Divine Misfortune (2010) (21 page)

“Fair enough,” admitted Lucky as the god of dreams opened the door.

They entered the soundstage of Rick’s dreams. Props littered the set, which was in mid-construction. The cast of characters
sat around, waiting. Building dreams was a complicated affair, and at least half of the cast would be shuttled out before
the mortal architect fell asleep. Whatever passed through the dreamer’s mind, conscious and unconscious, would shape the show.
This was why mortal dreams were so confusing. It wasn’t because the unconscious was revealing transcendent mysteries or the
dreaming mind was unable to maintain a coherent thought. No, it was simply central casting and the prop department being unable
to keep up with last-minute rewrites.

“Hey, Rita,” said Morpheus to a Vegas showgirl.

She nodded to him, sucking on a cigarette as a wardrobe assistant slipped her out of a pleather catsuit and into a pair of
long johns.

“Recognize this guy?” asked Quick, pointing to a lanky cast member concealed in a voluminous brown robe. His mottled arms
were long and scaly. It was a dead-on likeness of Gorgoz except for the chubby face. A makeup assistant was still painting
the spots on there.

“This must be the place,” said Lucky. “Cripes, do you think he still looks like that?”

“He always was slow to change,” said Quick.

“Yeah, it’s no wonder he had to go underground.” Lucky chuckled. “That might’ve impressed the yokels at the dawn of time,
but you have to update every so often.”

They found the director of this mortal dreamscape sitting in a darkened corner, watching a small TV set playing out his waking
life. He stared intently at the small black-and-white screen and strained to hear the low sound.

“Excuse me,” said Lucky.

The director looked up, put a finger to his lips.

“Sorry to bother you, but—”

The director repeated the gesture, this time following it with a loud shushing sound.

Lucky stepped between the director and his television. “This will only take a few minutes of your time.”

“Are you supposed to be in here? Where’s your authorization?”

Morpheus waved a badge. The director checked it twice, then shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. I can never follow that show anyway.
I don’t know what the hell that guy is doing half the time.”

“We have some questions about Gorgoz,” said Lucky.

The director shuddered. “Him? Did he send you? Are you here to punish me for my failure?”

“We’re not with him,” said Quick absently as he picked through the catering cart. He sniffed a pig in a blanket. “We’re looking
for him.”

“Why?”

“Because he needs to be stopped,” said Lucky.

The director laughed. “Gorgoz is more dangerous than you can imagine.”

“He’s old news,” said Lucky, “a relic.”

“Precisely,” said the director. “He doesn’t care about the new rules. He’s still playing the game the old-fashioned way. It
might limit his power, but he’s a lot more willing to use the power he does have. He’s a cornered beast. And he doesn’t give
two shits about civilization or you or me or even himself. He sees himself on the top and everyone, mortal and immortal, is
beneath him. And he’ll burn the world to a cinder rather than compromise that ruthless ideal.”

The lighting on the soundstage dimmed as the director spoke. The crew put tints over the spotlights to tinge the air red.
The carpenters quickly tore down the set as a new set of walls was wheeled in to make a shadowy and darkened room.

Gorgoz’s phantasm grew taller and more menacing. He flipped his hood into place, hiding his face except for his two huge bloodshot
eyes.

“If you thought he was so damn dangerous,” asked Lucky, “why would you choose to follow him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” replied the director. “I needed an edge, and why would I settle with a small boon from a castrated deity
when I could have access to all the raw power of a true primordial force? No offense about the castration comment.”

“None taken,” said Quick.

“And now it’s gone bad.” The director said, “Well, I guess I can’t complain. I made my decision. Nothing to do but watch it
play out.”

“You’re awfully calm about this.”

“Hey, it’s his problem.” The director pointed toward the television. “Not mine.”

Lucky pondered how the subconscious could be so blithely oblivious to the perils of its physical aspect. But then again, why
should anyone expect a mortal’s subconscious to be any more logical than any other part of his mind?

“Would you mind telling us where to find Gorgoz?” asked Lucky.

“I wouldn’t mind,” said the director, “but I don’t really know. I did meet him once, but it was a secret ritual in an undisclosed
location.”

“Can you remember anything? Anything at all?”

“It was a few years ago. The details are kind of fuzzy. It was a dark room. Dusty. Smelled like rotten fish.”

