The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6

by Brian D. Anderson

  Finally, she gathered her wits sufficiently to say in a whisper: “Darshan is dead.”

  Chapter 4

  Yanti stared nervously at the small rustic house. The wicker chairs scattered indiscriminately on the front porch were rough and not very well made. In fact, the house itself was little more than a shack. There was nothing about it to indicate that the oldest and most powerful being that still breathed air dwelled within.

  It had been over one hundred years since he had last seen Felsafell. Yanti still hadn’t forgiven him for taking his sister away from him that day, in spite of the fact that he knew it was for the best. Since then, his life had become a never-ending cycle of trials and failures. This latest was by far the worst.

  For more than two hours he had been standing behind a massive oak tree, about fifty yards away from the house. There was no doubt that he feared the encounter. Not that he thought Felsafell would do him harm. But he was afraid of what would come from their conversation. No matter how hard he tried, he could not build up the courage to approach the house. In fact, he was on the point of leaving when the snap of a twig sent him spinning around. His blade was in his hand before he could even see what had caused the sound.

  He blinked. Instead of the young man he had met before, standing in front of him now was an old man with a scraggly beard and crooked teeth. In one hand he carried two dead rabbits, in the other a gnarled tree branch he was using as a walking stick.

  Yanti knew that he was looking at Felsafell, even though he could not explain his change in appearance. His accusing stare and a disapproving expression was enough to confirm this. He sheathed his sword.

  “You have changed,” remarked Yanti.

  “You have not,” said Felsafell, eyeing the blade at his side. “Come. Eat.”

  Felsafell led Yanti into his home. The simple interior and rough furnishings suited the place well. Yanti took a seat at the crudely built dining table while Felsafell began to prepare the meal.

  “Do you still eat?” asked Felsafell.

  “Occasionally,” he replied. “I still enjoy it. Wine and roasted pheasant in particular, when I can get it.”

  “I have no pheasant,” said Felsafell. “But I do have wine.”

  Once the meal was ready, they ate in silence. Felsafell did not appear to be interested in conversation, and adjourned to the porch as soon as the table had been cleared. Yanti followed.

  Felsafell offered him a seat and took out a small flask. The sweet scent of brandy filled the air. By now, the light of day was beginning to fade. The whisper of the wind in the trees was singing in perfect harmony with the chirps of the crickets.

  “Why have you come?” asked Felsafell.

  “I want to see Basanti,” he replied. He was unable to look Felsafell in the eye. Did he know of the many bad things he had done?

  “Why come to me?” Felsafell asked. “By now you know where she is. I will not stop you.” He looked sideways at Yanti. “Perhaps you come to ask for my help.”

  “I do not need your help.”

  “No?” He leaned back in the chair and shook his head. “You have killed no less than twenty people, and only a few years ago you were personally responsible for more than fifty thousand elves being exiled to the desert. I’d say you are in desperate need of help.”

  Yanti didn’t bother asking how Felsafell knew these things. “I only killed when forced to do so,” he said.

  “You were never meant to kill for any reason whatsoever,” Felsafell countered. “You lived for hundreds of years, and you were never once forced to kill. You faced dangers even before the elves began hunting you. You did not kill then. Before you corrupted your soul with blood, you found ways to live without causing death.” His hard gaze softened slightly. “Can you imagine if I had not taken your sister with me? Your sins would have driven her mad. And her love for you would never allow for the possibility that you are beyond redemption.”

  “Is that what you think?” His voice wavered. “That I cannot be redeemed?

  “Do you think you can?” Felsafell asked, as if he knew that Yanti already had the answer. “You are the one who interfered with the elves and turned them against one another.”

  In a flash of anger, Yanti jumped to his feet and strode to the edge of the porch. Then, with a great effort, he managed to calm himself. He drew a deep breath. “That’s not fair. I only did what you said I should do. I was trying to help them. I was trying to make them see that their treatment of the humans was wrong.”

