Gods of the Flame Sea

by Jean Johnson

  The cuffs had to go. An experimental prod by pure anima proved useless. He could cast magic around them, within them, or away from them by attuning to the vibrations of the world . . . but not into them.

  “Udrin. Son of Muan and Dakin. You are becoming a danger to this pantean and this world. We acknowledge you are young, and your judgment impaired by mercury poisoning,” Krue announced, his voice echoing strongly across the plaza. “Cease your activities and surrender, and you will be treated fairly and justly.”

  Surrender? Udrin thought, arching a brow. Not in anger, but in disbelief. These pointy-eared animals want me to surrender to them? . . . I think not.

  There really was only one thing to do. It would waste a lot of the energy he had recollected, but . . . Well, if Uncle Ban can do it . . . so can I.

  Udrin held out his arms to either side, ignoring the cautiously approaching Fae. Mindful of all the steps needed, he took his time, murmuring under his breath but holding on to the energies involved, until he could invoke all three spells as one with a single trigger, designing them to go off one right after the other. Pressure dug into his brachial arteries under his biceps, making him suck in a sharp breath at the pain. Blades of stone shot up from the ground, sharp and hard.

  The approaching Fae recoiled at the thuds made by his bloodied forearms and hands hitting the ground. It was a small price, though, however searingly painful. Shimmering white spark-bubbles of pure anima emerged from his arms in the next instance. They wrapped his arm-stumps in unfettered golden Fae magics . . . regrowing his limbs at an astonishing rate.

  That itched, maddeningly so . . . but the spell worked on its own. Udrin gritted his teeth, concentrating. Pebbles rose up under his will—and flung themselves hard at every single anima-dampening artifact in range.

  They were heavily shielded against anima-based attacks, but not heavily shielded against purely physical blows. Faeshiin metal crumpled, runes scored and scratched into uselessness. Focusing gemstones shattered, releasing stored energies. He didn’t get every single machine, but Udrin got enough of them. Even as his physical hands re-formed, his metaphysical fingers fisted in the energies of Kaife, Parren, Zedren, and Adan. Fisted, and pulled.

  All four dropped to their knees with cries of pain at having their anima-reserves reaved. Krue hissed and drew his curved golden blades, charging forward. A mistake, of course; Udrin now had enough energy in his reserves to grab the Gh’vin and lift him off his feet. Not to throw him, but to rob him of traction and momentum . . . and anima.

  Pain exploded in his ribs. Too low to have hit his lungs, the arrow still shattered his concentration. The Guardian dropped in a clatter of golden armor. Sensing the next arrow more than seeing it, Udrin batted it out of the air with a blink and reached for Fali. Just a fraction of her remaining anima came to him, however; Éfan interrupted it, modulating a wall of magic between them that cut off Udrin’s grasp. Like a portable countering field, only small and shield-shaped.

  Had he more time, the Chief Mage of the pantean could have expanded it and wrapped it around Udrin. Baring his tusks, Udrin whipped tentacles around that shield, and dug into Éfan from behind. Even so, the pointy-eared bastard resisted, wrapping himself in that shield. Cutting off Udrin from draining him, but cutting himself off from acting. Stalemate.

  Snarling, Udrin forced himself not to retaliate, not to try to smash the el-fae in vengeance. Power was more important. Power that was his goal. He now had Adan, Fali, Kaife, Parren, Zedren, and Krue on their knees.

  Do not lose sight of the goal! I need to become a god! Drain them now, so I c—

  Pain exploded across the back of his head. Udrin crumpled to the ground. His regeneration spell shifted a portion of its energies to his head, repairing the damages wrought. Another blow struck his back, and a third, before he managed to put up a shield against the purely physical attack. Shoving awkwardly to his feet, staggering around, Udrin found himself facing the now fruitless blows of the animal-boy, Doldj, trying to hit him again with a length of lumber stolen from some abandoned cart.

