She could not even finish her sentence.
The goddess remained hidden. “Your love for the first born pleases me. Both of you deserve your measure of happiness, and you are well matched. But I must caution you. You both have tasks ahead that will keep you apart for many years at a time. You must learn to quiet your passion. If you do not, each separation will be unbearable. You will fail in your duty and cause great harm to others.”
Basanti closed her eyes and allowed the words to sink in. Pósix was right, of course. While Felsafell had been there she had scarcely seen a soul. And now that he was gone….
The line of people waiting to see her forced its way into her thoughts.
“Felsafell is good and strong,” said Pósix. “He will understand what I say. And should fate unfold as we hope, you shall be together, untroubled, until you decide that this world is done with you both.”
The wind began to rise, its wintry breath finding a way beneath Basanti’s robes. She hugged herself tightly. When Pósix spoke next, her voice had suddenly taken on an ominous tone. “A dangerous time is coming. Your courage will truly be needed. And your devotion and loyalties will be tested beyond your imaginings.”
The sudden chill now touched Basanti's heart. “What do you mean?” she called out into the night. But there was no reply. Pósix was gone.
Basanti returned to her tent using her strength and speed – attributes she had become adept at hiding from others – to enter unseen.
That night she dreamed of Felsafell in his true form. He was running through a dense forest with a bow in his hand. He slid to a halt as a deer bearing a set of proud antlers came into sight. With a single motion he notched an arrow and let it fly. The buck dropped instantly, with only the rustle of the leaves shifting under its fall breaking the eerie silence.
He approached, but just before he reached the animal, it transformed into the body of her brother. As Felsafell reached down to pull the arrow free, Yanti’s eyes popped open.
“Why, sister?” Yanti cried accusingly. Blood spilled from both the wound and the corner of his mouth. “Why did you do this to me?”
She tried to call out, but had no voice.
“Why did you let him kill me?”
Her brother’s anguished words were still echoing in her head when she became aware that Shilsa was gently shaking her awake. She scrambled up into a sitting position.
“What?” She paused and calmed herself. “What is it, dear?”
“King Rätsterfel of Angrääl is here,” Shilsa replied, clearly unsettled. “He demands to see you at once.”
“King Rätsterfel?” Basanti repeated.
“Yes, My Lady.”
She had heard rumors of the man. It was said that his kingdom was mighty beyond the dreams of the elves. His cities boasted towers so tall that they disappeared within the clouds. Not that any of this was important right now. What did disturb her was the widely known knowledge that the king hated the gods with an unrivaled passion, and had publicly sworn that he would see them fall.
He had risen to power over the past ten years, seemingly from nowhere. No one knew who he really was or where he came from, but it was well known that he had defeated each tribal leader of the northern barbarians in single combat and then used their might to begin his conquest. After seizing the throne of Angrääl, he then immediately set about uniting all of the northland kingdoms under his banner and had achieved this in less than a year. After the first three cities fell, the rest simply surrendered as his army approached. Some said that even the elves feared him.
Basanti got up and quickly dressed. The puppy Felsafell had given to her whimpered and groveled, as if being threatened. She instructed Shilsa to take it away as soon as she was settled down on a cushion in the middle of the carpet.
“He’s just a mortal man,” she told herself. But she knew that even a mortal man could be dangerous. Particularly if that man loathed the gods and had come to visit one of their most revered servants.
Shilsa called out to her. “He is coming.”
Basanti stiffened. A moment later the tent flap flew open and the king stepped inside. She let out a loud gasp of surprise.
“Yanti!” Basanti's voice was almost inaudible.
Her brother was wearing a resplendent purple satin robe and black boots. Rings of gold adorned his fingers and a gold band encircled his brow.
“It is good to see you, sister,” he said, smiling broadly.
Her initial shock was quickly overcome by sheer joy. She leapt up and ran into Yanti’s waiting arms. He lifted her from her feet and spun her around.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she said. Tears of happiness began to fall.
