Fallen Gods

by James A. Moore

  Roskell nodded and his smile stayed in place. “I have read the Books of Galea. I am one of few who has read over half of the thousand volumes. Along the way I learned that there are ways to break the rules if one is bold enough.”

  “And do you think this man is bold enough?”

  “I have not met Brogan McTyre, but I understand he was mad enough to challenge the gods, and now he is mad enough to fight them. I think he will do all he can and I think that works to the benefit of everyone.”

  “He is supposed to be captured on sight and brought in for sacrifice.”

  “Have you ever known the gods to want to fight on a level field?” Roskell gestured again at the mountain range. “Or are they more likely to attack as a pack of dogs would, and to worry their opponents to exhaustion?”

  Jahda chuckled at that. The legends of what lay beneath the surface of the Broken Swords were varied, but most claimed it was a dead god, or a dead giant, and that the giant was slaughtered, not killed in honorable combat.

  “True enough, one supposes. How am I supposed to help you?”

  “You can get me to the place I need to be and I can help Brogan McTyre find a way to fight the gods.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply surrender him to the gods and be done with it?”

  “It would be easier to feed a pack of hungry wolves than to fight them, but within days the same problem arises again.”

  Jahda studied the younger man for a few moments then smiled. “I will take you to find Brogan McTyre.”

  The Galean bowed and lowered his head. “You are a good man, Jahda of Louron.”

  “I have been called worse.”

  He gestured the other man closer and then called on the Shimmer. As the way between worlds opened he placed his hand on the other man’s arm. “Do not let go of me. Do not walk away. The Shimmer is not always kind to strangers.”

  Roskell nodded his head and took a solid grip on the coat Jahda wore.

  A moment later they walked into the Shimmer and Roskell let out a gasp of fear.

  “Look to me, Roskell Turn. Do not stare too closely into the Shimmer. You might not like what stares back.”

  Without another word they were on their way. The Galean was terrified, and he trembled. In order to ensure that the worst did not happen, Jahda ran, taking vast strides, and when the Galean could not quite keep up he half-lifted the man and forced him along.

  “What am I looking for, Roskell Turn?”

  He said nothing, but instead the Galean’s fingers touched Jahda’s brow. An instant later Jahda understood what the other was seeking and it was his turn to tremble.

  “You ask much of me, Galean.”

  “How else can we hope to save a world, Jahda of Louron?”

  They ran through the places that hide between worlds and the Shimmer kept them safe even as it showed its newest visitor hints of a thousand endless horrors.

  Harper Ruttket

  The ship was of good size and Harper nodded his head. This close in, the harbor stank of dead fish and rotting vegetation. It was not as lovely as it seemed at a distance. Still the vessel he stared at was impressively large and seemed well tended, with three masts and enough space to accommodate as many as a hundred men comfortably. It would do.

  “This will do.”

  Captain Odobo nodded and smiled. “How much do you offer?”

  “How much do you ask?”

  The price he expected was preposterous.

  “I could build a dozen ships for that.”

  “You will not have time to build a dozen ships, and I must pay my crew.”

  “Does your crew live like kings?”

  “I cannot offer my ship and my services for less.”

  “I can always find another ship.”

  Harper let his mind work on the haggling while he looked around. It was a good ship. Never much of a sailor himself he had made it a point to study ships on the occasions when he sailed and he had asked all the questions he could think of. That was the thing about a mercenary’s life. You never knew what information would come in handy.

  “Let’s see the inside then. If you want me to pay a fortune I should see what I am buying.”

  “You will never find a better ship,” Odobo promised.

  They walked up the gangway and stood on the deck. The wood was well tended. The equipment Harper could see was in excellent shape.

  Odobo led the way into the bowels of the vessel and Harper studied everything. Part of him hoped to find flaws. Part of him was pleased when he did not.

  They discussed prices and terms for several more minutes. Harper let the man win the war for a good price. A happy captain meant a safe journey.

  “We will need to travel fast, and we will need to travel far.”

  “Where do you wish to go?”

  “When I am certain I will let you know; for now keep the ship safe from strangers and load up with supplies. No one wants to starve on this journey.”

  “I have been to other lands, Pressya and to Lomorride. I have even sailed the edge of Bright Hook and Star’s End. Wherever you want to go, we will get there.”

  “Excellent. I’ve no desire to pay enough to own a fleet of ships and then get sunk.”

  Odobo laughed.

  Harper looked the man in his eyes. He did not smile in return. Instead he offered over one-tenth the cost of the ship. “You receive the rest after we launch. No one climbs aboard the ship that is not your crew or mine. There will be people seeking passage. You are no longer a passenger ship. Do you understand?”

  Odobo smiled and nodded. “I am the captain. You pay my way. Yours is the only voice I’ll let have say above my own on your ship.”

  “Good man.” Harper smiled. “Buy your supplies, we’ll be leaving fairly soon. We only wait on a few more people.”

  Harper gestured to the rest of his people. “In the meantime, we’ll be finding places to settle in. The city has no spare rooms.”

