A God to Fear (Thorn Saga Book 5) (26 page)

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.

Not as many demons were out whispering today as would have been here in the past. Thorn saw a couple of them hovering above the pirate girls, trying to route their play into a fight, and another drifting near two mothers who were reprimanding their children by the swing set. Thorn took special note of the five demons floating under an elm tree beside the park, observing the proceedings with all the envy of childhood outcasts who wanted to play. They made no effort to cause others pain; they only watched. And their jealous eyes rested not on the whispering devils, but on the gleeful children. Certainly, not all of demonkind would listen to the truth—especially in areas far removed from Atlanta—and the news would take time to spread. But here, Thorn could already see changes taking place.

Thorn’s guest journeyed in across the soccer field to the west. For a minute he appeared as a dark speck against the bright green grass, but soon his features grew clear: his funeral suit, his tall and gaunt build, his brow furrowed in ire. He drifted like a vulture above the playground, glaring at the children as if he might swoop down and snatch one up, then fly off with it as its parents screamed behind him.

Marcus floated through the monkey bars as he approached Thorn, who pocketed his hands lest their shaking betray his nerves.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Thorn said.

Marcus stopped a dozen feet away from him. “I do so only to demonstrate that I’m not afraid of you. That my beliefs in a purely demonic society make me stronger than you.”

“In light of recent events, have you at least considered that the claims I made about god and the Sanctuaries were indeed correct?”

“Pfff.” Marcus made a dismissive gesture. “You are cunning, Thorn. I will give you that. But I see right through your conspiracy. Somehow, you and your cronies have fabricated evidence to support your delusional musings. I’ve even heard a tall tale that you were God for a few minutes. Ha! Yet here you are with none of his powers, the same conniving Rat that I’ve always known.”

Thorn said nothing, and with some effort, he remained composed. He would not give Marcus the satisfaction of an altercation. In truth, he had little left to argue about. “I will find out how you did it, and I will expose you for the conceited liar that you are,” Marcus said, blind to Thorn’s pacifism. “I will kill you a third time, and a fourth, and however many times it takes. And even if your efforts to dissolve our society are successful, we’ll have no First Rule anymore. No one will be left to stop me from murdering you in broad daylight.”

“Marcus, I—”

“No! You do not get to speak! Your words are poison, and I will not have them enter my ears. I will never believe as you do, and neither will the rest of demonkind. We will never compromise! We will crush your precious humans, and we will—”

“Mommy, why’s that man so angry?”

Marcus froze at the words from the little girl, who stood under one of the playground’s pavilions a stone’s throw away. She gazed at him with a mixture of puzzlement and fear, as did her mother, who quickly took her daughter’s hand and led her away.

Marcus looked down at his feet. They were planted firmly in the dirt, but by the panic in Marcus’s eyes, he may as well have been standing in acid. The other demons gaped. One of them, trembling, fled beneath the ground.

Marcus’s gaze searched frantically for Thorn, and swept right past him. Kids across a whole fourth of the playground had ceased their fun to stop and stare at the weird man in a suit who had suddenly appeared in their midst. When Marcus started to stumble backward, away from the curious young eyes, Thorn decided that he’d had enough. He reached out with his mind and brought Marcus back into the demonic realm.

Marcus bolted upward a few feet after the sudden loss of gravity, overcompensating as Thorn had often done. His head darted around until his eyes found Thorn. The trepidation in them was, Thorn had to admit, more than a little gratifying.

“What was that?” Marcus asked, sounding oddly out of breath for a spirit who had no lungs.

“A gift,” Thorn said. “A friend once gave it to me, and I thought I’d pass it along to you.” Marcus just stared dumbly, so Thorn continued: “That was the last time it’ll happen to you until you learn to feel love for another. But when that happens—when you finally empathize with someone who is different from you—you’ll have the gateway into the physical world that you’ve wanted so badly. Then you can cause all the mayhem you want. Of course, at that point, I don’t think you’ll
want
to cause any.”

Marcus was shaking. Thorn couldn’t tell if he was fearful or enraged.

Thorn floated closer to him and spoke as compassionately as he could. “You don’t have to believe what I believe, Marcus. All I ask is that you step outside yourself, try to understand ideas contrary to your own, and consider.”

Marcus backed away from him, his eyes wide. “What deviltry is this? You seek to humiliate me? You seek to become the greatest through new, freakish sorcery?”

“No. It’s better for us
all
to become the greatest together than for me to become the greatest alone. If we want to move forward, brother, we need to stop trying to beat each other and start trying to help each other.”

And perhaps
that
was Thorn’s purpose, the same as Thilial’s.
To help others in ways in which I was never helped. To create a world free from god, Karen. A world free from demons, Brandon. To create a world for
us
. For all of us.

Thorn was through with spirits, though. He wished them the best, but they would have to build their new world themselves. Because the new world that Thorn would help create… lay elsewhere.

“I’m going to turn myself into a human,” Thorn explained to the Judge as they floated above the tables at an outdoor restaurant downtown. “Permanently this time.”

The Judge raised a finger to the bridge of his sunglasses, then eased them down so he could look Thorn in the eyes. “For realsies? That’s a pretty big move.”

“Yeah, well, the fate of the humans is important to me. I’ll be more able to help them if I’m one of them. Plus, I’d like to look after Amy without being pestered by demons and angels.”

“Amy, huh?” The Judge slid the shades back onto his brow, then looked out over the crowd of humans munching on their early dinners. “I guess every rose really does have its Thorn.”