The Witch of the Castle of Glass

“Move quickly, Thoth, or we'll never make it,” shouted Oracle, dashing through the elaborate marble hallways of Godhome. Twin metal keys, as old as the first cycle and forged from the materials of creation itself, jangled in her hands. The prize for their crime only moments ago. Her flowing white robe, embroidered with celestial moons and stars, danced around her slender frame as she rounded another corner, her knees still buckling from their lack of use.

“I am well aware of that, Oracle,” responded the Egyptian god of wisdom and magic. “I know the consequences of getting caught. The keys alone will be enough for our High Lord to strip me of my rank in the pantheon. And freeing you from your imprisonment will have him strip away more than that. And if we succeed? I will be lucky if he leaves my head attached.” Thoth stretched his neck uncomfortably at the thought. He liked his ibis head, slender and green with the most magnificent, elongated bill.

“It will be worse if we fail. You know that, God of Wisdom. This Cycle must end. The madness spreads like a fire now, infecting even the strongest of the Gods. It has even infected our High Lord. Why else would Cizen, his antipode, be advising at his side? What creator save one infected by madness would take counsel from the God of Death?” Oracle pressed her rounded glasses, too large for her narrow face, back onto her nose with a gentle finger. “Our only hope is to begin the God Contest and pray there is a victor this time. Only then will the Cycle be complete. Only then will the madness fade and allow us to begin anew.”

Thoth winced at the undeniability of her statement. He had spent the past four decades trying to find another way to avert the madness. But for all his efforts he had come up empty handed. There was no other way. The God Contest must have a winner for the Cycle to end. That was the way it was, the way it shall always be. Except for one fundamental problem.

“There have been a dozen contests already this Cycle, Oracle. Each ended in the complete annihilation of the chosen players. “Pompeii, Machu Picchu, Skara Brae, Caral, Mohenjo-daro, Mesa Verde, to name just half of them. These humans are too flawed, the contests too difficult for them to achieve victory. Why will this time be any different? You and Hephaestus had only a fraction of the time to design this one after the twelfth failed,” asked Thoth, trying to control the panic in his voice and hopeful that Oracle, she who sees the future, knew something he did not.

The sounds of fighting erupted into the hallway, combatants flowing through the doors of the great banquet hall, laughing and screaming in their madness. God against god, holy and unholy powers crashing in chaotic rhythms without a care for the target of their fury, without any purpose at all. Their eyes were black, the madness inside them in control.

Oracle and Thoth ducked through a deep oak door, out of sight. Thoth locked the door behind them, knowing it would do little if the battle reached them. He watched Oracle, bent over at the waist and gasping for breath, her hands unconsciously stroking the twin keys as if to assure herself that they were still there.

They sat in silence until the sounds of battle passed, though Thoth did not know if it was because the Gods had regained their senses or because there had been a victor. He decided he would rather not know.

When he was sure they would not be heard, he repeated his question to Oracle, “How do you know this time will be any different?”

Oracle looked him in the eye and shrugged. “Thoth, I don't know if this will be different. I am grasping at straws.”

Thoth was flabbergasted. “You…you don't know? You don't know?” Oracle, the thirteenth contest is a prototype, and an early prototype at that. I know you and Hephaestus put everything you had into its design, but it is completely untested. Releasing it could be catastrophic, not just for humans but for all of us. Tell me what you have seen!” Thoth’s voice was rising in anger, feeling betrayed by his oldest friend.

“I can’t…” Oracle whispered, head down.

“You can’t what, Oracle,” Thoth yelled in fear and frustration.

“I can’t foresee what will happen, because the High Lord stripped me of my powers,” Oracle shouted, tears streaming down her face, her façade of control shattered in an instant.

Thoth gaped at his friend and saw what he should have seen before. Oracle did not have the youthful look of the eternal gods. She just had youth. Youth that would age and die, like so many mortal women before her.

