. They see mankind grasp its full potential,
leaping beyond the simple trinkets they had allowed them – mirrors and silver, silk and swords to
gunpowder, buildings that reach higher than babel ever did, they see great metallic ships that sail across
the skies, see mages draw arcane symbols that affect magics that have always been acts of gods.
They see their holiest places reduced to barren husks. Sand sifts through broken columns and once
proud statues of their visages. They have been forgotten.
In their place the world reveres the crimson eyed descendants of this unlikely pair – the heralds of such
novel ideas as empire and science.
The vision ended.
A strange feeling was rising within each viewer. The assembled divinity watched as Ansi, trembling, put
away the cloth and left with her basket, shoving through the assembled. As though this act was the
crucial spark of understanding they all recognised the feeling for what it is. Fear. For the first time the
gods knew fear.
‘You have seen the echo’ a grave uttering of the announcer’s. “Our doom is spelled out. What are we to
do?’
What a strange concept for the divine to contemplate. For millennia they had watched mortals weep
and wail when death snatched away their loved ones. They had extolled the gods for some version of
eternity, for some meaning to their spent lives. Had made up myths and stories of afterlife, heavens and
hells to be sought or avoided. Never had the gods considered that they too might one day be consigned
to a similar fate.
Now they beheld this stark possibility and their fear multiplied and multiplies. Who would weep for
them?
Some drowned in melancholy. If this vision had been seen by so many, then it was likely to come true.
Things would play out as they were meant to and they… they would suffer their fate. A few even wept
for all the wasted time, thousands of years of existence and what did they have to show for it?
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.Others, the more violent aspects, raged. They swore to avert it by any means. Storming from the
gathering place they lashed out against humanity, slaying indiscriminately with lightning and thunder,
with raging waters and scouring heat. How dare these fleshlings forget their natural place? How dare
they forget their capricious masters? They would never be given the chance.
Others considered the years of faith and trust that mankind had given them and wondered whether
they had dealt fairly with it. They saw how much they had taken advantage of Eva’s children. No wonder
the she, the old mother, had moved against them. Maybe they deserved this.
The more capricious ones thought to wonder what the ghouls were doing about this. Surely those crafty
tricksters would not readily let slip their hold on the world. They sought passage to the world below and there made common cause with those maleficent beings. They ghouls had their own plans and were
working to forestall the prophecy by launching a pogrom on any new born children they could get their
hands on.
The world then knew chaos such as it had never known before. The gods grew more distant from man
and even fasts and bodily purges drew no answers from them. A host of natural disasters tormented
them; drought and famine so extreme that many the world must surely end. The talents once bestowed
upon humanity by the gods were withdrawn.
A deep nascent fear lurked in every heart for they remembered the doom that had been forewarned by
that long dead daughter of Kali.
Rumors of dark doings raged across the land. Desperate sacrifices were being offered up to the ghouls,
mother plunging blades into their own children’s hearts in Molech’s name exchanging their unblemished
souls for tokens of favor. Priests drew lots and flayed the unlucky fellow in hopes that it would soften
their gods’ hearts.
It was a bleak time.
***
In a far off corner of the world on a remote island ringed by tall volcanic mountains a large boulder
rolled aside to reveal the entrance of a cave. Moments later a party of people leading pack equine
stepped out. They blinked in the sunlight and walked into the nearby forest canopy.
“So this is the place?” asked a weather beaten man in brown homespun clothing. He was the farmer in
the vision Ansi had spun for the gods. Life for him had taken an unexpected turn. Mabel’s death had hit
him hard and then the world had gone mad. People of his village had begun attacking his farm
threatening to kill him if he did not give up his ‘demon’ children. They spoke of dreams and ghouls, of
quests set to them by the gods themselves. ‘Every newborn child must die!’ so they proclaimed, leading
by example.
Bundling up his meager belongings and wealth he had stolen away in the night with his household.
Mabel’s sister, Isobel had been taking care of the children and had begged to come along. “Mabel’s
dead, Eyk. There’s nothing left for me here. Besides, you need me.” And so they had left their maddened
village hoping to find a saner place to settle down.
But the whole world had gone mad. Town after town had tried to kill them. Soon they were being
pursued by hordes of raving lunatics and monsters. It made no sense. They would have been slain long
ago had it not been for the mysterious helpers who kept coming to their aid. “ come with me or you will
die.”
“Here. Take these supplies; you will need them in a little while.”
“Hide here. There’s a group of soldiers looking for you. I’ll let you know when they pass.” “You’re the farmer right? I’ve been waiting for you. Give your horses to my friend here. You’ll have fresh
one’s waiting on the other side of the Goshen sea”
His pleas for an explanation had been met with diversions until finally one a captain whose soldiers
where escorting them across war torn Skaldia had told him to be patient. All would be explained once
they had reached safely. “For now, just know that the whole world is out to kill you and that my mistress
is your only hope of safety.”
And so their journey continued. They crossed the whole continent of Kelb, stole away on large chiin ship
and spent months crossing an oddly calm ocean. At the end of this journey they came to a strange land
with odd people sporting colorful feather headdresses. To their surprise they found that they could
understand the local language and were met by yet another guide who took them through jungles with
trees so large they defied reason. None of them should have survived the journey or the many
encounters with strange beasts (Of which large tusked lions and boars that carried their young in
pouches were the least surprising) were it not for the man’s expertise and gift in what he called the
arcane.
Eventually, they reached a place with floating cities and large boulders that slowly drifted across the sky.
Large vines tethered these together and made ladders one could take to reach the top where the people
dwelt safe from most predators. Their last guide met them at the base of one such marvel , a black
young man in flowing red robe and flinty eyes who took them west to the coast. Entering a hidden cave
with glittering walls they had descended into the ground. Al shaza, their latest companion, could create
flames that lit their way and scared the shuffling creatures living in there.
Now at last they had came to their final destination, apparently having had traversed tunnels running
beneath yet another ocean. Truly, Eyk’s life had taken a strange turn.
“Yes. Here you will find rest. Mother tells me no human has ever trod upon it. You do not know how
much honor she does you by giving you sanctuary here.” Al Shaza answered in his lilting tongue.
Eyk bows his head in obeisance. “We are grateful.”
“Let us set up camp here and rest. Tomorrow I will explain everything as the old mother has bid me.”
Eyk watched as Isobel wrangled his rambunctious one year old twins. She had been right, he would
never have managed them on his own. “After all this time in ignorance, it doesn’t seem so urgent any
more.’ He answered wryly. “ But your mistress has been more than generous to me and mine. I will hear
you.’
Al Shaza nodded soberly also watching the children. “You told me that amongst your people it is
customary to wait a year before bestowing a name upon your progeny. Is this not so?”
“It is so”
“Have you determined what names you will give them?” “I have”
They had talked it over with Mabel many times, enraptured with the life growing within her. Asha if it
turned out to be a girl and Solon if the babe was a boy. Both were heroes out of folktales that Mabel had
loved hearing again and again. Solon a charming miscreant who used his razor wit to surmount all
manner of challenges and Asha a renowned hunter who had found and tracked a white hart to a
meadow full of golden apples that could heal any illness.
Asha and Solon, bourn by these mere farmer’s whelps, those names would forever be associated with
the unravelling of the worlds and their reshaping.
There are still gods above and ghouls below,
But here on earth lords are all we know.
Afterword: This has been an original story by Blaise Fathom. Thanks for reading. For this and other
curiosities please check out whatever links you find attached below. I have a bajillion ideas pinging
around my mind. It’s a great relief to finally