CHAPTER FOUR

It took no less than five hundred angels to close Desaphanus's right eye. That last task done, the creator of the universe looked quite peaceful. If one didn't know better, one might think him merely sleeping. But Tod knew better.

"This must be very hard for you," Pira remarked.

"Actually, we were never very close."

"But you were the first-"

"And we never did get along. He was always so damned full of himself. Even from the beginning."

"Just the same, he was your brother."

"And he never did know how to relax. Especially after inventing everything."

"But..."

Tod frowned. "He was always ordering me around like I was one of his pet creations. I think it drove him crazy to have someone he couldn't control." He leaned closer to Pira. "And just between you and me, I've never been all that impressed with his little universe. Oh sure, there are some good parts. Like fish and cats. Those are good. And the female form. That's pretty good too. But what was he thinking with the rest of it?"

Pira twitched.

"Like microorganisms? What is the point of making something that small? And intestines? I know that space had to be filled with something, but come on. That was the best he could come up with?"

Pira's sword hand trembled.

"And mud? What is that all about?"

The Righteous Anger of Desaphanus could fight her nature no longer. She cracked Tod on the chin with a powerful left hook. His sturdy orcish jaw nearly broke in two. Tod tumbled to the floor, and Pira's foot on his chest kept him there. "Infidel! None may mock the glorious design of the Creator!" Her Silver Sword pressed against his neck.

Tod felt an alien tingle in his stomach. While he had never experienced fear before, he knew it for what it was. Pira's sword really shouldn't have posed any threat to him, but with Desaphanus dead, Tod wasn't feeling up to testing his immortality.

"You didn't let me finish."

Her cold black eyes softened to merely wrathful.

Tod cleared his throat. Her foot crushed the air out of his lungs, but he managed a whisper. "What I was about to say, before you interrupted, is that while I don't agree with all of Desaphanus's choices, I know in my heart that they're all for the best. No one could have done a better job." He smiled weakly. "Really, I mean it."

Tod exhaled sharply as she pulled the blade away.

"I'm sorry, but..."

"That's alright. I understand. It's your job to smite unbelievers."

The delicate angel helped Tod up, lifting the heavy orc body with one slender hand. "This hasn't been a very good day for me. You might want to watch what you say for a while."

He rubbed the nick in his throat. "I'll keep that in mind." His heart thumped hard in his chest. He didn't enjoy the sensation. Physical being was convenient, but formlessness had its advantages. For one thing, the risk of wetting one's self under pressure were practically nil without a bladder.

He caught Pira absently staring at Desaphanus's corpse.

"How are you holding up?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is everything okay?"

She sneered. "Everything's fine. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he lied.

Tod suspected the angel wasn't taking the death of her creator as well as she was pretending.

Desaphanus was her maker, her leader, and her very reason for being. Her grief had to be overwhelming, but any pangs of loss she might have felt were very well hidden. Maybe she was numb to a tragedy her mind couldn't accept. Or perhaps the heart of the Righteous Anger of Desaphanus was simply incapable of mourning. Yet behind her icy stare and hard scowl, Tod perceived a wisp of agony that would only grow stronger in time.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked.

Pira's eyes narrowed to burning slits.

"Okay," he sighed. "Sorry, I asked."

If she didn't want to face her grief, he couldn't force her. Nor did he care if she ever did. He had much bigger problems than one denial stricken angel.

"I have to know what killed him. Any ideas?"

Pira raised an eyebrow. "You don't know? Aren't you all-seeing?"

"I am, but it's been a while. I'm out of shape, metaphysically speaking."

She shot him a curious glance.

"I'm working on it. Give me some time, and I'll be bending the fabric of reality like a pretzel."

Her look remained doubtful.

And she was right, Tod had to admit. He had never felt so completely helpless before. He was stuck in a body, bound by time and space and countless other inconveniences that burdened lesser beings. But this was exactly what he was. An elder god in a mortal shape and wearing it a bit too well.

He gestured and a plate of tuna fish materialized at his feet. It was nice to know not all his cosmic muscle had atrophied over the ages.

Pira did not appreciate the small miracle nearly as much as the Cat would have. She folded her arms across her chest and frowned.

"I'm working on it."

"Terrific. Maybe you'll feel up to a catfish in a few hours."

Sarcasm coming from the lips of Righteous Anger seemed especially scathing. She'd used the same tone Desaphanus had used on occasion. It was still irritating after all this time.

Pira put a finger to her severe lips and thought for a moment. "The Keeper. If anyone would know what happened to Desaphanus, he would."

"Ah yes, the Keeper," Tod agreed.

"You have no idea who the Keeper is, do you?"

"Not a clue."

"Don't you know anything about the workings of the universe?"

"Not much. Desaphanus tried to tell me all about it once, but I found it rather boring."

Pira grabbed him and took flight. "The Keeper lives within the Catacombs of the Palace of Heavens, writing the Sacred Parchment of Time, recording Desaphanus's glory. If anyone would know why the Creator is dead, he would."

They soared from the great hall.

"I didn't know this place had catacombs."

A tremendous urge to drop him to the floor surged within Pira. But Tod was an elder god, and with Desaphanus dead, the universe might very soon need him. She just hoped Wa'suria wouldn't need anything beyond a platter of salmon anytime soon.

In the Palace of Heavens lay darkened corners where even the light from the first star could not reach.