  Odobo looked out at Torema as it rose slowly over the bay. From the lowest parts to the highest there were trails of smoke where fires burned. Those streamers married together with the clouds that spanned on as far as the eye could see. Rain came down and washed constantly into the harbor and still more people were coming to Torema to escape the ruination of all that rested behind those clouds.

  “Do you suppose this is the end of the world?” Odobo spoke softly, and looked at Harper.

  “It might be.” Harper nodded his head. “It might not. We will see what can be fixed.”

  Interlude: Stanna

  Torema was a mess. The city was flooded by waters and by people alike. Stanna looked at Hillar Darkraven, the woman who ruled over the city, and kept her face neutral.

  “You did an excellent job of handling the newcomers, Stanna. Thank you for that.” Stanna nodded her head. Darkraven continued. “Not as well when it came to finding Harper Ruttket.”

  “I saw him. I reached for him. He broke free. There were too many people in the way and if I’d pursued him then it might have caused a riot.”

  “A riot? Really?” The woman’s voice was mixed with frost and doubt.

  Stanna set her hilted sword on the table with a loud thump. “Normally, I draw steel, people tend to notice.”

  Darkraven nodded and chuckled. “Point taken.”

  “If he’s in the city your spies will find him soon enough. If he has left the city he’ll likely come back.” She gestured out the window that led to Darkraven’s balcony. The view stretched out to look down at the harbor and the rough seas. “There is nowhere else to go.”

  Hillar Darkraven’s good humor faded as she too studied the view.

  “Have you ever been to Kaer-ru?” The woman’s voice was soft and husky.

  Stanna nodded. “Aye.”

  “Are there islands out there that could hold more people?”

  “Do you think to invade?” Stanna frowned.

  Hillar Darkraven pointed one scarred hand toward the no
rth. “We just had several inches of water running from up north down into the harbor for over five hours. Half the people from Hollum likely got themselves washed into the sea, Stanna. Every report I hear is that the situation to our north is only getting worse and the only thing south of us is the water and the islands beyond.”

  “There are other lands.”

  “I’d not start a war.”

  “As you have already seen for yourself, money speaks where even swords are silent. Torema has the banks for most of the land. I have a fortune I’m planning to withdraw in the next day or so.”

  “Are you planning on leaving?”

  “Not if I don’t have to, but if I do, I’ll be gathering a ship and my closest companions. We’ll find another land.” Stanna shrugged. “I like you well enough. We could travel together.”

  Darkraven chuckled. She and Stanna had much in common, not the least of which was a highly developed sense of gallows humor.

  The world seemed determined to end. They both intended to survive that possibility.

  Stanna said, “Should I be looking into ships?”

  Darkraven answered, “We have plenty.” She gestured to the docks. “I own most of that.”

  Stanna smiled. “Well then, I suppose I should stay on your good side.”

  The other woman looked her way for a moment and then back out at the waters. “It never hurts.”

  “They’ll come for the city. The refugees. They’ll want solid buildings instead of tents.”

  Darkraven nodded. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

  “The lads are building a barricade wall made of spears and pointed sticks. You have recently purchased most of the available lumber in the city. I expect the bills will be coming soon.”

  The woman shrugged. “Long as the wall serves its purpose, all is well. I’ve certainly got the money to spare.”

  “The soldiers will do their part and the men building the wall know what the stakes are.” Stanna sighed, took her boots from the table’s surface where they had been resting and, because she liked Darkraven, she even wiped the worst of the mud from the table’s edge. “I suppose I should check on them. Time to change the guards in any event. Men get coin, they want to spend it.”

  Darkraven smiled and Stanna knew why. The woman owned a part of most of the taverns and whorehouses. That was why she was as powerful as any king.

  Stanna frowned. “What do we do if any of the other kingdoms show up here and ask for mercy?”

  “The same as we did for Hollum. There are places on the sidelines. If they want more, we’ll have to draw swords and finish them.”

  “Do you think they’ll come?”

  Darkraven smiled. “Of course they will. There is nowhere else to go, as you already pointed out.”

  Stanna nodded. “I suppose I’ll be buying the rest of the lumber on your behalf.”

  “Buy the spears and the swords, too. Soldiers need weapons to work.”

  Stanna nodded. “Shovels. Ditches don’t dig themselves.”

  Darkraven shook her head. “Running a kingdom is hard work.”

  “Well. Costly at the very least.”

  Stanna left the room and then the palace. She had work to do and less time than she wanted to consider.

  Interlude: The Iron Mothers

  The Iron Mothers did not speak. If truth be known they had no vocal cords and no need of speech. They were not social creatures. They were Iron Mothers, and they had their own needs and desires that the humans would never understand.

  Ariah did not make them to be friendly.

  The sun set on the area near Torema that some were quickly calling the Hollum Slums. The rains were constant, the mud was thick, the desperation of the people in the area was heavy and even though they did not care, the Iron Mothers sensed the need and hunger of the locals.

