The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock (39 page)

Clinging to the mainmast was what appeared to be an
octopus. Or, at least, it had the body of an octopus, eight slimy
green tentacles, five of which were attached to the mainmast
itself. Even stranger, the octopus had the head of a human. The
human head was round and green, like the rest of its skin, and
completely bald, but there was no mistaking the very human-like
appearance of it.

Even weirder, the creature held a paintbrush in one
tentacle and a palette in the other, a palette that seemed to have
a dozen different colors ranging from red to blue. Its free
tentacle floated in the air above its strange head, a light shining
from its tip, the source of the light from before.

“What the heck is that?” said Jenur, her free hand
immediately reaching for her knife.

The strange octopus-human-thing sighed. “See? I told
you that you wouldn't like my appearance. Few do. Even my fellow
gods shun me, which I suppose is why I don't get many
visitors.”

Malock shook his head and said, “So you are a god?
Which god are you? The Paint God, the God of Paint? Or maybe the
Octopus God, the God of Octopuses? Are you going to eat us?”

The god glared at Malock. “Your sarcasm is palpable.
No, I am neither of those gods you mentioned. I am the Historic
God, the God of History.”

“History?” said Jenur. “Whenever I think of
'history,' I rarely think of octopus/human hybrid things that
paint.”

“My physical appearance is what it is, human,” said
the Historic God. “It is useful for what I use it for, the same as
your frail bodies are good for what they are good for. Let's not
make such low blows, yes?”

Kinker scratched his beard. “How can you speak
Divina? Most of the southern gods we've run into couldn't.”

“Because I record history,” said the Historic God.
“All of it, including the funny things you mortals get up to.
Learning to speak your language is a hobby I took up after a
certain mortal came through my tunnel one day. I caught her and
tortured her for weeks until she agreed to teach me the language.
Now I speak it quite proficiently, if I do say so myself.”

Kinker's blood ran cold. “You tortured her?
Why?”

“Because mortals are generally not allowed in here,”
said the Historic God. “The name of this place is unpronounceable
in your awkward human tongue, but I believe a rough translation is,
'Tunnel of History.' This is where the history of Martir is
kept.”

“So you write it all down?” said Malock. “Is that
what the paintbrush and palette are for?”

The Historic God raised his painting utensils, as if
making sure he had heard correctly. “These? No, I do not write.
Instead, I draw paintings, paintings that depict the history of the
world from the First Day to the present.”

Malock looked around and said, “And where, may I
ask, do you keep these paintings of yours? Do you happen to own an
art studio or gallery where you keep all of these paintings on
display for your fellow monsters—excuse me, I meant gods—can view
them?”

The Historic God frowned. “You mortals are so
disrespectful. What have I done to earn such hate?”

“It's not you in particular,” said Jenur. “It's just
the southern gods in general. Three of them tried to kill us and
another one tried to sink our ship and kill everyone on it. So if
we seem just a tad cynical about you, it's not your fault.”

“Yes, my siblings can certainly be vicious,” said
the Historic God, nodding his head in agreement. “And no surprise.
You humans smell delicious. It has been so long since I last tasted
mortal flesh, perhaps a few decades. Very few mortals ever make it
down this far south, you see, and unlike my siblings I rarely have
time to scour the southern seas for any mortals who may have
strayed from the north.”

“Let me guess,” said Malock. “You're going to eat us
alive, aren't you?”

“Sadly, I am not,” said the Historic God with a
sigh. “I know you, Prince Tojas Malock. You are Kano's Chosen. And
I can smell another Chosen One on this ship as well, though to be
honest I do not know why she of all goddesses would put a spy on
this ship.”

“Um, hello?” said Malock. “We have already dealt
with the spy. The Messenger came by a few weeks back and took
Tinkar's spy away. Your sense of smell must be messing up or
confused.”

“No, I am sure it is not,” said the Historic God.
“It is as obvious to me as the scent of blood and shit that is
inherent in this ship. I sometimes forget that you humans cannot
smell the same things as we gods. If you could, perhaps you would
treat the world around you much differently.”