After putting her down, he took a pace back and held his arms out wide. “Well, what do you think? Am I not every bit a monarch?”
“You are King Rätsterfel?” she asked incredulously. “You can’t be.”
Yanti raised an eyebrow. “Really? It would seem that I am.” He laughed and led Basanti to the center of the room before sitting down.
“But all those horrible things I’ve heard,” she said. “They can’t be true.”
He held his sister’s hand. “People always say horrible things about kings and queens. They need something to be afraid of. Pay such stories no mind.”
There was a long pause. Basanti did not want to believe what she had heard. Nor did she want to spoil her moment of elation.
“I see that you have quite the life here,” Yanti said, with a hint of sarcasm. “I take it that this is Felsafell’s idea of protecting you.” His mouth twisted slightly as he spoke the name.
Unwilling to allow the reunion to turn sour, she gave an exaggerated sweeping gesture. “Are you mad? I have all this. A tent and a floor. What else could I possibly desire?”
Yanti frowned. “How about to be with your brother? And now you can be. I have come to take you with me.”
Basanti’s heart sank. “I cannot. You know that. I still serve the gods, and this is where I am needed.” She reached out and touched Yanti’s face. “Please, brother, let us just talk and enjoy our reunion for a while. Unhappy conversation can wait. Tell me of your travels.”
“I am sure Felsafell has told you all about that,” he replied with a sneer.
“He only tells me where he has seen you,” she replied. “And what he thinks you are doing. Nothing more.”
“Because he knows nothing more,” said Yanti. “He supposes I do not see him lurking in shadows, his watchful eyes ever afraid that I will upset the schemes of the gods.” He rose to his feet and turned his back. “I suppose you know that I sought the god stones.”
“I do,” she admitted. “Did you find them?”
Yanti nodded. “Some. But they were useless to me. Even so, Felsafell was wrong to tell me not to seek them. If I hadn’t, they may well have been found by someone else.” He glanced over his shoulder. “They are far too dangerous for mortal men.”
“What did you do with them?” she asked.
“I hid them away where only I can find them.” He faced her and smiled. “You see. Not everything I do ends in disaster.”
“I never thought that,” Basanti said. She patted the pillow next to her. “Now sit. Tell me what you have been doing.”
Yanti waved a hand. “There will be time to talk once you are in Kratis. As I said before, I have come to take you with me.”
His words sent a cold chill down Basanti’s spine. Several seconds passed before she could compose herself sufficiently to speak. “Then you have wasted a journey,” she told him. “I have no intention of leaving. My duty is here.”
“A duty to who?” he snapped. “The gods? The very beings who cursed me for protecting you? Is that who you still serve? I know you, Basanti. By now you will have groveled and begged before them. You belittled yourself when you asked them to heal me. Well, I am not healed. I can feel the wound in my spirit even now. And it has grown and festered. Pleasures I once relished no longer hold a
ny joy for me. My rage is so great that at times I can barely contain it.” His eyes burned with hatred. “But, at long last, I have found a way to end my torment.”
Basanti hesitated, afraid to hear what he might say next. “How?” she eventually asked.
He straightened his back and held his head high. “The gods must die. Their reign must come to an end. And I know how this can be done. I have learned their secrets.”
Basanti was mortified. Springing up, she seized hold of her brother’s arms with a force that surprised even herself. “No. You must abandon such plans. War on the gods is unthinkable. You will end up….”
Her lips trembled. “You will die…and I could not bear that.”
“Let them try,” he challenged. “I have openly defied them. I have torn down their temples and desecrated their altars. I have killed their servants and cursed their names. Where is their vengeance? Where is their wrath? I’ll tell you. It is nowhere. They do not care enough to bother.”
As his fury rose, so did his voice. “They interfere with the world of mortals, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake, then turn their backs and leave it to others to pick up the pieces. And who is here to mend what they have broken? I am. So it is I - King Rätsterfel – who will free humankind from the blundering and indifference of the gods.”
