Nezahualcoyotl
The Healing Den
===> Rider
How do you know if you're dead?
How do you know if you're in the afterlife, if you never believed there was one?
The thing is, you don't.
Nezahualcoyotl was one of the anti-believers. One of the followers of the Religion of No Religion.
An atheist, if you will.
The world had changed.
Religion was exploited as something to join as a current fad. Those who refused to support the Church were killed with little protestation from anyone. There were no rulers of any country: long ago the Church had decided that it would be better if the world was in unity, without boundaries to fight over. But they refused to accept a world leader; a man couldn't have that much power without taking advantage of the position, even those in connection with the Church.
So the world was thrown into chaos. Was it the same world as the one we live on? You'll never know.
But Nezahualcoyotl was part of it: it was his reality.
The protest was a minor one, in front of one of the small Churches. Nezahualcoyotl was one among maybe thirty people milling in front of the locked gates, jeering and shouting towards representitives inside. He was among his friends, his companions in his anti-religion. It wasn't against anything in particular, except the Church's rising power; in a world of chaos, everyone flocked to the thing that offered assurance, offered organisation. In this case, it was the Church.
That was all they could do: they could only yell and jeer, trying to sound tougher than they were. They made no impact - there were too few people opposing the Church, too many supporting it.
But they yelled, and they shouted, and they jeered. It was all they could do.
The first shots were fired maybe an hour or two after they'd started. It was standard practise to get rid of protestors: shoot low, towards the legs. Anyone shot wouldn't die, but it would definitely discourage those who had a mind to continue into the night.
The protestors scattered - luckily no-one had been hit, by some freak chance. It didn't discourage them for long; it never did. Gradually they slipped back in front of the gates, and forst one voice raised, jeering, and then another joined it. Nezahualcoyotl's voice was one of the ones that chimed in moments later, their voices rising as one until it became the chant that it had been before the shots were fired. Some people had gone - they knew that after aiming low ('the warning') that the representitives firing the guns would aim them higher, to kill. And no-one could do anything if one person was shot.
Moments later the expected came. The crack of a bullet, and then the eery silence and thud as it hit - and then the screaming, not of the person who'd been hit, of the others, knowing that one of their number was going to die.
Nezahualcoyotl wasn't among those to scream. He'd seen it happen before, countless times - he gazed with a cool outer mask, amber eyes flicking over the assembled anti-believers as they fell apart, running away from the gates. His stomach dropped, as it always did, as he saw how little a scare could frighten his people. No wonder they weren't making a difference.
He watched until finally only he and the man who'd been shot remained. He looked at the man's body for a moment, and then shook his head slightly to himself - it wasn't a man, but a woman. A loss: most woman chose to go with the Church, and any that chose to follow the anti-believers were an asset.
Blood leaked out of the woman's mouth, dripping onto the sidewalk and pooling underneath the gate: Nezahualcoyotl had a grim satisfaction in knowing that the representitives of the Church would have to clean one of the "unenlightened's" blood. But the satisfaction wasn't worth the woman's life.
"Hey! Hey, you! Get out of here!"
Raising his eyes, Nezahualcoyotl could see the man's head behind the bars of the gate. He watched him for a moment, lips curving into a sneer, and then spat at his own feet. Nezahualcoyotl saw the man's head recoil, but couldn't see the expression on his face: it was getting darker, and the man was in shadow.
"Go on! Get out of here, coward, like your friends! No need moping about the woman; I'm sure God will deal with her as he wants!" Nezahualcoyotl heard a chuckle after the man had spoken, and his sneer grew.
After a moment Nezahualcoyotl spoke, his voice gruff to disguise his true tone. "Pity there's no God - he'd have a field day with you." He didn't wait for an answer, since it would more than likely come in the form of a bullet. Spinning on his heal, Nezahualcoyotl walked away at a dignified pace, not even looking over his shoulder, even as he heard the click of a gun loading.
The unmistakable crack, and the ground beside his left boot erupted, sending concrete shrapnel everywhere. A large piece of it hit his leg, ripping through his trousers - Nezahualcoyotl muffled a curse, skip-hopped once to take his weight off the leg and continued, walking tenderly on his left leg. He still didn't look back.
Laughter filtered through the gate as he paced away. "You're lucky Jeshrej is a bad shot, mate - I would've had you in the chest."
