In the heavenly realm of the world in which Tamalaria resided, there stood a grand palace. This grand palace was in fact the place where the heavens themselves could be accessed. Each of the Greater Gods resided within the Heavenly Palace itself much of the time, maintaining permanent offices so that they could, at any given time, confer with one another and reach the Lesser Gods when needed.
A few gods there were who had no alliance as either Greater or Lesser Gods. One such trio, the Holy Triad, was considered an even higher authority than the Greater Gods. There was Truth, an ethereal woman of such unearthly beauty that no mortal could lay eyes on her, even if she were to take herself down to the crowded residential districts of Ja-Wen or Desanadron and declare her presence aloud. She was the authority to whom the Greater Gods turned when they had a dispute or question. The next was Power, for all purposes appearing as a sagely old man in a blue commoner’s button tunic with a long white beard and plain pants, his face creased with more wrinkles than a hotel blanket after a newlywed couple’s honeymoon night. His dominion was over all sources of mana and magical energy and might. And lastly of the Triad, there was Fate, he of the plain, angular golden mask with only two blackened eye slots to decorate his face, the keeper of the Histories and reviewer of the mortals’ Keepers.
And he was the best and only true friend of another astral being, one who kept no offices in the Heavenly Palace, but made himself welcome anywhere and everywhere in it, no matter who had objections. He was most often referred to among the gods as the Honored Guest.
Death himself.
At that moment, this fellow was moving a knight into position on the marvelous jade chessboard set on Oun’s work desk, carefully letting his bone fingers slide off of the piece soundlessly.
I BELIEVE, he said, THAT’S CHECKMATE, OUN.
As an astral being, Oun’s appearance often changed in the perceptions of his mortal believers and followers. However, within the confines of the Heavenly Palace, he appeared in his true form; a tall, broad-shouldered man with a handsome, wind-worn face. A suit of full steel plate armor rode over his hypothetical ‘body’, and long, brown and blond hair flowed over his shoulders from his head. A neatly trimmed beard graced his face, and he exuded a presence of rightness, justice, and morality.
And, in this instance, confusion. “Um, well,” he said, propping his hands up under his chin, surveying the board. “I believe you are correct. How did you manage that, and so quickly?”
IT’S NOT HARD WHEN YOU LEAVE YOUR KING STUCK THERE BETWEEN THE QUEEN AND THE BISHOP, Death said. THIS HAS BEEN RATHER AMUSING, BUT I AM AFRAID I’M HERE ON BUSINESS TODAY. THE LESSER GOD ROMINTO HAS NO MORE MORTAL FOLLOWERS, SO I HAVE TO COLLECT HIM. WILL YOU SPEAK FOR HIM?
“Certainly.” Oun packed away his chess board and pieces. “Shame he has no more worshippers. I always thought his tenets had a lot of merit. Yes, he may come to my paradise. Perhaps in time I will introduce him to my lesser pantheon.”
For the Lesser Gods, death was a possibility, and not a kind one to look forward to. Death himself would come to their personal astral realm and reap them, the souls of their long deceased worshippers either claimed by another god or reincarnated in some fashion in the mortal realms.
If the gods themselves were ‘spoken for’ by another god, they would be given the same access to that god’s paradise as a mortal worshipper who perished. If nobody spoke for them, however, they were to be infused by Fate and turned into Keepers.
Waste not, want not.
The Alchemists of Tamalaria, if they knew of these intricacies, would be thrilled. It supported a theory from the late Fourth Age in which it was stated that energy cannot be destroyed, just converted into something else. As for the ‘lesser pantheons’ that Oun had mentioned, there existed within the hierarchy of the heavens sub-hierarchies, at the top of which sat the Greater Gods. Several of the Greater Gods had several Lesser Gods who were usually elements and representatives of a sub-sect of the tenets of the Greater God. One such example was Xerxes, one of Oun’s sons. Xerxes was a Lesser God of justice and balance.
WELL, IT’S GOOD THAT SOMEBODY WILL BE SPEAKING FOR HIM. Death, rose from his offered seat and taking up his scythe. I SHOULD HEAD OVER TO HIS ASTRAL REALM AND DEAL WITH THE DUTY.
The Honored Guest cut a rift in the empty air of the office of Oun and stepped through the purple mist that flowed from the slash. When he was out of sight entirely, the slit sealed closed, and mighty Oun was left to his own thoughts and a stack of paperwork that he wasn’t looking forward to.