  Fury burst out of him in glaring white. It poured into the human, making the other teenager glow from eyes and mouth and hands and feet, his sun-browned skin glowing brighter than the gold of his curls for a moment. Udrin felt the boy’s life end, felt his soul escape beyond his reach, and shook the youth’s body, angered beyond words that he had dared attack his god . . . !

  Doldj’s head bobbled and his hands flopped. Udrin paused, distracted by that. He shook the body again. Arms and legs flopped, head swayed and swung. That was . . . kind of funny, actually. He did it again, then plucked with hands of force at wrists and knees, at chest and hair, making the dead teen dance. It looked so funny, Udrin burst into laughter and did it again.

  Power blasted the boy out of his grip. Éfan, teeth bared in feral outrage, launched another attack at him. Abandoning his toy, Udrin grabbed the bolt and absorbed it. And the next, and the next. Somehow, the arrogant animal had figured out how to cast through apertures in his shielding too small for Udrin to grab power from him . . . but he, too, learned as he fought. He now had enough energy to split his attention, defending and deflecting . . . and draining from the other six. Draining, and growing, and . . . Something went wrong.

  Anima-sparks drifted out of him. Udrin blinked and gaped. He tried to draw them back, swatting off Éfan’s attacks absentmindedly. But . . . even though he did pull them in, new spheres drifted out of him . . . and floated toward the fallen, weakened Fae bodies scattered around him, reenergizing them.

  He had reached maximum saturation. A glance down showed his whole body glowing through his clothes, the simple tunic and trousers and boots he had worn for that fateful hunting trip north. Glowing with anima-energy . . . and yet, he could feel he was not yet fully one with the anima. That full mastery, full godhood eluded him!

  Two scraping noises caught his attention. One, to his left, came from the grim-faced approach of a round-eared animal gripping the hilt of a short bronze sword in both hands, some relic of the animals’ pre-civilized days. He knew the boy . . . he knew him . . . Nadj, that was the jumped-up animal’s name. The other scraping noise, off to his right, ended with a thunk. The sound, heavy and loud, dragged his attention that way. It took him a moment to spot the source. Dripping wet, Ban the Unkillable Annoyance dragged himself up out of a storm drain hole in the middle distance, halfway across the plaza.

  Incensed, Udrin stopped his fruitless draining efforts. He batted Éfan’s magics aside, all but ignoring the eldest Fae in the plaza, in favor of striding angrily toward that Shae climbing up out of the ground. “What does it take to kill you?!”

  “This!” someone shouted from behind him. Pain seared his chest. Udrin jerked and looked down, staring stupidly for a moment at the reddish gold point poking through his clothes. Through his rib cage.

  For a brief moment, he felt a sort of pride in the boy’s skill; Nadj had managed not only to attack to kill, but had angled the blade horizontally so that it slid through Udrin’s ribs in the back and with enough force to jab it all the way out through the ribs in the front. Not an easy blow, particularly for a seventeen-year-old.

  “Good . . . good job,” he managed faintly, praising the youth who had failed his toughest combat test just yesterday.

  He felt . . . weird. Like his soul should be fleeing . . . but instead of dissipating into the aether, his spirit, his consciousness . . . dissipated into the anima he contained. Dissipated, dissolved . . . and merged with the anima.

  Exultation shattered his body. Swirling around in a chaotic dance of wind and dust and fragments of debris, Udrin exulted in his freedom from mortality. Part of him wanted to punish the boy for killing him, but that part faded quickly. Instead, he swept up Nadj, dancing him around and around, crooning, then ever so gently set the boy down and patted his head with a hand far more anima-spark than, well, hand.

  T
he animal soiled himself in his fear, knees shaking so badly, it was a wonder the youth retained his feet.

  “Do not fear me,” Udrin soothed, his voice echoing since he had to manipulate the air to make it resound, now that he had no vocal cords. “By killing me, you have made me a god! The first true god of this realm! You shall be exalted as a god-maker, and raised far above mere mortal men . . .”

