MAGUS INFINITE

Dorrik stayed quiet for so long that I had to nudge him,even though what I wanted was to sit with what he had already told me. ”The Dragon?”

”The Dragon God.” He looked at me sideways. ”You’ll not know that name either, I suppose.”

I shrugged, ”Tell me anyway.”

Dorrik paused for about three seconds before he began speaking. ”Dragons are among the strangest of creatures, even without the allure of godhood. It was the strongest of them. Not the first, or the oldest, strongest... there’s a difference, and it matters. Perhaps, it was the reason why none of them could stop him.” He shrugged one heavy shoulder. ”Nobody knows why he went. There are forty songs about it and no two agree, and every one of them was written by somebody who wasn’t there. Personally, I think he went after what all real dragons crave.”

”What do all dragons crave, Dorrik?”

The stone man looked at me and smiled, ”A good death.”

That eerie smile lingered on his face for a while before he moved on. ”All that’s agreed is he went out past the edge of everything, and he was gone a long while, and he came back.”

”And?”

”And he brought something with him.”

I swear the lights in the stone flicker at this moment as if even the stones of this hall were listening to the story, which would not have surprised me if I discovered this.

”What did the dragon bring with him?”

”That’s the question, isn’t it?” He rubbed a thumb along the rim of the cup. ”Nobody can tell you what it is.” He chuckled. ”But they can tell you what it did.”

The light flickered once more, and I glanced at the walls again before focusing back on Dorrik.

”What he brought back placed all things in order,” he said slowly.

I frowned. ”That sounds like a good thing.”

”Doesn’t it just?” He smiled without any warmth in it at all. ”Order, lad. Everything in its place and a place for everything. Every god got a name, got given one, and you know that a name is a handle, so even things that could not be touched are now accessible, even to mortals. Every god got a rank, and now there’s a ladder now, a place to climb, a higher height to reach, and this is the primary fuel for conflict. There was never a ladder before; there were just gods, and now there’s greater and lesser and minor, and everyone knows exactly where they stand because it’s written down somewhere.”

He put the cup down harder than he needed to.

”And a god of stone can’t be in all the stone any more. He’s in his stone. His region, his ground, his allotted portion, and if he goes past it he’s got no more weight than a strong man with an opinion.” He looked at me. ”That’s what order cost.”

I don’t know; what he was describing was a system that I was used to. There were Initiates, Acolytes, Adepts, Arcanists, and Sovereigns. All of these were the rankings that a mage strives to climb during their lifetime. This was the order as I knew it, but Dorrik was saying this was not how it was supposed to be, and this change had brought strife.

But all of these changes were focused on the gods; what about the mortals? How did this thing that the Dragon God brought back with him affect them?

”And what of the mortals?” I asked.

”Now you’re asking the right question.” He nodded slowly. ”Worship used to go where it was pointed. A man believes, and the thing he believes in feels it, and that’s the whole of the transaction. Now it goes through.”

The way he said that last word sent tingles down my spine. ”Through what?”

”Nobody knows that either.” He spread his hands. ”Through the thing he brought back. It gathers it up, and it moves it about, and it puts it where it reckons it should go, and it takes its portion on the way, and don’t ask me what a thing like that wants with worship, because I’ve had three hundred years to think on it and I’ve got nothing.”

I sat very still, as I thought about what he was saying. The worship from mortals to gods was no longer direct; now they had to go through something. This was the price for order, but in the same way, nobody now understood how it all worked.

”There’s a contract now,” he went on, and for some reason he was no longer looking at me but at his forge. ”That’s what came with the order. Every soul born in this world now gets offered a term before they could even understand what that term truly means. A god would reach for them, and the soul would reach back. Faith is now automatic, and Blessings are now given... even to those who do not deserve Faith, and those who should never touch Blessings. This order does not care about right or wrong. It is just... cold.”

I blinked, understanding a bit about what was happening. In my time, the status screen was different, and anything concerning divinity was almost scrubbed away from it. You were rewarded for your actions and how much you gave to your growth, and, as far as I could tell, the System was impartial and did no favors.

I know many people who would call the System unfair, because it did not grant them their desires on a platter. No matter how much a scholar read, or how powerful an Emperor became, they were still mortals and could not become mages, since their soul shackled them to their original state.

This was the challenge faced by the present generations. Still, in this age, it was different; every soul was given a god, and gods, determined by their ranks, were given worshipers. As Dorrik was saying, such division in ranks would cause conflicts, as mortals who did not deserve Blessings would be given them, and gods who did not deserve Faith would also be given Faith.

I know some people in my life that I would not want them to become mages, but it seemed in this age, everyone was given a chance at power or shackled to a god, whether they wanted to or not. Still, if every soul was shackled to a patron god, why did I not have one? Is that the reason Dorrik thinks I may be a bit insane?

”You have told me a lot, Dorrik?” I said, ”But you have not told me what being a Chained means?”

”Chained’s when it goes wrong, and the writing stays.” He tapped the table twice. ”Your god falls, or dies, or forgets you, or decides you’re not worth the trouble. The contract doesn’t care, its yours from the moment of your birth. So it sits there on your soul, and you keep giving, and nothing comes back, and nothing can, and you can’t take it off.”

I looked at my status screen and frowned. ”For how long?”

”Until you die,” he said. ”And if you’re asking whether it ends there, I’d not put money on it. The gods got hierarchy and lost their freedom, and mortals got a contract and lost the choice of who they worship, and the whole thing is tidier than it was, and some would tell you it’s better... but they just weren’t there before.”

”Were you?”

He did not answer for a moment.

”I remember before,” he said. ”That’s not the same as being there.”

I was silent for a moment before I asked the one question that would not leave me, ”Dorrik, this thing he brought back from the void. Does it have a name?”