Kinker was starting to regret not bringing along a
harpoon or some other kind of weapon. Though the Historic God had
made no threatening moves yet, he was still a southern god and
southern gods ate humans. Of course, not all southern gods did—the
Mechanical Goddess being the notable exception—but the vast, vast
majority of them did and so Kinker knew that he, Jenur, and Malock
could not let their guard down around this deity for even a
moment.

Then again, even if we do keep our guard up, is
there anything we can do to stop a god that wants to kill us?
Kinker thought.
A god is a god, even if he is a southern god.
That means we are basically screwed unless he spares us.

“Who is it, then?” said Malock. “Can you identify
the other Chosen One for us?”

“No,” said the Historic God. “I do not know the
names of every member of your crew, so I couldn't identify them
even if I wanted to. Besides, like my brother the Loner God, I
generally try to stay out of these silly and ultimately pointless
conflicts my northern siblings often get into. Better to let them
sort it out themselves, rather than get involved in a conflict that
I have no personal stake in.”

“That sounds very nice,” said Malock. “But surely
you are not going to simply let us go, are you?”

The Historic God shrugged. “There's little I can do
to get in your way. Even simply speaking to you could draw me into
a conflict in which I have no interest whatsoever. Still, I have
been lonely these many years, observing history unfold like a flag,
with visitors being few and far between.”

“Then why don't you just leave?” said Jenur. “I
mean, you're a god. You can do anything. No one is your boss,
right?”

The Historic God chuckled, then burst into full on
laughter. The laughter was gurgled and strained, almost demonic.
“Oh, what a great sense of humor you mortals have. Just leave ...
why, if I could do that, I would have done it eons ago. I hate this
place with a burning passion, even though it has been my home since
the end of the Godly War.”

“Something's keeping you here, then?” said Malock.
“What?”

“The Treaty,” said the Historic God, his eyes
downcast, his tone more than a little bitter. “Ah, the Treaty. That
nasty little paper that tells us exactly what we gods, northern and
southern alike, can and cannot do in this world. How I curse the
Powers every day for it.”

The Historic God's sudden change of tone—from a
calm, leveled tone to one of pure bitterness and hate—took Kinker
by surprise. The Historic God's tentacles constricted around the
mainmast so tightly that Kinker was afraid he might break it.

“But why should I tell you my life story when you
can see it visually?” said the Historic God. “Behold, my
collection.”

The Historic God waved his free tentacle and the
bright light shot up into the top of the ship, all the way to the
crow's nest. The bright light allowed Kinker, Malock, and Jenur to
see the inside of the Tunnel now and what they saw silenced them in
awe.

Along both sides of the Tunnel's walls and on its
ceiling were paintings. Not just any old paintings, however. They
were enormous paintings, depicting scenes and figures in such
detail that they looked like the Historic God had simply taken them
and put them on the walls. Even more amazing, the scenes all bled
into one another, as if all of these smaller paintings were in fact
part of a much larger whole that Kinker couldn't see.

One painting in particular caught Kinker's eye. It
showed a large octopus-like creature that heavily resembled the
Historic God rampaging through an island, uprooting trees, killing
mortals, and smashing anything that got in its way. A handful of
humans near its feet were trying to fight it off, but it was clear
to Kinker that the humans could not stop it.

“Is that you?” said Jenur, pointing at the painting.
She said this to the Historic God.

The deity nodded and said, “'Twas me.”

“But you look so much larger in that picture,” said
Jenur. “Like, as big as a mountain.”

“We gods can change size as well as shape,” said the
Historic God. “I took on the large form because it was so much
easier to hunt and kill mortals than it was in a smaller size. I
was actually the leader of the mortal hunters.”

Malock looked at the Historic God in shock. “You
mean you were the one who led your southern siblings in war against
your northern siblings?”