  “What you did was inflame their passions,” said Felsafell. “You used your knowledge to influence those who already understood the sins their people were committing. They turned on their own kin and named them slavers.”

  Yanti spun around and faced Felsafell. “And what would you have had me do?”

  Felsafell took a long swallow of brandy and offered the flask to Yanti, who received it reluctantly. “I had hoped that you would find a way to cleanse your spirit. I had hoped the gods may take pity on you and show you a path.”

  Yanti sneered. “The gods, bah! They abandoned me and Basanti long ago. They are selfish and vile.”

  Felsafell raised an eyebrow. “You really believe that? Basanti would say different.”

  “My sister is a pure soul. She sees only the good - even in me.” Yanti held the flask under his nose and savored the sweet scent. “I think I will not go to see her. Not until I have found a way to purify myself.”

  “I feel that is wise,” Felsafell told him. He then stared at Yanti for a long moment. “But you think you have already discovered that way, I gather.”

  “The jewels of the gods,” said Yanti. His voice was distant and hopeful. “They have the power to undo what I have done.”

  Felsafell sat up straight. “They are all hidden. And for good reason. The god stones cannot help you. Their power cannot be contained. If you find them, you will only find more death.”

  “You know where they are,” said Yanti. “Don’t you?”

  Felsafell fixed his gaze. “It does not matter. I would not tell you where to find them. Heed my words. Nothing good can come of such a quest. Even were you to locate them, you would not accomplish your goals. They should never have been made. The gods knew this, and that is why they have hidden them away.”

  “If they were such a big mistake, why did the gods not simply destroy them?”

  Felsafell shrugged. “I do not claim to know the mind of such beings; nor have I the wisdom to fathom their motives.” He scrutinized Yanti for another long period and then sighed. “And yet, I know that you will seek them out anyway.” He turned away and waved his hand dismissively. “Go now. Find your destiny.”

  Yanti gazed at Felsafell’s back for several seconds. Then, with a huff of contempt, he spun sharply around and disappeared into the forest.

  * * * * *

  Basanti slowly rounded the corner of the house and sank into a seat beside Felsafell. The old man forced a smile and took her hand. “I am sorry. I know how much you wanted to see him.”

  “You were right to advise against it,” she said, forcing a weak smile of her own. “He is lost. He will find the god stones. Then, as you said, death will follow.” She pulled her hand free. “And there is….”

  Her words trailed off.

  “What is it?” asked Felsafell, concerned.

  A single tear fell down her cheek and she closed her eyes. “I have looked into his future.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw pain, chaos, blood, and betrayal.” She began to weep openly. Finally, she managed to speak through her sobs. “He will one day forsake all he loves. He will become…truly evil.”

  Chapter 5

  At first, Gewey couldn’t move a muscle. All he could feel was a blast of searing hot air across his back, while the roar of thunder was threatening to split his skull in two. The rough, gritty soil was hot and putrid, filling his nostrils with the stench of ash and sulfur. After a few minutes of struggling,
the strength slowly began returning to his limbs. Finally, he managed to raise his head a little.

  Thick, black smoke mixed with gray dust swirled and churned, making it impossible for him to see more than a few yards away. As he pushed himself to his feet he realized that he was clad in the work clothes he used to wear when living on his farm. His sword and other belongings were gone.

  Shielding his eyes, he took a step forward. His mind was clouded, and though he knew who he was, he had no idea of how he had come to be in such a terrible place. His last memory was of Kaylia’s voice screaming out in terror. It was in that moment that he realized – their bond – it was broken. And yet there was no pain. Before, when Aaliyah had blocked their bond, he had felt the loss of it to his very core. But this time, there was just a total absence of feeling.

  “Kaylia!” he cried out.

  He knew there could be no response. Wherever he was, she was not with him. He was alone. He reached out for the flow, but found only a great void. Fear began to creep its way into his mind, but he forced it aside. He was Darshan, he told himself, and Darshan feared nothing.

