Prayr

Whiskey rests her head on a pillow. She sleeps deep, a restful sleep she couldn’t imagine having since the end of the world or even before it. She always sleeps well here; this nondescript hotel between somewhere and nowhere at all.   The curtains shroud the room in darkness, drab but iconic with their neutral tones. The same color stains the sheets and shag carpet, all illuminated by the light of a single, defiantly blazing candle on the nightstand. For some reason, it felt normal, ordinary. The vagueness of the room, its lack of notable traits, even the Bible in the drawer next to her made the place safe, somehow.   Whiskey's eyes open to the sound of feathered wings but she's not truly awake until she hears the horns sounding in the distance. She shoots up, the comforter sliding off bare skin.   A man speaks from across the room, “I didn't mean to wake you.”   “I don't think you did.” Whiskey rubs the sleep from her eyes and turns to the man, a spitting image of some marble statue sculpted by the masters of yore. The sight leaves her vulnerable. He wore nothing save for a purple cloth that lay draped across his lap. She asks, “Where are my clothes?”   “I folded them at the foot of the bed for you.” He replies. “Best be quick.”

“Why?” Whiskey asks, rolling over to retrieve the clean and freshly pressed stack of clothing.   Another horn sounds out like thunder. The marble man replies, “Seems in our time together, I've been missed.” He watches her as she dresses, but not with longing like before.   While stoic, Whiskey detected a certain bitterness in him, was he disappointed? Dissatisfied? “What's wrong?”   “I doubt we'll be able to meet again. It's been a good few months but…”   “You're kidding me, right?” Whiskey scoffs and proceeds to throw her clothes on faster. “You're dumping me?”   “You don't even know my name, nor I yours.” He replies, defeated.   “Not from lack of trying.” She snaps.   He raises a hand as if to sooth her temper. “It's not what I want.”   “What do you want, then?”   He stands, the purple cloth now falling to cover his lower half. “I want you to be safe.”   “But I was safe.” Whiskey whispers.   He reaches up and lifts her chin, ensuring her eyes meet his. “No. Far from it.”

“Well shit.” Whiskey shoves her hands into her pockets. Where would she go?   “You sought me out for a reason.” He gives a laugh, warm and filled with a sweetness she could never quite place. “This?” He gestures to the room, to the bed. “This was a distraction.”   “I know.” Whiskey nods. She had to ask now. She put it off for too long but when nowhere feels safe… “My gifts.”   “Yes?”   “Couldn't you protect me?”   He laughs. “Your gifts?”   “They don't work right.” She lets out a sigh. “I have all this shit my grandma put in my head and it only works half the time. I cant bind or ward.”   “A lack of faith.” He replies. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. He would know.   “I need a sure thing, something that will work until I can figure out what's wrong with me.” Whiskey keeps her voice steady, but she can't hide the pleading in her eyes.   “Alva…” He whispers. Her eyes go wide at the sound of her name. How could he know? He continues, his hand brushing across her face, “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” He smiles and nods, then grabs the candle. He then gestures to the table on the other side of the room.

They sit across from each other and he reveals a small metal bowl. It hovers over the candle's flame as he drips three black cubes into the bowl, sealing wax.   “I have just the thing. It won't last forever. What happens after is on you.” the man's smile fades, but more than that. It's as if all emotion disappeared. “I'm sorry. I'm just not what I used to be.” Another horn sounds, closer than before. He takes her hand and places it at the center of the table. His next words are soft, like a gentle breeze, “Be not afraid.”   Before she can reply, the man before her changes. The marble skin shifts in an instant as an infinite mane of stark white feathers unfurls from underneath. The feathers are so soft they burn, the edges sharp to the touch, and along the endless sets of wings are eyes that blaze black and gold.   She tries to scream, but a hand flies out in a rain of down to cover her mouth. The feathers leave small cuts on her check as she stares in pure terror at the impossible form before her.   Another arm appears, sending feathers in all directions. It grabs the metal bowl and pours the wax onto her middle finger. She writhes and shudders at the pain, the burning of the wax as it blisters the skin. The arm tosses the bowl aside and plucks a single, immaculate feather from the wings. It carves into the hardening wax, symbols and sigils in a language Whiskey didn't recognize.

