Held fast, Kyran was compelled to face the gods’ scrutiny. He cowered down and ducked his head in an attempt to hide from their gazes. But it was no use. Whatever force the gods used to probe Kyran was more than physical. There was no hiding from it. Fear swamped his mind, and he screamed wordlessly as the threads of his self were torn apart under their inspection.
His thoughts devolved into a gibbering mess and he collapsed. And for a time, he was lost to himself.
Crouched on all fours, and with eyes unseeing, the mindless creature that Kyran had become, swivelled his head back and forth, seeking futilely for escape.
The gods, for their part, were unheeding of the terror they inspired. They maintained their predatory regard, and continued to dissect Kyran with their gazes.
In the ruins of his shattered self, Kyran found the strength to resist, and to fight back the primal terror induced by the gods. Ever so slowly, he clawed back to himself.
After what felt an eternity, he pulled together the tattered shreds of his consciousness and carved out a refuge in a corner of his mind. Crouched within, he began to think again.
What is it about these beings?! he babbled to himself. How can they wield such might? Any doubts he harboured about their power fled. Whether they were true gods or not was immaterial. Whatever they were, they were far beyond him.
Into the silence, a catlike goddess spoke. Her tail swishing in agitation, she asked, “Are you certain of your findings, Overseer? There has been no recorded occurrence of a spirit without a divine spark before.” She had golden fur and was clothed in a forest-green tunic and leggings. Her fangs gleamed, and her eyes shone emerald.
“I am certain, Auriel,” replied Iyra. “I have confirmed it. You may do so yourself. Close your eyes and try to sense the human’s spirit.”
The gods did as proposed. Most appeared unhappy with the results. The god, Lok, however, was intrigued, and climbed onto the table for a closer look. “Remarkable,” he said, circling Kyran’s huddled form in fascination.
With an audible grunt, a scarred and tattooed dwarven warrior-god dismissed the antics of Lok and pulled the attention of the rest of the council to him. “Of greater import, did this human know what he was doing? Did he knowingly intervene in the summoning?”
“I do not believe so, Divine Turon. It is my assessment that the spirit’s intervention was accidental, and that he is unaware of the consequences of his actions,” replied the Overseer.
“I agree,” said Iyra.
As the gods resumed their conversation, their attention on Kyran waned, and the overwhelming sense of dread that had gripped him vanished as if it had never been. Warily, he regained his feet.
Had the terror that assailed his mind been a deliberate attack by the gods? he wondered. Or as it seemed at the time, merely a side-effect of their focused attention? He shuddered involuntarily. If their mere regard alone had turned him into a quivering mess, what, he wondered, would have been the result if they had actually intended him harm?
And how, he despaired, am I ever going to be able to escape their grasp? Another question to which he had no answer. Forget what you cannot control, Kyran. Learn what you can, while you can, he whispered to himself. He turned his attention back to the conversation.
“How then are we to proceed, Overseer?” asked Kharmadon.
“All free spirits who enter the Game must be given the Choice. The Rules are explicit on this. It is the only course of action allowed. What is in the hands of the Council to determine is the nature of the Choice presented,” said the Overseer.
Kyran’s brow drew down in consternation. Choice? What choice?
“Meaning?” inquired Lok, breaking off his inspection of Kyran.
“Other than Divine Iyra, who already has a candidate, there are two other divines with openings for new champions: Zarayla and Xetil. The Rules permit for the spirit to be given the Choice to serve as one of their champions.”
“No,” refused Xetil immediately. Kyran was relieved at his answer. Despite not understanding what was being discussed, something about the green-skinned god struck him as wrong—and dangerous. He did not want his fate to be left in Xetil’s hands.
The Overseer turned to Zarayla, awaiting her response. Dressed in a threadbare hermit robe, she resembled the lizard-like Balkar, except her scales were blue, and her demeanour less stern. She hesitated before responding. Studying her curiously, Kyran thought her to be a more palatable choice.
She asked carefully, “Overseer, is the Vow of Loyalty possible without the divine spark?”
“No, Divine. It is not.”
Zarayla looked sorrowfully at Kyran and said, “Then regretfully, I must decline as well.”
What does this mean for me now? wondered Kyran anxiously.
“So noted. There remains only one option then. The spirit will be given the Choice to enter Myelad as a free agent,” said the Overseer.
Pandemonium broke out, with every god clamouring for the Overseer’s attention. One voice cut through the chaos. “A free agent,” thundered Kharmadon. “What is that?!”
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The hubbub died away, as the gods awaited the Overseer’s response. “The spirit, if he chooses to enter the Game, will do so without a Vow of Loyalty to any divine.”
The Overseer’s response was met with stark silence. The gods were displeased. The signs were plainly writ on every face—in the heavy frowns, tightened lips, smouldering eyes, and in the case of Balkar, even plumes of smoke. Yet, some other emotion simmered beneath, something Kyran struggled to identify. Uncertainty perhaps? Concern even?
Kyran didn’t understand the gods’ reaction or the cause of their anger. He gathered from the Overseer’s words that he would be allowed to enter this Myelad—and what was Myelad anyway?—without pledging allegiance to any god. But why did that enrage them so? It had to be related to the game they spoke of.
The silence was broken by an elaborately garbed blonde goddess with piercing blue eyes. “Do the Rules not preclude that?” Her face was covered with arcane symbols, her fingers with glittering rings, and large metal hoops dangled from each ear. She wore a hooded royal-blue cloak filled with shimmering stars, and in her hands, she toyed with a sapphire-tipped wand.
