A long, long time ago…

Steele sang as the blade whirled close to his ear. It seemed to make the air ring, even though all the war priest had done was flip the sword in his hand.

“MEN! TO THE RIGHT FLANK! LET’S ROUND THESE CRETINS OUT!”

Devos Wixen shouted, brandishing his weapon in the air. His white coat was a bright spot in the bleak battle surrounding him. The soldiers around him were splattered with mud and blood, but they unleashed voracious roars under the priest’s orders.

They rallied, against exhaustion, against hopelessness… They plundered on…

Save for one soldier.

As the men slogged through the field that was wet from the spring rains, and torn up under their boots, one man found himself slowly dancing around the bodies farther and farther from the stampede…

He was only nineteen, with light brown hair that despite being straight, had a propensity to stick up at odd angles, and, in his opinion, unremarkable brown eyes.

His name was Timothy Verinas, his last name, as many others, paid homage to the god of truth and balance… the patron god of his family.

Zeviras.

Perhaps it had been his god’s bidding in that moment… though Zeviras himself would never admit to it should anyone ask it, but something had just occurred to the young soldier.

At first he had felt the familiar rush at hearing the war priest’s words. The same desire to work with his family, friends, and new allies he had met as they warred against their enemy.

However, something had come over him. As though the order from the war priest had instead broken a spell.

Once Timothy had separated himself, he stared at the scene before him with new eyes.

“So… they kill people, we kill people, then the side that kills the most people wins. Or, the side that gets too tired to kill, loses… This is stupid.”

His spear lowered, and his grip loosened.

It was a dark, cloudy day, and there weren’t any trees or buildings that could be seen unless the men were to climb back over the hill that had just finished descending into the plain. There, in the forest behind them, their camp waited, whereas the enemy had established their own base in the nearby town.

The war had broken out seven years before… and the exact reason for it had already been forgotten. All that was known was that the war priest that served Reckish had joined them a year ago, and they had begun to turn the tide despite their dwindling numbers, and despite their enemies being led by the priest belonging to Goddess Berra.

The sound of passionate cries of pain and fury continued to echo around Timothy.

He winced when he heard the shriek of a horse fall into the ruckus.

When had the last time been that any of them had smiled? When had there been something other than passion and burdensome moods…? When had they last taken a step back, from the intensity to rest their hearts and minds? Or to look at the world they were creating.

Timothy took in a deep breath, then turned around, and started walking back to camp, away from the battle that raged regardless of his presence.

As he walked, a strange calm overtook his being. He dropped his spear at some point, and instead slipped his hands into his pockets.

I wonder if there’s any leftover stew…

*

The unit did not return until nightfall, and the air smelled of rain that promised its future presence.

They men were all in fine spirits, though cold and weary down in their bones. Their faces were lined and shadowed, though their dear leader and war priest, Devos Wixen, looked perfectly fine. Somehow, even his impeccable white coat remained untarnished from the violent deeds of the battle, as though he were wearing it the first day it was made.

When they had all arrived at the camp, the men halted in their tracks at the sight that greeted them.

There, sitting with his bare feet in front of the fire, his shirt off but tied to his head with the sleeves flopped onto his shoulders… sat one of their younger allies.

He sat while gazing at the sky thoughtfully, though there was a pot set over the fire where within its confines something that smelled heavenly simmered. Rabbit stew? Or simple vegetables of carrots, onions, garlic…? Whatever it was had their mouths watering.

“Tim…? What are you… weren’t you at the battle earlier?” Gavin, Tim’s older brother emerged from the crowd, frowning at his sibling.

“Ah! Lovely to see you all! I was in fact, but you know… I couldn’t help but begin to think this all seems rather silly.”

His announcement was met with somber silence.

“Tim,” Gavin whispered with a mixture of anguish and agitation, he was all too aware of the men behind him who had faced horrors, and some even saw the lives of loved ones taken from them. Though Geof and Timothy weren’t too different in that regard…

However, Timothy was not deterred. He stood with a stretch, then hopped over to his brother. Startling Gavin with the funny way he moved.

“Here, you’ll see my point in a second. First, you stand here, and Max? Do you think you could come here with him? Wonderful. Next, Burt, Elvin, you two on this end. Now, I’ll be Devos- don’t mind me, sir,” Tim gave a bow to the war priest who was watching the youth drag around the men in his bare feet, as the shirt shirt flopped around his head.

“Fantastic. Alright. Now… In the name of Reckish, we fight!” Tim began, dropping his voice down dramatically, before prancing over to where Burt and Elvin stood. “In the name of Berra, we fight! Huzzah! Okay, now, Elvin, you run over and pretend to stab Max.”

Elvin stared at Tim angrily.

The young man ignored his irritation and waved him forward.

At a loss at what else to do in the face of utter madness, Elvin finally conceded and gave the most lackluster performance possible.

“Ah! They have been slain!” Tim mimicked the deep baritone voice again. “Now, Gavin, you pretend to kill Burt.”

Gavin looked at Devos, who had his arms folded and his features as hard as stone.

“Tim, you… you need to sto-”

Gavin didn’t get the chance to finish his thought as his brother had seized his wrist, pulled him forward, and forced his limp hand into Burt’s chest.

“Great! Now, Burt, pretend you’re dying.”

The soldier cast a nervous glance in Devos’s direction, but slowly lowered himself to the ground.

