Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  She’s trying very hard to keep her smile on, but a tear rolls down her cheek. “She didn’t have to kill him,” she says, her voice breaking into a million shards of pain.

  I wrap my arms around her. Elina rests her head on my shoulder and cries over our fallen friend.

  “Delfos was the best of us,” she sobs.

  “I know,” I say. “Odella will pay for it, I promise you.”

  “Good,” she says. “I know you and Romer will make it happen. He promised me the same thing.”

  She didn’t have to extract a promise from us. Romer and I are of the same mind as far as Odella is concerned.

  Elina takes a step back away from me. “So go find Romer and figure out how.”

  Now that is something we do need to discuss.

  “She will pay,” I assure her as I push past the curtains and go after Romer.

  Chapter 17

  The horn blares, and Romer and I walk shoulder to shoulder into the arena. The crowd stands, arms up in the air, and cheers, calling the names of their favorites. I even think I hear my name a few times, but there must be something wrong with my ears. Only twenty-six of us left now. So very few. But, if only one is allowed to live without repercussions, twenty-six still too many.

  Godmaster Salino and Godmaster Mador wait for us in the middle of the field. They repeat the basic rules: “Alliances are limited to three members each. Every Potential is allowed to pardon one and only one other Potential. Everyone must fight or be disqualified. Godskills are allowed.”

  “Now,” Godmaster Salino points to one end of the arena,“for our second clash tonight.”

  A platform raises from the ground. There are twenty-six, high-back chairs, facing away from us. The crowd in front of us looks confused for a moment, but soon begins to jeer and laugh, amused by whatever they see. The crowd behind us boos since they can’t see what or who occupies each chair.

  The back of each chair has a figure carved on it. Godmaster Mador steps forward with the same leather bag as before. Romer and I curse under our breaths. Something random again. I guess our carefully drawn plans will just have to go to lashing Chaos again.

  When it is Romer’s turn draw out a token, he shows it to me immediately. It’s a stalk of wheat. I pull mine and show him: a stallion rearing up on two legs.

  I find the matching figure on a chair close to the center. My heart beats fast as I try to imagine what’s on the other side.

  When Godmaster Mador has finished issuing the tokens, he stands next to the farthest chair on the left and asks the Potential with the matching piece to come forward. Lara d’Peridoto squares her shoulders, approaches Godmaster Mador, and hands him her token. He touches the chair with an unnecessary flourish of his arm. The chair swivels, revealing a terrified, bearded man.

  A human!

  The crowd behind us goes crazy, realizing this clash involves the helpless creatures. A twist that is sure to keep the spectators amused all night. Humans haven’t been part of the trials in a long time. Is this really our luck? Did the stewards have to bring them back now? What could possibly be their part in this?

  Isadora d’Cuarzo is assigned the second chair which reveals grotesquely wrinkled old woman. I shudder at the thought of becoming a shriveled creature with no strength and worth. That will not be my future.

  Aristo has the third chair. It turns, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes me. It’s a child. A tiny girl no more than two years old. I press a hand to my mouth, unwilling to imagine the child’s fate. Is this cruelty necessary? The crowd continues to cheer and gasp in sickened delight. Must we be so thrilled by their suffering? We need their seed. Mixing with them is unavoidable, if we want to subsist, but is bringing them into the trials necessary?

  My heart beats harder as my turn approaches. When Godmaster Mador touches the chair with the stallion, the savage hammering of my heart comes to an abrupt halt. The chair turns so slowly I feel like screaming. When it comes to a halt, the shock is like a physical blow to my gut. My skin crawls. Nausea makes my insides churn.

  After all these years, maybe I should have forgotten those intense, green eyes, but they have haunted my dreams so often that I can’t help but recognize them.

  He, the boy Mother didn’t kill, sits on the chair, struggling, bucking like the wild stallion used to mark his chair. Unlike the other humans, he is strapped to the chair by his wrists and ankles. He leans to one side, then violently jerks to the other. His teeth are bared in a growl, and there is a crazed look in his eyes.

