Gathering of the Chosen

by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  Chapter Sixteen

  One moment, Braim was just sitting in his seat in the Stadium's box, watching Carmaz arguing with Alira to let him and Saia go down to check on Raya and the other Hollech Bracket challengers. The next, he found himself sprawled on the ground in a place he was too disoriented at first to understand.

  Scrambling to his feet, his head aching from the disorientation, Braim looked around at his surroundings. He was standing in what appeared to be the ancient stone hallways of a castle, but having never visited a castle of any sort before, Braim had no idea which castle this might have been. The air smelled ancient, but it also smelled of blood, which made him shudder. That, and it was cold. Not as cold as the Great Berg, but a lot colder than the Stadium had been.

  Where the heck am I? Braim thought, looking around, hoping that he would see something that might jog his memory or clue him in to where he had ended up. How did I get here? Who took me here?

  That was another issue. Braim did not see anyone else in here with him. The hallway was as silent as midnight. In fact, the hallway looked as though it had not been visited in years. There was a fine layer of dust on the floor and walls. Even so, Braim thought he felt someone watching him, even though there was nowhere that anyone could watch him from in the hallway without his knowledge.

  It didn't help that the darkness in the back of Braim's mind was creeping up on him again. It almost overwhelmed him this time, but he forced it back in order to focus on his current situation. He had to, because he had a feeling that whoever had taken him here was not going to treat him kindly.

  “Alira?” Braim said, though he didn't raise his voice very loudly because he didn't want to attract the attention of anyone he didn't want seeing him. “Carmaz? Saia? Raya? Tashir? Yoji? Malya?”

  No answer from anyone. Braim looked over his shoulder, but didn't see anyone or anything down that way, either.

  Looks like I really am all on my own here, Braim thought. He shivered at the thought. Not good.

  Braim considered trying to teleport back, but then rejected the idea. For one, he wasn't a good teleporter. Sure, he could teleport short distances with no problem, but long distances (and he had a feeling that he was a very long distance from World's End) required more skill and magic than he was able to use.

  For another, Braim had no idea exactly where he was in relation to World's End or how far he had teleported. And even if he did, that would require teleporting through solid rock, a feat that was technically possible, but only if you were a powerful mage with a lot of practice and experience in teleporting.

  The truth of the matter was, Braim was neither (and based on what Jenur had told him, he had never been a very good teleporter even before his death). That meant he had to find out where he was and how he got here on his own, as well as find out how to get back to World's End without help from the others.

  Unfortunately, Braim wasn't sure whether to walk forward or backwards. There were no doors along the walls of the hallway in which he found himself, but he did see that both ends of the hall curved to the right. What lay beyond those curves, Braim didn't know.

  Nor did he want to know, but the fact was that Braim had to go somewhere and he couldn't figure out how to get home just by standing around doing nothing. He would have to venture forth and deal with whatever lay ahead.

  Holding his wand tightly in his hand, Braim decided to go forward, mostly on a whim more than anything. He took a deep breath and began walking, keeping his eyes and ears open for any possible traps, even though all of the evidence so far suggested that Braim was quite alone in this place.

  As Braim walked, his footsteps loud due to the silence in the hall, he found that this place reminded him of North Academy's graveyard for some reason. He wasn't sure why. All he knew was that he felt a great sense of dread here, not helped by the darkness tugging at the back of his mind, the darkness that was trying to overwhelm him. It almost made him sick, but he ignored it because he could not afford to get sick at the moment.

  Turning the corner, Braim saw a large, open doorway standing not far from him. Beyond it was a room, but it was hard to tell what was in that room because it was rather dark. Braim didn't want to enter that room at all, but he had nowhere else to go, so he steeled himself for whatever lay beyond the open doorway and entered the room.

  As soon as Braim stepped beyond the doorway, the room's door slammed shut behind him. The sudden closing of the door made him jump and look over his shoulder, but now the door looked like it had fused with the wall, because he didn't see any hinges or doorknobs or knockers or anything else to indicate that a door had been there at all.

