A/N: Hullo fellow readers. This story is definitely one of my favorites just for the sheer fact that it is original. I urge more writers to find an inspiration in something that isn't cliché. It's your writing – have at it.
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[Set after Lady Knight]
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"Order! Stop your childish babbling!" Boomed a great and mighty voice. The assembled gods winced. A voice like thunder, the Sun Gods voice roared fiercely. "Do I need to remind you that we are gods?" Mithros demanded. "We are not mortals ands so we shall not act like them!"
The once loud crowd fell respectfully silent. " Now--." Mithros sat back down on his crimson thrown. "One at a time siblings. We must not argue such. The Green Lady shall be present at the birth of her grandchild. She shall care to our kin – as Daine is not to be considered an inferior. She will indeed, Rathenal, be present at your lady's birth, but not at the cost of her daughters. I don't want to hear it mentioned again." Mithros raised an eyebrow and stared into Rathenal's eyes.
Rathenal, God of the Tides, sank deep into his chair and lowered his eyes. The Green Lady smiled at Rathenal – noticing, he looked away. "Thank you, milord Mithros." Sara nodded in respect before taking her seat.
"Are their anymore issues we must address?" Asked The Sun God. Everyone shifted – preparing for dismissal.
"One matter I have, my liege." The voice came from a young goddess, sitting directly across from Mithros. Mithros eyed her suspiciously and she blinked innocently. Mithros nodded. "My business is with the Black God." Rhiannon Rene stated. A murmur of whispers went through the room -- Mithros growled.
"Very well -- Rene. You may address him." The Black god stood and smiled at the youngest goddess of the assembly. Rhiannon Rene returned it.
"Milord God, I wish to discuss something with a member of your world." Spoke Rene. She waited for an answer.
'Name this soul you speak of Rene, my dear.' Mind spoke the Black God. Nobody had ever heard him talk out loud and most doubted that he could.
"The former Duke of Conte, milord God -- Roger of Conte." Rhiannon Rene said firmly. Eyes shifted uncomfortably around the room. The only gods who didn't seem surprised were Mithros, the Goddess, and the Black God himself. Rhiannon Rene found unique ways to deal with problems.
It only took the Black God a moment to answer. 'As you summon Goddess Rhiannon Rene.' Mithros nodded in agreement.
Turning to face the audience, the Black God addressed the entire assembly. Family, I would rather not have discussion on this. Obviously most of you are shocked at why Mithros and I have decided to allow Rhiannon Rene, Goddess of Peace, to summon upon the soul in question. We have our reasons. I do not feel like discussing these reasons so I shall not. Milord Sun god, may we now go back to our tame and humble lives?
Mithros grinned and rays of sunshine hit the audience, blinding them. "Very well brother. Meeting dismissed. Rhiannon Rene, if you will stay behind, I would like to discuss one small matter with you."
Rhiannon Rene nodded. The beautiful young woman was new to the goddess life. Of course, her mother, Arraya, had given her the job only two years ago when she retired from the job. Arraya had been in service for a little over two thousand years when she decided to pass on her title to her youngest daughter. At twenty-one years of age, Rene was becoming famous for her outstanding beauty. Her looks were dazzling and her attitude was extremely attractive. Her bright, vibrant, curly maroon hair matched the Lioness's perfectly. Her pale blue eyes reminded everyone of light snowfall near the brim of dusk. Her even and ivory complexion was perfect – flawless. Those Ruby red lips of hers were evenly matched with the Great Mother Goddess's. This was not a surprise, for The Great Mother Goddess was her Aunt and she happened to take after her in almost every way.
"Milord?" Rhiannon Rene asked respectfully. The solid gold doors were firmly shut. " May I ask why you call?"
"Your task with the soul in question will be nearly impossible, but I have faith in you. Keep faith in yourself, child." His glowing hand reached out and picked up her chin. He smiled. " You may call on him when you wish. You are ready. I see that now. Go – you can do this."
Rhiannon Rene smiled, kissed his hand, and walked to her own quarters. 'Lets hope I can.'
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Roger, former Duke of Conte sat against the clammy walls of his Zared. His eyes glowed, with what appeared to be awe, as he looked upon a small piece of parchment. Rolled delicately, the paper looked nothing other than beautiful. All he had known for the past decades was that The Cages of Zared were torture.
The Cages of Zared were where the fate of the broken ended. The Great Black Gates that separated The Zareds from the Hgenda never opened. The only time they were peeled from their positioned spots was when a new resident entered the Realm of Darkness. It was positioned in the depths of the Black Gods territory – the end of the world.
Even now, he remembered his journey through the gigantic cold Gates. How Count Mallory, the commander of Zareds, gave him a bitter, reckless grin. "Welcome Roger. I have been excited for your spirits arrival. Of course, you were expected earlier, but --." His lips curved. "—You were delayed. Word for the wise - gods keep secrets too, Roger – and you're in one. Pain does not end after death – neither does fear. Welcome home." The thought of his voice made Roger shake.
