9 The Council of Gods

I looked up at the seven gods sitting on their seven thrones. This was the Council of Gods, the gods who ruled over the Earth. Nero knelt before them, and I followed his lead.

“Rise,” said the goddess who sat on the center throne.

She had to be Valora, I thought as we rose to our feet. Valora, the Queen Goddess, leader of the gods’ council and ruler of heaven. She looked exactly as I’d always imagined a goddess would look: tall and slender with long, golden curls that fell across her face and cascaded down her back. Her dress was white silk with gold stitching and tiny diamond beads. The skirt was made of airy chiffon that flowed and floated in the breeze.

Her fingernails were perfectly shaped. They were colored just the right shade of pink to look natural, yet more perfect than nature could ever create. It was like she’d been born with a manicure. She wore light golden slippers with beaded pearls. A gold drop necklace with a single diamond accented her dress’s low neckline, and her tiara made her hair sparkle. Gold and white, diamonds and pearls—that was the Queen Goddess.

“Nero Windstriker has completed the trials. The gods will now pass judgment.” Valora looked at Ronan, who sat to her immediate right. “What says the God of Earth’s Army?”

Earth’s Army. That was another name for the Legion of Angels.

Ronan’s throne wasn’t made of crystals or gems. It was made of beautifully-crafted dark metal. It had the mark of a weapon smith, not a jeweler. Such smooth and perfect lines—such balance, such fierce beauty. Soft light reflected off his throne, making it appear almost liquid. Like a molten river of metals flowing in perfect harmony, in constant, fluid motion.

Ronan was not dressed in the battle leather he’d worn the last time we’d met, but instead in a tunic and pants made of midnight silk. His clothes were still cut very much like a suit made for battle. He certainly stood out next to Valora in her soft, flowing lines and delicate chiffons.

“Nero Windstriker demonstrated uncommon skill and reclaimed the City of Ashes in record time and without any casualties,” said Ronan. “There is no question that he should be promoted.”

I turned at the sound of a harsh, dissenting grunt. It had come from a god dressed in a very similar Battlefield-in-the-Ballroom outfit, also made of dark silk. His hair was even darker, nearly black.

Valora turned her head toward him. “Faris, do you have something to say, or did you just swallow a fly?”

I’d never met the gods before, but I did know their names. Everyone on Earth knew their names. Faris was the God of Heaven’s Army; his soldiers were all gods. They fought in battles against demons and other unearthly beings. I’d heard there were many such armies, at least one on every world the gods ruled.

Faris looked at Ronan. “You’ve gone soft, Ronan. Is this you speaking or your half-breed lover?”

Ronan’s face was as hard as granite, void of emotion. He looked at Faris with total and complete indifference. “Colonel Windstriker’s performance warrants a promotion. The Legion needs more and stronger angels. You have only your own failures to blame, Faris. If your army hadn’t lost against the demons at the battle of—”

Valora held up her hands. “We will discuss this later, gentlemen. The topic of this session is Colonel Windstriker’s trials.”

“Let’s discuss that.” Faris’s hard eyes turned on Nero. “Tell us, Colonel Windstriker, what was the purpose of the trials in the City of Ashes?”

“To restore the magic barrier around the city and reclaim it from the plains of monsters,” Nero replied in a crisp and practiced soldier’s voice.

“But the mission turned out to be more problematic, didn’t it?” said a goddess dressed in a beautiful outfit that reminded me of the witches’ attire.

She wore a brown corset crisscrossed with gold ribbons—and tall leather boots under a skirt that was short in the front and feathered out to a train in the back. Her dark hair was twisted up onto her head, styled in an ornate design decorated with gems and feathers. This must have been Meda, the Goddess of Technology.

“Yes, the city’s Magitech generator was corrupted with weak, decaying magic that was slowly spilling across the continent’s greater grid,” Nero told her. “That contamination would eventually bring down the entire system. The barriers would fall, and monsters would flood into every city in North America. There was no way to disconnect the tainted generator from the grid. Our only option was to push so much magic into it that it burned the contaminated magic away. Which is what we did. The monsters were purged from the City of Ashes, and the corrupted magic in the generator was destroyed.”

“And how did you fix the Magitech generator without your magic, Colonel?” asked a goddess who looked exactly like Meda.

If it hadn’t been for their different dresses, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. Meda’s twin wore a long, blue gown accented with strips of gems. A long cape poured off her shoulders like a waterfall. Like Meda, who wore a belt of tools at her waist, this goddess had a belt full of potions and medical instruments. She was obviously Maya, the Goddess of Healing and Meda’s twin sister.

“We channeled the magic from a seal that locked a treasure vault hidden beneath the city,” Nero told her.

Maya nodded. “Very clever.”

“No.”

The word echoed off the columns, magnified by magic. It was spoken by a god dressed in long robes. His robes bore some resemblance to the clothing worn by the Pilgrims, the preachers of the faith, often referred to as the voice of the gods. This god’s robes were not plain and humble, however; they shimmered green and blue, as though gemstones had been crushed into the fabric. His sandals were gold, his hair paler than mine, and his nose proud. Zarion, the God of Faith, Lord of the Pilgrims.

“The trials were designed to test an angel’s commitment to protect the Earth,” he told Nero with a disapproving sneer. “Your willingness to sacrifice that which you love most for the greater good.” His haughty gaze shifted from Nero to the other gods. “Colonel Windstriker cheated.”

“It was an act of brilliance and creativity. Something you wouldn’t appreciate, Zarion.” Meda’s full lips broke into a smirk that was almost human.

Zarion ignored her. “Colonel Windstriker is not an idiot. He knew very well the purpose of these trials and what we were really testing. True, he may have saved the city. He may have followed the letter of the law, but not the spirit.” Zarion pounded his fist against the palm of his other hand. “It was an act of defiance. Of blasphemy.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Zarion. No one is spitting on your holy pages this time.”

Meda snickered.

“I must agree with Zarion,” the seventh god finally spoke.

He wore robes too, but his weren’t shimmery or ostentatious. They were quite plain actually. It was what he wore over the robes that made them extraordinary. Flowering vines crisscrossed his chest, twisting around his shoulders and down his arms. A dozen Monarch butterflies sat on his shoulders, slowly pumping their wings. This was none other than Aleris, the God of Nature. He spoke to flora and fauna alike. He even whispered to the weather.

“Life and death are a part of life, even immortal life,” Aleris said. “Colonel Windstriker found a cheat, a way to avoid the natural order of things. This test was about his willingness to do what it takes to protect the Earth. But he didn’t make a choice. He got everything: his lover and the world.”

“Yes. That’s exactly it.” Zarion nodded. “To borrow a human expression, he wanted to have his cake and eat it too.”

Ok, that was it. I could listen to this nonsense no longer. I stepped forward. “I wouldn’t borrow expressions from the misguided naysayers of humanity. Of course Nero wanted his cake and to eat it too. If I get a cake, what am I going to do with it? Put it in a glass case up on a pedestal and throw it longing looks throughout the day? No, if I get a cake, I’m damned well going to eat it. There is a purpose for cake in the universe, and that’s for it to be eaten. There’s nothing more natural than that.”