  That's not a good sign, Braim thought.

  Without warning, lights running along the top of the room glowed, dim white lights that offered Braim enough light by which to see the room itself.

  In the center of the room was a depressed stone pit, in which lay what appeared to be a coffin, oddly enough, though it was currently closed, so Braim couldn't see what was in it. At the back of the room were five thrones of varying heights, though they were currently vacant of whoever might have normally occupied them. But Braim did see carvings on the backs of each throne that resembled the gods that had already passed: One for Skimif, one for Hollech, one for the Spider Goddess, and so on.

  And when Braim looked at the coffin in the center more closely, he realized that it had an engraving of himself on it.

  That's not a good sign, either, Braim thought.

  That was when Braim heard something moving behind him. Without thinking, he leaped forward. And just in the nick of time, because four swords flew through the spot where he had been standing, swords that would have completely cut him up if he hadn't moved.

  Landing on the floor, Braim turned around to see his worst nightmare: The assassin, who seemed to have recovered from its wounds from the night before, because it was no longer bleeding. It raised all four of its arms, glaring at him from behind its mask, its swords glowing in its hands.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” said Braim, holding up his wand. “I thought you got tired of losing and quit. Guess you're a persistent little sucker, aren't you?”

  “She's persistent only because I do not allow her to give up,” came a voice behind Braim that he had never heard before, but which sounded like the creaking of an old coffin lid as it was opened.

  Braim didn't like taking his eyes off the assassin, but he looked over his shoulder at who had spoken. He was surprised to see an elderly-looking man standing on the other side of the depression, but he wasn't just elderly-looking. He looked like a reanimated corpse. Thin, practically nonexistent hair; gray skin that was eaten away in some places; and no eyeballs at all. The man leaned on a dirt-covered shovel while wearing the pure white robes of a priest.

  But it was the power radiating from the man that caught Braim's attention. The man was no simple human. In fact, Braim was pretty sure that this man wasn't even human at all. He gave off an aura of power far stronger than any mage could even hope to aspire to, so powerful that Braim felt like an ant under his gaze.

  “And you are?” said Braim.

  “I am surprised that you don't recognize me,” said the man. He gestured at his face. “I would think, seeing that you came back from the dead, that you would know who I am, especially considering how you were once one of my followers. But I see that death and resurrection must have robbed you of your memories of me.”

  Braim looked back at the assassin, but to his surprise, the assassin was nowhere to be seen. Braim looked around the room, rotating on the spot, but the assassin seemed to have vanished into thin air.

  Braim then looked back at the old man. “Are you a god?”

  “Yes,” said the old man, nodding. “One of the oldest, in fact. And one of the least popular among mortals, chiefly for the domain which I rule over. Can you guess which one that is?”

  Braim considered the god's appearance, then nodded and said, “Let me guess: You're Diog, t
he God of the Grave, right?”

  Diog smiled, showing that he was missing a good portion of his teeth and what few teeth remained were rotting and cracked. “Correct. I am the god that necromancers pledge their lives to when they choose to take up that discipline. It is I who rule over the dead and their graves, who decides upon the rules for burying the dead. And it is a job I hold with great distinction.”

  “I thought that the Ghostly God dealt with the dead,” said Braim.

  “My brother deals with what happens after a mortal dies. More specifically, with their spirit,” said Diog. He sounded like Braim's confusing his duties with the Ghostly God's to be very offensive. “I deal with the body itself and how it must be treated. What happens to the spirit is none of my business or interest.”

  “I see,” said Braim. He looked around again, but still didn't see the assassin anywhere. “So what are you going to do to me? Why am I here? Does that assassin work for you?”

  Diog leaned on his shovel. “That assassin does indeed work for me, following my every order to the letter.”

  “So you're the one who has been trying to kill me ever since I got to World's End,” said Braim. He pointed at Diog. “Why? What are you trying to accomplish?”

  “Nothing terrible,” said Diog. “As the God of the Grave, I am simply trying to fulfill my duty, part of which is ensuring that the dead stay dead.”

