Forgotten Gods Boxed Set 2

by S T Branton

  And it made me absolutely furious. To stand at the window, so to speak, unable to take any sort of action, was torture in its own right. I barely noticed that my fingernails had drawn crescents of blood from my palms. I was too fixated on Delano and how far out of my reach he was.

  “I take back everything I said about Carcerum being a paradise,” I said. “I get it now. I fucking get it.” There was nothing hidden from me—nothing in the whole damn world—but I couldn’t influence any of it. So what did it matter?

  Delano’s face loomed large in the glass. He was mocking me. “Fuck!” I shouted. I swung before I thought. The mirror shattered and splinters skidded across the floor. I stood there glowering at its empty stand.

  “Victoria?” Marcus asked.

  I turned to face him. “I know what I have to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Marcus opened his mouth, presumably to ask me what the hell I was talking about. I brushed past him before he could speak, eager to get back to the vault and put my plan in motion. He called after me from the door. “Victoria!”

  “I’ll meet you there!” I called back. “Trust me, Marcus. This can’t wait!”

  “I understand your urgency, but—” He caught up with me and pointed in a different direction. “If you plan to return to the vault, the building is that way.”

  “Oh.” I changed course. “Right, I knew that.”

  He patted my back. “Worry not, my friend. I shall pretend I witnessed nothing.”

  To my surprise, the door to the basement vault room was open and a soft light emanated from inside. Marcus and I exchanged a glance as we descended the stairwell into the subterranean level. There was only one person it could really be. Sure enough, Kronin emerged from the vault in front of us with the last block of Solis Stone held in his arms.

  Marcus stepped forward. “My liege,” he said. “Let me help you.”

  The God-King shook his head. “Not this time, Marcus. The forging of a new Solis weapon is my duty and my honor.” He looked at me. “Wait here inside the vault. I’ll fetch you once the forge is primed.” He hurried past me, his stride long and purposeful. We stepped into the vault’s now empty belly.

  “A new weapon?” Marcus asked.

  “Yeah.” I rubbed at the traces of dust on the floor with my toe. “Another sword is the only thing that’ll defeat Delano, so we have to make one. Then we take it back to his stupid, ugly temple and we ruin his day with it. You’re in, right?”

  The centurion smiled. “Must you ask? Of course I will accompany you.” He paused. “But not a sword.”

  I gave him a look. “It has to be a sword, Marcus. I won’t go into that fight armed with a holy golf club.”

  “You do not understand,” he said patiently. “The sword is an instrument of equality—swordsmen begin and end on equal footing, no matter the outcome. You have used it thus far to put down hordes of lesser beings, and it has certainly served you well, but it is not for slaying demons. For that, you require a spear.”

  “That’s a load of crap,” I said. “There are a million fairytales about knights who bring swords into dragon lairs. If it’s good enough for Saint George, it’s good enough for me.” The deep whooshing sound of a kindled flame rushed to my ears and I glanced up to see a flood of warm light spread over the outside corridor. The burning hum of Kronin’s forge resonated in the walls like a voice. Goosebumps stood up on my arms.

  Marcus watched me knowingly. “Those fairytales were no doubt written by fat old men, not by experienced warriors such as yours truly.” For emphasis, he dusted his shoulder plate with a dramatic gesture.

  I rolled my eyes but laughed anyway. How amazing it was to be there in Carcerum with Marcus. A small miracle amid all the darkness of the last few weeks. “I’d bet my life that you’ve never written a shopping list, let alone an entire classic fairytale,” I said.

  “Well, I’ve lived my fair share,” Marcus answered. “And I know the villain never dies in glory.”

  “No,” I interjected. “That’s the hero’s job.”

  Marcus put his hands on my arms and stared deep into my eyes. A spark of intensity burned within him and charged his words. “Victoria, listen. You saw as well as I that Delano is a monster, that he always has been. Nothing in the universe or beyond could elevate him to the level of your equal. I must urge you not to create another sword, only to sully its edge with his blood. He is not even worthy to speak your name.” Marcus took a deep breath. “Delano is but a worm. He deserves to die like one.”