His Zared – the cage --was naturally cold. It was full of nothing but darkness. It was darkness. The silence of the cage scared him more than Count Mallory's smiles and more than Count Mallory himself. Mallory had more then one useful talent.
Not only did Mallory run The Cages of Zared, he made them. Not physically, but mentally. Thrice a week, every patient relived his past experiences. Mallory showed him things he only wished he could forget. In Roger's case, nobody wanted to count the grievances he had bestowed. Perhaps because there were to many, or perhaps they just didn't want to waste their time on the bastard. Everyone at the Zareds knew his past lives -- both of them. He had been given a second chance – when far more deserving people had their first cut short.
It could be said that it disgusted those who helped run the cages, for they never had a chance at life. They were souls – souls that never had the chance of living. They were the children of the Black God, and they did not mind their work. It was all they knew. The only person who labored at the cages who had been a live human was Mallory. Count Mallory hadn't been friendly when he had been alive, but he had been a good and loyal man to his country. People like Mallory ruled The Cages because of this fact. They had no problem being cold to murderers. After all, how hard a job could it be? They deserved no respect. They deserved the punishment. That's why they were there.
Roger focused on the letter in his hands. Smelling rich in lavender and perfume, Roger inhaled deeply. The desire that came with the parchment made him queasy. This parchment -- definitely -- belonged to one of the Great Goddesses. Even though he despised all the gods for turning their faces from him, he couldn't resist the temptation that ran deep with the parchment. Ravished by the smell, he let his mind wander. He tried to remember his past, when he had smelled so wonderfully.
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"I think I'm being warned away. Perhaps he knows I have never been a fancier of---"
"Might it be possible we are enemies?"
"Let the combat begin."
He thought that Alan was overconfident. If only Roger had been right.
The gasp that escaped Roger was one of pure shock. He thought he had been fencing to the death with Alan of Trebond! In truth, it was Alanna of Trebond he was desperately fighting with! A girl!
"You lying, cheating---"
Suddenly an orange cloud formed around Roger. It was reaching for his Uncle and Prince Jonathan.
"The Goddess!"
The Duke starred wonderingly at Alanna as he tried to pull the sword out of his chest. He slowly fell to the floor.
****
"Roger, he brought Roger back."
"So, you survived, what a pity."
"Hello Roger, you look pale. Not enough time in the sun?"
"You've changed squire Alan. You're very much the talented Knight aren't you? And you don't fear me anymore---not as you once did."
"---Against those things, you're only a man. I can deal with you."
Delight played across Roger's face.
"I'm sure you can, my dear. But I wont give you the chance--not a second time."
Roger grabbed the hilt. Amazingly, he laughed. He laughed until his dying lungs ran out of air. He closed his eyes, and fell. Flames sprouted from the Gate into the stone, devouring the body of Roger of Conte.
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Roger opened his eyes. Fear enveloped him.
'It won't let me be – I am dead – let me forget.'
Whenever he tried to think of the good things he had enjoyed in life, that image was the only one he ever got, but why? That question needed answering.
Roger reread the letter from the goddess Rhiannon Rene. Roger searched the back of his memory and frowned. Rhiannon Rene – daughter of Arraya – Goddess of Peace. 'Could it be – Arraya has stepped down – allowing her youngest daughter to take her position? Rare – never has it happened before. And now – she wishes my presence – when the dusk turns to dawn in the mortal world.'
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"Get up. I shan't upset a goddess on your behalf. Up." It was the voice of a guard.
Roger was sleeping dreamlessly when a sharp pain rummaged itself through his left side. His eyes snapped open. 'Death comes too soon for some – and too late for others – that is the barrier of who shall be at peace – and that of who only begins to suffer.' It was a saying he would not soon forget.
"Goddess Rhiannon has her own reasons to see to you. Now – get up." He heard resentment in the woman's voice. She was a soul guard – and she didn't have to know his past to dislike him.
Roger walked off with his hands chained in glowing black wire – the magic of the Black God. They walked through several corridors, all of which Roger had never seen. They were painted bright yellow – a color Roger hadn't seen since he was alive. The soul showed him down the corridor – until it ended abruptly, a burgundy stonewall standing before them.
"Walk through the vortex – someone shall be waiting to guide you the rest of the way." Apparently the soul wanted him to walk through the wall. She had called it a vortex. Roger looked at her before doing so. Once in – his head became heavy – nausea over took him – and then it was over. He was on the other side, looking at another soul guard. Towering behind them stood The Great Black Gates.
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Patience. This story isn't going to be easy to write. However, I do have a plan. I have revised this chapter – finally. Thanks for the reviews!
~Karr
The Last Name
(Waves for insanely long time)