"I'm no mate of yours," Nezahualcoyotl retorted over his shoulder, but his eyes were on the woman lying dead at the gate - she'd be burned, most likely, but he couldn't do anything about it.
"Y'hear that, Jeshrej? He thinks himself high enough to correct me!"
The cloth he used to wash out the gash along his thigh wasn't much help at all - it was already stained with numerous unidentifiable liquids. The anti-believer's lived with little luxury.
Sighing quietly to himself, Nezahualcoyotl lifted his leg onto his small bed - small being an exaggeration. He barely fitted down its length when lying down, and he only had enough room beside it to get in and out of the bed adequately. Just.
At the foot of the bed there was a chest that covered the small area in that part of the infinitely small room: there he kept his few possessions. None of the anti-believers had many worldly goods. On occasions the Church searched every living quarters in their city, and hunted out any of the followers of the Religion of No Religion. Sometimes they threw out people who weren't; but they didn't bother to protest. Nezahualcoyotl had moved across the south-west continent his whole life, never staying in one place for more than a year or so. He always believed it was better to move yourself than be ousted by the Church. The less contact with them the better.
There was a quiet whoosh. Nezahualcoyotl jerked his head up from examining the gash on his left thigh, his eyes flicking towards the chute in the wall over his bed. As he'd expected, there was a single block of plastic - black and deadly-looking - with a strap around it. It was holding a note.
Reaching across, Nezahualcoyotl didn't bother sighing as he read its contents - another protest, in front of a different Church. He didn't quite see the point, but he had to make an appearance if they'd gone to the trouble of notifying him of it. It was hard to send messages that contained any information of anti-believers: let alone via the chute system that connected the whole city together.
Rolling to his feet in the small space next to the bed, Nezahualcoyotl banged around on the opposing wall for a while before he found the right cupboard in the wall - to maxamize space the drawers had seamless openings, making it difficult to find the cupboards on occasion.
Rifling through the drawer for a moment, Nezahualcoyotl snagged a roll of medic strap, wrapping it tightly around his thigh and tearing it off with his teeth. The adhesive sealed automatically; Nezahualcoyotl examined it for a moment before putting the medic tape back in the drawer, and sliding it back into the wall.
The door slid shut behind him as he walked out, and he heard the reassuring click as it sealed and locked. Three doors down from him, he heard the sound again, and glanced to see one of his neighbours in the shabby apartment block. He inclined his head in a solemn greeting, and then strode away towards where the protest was to be held without a backward glance.
"Took your time getting here: it's gonna be over in a bit. They're getting ready to shoot." The harsh whisper came to him as Nezahualcoyotl mingled in the crowd - it was much larger than the last one, being in a higher density part of the city. Glancing to his left, he located the person who had spoken: Verefyulit, one of the sneakiest people he'd met. Somehow the other man managed to find Nezahualcoyotl no matter where he was over the continent.
"Why am I not surprised to see you." It was more of a statement than a question, said under his breath so that Verefyulit could only just hear. The other man just grinned irrepresibly.
"I pop up everywhere. Surely you know that by now." He gave Nezahualcoyotl only a single more glance before looking towards the gate, almost identical to the one Nezahualcoyotl had been at not hours before. "Look, they're gonna shoot right-"
He was interupted as the distinguishable crack sounded, and the predictable screams resounded in both their ears. Verefyulit closed his eyes, as if in pain, until the noise was gone, and then looked to Nezahualcoyotl again. "Now." He finished dryly, his eyes moving from Nezahualcoyotl's face to something past his shoulder. Neza instinctively looked over his shoulder, and saw a man limping past them, moaning in pain, blood leaking from his leg. He'd been the one who'd been shot.
"And here they come back." Nezahualcoyotl said after a moment as the man continued to moan and limp away, turning to Cerefyulit with an eyebrow raised. "You have perfect timing, as always."
"Of course. Couldn't cope without it." The other man commented as the protestors gradually started slipping back in front of the gate. Someone's voice rose above the melee to start abusing the people inside the Church, and others joined. So predictable, Nezahualcoyotl thought, So predictable.
"Yes, they are, aren't they?" Verefyulit agreed to the unspoken thought. Nezahualcoyotl often thought the other man had a small amount of telepathy: not overly uncommon, but scarce enough to be valuable. Verefyulit never admit to being such.
"And they wonder why we're getting nowhere with our protests." Nezahualcoyotl paused a moment, squinting towards the gates. "They're getting ready to shoot again."