  With no other options, he began to walk blindly into the tempest. The wind howled a hollow cry and the dust stung his eyes. Through the dark he caught glimpses of light, but they vanished the moment he turned toward them.

  On an on he walked, though the landscape remained the same. The wind continued to whip around him at a constant speed, blasting his face raw and pushing against his forward progress, regardless of which direction he headed.

  Hours passed, and still there was no sign of life. From time to time the sound of the howling wind seemed to take on a ghostly quality – tormented and angry – and sometimes pleading. Gewey dismissed this as his imagination playing tricks.

  The dry, polluted air parched his throat and swelled his tongue.

  “To think I’ll die of thirst,” he said aloud, letting out a defeated laugh.

  “Die?” said a strong male voice from behind him.

  Gewey spun around, instinctively reaching for his sword, only to realize that it wasn’t there. Before him stood a shadowy figure, its features hidden beneath a cloak of swirling darkness. It was as though the light around the figure was somehow being repelled, preventing his vision from focusing on it. Suddenly, the wind lessened and the smoke began to clear, revealing an endless landscape of black, ruined earth. Towering flames shot to a dull gray sky on the horizon.

  “You cannot die,” the voice continued. “Not in this place…brother.”

  “Who are you?” Gewey demanded. “What is this place?”

  The figure laughed. “I asked that very same question when I arrived. But I had no one to answer me. You shall not suffer such a disadvantage.” His face became slightly clearer. “My name is Melek.” He bowed low.

  “I – I am…”

  “You are Darshan,” interrupted Melek.

  “You know me?” asked Gewey, immediately suspicious.

  “Not in the way you might think,” replied Melek. “But I can see what you have brought with you to this place. And I can see that we are the same.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Gewey, his suspicion building. “How are we the same?”

  Melek’s face and form gradually cleared completely, revealing a human of about forty years old. His salt and pepper hair fell in loose curls just past his shoulders, and in spite of their dull gray surroundings, his deep-set green eyes were bright, friendly and sparkling. Though not as tall or broad as Gewey, he was clearly strong, and his posture was straight and proud. His tan shirt and black trousers looked to be made from cotton, though as the wind caught the fabric, the cloth appeared to glisten with a slight sheen.

  “Come,” said Melek. “I promise to tell you all that I know.”

  For a moment, Gewey did not move. Melek looked at him, smiling like a patient and understanding father. Then, realizing that his choices were to either go with him or stand there alone in the middle of a mysterious wasteland, Gewey followed.

  They had walked for only a few minutes, with Gewey just a step behind Melek, when the silhouette of a small house appeared through the gloom. The wind had not yet picked back up to its former strength, much to Gewey’s relief.

  The house was modest, though it looked to be sturdily built, and the light glowing in its window was a welcoming beacon. Melek opened the door, and with a grand sweeping motion, invited Gewey to step inside.

  The interior was sparsely furnished. A small round table and two chairs were in the center of the room, while a small fire burned in the hearth on the far side. There was no bed or stove that Gewey could see. Nor was there a door leading to any other part of the house. It seemed that this was all there was.

  Gewey remained by the doorway taking in his surroundings until he felt Melek’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Please sit,” his host said. “I know that you have questions.”

  Gewey obeyed and sat at the table. From seemingly nowhere, a bottle of wine appeared in Melek’s hand, along with two crystal goblets. Gewey sprang to his feet.

  Melek laughed, an apologetic smile on his face. “I forget that you do not yet understand. I have been alone for a very long time and am unaccustomed to the sensitivities of others.” He sat opposite Gewey. “Please. Sit back down.”

  Gewey paused, took a deep breath, and then returned to his seat. “What is this place?”

  The smile slowly left Melek’s face. “Put simply, it is a prison.” He poured the wine and pushed a goblet across the table to Gewey. “One in which I have been kept for a very long time. And one in which you are now trapped as well.”

  Gewey was unsure what to say.

  “I know it is difficult to believe,” Melek continued. “When I was first sent here, I had a very hard time understanding what had happened to me. But I soon learned the truth. I was imprisoned in this wretched land - and there is no escape.”