His heart ached for her, anger at their High Lord replacing his anger at Oracle. In all the Cycles, no God had ever been stripped of their powers.

“Let’s get moving, my friend,” Thoth said, voice like steel. Oracle had paid the ultimate price. What kind of God would he be if he did not risk the same?

Oracle wiped away tears, her first tears since she had become Oracle, and gripped the keys with determination. They left the room together in silence, the sound of fighting now distant.

It took them hours to reach their destination, winding through the labyrinthian passageways of Godhome. Oracle only allowed herself the briefest sigh of relief when they arrived at the Shrine, located in the exact centre of Godhome. Here, the cycle began and ended, as it had since before any of them had ascended. Even the High Lord had no memory before the Cycles. Before the Shrine.

Oracle pressed on the enormous black and gold doors, elaborately carved to resemble the night’s sky. She winced at the loud creak as they opened, peeking behind them to make sure no one heard. Then they slipped inside.

Oracle breathed in the scent of the musty bookshelves, eyes adjusting to the candlelight that illuminated the chestnut oak workbenches spread throughout the small chamber. The Shrine could have been mistaken for an old library or medieval workshop had it not been for the rotating orb in the centre of the room, hovering off the ground and stretching more than a two dozen feet in diameter. The Nexus. It was awash in energy, a kaleidoscope of colors circulating inside. The building blocks of creation, the origin of the Cycle, and the heart of the God Contest. Oracle had spent innumerable hours in the Shrine designing the contests, yet she never failed to admire its beauty.

Yet she knew something was off. Although beautiful, the Nexus’ normal hum was strained, its colors dimmed. Oracle approached it hesitantly, as gasped as she saw a black tar begin to work its way under its surface. “No,” she whispered in shock, “the madness cannot have infected the Nexus. Were we too late?”

“Oracle, we must hurry,” Thoth urged, shutting the doors behind them. “The High Lord will know we stole his keys. He will know what we intend. We must finish before he arrives.”

Oracle tore her gaze from the Nexus, rushing over to the workbench that she and Hephaestus had occupied for the past four decades, designing this last hope. She opened a drawer and removed its sole occupant. A cube of grey and gold that fit into the palm of her hand. It all came down to this. She removed the slip of paper that Hephaestus had attached, handing it to Thoth as she approached the Nexus.

“God Contest Thirteen. Alpha Version, Artificial Intelligence-driven. Warning, highly unstable technological and magical infusion. Unsuitable for launch. Likelihood of success: Negligible.” Thoth read aloud, heart dropping with every word. “Oracle, are you sure? Hephaestus…”

“Hephaestus gave his approval to the other twelve contests, and they were all failures,” Oracle said, choking back more tears, “and the madness took him before we could finish the thirteenth. So you will forgive me if I do not take his estimation of our odds of success at face value.”

“Oracle, Hephaestus was your…”

“Yes, and now I am mortal, and he is insane. There is only one way this story has a happy ending, Thoth, and it is this,” she held up the tiny cube and set it down in a perfectly shaped indentation on the Nexus’s small control panel, a few feet away from the Nexus itself. The panel lit up, multicolored buttons illuminating the darkness around her.

Oracle skillfully pressed the buttons to select just the right location on Earth. “An entire city in their country of Japan,” she whispered to herself, “That should be large enough. The Contest is based on their ‘role playing game’ design. There should be a few who can succeed despite the odds.” She looked up at the Nexus, twisting a golden dial until the surface of the Nexus reflected the destination she had entered, viewed from high above the Earth. The display below the dial read ‘Estimated players: 2,506,234.’

She pulled out the twin keys. “Final chance to back out, Thoth,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

“I trust you, my friend,” Thoth said, taking one of the keys from her hand and moving to a keyhole at the far end of the panel while Oracle moved to its counterpart. The God Contest could only be launched using the keys that never left the High Lord’s side. Normally, the Contest was launched with exceptional fanfare, a full year of feasts and celebration to prelude the end of the Cycle and the greatest entertainment they would experience. The High Lord would give a speech about the role of the Gods in creating and guiding the species, and how the Contest was the culmination of their magnificent work. And then He and Hephaestus would turn the keys, and the God Contest would begin.

