Esperanza and His Murdership

Content warning: violence, human sacrifice, suicide, murder

The Chamber of Undoing: it was a place that inspired fear. Black marble walls soared into oblivion. Flames licked hungrily from old iron candelabras, casting a devilish carmine glow. On the western wall, a large throne rose to prominence. A rearing dragon it was, carved from obsidian; two glittering rubies glared out of its snarling face.

A thin humanoid perched upon this throne. Unruly curls dark as pitch crowned his head, and his eyes were soulless and black. Raven coloured was his armour, etched with nightmare winged beasts and shrieking souls of the damned. At his hip sat a sword, easily seven feet in length. Eight gleaming talons flexed from feet adorned in alabaster scales.

His body carried the memory of fire: he smelled of cedar shavings, incense, hickory smoke and sweet dark licorice.

He lacked a name, so old was he. Those who dared speak of him uttered the Desolation God or His Murdership in hushed tones.

This night was akin to countless others that had trudged by for millennia: there would be a brief, shining moment of joy wrought by willing human sacrifice (though tainted slightly by the smug restraint of the martyr). Then the tedium of waiting would resume. A part of him longed for the good ol’ days of unbridled chaos and destruction; but what could he do? Their offerings had him tightly bound.

Such thoughts were too morose for this moment. He spread his arms wide and commanded: “Bring in the human offering!” It was strange to hear such a deep, commanding voice from so slight a form.

A hunched figure crippled from scoliosis hobbled in. His nose sat askew and fresh blood glistened upon his wrinkled chin. Despite the pain he halted and bowed low in deference. “Evening, your Murdership.”

The god’s cold gaze flicked over. He noted the fresh injury and chuckled, the corners of his midnight eyes creasing. “New look, Milos? It’s fearsome.”

“Uh, there’s been a development, Sire. Haven’t seen anything like it in my eighty years here.”

“Go on.”

“She won’t leave the cell. When I tried to grab her she bashed my nose with her elbow. Now she’s hanging onto the bars.”

“Fascinating. You’re a crippled old man. Those girls adore you.”

“This one didn’t.”

“Clearly. No matter: go and fetch the back up.”

Milos’ thin voice wavered. “I can’t. We don’t have one.”

‘What happened?”

“She died of Syphilis on the way down.”

“How very unchaste of her. What about the back up to the back up?”

Milos sighed dejected. “She killed herself.”

“Indeed? How did she manage that?”

“Drowned herself in a puddle of her own urine.”

“Impressive.”

Milos nodded sagely, then winced. “I know.”

“So we only have one uncooperative sacrifice. How refreshing.”

“Sire? Isn’t that bad?”

“It’s . . .” His brow furrowed. “. . . Different. Not necessarily bad.”

“But you can’t complete the ritual in a cell. Too small a space for your sword.”

“True. I’ll just have to fetch her myself and drag her out. How delicious.”

He stood and leapt off the throne, his cat-like legs landing lightly on the marble floor. Something predatory glinted in his eyes while he padded away.

- - -

She leaned against the rusty cell door, all care clearly abandoned regarding the cleanliness of her white satin gown. Tall she was, the fabric taut against generous curves. Her long auburn hair was threaded back in a frizzy careless braid.

She seemed oblivious to his presence. Good. Yet her nonchalance couldn't fool him: he detected the sour metallic scent of her fear. It overpowered the faint aroma of warm honey and vanilla.

He leaned in and uttered a single word against the base of her neck: “No.”

Her back stiffened, but she didn’t jump.

“You dared to tell my guard ‘no’?” His tone was cloaked in velvety threat.

She spun around on one filth-stained bare arch. Her eyes, gold-flecked chocolate, snagged on his digitigrade legs. “You’re not human?” It was a low throaty voice, rarely used.

“Are you daft? Do you comprehend the doom your resistance brings to your kind?”

“They didn’t get my consent,” she growled.

“Your end doesn’t have to be quick. I could take my time, watch you howl in pain.” The black depths of his eyes glittered with malice. “Do you still choose defiance? Or perhaps you’ll come along like a nice little sacrifice?”

“Sorry, my schedule’s full. I’m too busy to die today.”

His head cocked to the right. She was a lot more interesting than the usual parade of martyrs. “Indeed? What has you so occupied?”

“Figuring out how to kill you. Or staying alive. Or both.”

The god laughed then, a deep rumbling of crashing tides. His onyx curls quivered. “You? A defenseless human?”

“I broke your guard’s nose.”

“You did. It was nice work,” he conceded. “But you cannot kill me, no. I am a god. My job is to end you.”

“Says the pathetic creature hiding behind bars.”

Upon a wave of his hand the rusted bands melted away. Her braid was pulled taut in his lightning grip. He deftly dodged her ferocious kick, then yanked her to the ground. She thudded, a groan escaping as the hard stone winded her.

“I admire your rage, girl,” he chuckled. “But you cannot escape duty. Come.”

She was dragged across the unforgiving floor. She managed to grind out a fierce retort: “I don’t want to be your sacrifice.”

She could not see the smirk that had settled upon his face. It had been many centuries since he last felt so alive. He wouldn’t abide an early end to their game. He released her then swooped down to kneel menacingly over her, taking care to mask his mirth. “Tell me, girl, what would happen if I let you live?”

She stole giant gasps of breath. Images flashed through her memory: her mother’s apathetic gaze; her brother’s cruel mockery; the vicar’s wild ravings that as a Chosen One she was humanity’s salvation for another twenty years; Carlos's disgust as she declared her love. Every face was a deeper twist of the blade of her past. “Chaos,” she muttered. “Fire. Cities would burn. Villages. You would slaughter armies, wives, babies. Everyone.”