  The rest of the chairs turn and reveal their prize, but I barely notice them. I can’t tear my eyes away from my own.

  “Potentials, step up and stand next to your assigned human,” Godmaster Salino says inside my head. Everyone does as he instructs.

  I’m the last one to approach. The boy bucks even harder as if he’s afraid I will bite him. He looks me straight in the eye, but if he recognizes me, he gives no sign of it. In truth, he seems too lost in his fury to see anything past it.

  “I’m not speaking to the humans in their minds,” Godmaster Salino explains. “It will be your job to explain to them what this is all about. If you can.” He chuckles.

  The crowd laughs as if this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. I feel as if their jeers are all directed at me, and my deranged human. There’s no way he’ll hear a word I say over his own snarls. Aristo will also have a hard time talking sense into a two-year-old. How could the creature begin to understand that her life depends on a wicked scheme concocted by two sadistic Gods.

  “There are a few more rules for this clash,” Godmaster Salino says. “One, you will be divided in groups of five. Two, only one person in each group will be allowed to move to the last trial. Three, in order to win, you must keep your human alive. Four: the first one in each group to capture the jewel at the center of the arena will be the winner. But there is a caveat, your human must be the first one to touch the flag. The rest can Descend if they so wish, but only if their human is still alive, else they will die. That is all.

  “Now, Godmaster Mador will draw five tokens from the bag. Those five will be the first to compete, and when they are done, another five will be selected.

  “You have ten drumbeats to talk to your human. Begin!”

  I look over at that boy, thinking that if I was to call someone my human, fate would make this green-eyed beast the one. His life lay in my hands all those years ago, and I chose, in spite of my fear, to hold it safely, away from harm, away from my mother.

  And now, he’s here and, once more, his life depends on me.

  My human.

  He has stopped thrashing and is looking straight at me and. This time, there’s recognition in his gaze.

  Also, there is immeasurable hatred.

  Chapter 18

  My human is dead still, watching me, and it is much worse than when he was thrashing and bucking. Before, he was a blind fury. Now, he is honed hatred, as sharp as a sword’s edge.

  The first drumbeat sounds, and I don’t know what to say. The words haven’t been invented that should allow me to break the wall that our briefly-shared past erected between us.

  What do you say to someone whose life you destroyed? Because even if I didn’t do it myself, there is no doubt he blames me. In his mind, how could I possibly not be one and the same with my mother?

  Around me, the other Potentials hurriedly talk to their humans while I stand mute, and he cuts through me with his acerbic gaze.

  “What . . . what is your name?” I ask.

  Two drumbeats.

  Of course, he doesn’t respond. He just goes on staring.

  “I’m Bia,” I say.

  “You are the monster,” he says.

  The hatred in his words is like scorching heat pouring through his lips. My face grows flushed, on fire. I recognize the sensation for what it is: shame.

  But why? I was only a child, a victim of my mother’s cruelty just as he was. To a lesser extend, I know, but I
. . .

  No! I will not apologize for something I didn’t do, something I couldn’t have stopped even if I’d tried.

  Three drumbeats.

  I square my shoulders. “Like it or not,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady, “we’re in this clash together. I’m supposed to keep you alive while the arena and the other Potentials, other competitors, try to kill you. Our goal is for you to capture that flag before anyone else. Do you understand?”

  Four drumbeats.

  He sneers, “I understand that monsters do monstrous things. Yet again, you have to pulled me into your nightmare. Haven’t you done enough? I demand that you LET. ME. GO!” He jerks the chains so hard his wrists begin to bleed.

  I lean forward and put my face inches from his. His fierce green eyes bear into mine like two daggers that stab straight into my heart. I want to back away, but I stand my ground, taking in all the pain tearing me up inside.

  Five drumbeats.