By now, Basanti was weeping openly. “Please stop,” she cried. “I cannot hear more.” She could not force herself to look at him. “Leave this place…and me....now.”
“I will leave,” said Yanti. “And you will come with me. Though it pains me to take you against your wishes, in time you will understand.”
Basanti shrank back as her brother moved closer. As he was about to seize hold of her, a blur of gray shot across the tent, slamming into Yanti and sending him skidding across the floor. He shook his head, dazed from the blow, and looked up. Felsafell was standing between him and his sister.
“You will not touch her,” Felsafell snarled.
With a roar of anger, Yanti jumped to his feet. In the blink of an eye, a dagger appeared in his hand. Then he charged.
Felsafell waited. An instant before Yanti reached him he spun left, and, as his onrushing opponent drew level, struck him on the back of the head. Yanti stumbled before whipping his dagger around. But fast as he was, Felsafell was much faster. He ducked, easily avoiding the blade and brought his fist crashing into the side of Yanti’s jaw. The impact was immense, twisting Yanti’s head so far around that it would easily have killed a mere mortal man.
Before Yanti could recover from this terrible blow, Felsafell ripped the dagger away from his grasp and sank it into his chest. Yanti cried out before falling flat on his back. Felsafell was on top of him in a flash, pinning his opponent and pulling the blade free again. Yanti tried to throw the hermit off, but cold steel pressed firmly against his throat.
“No!” shouted Basanti. “Don’t kill him!”
Dark, thick blood poured from the wound in Yanti’s chest, and in a trickle from the corner of his mouth. Basanti’s dream flashed through her mind. It’s happening, she thought. Felsafell really is going to kill him.
But her plea did not fall on deaf ears. The pressure of the knife slowly eased.
Felsafell stared at Basanti for several moments, then looked down at Yanti. “Leave this place and never return. You may have placed yourself on a mortal throne, but you are not beyond my reach.” He jumped up and tossed the dagger toward the entrance. “Do not think that because I have allowed you to live this time, I will ever do so again.”
Yanti tore a piece of cloth from his robe and covered his wound. He turned to Basanti, but she averted her eyes. “So be it,” he said coldly. “You will not see me again.” He strode out, stopping only to retrieve his dagger.
The instant he was gone, Basanti fell to the floor. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she began rocking back and forth, weeping uncontrollably.
Felsafell rushed to her side, but as soon as he touched her she flailed her arms wildly, striking him on the face and chest. Undeterred, he pulled her close. After a while she stopped struggling and clutched at his sleeves.
Shilsa burst in. “What happened, My Lady? Are you hurt?”
Basanti turned her face away. “I’m fine. Please leave.”
After a brief hesitation, the woman obeyed.
“Promise that you will not kill him,” Basanti whispered through her tears.
Felsafell brushed her hair away from her eyes. “I will not allow him to harm you. But I will not kill him unless you consent.”
“Thank you.”
They stayed where they were for more than an hour without saying a further word. Finally, Basanti wiped her eyes and sat up. She gave Felsafell a fragile smile and embraced him tightly.
“You seem destined to keep saving me,” she said.
“I will always be here to save you.”
He paused before continuing. “I am sorry that you were forced to witness me fighting your brother, but had I not, he would most surely have taken you to Kratis by force. And I have no doubt he would never have allowed you to leave.” Tenderly, he lifted her chin. “If that had happened, then the result of my actions would have caused you immeasurable pain. For I would have stormed his gates to get you back, and undoubtedly slaughtered any who dared to hinder me. As long as I draw breath, no one will ever harm you.”
“I know, my love.” She leaned in and kissed him gently.
“I was only just able to be here in time,” Felsafell told her. “When I discovered that King Rätsterfel is in fact Yanti, he was already on his way to see you.” He lowered his eyes. “And what else I learned about him is deeply troubling.”
Basanti clasped her hands to her heart. “Tell me. What has my brother done?”
