The glare of pure white light seared Rowan’s retinas when he finally came to and opened his eyes. He was in a cell of stone and steal. Everything around him was shiny, pristine, and geometric. Even the silence would have been perfect if it wasn’t for his steady stream of swearing.
“Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.” He took in a breath of perfectly clean, odorless air. “Damn!”
“Prisoner! Stand!” The voice was a single musical note broken only by syllables.
A woman who appeared to be made entirely of fluid white light approached. She wasn’t made of light or even a living being; it was pure magic held together by the will of the Beacon of Light, the goddess of justice and order. The construct held a chrome rod in her right hand, a rod that looked suspiciously like a weapon.
Rowan sat up and blinked more. He tried to look everywhere but at the construct in an attempt to fully regain his focus.
He didn’t hear the door to his cell open, but he felt the heat emanating from the creature as it approached.
It pointed the rod at his throat. “Prisoner! Stand!”
Rowan looked down and assessed himself. He was wearing a white robe and sandals. His body appeared to be whole and unharmed; beyond the headache, he felt great. As the god of chaos and mischief, he and the Beacon had never gotten along. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Before they had ascended to immortality, they had been close.
Twenty-six years ago, he and Ellie had been dating. She was the one who found the cave and the symbols. She had been the one to decipher them. And she was the one who discovered the ritual of ascension. Ellie wanted to fix the world. Rowan had just wanted a good time—maybe a beer and an evening floating down a river on an inflatable tube. They had broken up the night before the ritual. She had been angry that he wasn’t taking the ritual seriously, and she wasn’t wrong. He had done a little magic himself, using the words that Ellie had taught him, but that magic was so minor it wasn’t world-changing. The idea of becoming immortal seemed so far beyond possible that he had treated it like a joke. She hadn’t thought he was funny. He had never been in it for magic. He was only there for her.
Then the rod flicked out the necessary two inches and hit him in the throat. Searing hot pain, as if he had been touched by the sun, ripped through his being. Not just his body but the entirety of his being was nothing but pain. Thread by thread, his body was unwoven until it was gone. He was only the pain of burning.
When the pain stopped, it was absolute and instantaneous. He was whole again and on the floor, curled up at the feet of the construct. He was sobbing. Had he been screaming?
The musical voice sounded precisely the same as before. “Prisoner! Stand!”
His whole body trembled. “Hold on. I’m getting up.” Unwilling to risk another bout of discorporation, he wobbled to his feet.
“Follow,” the construct said in the same musical tone it had used before.
Rowan looked for a way to escape, but even outside his prison cell, he was in a hall with only one door at the end and no idea where he was. He was unarmed, and he was certain that wrestling with an armed guard made of pure light would not just hurt but be futile.
His shoes squeaked on the perfectly smooth tile, and he was pleased to see that he could leave fingerprint smudges on the wall. Petty? Sure.
“I don’t suppose we’re on our way for donuts and coffee?” Rowan asked.
The constructed turned toward him. If a being of pure light could be said to have eyes and to glare, then that is what this construct did. “Silence.”
The word carried a rush of heat across the short distance between them and seared Rowan’s skin.
He grimaced but restrained himself from responding.
The construct touched the door, which Rowan noticed had no handle or lock, and the metal melted away. At this point, Rowan was glad he hadn’t tried to run away from the construct. Ellie was too smart and wouldn’t have left him unshackled to roam free unless she knew there was no escape.
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Standing next to a judge’s bench, a different construct spoke in the same musical tone as the construct that guided him. “All rise for our Lady, the Beacon of Light.”
Rowan rolled his eyes. Ellie was pretentious even when she was a mortal, and he could see that immortality had not changed anything.
A door at the back of the chamber opened, and a woman wearing a white robe strode in. Her formerly dark hair was now silver, but her skin was still the rich tones of coffee. He momentarily forgot that she was a goddess of judgment and smiled at seeing her again.
The illusion was broken when she spoke. “Present the prisoner.”
Rowan looked around the chamber and examined the stained glass high above that let in golden light that painted the floor with images of balanced scales, scrolls, and a gavel. Then, he noticed the depiction of swords and shields of light. Ellie had always seen everything in stark contrast. Right and wrong. Black and white. Strawberry and artificial banana flavor. And he didn’t think she had any pity for those she felt deserved punishment. This was her cathedral of order, where she would enforce her will.