  Braim gulped. “Hold on. Are you saying that you have been trying to kill me because I'm not supposed to be alive?”

  “Of course,” said Diog. “I see that you have finally figured it out. I was wondering when you would.”

  “Can't say I saw this coming, to be honest,” said Braim. He stepped back, but looked over his shoulder again just to make sure that that assassin actually wasn't there. “I thought that the gods in general were just interested in me. Not, you know, trying to kill me.”

  “My fellow gods don't want to kill you, but we gods are hardly homogenous, as you most likely know,” said Diog. “The Godly War that split us apart the first time is proof enough of that. Besides, the other gods don't really understand why I want you dead. I would have recruited them, but the other gods bare no ill will toward you, so I have had to work entirely in secret to accomplish my goals so they would not find out and object.”

  “Right,” said Braim. He smiled, hoping that he might be able to reason with the obviously mad god. “But why do you want to kill me? I'm not doing anything wrong. I just want to figure out who I am and what my purpose is in this world. Is that such a bad thing?”

  “The laws laid down by the Powers at the very beginning of Martir state that everyone who dies stays dead,” said Diog, his tone as firm as a mountain. “Humans, katabans, aquarians, and, yes, even we gods, cannot break this law. It is the governing law that regulates all living creatures on this world, and I was made responsible for ensuring that it was never broken.”

  Diog pointed at Braim with one rotting, shaking finger. “You are unnatural, Braim Kotogs. You should not be. You died thirty years ago. You should still be lying in your grave in North Academy's graveyard, not standing before me like this. And all unnatural abominations such as yourself must die.”

  “Hold on, Diog,” said Braim, holding up his wand defensively. “Can't we talk this over a little, like rational beings? I mean, even if what you say is true, that my resurrection was unnatural or went against some law created by the Powers or whatever, that doesn't necessarily have any negative consequences, does it? Martir sure seems fine to me.”

  Diog made a strange breathing noise that might have been an annoyed grunt. “You don't understand. You are mortal. You don't see—or feel—what I see and feel. Your resurrection has completely smashed the natural laws laid down by the Powers centuries ago, before you were even a thought in the mind of destiny. Have you never wondered why you feel so depressed and heavy all the time?”

  Braim scratched the back of his head, where that darkness from before was still creeping up his spine. “Well, yeah, I have wondered about that. But the Ghostly God told me he thought that it was just Uron's remnants that were affecting me.”

  “My brother knows nothing about the natural laws that rule this world,” said Diog dismissively. “Especially the ones that govern the dead. The truth is, even your very body knows that you should not be. It is demanding that you take your own life so that your unnatural abomination of a life ends for good.”

  “You mean it's trying to make me suicidal?” said Braim with a gulp. “I've never been suicidal before.”

  “Because you have a strong will to live,” said Diog, tapping his chest where his heart should be, though Braim wasn't sure that Diog had one, considering how much like a rotting corpse the god resembled. “Your will to live is stronger than the natural reaction of your corpse to your unnatural state. And I believe that you will continue to fight it, which is why I had my servant try to kill you.”

  “Your servant?” said Braim. “Are you referring to Four Arms the assassin?”

  “Yes,” said Diog, nodding. “But please do not use such a childish name with which to refer to her. She is properly known as Ragao, the Half-Goddess of Darkness.”

  “Half-god?” said Braim. “Sounds familiar.”

  “It should,” said Diog. “When Uron attacked World's End some months ago, he led an army of the Powers' unfinished and abandoned creations from the Void. My siblings and I slew the whole lot of them after Uron's banishment to the ethereal, but I kept this one hidden from the others in case I should ever need her. A wise move on my part, if I do say so myself.”

  Braim remembered where he had heard the term 'half-god' before. Aorja Kitano had had a pet half-god named Zeeree, but Braim forgot about that quickly enough in order to focus on the current situation.

  “Half-god, eh?” said Braim. “Is that why she's not much of a talker? Can't say anything?”

