A God to Fear (Thorn Saga Book 5) Read online

  Vengeful, spiteful, and narrow-minded, the lot of them. Your brothers have stabbed You in the back and left You to die more times than You can even recall. For all those millennia, You’ve lived looking over Your shoulder, fearful of who might oppose You.

  Let them die. Let them all die.

  “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if I kept My power. I could do a lot of good. I could end so much evil, so much suffering… But wouldn’t I cause more suffering in the long run?”

  No. You’d be doing the humans a favor. Kill all of the spirits, and reign over humanity Yourself. Perhaps this is the purpose You were meant for all along. You’re finally free from god and Wanderer, but it’s much more than that.

  You’re free to remake the world as You see fit. You’re free to wield such power as you’ve only dreamed of. You’ve toiled for so long in order to attain it. You deserve it.

  “A world built for Me and Mine…”

  Indeed. A world with no demons, no pain, no sin, no—

  No. Thorn shut the voice out of His considerable mind. It was a demon’s voice: the voice of His old self. He could not trust a voice that lied.

  But then how could He decide what to do? Should He simply hand the power back to god? No, god had proven untrustworthy, and such an action would end in Thorn’s death—at a minimum. Should He use the power to bring about justice? He knew so many evil beings, and ending their lives seemed like such a noble idea, a means to protect the good in the world.

  But as Thorn turned these issues over and over again, the impulse to kill His enemies seemed increasingly tribalistic. He’d struggled for months to escape His old in-group morality… Perhaps I should think rationally about this. It’s good for Me to take control of My own life, but is it moral for Me to do so at the expense of others’ abilities to control their lives? Thorn’s thoughts drifted to the Brandon from the Miami Sanctuary, and his machinations to dominate Cole and Crystal, all in the name of his own freedom.

  Perhaps asserting control over some malevolent beings—such as Marcus, or the original Brandon—was necessary to allow for the freedom of everyone else. But Thorn knew that if He tried to control people who tried to control people, He’d end up just like them. Just like god. Perhaps the best that could be done for those like god was to strip them of their power, rather than take their power for one’s own.

  Thorn looked inside Himself, at the wicked demon He once was and whom He could easily become again, and He had to admit how unqualified He, or anyone, was to possess such immense power over others. Simply having the power is unethical, no matter how one wields it. The more I use it, the more I will abuse it. No matter how pure My intentions are to begin with, the power itself will distort them into something sinister.

  The small voice of Thorn’s former self protested—ranting, screaming, throwing a temper tantrum. Thorn wanted fiercely, desperately to keep god’s power. He Himself was more deserving of the power than any spirit He’d ever known. But every spirit I’ve ever known would think the exact same thing about themselves. If He kept the power, He could be good to others yet simultaneously great in His own right. Neither He, nor anyone else, would have to live in fear of god or Wanderer ever again. It would not be so bad if I were God…

  But that was a lie. Thorn knew the truth. In some ways, He’d known it ever since the day He’d caused the massacre at Tugaloo. The day He’d caused Flying Owl’s death.

  Thorn’s own self was the god He should fear most.

  He’d fought so hard for His individual freedom—and now He had it, and it was good. But the good of all peoples across Heaven and Earth was more important than one being’s right to the freedom of ultimate power. And only one option remained to any morally decent being who found himself in possession of such exclusive power: to abandon it, and to ensure that no one else was able to claim the power afterward.

  But was such a thing possible?

  Thorn dug inside Himself, tapped into the well of knowledge He’d been given. He aimed it back toward itself, and forced Himself to forget the explanation for the origin of life. It worked: a moment later, He couldn’t remember it.

  Next He aimed wider. He erased the knowledge that lent Him the ability to create something from nothing. He expunged His capacity to see the world at the microscopic level, His limited teleportation power, and His even more finite ability to manipulate time. Perhaps Thorn could have shared His knowledge with others, for the benefit of all, but His own experiences told Him that the societies of Earth and the spirit realms were just as unready to possess such knowledge as He was as an individual. So He whittled away at His mammoth reservoirs of knowledge and power. And as He did so, He found that focusing His attention on the throne room around Him grew easier.