Felsafell was unable to look up at her for several seconds. Finally, he sighed with reluctant obedience. “Very well. Not long after I arrived in Angrääl I discovered the king’s motives and the full extent of his resolve. The atrocities he has committed against those who serve the gods are too terrible to speak aloud. But more than that, he has designs on heaven itself. He seeks a power that could give him the strength to set the world ablaze.”
“He told me he wanted to make war on the gods,” Basanti interjected. “Also, that he has found a way to destroy them.” She was trying hard not to think about the lives Yanti had taken, nor of the fate those who served in the temples must have suffered.
“He believes he has,” said Felsafell solemnly. “During his travels he discovered a book containing the secrets of The Sword of Truth. His intention is to find it and use it to murder the gods.” Seeing that Basanti was becoming increasingly upset, he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “But his plan is doomed to fail. Amon Dähl will stop him.”
“I know of the Sword,” said Basanti. “Pósix once spoke of it. She said it contained the power of all nine gods, and that it holds the key to heaven itself. Though I must admit, I have never understood why they would wish to create such a thing. I’ve also have heard about the Order of Amon Dähl, and how they are the protectors of a great and terrible secret.”
She paused as the first hint of fear washed over her. “What if he finds it?”
“He will never do that,” Felsafell assured her. “You have nothing to fear. The Order of Amon Dähl keeps it safe, and it is well beyond your brother’s power to steal it. It is unlikely he could even find the order, let alone the Sword itself.”
“And if he did?”
“Then nothing could stop him.”
After a long silence, Felsafell broke the ominous mood with a silly smile. “But it does not matter. As I said, he will not find the Sword, and he will not take you to Kratis. So all is well.”
Basanti nodded with feigned acceptance. At the same time, she was certain Felsafell knew how afraid she still was that her brother might find a way to succeed. But after what had happened earlier, she considered it best to push her anxiety aside. Her love had returned, and for that a
t least, she was glad.
She was also reluctant to tell Felsafell of her latest conversation with Pósix. Partly because she wanted him to remain with her without thoughts of parting, but mostly because her heart could take no more. Not for a while.
Just a week, she told herself. Then I’ll send him away. She kissed him again, this time with urgency.
Just one week of joy. It was now a prayer…a promise…a bargain.
Pósix must accept it.
Chapter 12
Gewey concentrated on the swirling mass of pitch-black smoke. But without the flow to help him he was unable to make any sort of connection. Melek was standing immediately behind him with both hands firmly gripping his shoulders.
“Feel the power inside you,” Melek whispered in his ear. “Use your will to overcome what you see.”
Gewey gave a sharp nod and redoubled his efforts. They had been at it for weeks. At least, he thought it was weeks. Sometimes it felt like minutes. Other times he could scarcely remember the world outside of this terrible place. These non-stop attempts to create a portal were taking their toll on his mind. The howls of the human spirits were growing ever louder and more desperate. Several times he thought madness would take him as well, but Melek would produce a cup of wine and a word of encouragement and then he would regain his wits.
“I need to rest,” Gewey said. His head was splitting from the exertion. “I can barely think.”
Melek’s hands tightened their grip to the point of pain. “Do you think your enemy is resting?” His tone was cold and harsh. “Do you think he complains about being tired? No! He thinks his schemes have succeeded and you gone forever. Soon, he will sweep down and slaughter all that you love in your absence.”
His voice dropped to the very lowest of whispers. “He will seek out Kaylia. He will take her and your child for his own. He will twist her mind and corrupt your child’s spirit. They will live out their lives as little more than broken slaves.”
His words rapidly became pictures in Gewey’s mind. He could see Kaylia sitting beside a golden throne, their infant child in her arms. A crown was atop her brow, and on the wall behind her was a banner with broken scales splashed boldly across it – the sigil of the Reborn King. Her eyes were vacant and her expression of one utterly defeated.
The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6 Page 45