“No, Divine Misteria, the Rules only require a Choice to be given. The Rules do not forbid a spirit from entering Myelad unpledged.”
Dissatisfied with the Overseer’s response again, many turned their gazes inward, while others, seething in silence, waited on their companions. Kyran noted that most turned to look at Balkar who sat unseeing, lost in his own thoughts. What were they doing? Scouring their own memories of the Rules perhaps? Seeking an alternative interpretation?
Eventually, Balkar spoke, his voice heavy with distaste. “The Overseer is correct. I have consulted with the Spire. The spirit must be given the Choice. The Rules forbid us from doing otherwise.”
What are these Rules that it so constrains even these beings?
“But the Game has been played for eons,” objected Auriel. “Why have there been no free agents before this?”
The question appeared to momentarily confound the other gods. After a thoughtful pause, Weeran ventured a reply. “Myelad is sealed from the cosmos. Only those we summon as our champions may enter. And why would we summon one such as him”—Weeran pointed disdainfully at Kyran—“a creature with no spark of the divine? If we even could, which Iyra’s little experiment leads me to doubt. The present situation has only come about because this spirit has no divine spark and because he was in direct contact with a candidate during the summoning ritual.”
Weeran shook his head in bemusement. “The odds of such occurring once, let alone twice, are astronomical. This is not an event that could have been foreseen, nor is it one likely to occur again.”
“Nonetheless, I mislike this entirely,” said Succera with her lips pressed flat. “It has the flavour of one of Eld’s convoluted plots.”
Who is Eld? wondered Kyran. None of the gods had been addressed as Eld, nor did the comment appear directed at any one of the seated beings. Succera’s words were met by unhappy frowns but none denied her assertion.
“I see no cause for concern,” stated Zarayla, ignoring Succera’s comment altogether. “Regardless of whether the spirit chooses to enter Myelad or not, without our champions’ abilities, he will merely be one more mortal—the same as any other on Myelad.”
“That is incorrect, Divine,” said the Overseer. “The Rules require all free spirits entering the Game to do so as players. The spirit—if he chooses to enter Myelad—will be made a player.”
“Impossible!” exploded Xetil.
“No!” roared Kharmadon.
The other gods added their own exclamations of dismay and outrage, reawakening the tension in the chamber. The Overseer seemed unperturbed by the gods’ simmering rage. Kyran, fearing he would be the subject of the gods’ ire again, crouched down and clasped his arms together tightly. But the gods ignored him and cast their gazes to Balkar.
The lizard-god’s eyes turned blank as he gazed inwardly again. Eventually he gave an unwilling nod. Another grim silence rolled over the room, as with palpable reluctance the gods swallowed their objections, and accepted the Overseer’s words.
Kyran’s fear eased slightly and he rose from his crouch, but he was still worried. The gods were far from pleased. His gaze flicked to the Overseer. He had more power than had been apparent at first. Why is he called ‘Overseer’? Who or what does he oversee? The gods? The Game?
Iyra took the opportunity to address Kyran directly, “Spirit, if you choose to enter Myelad, begin your incarnation in Durham and seek out my—”
Xetil slammed his fist down onto the table. “No! Do not think we will sit idly by and allow you to profit from this, Iyra!” growled Xetil.
“I merely offered—” Iyra started to reply.
“Spare us your deception, Iyra. Your cheap ploy is obvious to all,” Succera sneered. “It is clear that even without the divine spark, this spirit may sway the Balance.”
Iyra glared back at her but offered no response in her defence.
Weeran, studying Kyran thoughtfully, said, “As an unpledged player, he will be in equal measure, opportunity and threat, both boon and curse to whoever holds him.”
“Incarnate him in Crotana. That will solve our problems,” cackled Lok.
“That is a death sentence, Lok,” said Auriel reproachfully.
A death sentence? Kyran was confused. Did that mean he was alive—or going to be? He felt hope flicker.
“Exactly,” responded Lok smugly, “because as intriguing as this spirit may be, Weeran is correct. If he survives, he will, in time, become a threat to all of us. Best to see to his destruction now. Between Crota’s undead and the labyrinth’s denizens, his death will be assured.”
“I agree,” pronounced Kharmadon. Turning to the Overseer, he queried, “This is within the Rules?”
“Yes, Divine, assuming it is the majority will of the Council.”
Kyran’s hope wavered at Lok and Kharmadon’s smug certainty. The gods appeared determined to get rid of him. Wherever and whatever Crotana was, they were confident he would not survive it.
“Good, do any object?” asked Kharmadon. Kyran searched the faces of those seated around the table, hoping to find at least one ally amongst them but all of the gods—even Zarayla and Iyra—turned away, ignoring his pleading looks. The Council’s decision was unanimous.
“Then it is settled. Let us be done with this matter,” declared Kharmadon.
“Divines, there is still the matter of Myelad’s lore that the Rules require be shared with the spirit.”
“Three Queries,” said Lok suddenly. “Outside of the knowledge necessary for his avatar’s shaping and the Choice, provide the spirit with answers to three Queries only. This should satisfy the Rules.”
“Is this the will of the Council?” asked the Overseer, and received silent nods in response.
“Very well, then to the matter of the spirit’s avatar—” continued the Overseer.
“It matters not, Overseer. He will not survive Crotana. We shall leave that to your discretion,” said Succera airily. The others, visibly bored and eager to be done with proceedings, gave their assent.
“So be it,” said the Overseer.
The gods vanished, their forms fading to nothingness as they left Kyran alone with the Overseer once more.