Several stagehands rushed in, throwing sawdust into the air. Several others carried in buckets of carp, placing the buckets
in out-of-the-way corners. The director walked over to the set.

“There was a bunch of neophytes there. We all had on robes to hide our faces.” Phantasm players crowded the set behind him.
A wardrobe assistant threw a robe on the director. “There was the traditional Dirge of Gorgoz.” He knelt before the phantasm
in Gorgoz’s role. They started chanting.

“Excuse me,” said Lucky, pointing to a robed figure standing beside Gorgoz. “Hate to interrupt, but who is that?”

The actors in the memory kept chanting, but the director raised his head.

“That’s Gorgoz’s First Disciple,” he said.

“You didn’t see his face, did you?” asked Lucky.

“Sorry.”

They resumed their chant.

Lucky picked his way across the stage, avoiding disturbing the ritual. He circled the First Disciple.

“Morph,” said Lucky, “I suppose that since this guy didn’t see the face and this is just his memory we can’t see his face
either.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Morpheus said, “No. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why did you pause?”

Morpheus half-paused. “No reason.”

“Don’t tell me you’re holding out on me, buddy. You have to know a few extra tricks, right? Some kind of dream god cheat code.”

“Maybe there is something I can do, but there are certain risks. Things can go wrong.”

“What can go wrong? You’re Morpheus, god of dreams, master of the realm nocturnal, the big kahuna. Quick and I will stand
aside and leave it in your able hands.”

“Okay. Fine.”

Morpheus waved his hand at the hooded assembly and spoke in hushed, reverent tones. “Right now, this is only a memory, a dim
recollection of past events seen through one set of mortal eyes. But all memories, no matter how distant, no matter how distorted,
have the shadow of truth underneath. Even the most imperfect memory is a window—”

“That’s terrific,” interrupted Lucky. “Love the metaphysics. But we’re a little pressed for time.”

“Basically, I just reach back and use my powers to re-create elements of the memory that the director couldn’t know.” Morpheus
cracked his knuckles and clapped his hands. The lights snapped on bright and clear as everything was illuminated with the
absolute light of truth. The scene froze.

Lucky hopped back into the set and walked over to the First Disciple of Gorgoz. He pulled back the hood.

“I have no idea who this guy is,” said Lucky.

“What did you expect?” asked Quick. “A major movie star?”

“Would’ve made things easier.” Lucky searched the disciple’s pockets, but he came up empty. “That was a waste of time.”

Morpheus snapped his fingers. “Check his pockets again.”

The second search turned up a wallet.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s a dream. Who is to say that the guy didn’t have his wallet on him?”

“Morph, I like your style.” Lucky found a driver’s license. “Can I keep this?”

“Sure. What do I care?”

The phantasmal player of Gorgoz chuckled coldly. “You are as ridiculous as ever, Luka.”

“Easy, big guy,” said Lucky. “Don’t get lost in the part.”

Gorgoz stood. He pulled back his hood. The actor’s face was gone, replaced with the twisted true visage. It’d been a few centuries
since Lucky had seen Gorgoz face-to-face. He hadn’t gotten any prettier.

“Easy, Gorg, ol’ buddy.”

“Always with the endless obnoxious chatter,” said Gorgoz. “You blather on like a sideshow barker rather than a true god. It’s
no wonder the mortals have lost their fear of us.” He roared, spewing slime and spit into the air. “You dare violate my domain,
in the soul of one of my followers!”

“I don’t remember him being so eloquent,” said Lucky.

“He’s a manifestation of the director’s unconscious,” explained Morpheus. “Not an exact copy.”

Gorgoz pounced, seizing Lucky by the throat.

“Gorg, Gorgie, Gorgster,” choked the god of prosperity.

“Quiet, you babbling fool,” hissed Gorgoz. “Prepare to suffer the consequences of your trespass.”

“Uh-oh,” said Morpheus.

“Uh-oh, what?” asked Quick. “What’s gone wrong?”

“I warned you it would be dangerous. The simulation is out of control.”

“Uh, guys,” squeaked Lucky. “Could use a little help here.”

Quetzalcoatl sprang across the soundstage. He was batted aside with an offhand slap from Gorgoz, who chuckled with a low rasp.