  I grinned. “I knew there was a reason I missed you, old man. No one gives an inspirational speech like you do.”

  He puffed his chest out. “It is a talent I acquired in Rome. My efforts to pass it on to you have had middling results.”

  “Hey!” I prodded him lightly in the chest. “I’m very inspiring if I do say so myself. Lord knows no one else gives speeches in the mess hall at Fort Victory.”

  “Your inspiration lies more in your actions than your words,” Marcus said. “You have stepped up and carved your mark upon the face of humanity. They will remember you, alive or dead, for generations to come.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “At least if I die, it’ll be as glorious as hell. I think I want a Viking funeral. Like with the boat and the fire. Burn me with all my shit, too, so nobody else can have it.”

  Marcus chuckled. “Again, you are mistaken,” he said. “Heroes die in tragedies. And that is not the kind of tale we will write.”

  “Oh, so that makes this a comedy and I’m headed for a wedding instead? Thanks for—” I stopped talking as the sentimental side of my brain immediately thought about Deacon. I looked away abruptly. Sudden impatience overtook my heart, and I eyed the corridor in anticipation of Kronin’s interruption. The forge’s fire had built to a dull roar.

  “It is almost time,” Marcus declared. “I am so very proud of you.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, buddy,” I said. We were quiet for a few seconds, each of us deep in thought. “I wonder if he waited here because he knew what I’d do without him having to ask.”

  “Kronin is wiser than most,” the centurion said and shifted his weight. “But perhaps it is foolish to call him wise above all else. He has overlooked true intentions in the past, has he not? I have no doubt he wanted to be sure this time.”

  “Why even give me the choice?” I mused, half to myself. Then I realized that seeing my parents had only hardened my resolve to stop Delano once and for all. I missed them, yes, but that wound had long ago begun its healing process. Even if they weren’t with me, I could hold them in my heart until I met them again.

  I couldn’t build humanity from the unrecognizable mess Delano wished to create. There’d be nothing left, for one thing. We were a plague of insects that he sought to exterminate. He thought we were worthless.

  I knew better than that.

  A flickering shadow fell across the floor in the hallway and approached the threshold of the vault. Marcus and I both looked at Kronin who stood in the open doorway. The king’s brilliant eyes locked onto mine. “Are you ready, Vic?” he asked.

  I moved toward him. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  “Excellent.” Kronin nodded approvingly. “Your sword awaits.”

  “Not a sword,” I responded and glanced over my shoulder at Marcus. “A spear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The forge was massive with a blazing inferno like a small star burning at its heart. The dry heat crackled on my skin and I squinted into the light. The Solis Stone sat atop the smithy in the center. Its surface had already begun to glow. The fire seemed to arc through the stone itself and infused it with its wild power.

  “Take this,” Kronin said and handed me a long-handled hammer. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the forge. The tool was astonishingly heavy. If I hadn’t braced myself at the last second, I might have dropped it, but I tightened my grip and gave it a truncated test swing.


  The weighted head dropped in a brutal downward arc.

  “Good,” said the god. “That’s the kind of power we’ll need.” He walked to the smithy and motioned for me to move into position beside him. “I will hold the Solis Stone in place. You strike it and don’t hold back.” I looked at his bare hands and back at him. His beatific face held no trace of humor. “Trust me, Vic. I am the only one who has the strength. I can endure.”

  The breath I took filled my lungs with hot, dusty air. I squared my stance at the edge of the smithy, fixed my gaze on the raw, unshaped material, and raised the forge hammer. The flat side struck the Solis Stone with a shower of white-hot sparks, and at the same time, an agonized scream sliced through the chamber. I tensed, the hammer raised, and scanned the vicinity for the source of the sound.

  Kronin leaned over the smithy. His hands anchored the far end of the stone and its power leaked through his skin. The muscles of his strong jaw clenched so tightly that they trembled. Sweat rolled down his brow. The veins in his neck and arms bulged. But when he spoke, he was resolute. I had never heard a steadier voice.

