Page 21 of Circle of Shadows
In Celestae, the gods’ floating island in the heavens, fruit is so sweet, its mere scent drips syrup from the stars. Beauty is so pure, it bestows joy from miles away. And youth is eternal, such that muscles never grow weak, nor minds, feeble with age. This is the paradise of the gods, a playground of power and immortality and bliss in the sky.
But when Kichona was a young kingdom, its emperor Mareo decided he wanted a version of Celestae on earth. He appealed to Sola, who ignored his summons. He called to Luna, but she did not reply. The gods, it seemed, were too far away to notice or care.
There was one deity, however, who had chosen to live on earth. Zomuri, god of glory, lived in sulfurous caverns in the center of Kichona. And so Mareo embarked on the long and treacherous journey there.
When he finally found the god’s home, he was on the cusp of death. Still, Emperor Mareo laid out many offerings for the god. There was gold. There was silk. And mounds of tigerpearls. Zomuri hoarded riches.
On the eighth day, Zomuri appeared. He was a giant wearing an elegant silk robe decorated with embroidered flames. He stroked his long beard with a ten-fingered hand, then picked up the gold and the silk and the spears in turn.
Emperor Mareo looked up through muddied strands of hair. “Great Zomuri, I—”
The god waved at him. The gesture choked off the emperor’s voice.
“I know what you want,” Zomuri said, scoffing. His breath smelled powerfully of spoiled eggs. “Did you think that gold and silk would be enough to buy you paradise?”
Emperor Mareo shook his head furiously. Through sheer force of will, his voice broke through the god’s magic. “This was merely an offering. But I am willing to pay whatever it takes.”
Zomuri eyed him now with an inkling of curiosity. It was nearly impossible to break through a god’s spell. And yet Mareo had managed to speak.
“If it were possible to grant you paradise on earth,” Zomuri said slowly, “what would you do to achieve it?”
Mareo swiped the grimy hair from his face and looked eagerly at the giant. “I have my entire life to give. I have my entire soul to dedicate to you.”
The god considered this. It would be quite a coup to have an emperor worship him rather than Sola. But then Zomuri shook his head. “Your life and your soul are not enough.”
Emperor Mareo hesitated. But he pulled back his shoulders and said, “I promise all the lives it shall take. All the people I conquer shall worship you. All I kill shall die in your name.”
Zomuri smiled. “Do what I bid of you, and you shall have your paradise on earth. You shall have the Evermore.”
The curse was made.
Emperor Mareo’s legs buckled beneath him from exhaustion, and he hit the ground. He wept, but out of gratitude rather than pain. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”
Zomuri picked him up by the scruff of his neck and stood him back on his wobbling legs. “Do not thank me yet. There is much work to be done. You will broaden Kichona’s borders as far as the eye can see. You will convert the people of the lands you conquer to our faith and make them worship me. And you will pay your tithe to me in blood.”
The emperor quivered under the burden with which he’d been bestowed. But he had asked for it. And he wanted the Evermore.
“The first tithe you owe comes due to me as soon as you return home. You shall find Kichonans aged one to one hundred, a male and female each, and sacrifice their lives to me in the Ceremony of Two Hundred Hearts. Only then will I grant you the right to seek the Evermore.”
Emperor Mareo’s jaw hung open. “You want me to kill two hundred of my own people? Babies? Old women?”
Zomuri huffed, and a cloud of sulfurous air billowed from his nose. “The Evermore is the greatest prize of them all. Blood must be shed to make Kichona into the empire I want. Therefore, the first step is a ritual to prove to me that no life is too precious for you to spare, whether young or old, Kichonan or not.”
The emperor stood in the cavern, knees quaking. It was unspeakable, what Zomuri asked.
But it was also a small price to pay to bring paradise to the rest of the kingdom.
With this mission bestowed upon him, Emperor Mareo returned to his palace. He called for volunteers throughout thekingdom, a male and a female for each age between one and one hundred, promising them glory. And then, away from curious eyes, he slaughtered them, offering their hearts to Zomuri.
After that, Mareo’s armies massacred tens of thousands overseas, and he pursued his goal to the end of his days.
But when he died, Kichona’s borders barely skimmed the edges of the mainland. The mantle of the curse would have to be picked up by another disciple, who would, like his predecessor, offer the blood of many, many others.
Thus, it continued. There were periods of peace, when no one was foolish enough to desire what Zomuri had offered, not at so high a cost. But the avarice of men always rears its head again, and in time, another would try for what those who had come before him had failed to achieve.
But there was never enough blood to quench Zomuri’s thirst for glory in his name. Never enough for the god to grant heaven on earth. Therefore, it was not man who achieved immortality but, rather, the curse, which trailed their greed like an unshakable, eternal shadow.
The Evermore was never worth its price.