Tonight, one god and a mortal woman, in the candle-lit darkness of an empty Shrine, would have to be enough.

Oracle inserted her key. A chime sounded throughout the room, joined by a second as Thoth inserted his.

“On three,” Oracle said, bracing herself, “One…”

“Two…” counted Thoth, knuckles white as he gripped the key.

“Three,” said a malevolent voice from the darkness as they turned their keys.

The Nexus spun to life, rotating wildly. Lightning arched across the ceiling, shattering ancient wood and stone. Thoth and Oracle were flung backwards, striking the walls on either end of the room, and knocking the wind from them. Through blurred vision, Oracle watched as the cube sunk beneath the surface of the panel, then rocketed forward into the centre of the Nexus. The cube sped towards its destination, the image in the Nexus growing larger as it traveled the multidimensional space towards the mortal realm. It was the image that would now be showing on every viewing orb throughout Godhome. It was done, and their actions were known. And now He would come.

“Well done, Oracle. You have saved me much trouble,” came the voice from the darkness. The figure that strode into the light had a skeletal grin that stretched maliciously across his skull. His stomach shook with mirth, blood and rotting flesh striking the floor beneath him. As he approached the Nexus, the carrion creatures that accompanied him scattered to consume the pieces of himself he left behind.

“How marvelous,” Cizen whispered, staring at the Nexus. His breath filled the room with the smell of death and decay. “I must thank you, lesser gods. You saved me much trouble.”

Cizen strolled casually over to the control panel. “I take it the Contest cannot be recalled. It cannot be stopped?”

“Even the High Lord cannot stop it now,” Oracle said weakly, unable to get to her feet and feeling faint.

Cizen scoffed at her struggle and rested his skeletal fingers on the golden dial that Oracle had used to select the Contest’s destination. He twisted it, ever so slightly, and the location in the Nexus changed.

Oracle’s eyes grew wide. “Cizen, you cannot. Please, don’t…” she tried to shout, but she spit up blood that choked off her words. Something had ruptured inside her when she was thrown backwards, the first true pain she had felt in unknowable millennia.

Cizen finished his adjustments, locking the destination into the system. The Nexus now showed the continent of North America, its target zone significantly diminished. The display below the dial now read ‘Estimated players: 806’.

“You really should have locked in the destination before you launched Oracle. I thought you were smarter than that,” Cizen started slowly walking towards her. Oracle felt the fear of mortal death grasp her heart tightly and she struggled to shift out of his reach, gasping for air as she moved.

Cizen grasped her chin gently between his skeletal fingers, eyeless gaze piercing hers. He clicked his teeth together. “My oh my, Oracle. Our Lord sure did a number on you. A pity. It truly is.” He released her chin and Oracle felt dead skin form where his touch had been.

“Leave her alone, Cizen,” Thoth demanded, struggling to his feet. Blood streaked from his beak, but he was still a God and would not be stopped so easily.

“I have done nothing, Thoth,” Cizen said, throwing up his hands dramatically to protest his innocence. “All I did was change where the contest will occur on Earth. I have my reasons, which I do not care to share. If I were you, I would worry more about what will happen when our High Lord arrives. Your betrayal may push him over the brink of madness.”

There was a thunderous crash on the great doors of the shrine, and they burst inward, nearly blown clear off their hinges. “Well, speak of the devil,” Cizen whispered to Thoth, grinning wickedly.

“What is the meaning of this?” the High Lord demanded, his voice booming across the chamber. Ancient books fell from their shelves and workbenches shook with the reverberations. Oracle raised her hands to her ears, crying in pain, her mortal ears not meant to hear such a voice.

