Gods of the Autumn Harvest

Chapter IV: Chant Of The Valkyries

“Well, what do you imagine it is?” the burly one compelled. “Surely, not a raven – or?”

“Tsk, I reckon not – eh, why ya sure it’s a bird at all?” the smaller spirit offered. “I mean, a feather, that’s true; but you know there’s all sorts of things: my cousin -- back when we was alive and operated a farmstead – used to talk all tha time ‘bout a hungry thing with scales that would eat the cattle.”

“Eat the cattle?” he mumbled. “.. Must’ve been a mess.”

“No, it was real neat with it,” the small one nodded to himself. “Well, apparently he’d just find the bones in the field, all tidy and nicely preserved in solid spit; eh, but point ain’t that tho’, the thing had scales-- left ‘em everywhere after eatin’.”

“And what’s that to do with this?”
“Well, it choked one day – tried to take the whole meal down at once, we found it laying in the field, horse sticking halfway out its throat – and y’know what? It had scales, but the damn thing looked like a bear.”

“… I don’t deny you that, I wouldn’t know how to begin; but what does it help me whether it looks like a bird or anything else?” he said, slightly irate. “There’s still the feathers around everywhere! – and just so you understand, they’re making the town look a mess!”

“Well,” he sneered, “I might suggest that’s why you have me. I know a thing or two ‘bout cleanin’ after the livestock, back when things was alive.”

“Y-Yes, Fanndaniel, that is why I am here,” the large one renewed. “That is what I requested.”

“Granted. Albeit, friend, you could simply go present the problem to the Lord – we’re not the ones gettin’ punished, we have r-“

Above them, the caverns began to rattle; it shook for knots, upsetting the geography below. Locations shifted a knot away from their home, or swapped places. The ceiling of Hell began to uncouple, it cracked and unyoked – it whimpered like an animal, a layer of atmosphere shredding into itself – the illusion of the night sky, brilliant with stars, rend apart. Rays of light, artificial and bright, broke through the passage kissing Soyl with its cousin below; riding the beams through a decomposing night sky – chariots, countless. Sunlight spilled from their wheels like grease, blotting the darkness of space with an eerie glow. Above, beyond the sundered Veil, the real sky, looking in on the gross imitation of itself; in that moment, every spirit below feels like a pet in a bottle.

The small phantom scoffed, staring at the event of it all.

As quickly as it split, it snapped shut with ear-splitting force, the door between worlds ostentatiously slammed: all of Hell witness to the charade. The glaring light remained, spreading like a drop of ink in water against the dark – it even spilled over the edges, cracking the horizon in half like an aurora. A permanent new fixture, until they depart.

The chariots sliced a way down to the Veiled Palace in the distance, in the center of Hell, always visible. Veksys sat filing  parchments, invitations, and complaints in his seat – he peered up at the spectacle through the tinted glass ceiling and briefly let a breath vacate his lips: he continued his work, stamping and signing documents and sending them to be meticulously stored. The room danced with shifting, moving colors as the light from the pantheon’s entry shone through the tinted crystal dome. He looked down at his hands for a moment, staring in thought at his pen. He dipped it in ink, signed a final document, and stood. Across the immense room, the thousands of phantoms are again siphoned away.

He calls for Nephistes.