Fallen Gods

by James A. Moore

  To the south the same occurred. A massive break in the continent ran nearly all the way to Hollum before it stopped. The land there sank more slowly, but it sank just the same. The coastal towns in that area had been hit hard, but until that moment they had survived the worst. That was no longer the case. Adimone, a large town that had always been faithful to the gods, was not spared, nor were the other, smaller villages that dotted the eastern coast of the land. Though many people had moved on, the stragglers were consumed by the sea and drawn away from the land in one titanic surge that swept in and then back out as if a giant were swallowing a vast gulp of the ocean.

  When the waters returnedthey did not bring with them the bodies of the dead. Those corpses were gone, devoured by the goddess with a thousand names. The time for patience was over and the gods were hungry.

  Further west the first wave that had sloughed across the land continued to build in force. Whatever it was that drove that wave surged forward and pounded across the land, shattering stone and crushing all that stood in its way.

  It would not be stopped.

  It was divine fury and it had been cast at the form of a dead god in an effort to stop the impossible from happening.

  Still, in this, even the actions of the gods took time.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Cost of Doing Business

  Brogan McTyre

  Brogan stood as still as he could while Anna moved her fingers over his bared flesh, making the markings she said would aid him with the course they had chosen.

  Faceless watched on, seemingly fascinated.

  Brogan tried his best not to consider the situation. Currently his friend’s wife was squatting before him and her left hand held onto his thigh while the right painted markings across his lower stomach. They both did their very best to ignore the erection that pointed in her direction. She did not look at it and he did his best not to think about any of what was going on. He had not expected that having his body painted by someone could be so very… sensual.

  As if his world could not have been made more awkward, Brogan heard the sound of voices approaching. He was naked as the day he was born, and his weapons were a dozen feet away from him. His body was smeared in different dyes and his hair was knotted at the top of his head, giving the paints time to dry on his face, neck and shoulders.

  “You cannot possibly be serious.” His voice actually cracked and he looked toward his axe.

  Anna said, “Don’t you dare move. I invited them.”

  “What are you talking about, woman? Invited who?”

  He saw Faceless from the corner of his eye. The creature had no mouth and yet he would have sworn it was smirking. There was no proof, of course, only that feeling of being laughed at.

  The two men who stepped from the shadows seemed to genuinely walk out of the darkness as if they were leaving a tunnel. For a moment their skin wavered and their features seemed as if viewed from under the surface of a moving stream. A moment later they were in the vast chamber of the dead god’s skull and covered in snow that was rapidly melting in the presence of the fire.

  They were island men, and completely unknown to him.

  The taller of the two looked his way with wide, surprised eyes. The shorter stared a moment at his naked form and then stepped closer.

  “You have already begun?”

  Anna looked toward the man and nodded. “I have. I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to reach us so I got started. I’ve followed your instructions as carefully as I could.”

  He looked at Brogan and said, “I am Roskell Turn. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brogan McTyre.”

  He quickly went back to looking over the markings already placed on Brogan. Without any additional words he reached into the pot of paint that Anna had prepared from her bag of impossible supplies and then touched Brogan’s cheek, his chin, the area above his left nipple and then a spot near his left elbow.

  Happily the presence of the new men had apparently taken his mind off Anna and his body was finally behaving itself.

  “Who are you and why are you painting my body?” Brogan looked longingly at his axe again.

  Faceless looked at where he was looking and started to reach for the weapon. Brogan couldn’t decide if he should stop the creature.

  The man smiled and repeated his name. “I am Roskell Turn. I am a Galean and Anna told me what you were doing,” he continued. “She asked for my help in preparing you for what must be done.”

  As he spoke the stranger dabbed here and there, and once wiped away part of Anna’s paint. He looked at the woman and spoke softly. “A few minor adjustments. Perhaps they would not matter but why take chances.”

  She nodded, apparently not at all offended by the strange man playing with her canvas. Brogan was still trying to decide if he were offended. Probably he should be but he’d hold off until he got a response from Anna.

  “Do you have the Undying’s hide?”

  Anna nodded to the heavy satchel that carried the burden and Roskell in turn moved toward it.

  “It’s heavier than you’d expect.” The man grunted as he pulled along the burden and Brogan felt a little better about how much he’d strained and tortured himself while carrying the damned thing.

  “It also has teeth and will try to capture you if you are not careful.” Brogan spoke carefully so as not to mess up the drying markings on his face. Anna had already yelled at him for that twice and he didn’t want to dare a third fit.