“Look at you, god of blood and death. Look at what they’ve made you into. Luka was always a fool. But you… you were worshipped
by an empire.”

Quick rubbed his jaw. Being immortal didn’t make him immune to pain, and Gorgoz, even in this form, packed a mean backhand.

Lucky transformed into a hulking beast, forcing Gorgoz to release him. The set broke into chaos as the phantasmal players
scattered in all directions.

“Okay, Gorg!” roared Lucky as he pounded his huge fists together. “You asked for this!”

He pounced on Gorgoz. The two gods tumbled through the set, smashing their way through the faux brick walls. The shudders
and booms of their titanic struggle shook the soundstage.

Quick and Morpheus waited a few moments. Neither god was terribly concerned. Immortality made even the most savage combat
between deities an exercise in idiocy.

“Should we intervene?” asked Quick.

“This is my set!” screamed the director. “I’m in charge here!”

Lucky flew through the air, colliding with the overhead scaffold lighting. It all came crashing down. Lucky, back in his shorter,
Hawaiian-shirt form, crawled from the wreckage. Patches of fur were missing here and there, and half his tail had been sheared
off.

“For a simulation, he packs a helluva punch.”

Gorgoz tore his way through the set. He leveled a finger at the director. “This is your fault. Not only do you fail me, but
your weak mortal mind reveals secrets unfit for these fools to know. Now you shall suffer the consequences of your failure.”

“He’s really into seeing people suffering consequences,” observed Quick.

“Some things never change,” said Lucky.

The director cowered behind the gods.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” said Morpheus. “He can’t hurt you. He’s just a phantasm playing a part. A bit too well,
perhaps, but it’s still just a part. But you’re the director of this subconscious. You’re still in charge. You just have to
remember it.”

“Yes, that’s right. I am.” The director pushed his way past the gods and confronted Gorgoz’s enraged dream duplicate. “You’re
fired,” he said smugly. “Okay, people. Strike the set. Let’s take a quick lunch break, then we’ll set up for sex dream number
eight. Y’know, the one with the naughty librarian and the whipped cream. I think we’ve earned it.”

Gorgoz decapitated the director with one swipe of his claws. The head rolled to Morpheus’s feet and glared.

“Thanks for the advice, asshole,” grumbled the director before fading into oblivion. In the waking world, his physical aspect
fell over dead.

Lucky and Quick stepped away from Morpheus, as if to avoid any guilt by association.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” said Morpheus.

Gorgoz chuckled. “All things are possible to me. While all of you were belched forth from the primordial at the dawn of existence,
I was already here. I am the ultimate embodiment of the chaos that birthed the universe, and when all this is dust, when every
mortal life is snuffed, when every soul is crushed, when every lesser god is returned to the nothingness from which they were
spawned, I shall remain. Only madness endures. Only entropy is endless.” He narrowed his orange eyes and grinned. Not easy
with his messy arrangement of teeth and tusks.

“So piss off, you little shits.”

Gorgoz snapped his fingers. The soundstage exploded, consumed by a screaming blast of white fire.

The gods were blown out the door and into the hall.

Lucky shook the gray ash off his scorched flesh. “What the hell was that?”

Morpheus wiped soot from his face. “That is a problem. But it’s not my problem. I’m done. I’m out.”

The door opened and Gorgoz stepped out. Lucky and Quick braced themselves for another attack, but the phantom was back to
his harmless original actor. He rubbed his temples and moaned, wandering off.

“I was never here. Messing with Gorgoz is bad news.” Morpheus started walking. Lucky and Quick ran after him so as not to
get lost.

“But I thought he wasn’t even Gorgoz,” said Lucky.

“He wasn’t. He was just a phantasm. But Gorgoz must have left something behind, some seed of power. That was real fire-and-brimstone
stuff, right out of the Age of Legends. And it was just a leftover. It wasn’t even the real him.”

Morpheus stopped and wheeled on Lucky.

“I know you and Gorgoz have a thing going on. We all know he’s an asshole, and I feel for you. But if you’re thinking about
going head-to-head with him, I’d advise against it. Just keep on doing what you’re doing. Keep your head down and wait for
him to get bored.”

“It’s been over a thousand years.”

“So give it another thousand. Lay low. Don’t push your luck, Lucky. That’s all I’m saying.”