When the ring hardened fully, the wings curled in on themselves. His hands brought her hand up as his statuesque face appeared. When the transformation was complete, he lightly kissed the blistered skin, and suddenly they didn't hurt. Finally, He gazes into whisky's eyes for the last time.   Whiskey lurches from the chair and darts for the door. She ran down empty streets with tears like rivers on her face. It would be a week before she could speak again. Her black hair turned gray for three months. Even after a year, she still hasn't fully recovered.

---

It doesn't matter what things were like before the fall. Put away your notions of science and secular thought. When the world ended it started something, and the jury's still out on just what it was. Once upon a time, humanity was often met with silence when calling out to whatever higher power we served. Now, we can't seem to get them to shut up.   In those few places where the E.W.B have established an Intranet connection, a piece of permanent bloatware appeared on any and all mobile devices, a little program modeled after dating apps from before the fall: Prayr. With this, those seeking a higher power need only sift through the endless profiles, swiping left or right depending on just how good the reviews are.   One could craft their own pantheon with such technology, and yet, most want little to do with it. It's not a lack of desire or even cynical notions like “What good is god at the end of the world?” It's simpler than that. It's a simple matter of, with the way the world is now, you have to be VERY careful when you pray.

Prayr is an app with a simple layout, white and gold is the default color palette though one can change it to their chosen deities' preferred colors, if they wish. Several symbols along the bottom navigate to various functions of the app, from daily prayers you can send, privately or publicly, to status updates from deities the user matches up with.   You can search profiles based on name, culture, or purview. You can openly ask to be contacted directly, and just in case it gets lonely, you can even link up with communities established by any given deity… cults. You can join their cults.   Each deity has a profile, don't worry about yours, it's already filled out with alarming accuracy whether you want it to be or not and don't forget: you're always logged in. Don't worry about missing a notification either. The developers, likely a techgnostic cult unimpressed or outright disappointed with how the world ended, ensured you can never turn them off.

Prayr isn't just for petitioning gods. Its navigational capabilities allow for a far more useful feature. They ensure one can locate nearby spirits, those tied to the land one finds themselves in.   Some entities are what you'd expect, anthropomorphic entities tied to a tree or the forest housing said tree. You may find a wandering fire spirit itching for a brush fire or a spirit of death hovering over a fresh kill caught in a trap. Some have even managed to speak with ghosts. These lesser spirits are easy to engage with and can be put to work for the right price.   Greater spirits exist too. One can locate angels, demons, saints, and other less defined entities. They're stronger than the average spirit, but not quite gods. The touched manage to find uses for them, all the same.

It's obvious what the issue here is, but poor design choices aside, prayr poses a much bigger issue than just being annoying. Religion is messy, complicated, and always evolving. Couple that with a modern invention in everyone's pocket and you have a recipe for disaster.   On one hand, you have minor entities claiming to be much more than they are, wayward spirits and all too human cult leaders given power by virtue of how worship works. New gods can appear and disappear at the drop of a hat. For example: a small cult appeared outside of Nashville centered around a very particular barstool in a long abandoned storage unit. Then winter came and with no form of heating… they ran out of things to burn.   Now this is harmless but its also chaotic. Magic is chaotic enough without literal systems of belief appearing and dying all Over the place. Prayr is just another part of why magic is so contradictory. It's not a big part, mind you, but it's there.

Then you have the old gods. Some you know and love and others are best left unnamed, if you can even pronounce their name. Their existence begs the question of what came first? Were they always there or did the end bring them to life? While they seem to be acutely aware of the time before the fall, it's unclear if they were “alive” at the time.   Besides the philosophical implications, you also need to consider the cultural implications. These are icons, some had literal companies using their namesake and yet they may not be anything like they should be. Their entire identities can shift, epithets and avatars born out of nothing more than apocalyptic confusion. It means every religion is true, even those that are just made up.   Then of course you have some entities that just don't need to be a thing, as evidenced by the existence of The Reformation of Zeus Olympios, a cult centered on rehabilitating a VERY problematic god to the point of obscurity and, in a few short months, non-existence.

