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Jayce Talis, a humble farmer, sat down in front of the temple.
It was a small thing, no bigger than a shed. A little opening in the rock foundation left just enough space for humble offerings, and, on this first day of the season, Jayce set his first one down.
“I’m not sure who’s out there,” he said to himself as he placed a few crocus flowers on the smooth stone, “but I hope this is sufficient.” He continued to speak to the clear blue sky even after setting the offering down, even after minutes had passed. He wished for a god of harvest, maybe one of rain, something to bless his crops and nurture his family.
Jayce Talis waited from noon till night.
Even with his eyes heavy and shoulders slack he sat by the temple. He leaned his head against the smooth stone, and, almost instantly, a soft voice filled his head.
“This is a fruitless endeavor,” it said, the voice soft as silk as it passed through Jayce’s brain. The farmer lifted his gaze, a renewed sense of energy within him.
“You should go to the city,” the voice continued, “find a real temple, a better god. You cannot believe that this will bring you anything” Jayce frowned. A leaf fell in front of him. Jayce picked it up, twirling it in his fingers before setting it in the temple.
“This is more than I was expecting, anyway,” Jayce said. “Tell me, what sort of god are you?”
A click of a branch resembled a click of one’s teeth, and the voice spoke.
“I am Viktor, the god of burnt oil,” he said slowly, as if he had to think of his use, “the moonlight reflected on the snow. Of gears fitting into slots, of the scent of rain before a shower. I am the god of a million nothings, of dead ends, of meaningless glances, of the breath before a lie. Nothing that will be of any use to you.”
Jayce sat. He sat for a bit, thinking, and sat some more. He glanced back up, as if he were expecting to see something, and shrugged.
“Okay.”
There was a pause, then a deep sigh, “Do not waste your prayers on me.”
Jayce smiled as he stood, stretching and giving the small temple a good once over before nodding. “I might,” he said, as if it were a challenge. The last thing the farmer heard before walking off was another long, exasperated sigh.
Jayce Talis made an effort each morning to trudge up the hill to the temple as soon as the sun broke through the horizon. Most of the time, it was quiet. Sometimes Viktor’s voice spat a frustrated quip. Jayce liked those times.
On one such morning, after finishing his prayer, the voice rustled in Jayce’s head like a gust of wind.
“I cannot save you from drought,” he said. “I cannot stop your crops from wilting.”
“Okay.”
A violent storm passed through the countryside. Mud spilled into the farmer’s fields. Knee high puddles spotted the land, slowing Jayce down as he tried to salvage the bit of wheat.
He and his mother went hungry, yet Jayce left a small bundle of salvaged wheat on the altar.
“Take it!” Viktor hissed and the stone rattled, “There is nothing here for you! What is this temple to you other than another burden?” Jayce swallowed, his hands shaking from hunger as he stared blankly at the temple. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it.
“I cannot help you. And you have nothing,” the god said, smaller this time. Jayce rested his head on the temple.
“We have each other,” Jayce spoke. His voice was so, so tired.
Viktor was quiet for a bit. The air was still.
“I cannot help you,” he repeated, voice shaking.
“People prayed to all kinds of gods,” Jayce said, curling his body against the stone. “And their fields still flooded. Besides, I like talking to you.”
“Empty words,” the god sighed, accent thick.
“Not to me,” Jayce rested his eyes. He felt a comforting wash of tiredness (and the touch of fingers to his temple) before he succumbed to sleep.
Years passed. Jayce’s mother passed. Soon the farmer tended the field alone, his only comfort being the temple, being Viktor. Sometimes they spoke of cities, whispered of magic, and laughed at field mice and the stray cats that chased them. Most of the time, however, they rested.
More time came and went, more offerings given and taken. With the change of seasons came the change of the world, and on a dark, dreary day the world came to the farmer.
War had broken amongst the nations. Men with sharp swords and murderous intent took over the land. Jayce Talis made his final trek up the hill with one hand on his pierced side.
“Oh,” the god spoke when the first drop of crimson blood hit the brown stone, “Oh, oh no, I can’t save you, I—”
“I know,” Jayce spit.
“I can’t— I couldn’t do anything for you. All these years and I’ve done nothing!” Viktor wailed. The god left the temple. His form was made of starlight, his hair white as the moon and eyes molten yellow like honey. Jayce could see him when he closed his eyes.
“Hush. What—,”Jayce coughed, “what kind of god are you?” The god heaved, his eyes frantic as he traced the rough planes of the farmer’s face. Slender fingers rested against Jayce’s temple once more as Viktor settled behind him.
“I,” he began, voice drenched in sorrow, “I am the god of burnt oil. The— the moonlight reflected on the snow. Of gears fitting into slots, of the scent of rain before a shower. I am the god of a million nothings, of dead ends, of meaningless glances, of the breath before a lie.”
Jayce tried to open his eyes, another fruitless endeavor, before settling on viewing the god from behind his eyelids. He swallowed.
“Perfect,” he hummed. “Beautiful. Every single one.”
“Empty words,” Viktor choked, his grip tightening on Jayce as his body went slack.
Powder was an adventurous child. Her family, a large, rambunctious group, meant to only stay in this place for a night or two. Yet they’d found the old farmland, now rundown beyond belief, and saw hope in it.
Her father had specifically asked for her to stay with her siblings at the bottom of the hill. Powder was standing atop it, hands on her hips as she overlooked her new home.
Bored of the view, she turned and made her way into the woods. A small lump of rocks caught her attention.
“Ew,” she poked at the decrepit temple with her hand. Stone crumbled below and onto the remains of a certain farmer.
