Ethria 3: The Liberator

by Holloway, Aaron

  “Him? He’s still around? I liked him, but he was too young. Too immature, always stirring for a fight and never willing to just settle down. At least, that was back in the day. I’ll call him, maybe he’d like to rejoin. That is why I’m hear after all, to see who else is around.”

  “Uh, rejoin what? Are, are you a goddess? A spirit?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes, I am a goddess. My name is, well, I think I forgot it again. Sorry, I’m still new at this whole ‘being a physical incorporation of a deific being’ thing. Really wish that wizard had placed my gem seed, but this will do for now, I suppose. At least, until I get a body back. And to answer your other question, that depends entirely on you.”

  “If you are not hostile, my people have no qualms with you. Our ancestors might have been your foe, but that was long before the clans were born. We ride soon to face the forces of darkness stirring in the far north.”

  “The Dark Valley, yes. That place is not very pleasant. Wasn’t always like that, of course, but those days are long gone sad to say. As for your ancestors, yes. They were evil bastards, kept killing our kind even after Ethria reversed its decision. Bloodthirsty, the lot of them. But don’t worry, I’m not huge on the whole ‘blood sin’ thing.”

  Gangshee put his sword away, hanging it on the loop at his belt. “Then, how can I be of service?” It doesn’t hurt to be polite to an ancient goddess, even if I don’t worship her.

  “Well, aren’t you one with manners? I knew I would like you. What I want is for you to introduce me to the horse god of yours. He seems to like you, and honestly I’m seeing why.”

  “Uh, how would I do that?” Gangshee asked, his voice hesitant.

  “Take the orb my dragon statue is holding.” He did just that. It didn’t resist as he plucked it out of the dragon’s paws. “Good, now place it in the statue's hand riding the golden stallion in the other room.”

  “What golden stallion?” He asked, but no response came. Shrugging his shoulders, he walked back out into the main room of statues and froze. All the statues were gone, save four. A man carved from marble riding a golden stallion, a purple stained marble statue of the same dragon from the shrine he had just left, and the two that dominated the central room. The ones he had always been drawn to.

  He moved towards the rider statue, in awe of the dramatic changes in the room. When he got there, he found one hand of the rider, a clansman in perfect physical form, was open and ready to accept the orb. Gangshee placed the orb in the rider’s palm, and the world exploded in light.

  A heartbeat later he found himself on the ground, looking up at four living figures from the four statues.

  The Crystal dragon looked at him with concern while the other three conversed. A woman with blue skin and hair as silver as starlight spoke to the clansmen. He was young, and the ideal physical specimen. Standing in the room with him made Gangshee feel inadequate, which was absurd: he hadn’t felt that way since he was a teenager.

  The other man was a tall southerner with golden hair that dropped just past his shoulders. He wore a robe of white and gold and carried a sword and a small wooden hammer.

  Are you alright? A voice boomed in his head. Oh, sorry, still getting used to this after so long. The voice was quieter, softer, and filled with matronly concern. Do you need anything? Like, I don’t know, meat? Humans eat meat, right? I’m so bad at this. Pervolins just needed energy. They didn’t have restrictions on how they got it. And my children are even more adaptable and simple. The dragon covered her snout with a paw as if embarrassed, and Gangshee felt more than heard the dragon sigh in exasperation.

  “I, I am alright. Thank you. And, yes, we eat meat, but I need nothing right now.” Gangshee got to his feet and the crystal dragon, the size of a horse, pulled back slightly examining him from head to toe for injury. “What are they doing?” He asked, motioning to where the other three gods, he supposed, were talking. It wasn’t unheard of for gods to manifest, but it was unusual for so many to do so in what was essentially private. At least as far as he knew. Can’t they talk I don’t know, in the heavens? Why do they have to chat here? And why did they need to me put that orb in his hand?

  “Oh, they’re talking. Your golden stallion was once a member of our ancient pantheon. About a thousand years ago. He abandoned us though, for you all.”

  “And, you don’t hate him for that?”

