Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  And if his father had his way, Drake would never see anything else again.

  *****

  The temple of Magus was magnificent. That went without saying. But in the early hours of dawn, as the sun’s rays struck the polished metal and stone of the highest of its tapered towers, a reflected glow enveloped the city, bathing it in a warm, yellow light. It was stunning. It was something Loki would have expected of Haledon, being that he was the sun god. But Magus had accomplished it instead. And not just Magus, but his acolytes, who’d built the temple with their own hands and their own spells.

  Loki was learning a lot lately, not the least of which was that you could never take anything for granted when it came to the gods. Mortals would never have them figured out.

  “Will they let us in?” Loki asked as they approached the temple’s massive front doors. They stood thirty feet high, if they stood five, and appeared to be constructed of a mixture of strange shimmering wood, polished metal, and complicated reliefs of carved stone. Gargoyles rested on the stone wall on either side of the door, and Loki could swear that the massive carved beasts were watching him.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Grolsch. He lifted a massive paw to knock – but never got the chance. Instead, the doors began to swing open with a deep, reverberating groan. Loki watched them warily, his heart racing. He stood his ground, squared his shoulders, and glanced up at his large companion.

  Grolsch looked over at him as well. The two nodded at one another, and when the doors were completely open and the dim interior of the building could be made out from the threshold, they turned back to peer inside.

  Loki frowned. It looked wholly unimpressive, to be honest. From the doorway, he could make out a few shelves along one wall. They housed leather-backed books and knick-knacks such as human skulls and half-burned candles. Along one wall was a massive hearth, and within that hearth rested a cauldron. Something boiled within it, but Loki couldn’t tell what. The center of the large room was furnished with long wooden tables, and at these tables sat a few acolytes, their heads bent over big dusty tomes.

  None of them looked up at the newcomers, despite the fact that the huge doors had opened of their own accord. Not one of them could be bothered to acknowledge the guests waiting on the doorstep of Magus’s temple.

  Loki blew out a quick breath and shrugged. He and Grolsch stepped into the room together.

  The moment they crossed the building’s threshold, their surroundings began to morph. It happened very fast; the bookshelves, the cauldron, the long tables – all of them warped and shimmered. Within seconds, it had all disappeared to be replaced with something entirely different.

  “By the gods…” Grolsch muttered under his breath.

  Loki had to agree with the sentiment. The door had shut behind them, and now he and the ork stood in a vast, glittering chamber with walls seemingly constructed of diamonds. It was at least the size of several taverns strung together, and twice as tall. Glowing lights hovered up high above their heads, illuminating the chamber with a warm, yellow glow. There were bookshelves here as well, but they were nothing like the drab wooden shelves Loki had viewed while standing on the doorstep of the temple. Instead, they formed columns throughout the incredible room, and these columns twisted and turned and even looped upside down, yet the books remained in place.

  There were people moving about in the chamber, dressed in robes of white and light blue and gold. They glanced over at Loki and Grolsch with intelligent eyes, and then continued about their business. Strange bubble-like objects floated throughout the room, some of them following these robed acolytes as if they were air-borne pets.

  Loki looked up – and up. There was no ceiling to the vast chamber. Instead, the endless blue-black of space beckoned and swirled. Stars twinkled brightly, and planets of pink and purple slowly turned.

  “Would you gentlemen please follow me?”

  Loki jumped a little and looked down. An attractive middle-aged woman had approached them and was now smiling up at them with calm serenity. Her blue eyes were clear and keen, and her long brown hair had been beautifully pleated to fall over her shoulders.

  “Where are we going?” Grolsch asked.

  Loki blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing back at his companion. “What my friend means to say is that we’ve come to speak with a priest of Magus… for private reasons.” He swallowed, stalling a bit as he realized he didn’t actually know why they were there or what they were going to do.

  The woman smiled brilliantly, acceptingly. “Magus knows why you’re here,” she said calmly. “Please follow me.” She turned and began to walk away, her blue and white robes following perfectly behind.