“Prayers,” he muttered to himself. “They just keep piling up.”
* * * *
Marakesh, Great God of War, strode down the length of his grand hall toward the majestic double doors that would lead him out into a commons hallway of the Heavenly Palace A huge, brute of a man in manifested form, Marakesh wore full battle gear, complete with crimson armor, throwing pikes, axe, sword, spear and horned helmet. But for the moment, he wasn’t thinking about his manner of dress. His mind was solely focused on the matter at hand, which was to get to the Grand Council chamber so that he might participate in the discussion and vote set to take place within the next few hours.
The issue being put before the Grand Council, which consisted of all of the Greater Gods, the non-pantheon Lesser Gods and the Holy Triad, was one that had been put before them once every five hundred years for the last four millennia, and always it ended in the same way. However, Marakesh, who once had been known as Ares, wanted to ensure that, at worst, the same result would come about.
The issue itself was a simple question, and the subject of the question would not even be present, hopefully, but it went like this—is Maragshet, the Mad God, to be declared a Greater God or a Lesser God?
Like a few of the Lesser Gods, Maragshet had once been nothing more than a mortal man a long, long time ago. However, he quickly became a folk legend, and that legend grew into a myth so potent that an astral being was born from the accumulation of belief, and it was Maragshet, the Mad God. Since nobody ever found out what happened to the physical body of the mortal man, it was further supposed that he had ascended to the heavens to guide over the mentally unsound.
That, of course, only solidified Maragshet as a god in the first place. However, it was never stated by any of the other gods which level of power and prestige he was to be afforded. Not even Fate, who had access to the Histories, could tell them where Maragshet belonged, and Truth could not decipher anything that came out of the Mad God’s mouth as truth, lie, or anything in between. She only ever sensed that he drifted in and out of moments of clarity perhaps once every twenty or thirty mortal years. He was just too erratic to be figured out.
Marakesh stepped out into the hallway and almost collided with a tall, lanky figure in a flowing green cassock, carrying a book under one arm and a gnarled staff in the other hand. The two stopped inches from each other, and each Greater God smiled amiably at the other. “Ah, good Lenos.” Marakesh stretched his arms wide to embrace his kinsman.
“Marakesh,” said Lenos in his quiet, cultured voice. Lenos, the Greater God of wisdom, tales and peace, appeared to have a narrow face that, despite his gauntness, glowed with an inner warmth and health that came from ages of immersion in the concept of togetherness. Along with being the primary authority of wisdom and stories in the mortal realm, he was also credited as having given the mortals of the realms below the first of the healing sciences and magics. Lenos also spoke for the whole of the Greater Gods to the Holy Triad, as his tenets were the only ones that accepted and honored the other Greater Gods. However, he also had a great distrust and dislike of anything that was too technologically advanced. This was only supported by the Fall of Mecha that nearly destroyed the whole of Tamalaria, his favorite collection of realms.
“So, any idea how you’re going to be voting this time around, Marakesh?” Lenos asked.
“As I always do,” the Greater God of War replied. “I say we leave him undeclared. Whoever wants him a Lesser God has my support, of course, but we both know the danger that presents. Our brother Sonamo would be quick to try and talk him into his own pantheon. We can’t have that,” said Marakesh.
Sonamo, Lenos thought. Greater God of chaos and the random, the darkness. In essence, the polar opposite of Oun.
That had led to a lot of bloodshed in the mortal realms. If Sonamo were given a crack at putting the Mad God into his own pantheon, then chaos and madness would truly and unilaterally be joined together, in the heavens as on the earth. None of the gods wanted that, with perhaps the exception, of course, of Sonamo.
Together the two Greater Gods made their way to the Grand Council chamber. An amphitheater arranged in a parliamentary fashion, Marakesh and Lenos entered to find that just about everybody else had already arrived. Death, the Honored Guest, stood down in the lowered central ring, a wooden box in his left hand, his scythe in his right. As in every Grand Council vote, he would only tally up the votes, remaining neutral to all matters. Lenos occasionally wondered why that was, and why Fate always seemed to have time to converse with Death, but not him. He didn’t care for the possible meanings that could be attached to that friendship.
