This is my second entry to Glitterlady's Nightgale blog challenge. I'm sorry it's late, I had a busy week and hit a wall with the story.
PROMPT:
Immortality comes to you, you do not go to Immortality.
The sacrifice had ceased screaming. Blood from the tear on his throat trickled down the sides of the stone altar, dripping on to the white flowers laid around the slab. Gibbet smiled; the first victim had been hard, but the time he got to the tenth he’d gotten used to the pleading and the threats. All a part of his quest for immortality.
The deity of life had ignored his request for years, but he could not ignore the death knells of his followers for long.
The dead man’s hand twitched and Gibbet quickly stepped back. Was it time?
Slowly the corpse’s hand rose to the gaping wound on his throat. Pinching the wound close, the man sat up and stared Gibbet in the eyes.
”Stop killing my followers!” The corpse’s face was beetroot red from anger. “I’m busy enough as it is without having to resurrect them.”
Good, he had the deity’s attention now. “Give me what I prayed for and the slaughter will end.”
The man’s mouth twisted as the deity considered. “Eternal youth is only for the High Priests.”
Gibbet’s mind wandered to the painting he had walked past every morning. Men like him being ripped apart by monsters, drowning in waste, subjected to horrors beyond his imagination. He’d committed murder several times. It was either immortality or the Underworld for him.
“I will continue killing your followers until you strike me down.”
The deity arched an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t I do that right now?”
Gibbet hid his fear in false scoff, “What kind of deity of life would you be?”
“Hmm… you are correct. I cannot kill.” The deity lifted the man’s free hand to rub his chin. “Ah, if you will stop slaughtering my followers, then yes, I shall grant you immortality.”
The deity set the dead man’s hand atop his head and muttered in a low voice. For a moment Gibbet feared the deity would twist his head, snapping his neck, but the god of life couldn’t kill.
He felt the deity’s voice more than heard it. The words settled on him and slipped beneath. He could feel a change, something fundamental leaving his body.
“You’re now an immortal, bastard.” The deity spat the words.
Gibbet smiled as he bowed his head. “I will never grow old, I am forever young.”
The deity burst into laughter. “Forever young? Hah! No, you will rot, but you will not die. I was impressed with you, working and praying diligently. I would have answered your prayers and given you eternal youth, but you strayed from the righteous path.”
All expression faded from the man’s face. His hand fell from his throat; the deep wound had knitted shut, leaving behind only a thin scar. The priest’s eyelids slid down, then shot open widen.
“You slit my throat!” The man shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Gibbet, who just stared at him blankly. This had gone all wrong. Perhaps the god of death would grant him real immortality or at least take back his brother’s curse.
