A short fantasy story of a young woman on a journey for answers.

Better the devil you know, the old saying goes. But Ella knows some devils too dark to mention, and has always questioned the validity of old sayings and the people who say them. What if the devil she doesn’t know is better? Perhaps the devil she has never met has answers.

She keeps track on her bedroom wall. The devils she’s met. The devils she has yet to meet. Gods and goddesses, demons and angers – all devils to her. She’s met them at crossroads and places of mystical power. She’s met them at bus stops and cafes and, on one occasion, the checkout at Primark. And every time she meets one she asks it the same question.

”Why am I?”

The devils are tricky. They answer what and who but not why. The great god Woden told her she is both human and not; the erudite Apollo told her she is a twenty-seven year old humanoid of magical descent. The what is answered. In Japan, a Kami spirit told her her name is Eleanor; another cut in that she is curious and determined. The who is answered. But not one of the devils will answer why.

The closest any have come was a tribal deity deep in the American south, who shrugged with a gruff, “The Greeks were always procreating.”

Always procreating, perhaps, but the important word is ‘were’. Belief has waned. The devils rest. She is the first Demi-God in six centuries and all she wants is to know why.

As a child, she had simply enjoyed it. Things happened when she was around. Lightning danced for her. Clouds separated. The ocean waved. But then the devils closer to home started using words like freak and abomination, and she sought out the old devils for answers.

Her next chance was hard to find. He no longer keeps to the old ways; her usual channels could not reach him. In the end, whispers of her search found him and he approached her.

They meet in a rundown Wetherspoons in a busy British town. He is older than she expected, grizzled and grey rather than chiselled and blond.

“Sister,” he greets her.

The Greeks were always procreating. She has no idea how many brothers and sisters she has.

She takes the seat opposite him, not looking away from his eyes. The devils play tricks. But his expression is warm and his smile is kind.

”You have a question for me?”

She asks her question. The man nods.

”An intelligent question. Or an incredibly stupid one. You are because an old man met a young woman and thought he’d give love one last chance.”

There has to be more. She must have a purpose.

He smiles. “You are because the time of gods is over.”

Now is the time of devils.

“No. Now it is simply time. The gods and the devils, they have no place in this world now. But there is beauty, and that is why you are.”

She doesn’t understand. The devil-god smiles.

”Once, I delivered messages across the skies. I saw such beautiful, magical things. I miss that. But our father, he saw beauty and magic in the everyday. He saw it in the budding trees and the changing seasons. He saw it in the humans.” He leans closer, and for a second he looks younger, brighter. More godly. “You are because the time of gods may be over, but our father is content to be a man.”

So she has no purpose. No reason to be.

”Your purpose is to exist.” Her brother smiles. “Isn’t that enough?”