She met his gaze and, for the first time in her life, spoke her deepest desire: “Do it.”

He blinked in surprise. Had he misheard? “Do it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you realize it would be the death of most of them?”

“Only most? Why not all?”

“It is forbidden.”

“Do it then. Most is better than none.”

He sat back, stunned. Was such a thing even possible? Something stirred within him. What would it feel like to fly out of this place seated above the shimmering golden scales of Firenze again? It panged him: the thought of his dear friend hadn’t crossed his mind in a very long time. He had been repressed for centuries. But no more. He was waking up. His mind flared with possibilities. What if he could finally fulfill his purpose?

His left hand twitched, urging to grip his sword and sow destruction. He might finally breathe ashen air, a free god upon a silent, barren landscape. “You’ve given me much to consider.”

His hand gripped her braid again. She yelped as the cold drag resumed, this time in the opposite direction. Once she was secured in the dingy cage he stalked away.

- - -

“Forgive me, Sire! I’ve no idea how he got in,” Milos pleaded as His Murdership entered the great chamber. Desolation noted the familiar scents upon the air: earthy petrichor, fresh mountain air, and the sharp sting of ozone after lightning.

A tall, thin figure lounged upon his throne. Wild copper hair whipped about in a secret gale that only the intruder could feel. Crags and shadows carved his ancient forehead. Gaunt cheekbones descended into a wispy, flailing beard.

“Chaos, you old codger! I see you’re still mad enough to trespass during a sacred sacrifice.”

“Cheers, Desolation. I've come to watch you work.”

“Now? It’s been centuries. What is your true purpose?”

“Ah, you’ve found me out! Do you like your gift?”

Desolation’s brow creased in confusion.

“The girl. I’ve been toying with her since she was a wee one.”

“She – that was you?”

“Of course! Humans can’t resist me, the daft creatures.”

“They are oblivious,” Desolation replied, covering his surprise quickly. “Anyone with sense can clearly see that your whims bring doom.”

“True. Yet the humans have grown complacent of late. And, quite frankly, I’m bored.” Chaos spat upon the polished black floor. His eyes of molten amber glowed mischievously. “They’ve forgotten what we’re capable of. Let’s remind them, friend: bring the pain while I brew storms.”

Desolation laughed, the sound ringing through the cavernous space. “I am tempted! We’d be a team they wouldn’t soon forget.”

“Aye. Teach those whiny bastards a lesson.”

“Yet it’s not possible if she dies. She’d have to ride Firenze with me. For protection.” Desolation paused and eyed the wiry god. “Is she strong enough to witness this?”

“That one has rage forged from iron. She’ll hold steady.”

“Excellent.”

For the second time that night, Desolation descended down the hallway.

- - -

The woman stood rigid in the center of her cage. She was perfecting the art of murder with a glance.

His Murdership raised an arm and leaned against the bars, returning the cold stare. “What is your name, girl?”

“I’m Esperanza and you’d better –”

“Of course you are. How fitting. Esperanza: hope of her people,” he chuckled sardonically. “One impalement would grant all of their wishes.” He twisted slightly to the left, the low light glowing off his sword.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I’m performing my duty. Why don’t you want to save them?”

She huffed. Her gaze held venom. “You have no idea what they’re like. I grew up in a city. When I was born they singled me out as yours. Saviour of Mankind. Sacred. Do you know what that really means? Outcast. No one ever wanted me. Mama refused comfort. I would never be Carlos's wife. Isabella rejected my friendship. I’m nothing but cattle. The people doesn’t deserve my sacrifice. Let them burn.”

Desolation was deeply touched. He suspected that if he possessed tear ducts that his cheeks would be glistening. “How perfectly tragic. So you would sate your rage with the blood of the innocent?”

“They are NOT innocent. Besides, what’s one measly life in exchange for the murder of millions?”

“It is a beautiful dream,” he conceded.

“So will you let me live?”

His gaze slid to the left corner and his brow furrowed pensively. He stretched out the silence, considering. “I might. Would you join me and bear witness to your decision?”

The unthinkable happened: she smiled, mirthless though it was. “I would like that very much.”

“Excellent. There is of course one condition: you must abandon your mad side quest of trying to kill me. If you attempt it again I will be forced to end you, at which point you would be saving humanity. Do we have an agreeance?”

“Why are you wrecking my fun?” she quipped dryly.

“I can’t properly focus on slaughtering mankind while I’m babysitting a viper. If you want your people to die you have to sacrifice something too. Do we have an agreeance?” he repeated with finality.

She stared at him, cold, calculating. She could play the waiting game too. But as she studied him she realized there was something foreign in his gaze. It wasn’t apathy or disgust. It wasn’t even pity. He saw her as something – what was the word? Something akin to an equal, or precious. How was she more accepted here than by her own family?

“Fine. I won’t try to kill you. For now.”

“For now is all I ask. Tomorrow: please do try again. It is agreed. So shall it be done.” His words echoed down the hallway and rang with power.

It vibrated in Esperanza’s chest. Is this what hope felt like?

He grinned gleefully. “So it begins. Milos!” he thundered down the hallway. “Prepare to saddle a dragon! Firenze! Awaken, my oldest friend!”

Deep below their feet something mighty rumbled.

A corner of Esperanza’s sullen lip tugged upwards. For the first time in her life, her golden chocolate gaze was warmed with joy. If a god was allowed to bring mankind to the brink of extinction, perhaps an outcast could finally find her place.

THE END