Long forgotten niches in which resided those things which the creator of the universe no longer took any interest. There was the Labyrinth, where the Lost Races dwelt, and the Womb of Dark, from which the elder gods sprang forth, and the Forgotten Place, which served a purpose only Desaphanus could know.

And deep under the Palace of Heavens, hidden away from prying eyes, enshrouded in the twilight of a thousand flickering candles, there were the Catacombs. And within the Catacombs, the Keeper toiled at his never ending work. He was well aware he had been long forgotten by his creator. He had been made to know such things, and yet, he kept writing. It was his nature.

For the Keeper knew that it was only a matter of time until Desaphanus's gaze fell upon him, and he also knew that his maker had no tolerance for idle servants. The Keeper was far behind in his task. Recording the entire history of the universe was tedious work. Even the good parts, including the first murder and Great Rebellion, held no real interest for him. The Keeper did not consider himself a very good writer.

He could record it all, but everything came across dull and lifeless. It had not always been so.

In the beginning, he had taken great care in his work. He was constantly writing and revising. The creation of the universe had taken no less than twelve thousand drafts to get just right, and in the end, he could not read it without shedding a tear. But as time passed, it dawned upon the Keeper that Desaphanus did not care about his work. That, in fact, no one in the entirety of Creation did. His standards began to sink. By then, he was woefully behind, and it seemed the harder he tried, the further he fell. But he kept at it. There was nothing else to do in the Catacombs.

The Keeper stopped his endless scratchings and put down his quill. He rubbed his sore wrist and peered at the scrawlings across the page. His handwriting had degenerated into something only he could read and then, only sometimes. The dim candlelight did nothing to help.

He cleared his throat and squinted. How best to summarize the Sixth Age of Wa'suria? Four thousand years of barbarism, rampant disease, moral decline, and general unpleasantness demanded extra attention. He picked up his quill and wrote out a sentence.

"And lo, the Sixth Age fell upon the world, and Wa'suria was consumed by all manner of malady."

He chewed his lip thoughtfully. This wasn't all that bad, but it lacked something. He hunched over and tacked on another sentence.

"It was not a fun time to be alive."

The Keeper grinned to himself. The work was not great, but it was good enough. Good enough was all he strove for anymore.

Something thumped on the stairs.

Rather, he imagined something thumping on the stairs. The Catacombs creaked and groaned as all good catacombs should, and in his more hopeful moments, the Keeper would fantasize about visitors from above. But these were just fantasies, he knew. No one ever came to see him. He might have been lonely, but being alone was all he had ever known. Had someone ever actually come down the stairs, the Keeper wouldn't have known what to say. So it was all really for the best. Desaphanus's great plan at work.

The imaginary something thumped again.

"Damn, it's dark in here!" someone cursed.

The Keeper did not look up. It was best to ignore such imaginings.

A new female voice spoke up. "I thought you could see in absolute darkness."

"There's dark, and then there's dark. Couldn't we have brought some candles?"

"You're a god. Make some light."

"Get off my back already. Why did my brother have to make these stairs so damn steep?"

"You dare doubt Desaphanus's great..."

"Forget I asked."

Creaks and groans were one thing. Entire imagined conversations were quite another. The Keeper knew all that had ever occurred within the cosmos, but he was surprised at his sudden madness. He turned towards the stairs and glimpsed two shapes descending.

One was short, wide, and decidedly orcish. The hairy eyebrows and tusks jutting from the jaws were a dead giveaway. The other was a tall, crimson-haired creature of slender female form. An angel of some sort, the Keeper guessed. He felt it best to ignore these figments of his idle mind and started to write faster.

The orc spoke up. "Pardon me. Are you the Keeper?"

These figments were stubborn.

"Sorry to trouble you, sir, but could we have a word?"

The Keeper did not stop writing. "Please go away. I've no time for madness. I'm very busy."

Pira peered over the Keeper's shoulder. Lofty stacks of paper, the complete Sacred Parchments of Time, filled the enormous alcove just beyond. "Please, just a moment of your time."

The Keeper laid aside his quill and frowned at his figments. "If you insist, but you must promise to go away afterwards."

"We promise."

The Keeper turned on his stool and stretched. He cast annoyed glances at each of his mind's wanderings.

"We need to know how Desaphanus died."

The Keeper scratched his balding scalp. Then he chewed his overgrown nails. "Desaphanus is dead?

When did this happen?"

"A few hours ago," Tod replied.

"Oh well, then I can't help you. I'm not anywhere near now. I just finished up the Sixth Age."

"But that was over fifty thousand years ago," Pira said.

"Fifty thousand and seventeen years ago," the Keeper clarified. "I'm a little behind. But I'm catching up.

Or I was until you two started pestering me. Now I'm another thousand years behind. So if you'll let me get back..."

"When will you be to now?"

"It shouldn't be long. Perhaps another twenty thousand years or so. Maybe nineteen if I skip my mid-millenia break."

"Great. Just great."

Pira raised her sword.

Tod raised his hands. "I'm not criticizing. Just disappointed, that's all. So what now?"

She shrugged.

The pair began the long trek up the stairs, disappearing into the dark.

The Keeper turned back to his work and began his stirring account of the Second Goblin War.

"And lo, the wretched fiends bred beneath the ground and burst upon the land."

He paused, then added. "And there was a terrible mess to clean up afterwards."

The Keeper murmured. "Good enough.