He Who Has Walked All Roads
High above, in the mountains at the top of the world, above where every road known to mortal man has shriveled into nothing, rises the mountain of the sun. It is here, where all things lie below, that the high priest of the All-Seeing God sits in his archives, writing all that he has seen, all that can be seen, and all that will be seen. Attended by the few faithful willing to brave the heights, Griff the Hammer and the Herald dwells in the heart of his occulary. He has seen the weaving of the world, for he was there when it was done. When 6 worlds broke upon the back of the fitful dreamer and were saved at great price from oblivion through the subtle hand that brought them all together into one.
He has seen them as they approach, though they pass with little trace. They walk a road that is known possibly to no one else but themselves, one that bends like light through the wyrds and winds of the mountain passes, with steps that pass through points in ways that are somehow less than lines. They come slowly, as though burdened, but their steps do not falter for no weight upon their shoulders could be enough to stumble them. At their side they bear a shard of one of the old worlds, unwoven, unbroken, and sharp as thought. On their skin they bear still the marks of their now dead goddess, the flowers, the compass, and the vine. On their brow they bear a star: a new divinity. And they have come here for council.
They knock upon the door, a courtesy for they have passed through the last gate that may ever be, after which no door may hold against them. The attendants greet them with detached politeness as is their wont, with some surprise to see them here. Unlike their master, they do not know who it is that has walked unto their hall. They see just a man, lightly clad in red and green. When they ask his name he tells them “I am just a traveler, and I have come to speak with Griff the Hammer and the Herald,” and the words he speaks are true.
The high priest stands and takes up his namesake, the rod of his command, a massive thing which no other man could lift, so heavy is it with purpose, and the weight of all he knows. He walks to greet the visitor and when he asks his attendants if they know just who this strange man is, they cannot answer him. He shakes his head and tells them. “He has seen the weaving and was vessel for his Goddess just as I was for Mine. It was through us and one other that they worked to save the whole of it.” He asks The Traveler “Just what do they call you now?”
The Traveler smiles at his old friend and says “I am Shilo Segundus ten Maya, the thorn of the rose, the wandering vine. I am he who has walked all roads. The second Sojourner. The guiding hand. The red pilgrim. The star crossed and star-crosser. I am the god cutter, the dragon slayer, and tyrant breaker.” He says these things and they are all true as well. He continues. “To many I am just a traveler, but to you I hope I will still be called ‘friend.’”
They clasp hands warmly and Griff sees with many eyes that which his attendants are blinded to: the star upon the Traveler’s brow. “What has brought you here?” he asks, though the answer seems so plain.
The Traveler’s face grows dark and sad, lined with tragedy and loss. “I have come to tell you my tale as payment, then to ask you the final, greatest question, and hope that you know another, better answer than the one I already do.”
The two retire to a more comfortable study, where such matters may be properly done. It is heavy with the forememory of what is about to come. Griff offers sustenance and after they have ate and drank he speaks. “Before we begin your tale, I would know your question so as to weigh your request against what you may offer.”
The Traveler raises their eyes to his, and in them the sudden gulf of space rolls forth around them both, the weight of time and travel and the far places where no man nor god should tread. Griff sees a shining fragment of the things the traveler has seen and done and for a moment he is afraid where lesser men would break. When The Traveler speaks it comes from a far off place beyond the shadow of the sun. His words are stuck like hammer blows on the hot iron of the world
“I want to know how to kill a God.”