As the general hubbub died down, Death rapped the bottom of his scythe on the stone circle he stood in, the echo reverberating powerfully up through the seated ranks of the present gods and goddesses. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOU HAVE COME HERE TODAY TO DISCUSS AND VOTE UPON AN ISSUE THAT MUST BE TENDED TO, AS IT HAS IN THE PAST, WITH CAUTION AND GREAT DELIBERATION. IT IS THE DUTY AND PRIVELEDGE OF THIS GRAND COUNCIL TO DO SO WITH THIS ISSUE AS IT HAS BEEN WITH EVERY GREAT ISSUE THAT HAS FACED THE HEAVENLY PALACE. NOW, TRUTH OF THE HOLY TRIAD SHALL ANNOUNCE THE ISSUE TO BE DISCUSSED.
Death raised his scythe in the direction of the lovely Truth, who on this day was resplendent in a flowing golden kimono, lotus petals printed in rows that (no coincidence) ran right down the center of her breasts. “Thank you, Honored Guest,” she announced as she stood from her seat between Fate and Power. “Today, we come together to discuss and vote upon the following; Is the Mad God, Maragshet, to be a Greater God, a Lesser God, or is he to remain undeclared until such time as the issue has had time to develop and become clearer? We shall begin the discussion with the Lesser Gods who wish to make any statements that may have bearing on the ultimate vote we shall conduct. Thank you.”
She seated herself then, and a murmuring rippled through the assemblage of Lesser Gods without a pantheon. The reason for the lack of those Lesser Gods in the pantheon of a Greater God being part of the Grand Council was simple. They were under the governance of a Greater God, and so their Greater God spoke for them all. This insured that no Greater God had more say than any other, that their own personal agenda wasn’t pushed forward without resistance.
Finally, a Lesser God whose appearance was that of a Simpa woman, nude from the waist up with arrows sticking out of her torso and a pair of tunic pants shredded about her lower body, stood from her seat. “I am Chandara, Lesser Goddess of the Simpa huntresses. I am concerned that, should Maragshet be granted the status of a Greater God, he will only introduce instability to the Heavenly Palace. Well, more than he already has. That is all I have to say,” she said. She bowed to the chamber as a whole, and resumed her seat.
Some more murmurs rose, and then a Lesser God stood and cleared his throat. He appeared to be a man made out of stone, like a carving from the side of a mountain. “I am Torgata, Lesser God worshipped by the Minotaurs of the North-Central Mountains. It occurs to me that Maragshet has more disciples in the mortal realms than even I, who have entire clans of the Minotaur people to worship me. Even those who do not worship him believe in him, which is more than can be said for many of us Lesser Gods. I do not think he belongs among us. I believe, since he is so broadly known to the mortals, that he should be a Greater God. Thank you.”
And so in this fashion the discussion carried on for nearly an hour, until everybody who had two cents to add in had done so. Curiously, however, Sonamo, the Greater God of chaos, had nothing to say on the matter. Little more today in appearance than a great, man-shaped shadow, he remained so silent throughout the entire process that Oun had to be just a little suspicious of his intentions.
The votes were written on strips of paper, which were passed around until finally Death collected them in his wooden box from the last person from each aisle in the circular chamber. He needed no time to actually review the votes, as the box’s lid flashed once with a brilliant blue light, the faint scent of freshly cut grass carried along the wave of light. In curved script, the results of the vote were displayed on the top of the box. Death returned to the indented circle at the center of the chamber, and clacked the blunt end of his scythe on the marble floor three times to call order.
GODS, GODESSES, THE VOTE HAS BEEN CAST AND THE RESULT IS THUS; AT THIS TIME, THE MAD GOD MARAGSHET SHALL NOT BE DECLARED EITHER LESSER GOD OR GREATER GOD. THE VAST MAJORITY HAS ONCE AGAIN VOTED TO LEAVE THIS ISSUE REST FOR ANOTHER TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS, AT THE LEAST. IF, IN THE INTERIM, IT IS DECIDED BY THE MAJORITY OF THIS COUNCIL THAT THE ISSUE SHOULD BE VOTED UPON AGAIN, IT SHALL BE DONE SO. THANK YOU. Death removed himself then from the central flooring, and the various gods and goddesses began dispersing from the chamber.