Powder jumped back, her heart in her throat as she stared at the skeleton in front of her. After collecting herself she crawled back over.
“Poor guy,” she whispered. Realization hit her young features, her hand touching the stone again, gently. “Poor god.”
“His name,” a voice, the god, hacked. His voice was rough, accent thick as his words curled around Powder’s mind. “Was Jayce. Jayce Talis.”
Powder startled slightly, her big bright eyes gleaming with childlike inquisition. She thought a moment more.
“What did he do?” She asked, her eyes glued on the skull.
“He was a farmer,” Viktor whispered, grief laced in each syllable.
“A good one?” She asked. The god snorted.
“Good, yes,” he said.
“But?” She pushed.
The god cleared his throat. “But nothing. He was good man.”
“And now he’s here,” Powder stated. Viktor hummed.
“Can you do me a favor, child?” He asked. Powder nodded, eager to help. “Can you bury him?”
Her shoulders fell, but she shrugged, digging in her brown satchel for a small shovel. It took a while to break the roots that had begun to grow over the temple and surrounding ground. Once she sunk the tool into the black earth she was already tired, her face scrunched in focus as she tried to dig a hole big enough for a bag of bones.
She wiped her brow, taking off her thin jacket and rolling it out onto the altar.
“I cannot do anything for you,” Viktor said. “I couldn’t help him. I am not a useful god.”
Powder slumped down on the same stone Jayce sat all those years prior, gently placing his bones on the soft blue cloth. She sniffed and continued to listen.
“When his crops wilted and floods ruined his fields I did nothing. Through drought, through blizzards, through hail, I could do nothing to aid him as he aided me,” Viktor said, his voice rising in anger. Rising in contempt for himself, for the past. Powder listened. “When… they came,” his voice faltered, “when war broke. I could not save him. He bled out here in my arms.”
Powder finished placing the majority of bones on the cloth while the god paused. The tall grass around her shook like a breath as the god released a final, somber sentence.
“I am the god of a million nothings, of nothing useful.” He spoke with an unfaltering finality in their tone. Powder shook her head.
“Well,” she said, her voice older than her years as she gently placed the skull on the soft cloth, “I think you’re the god of something useful.”
“What?”
Powder folded the remains gently and smiled at the temple. “You are the god of Jayce Talis.”
Powder’s family lived and died, and their children did, and their children’s children. Generations passed. The town had grown, tall homes reaching the edge of the field. Nothing stayed the same, save for a large pile of rocks atop a hill.
Nobody mourned the god. Those who passed it felt a chill and small children left tiny flowers on the already mossy ‘roof’, yet nobody truly knew what god lied within it. The view from the temple showed the god all the change that had occurred.
Dirt paths had been paved. Towns divided by rivers had been bridged and large bouts of steam rose from rooftops. So much had happened, and so little did Viktor have to offer.
What a lonely existence he led.
So he curled as far as he could into the temple, tucking quietly into a corner, content to let the world pass without him. In his rumination, he contemplated.
How foolish Talis had been. How foolish humans were.
To worship a god that could offer nothing. To dedicate your life, your work, your home to one that couldn’t give even a quarter of that in return. To love so freely, almost carelessly.
It stirred something within the tired god.
Rising from his spiral he approached the hillside again. The world had changed some more. The god of a million nothings decided he would assist in the change. Assist humans in their wanderings. Burnt oil didn’t seem half as scalding. The streetlights didn’t need to be lit after a fresh snow on a clear night, for the road was illuminated fully in a blue glow. Things clicked into place. Rain fell gentler. The god watched.
On one fateful day, a familiar voice echoed within the small cave the god still called his temple.
“God of Hidden Wonders?”
The god sat up, his golden eyes widening as he let out an airy breath. The man in front of him, now different as he matched Viktor with a star studded body and blinding white hair, the god could recognize anywhere. “Jayce.”
“I am the god of devotion,” Jayce said as he slotted into the small entryway of the temple. “Of unconditional love, of unbreakable partnerships, and of trust.” He beamed. Oh, how the god missed that smile.
“Jayce,” he repeated, tears flowing freely, “Oh, Jayce that’s wonderful.” He swallowed. “Surely you require a large temple— a god such as yourself will obtain a large following— are you leaving for the city?”
Jayce shook his head. “No.”
“Somewhere bigger, then,” the god tutted, “you are an ambitious man, Talis. Atop the mountains?”
“No.”
Viktor gasped, his brows furrowing as he thought. “I don’t see where else you could go, Jayce—”
“I’d like to stay here,” Jayce interrupted, his smile unwavering. “If you’ll have me.”
A pause. Viktor searched Jayce’s eyes for any deception, he listened for a breath of a lie. Nothing came. All that he saw was pure, unfiltered devotion.
“Why?” He asked, voice thick. “Why here?”
“I am the god of devotion,” Jayce’s voice was low as he took Viktor’s hands in his, their arms looking like the night sky as one. “The god of unconditional love, unbreakable partnerships, and of trust. And you.” He cupped Viktor’s cheek, wiping a shooting star from the other’s face. “Are the god of Jayce.”
They met, their souls brushing as the connection of two gods flooded the damp temple with a blinding light. Jayce giggled against Viktor’s cheek, leaving soft kisses on the damp skin as Viktor cried through his own laugh. Once they’d settled the two decided their place would be atop this hill, overlooking the growing world. They left the temple and met the rising sun with a smile.
With Viktor’s hand in his, Jayce Talis, the god of devotion, unconditional love, unbreakable partnerships, and trust, sat down in front of the temple.