  Gewey’s mind reeled. “What are you saying? That I can never leave here?” At once his thoughts turned to Kaylia and their unborn child. I need to get back to them, he thought desperately.

  “And you will,” said Melek.

  Gewey realized that Melek could hear his thoughts. The intrusion angered him.

  “Calm yourself, Darshan,” said Melek, sensing Gewey’s irritation. “I will leave your thoughts untouched if you wish. I merely wanted to say that now you are here, there is hope.”

  Gewey sipped his wine. He noticed that his hand trembling, but it was as much from anxiety and fear as it was from anger. “How did I get here?” he asked.

  Melek shrugged. “I would guess that you were struck by the Fangs of Yajna, just as I was.”

  Gewey furled his brow. He remembered a sharp pain in his shoulder just before finding himself in this place. He reached around to touch where it had struck, but there was no sign of a wound. “What are the Fangs of Yajna?” he asked.

  “A weapon,” Melek replied. His lips curled in disgust. “A weapon designed to kill our kind.”

  “Our kind?” Gewey looked at his companion in disbelief. “Are you saying that you’re a - ”

  “Yes,” he replied. “A god. But I am much more than that. I am the first. Born of the Creator. Made perfect by her divine grace. Betrayed by my children, and exiled here to Shagharath.”

  His final few words sparked a memory buried deep within Gewey. “Shagharath,” he whispered. “I have heard that name before. It was in some of the stories my father told me as a child. He said it was a place of demons. A land of fire and pain where the wicked were sent to suffer eternal damnation.”

  “I can only assume you speak of a mortal father,” said Melek.

  “Yes,” replied Gewey. “His name was Harman Stedding. I have never met Gerath. Well - not really.”

  Melek sneered. “Of course you have met him. But in his cruelty, he robbed you of your memories.” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “But we will speak of that soon enough. As for what your mortal father told you – h
e was wrong. Shagharath does not punish the wicked. It punishes me.”

  The howl of the wind outside rose, carrying with it a succession of ghastly moans and suffering cries. Melek glanced up for a moment, then returned his attention to Gewey.

  “Why were you sent here?” asked Gewey. “And how do we get out?”

  “I was sent here for doing the will of the Creator,” he replied, his head held high. “By your father…my son…Gerath.”

  “Your son?”

  “Indeed,” he replied. “I am the father of all of the gods.”

  “Then who is the mother?” Gewey was trying hard to wrap his mind around what Melek was telling him.

  The man’s eyes grew sad and distant. “Her name was Ustrea. She was the love I held most dear – even above the Creator herself. She was my wife.”

  “But…but....” Questions were racing so rapidly through Gewey’s head, he could not seem to focus on a single one.

  Melek chuckled, shaking off his melancholy. “And as you were born from the union of the Creator and Gerath, that means I am both your brother, and your grandfather.”

  Gewey tried to put this confusing thought out of his head. “You say Gerath betrayed you?”

  Melek sighed. “They all did. But it was Gerath who convinced the others to follow and led them against me.”

  A deep frown formed on Gewey’s face. He was finding it hard to imagine that the being he’d met in the Black Oasis possessed a cruel or vicious nature. Surely Gerath was not capable of sending his own father to perdition. “So why did he turn against you?” he asked.

  “Jealousy,” Melek replied flatly. “He was always ambitious and strong. Gerath believed that he understood the Creator’s plan better than I. He wanted to guide heaven and earth in the manner that best suited his own desires.” He stood and walked over to the window. “He also coveted my power.”

  “But if you are both gods, wouldn’t you have equal powers?”

  Melek glanced over his shoulder. “I was the first, so I have no godly parents. My power comes directly from the source of all life. You are half born from the Creator as well. And though Gerath tried to ensure that you would never realize your full potential by erasing your memory of heaven, you do indeed have the same power as I.” He turned fully around. “And when we escape this place, I will show it to you. You will be able to create wonders such as you have never imagined.”