After a few minutes, four astral beings remained in the Grand Council Hall. Seated in his heavy red armor, there was Marakesh, Greater God of War. A few seats down from him, arms crossed over his chest, sensing the lack of progress made this day and stewing about it, there sat Oun. At the end of their row stood Death, faint white lights in his eye sockets aimed up the steps toward the double doors leading out of the hall. And up several of the steps, the only remaining member of the Holy Triad, the golden-masked Fate.
SHALL I ASSUME BOTH OF YOU GENTLEMEN VOTED TO HAVE HIM MADE A LESSER GOD, Death asked of Marakesh and Oun.
“Aye, t’would be true to say of me,” replied Oun in a sulking voice. He rolled his head on his shoulder toward the Great God of War. “Ares, old brother,” he asked of the heavily armored god.
“Aye, me as well. I cannot abide the idea that that maniac might someday sit beside us here as equals,” said the Great God of War, grabbing his thick black beard and pulling on it. “I hold no dislike of him, but he is just too unpredictable. He did not even show up to this meeting, and he has been told many times that he is welcome to vote on those issues brought before the Council.”
“Fate,” said Marakesh. “What of the Great Father? Has He made any voice on this issue?”
The masked astral being rose slowly from his seat, his white robes and cape fluttering against the marble floor with a soft swoosh. He turned his head slightly toward Death, who merely cocked his head slightly to one side, also interested in knowing the answer to this question. “He has not,” said Fate. “At least, not to me. And no, nothing has as yet been revealed by the Histories regarding the matter, though there are things about the Mad God which have recently come to light.”
“Such as what.” Oun finally came out of his pensive contemplation.
“You both know that I may not discuss the Histories with you,” said Fate, his usually soft voice hardening slightly, loud enough to carry throughout the entire chamber. “But I will tell you both this—I hope you have thought long and hard on another constant issue which must be reviewed soon, and that is the sentence of the exiled member of your ranks,” said Fate.
“Ah, yes, the exile,” said Marakesh. “How much time is left for him to remain among the mortals?”
“Let me see.” Oun, reached down and pulling a small bag onto the bench before him. He drew from it a heavy leather tome, and opened it to a point only perhaps halfway through the pages. He ran a finger down the page, his eyes scanning his own handwritten notes quickly. “Here we are.” He fixed his finger on an entry which changed every day on its own. “According to this, the exiled Great God of Adventure has eight-hundred and sixty-seven years remaining among the mortals. He has already completed two-thousand, six-hundred and seventy-four years in the mortal realm.”
“Great Father above.” Color flushed Marakesh’s cheeks. He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it hard onto the bench, the vibration knocking Oun’s tome from the table. “It has already been too long, I say! We should bring him back now, before we lose him entirely to the mortals! You know as well as I how attached he has become to some of them. He must watch them all age and die, while he carries on, eternal in life. It is cruelty to leave him as he is, Fate!”
AS I RECALL, YOU VOTED THAT HE ONLY BE REPRIMANDED FOR HIS ACTIONS BACK THEN, said Death to Marakesh, finally turning toward the Great God of War. BUT EVEN I DID NOT THINK THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH, CONSIDERING WHAT HE DID. THE GREAT GOD OF ADVENTURE HIMSELF AGREED TO BE EXILED, THOUGH HE DID PROTEST AT THE LENGTH OF HIS SENTENCE.
“That could not be helped,” said Oun quietly. “He has done much to cut time off of his exile, carried out our will when we needed to call upon him.”
“And we shall have to call upon him again, soon,” said Fate, which of course garnered the attention of all three other astral beings. “Twice, actually, and there shall be little time passing between the callings. That is all that I can reveal for now, fellows. Honored Guest,” he said to Death, “if you would join me for a game of chess before returning to your duties?”
OF COURSE. Death followed Fate out of the Grand Council Hall.
When they were gone, Marakesh and Oun rose from their seats, and looked hard at one another.
“I still don’t think he should have been exiled,” Marakesh grumbled.
“There was no other choice, brother.” Oun held his bag in one hand. “He had to be punished.”
“But they attacked him,” Marakesh fumed, throwing his arms wide in exasperation. “He only fought them off, and ensured they would not rise again to strike at him! I hardly see what was so wrong about that!”
“He didn’t have to kill them, and you know it,” Oun retorted. “And do you recall what happened when he destroyed them? Their mortal worshippers all perished, instantly. None of us knew it would happen that way, but it did, and he had to be punished for it, brother. It does not matter that they were Lesser Gods that he killed.”
