Sakaj’s mistake had been telling these sated and recumbent gods, “Krak commands our presence in the Dark Lands.” It was a lie of course, but it should have been easy to believe. Yet they had refused to go, and each of their subsequent refusals forced Sakaj to restate Krak’s supposed command with more emphasis and less relation to the truth. Her final effort included limitless wine and love slaves for everyone who obeyed Krak. Also, those who disobeyed could expect to be chained to a stone and eviscerated every day for a thousand years, with their entrails arranged to spell out profane verses belittling their sexual prowess.
That had finally gotten them moving. Sakaj hoped they were too drunk to remember any of this. “Harik! If you don’t come with us, I’ll tell Krak that you called him too impotent and stupid to be obeyed. And I’ll tell him you’re putting your nasty hands all over his things.”
Harik hissed an oath so monumental that Sakaj blushed, but he slipped the noose over his head and shrugged out of the voluminous coat. “Perhaps you should hold in mind that I am capable of prevaricating to your detriment, should you choose to—”
Lutigan kicked Harik in the shin. As the God of Death yelped and leaned forward, Sakaj shoved him off his chair. After a short interval of kicking, spitting, and drooling, Harik, in his inert form, suspended from the beam.
“I’d trade him for a crooked spear and then burn the spear.” Lutigan grunted. Then he jumped off his chair, followed by Sakaj half a breath later.
Sakaj had gained more experience with the Dark Lands than any other god, and perhaps more than any other being in existence. She possessed a crude ability to arrive there a modest distance away from the common entry point. As she swung and kicked toward elevation, she shifted her desired entry as far from that common point as possible, which should also be as far from an enraged and murderous Krak as possible. At the last moment, she convulsed with panic, realizing that she might have unthinkingly placed herself in that damned, not-so-mystical pond again. Then she elevated.
When Sakaj awoke in the Dark Lands, she drew air into her lungs rather than water. That was a relief, and she used that air to express her relief with half a sigh. The second half was cut off and trapped inside her by a ponderous force descending on her throat. She looked up, writhed, and grabbed at the all-powerful, sandal-shod foot of her father as it pressed her neck into the dark grass. None of that helped her, so she offered a gesture of inoffensive submission and just accepted whatever Krak wanted to do to her.
Krak bent, wound his great, rootlike fingers into Sakaj’s hair, and dragged her upright while she gagged. “You’ve completed my happiness, daughter. You live, and now you can sit at my knee as we watch all our hopes fail because of you and that nitwit Fingit. We could also toast to our grisly extinction if only we had a single damned thing to drink in this place.” Krak lifted her to his full height with the deliberation of a glacier and then shook her. She felt hairs popping free of her scalp. “Thank you, my daughter. Thank you for being such a selfish, petty, arrogant little scut of a god. You’ve done a phenomenal job of destroying us. We can now celebrate the dregs of our glory.”
Sakaj tried to glance around, but she couldn’t see past Krak’s monumental shoulders and head. With a shadowy grin, she said, “If I’d known we were celebrating, I would have worn a nicer dress.” Maybe those would be her last words, but they sounded better than, “Please, please don’t kill me.”
Krak dropped her, and she clambered upright, hand pressed to the half-bald patch on her scalp. She saw Fingit standing just behind Krak’s shoulder, like a good little sycophant. Harik and Lutigan stood farther back. Lutigan’s shoulders were sagging, and Harik’s eyes appeared terrified and were full of tears.
Krak looked at the sky, and Sakaj joined in as everyone else looked too. She scanned the scene. Let’s see, this is some sort of run-down wooden building lit by a torch or two. It’s nighttime. The Nub’s tied and gagged on that bench, and that man looks to be guarding him. There’s the Farmer talking with his hooligan and ignoring the Nub. Well… damn it to my mother’s heart.
Then Sakaj jerked upright. “Maybe there’s time! I can call the Freak!” Without waiting for anyone to agree, disagree, or throw a shoe at her, Sakaj sent the image swirling and shot it across the landscape to find the Freak. Everybody stared at her as she spoke up through the window onto mankind. “Daughter. My daughter, heed me. Your mother calls—come to her. Now. Don’t make me wait. Young lady, you come here right now!” The Freak continued creeping through a narrow, wet cave, and she didn’t acknowledge Sakaj’s call in any way.
Fingit punched her on the arm. “Give up. I expect she’s shutting you out without even knowing it. If only you were strong like in the old days, huh? Then she couldn’t ignore you.” He shrugged and gave her a dry smile.
Sakaj glowered over at Harik and scrambled for something to say that would dissuade him from bargaining with the Farmer and stealing Sakaj’s glory. Harik shrugged at her. “I already have a significant active bargain in progress with the Farmer. I attempted to strike others with him, but he has refused.”
Krak grabbed Sakaj’s arm. “Don’t drift away. I want you right beside