Whiskey sat and listened to the trees around her, their creak and groan brought comfort. It was familiar in a way, like the woods back on the reservation but far safer, all things considered. She could smell the sage burning on the stone before her and she waved a white feather into the smoke to spread its cleansing odor across the clearing.   She went over what the traveler said. An entity haunts this wood, and it's scaring the locals. That's not a huge deal in itself but this thing is different. This is no mutated critter or even a beast of the direwood. This one's a beggar.   A twig snaps in the trees. Whiskey doesn't bother to look until it steps closer, a figure draped in green with antlers and horns on its skeletal face. Its body remains hidden under the green cloak but Whiskey can hear the bones crack as it walks.   “It's about time.” She says with a smile.   The voice comes on a heavy breath, as if the very act of speaking took considerable effort. “You're waiting for me?”   Whiskey eyes the moss hanging from its shoulders, the morel mushrooms growing along the left arm. “I’m waiting for someone.” She pulls out her cell phone and opens an app labeled “Prayr.” an image loads up and she turns the screen to face the creature. It sees an image of itself. “That you?”

The forest spirit bows, “Ah, yes, a petitioner!”   “Sort of,” Whiskey whispers in reply. She lacks the heart to say “no” to the poor thing.   “You've seen the profile, yes?” It gives a laugh, “30 prayers answered and counting. What will it be, loyal servant? A curse? A boon of the wood, perhaps? Maybe…” it pauses and takes an eager step forward. “Perhaps you just want someone to talk to.”     “You're cute.” Whiskey stands smiling. “Listen, I'm here to tell you to pack it up and move on. You're scaring people.”   “You're not looking for-” it pauses, reaching into its cloak for a cell phone that's even more outdated than hers. It points to it and looks back at her.   Whiskey shakes her head. “I'm sorry, but no. I'm not religious.”   “I don't understand.” The way it looks around the clearing as if backed into a corner seems almost human. “You can't-”   Whiskey lets out a long, shushing sound and raises her hand. She points to the wax ring on her middle finger, “I'm gonna stop you right there.”   “is that…” the spirit eyes the ring and studies the symbols etched into the wax. “How?”   “Does it matter?” she asks.    

“I can't leave! I'm tied to this land.” It wheezes as it speaks. “I always have been.”   Those words hurt, no matter how much she expected them. “I know.” She gives a nod. “That's why it's me and not someone else.”   Whiskey let out a sigh. “I can't help your land. In a year or so, the direwood will take it anyway.” The spirit doesn't bother replying. It knows the truth as well as she did. Whiskey continues, “other gods may have room for a tree spirit. If not, how about a job?”   “A job?” The spirit cocks its head, a trail moss dangling from its antlers and swaying in the breeze.   “That's what you want, right?”   “I don't want a job.” It steps forward, now inches from her as it speaks. “I want to be seen again.”   “I don't understand.”

“Something happened to humanity. Even those more powerful than I are desperate for worship.”   Whiskey nods. “The world ended. There just aren't many humans left.”   It shakes its head, “A soul is a soul. Ghosts would be just fine, but there's not nearly enough.” It looks out at the trees surrounding the clearing. “It's like the bulk of humanity just disappeared. No final rest, no everlasting Life. Just gone. It's all so…” it turns back to Whiskey and shudders. “Empty.”   “I won't pretend like I get it, but we can help each other, at least until you find somewhere to be that will accept you.” Whiskey holds out her hand. “Up to you.”   The spirit takes a long moment to consider the offer. In the end it nods. They always do. “I agree.”   Whiskey smiles, one meant to soothe and reassure. “Then give me your name, spirit.”   It didn't respond with a word, a proper noun that references itself. The response was far more visceral, like a sudden gust of wind rustling an entire forest's worth of trees. It'll do.