  “If I were Nadj, I’d refuse such a dubious honor,” Ban stated, strolling forward. His leather kilt dripped, his hair clung to his skin, and he looked half-drowned. “You’re too insane to be a proper god. You’ll as soon kill him in a fit of pique as exalt and glorify him. He’d certainly have to live his whole life terrified of your slightest whim . . . and I don’t think he wants that. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would.”

  Udrin debated showing the outworlder he could be kind toward the human hovering in his grip. He debated showing just how terrified the boy should be of him, of dashing that brown and blond body all over the plaza until it was as lifeless as Doldj’s. Deciding both extremes were too predictable, Udrin merely dropped the boy, who landed awkwardly on knees and hip, then scrambled and bolted for the safety of distance.

  Except there was no safe distance anymore. Udrin and the anima of this world were one. True, he could not reach very far, but he instinctively knew from just a little bit of swirling around the plaza that he could travel, simply by shifting his awareness. The lumps of anima-resonance that were the Fae, slowly recovering from his attacks, lay there, and there. More moved around in the distance, evacuating the animals from the reach of his whims. Still more sat in their fortress . . . watching him from a spot of magic high in the sky, high enough to pass unnoticed until now.

  He sensed every scrap of power around him, even though at the same time he knew instinctively he was not yet strong enough to tap those powers. Fae magics, those could fuel him, they were so close to the anima he had become. Efrijt magics, too, could be useful. Weak, but useful.

  He could even sense the life-sourced energies of the annoying, tattooed immortal daring to approach him. His only real rival now that Udrin was an official god. Energies that Udrin was certain he could use. Not only energies I can use . . . but unlike the weak Fae around me . . . if I used up their energy, they will die and cease being sponges and storehouses. Ban, however . . . I can drain him over and over again. Killing him, only to have him pop back to life.

  His father’s kin did have an active portal to another universe. With Ban as his power-source, his eternal power-source . . . he could rule not just over this primitive world, but over all worlds. An appealing thought, one that made him giggle, sending swirls of wind through the immediate area.

  “You are very annoying, outworlder . . . but now that I am a god, I have a use for you, Uncle Ban,” Udrin purred. He swirled around the human, the only human on this world who was not a weak mere animal . . . and dove himself into the man named Death. “Your powers are mine!”

  Child’s play, to permeate the unresisting human’s powers. Child’s play to twine himself around the energies, and . . . He could not move them. He could not budge those energies. Something blocked him. Something blocked him!

  Udrin keened in impotent fury and tried again. Fruitlessly. “Give me your powers, immortal!”

  “. . . Every would-be god makes that mistake,” Ban muttered. He wiped a few stray droplets of water from his brow and cheeks while wind and energy swirled around him, stirring and drying his hair, the leather of his war kilt in a swirl of angry anima. “Everyone thinks that just because I cannot be permanently killed, I will make them an endless source of energy. You would be the twenty-seventh . . . twenty-eighth?

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  There had to be a vibration that he could match! Magic was energy, energy was a wave, a wave was a vibration—every advanced society knew this! Wait wait wait . . . I’m not thinking logically. His magic is just existing. I need to get him to use it . . . and he’ll defend the Fae.

  Udrin lashed out at the nearest Fae. Second-nearest, when he realized he was reaching for Fali. He did not want to kill her, after all, not when she was a . . . a . . . what did Uncle Zedren call that stuff? He soared his will toward the artificer Fae, and shook him, rattling his device-covered armor.

  “What is that stuff called, that stores magic? Ba-trees? What is it called? Answer your god, or I’ll snap your neck!” Udrin bluffed.

  Ban reacted to that, all right. Flexing muscles, activating his skin-painted symbols and runes, he grabbed Udrin’s energies, and hauled Udrin back from the Fae. Startled yet pleased, Udrin dropped his dazed, drained uncle and tried to match the energies containing him. Within moments, he found the right tone, modulated himself, and . . . could . . . not . . . budge!

  In horror, the god realized that Ban confined him, now! That he was subjected to the outworlder’s will. Struggling to escape, he found more and more of his sense of self contaminated by Ban’s control, until in desperation, he grabbed the abandoned bronze sword that had killed him with the last free tendril he possessed, and smashed it through the immortal’s chest.