“One of them was a member of your pantheon, am I right,” asked Marakesh.
“Yes,” said Oun. “My second son, Ramilder. I tried to warn him, but he would not heed my words. Why?”
“Is that why you agreed to such a lengthy exile?”
Oun said nothing, knowing that he could not lie about the personal enmity he had initially harbored for the Great God of Adventure.
“It is, I can see that. Well, I can’t wait for him to get back, then,” Marakesh said. “I imagine you two will have a great deal to discuss upon his return.”
Marakesh strode confidently out of the chamber then, leaving Oun alone to contemplate the coming years. Fate had implied that the gods would have to call upon the service of the exile twice more in rapid succession in the next few years. Would they agree to shave time off of the exile’s sentence in return for his service?
Possibly, he thought. We’ve done it before. But how, he worried, did such things relate to the Mad God? After all, had they not been discussing that issue first? With Fate, Oun knew, there was no such thing as coincidence. So why would the masked member of the Holy Triad, the only one with access to the Histories, mention the two disparate gods in the same conversation?
With a chill of dread racing up his astral spine, Oun left the chamber hoping that Fate did not mean to imply anything.
* * * *
SO NONE OF THEM KNOWS YET WHERE THEY CAME FROM, IN THE BEGINNING, asked Death.
“No, they don’t, although Truth, Power and I are aware. We have all, after all, spoken with Great Father. I believe that Odin has his suspicions, though.”
HE WOULD HAVE TO BE A COMPLETE IMBECILE NOT TO. HE IS A GREAT GOD WITH NO DOMAIN, FATE. NONE OF THE OTHERS CAN SAY THAT, YET HE REMAINS AMONG THEIR RANKS. BUT WHAT BROUGHT YOUR BELIEF ABOUT, IF I MIGHT ASK?
Death sat at a simple oak table in Fate’s personal chambers, though he knew it was not real oak. Nothing in the Heavenly Palace was too real, per se, because everything was constructed of the astral energy of the gods. But in order to maintain some semblance of order and permanence, the gods and goddesses kept some semi-permanent fixtures.
Fate’s rather Spartan quarters had remained as they were since the middle of the First Age of Tamalaria. For five-thousand plus years, nothing had changed. Even Death was beginning to think about helping his friend do a little sprucing up.
“Well,” Fate said, responding to Death’s question after moving a knight to a new position, taking one of Death’s bishops. “In general, it is the great distaste and dislike he seems to hold for Surt, Great God of Flames. Surt himself does not seem to remember anything, though.”
YES, WELL, I DO TRY TO KEEP THAT IN CHECK. SPEAKING OF, CHECK.
“Ah, I see.” Fate moved a rook into position to protect his king from Death’s approaching pawn. “Will he ever remember the role he played?”
IT IS CERTAINLY WITHIN THE RANGE OF POSSIBILITY, BUT NOT FOR SOME LONG TIME YET, FRIEND. AND WHAT OF RATATOSK? DOES POWER KEEP HIM CAGED STILL?
“No, he just keeps the infernal little chatterbox bribed with fruits and nuts. You know, he’s had to invent at least a dozen different new ones in the last millennium alone.”
REALLY? THAT’S GOT TO BE ANNOYING. CHECKMATE, said Death, maneuvering his queen into a predestined position.
“So is losing four out of five games of chess.” Fate gave a heavy sigh. “Aside from you, the only other person who gives me any challenge is Lenos, surprisingly. Marakesh won’t play, of course, so I’ve never tested myself against him, but this is the worst.”
DON’T BEAT YOURSELF UP OVER IT. Death patted Fate on the shoulder. UM, FATE? I KNOW I PROBABLY SHOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING, BUT I THINK IT’S SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW. GREAT FATHER SHOULD KNOW, TOO, BECAUSE I DON’T THINK HE DOES.
“There is much Great Father doesn’t know,” Fate said. “You’ll recall that he gave up his omnipotence. Hence the Histories.” He removed himself from the table and sauntered gently over toward the lectern in the middle of the chamber that held the most recent tome of Histories, putting one gloved hand on the rough cover. “What have you discovered, Honored Guest, that it is so important that I should bring it to Great Father?”