“Fantastic. So, now, in the name of Reckish we’ve won! Aha!” Tim lifted Gavin’s arm into the air triumphantly, then dropped it back down. “But wait! You’ve been poisoned by Lesley’s cooking from the night before! You have also died!”

“Oy! The meat was cooked! I told you time and time again!” One of the men toward the back of the crowd hollered out incensed.

“Er… Lesley… It was… It was a fine effort, but-” Another one of the soldier’s near the front called back.

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Devos startled everyone into silence by lowering his forehead to his hand.

“Timothy… what is the point of this… performance?”

“We’re fighting to die. There’s no point to this. The enemy aren’t torturing anyone… we’re just fighting for the sake of fighting at this point because two gods decided to be petty.”

Devos’s crystal blue eyes snapped up. “Petty?”

The unit tensed. “You dare call the gods who protect us, petty?”

Timothy couldn’t help but wince at the echo of power from the priest as he bore down on the young man.

“For gods that are allegedly protecting us, we sure are dying in large numbers. Though maybe you know something we don’t. Why are Berra and Reckish using human men and fighting right now?”

Devos opened his mouth angrily, but then… closed it.

He tried again, a small frown mixed with confusion creasing his normally perfect, stoic expression.

“I… I will pray on this matter, and I will tell you… you all!” Devos turned to face the unit that all were staring at him in sudden wariness. “I will tell you what our dear god Reckish has to say!”

*

The following morning, the men all awoke to a most alarming sight.

Devos Wixen.

War priest of Reckish.

One who was widely regarded as god-like in his own looks with his pale blond hair, and his stunning blue eyes…

He sat before the campfire, wearing a wrinkled gray shirt, black vest, and black pants. Dark bags smudged under his eyes as his hands were clasped and pressed to his lips.

No one had seen him without his white coat. Nor had they ever seen him look so… distraught.

The quiet that filled the camp as more and more men came and beheld the sight became heavier and heavier, until there was a crowded ring around their leader.

Which was when Timothy strolled through the crush, and broke through the ring.

He still wore his shirt on his head, and nothing on his feet despite the ground being soaked from the night rain.

“Good morning, Priest Devos! What did Reckish have to say?”

The priest didn’t move.

When an answer did not come, uneasiness wove throughout the men that kept them rooted in place.

Timothy looked at his grassy, pruney feet, and began hopping around the grassy forest floor, making water droplets splash up as he waited for the response to his question.

The air was still cool enough to make his skin be covered in goosebumps, but he kept jumping around and spinning, splashing multiple people as he went.

No one could bring themselves to move despite the absurdity of the scene.

They all had privately reconciled that Gavin’s younger brother had, tragically, gone mad thanks to the war…

“Reckish… said… that… all was fair between he and Berra. As it always has been, in love and war.”

“Funny how he still didn’t say why they were waging war,” Timothy voiced cheerily.

Devos flinched.

And the men, seeing this, looked to one another while unconsciously backing away.

Timothy stumbled after his last spin on the ball of his foot, but upon catching himself, stared at the priest with his head tilted.

“Or did he answer?”

Devos stood up, making everyone save for Timothy straighten their shoulders.

“Timothy Verinas… I… I have a favor to ask of you.”

The young man flipped one of the sleeves of the shirt around his head that had grown soggy in the night rain over his shoulder, as though it were a tendril of long hair.

“Whatever can I do to be of service, Priest Devos?” He swept out a dramatic arm into a bow.

At his side, Devos’s hands gripped into fists, his eyes filled with beautiful confliction.

“I want you to say and perform for Berra’s priest. I want you to show her, and ask her, the same question you asked me last night.”

“Priest! Please! My younger brother… he… he watched our father die two days ago, he isn’t in his right mind. I know the war has been taxing on us all, but-” Gavin had stepped forward, staring pleadingly and with great despair at his younger brother, whose eyes were the same color as his own, and yet they felt as though they could’ve belonged to a stranger right then.

Devos held up his hand, silencing Gavin and refusing to take his eyes off of Timothy.

“Will you do it?”

The young man’s eyes wandered over the heads of the men who beheld the scene with no small measure of uncertainty, and yet even as he did so, he wore a baffling grin.

“Well… I suppose I have always had a flair for the dramatic, so… Why should I deprive the people of the show?”

Devos nodded, and allowed himself a small upward turning of his mouth.

While he hadn’t told everyone the answer that he had, in fact, received from Reckish, he hoped at the very least to start fixing the mess that the two warring gods had made.

Even if it might help people understand what I’m doing… I don’t think I could bear for everyone to find out that it was exactly as Timothy said.

Countless of lives have been taken, and all because two of the most powerful gods in existence…

Are being petty.

***

Present day…

Lou awoke feeling remarkably refreshed and in surprisingly fine spirits.

He stared at his ceiling in the faint light of the early morning, and allowed his mind to slowly turn over his plans for the day.

For one, he was going to research the teachings of Tivera, then, flatulently cursed or not, he was going to go to the Kelly farm to make sure Oliver was alright- and to thank his mother for all of the food she had sent over. Even if he insulted the family several times over, perhaps they wouldn’t be as inclined to begrudge a man with obvious digestive issues.

Sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a yawn, he then cracked his neck and swung his legs over the side of his bed.

It was time to start another trial day conducted by the infuriating god of performers and jesters…

Tiveras.

Maybe in the old texts I’ll learn why he feels the need to irritate Reckish’s priests…