Rowan smiled. “Ellie, can we stop with the theatrics?”
Pain. His whole world became agony. He was sure that if he had a body, he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t think, all he could do was suffer. Then, the pain was gone again.
Ellie’s eyes glowed white as she stared down at him. “Rowan Carter, God of Mischief, you are brought here before me on charges of chaos. How do you plead?”
Rowan’s mouth felt dry, and his voice came out hoarse. “Sexy, your honor.”
He saw the flicker of movement from the construct next to him but was spared when Ellie raised a hand.
“Disrespect justice again, and you will be charged with contempt and sentenced to a year of cleansing,” Ellie said. “I’m giving you this warning because, even though you are immortal, your mind might break after suffering pain for that long. That said, I will not tolerate disrespect.”
Rowan glared at her. Technically, the gods were all equal in power, but in their own domains, they were all-powerful, and Rowan was in Ellie’s domain. There was no way to contest her here. What’s more, Rowan didn’t have a domain of his own. When everybody else ascended, he was left behind on Earth.
“I’ve watched you for twenty-five years,” Ellie said. “You’ve spent most of it wandering the desert as a coyote.”
Rowan shrugged, and he thought he saw pain in Ellie’s expression. Did she still care for him?
“You have immeasurable power that could be used to bring justice to the world, and you did nothing with it.”
Rowan growled. “Immeasurable power? I can turn into a coyote and tweak luck a little.”
“I saw you help the child,” she said cooly. “That display of power was not nothing.”
“And look at what it cost me?” Rowan was barely controlling his voice. “Now I’m here, with you.”
“Breaking the laws of order, even to save an innocent life, is not acceptable.”
Rowan curled his fingers in frustration. “So, the only power I have is one I shouldn’t use?”
Ellie’s eyes were glowing more brightly. Heat emanated from her in waves. “That’s not your only power.”
Rowan glared back. “And why aren’t you on Earth using your power? Why aren’t you using your power for good?”
“I can’t.” The glow in her eyes dimmed. She almost looked mortal again. A flicker of what might have been regret crossed her expression. “None of the other gods can be on Earth without a host, and doing so would rob the host of free will and their life. That would not be just.”
Rowan frowned. “You are imprisoned here?”
“It is not a prison,” Ellie said. Her voice was once again hard and certain. “This is a place of perfect order. I could leave, but the cost would be one that I’m unwilling to pay.”
“Sounds an awfully lot like a prison, and despite your eagerness to judge me, it doesn’t sound like you are doing any good back on Earth.”
Ellie’s eyes flared again. “I grant power to my disciples and act through them. You must feel it when they do. You must see the good they do.”
Rowan frowned. “Why would I feel or see what your disciples do?”
“Don’t play me for a fool. Every time somebody uses chaos magic, I know it. I can see through their eyes while the magic still lingers. Don’t lie to me; you cannot feel it when order magic is used.” She shook her head. “I thought you were better. I gave you a chance, and you allow others to channel chaos magic.” Her voice was now a whisper. “I thought you would stop the chaos.”
Rowan felt stunned. He wasn’t a real god, not like Ellie. Regardless of what she said, he had no control over who could call upon chaos. He had never seen from anybody else’s eyes, neither with order or chaos magic. Had he felt it, though? Maybe those feelings in his gut weren’t just the kitchen scraps from Taco Barn’s dumpster.
“I can’t stop anything,” Rowan whispered.
Ellie slammed her gavel down. “I find you guilty of breaking the natural order and willingly channeling chaos magic.” She lowered her voice. “I sentence you to eternity in the hall of mirrors, where you can reflect on everything your chaos has wrought. You will no longer run amok among the mortals.”
She knew his fears more than anyone. She knew he didn’t like tight places, and she knew the ultimate punishment was being helpless, alone, and watching the world as an outsider with no ability to influence anything. He could imagine it now. A tight corridor of mirrors with no escape. He would never die, and madness would certainly overcome him. Was she so lost in anger that she would condemn him to such a fate?