IT’S FENRIS.
Fate, his eyes flashing wide in the narrow slits in his mask, darted a look at Death that showed clear panic at the mention of the name.
I HAVE LOCATED HIM. HE IS NOT IN THIS REALITY, FATE, BUT IN THOSE REALMS HE IS ABLE TO TRAVERSE, HE IS CAUSING A GREAT DEAL OF DAMAGE, SOWING CHAOS WHEREVER HE TREADS. WE MAY NEED GUIRDEJEF’S POWERS IN ORDER TO SEND SOMETHING TO HELP PUT A STOP TO HIM.
“We cannot do that, Grim.” Fate looked away from the Honored Guest. “We had him sealed away for good reasons.”
JUST LIKE YOU HAD THE OTHER EXILED FOR GOOD REASONS?
“Their circumstances were much different. Guirdejef’s powers were making our reality unstable. How many gods vanished into other realities, gone from us forever? How much havoc did his descent into madness cause?”
A GREAT LOT OF IT. I RECALL THAT OUN TRIED TO WARN EVERYBODY ABOUT LETTING HIM SPEND TOO MUCH TIME WITH MARAGSHET WHISPERING IN HIS EAR. BUT HEAR ME OUT ON THIS. IF THE SEAL WERE TO BE UNDONE TEMPORARILY, THE GREAT GOD OF PORTALS COULD CREATE A FEW RIFTS, JUST ENOUGH THAT YOU OR I COULD SEND SOMETHING USEFUL TO THOSE OTHER WORLDS WHERE FENRIS IS CAUSING SO MUCH TROUBLE. IT MAY NOT BE ENOUGH TO STOP HIM, BUT IT CAN HELP SOMEBODY ELSE DO SO. ALL WE NEED TO DO IS FIND A THIRD PARTY WILLING TO CREATE THE PROPER CIRCUMSTANCES.
Fate seemed to think this proposal over a while, pacing back and forth in his small chamber. “There is a way, but we should not deal with the situation ourselves,” he said. “We have meddled once already, and look at what happened.”
PORTENDA’S A FINE LAD.
“That’s not the point. The point is, we never really know what’s going to happen when you and I get involved, and that especially goes for you. We will leave this in the hands of somebody who’s specialty is causing havoc,” said Fate, going to his writing desk to form a letter.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
“I am writing Sonamo, Great God of Chaos and darkness, an invitation to take drink with me in the mortal realm,” said Fate. “When he is inebriated, I shall put a rough parchment with our plan in his pocket, in his own handwriting.”
CAN YOU DO THAT?
“Please, it’s a simple thing. Besides, I can sense from the Histories that this is what must be done. He will convince a third party, a Lesser God, to do the dirty work of freeing Guirdejef, probably by invoking a miracle. However, we’re going to have to use a mortal agent to seal up the portals right after they become a problem.”
Death chuckled to himself, a low, disquieting sound.
“What’s so funny?”
WELL, IT’S JUST THAT YOU SAID EARLIER THAT WE WOULD NEED TO CALL UPON THE EXILE TWICE, AND IN RAPID SUCCESSION, said Death. IT WOULD SEEM THAT YOU ALREADY SUSPECTED SOMETHING LIKE THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.
“I don’t suspect anything on my own.” Fate stopped his hand’s movement across the parchment. “I have those damned Histories to tell me what I need to suspect. You know, Sonamo won’t move on the plan right away,” said Fate. “He’ll stew about it a while first.”
THAT’S ALL RIGHT. WE WOULDN’T WANT HIM TO JUMP THE GUN ANYHOW. FATE, MY FRIEND, I MUST BE GOING. I HAVE A DUTY TO PERFORM, AND IT DOESN’T EVER GET ANY EASIER. Death used his scythe to rip open a rift in the clear air, and stepped through it, out of Fate’s chamber.
As Fate finished the letter, he realized something he had not stopped to think of in quite some time. Death wanted to use the portals of Guirdejef to move something, probably a spirit creature, to another reality to assist in fighting against Fenris.
Why didn’t Death himself need such portals to move from reality to reality? It was a question that Fate would think over between the meeting and the next Grand Council. After all, it was one question he felt certain the Histories had no answer to.
I loved your vivid portrayal of the heavenly palace and the divine politics.
The story also kept me interested to the end, with help from the world building.