"Let's see if they can kill cleanly this time, instead of mortally maiming," Verefyulit's monotonous comment made Neza glance sharply at the other man; he sometimes also said things that made him wonder if Verefyulit's intentions were sometimes malicious.
The hand holding the gun raised, and then another crack as it shot.
At first Nezahualcoyotl didn't find the connection between the bullet firing and the pain in his chest; it wasn't until he realised that the space in front of him had cleared, and then suddenly he was on the ground, pain blossoming even further in his chest.
"You're hit mate." Verefyulit's sad voice was one of the last things he heard as his vision started to dim. He could feel the concrete slammed up against his cheek, could hear the harsh breathing of someone... was it him?
"Come back and tell us if there's an afterlife, eh, mate? Tell us if we're fighting for the wrong reason." Verefyulit's last words petered out, as if they were getting more distant. His vision dimmed further, until it was all darkness and shadows. A sudden bright burst of light, and then Nezahualcoyotl felt nothing.
...so what do we do with him? He's not even meant to be here!
Nezahualcoyotl's first thought was that he wasn't hurting anymore.
His second was that all his life he'd been wrong. That there was an actual afterlife. The Church had been right all along.
Get someone else to take him?
Well, that helps. Like who, exactly?
He almost grinned at the comment: it was almost drippng in sarcasm. The voice that had spoken was decidedly male; the other very feminine.
Well, we could always ask him, if you don't like my suggestions.
Ask him? He's dead!
The dead always wake up. Haven't you figured that out yet in your job?
The male voice growled under its breath, and Nezahualcoyotl struggled to sit up - at least he did for a moment, until he figured out that he actually didn't need to struggle; he could sit up easily.
Stupid human. I think I like them least. The male voice decided - it sounded closer than before.
The feminine one snorted. Pity; they're really the only species you get to deal with. No other species believes in God.
It was then that Nezahualcoyotl realised he wasn't hearing their voices outloud; they were in his head, but sounded so much like spoken voices that he'd thought that they were. He blinked once, shook his head, and looked around to try and locate the source of the voices.
Look - I told you he would wake up. That was the feminine voice, coming closer.
"Who are you?" Nezahualcoyotl demanded, taken aback - they seemed to be talking gibberish, for all they were speaking his language.
Ah. Inquisitive, is he? The female voice gave a light laugh.
They're all like that, the male said grumpily. Finally he came into view - Nezahualcoyotl blinked as he looked at him. The man was a scrawny, wiry short man with acne scars on his face and a hooked nose. He was wearing a suit that was pristine, but he managed to make it look scraggy. Moments later the woman came into view - she was fair-looking, pale hair falling down her back and solid features. She was taller than the man, and wore a long red dress.
"Who are you?" Nezahualcoyotl repeated dumbly, gaping at the two people.
You tell him, The woman said, and the man sighed.
You're not to be surprised, human. But I am God.
The notion seemed so absurb coming from this dour-looking, weak little man that Nezahualcoyotl laughed outloud, but muffled the noise as the man glared at him.
Yes, amusing isn't it, The man snapped, crossing his arms and glancing towards his companion. The woman seemed amused as well. I'll have you know, human, that there isn't actually a God. Thus I can't really be God. But I'm employed to act as God, until I retire. The pay's not good, either, He muttered the last to the woman, who gaffawed. Nezahualcoyotl looked utterly confused.
"What?" Neza demanded, his voice cracking. If he wasn't dreaming, then he'd just been told that there was no God, just someone who pretended to be God. For a wage.
You heard it. 'God' said in annoyance, his tone frustrated. I'll not repeat it. My companion here is Tresca, who you wouldn't know of - she's the 'god' of a different race of people, whom you wouldn't have heard of. He paused, and then continued on before Nezahualcoyotl had a chance to ask anything. Here is our dilemma.
"Dilemma?" Nezahualcoyotl said after a moment as the two 'gods' looked expectantly at him. "You mean gods have dilemmas?"
A sense of humour, at that, the woman observed. 'God' glared at her.
Hilarious. Yes, we have dilemmas, and I just explained that we aren't actually Gods. Now. Our dilemma is this-
Your dilemma, Tresca corrected, smiling at Nezahualcoyotl.