  Loki looked over at Grolsch. The ork seemed to shrug; his expression was rather lost. Loki decided that he needed to take matters into his own hands.

  “Come on,” he said softly, “We’ve got nothing else to go on.”

  They followed the priestess across the massive chamber, their eyes skirting to its many odd and wonderful traits as they went. A dragonfly buzzed past Loki’s head and he turned to watch it hover beside a bookcase nearby. Its carapace appeared constructed of stained glass, its wings of spun platinum. It flittered loudly for a second and took off once more, heading in another direction.

  At various places in the chamber, cracks marred the iridescent surface of the opalesque walls, but in these cracks, flowers grew, their multi-colored petals lending the walls an air of the fantastical.

  Neither Loki nor Grolsch spoke as they walked. There was too much to see. The image they’d taken in while still outside had clearly been an illusion. Loki wondered at its purpose. He wondered about everything.

  Finally, as they neared a second set of giant stone doors, Loki broke the silence. “What are those bubbles following people around?” he asked.

  “They’re Bodii,” explained the priestess. “Creatures born of magic and air. Some of our acolytes keep them as animal companions.”

  They reached the doors and the priestess turned to face them. “Through here,” she said, still wearing her serene smile. She touched the right door gently, and the massive entryway began to turn out, revealing a long hallway beyond.

  The hallway was lit by the glow of hundreds, if not thousands of candles that hovered above them near a ceiling Loki could not quite make out. Each of the candles’ flames were a different color, sending the hallway into a rainbow relief. Loki looked down; the floor beneath their feet was transparent, and beneath that hard transparency stretched a fragment of space that mirrored the “ceiling” of the room they’d just left.

  Loki nearly stumbled upon seeing the vast darkness. For a moment, it felt as though he were walking on air. But the floor felt solid enough to his boots, and the priestess before them continued to move without pause. Beside him, Grolsch glanced down and faltered for a second as well. But they gathered themselves commendably; Loki lifted his chin and forced one foot in front of the other.

  There was a third door at the end of this long hall. However, this was a simple door, constructed of wood and devoid of decoration. As they approached it, Loki became increasingly unsettled. Despite the relative plainness of this door, the air was thicker with the feel of magic, and his skin prickled.

  The priestess stopped at the door and gestured to its knob. “Please go inside and help yourselves to some refreshments.”

  She waited as Loki and Grolsch exchanged another uncertain look and Loki finally turned the knob. The door opened into none other than a kitchen. It was a simple kitchen, at that, possessing stone walls and round windows that allowed streams of light into a rather small, definitely quaint interior. A single wooden table sat at the center of the kitchen. Along one wall hung tools for stoking the fire and cooking stews and meats. At one window hung a planter where several herbs were steadily growing. At another wall rested a raised tub with pipes for flowing water, and a rack for hanging pots and pans. There was a brick oven here, and from its fiery recesses came th
e smell of fresh baked bread.

  Atop the table rested two plates, two cups, and a steaming pitcher of what smelled like black tea. A small white bowl held sugar cubes. Another, clear jar seemed to contain honey.

  Loki glanced back at the priestess, but she only nodded, continued to smile, and gestured for the two of them to enter the kitchen. Loki resigned himself to whatever was going to happen that day – and he went inside.

  The feel in the room was instantly inviting. The air was warm, but not too warm, and it smelled so good, Loki wondered whether the bread cooking in the oven was nearly done. He was hungry.

  Grolsch sat his large body down at the kitchen table, and Loki followed suit. The priestess nodded at them once and then left them alone, closing the door behind her.

  It was a while before either of them spoke. Grolsch folded his hands on the table top. Loki fidgeted a bit. And then Grolsch said, “So here we are in Magus’s kitchen.”

  “Better than the bathroom, I guess.”

  Loki ran a hand through his hair and looked over his shoulder at the windows streaming in light. “Not what I would have expected from the god of magic,” he mumbled.