  “No one, NO ONE,” I repeat to make myself clear because I’m starting to doubt I’ll be able to get through to him, “will let you go. That is not a choice. So get that out of your head. There are only two options for you. Today, before the night is over, you will either live or die. And no matter how much you buck and how much you growl, nothing is going to change that.”

  Six drumbeats.

  “You should also know that I don’t care which option you choose. It makes no difference to me whether or not you get out of this arena in one piece.”

  This is a lie, of course. If he dies, I’m done. But I’ve fallen so low that lying is nothing—especially compared to what I’ve already done to him. Besides, all that matters anymore is my revenge. Odella will get to end, no doubt. And I need to be there to meet her.

  “You have four drumbeats to decide what you want,” I add with a shrug. “If you wish to live, just tell me your name.”

  I pull away from him, stand at attention by his side, and stare straight ahead at the crowd. They’ve been cheering all along, screaming as if they aren’t part of this horror when they are the blood that makes the heart throb.

  Seven drumbeats.

  My palms sweat. Should I have tried a different approach? Have I made a mistake?

  Eight drumbeats.

  My head pounds with the possibility that a human—this particular human, of all things—will be responsible for my death. It is almost poetic.

  Nine drumbeats.

  It takes all I have not to look in his direction, not to plead, if only with a silent gaze.

  Ten drumbeats.

  A strange relief hits me. We will both die tonight, and we’ll be better off for it. Just when I think it’s all been said and done, he speaks.

  “Kadmus,” he says in a quiet tone that makes me think of danger and regret. “My name is Kadmus, and I choose to live so, one day, I can watch you die.”

  Chapter 19

  I’m grateful when Godmaster Mador pulls my name in the first group of competitors. I would hate to sit aside, waiting next to Kadmus, wondering how he intends to kill me while I try to keep him alive through this clash.

  He didn’t exactly say he wanted to kill me, but I don’t imagine simply watching me die would provide the same level of satisfaction as actually performing the deed. Though, it would be better than nothing, I suppose. He would never be able to harm me if I were to Ascend. I’d like to see him try then.

  I choose to live so, one day, I can watch you die.

  His words still echo in my ears. They ring of promise and yearning.

  We stand at the edge of the arena while the other Potentials go to the weapons room to wait, lest they gain an advantage by watching us compete.

  The green field spans before us. At its very middle, a tall wooden pole shoots upward to mingle with the Godfire orbs. A flag flies at its tip, the image of our Sacred Diamond, artfully embroidered.

  The other four in my group are Lara d’Peridoto, Cosme d’Cuarzo, Meristo d’Jade and Ynes d’Opalo. They stand on opposite corners of the arena, some across the field, others to my right and left, though a fair distance apart.

  I wonder who Romer will fight tonight? Will he be able to get to the flag before Odella, if she is in his group? And how will the stewards keep him from simply flying his human to the flag and capturing it before his opponents? I can’t even imagine the answer. One thing I know, they’ll make sure it’s not easy for him.

  “Well, Romer,” I imagine myself talking to my friend, “I’m about to make sure Odella’s allies lose tonight, so rest easy.”

  Because I’ll win this clash, and Meristo and Ynes will have to die or Descend.

  A horn sounds, and the arena transforms right in front of us. My eyes rove around quickly, trying to understand what Godmaster Mador’s wicked plan is this time. I take everything in and, instinctively, my mind looks for solutions to the puzzle. We’ve trained this way for years. It is second nature to all of us by now.

  For his part, Kadmus tries to regain his composure, having been startled by the sudden appearance of our obstacle course.

  Unsurprisingly, the arena has shifted into a battle field unlike I’ve ever seen before. They’ve saved something special for us, something I can’t seem to wrap my head around.

  The grassy field is checkered with perfectly square pits, one after the next, like some sort of game board. Over each pit, there are narrow paths that provide the only means for us to cross the course and reach the flag. And, if I know Godmaster Mador well, those paths aren’t all stable or even real. I try not to think how easy or hard these obstacles will be for my opponents. Will Meristo’s vines help him find his footing faster? Will Lara’s ability to freeze what she touches provide an advantage?