My dilemma is this, 'God' clarified, not even glancing at the woman. His eyes were locked on Nezahualcoyotl. People who believe in God on your planet, once they die, are taken to heaven. Heaven is in fact, really, a set of dormitories, not really the blissful eternal existance they expect. He seemed thoroughly amused at the thought. Nezahualcoyotl could only gape at him - he wasn't quite taking it all in.
"Is there a Hell?" He wasn't quite sure why he asked.
No... but 'heaven' isn't really 'heaven' after all: it's kind of between the two. But we're getting off track. The man paused for a moment to recall where he'd been, and then continued. People who believe in God go to 'heaven'. People who don't believe in God die, and that's the end of it. No, no, 'God' held up a hand as Nezahualcoyotl opened his mouth to ask something else. Don't even ask which is better; it's all a matter of situation and preference. Now. Our dilemma.
Your dilemma.
My dilemma. You, human, by some freak occurence, didn't just go into eternal oblivion like you were meant to, but you ended up here instead. This is where everyone comes after they've been sorted for heaven - quarantine, if you want, before they can actually enter heaven.
"So I'm not dead?" Nezahualcoyotl demanded. Most of everything had just gone straight over his head - thigns were happening too fast for him to process anything much. Sometime later - if there was a later - he'd sit down and think about it.
Apparently not. 'God' sighed and turned to his companion. Your turn.
The woman - Tresca - smiled slightly and looked towards Nezahualcoyotl. You should be dead. But you're not. And now you're here, we can't kill you unless it's a natural death.
Nezahualcoyotl stared at her for a second, and then nodded. He decided he liked her frank way of explaining things.
So, you have few choices of where to live out the rest of your life until you die again. She told him. Neza found the sentence amusing, but just nodded again.
She paused, looked at something on her wrist and then looked back at Nezahualcoyotl. We would like it if you didn't return to your planet; it would meddle with a few things having you come back from the dead. A wist of a smile crossed her face. Unless you have something meaningful to return to?
Nezahualcoyotl thought for a moment, about the protests, the few friends he'd made, his few belongings. No. Nothing significant. "Nothing."
Tresca nodded. We would also prefer it if you went to a planet where there's no religion. In case this happens again.
Just in case, 'God' agreed, running a hand back through his thin hair.
Neza shrugged. "Whatever. I don't know any other planets anyway, so it won't make much difference.
Tresca's lips quirked. Well then that's good, since there's only one place that fits that category. Tresca paused, glancing towards her companion. Tell me, human, do you like dragons?
Nezahualcoyotl was about to reply - with what, he wasn;t sure afterwards - when Tresca waved a hand in front of her, and then snapped her fingers.
Light blinded Nezahualcoyotl for a moment, and then he sunk in darkness before he thought one more single thought.
"Here's another one. Where do they keep finding them?"
"I wanna know who they are!" Nezahualcoyotl winced at the harsh voice, and moved his head away from it - his head hurt alot.
"Does it matter? Let's just move him anyway."
Nezahualcoyotl sat bolt upright, grimacing at the pain in his head, but glaring about him anyway - he'd had enough rude shocks today, so he was going to try and pre-empt any more that were going to happen. "Where am I?" He demanded, frowning. He seemed to be misplaced alot lately.
"The Healing Den," The woman said shortly, putting her arms under his armpits and hauling him up.
"The Healing Den?" He repeated. "I didn't know I need to be healed."
"He's a sense of humour, which is a change," The woman said to her companion. Nezahualcoyotl shook off the sense of deja vu.
"He'll need more than that if he's to bond. What's your name, son? And age?"
"Nezahualcoyotl. I'm 22, sir."
"Nezahualcoyotl." The man stumbled over the unfamiliar sounds, but then shrugged it off. "A bit of a mouthful. Dare I ask where you come from?"
"I come from-" Neza faltered, and glanced up at the woman. He didn't really want to continue.
"Doesn't matter," The woman said easily, waving a hand. "You're to stay here. He's suitable."
"I'm suitable for what?" Nezahualcoyotl asked in a resigned tone of voice.
"To bond a dragon, man. Isn't that why you appeared here?"
Nezahualcoyotl shook his head. "No. I didn't have a choice."
"Ah, one of those. Well, do you want to bond with a dragon?" The woman asked, not unkindly - she had Tresca's frank way of putting things.
Was that what they had meant - 'do you like dragons?'. Nezahualcoyotl smirked, and shrugged. "I think it's what I'm meant to do."
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