  The people of Hollum wanted land that was dry and buildings over their heads. Instead they had tents or lean-tos and little else. The stench of raw sewage was everywhere and most of the refugees had taken to letting the rain wash away their wastes.

  The Iron Mothers still did not care. What mattered to them was the very efficient barrier that had been placed between the people of Hollum and the city. They needed the hard structures too but for entirely different reasons.

  The good news for the Iron Mothers was simply that they were not human. There were a lot of guards, and those people were armed with swords, and shields, and other means of repelling human forces.

  Through the continuously pouring rains the Iron Mothers gathered together. Most had found clothes, but few had found much by way of true protection. Since Brogan McTyre had defied the gods the Iron Mothers had gone from being Grakhul, to enslaved Grakhul, to sacrifices to Ariah. From that point on they had been altered by the demon, used as hunters and gatherers of the twenty who were sought by the gods and then, finally, they had come to serve the purpose for which they had been truly created.

  They gathered the seeds, they planted the seeds within themselves, and they let the seeds grow. Those seeds had been born of Ariah’s Children. Grown on the body of one man, fertilized by the blood of hounds and humans alike and then finally placed within the Iron Mothers to incubate properly.

  It is said that demons cannot create. They can only alter.

  Ariah found his way around that problem. He altered, and then let the humans create. Human life, human blood, had changed what he shaped. Now, the seeds came closer to fruition, and his offspring needed only the right conditions to finish their metamorphosis.

  The Iron Mothers joined together, a little over one hundred women who were not dressed for rain and cold, who stared at the gathered soldiers and considered their best way past the barriers.

  The soldiers stared back, saw pale women who reeked of desperation. Some of them might well have considered a trade – the women coming through the barrier in exchange for a good rut – but few of them considered the idea for long. The captains were loyal to Stanna and General Stanna would gut anyone who broke her orders as easily as she gutted cowards.

  Fear is often the best motivator after greed.

  A few of the soldiers made their comments. They gestured to their privates and made lewd offers to the Iron Mothers. The women did not understand or, frankly, care. They had an imperative to answer to and that was all that drove them.

  They could try to fight their way past swords and barriers or they could go out of their way and seek an easier resolution. Fight or flight.

  Sometimes combat is easiest. Other times…

  As one, the group turned and started moving down toward the waters of the harbor. The construction had not yet reached that far and it would take them out of their way, but their burdens were precious to Ariah and therefore precious to them.

  The rains fell and the cold crushed the spirits of workers and stragglers alike, as night grew deeper still.

  Within an hour the group had found their way past the barrier and into the city proper. The path they chose required that they wallow through streams of water that had already been tainted by the waste of a thousand people or more, but that did not matter. They climbed from their stream and the rains came down hard enough to wash away the worst of the filth.

  The streets of Torema were grossly overrun with people and their belongings. There were few spots that were not already claimed by the desperate and the angry. The Iron Mothers did not care. They moved past the huddled masses and further into the darkest places.

  Not every one of the Iron Mothers managed to find a place without challenge. Several of them were faced with opposition. Some carried sticks; a few had daggers or even axes and swords.

  What not one of them had was skin as tough as steel or claws that could rend flesh, or the strength to break bones. The Iron Mothers had all the tools they needed to protect their unborn children.

  They used those tools to their advantage and a score of people died trying to stop them.

  When they had found the proper
places, the Iron Mothers did what they had to do. They entered the final stages of their life spans and began the metamorphosis.

  The waters were an issue, and so they scaled walls and found places under roofs that were already dripping a constant stream of rain. With fingers and toes that could carve through hard wood, they dug into mortar and stone alike, and gripped the surfaces of the walls.

  Once in place they opened their mouths and let the glands that grew there do their jobs. Fine silk spun out from distended jaws and painted over their wet bodies, coating flesh and the closest surfaces alike. When they had finished covering their bodies, they used the wind to help them spread the silk over their heads and faces until they were completely hidden away from the world around them. The silk was strong, but as the weather continued the fine strands grew harder still, until they were tough enough to resist even the finest edges.

  They had done what they were meant to do, the Iron Mothers, and so they rested in their cocoons.

  And while they rested, they changed one last time, making way for the children they carried and loved on behalf of Ariah.

  And Ariah saw what his Iron Mothers had done and was pleased by their sacrifices.

  Interlude: The Waters

  The great gaping wound cut into the earth by the sea took its toll, even as the source of that wound barreled relentlessly toward the Broken Swords. The land, broken and misused, shuddered and shook and then split. Where Saramond had been, the great fissure snapped open and hurled rock and mud high past the surface of the waters.

  The waves caused by the explosive earthquake were vast, and ran both north and south. The fissure opened in those directions as well, and the land that had been one became three. To the north a thick finger of land split away and broke apart along the lines of the Three Serpent Rivers, and became a wedge as the rift grew stronger. The land that had once been ruled by the Grakhul, already damaged, collapsed completely into the ocean. Several hundred miles of coastline to the north sank into the waters with a violent splash that sent still more waves rising and roaring across the land.