  “No, well, a little. He tried to restrain your ancestors from slaughtering our children completely. And was a little successful, but as you can tell from the state of our last city, that didn’t amount too much in the end. But that was all a very long time ago. Gods don’t hold grudges as much as humans do.” The golden robed blond haired god smacked the stallion in the face before turning on his heels and disappearing. “Well, some of us do, I suppose.

  “No!” the stallion yelled, pulling his shoulder away from the silver-haired woman’s concerned arm. “We will deal with the threat. My people have no need of you. Not any longer. Not if, if you’re just going to bring up old wounds from when I was a child. Besides, the clans have gathered already. It would take years for your children to grow strong enough to face the valley’s servants. By then, my people will be overrun.”

  “But we can,” the silver-haired woman tried to say more, but the rider cut her off again.

  “No, these are my people. I earned their trust through years of blood, sweat, and hard work. I turned them from a loose pack of wild savages into the warrior clans you see today. I will not share that bounty with those who were unwilling to be equally yoked with me in the past.”

  “Brother, please. Let us help you,” the dragon pleaded. The golden rider, the stallion as Gangshee’s people called him, hesitated for a moment. The dragon saddled up close to him and tried to sooth his clearly wounded pride. “We will let the past go, if you will do so as well. Let us work with you. What we build in the south will eventually support what you have built here, if you will let us help.” Silence fell for a long moment as the stallion thought on the dragon’s words.

  “I would be open to it, if we had the time. But we do not. The Khan himself,” The stallion pointed towards Gangshee and his knees nearly buckled under the weight of that attention. “Has seen the darklings movements. The valley has already sent out an army to vex us and clear a path for their ultimate conquest of this Layer. The threat is now, not in fifty years.”

  “Give us two years, then.” The silver-haired woman pleaded. “We won’t be able to raise an army, but we are gathering servants and helping them grow at blistering speeds. Keep the enemy at bay for now, do not attack.” The dragon shifted and took added her piece.

  “And join the pantheon on a probationary basis. Let us get these heroes that can help you turn the tide.” The dragon thought again on it. Looking between the two women. The dragon extended a claw, and the stallion looked at it harshly before reaching a hand out and gripping it.

  “The deal is struck.”

  Light engulfed Gangshee’s world.

  ---

  Gangshee woke up as the sun was setting through the windows into the temple of the Pervolin Pantheon. “What a strange dream,” he whispered to himself. He sat up in the pew he had fallen asleep in and took around the room.

  The statues he was used to were back in place, with two exceptions. In the outstretched hand of the silver goddess stood a powerful-looking rider and stallion rearing, a sword extended high into the sky. The second was a blue and purple stained marble statue of a dragon that wrapped its tail around the leg of the colossal statue of the god who had left in a huff.

  “Wow,” he whispered as he admired the wonder of the new statues. The room was cast in a red hue as the sun began to set. “I’m going to be late; the council will be waiting.”

  Gangshee grabbed his bag and made to leave but found his riding satchel was heavier than it had been before. He opened it as he walked out of the room and down the stairs to the council chamber. He rummaged in it and couldn’t find what he was
looking for until he got to the very door of the council chamber. A blue and purple crystal orb, glowing slightly. Flecks of gold, blue, purple, pink, and white light shined as he rolled it around in his hand. He wasn’t sure if it was magical, but he was sure it was a gift.

  What it would do to help in the coming conflict, he didn't know, but he had faith that the gods knew what they were doing.

  Epilogue 2: Cult of Death

  "One man's Cult is another man's religion." - Annie Parisse

  Along the Kings Road, North of Old Hearth, 12th Novos, 2989 AoR

  “So, this is the little sorcerer?” The black hooded figure grunted his assent. “Not much to look at now, is he?” Her voice rang over the silence of the small crops of trees they had found the body in. It was little more than a pile of clean bones and skin. Heavenly Hounds rarely leave much behind, she thought as she rummaged through the bones for anything that might be of use.