  “Her speech capabilities are very limited, but she can still understand my commands,” said Diog. “Not only that, but she is an even more obedient servant than the katabans.”

  “Is that why you didn't use a katabans, then?” said Braim. “Let me guess, you were afraid that any katabans you hired would be interrogated by the other gods and forced to spill the beans about your plan because the katabans cannot deny the orders or requests of any god, right?”

  “Correct,” said Diog. “It is a shame I will have to kill you, because you truly are a smart mage. Nonetheless, the natural laws must be followed, no matter how I may feel about them.”

  “Then why didn't you just have Ragao kill me here?” said Braim. He looked around for the half-goddess again, but still didn't see any evidence of the assassin anywhere. “I mean, this seems like a pretty isolated place, and if Ragao could kidnap me right from under Alira's nose like that, then I don't think it would be hard for her to just kill me outright.”

  “Because Ragao has already failed to kill you twice,” said Diog. He sounded supremely disappointed by that. “Instead, I ordered her to bring you directly to me so I could kill you personally.”

  “Oh,” said Braim. “Is that why she vanished after she took me here? I thought for sure that she had gotten scared and run away so she wouldn't get beaten up by me again.”

  Though Braim spoke confidently, in truth he was terrified out of his mind. He knew exactly how powerful the gods were and how outmatched he was against Diog. There was no way that he could beat Diog in a straight fight, even if he had intended to try. He just hoped that the other gods or Alira might be able to track him down and find him before Diog killed him.

  “Ragao isn't afraid of anything,” said Diog. “That's actually why she's so incompetent, however. She doesn't understand that some things should be feared. She just attacks and attacks until she is too wounded or tired to keep fighting. Even then, the only reason she fled yesterday was because I ordered her to. Otherwise, she likely would have kept going until you and your fellow godlings killed her outright.”

  “We almost k
illed her?” said Braim. “I thought mortals couldn't kill gods.”

  “Half-gods do not have all of the same strengths and immunities that we full gods do,” said Diog. “I suspect that Ragao, like her fellow half-gods, were from an earlier stage of our development when gods could be killed by mortals. In any case, the nature of half-gods is irrelevant. What is relevant is this.”

  Diog gestured at coffin lying in the depression in the floor. That was when Braim realized that it was the perfect size for his body, which didn't make him feel any easier about his current situation.

  “This is the coffin I made for you, the one in which you will die,” said Diog. “Based on your shocked expression, I can tell that you didn't see that coming. Odd, seeing as you are a necromancer, but perhaps your resurrection amnesia has made you forget important things like that.”

  “So you made a coffin, just for me?” said Braim. “How thoughtful of you.”

  “Do not mock me,” said Diog. He slammed his shovel into the floor, creating a crack where he struck. “You have already mocked the laws that the Powers created by returning to life. Must you also mock the one whose job is to enforce those laws?”

  “You get offended way too easily,” said Braim. Then he looked over Diog's shoulders at the five thrones behind him. “Say, what are those thrones? They look kind of like the thrones from the Temple, except smaller.”

  Diog glanced over his shoulder before returning his gaze to Braim. “Those thrones are the headstones of the gods that died at Uron's hand. I crafted them myself after Uron's demise, in order to honor them all. Including Skimif, even though, like many of the gods, I never respected his authority very much.”

  “Why are they here and not in a graveyard?” said Braim. He looked around the room uncertainly. “By the way, where are we, exactly?”

  “In my castle,” said Diog. “Located on the once-inhabited island of Ysa in the Northern Isles. As for why the thrones are here, that is because there is no graveyard of the gods. Until Uron's attack, there was never a need for one, seeing as we gods cannot grow old and die.”

  Diog then struck the floor again and cursed. “Yet another being who broke the natural laws. The only good thing about your resurrection was that your resurrection brought Uron's death, who was a far worse threat to Martir than you ever were.”

  “Great to hear,” said Braim, taking another step back. “Because we agree that I am not as big a threat as Uron, I think we can also agree that kidnapping me and killing me is a really bad idea. Just send me back to the Stadium and I promise not to tell the other gods that you are crazy.”

