Chapter Fourteen: Ofan and Iona
Prelude: Towerhead
ARBITRUS GEN
I stepped out of the astral plane, and back into consciousness. The inn was dimly lit with the drowsy light of a summer afternoon, the dusty sunbeams shining on wooden tables and foggy glassware. It was one of the few times of day where I did not feel the unquenchable need for a drink. Morning brought the thirst, and evening always did, but afternoons were usually bearable. Today however, I felt like a drink. It wasn't the thirst that compelled me, but a sudden urge to celebrate. For I had looked into the astral plane, and seen the debris that was once Corruption's realm. It was over. Julia had done it.
"One of them crows left me this," Joseph Sorenson said, holding up a signet. "It means that Mary and I are Eminent of Ofan, and can visit any time we damn-well please."
"A great honor," I said, shining a glass.
"I suppose," Joseph said, frowning at the signet. "I don't know how in the blue fuck I'm gonna get there though."
"A caravan will get you to the foothills, and a mule will take you up the passes until you get to Vokiak, a princedom that resides in the shadow of the Gratoran Wall. Once there, you can shoot off a flare, and an Ofanian will lower a bucket for you to ride up in."
"Caravans, mules, and buckets," Joseph spat. "My boy is a heathen idol of infinite devil's power, and I'm supposed to visit him by riding in fuckin' coach, then traversin' passes like a fuckin' shepherd, then going up in a fuckin' bucket like a goddamned bushel of turnips? Couldn't he have left one of them crows to carry me around?"
"Downright ungrateful," I concurred.
"Always was," Joseph sighed. "Fucks off with Tera with no salutations but a bullshit letter, then next we hear of him, he's a celebrity with a harem of whores!" Joseph worked his jaw. "Didn't even think about us."
"He obviously didn't want you to know," I said, filling a glass. "Can you blame him for wanting to keep his secrets from you, Joseph? You almost had him institutionalized when he tried to tell you about Angela."
"Angie...." Joseph muttered, taking the glass from me. "Back from the dead just to leave me again. My children want nothing to do with me, Arby. Where did I go wrong?"
"They love you, Joseph," I said, pouring myself a glass. "They just grew up."
Joseph looked at the froth of beer in his glass, the wheels of his mind turning. "They're fuckin' each other, ain't they?"
"What was that?" I asked, though I heard it clearly.
"I said they fuckin' each other, ain't they?" Joseph yelled, then reached into his pouch, and slammed a book on the counter. I was surprised to see a late-print edition of my own journal resting beneath my nose. "See, I've been readin' this book written by this fella, Arbitrus Gen," Joseph said. "He was the same kinda heathen idol as the good Sister Julia, and he says that his beloved husband, and I quote, '
became patterned with the symbols of his being, from his soles to his chin, resplendent in the white glow of my eternal love.
' Now, that's some hardcore faggotry if I ever heard it. You seem to know about all this Creator shit, Arby; tell me true: is my boy sullying the virtue of my only daughter?"
"I wouldn't put too much stock in that journal, Joseph," I chuckled, sliding the book off the counter. "It was written by a delusional homosexual."
"Yeah..." Joseph sighed again, and stared back at the foam in his glass, "...I guess." He rotated the glass on the counter, "Could've left one of the crows with me though. I wanna fly around too, ya know."
"He'll be back, Joseph," I said, picking up my own glass. I doubted it though.
Part One: Paradise
BRANDON
The mountain colony of Ofan was a tropical paradise. Ancient palm trees stood a hundred feet high, bright flowers decorated the ground, and a clear blue lake shimmered from a dormant caldera. Vines spiraled the columns of trees and covered the forest floor, bearing overlarge fruit that was ripe and pungent, but never rotting. The fauna ranged from terrestrial herbivores to brilliant tropical birds, each one unique only to Ofan, for they were all distant descendants of Ofan's creations.
Our arrival was greeted with muted cheer. The old and young of Ofan were delighted to have their patron god, but were shocked at how few of their mothers and daughters had returned. Though I was given great respect and reverence, it was obvious that the grief outweighed my presence. The funerals lasted from sunrise to sunset. Great pyres were lit, and the remnants of the Ofanian Guard performed ceremonies that I didn't understand, but was expected to lead. I did my best, and probably failed, but no one ever remarked upon my awkwardness. At least I didn't have to feign my grief. Between Tera, Justina, Lucilla, Julia, Astrid and Willowbud, there was enough grief within me to share with the others. Still, I felt like an imposter. I wouldn't have faulted the bereaved if they blamed me for what had happened to the Ofanian Guard, but none did. For me, there was only reverence and hope. I was glad to have Angela with me in the flesh to hold my hand as I spoke my meaningless words, and made my pitiful gestures.
"I think feeling like an imposter is part of being a good leader," she said when we were alone in bed. "It's when you think that you're right all the time that shit goes south."
"When did you become a philosopher?" I asked wryly.
"I am the Bound One of Ofan," Angela said grandly. "My musings are great wisdoms, my bad puns are the highest form of art, and my turds are to be preserved for future generations to marvel at."
"Why are you like this?" I groaned.
"
Look daughter,
" Angela said, effecting an Ofanian accent, "
the Great Angela Sorenson ate corn upon this night.
"
"Holy shit," I grumbled.
"That's what they'll call it," Angela sniggered.
"What happened to being a humble leader?"
"You're the god;
you
have to be the humble one. I get to be a spoiled bitch," Angela giggled, sprawling out on the bed beside me. She closed one eye, and seemed to aim her pupil into mine.
Can you hear me?