  “The Creature will be disappointed. It put a lot of effort into molding this one into something resembling actual power. From what I understand, he had a network of spies he had conditioned into his service. Much in the same vein as the Court Slaves. Those skills are highly sought after, even by beings as powerful as it. He supposedly had one of the local cardinals in his pocket. He was truly powerful for someone so young.” The hooded figure kicked at the collection of wrist bones in front of him. “I suppose it will be my responsibility to tell it of its pet's failure?”

  “You’re so dramatic. If it bothers you so much, I’ll take care of the notification.”

  “In your current state?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The ritual is not complete. The soul of the woman whose body you have inhabited is not yet fully severed. If the Creature’s anger disrupts your spell, you could lose control.”

  “Psh, you worry too much. She was a willing host. Even now I feel her desire to do my will feeding the spell. It will only take another moon phase or two before I’m fully in control. She’s not as perfect a match as her older sister was, true. But she has the talent and has undergone all the rites.” The Necromancer held out her young feminine hand, and with a quick flex of fingers activated the stone on her belt. A portal appeared, and she walked through.

  On the other side of the portal was a dark room lined with hard woods, tapestries, and heraldry of several human noble lines. As soon as the hooded figure stepped through, the portal closed. “That would be appreciated, necromancer. I am afraid that the second circle’s failure to activate Gulhaven’s defenses will reflect poorly on my performance.”

  “Yes, I would hate to have your job performance review listed as merely adequate rather than outstanding. That was always a secondary goal, and you know it. Don’t let fear guide your actions. The Dark Court might comprise a bunch of violent, overly sensitive, power-hungry savages. But they’re not stupid, or unreasonable.”

  She could practically hear the hooded figure roll his eyes at her. She ignored him, instead focusing on the subjects inside the dark interior room of Laketown Manor. The smell of ash and smoke still lingered in the place. She suppressed a flash of anger at the smell, a subtle reminder of her own failure. Two smaller figures huddled around the man who had once gone to war against her. Lord Traser, the Lord of the Borderlands Region north of Tor, lay shivering from fever. The two children, heirs to the northern duchy, clung to him in fright. They were twins, barely five summers old. The Necromancer of the Dow’del ruins smiled at them, trying to be comforting. But the two brats merely clung to the unconscious, soon to be dead man all the harder.

  “What are our next steps? After we deliver the twins?” The Necromancer considered her answer.

  “What do you know about what those knife ears are up to across the river?”

  “Oh? You mean the refugees? They’ve been streaming north ever since the ecclesiastical decree about bloodline purity. They slowed to a trickle with the snows, but as soon as spring arrives there will be thousands more.”

  “Then, we should start laying the groundwork now. Shouldn’t we?” Again, she could practically feel him rolling his eyes at her.

  ”The groundwork for what?” He asked, exasperated.

  “All those people will head north, eventually. No way the elves and these petty Laketowners will accept thousands of people just showing up at their doorstep and demanding to stay. No, they’ll either move or be moved, soon or later. That leaves only one place for them to go.”

  “North. Right. I’ve heard whispers about some plan to settle near the Kragg.” She laughed. The absurdity, the audacity of the idea, was just too good. “What’s so funny?” he asked, confused.

  “Wow, you go to sleep for a thousand years and people forget everything. The Kragg is unsettled for a reason. Ruins of dozens of attempts to settle the region ring the southern reaches. Probably more since I slept. Those ruins alone can prove deadly to even high-level humans. Crypts of ancient dead best left burred. Forgotten temples to pantheons banished from this Layer that hold secrets long forbidden from even the most powerful mortals.”

  “But why? If those civilizations were powerful enough that even their ruins are potentially deadly, then what destroyed them?”

  “That, my religious friend, is a good question.” She turned to Lord Traser. “The answer to which you might get from him. If he wakes again. But what you should really be concerned about is how we can best take advantage of so many people, who are happily going to be marching to their doom.”

  “I already have several spies among them. I can increase that number, perhaps bring in some assassins. I know the sorcerer had a small guild at his disposal. Perhaps we can start by recruiting them.”