The Historic God raised his brush and palette in a
pacifying sort of way. “No need to get your pants in a twist,
mortal. I didn't start the War, after all. And I technically wasn't
a 'real' leader anyway. I was simply more vicious than the rest of
my siblings, so I naturally killed more mortals than the others. I
never took the life of another god, even though I clashed with my
northern siblings several times.”

“That doesn't make you very good,” said Jenur.
“Still doesn't explain what you're doing here, though.”

“Watch,” said the Historic God, gesturing at the
paintings.

By now, the ship had floated a few more feet down
the tunnel, revealing another painting. This one showed the open
mouth of the Tunnel, with a much smaller version of the Historic
God standing before it on the ocean. Though the painting version of
the deity's back was to them, Malock could sense a feeling of dread
from the painting, the kind of emotion that only the best painters
knew how to invoke in their audience.

“The Powers were terribly angry with me when the War
ended,” said the Historic God. “They didn't like me, didn't like
what I'd done at all. While the other southern gods were simply
restricted to the southern seas, I was banished here, to this
place, to cool down, so to speak. They gave me the task of
recording all of history as it happened for the rest of my
days.”

“So you can't leave here, even if you wanted to?”
said Malock.

“Yes,” said the Historic God. “That may seem odd to
you mortals, a god who cannot go where he wishes, but it is the
truth. The Powers' might dwarfs that of all of the gods combined.
There was nothing I could do to persuade them, nothing I could do
to convince them to give me freedom. And so, I ended up here, where
I have been painting every day for the past several thousand
years.”

Kinker shook his head in pure astonishment. “Surely
you must have run out of room to paint after a while, didn't you?
After all, this Tunnel doesn't go on forever, right?”

“That is true,” said the Historic God. “But you
assume I paint every minutiae of history. I do not. I try, to the
best of my ability, to paint only the most important parts of
history. That can be difficult, as I am not gifted with the ability
to see the future like my brother Tinkar is, but so far most of the
events I have captured in paint have indeed been important to
future historic developments.”

He sounded pleased with himself at the accuracy of
his guesses.

“But I do wish I could be free,” he sighed. “This
Tunnel is deep and dark. All I ever do is paint day in and day out.
If I could only get my freedom, get a taste of that fresh ocean air
... but alas, the Powers do not wish for me to be roaming the
southern seas.”

“With good reason,” said Jenur. “You killed tons of
people, I bet. I've never been a fan of the Powers, but this time I
think they were right in locking you down here. You are
insane.”

The Historic God snorted. “Insane? I would suggest
that your Captain is the insane one. A human, braving the southern
seas, which are full of gods that would like nothing better than to
devour human flesh, purely because he believes he was summoned by a
goddess.”

“It is not belief, Historic God, but truth,” said
Malock. “If it were not, then I never would have made it this
far.”

“Of course,” said the Historic God. “Of course. Yet
I suppose it has never occurred to you to wonder what my sister has
summoned you for?”

Malock didn't see where this was going. “I have, but
so what if I don't know? I trust Kano. She would never have
summoned me without good reason.”

The Historic God shook his head in amazement. “It
has been so long since I last saw mortals that I forgot just how
sycophantic you are. Then again, I suppose we southern gods do have
a different view of our northern siblings that you mortals do.”

“What do you mean?” said Malock. “Are you implying
that Kano is untrustworthy?”

“It goes without saying that anyone who requires the
worship of pathetic mortals such as yourselves is insecure,” said
the Historic God. “All I am saying is that what we gods want is not
always what you mortals want. Surely you would have realized that
by now.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Jenur grumbled.

The Historic God licked his lips, like he was
getting hungry. “All of this talking is making me quite famished. I
have had to survive on the fish that swim into here over the years,
but now a ship full of tasty mortals has ended up in my Tunnel.
Lucky me.”

“But you said you weren't going to eat us,” said
Malock, taking a step forward to protect Kinker and Jenur.
“Right?”

“I did say that,” said the Historic God. “I was
merely trying to make you uncomfortable. Just be warned that, when
betrayal comes, it will be when you least expect it.”