  I trust the stewards have allowed no advantages, and there are swarms of vine-eating beetles on Meristo’s side of the arena and heated coals on Lara’s. Playing favorites and making things easy for some and not others isn’t something the stewards have ever done.

  I shake myself back into the moment. I can’t worry about all of that. It’s just me and my human now.

  “You will step only where I step,” I tell Kadmus, my gaze drinking as many details as possible before we begin.

  He says nothing. I look sideways in his direction, and I’m glad that he is, at least, fit. I could have gotten a decrepit human like Isadora d’Cuarzo’s, and what then? Carry them on your back and hope they can grab the flag?

  Damn everything to Chaos! Why did I have to get this human from all the thousands that live in Cima or wherever they got them from?

  The drum beats, marking the beginning of the trial. Next time it sounds, it’d better be because I reached the flag.

  Sword and shield strapped to my back, I approach the edge of the closest pit and take a knee. A narrow, grassy path hovers over a bed of sharp spikes. They spring from the ground and cover the bottom of the hole. If we fall, we’ll be skewered through and through.

  I touch the path to make sure it’s actually there. It feels solid enough. I stand and, this time, test the path with my foot, applying more weight. It holds.

  Placing both feet on the grassy area, I stand for a moment, checking on everyone’s progress. It seems they’re all being as tentative as me. So far, so good.

  I take another step, but as soon as my foot touches the path an entire section disappears. My arms shoot out to help me balance. I’ve only taken one step and a cold sweat is already forming on my back.

  Chaos!

  I look back at Kadmus. A satisfied smile stretches his narrow lips. Apparently, he’s serious about watching me die.

  “Wipe that smile off your face,” I tell him. “Those spikes can’t kill me. They will only disqualify me. You, on the other hand, don’t get to live unless I do.”

  The smile disappears. I turn away before he can see the lie on my face. During training, the spikes would have made a gory mess out of me, but it would have been an illusion. Not today. These are Godmaster Mador’s best work. An illusion that
can actually kill you. We were admonished against thinking that an obstacle that appears deadly won’t deliver on its promise.

  I pull out my sword and use it to test the ground ahead. The tip strikes something solid where there appears to be nothing. I skip over the empty space and land on a strip of concealed path that reveals itself as soon as I land on it. Behind me, a lone floating square of grass is left, like a skipping stone over an invisible river.

  Suddenly, I’m worried about Kadmus stepping onto that narrow ledge, losing his balance, and getting impaled at the bottom. I turn to go back and help him, but he sneers and, with great agility, jumps on. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit worried about falling.

  Maybe he won’t make such a bad partner, after all.

  I face ahead, test the new path with the tip of my boot, and confirm it’s an illusion. I’m still several paces from the edge of this square of path and must find a new stepping stone. I test with my sword again, hoping to find the next foothold, but there is nothing. The only way to fully cross this pit is to jump across. For that, there are two options: jump to the wall that separates this pit from the next or jump to the corner where all four intersect.

  Though it’s slightly further away, the second option provides the widest landing surface.

  A few days ago, I might have worried about making the jump. Now, considering my virtually untested strength, my concern is overshooting it and landing in the next pit, and into who knows what.

  I put away my sword with a sigh and jump.

  My arms make small circles to help me keep my balance, but the jump was surprisingly easy. When I turn, I find Kadmus has already made his jump and is preparing to take the next. His face is intent as he crouches and swings his arms in preparation to meet me. He bites his lower lip in concentration, then takes the leap.

  Even as he flies through the air, I can tell he will be short.

  The crowd gasps.

  His arms flail, trying to reach for the edge of the wall. I reach out for him, bracing myself. My fingers wrap around his wrist. Gravity pulls him down, and I let it. His body slams against the side of the pit.