  “They already think I'm crazy anyway,” said Diog. “But the truth is, none of them would understand this. You coming back to life is like Grinf getting burned by a fire. It should not happen. Your very presence has changed Martir in ways even I do not yet understand. That is why I must kill you. It is the only way I know of that can reverse the damages you have wrought to this world.”

  “Listen, Diog, I don't know what kind of 'damages' I may have 'wrought' to Martir, but I bet I can fix them if I win the Tournament,” said Braim. “You might not know this—okay, you probably do—but I'm a godling and I am in the Skimif Bracket. Assuming I win the Tournament, I will become the God of Martir, which means that I can use my power to help Martir.”

  Diog shuddered. “Why do you think I have been working hard to kill you? If your mere presence on Martir has been enough to wreck with the natural order of things, then what might happen if you become the God of Martir? Such an unnatural act might end up destroying everything or breaking it irrevocably, which is really the same thing no matter how you look at it.”

  “If my mere existence is such a terrible thing, why'd you wait so long to try to kill me?” said Braim. “I've been alive for a couple of months now, you know. Could have killed me anytime during then.”

  “Because I wanted to wait and see if your resurrection would actually cause any problems,” said Diog. “Unlike some of my siblings, I do not like to rush in before gathering the facts first. And I have enough facts to prove that your resurrection has had nothing but the most negative of effects on Martir.”

  “Such as what?” said Braim. “I haven't seen the sky turn red or the sun fall into the sea or anything, so I'm not sure what I've done that's so wrong.”

  “You broke the law,” said Diog. He gripped the side of his head, as though a terrible headache had just come upon him without warning. “You have not done much more than that yet. However, that doesn't mean that your existence will not cause more trouble. The world does not know what to make of a being like you. And if natural laws such as that can be broken, who is to say that other natural laws cannot be broken as well?”

  Diog sounded paranoid to Braim, which combined with his godly power was probably not a winning combination. In any case, Braim knew he needed to figure out a way out of here quickly before Diog got bored of talking to him and decided to kill him outright.

  So Braim said, “All right. Well, if you wanted to kill me, why'd Ragao try to kill Raya and the others yesterday? I wasn't even anywhere near her at the time.”

  “Because Ragao was trying to lure you out,” said Diog. “I am aware of your friendship with Princess Raya, so I believed that putting her life in danger would bring you out.”

  “We're not exactly 'friends,' per se,” said Braim, “but whatever. I guess it didn't really work, seeing as I'm still alive.”

  “But soon, you won't be,” said Diog. He held out one hand toward Braim, a hand that no longer shook. “Soon, you will return to the afterlife, where you deserve to be, and the laws will be intact once more.”

  “Sure, you keep telling yourself that,” said Braim. “But you know that Alira and the gods are probably looking for me. They'll probably find me very soon, and once they do, they won't be happy to find out that you're trying to kill me.”

  “They can't and won't find you,” said Diog. “As a god, I have placed my protection upon you, which makes you impossible for the other gods to locate you with their powers. They cannot kill you, either, although I, of course, still can.”

  Braim, without waiting for Diog to speak further, fired a blast of light at the god. Diog deflected the blast with his outstretched hand, however, causing it to fly into one of the walls and leaving a black smoking mess where it hit.

  “We gods cannot be harmed by magic, seeing as we generate magical energy all the time,” said Diog. “Now cease your resistance. Accept the fate that all beings are born under. Obey the natural laws, which govern our world and ensure that chaos does not destroy it.”

  Diog curled the fingers of his outstretched hand into a fist.

  That was when Braim felt a terrible, extreme pain in his heart. It was like having a thousand heart attacks at once. It was so painful that he could barely think. He dropped his wand and fell to his hands and knees on the stone floor, his lungs burning, making even the simple act of breathing into a terrible action that required great effort on his part.

  But even through the intense pain overcoming him, Braim understood why he felt this pain:

  He was dying.

  ***