  “No, no, no. You clearly don’t have the creative mind for this my dear. Oh don’t look so insulted, your strengths simply lie elsewhere. Like in the murder of innocents, and the undermining of dynasties.” The hooded figure grind, she could tell even if she couldn’t see it. “I’ll handle the exploitation dear. Meanwhile, you gather your little cult. They’re getting systematically rounded up and butchered anyway, might as well make proper use of them.”

  “What do I do once they are gathered?”

  “That my dear, is where I will come in. For now, simply concern yourself with concentrating your forces. Gather your little Death Cult before spring, and we’ll be ready to go.” She laughed, opened another portal to her new home, and stepped through.

  Epilogue 3: The Honor of Pain

  "Be patient with yourself. Self-growth is tender; it's holy ground. There's no greater investment." - Stephen Covey

  Old Hearth, 12th Novos, 2989 AoR

  In a small outcropping of trees at the heart of the Temple of Pyrus

  The trees were thick, though the youth of nature still sang in their shallow roots. Pina found that only one of the trees was old enough to speak and it was sadly a complete bore. It had only seldom seen or done anything more than sheltered humans reading under its shade, or more commonly squirrels or other small creatures of the forest who came and feasted on its leaves. Though just as much as it was boring to Pina, the tree was fascinated by her. It bombarded her with questions. As much as a slow thinking tree could ‘bombard’ anyone with questions. Questions about who she was, how she was communicating with it, and how it might best serve a Voice of Nature.

  In short, the tree was ruining the peaceful nature of, well, nature. That thought, and the pestering tree, distracted Pina to the point she realized that meditation would be useless. Sighing, she opened her eyes, threw her arms out wide and fell backwards onto the dewy spring like grass. Piles of snow existed in places around the small, magically protected courtyard of trees and gardens, but the vibrant green grasses were still awake. Spring was in evidence nearly everywhere she looked. It should have made her cringe at the artificial nature of it, but honestly the place felt as if this were right. As if this place was special, touched by something greater and made to be this way for all of eternity. It was the touch of a goddess sh
e knew, and one that was no enemy to nature.

  Pina let her gaze wander up through the branches of the trees, and into the clear blue and orange-tinged sky up above. The sun was setting. The witching hour was swiftly approaching, and she had a ritual to prepare for. It wasn’t vital, she could do it virtually any other time. But the witching hour, dusk, when the sky was a bright golden orange, was the traditional time for a shaman of her people to reconnect with nature. And she was one to always uphold tradition where possible. There was always something to be said of the old ways, the ways that had survived the test of time. There was something holy, something sacred about such traditions, and she would not deny such things.

  But for now, she let herself enjoy the beauty of it. She let herself enjoy the wonderful fact that was her freedom. She could watch the sky, the clouds as they passed by overhead. She could smell the earth’s deep richness and feel the cold spring grass wrap around her toes as she wrinkled them among the green. Pina reached a hand up into the sky, as if to brush or touch it with her fingers, and she found her eyes lingering on the newly healed scars that crisscrossed her skin.

  Her thoughts wound their way back to her captivity. It would have been a jarring thing, something that might have sent her body into an instant panic had she not held tight to the reigns of her mind. She contained the rush of emotion and then allowed it to seep out a little at a time as her eyes roamed over her scars. With deep breaths, she examined the horror that was on her skin, silhouetted by the beauty of nature behind them. The cuts had been superficial at first; she knew. The immature and inexperienced sorcerer had not truly known the evil he was conducting until much later. At first, he had merely experimented on her. Tested her. Tried to get her emotions to flare so he might read her True Name in her aura.

  But as he went on, his cuts grew more confident and deeper. His hands, once rough with immature enthusiasm, grew cruel. His words, once filled with little more than lewdness and frustration, learned to bite deep into her soul. As he watched her aura react to each insult, to each abuse, he had slowly but surely learned those things that wounded her most deeply. And it was there that he pressed the knife. Both figuratively and literally. All the while watching. All the while seeing her deepest self, no matter how well she controlled her aura, no matter how strongly she concealed herself. He found her nature. One piece of information at a time.