  “It even has flies,” Grolsch said.

  Loki turned back around to see what his companion was talking about. A single black fly had alighted atop the tea pot. Loki frowned at it. The feeling of magic in the air intensified.

  Grolsch swatted lazily at the fly and it took off to circle quickly over the two of them and then land once more on the table top. Grolsch slowly raised his hand and balled it into a fist.

  “Grolsch, no!” Just before it could come down, Loki grabbed Grolsch’s arm and held it still. His heart was hammering.

  Laughter moved through the room, a whisper at first that built into a rumble. Loki’s eyes widened. He stared at the fly. The fly stared back.

  There was a flash of light that temporarily blinded him, and the rolling laughter at once sounded much closer, and much more human. Loki lowered the hand he’d raised to shield his eyes from the brightness and found himself staring at a young blond man who sat across from him at the wooden table. The fly was gone.

  “You’ve got good instincts, Loki Grey,” the blond man said.

  “You’re Magus,” Loki countered. There was no doubt in his mind.

  “I know,” said Magus. “But I’m sure that you didn’t come here just to tell me who I am.”

  “We came here because Drake was coming here,” said Grolsch, his expression a little unsettled since he’d almost tried to squish the god of magic. “Tanith,” Grolsch clarified. “He said you owed him a favor.”

  “I did,” Magus said. “I no longer do. But I’m willing to make a new bargain.” At this, he looked once more at Loki.

  “With me?” Loki asked.

  “A small bargain,” Magus said. “I’ll send you to where your sister has gone – in exchange for just one thing.”

  “What?” Grolsch and Loki asked at once.

  Magus gracefully stood from the table and, without looking, waved his hand at the only bare wall in the small kitchen. The wall warped and wavered as a portal swirled to life. “You need to make a decision, Loki. Soon, you’ll need to decide what to believe.” His eyes flashed green, then blue, and then brown once more. Loki’s own eyes widened. “There’s a lot of power in a name, priest. When the time comes, just make sure you call out the right one.”

  Magus’s deep brown eyes speared holes through Loki, but he couldn’t look away. Then the god of magic stood to the side and gestured to the now-open portal.

  Loki blinked, shook his head as if to clear it, and forced himself to his feet. Grolsch followed suit. Together, the two skirted the kitchen table and came to stand before the portal.

  “Where is it?” Loki asked as he peered through the transportational door and into the red and black landscape beyond. He already knew the answer, but there was a part of him that nonetheless hoped Magus would tell him something other than what he knew to be true. It was worth a try.

  “You know where it is,” Magus responded, dashing Loki’s hopes at once.

  Grolsch spoke up from where he stood at Loki’s shoulder. “Nisse,” he said. “She’s in Nisse. This isn’t good.”

  “Why is she there?” Loki asked, although he knew the answer to that as well. It had something to do with Drake of Tanith and his ancestry, no doubt. He imagined his sister, borne of ice and winter, in the midst of that red heat, and a little more of his hope trickled away like melted snow.

  “Not a welcoming land,” Grolsch said. “We should take water.”

  And weapons, thought Loki. He felt the missing weight at his back and remembered that he’d lost his bow. It doesn’t matter, he thought next. Looking into that plane of red and death, he realized he would probably never leave it. He would die there, on that parched, burned ground, weapon or not.

  Beside him, Magus raised his hand. Loki blinked as the air around the god began to glitter as if filled with gem dust. He blinked when the sparkling motes blinded him, and then felt a new, familiar weight at his back.

  Loki glanced quickly over his shoulder. The top of his bow and the fletching of the nock ends of his arrows stared back at him. He had his weapon back. On instinct, he looked down. Sure enough, a full leather wine skin had been attached to his belt, and another just like it hung from Grolsch’s belt. They’d been given everything they’d just asked for, despite the fact that Loki hadn’t asked for his out loud.