  “I can endure,” he repeated. “Do not stop. The fate of the world depends on this success. Push me from your thoughts and focus only on the task at hand. Go!”

  The hammer rose and fell again and again. Each time, a geyser of sparks was followed by a tortured cry. I steeled my will until his suffering fused with the roar of the forge and layered itself into the ambient soundtrack of my work. After that, I didn’t stop except to keep the perspiration from dripping down into my eyes. My strikes grew faster and more precise. The spear began to emerge beneath the heavy rain of blows.

  Kronin’s voice turned hoarse. I didn’t allow myself to look at him, afraid I’d lose my nerve if I was disturbed by what I saw. I simply held the hammer tighter and leaned into the heat. My shirt clung to my back. Locks of hair streaked down the sides of my face and plastered onto my cheeks. The feeling in my arms slowly numbed. Still, I kept at it. When it was time to stop, Kronin would tell me.

  And he did, in a sense. I followed through into my next strike when I noticed he no longer hung over the side of the smithy and struggled through the spear’s creation. He lay crumpled on the floor, utterly spent with his eyes half closed. If I had considered him pale before, he was ghostly now.

  “Take it up,” he murmured. His voice, although frail, somehow still managed to carry to my ears. “Plunge it into the water and gaze upon your handiwork.”

  I did as I was told and tossed the spear into its first cold bath. Steam billowed from the water and obscured everything in a thick cloud. When I put my hand back in, the water was almost hot and my fingers closed around something that felt like a real weapon. The glistening spear emerged from the fog and still shed droplets that hissed into vapor on contact with the surface of the smithy. I held it as though it was made of glass and not an ethereal resource of the gods. Fine details that I hadn’t carved slowly and subtly adorned the shaft. It reminded me, unsurprisingly, of the Gladius Solis.

  I spun to feel the weight of the spear in my hands. The blade was light, nimble, and devastatingly sharp. I fumbled a little with the much longer shaft. “This will take some getting used to,” I said, but I brimmed with the kind of pride that only comes with accomplishment. As much as I loved that fiery sword and as well as I’d learned to wield it, Kronin’s original blade was a hand-me-down, an inheritance from Marcus. This spear was as much mine as it could possibly be. I examined it with a grin.

  When I turned to show Kronin, my pride turned to concern in an instant. He lay where he had fallen beside the forge, motionless except for the uneven rise and fall of his chest. I set the spear down and ran to him. Behind me, footsteps entered the area.

  “My liege!” Marcus exclaimed. “What happened?” We fell to our knees alongside the king.

  Kronin smiled at us. “Thank you,” he said haltingly. “For carrying me to the end of my long and winding path. Forging the final weapon required the last of my strength. I am afraid that very soon, I must leave you. For good, this time.” Pure exhaustion seemed to erode his features. The ends of his words dropped off and I could sense him beginning to slip away.

  “I’m sorry, Kronin,” I told him. “This isn’t the end you deserve.”

  The God-King chuckled weakly. “It’s funny you should say that,” he whispered. “Take care of this place in my absence and take care of humanity.”

  “I have to save it first,” I told him.

  He closed his eyes. “You will.” His voice faded rapidly. “Regret nothing. I have never been prouder.” One last breath rattled into his lungs and was expelled after a long lull. It carried his spirit away and left us kneeling over his body.

  When I started to rise, Marcus stopped me. I was about to ask him why when the king’s body changed and seemed to accelerate through millennia of aging in a matter of seconds. At the end, all that was left of Kronin, king of the gods, was a pile of dust.

  I’d seen the process take place once before when Marcus died in the slaughterhouse. The centurion sat for a moment longer and contemplated the ashes that had been his beloved sovereign less than a minute before. “It was true,” he said quietly. “Kronin was human, and yet he was the one who managed to wrangle order out of this mess of chaos.”

  I pushed to my feet. The ever-present wound in my leg released a twinge of pain whenever I put weight on it. I bent and picked up the spear. “He’s a tough act to follow,” I told Marcus. “But someone has to do it.”