  There was Thilial, her back to a column, breathing fast. There were the angels and the demons, some of them stooped in defensive postures, some of them trying and failing to quell their own fearful trembling. Back in the crowd of demons stood Brandon and Heather, holding hands tightly and watching Thorn bring Himself back to their level. God still sat on his bench against the far wall, his jaw loose and his eyes on the verge of popping out of their sockets.

  Perhaps Thorn’s former self clamoring for power got the best of Him, or perhaps Thorn’s new self just wanted to do the right thing, but as Thorn’s power waned, He decided to reach around the universe. In a flurry of action, He allowed Himself to undo some of god’s worst decisions.

  The Sanctuary system expanded for hundreds of miles across the Corridors, but a few pulls on the correct dimensional strings unraveled the whole tapestry. Never again would a demon be tested in a Sanctuary, and never again would a human face the potential of such torture. Some demons would still choose wickedness, but as Thorn knew from experience, change takes time. At least now, the demons have a choice to do good without having to grovel to god. They have a choice to end suffering and promote happiness of their own volition. Thorn’s brothers would need time to heal. But they would heal.

  Thorn searched for Hell, and found it in its own spiritual realm separate from the others. Perhaps symbolically, god had placed it in the Earth’s scorching core. Thorn’s power was dwindling, so He had only enough time to make minor changes. He ended the torture and the pain. He freed a few hundred million souls who’d been wrongly sent to burn. The realm of Hell was complex and abstract, difficult for Thorn to scrutinize, but He did His best to change it hastily from a realm of suffering to a realm of mediocrity, a bit more boring than Earth. From now on, the angels themselves would have to sort out who went there and who went to Heaven. Such sorting might prove imperfect at first, but Thorn guessed that it would become more equitable over time, as the angels caught up to humanity’s ongoing moral growth. Perhaps soon they’d even allow the damned prisoners to work their way out of Hell and into Heaven.

  Prisoners… Ah, yes! Thorn swept His shrinking mind across Heaven’s great golden prisons. He unlocked all of the gates and yanked all of the prison guards up to the surface. He even left a thank-you note in front of Karthis’s cell, which Karthis’s wingbeats almost blew away, but which he did find—

  Wings! Thorn reached across the room to the demons at the gate and tried to pry new wings out of the stumps on their backs. The knowledge of wing growth had already left Him, though. His power had grown too dim. Not a single demon’s wings grew back.

  Thorn quickly returned Heather’s and Brandon’s memories to them in full, before the power to do so left Him.

  Throughout Thorn’s transformation, God had been blathering on about the arrogance of eradicating his power, how Thorn was an unparalleled fool, and so on. But some angels had held him back, and Thorn had easily blocked out his tirade with only a minuscule piece of His mind. But now that Thorn hadn’t the mental faculties to focus away from him anymore, god’s squawking grew clearer.

  “You cretin! You’re undoing all my work, and not in the way You were supposed to! Just like a demon. All You know how to do is destroy what greater beings
have built! If You were half the god I am—”

  Thorn ignored him as best He could. His imploding mind was nearing its original capabilities. He’d forgotten vast libraries of information that no one else would know for centuries to come; He felt them fade like pleasant childhood memories.

  Then Thorn gathered all His remaining power and focused it on one last thing.

  Xeres, where are you? Thorn searched through the bowels of Heaven and the crevices of the surrounding mountains. He took a quick peek into Hell, then scoured the Earth’s surface, sweeping from South America up across Canada and over to Europe, Africa, and Asia. When Earth proved fruitless, Thorn even searched the Moon.

  I’m sorry you couldn’t live to see the better world that your sacrifice will bring about. Goodbye, My friend. And thank you.

  With a final farewell to His old companion, Thorn reduced His mind to its previous level of intellect, forgetting the last of god’s knowledge, and surrendering all of god’s power.

  Well, almost all of it.

