THE GARDEN
The Judge was walking through the hills. What were “hills” to him were Dragonclaw Mountains to his mortals. That was a long walk and he sat down on Mt. Philimgrope to catch his breath for a century or two: he was an ageing deity and these walks didn’t come as easy as they once used to. And yet – they were of grim necessity. If he didn’t patrol well, other Gods would sneak into his lands, desecrate his altars, seduce his mortals and do Gods know what else. With a sigh that rippled clouds and made stars blink he rose and continued his duty: tied oathbreakers’ tongues in knots, made gluttons eat other gluttons, stole thieves, forged forgers’ souls and generally brought order – for he was the Judge.
In the midst of celestial duties, he heard a call. Usually he heard plenty: mortals were always complaining, sometimes joking, sometimes simply crying. These days some of them even threatened, but in his lands such impudence was short-lived – in the very literal sense. This call surprised him. He scratched his magnificent chalk-white beard, cocked his head to one side and listened: it was not a single mortal calling – it was A CITY. A sweet chorus of human voices was singing to him – telling that he was the Lord Almighty. The he was the Law. He was the Light. He didn’t understand about the Light, but he liked the sound of “Almighty” whatever it was and he definitely liked the Law. Smiling benevolently, he kept nodding and tapping his foot to the tune – causing minor earthquakes, floods and a volcano eruption. He loved them like a father loves his stupid children – that is: he didn’t love them very much, but he somehow sensed that they were HIS. Didn’t he protect them, silly things, when their mages invented a space-time-machine and those tentacled abominations with blasters flooded in? Dind’t he ward off that bastard, The Fun, who taught them about wine, sex and belly-dance? Or did he leave them alone (although they asked) when they couldn’t understand his Commandments and created a tyrannical state instead of a well-balanced socialist utopia? No. He helped his children whenever they were in need and now he felt proud: they matured, they recognized his care and they decided to repay.
The song went on about how they loved their Father Almighty and how they would like to help him – to relieve his burden for a while. The crystal voices sang they understood his lessons. And they would help him to execute the law. If only he came to their city – from where they were actually singing already for a decade - they would let him have a rest and do the judgement by themselves. And there will be justice. And there will be order. They droned on and on – something about how that order will be new – but he didn’t listen to the particulars. The voices were clear as silver bells and the idea of a rest looked compelling. He was tired after a long day’s work, but what was more – he wanted to be amused: these creatures evolved by the day! It seemed like yesterday that they mastered fire and ceramics and now they were offering him to do his job. If anything – that was curious. Never did they any such thing before! Chuckling into his beard and whistling to the tune (the gigantic flying reptiles dropped dead, feathery hot-blooded things took their ecological niche at once) he went to the City of Bowls where a great temple was erected in his honor.
The Judge’s brow furrowed: the voices were coming out of the temple, alright, but the temple itself looked like a gigantic… vase? A vase with a nasty-looking slanted thing high above its neck. Did those dummies have no sense of style at all? Thinking of neck he unconsciously rubbed his. All of a sudden he experienced a feeling unbeknownst before: a feeling he couldn’t find a word to describe. The city was strange, he understood its name now – each house, each little shed looked like a bowl, or a vase, or a cup. None of them had roofs – they had… nozzles. And in some inexplicable way those nozzles looked at him from below – their black insides somehow shy – yet insolent, somehow silent – yet hungry. He didn’t like this city at all – the houses looked obscene. And the people – where were they? He ventured a peep inside the temple and saw their tiny upturned faces – like bits of paper, torn and scattered in the grass. Only it wasn’t grass, he realized. They were those tangled leafy things they called “trees”. He honestly didn’t remember ever creating them – the wretched things (they sometimes gave his bare feet splinters) seemed to have sprung up by themselves. Immediately silent – mortals just stared back at him. One of them said: “That’s Him”. He began to wonder why they would want a garden of trees at the bottom of his vase-temple, but the same mortal shouted: THE LEVER! He heard a whooshing noise from above and then the blade struck. His neck felt like burning coals and Ice-Age Ice – all at the same time. And he was flying down! His brow struck the side of the temple, his head slipped, turned over and he saw his own body – gushing with ruby-red blood. His hands were groping the air blindly, his knees were breaking, the red stream has painted his marble-white chest black within a second. The mortal roared: WE ARE – THE LAW! His head struck the cobbles of the street outside the temple and it caused him pain. He gasped for air, but couldn’t breathe any. The mortal shrieked: WE ARE – THE JUDGES! He felt his eyelids heavy, difficult to control. The mortal bellied: THE DRAGONCLAW KINGDOM IS NO MORE! In his dimming mind he wondered what the hell he was saying – kingdom what? Dragon – who? The mortal shouted – nearly tearing his vocal cords: THE SUN WILL NEVER SET ON THE CRIMSON REPUBLIC!!! A thunder of voices raved inside the temple-vase: gulping sounds, sobbing sounds, laughter. Fighting the blackness that flooded his head, the Judge made his last thought clear as ice, hard as diamond: the mortals shuddered and fell silent like sheep who saw the glowing eyes in the dark – for in their minds they heard clearly. IT WILL NEVER DO, HUMAN. FOR THUS – I CONDEMN YOU. AND WHEN IT BURNS YOU TO THE BONE – IT WILL BURN ON.
The Sun did not set that night. Nor the night after. But the citizens of Bowls had a source to quench their thirst. And they had a Garden to protect. For everyone, but the Judge, – the life moved on.