Thoth shook in place, knees rattling in fear. “My Lord, we…” He trailed off weakly. What could he say? He had freed Oracle, stolen the keys, and launched the flawed Contest. Their last hope. “We did what had to be done,” he finished at a whisper.

“My Lord,” began Cizen, moving to the High Lord’s side, “I am afraid I did not arrive in time to stop them and there is nothing we can do. We are in the hands of the humans now.”

“My Lord,” whispered Oracle, faintly. The High Lord’s hand rose, and Oracle flew towards him, held aloft. She dared the smallest glance at his form, billowing light pouring from his being. But his eyes were clouded, his inner strength trying and failing to hold back the black tar of madness spreading within.

“Which one holds his mind now,” thought Oracle, “the strength or the madness?”

“Be silent, mortal,” demanded the High Lord, “Was losing your immortality not enough punishment for you? You have doomed us all with your actions here today. The Contest was not ready. It would never have been ready. A failed experiment, the folly of Hephaestus’ madness. And of your own.”

The High Lord’s gaze shifted to Thoth, who was now kneeling and staring at the floor. “I expected better from a God of Wisdom,” he judged, disappointed, “What am I to do with you?”

“There is only one punishment grave enough for them, oh mightiest Lord,” said Cizen, whispering in his ear, “Death.”

“Yes, you would like them in your domain, wouldn’t you Cizen?” the High Lord said harshly, “Two fallen Gods to be your playthings. No, I am not as mad as that yet.”

“That is my purpose, my Lord,” protested Cizen, “the one you bestowed upon me. I live only to serve you in that capacity.”

The High Lord watched him skeptically, then grinned widely. Oracle saw the madness within Him, and she shook in fear. “You are right, Cizen. But I shall not give them to you quite yet. The Gods should be entertained. If this will be our last Cycle, our Last God Contest, then let us make it one to remember.”

The High Lord casually waved with his hand and Thoth was dragged across the Shrine until he hung beside Oracle, squirming.

“First, Thoth, for your betrayal, for freeing the criminal Oracle, for stealing the twin keys of the Cycle, I take from you your godly might and immortality. That you will be mortal once more.” A silvery thread materialized, connecting Thoth’s heart to the Power of Eternity that lay in the centre of the Nexus. And the High Lord cut the thread.

Thoth’s body erupted in pain, every fiber of his being on fire. He felt his ibis head transform into human, gorgeous feathers and beak falling unceremoniously to the floor and turning to dust. The now mortal Thoth was middle aged, balding with a beard touched by grey. His eyes were filled with tears, and emptiness inside him to be a constant reminder of who he had been and what he had lost.

Oracle’s eyes shone with the deepest sympathy. She knew what he felt right now. What he would always feel. Thoth avoided her gaze, eyes fixed on the floor as tears fell.

“And now, for both of you, who have doomed us all, I sentence you to the same fate you have bestowed upon your fellow mortals. I cast you into the Contest, as guides and players, that you may entertain us before you die.”

Oracle’s head shot up. “No, please High Lord. The contest is unstable already. We will…” she gazed into his eyes, hoping to see reason. The light of his brilliance burned her retinas away, and that last thing she saw before her vision was taken forever was the look of madness in his eyes, now in full control.

The High Lord threw out his hands and Oracle and Thoth flew backwards into the Nexus. They fell through multidimensional space, until they touched the expanding cube and were absorbed into it.

“Now what, my Lord?” asked Cizen, delighted at this turn of events. It was working out better than he had dreamed it would.

“The Contest has begun, Cizen,” the High Lord declared, now beaming, as if this were all as intended. “That means entertainment and celebration of the highest order, does it not? Come, the Gods know by now and will be preparing the feast and arena. Let us join them.”

The High Lord strode from the Shrine, smiling. The sounds of battle echoed through the halls, but he did not break his stride. He did so love the Contests, even ones doomed to fail.

Cizen looked back at the Nexus, his grin fading for the briefest of moments. And then he followed behind the High Lord, the great Shrine’s doors breaking from their hinges and falling to the floor.