  15

  A carpet of dead leaves protected a village of dead people below the earth. Thorn and Thilial floated above the sun-dappled cairns, letting memories percolate through them. The warm light of dawn cast long shadows through the oak branches, but not so long as the shadows of history, or of guilt.

  Thorn looked up into those branches now. Were these the same trees in which he’d once perched with Xeres, gazing dejectedly down upon the Cherokee survivors burying their dead? Or had those old trees long since sunk into the peat below, leaving their offspring to grow toward the sun, as tall and mighty as their ancestors had once been? Thorn took heart upon seeing small yellow flowers poking through the dead plant matter, bright and ready to bloom.

  Even more heartening was the thought that Flying Owl could still be alive in Heaven. Only after Thorn had abandoned most of god’s powers had he realized that the boy’s reasonable and charitable tendencies may have earned him a place in Paradise. He’d beseeched the angels to help him search for his long-lost charge, but they’d hear none of it. Thorn had freed them, yes, but he’d collapsed their entire social order. He would not be welcome in Heaven again until his final number was up.

  And Thorn could accept that. Just knowing there was a chance of seeing Flying Owl again was enough to satisfy Thorn until the time came. For now, he was through with crusades, with flight from relentless enemies, with panic in the darkness. He’d earned a more peaceful life.

  Thorn had tried to convince himself that this battle he’d waged had been waged for him, and him alone. My own freedom was my goal all along, he kept repeating in his mind. But as he looked out over the graves and back through the vault of time, that seemed less and less true.

  His own potential death at Marcus’s hands had opened his eyes to the death and suffering he himself had caused. The mystery he’d uncovered upon finding Xeres alive in the present had opened his mind to all the false assumptions he’d been making. His burgeoning affection for the humans had opened his heart to the fact that everyone, even his enemies, had an internal life that was just as rich as his own—a life that was worth nurturing and protecting. Perhaps that was what he’d truly been fighting for. And now that he’d succeeded against all likelihood, what would be his purpose moving forward?

  “What will you do now?” Thorn asked Thilial.

  She shrugged. “There’s no reason for the deception of quarantine zones anymore, so I suppose I’ll help begin the combining of angel and demon worlds, where they will allow it. Ha.”

  “What?”

  “It’s still hard for me to view you all as anything other than vermin to be trampled underfoot.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “It will be difficult, forging this new path separate from god, and also from demonic culture.”

  Thorn nodded. “Perhaps eventually, the distinction between angels and demons will become irrelevant. Perhaps, eventually, we’ll all just call ourselves ‘spirits.’”

  “I hope so. God willing.”

  Thorn turned to correct her mistake, but he saw her smirking knowingly. “Ah, Thilial has a sense of humor. Who knew? And since you mention god, how is he?”

  “Well, he’s given an official apology, and I think it’s genuine. I think this will be good for him, having to live as one of us. He seems healthier now, more stable. Maybe even optimistic.”

  “So you’ve seen him?”

  “I check in on him to make sure he’s okay.” Thilial tilted her head downward and away at this, like she was embarrassed to discuss it. She added: “I think he’s glad for the company.”

  Thilial rested a hand on the hilt of the rusty old sword that Heather had returned to her minutes ago. Her wings folded slowly open. “I have business. I’d best depart. Wish your humans the best for me.” She gestured toward Brandon and Heather, who were pacing among the cairns, inspecting their intricacies.

  “Farewell, Thilial. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  Thilial gave a curt nod, then took off through the treetops.

  Thorn dropped into the physical world. He smiled at the sight of human footprints disturbing the dead leaves for the first time in centuries. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s really interesting, especially after hearing this place’s story,” Heather said. “And no one knows this is here?”

  “I’ve never shared it with anyone, no. But I think it’s time that humans know about it. I’d like you to tell other people, if you’re willing. I’ve created identities for you, opened sizeable bank accounts, and purchased this land in your names, but I can’t emphasize this strongly enough: no one owns this land. It belongs to the Cherokee, if to anyone. You are stewards, not owners.”