  Ban grunted, faltered . . . and dropped. Two severed heartbeats, and he died. Released, Udrin fled to the far side of the plaza. Warily, he watched the corpse. A handful of seconds passed. The body vanished . . . and Ban reappeared in the spot where he had fallen. He turned, scanning the valley, the abandoned carts and trade goods, the still-weakened Fae . . . and twisted sharply. Sensing Udrin’s energies somehow.

  Fear filled the newborn God. Wisely, Udrin turned and fled, dashing to the northwest at the speed of thought, leaping from landmark to landmark until he left the rugged, wadij-filled terrain behind for the undulating dunes of the Flame Sea Desert that surrounded the home of his mother’s kin. Fleeing for the region held by his father’s kin. None of the Fae could fly this fast, as fast as a frightened thought. That meant that damned immortal could not follow this fast, either.

  It meant Udrin would have the time to calm down and think, once he hid himself . . . but not in the Medjant Kumon, for the Efrijt would be a bothersome distraction, though only mere annoyances, powerwise. No, he headed for the valley where he had left his pets. He was a god now. He would reshape them, and send them out to plague everyone. And he would find a way to defeat Ban permanently!

  Angry that his ascent to godhood should be so easily spoiled by that outworlder, Udrin kicked up great gouts of sand in his wake as he fled. Taking satisfaction in the destruction of all those wind-ordered waves, and in the startled awe of the caravans of oblivious humans who traveled in the distance, heading toward or away from the Flame Sea on different routes of trade.

  Chapter Seven

  Éfan managed to get to his feet, nowhere near as drained as the others. He moved to check on Adan as the nearest of the fallen, then looked up at Ban, who had shifted to doing the same for Zedren. “I cannot sense him anymore. He has fled beyond the boundaries of the Flame Sea, at speeds we cannot match.”

  “I felt him leave,” Ban agreed, peeling back the artificer’s pupils to check their dilation status. “He went northwest.”

  “Toward Medjant Kumon, and the Red Rocks Tribe,” Éfan murmured. He raised his voice again. “I fear he will attack the Efrijt. They won’t be strong enough to face them.”

  Ban shook his head. “He’ll attack, but I don’t think just yet.”

  “You don’t?” Krue croaked. He had more strength left than the others, enough to push up onto his elbow. “Why not?”

  Jinji answered through their earrings, including the one Ban had replaced on his ear. “He is young, and we spoiled his grand transformation into a god. He will need to hole up for a while and lick his metaphorical wounds. I don’t think he will rest for long, though . . . and I don’t know how we’ll be able to catch and confine him. I certainly don’t see how we can reverse what he has done to himself. We can’t even stuff him back i
nto his mortal body, because there is no body left to be stuffed into.”

  “He has become one with the anima,” Éfan agreed, shaking his head. “There is no returning from such a state that I know of. Not without spending years studying the problem.”

  “We don’t have years,” Jintaya stated, her voice harder than any of them had ever heard. “We need to stop him somehow. Can someone tell me why he fled?”

  “He did not like the way I could contain him, when he tried to control my outworlder magics,” Ban told them. “If I could get close to him, I could cage him again . . . but as some of you may have seen, the moment I die, that containment ends. I can sense him in the aether, but he can also sense me. I do not think he will let me get that close.”

  “You must try,” Krue grunted, pushing to his feet. He wobbled a moment, holding himself still while whatever dizziness he felt passed.

  Ban shrugged. “Ideally . . . I could contain him and carry him through the portal to the Efrijt homeworld, Kasir. And next time, I will be faster and more thorough in confining him. But I do not think I can catch him, now that he is wary of my power.”

  Éfan left Adan’s side. He beckoned to Ban, who left Zedren’s side to meet him halfway. Krue limped their way, too, though he moved slower. Blood stained his armor where one of the hard-flung pebbles had penetrated his armor in the act of damaging the anima-dampening artifact now hanging uselessly from his belt.