  Loki looked back up at Magus. Something like amusement flickered in the god of magic’s brown eyes. Other than that, he was unreadable.

  “I still don’t know what you want from me,” Loki admitted, fear and confusion forming a knot in his stomach.

  Magus held his gaze. “You will.”

  “Right then,” said Grolsch – and without further preamble, the ork stepped through. Loki watched the portal swallow him and spit him back out on the other side. He continued to watch as Grolsch rearranged himself a little, and then he turned back to Magus. “What is the deal with the kitchen?” he asked, for some reason wanting to know.

  Magus smiled. “I grew up in a house with a kitchen just like it.”

  “You grew up?” Loki asked, feeling bewildered.

  “Yes, Loki. All gods were mortal once. You would do well to keep that in mind.”

  Loki had no idea what to make of that, much less what to say to it. So, he remained silent, nodded his farewell, and stepped through the portal.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was like taking a fish and giving it lungs. That was what being in Nisse felt like for Raven. At least, that’s what it felt like as far as she was concerned. Nisse was the land of fire, and she was the daughter of Malphas. She was Winter. To call her an ice princess would not necessarily be an insult so much as an absolute truth. She was out of her element here.

  Raven stood at the window of Asmodeus’s private bed chamber and gazed out over the broken land beyond. She hugged herself, as if her arms could protect her from this place and its ruler. She thought of Drake. And then she thought of Lord Darken, the “twin” who had threatened them in the Witherlands.

  She’d since learned that he was no twin after all. He was Darken, the ruler of the seventh plane of Hell, son of Asmodeus – the one that Magus had told her about.

  Upon pulling her tightly into his arms and transporting her to his castle within Nisse, Lord Asmodeus had at once set about seeing to her “comfort.” She’d been assigned servants and guards, who had both accompanied her to the Lord’s private quarters. The guards were Nisse’s soldiers, massive and terrifying, and looked much like Adonides would have had he gained several sizes.

  The servants were lesser devils, humanoid in form and function, and even wore the clothing of humans. They were strangely beautiful; their red skin was smooth, and their yellow eyes and yellow-orange streaked hair provided stark contrast. They looked like living, breathing flames.

  Once they had sequestered her in Asmodeus’s
chamber and the guards had left to station themselves in the hall outside, the servants offered Raven drinks and food and promised to acquire for her anything she desired.

  Raven wanted nothing from them. By all rights, she should have been dying of thirst, but she was obviously being shielded from Nisse’s murderous temperatures, because she felt physically fine…. Other than the crippling fear.

  However, Asmodeus’s servants seemed terrified to leave her side without seeing to at least some of her comfort, so after a few hours, Raven gave up and had begun to ask questions. Knowledge was power, and it was the one thing they could give her that she felt like accepting.

  The servants were more than happy to answer these questions. They were an elemental sort of creature, and because their make-ups consisted so much of fire, they were a communal, flame-bound society. Wherever fire existed, these beings could see and hear and feel. The knowledge they acquired was shared throughout their entire species.

  Hence, they knew quite a lot.

  They happily told her about Lord Darken and how he had come to be the ruler of the seventh circle of Abaddon so many thousands of years ago. It happened on the prince’s thirty-first birthday. When Raven asked which prince they were referring to, they looked at her as if she’d gone stupid. “The lord’s son, of course,” they replied. And she knew it was as she thought; they meant Drake.

  Drake decided to leave Abaddon, forever turning his back on the circles of Hell and all that they entailed. However, he was so much a part of the land, his soul and blood tied to it so strongly, that when he did this, he was literally torn in two.

  On the Terran Realm, even divided as he was, he was still so much more powerful than the mortals around him, he quickly became what everyone now knew him to be: the infamous Bounty Hunter of Tanith.

  In Abaddon, what was left behind was the part of him too immersed in the nine circles to let them go. Lord Darken was created, a shadow of the man he’d once been, and at once, the former lord of Phlegathos was assassinated. Darken became its king.