  Heather nodded seriously. From everything Thorn had seen of her, she was responsible and mature, and would be a good caretaker of this place. “Thank you, Thorn,” she said.

  He paced toward them. “There are also some structural remains about a mile north of here. Please coordinate with the Eastern Band of the Cherokee. I would like the legacy of these people to be honored. Perhaps have a history museum opened here.”

  “We’ll do what we can. I can tell the place means a lot to you, so we’ll take good care of it.”

  “And what about you, Brandon?” Thorn asked the young man seated on the leaves, staring away from the conversation, into the forest. “How have you been holding up? How’s your memory?”

  Brandon tossed a small stone above his head, caught it again, then flung it into the woods. “I remember it all. It’s a lot to remember.”

  “Indeed.” Thorn did not envy these humans’ path forward. He’d forged their paperwork, but they would soon undertake the arduous process of building their true identities. They would both have to gather the pieces of their past selves, then decide what types of people to meld them into.

  “Will I ever see Tim again?” Brandon asked. “Will I ever see Cole?”

  And will I ever see Flying Owl?

  Thorn answered honestly: “I don’t know. But it is a possibility.”

  Brandon lifted another stone and tossed it up and down a few times. Thorn couldn’t read whether he was satisfied with this outcome, and he couldn’t guess whether Brandon would sink to his worst or rise to his potential. At least he had Heather with him. Love for another went a long way toward healing one’s hurt. She would be his anchor, and Thorn could only hope that, once he healed, he’d return the favor for her.

  Thorn promised himself that if these two stayed on Earth, he’d visit them frequently. He owed them quite a debt.

  “What’s the matter, hon?” Heather asked as she plodded over the dense turf. She sat next to Brandon and eased an arm around him.

  Brandon glanced up at the canopy above, at the shadowy leaves and the light lancing between them. “I don’t know. I just wish we could have gotten more answers. You know, to the big questions. Where did god come from? How do we have consciousness? How did the universe really come to be
?”

  Thorn looked back toward Flying Owl’s grave. The boy might have asked similar questions had he lived in the contemporary age. But Thorn had no answers for Brandon, and likely, neither did anyone else. At least not at this point in time. Thorn himself was only starting to come to terms with the fact that although he’d learned the answers to every question he’d ever conceived during his brief stint as a deity, he would likely never get all of his questions answered again. But would humanity ever learn the immeasurable knowledge he’d momentarily known and then forgotten? He hoped that when they did start unlocking the universe’s answers, all the humans would have access to those answers, and no individual would use them as power to keep others subservient and ignorant, as god had done. Fortunately, a free, open future was likely, given the upward trajectory of human history, and also given that Thorn had allowed himself to remember a few key details that might help humanity out. But for now, when no one knew the ultimate answers, what could he tell Brandon?

  “Maybe it’s okay not to know,” Thorn said, still gazing on Flying Owl’s final resting place. “Maybe it’s okay to admit that we don’t have all the answers, and to admit that some of our guesses were wrong. There’s no shame in that. I think it’s admirable, actually—certainly preferable to making answers up.”

  “And maybe that’s the first step toward true knowledge,” Brandon said.

  Thorn turned back, away from the dead boy and toward the living one. Brandon threw his stone into the air again, caught it again, moved to throw it… then set it back down instead. He sighed. Heather laid her head on his shoulder, and the two lovers sat under the orange sunlight as it warmed away the night’s chill.

  •

  Children capered across the Mayor’s Grove Playground in Midtown Atlanta, climbing on a web of ropes, pounding on a set of play drums, and seeing how high the swings would take them before leaping off—much to the chagrin of their parents, who tried to maintain order as they paced between their many young ones. One little boy squealed with glee as he looped down a plastic orange slide. Three girls wearing eye patches were playing some sort of pirate game, steering the earth-toned playground across the high seas, wreaking havoc on all ye landlubbers. A baby, less than a year old, gawked in amazement at the frenetic display as his mother rolled his stroller through the park. The shadows of tall trees kept all in gentle shade.