  The old Roman’s solemn air of mourning morphed into peace as he joined me. We took one last shared look at the looming forge before Marcus doused its fire and rendered the beast dormant. He glanced at me, then at the spear in my hand. “It is time to return to Earth,” he said. “Our work here—and Kronin’s—is done.”

  I nodded. Neither of us made a move to disturb the remains of Carcerum’s late ruler. He had earned eternal serenity at last and sleep in the shadow of the forge that birthed his legacy.

  “Let’s go.” I lifted the spear clear of the floor and headed for the basement stairs. “I don’t know how much time we have left.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  With Kronin dead, the true emptiness of Carcerum descended on the palace like a heavy black pall. As we crossed the throne room and banquet hall, it felt as if we waded along the ocean floor. The throne itself stood conspicuously vacant in the vast chamber. Part of me hoped it would never be occupied again.

  “I was wrong before,” Marcus conceded while he kept pace beside me. “This part of the story is a tragedy.”

  “It’s not over yet,” I replied. “We still have a whole lot of Forgotten ass to kick.”

  “For Kronin,” the centurion declared.

  “For mankind,” I added.

  The huge portal that led out of the realm set deep into the palace wall towered above us. It looked far too heavy to open on my own, but as we drew closer, my spear began to glow. The light intensified until it was impossible to look at it directly. I paused within arm’s reach of the ancient door.

  “Oh, shit.” An unpleasant thought flitted through my brain. “You need to go back into the medallion, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said. “Unfortunately, the ending of my tenure on Earth destroyed my ability to inhabit it in a corporeal form.”

  “That blows,” I said. “I’m really sorry. I wish there was something we could do.”

  “It matters not,” he assured me. “If it means that I may remain by your side, I shall gladly make every sacrifice.” He put a hand into his pocket and withdrew a closed fist. “Briefly, before we depart—I have brought you a modest gift.” He opened his fingers and there, nestled in his palm, was a piece of the mirror I had shattered in anger. “It used to be much nicer. And larger. But earlier tonight, someone came in and broke it. I have absolutely no idea who that might have been.”

  I chuckled. “Sorry. I guess I’m much like a bull in a china shop sometimes.” The
mirror shard glinted but it remained blank. I slipped it into the lining of my coat for safekeeping before I turned my attention to the spear. Its current form simply wasn’t practical at all. Walking with the thing held clear of the ground was awkward at best and horribly annoying at worst. I shifted my weight off my bad leg while I considered my options. Suddenly, inspiration struck like a bolt from the blue.

  The spear’s glow intensified again, and this time, the great door out of Carcerum swung open far enough to allow me through. I focused my will on the weapon like a laser, and it transformed into a harmless walking stick in my hand. My whole leg flooded with relief once I redistributed my weight.

  “That’s better,” I said with a sigh of satisfaction. A constant blast of cold air rocketed into my face from the other side of the door. I stepped through, and my foot sank instantly into a few inches of fresh snow. A howling, snowy wind raked its fingers through my hair and the breath seemed to freeze in my lungs once again.

  “It’s good to be back,” I gasped. Marcus’s medallion regained its distinctive warmth and his voice sounded in my ears.

  It will be better to be back at sea level.

  I pulled the collar of my jacket up and tucked my chin down against the cold. “Agreed.”

  The wind kicked up flurries of snow and ice every second, which reduced visibility to almost nothing. I had, evidently, chosen to make my exit from Carcerum in the middle of an Earth-based storm atop the Himalayan peak that served as the connection between realms. The safest thing to do was to perhaps duck as low as possible and try to feel my way backward until I hopefully determined where I was. I’d barely begun the uncomfortable exercise that way when a voice cut through the gale.

  “Vic? Is that you?”

  I whipped my head around and searched for Shiva in the whiteout. My maternal instinct reared its rare and frustrated head. What the hell was that crazy kid doing on a mountaintop in the middle of a storm? Never mind that I was there too, or that he had likely come to find me.