  She shot him a murderous warning with her eyes, but calmed when she saw that the marks had not been damaged.

  Faceless offered him his axe. “No, thank you.”

  The glossy hands of the creature took a firm grip on the weapon and he stood perfectly still.

  The other man looked at Brogan and spoke softly. “By all rights you are supposed to be a sacrifice.”

  Brogan stared hard. “Is this an argument we’re going have? Naked or not, armed or not, I’ll defend myself.”

  “I prefer not to fight you, Brogan McTyre. As I have come to understand it several of your men have already died and the sacrifice would no longer be sufficient for the gods. That leaves us little we can do except hope that you can accomplish what you are trying to do here.”

  “And how would you know what I am attempting?”

  “Roskell told me.”

  Anna spoke up. “And I told Roskell. He’s here because he was the one who told me what must be done and I wanted him to make certain I did what he described properly. We’re only going to get one chance at this, Brogan McTyre.” She already sounded angry.

  “I’m not debating your decisions, Anna, but it might have been nice if you’d told me we could get unexpected company.”

  “I’d fully thought he’d have to climb up here as we did. If I’d known there was a short cut we might have waited.”

  “I could hardly wait any longer. The gods have begun their attacks in earnest.” Roskell spoke as he unfolded the hide of the Undying. When it started to writhe about on the floor he cast a thick gray powder over the skinned shape and it came to a very sudden stop.

  “What did you do?”

  “It’s sleeping. Even the He-Kisshi must rest.”

  Brogan nodded his head, suitably impressed.

  Without another word the man dragged the cloak around until the dark fur rested on the ground of the skull and the tendrils and wet interior faced the ceiling far above. More of the gray powder was spilled on the inside of the thing and then he crouched over it, carefully studying the details and minutiae.

  The other man came closer and looked at the shape as well, as if they had found the most amazing new plaything. Brogan shook his head and looked down at Anna, who still had her hand on the inside of his thigh but was now painting the back of his leg.

  Roskell Turn dipped two fingers into the pot of herbal paints and began making markings along the top of the hooded form. The teeth of the thing were obvious and looked as deadly as a few hundred daggers
all neatly lined together.

  When the vibrations ran through the body they all stood inside, Roskell and the other man were justifiably horrified.

  Faceless spoke to him. “The gods are retaliating.”

  “To what?”

  “The gods are gods, Brogan. They know what is happening here and they would stop it.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  “Whatever they can to stop you. Already they are attacking, but it takes time to bring together the force they need.”

  “What are they going to do? Send an army?”

  “They do not need an army. They are gods. What are they going to do? They are going to destroy all of us if you do not do what you must and very soon.”

  The taller of the strangers was looking at Faceless, studying him carefully, and all the while listening to the interplay of words. His face was a mask of curiosity.

  Brogan looked at Anna. “Almost ready? We are apparently doomed.”

  “Don’t make light of it, Brogan.”

  “I’m naked and defenseless, surrounded by strangers, a sorceress, and a thing carrying my axe. What makes you think I’m in a jesting mood?”

  “We are ready here.” Roskell nodded and stepped back from his work. Without waiting to be asked he moved over to Brogan and dipped his finger again in the mixture, which was now running dangerously low.

  “No talking,” Roskell advised. “We must finish now.”

  There was silence as the pair finished making their markings.

  “What happens now?” Brogan asked the words as both stepped away.

  Roskell and Anna grabbed the He-Kisshi’s hide and moved it up to place it on his shoulders.

  “The Undying are connected to the gods. They are a conduit. If all goes well, you will be connected with this god. Not those who have taken his place, but just this one. If I am right, that connection will grant you certain abilities.”

  The thick, heavy hide tightened itself around Brogan’s neck and he let out a noise.

  He wanted to ask what happened if Roskell Turn was wrong, but he never got the chance.

  Interlude: Daivem Murdrow

  She followed the carrion birds. Sometimes they knew best. Also, the crows were easily seen in the nearly endless field of white. Well, sometimes, at least.

  Daivem Murdrow walked on through the snow and listened. The time she had was quickly running to an end. The waters were building, and she could feel them. She had done services for the dead and they had returned the favor, warning her about the great wave of ocean coming her way. It was not meant for her, but it came nonetheless and she had little choice but to finish her task, or be done with it.

  The voice that cried out for her was strong and she intended to listen if she could.

  The clouds had long since eaten the sky and the snow was falling so hard that seeing anything even ten feet away was a challenge. The only good news was that she did not need to see in order to know where she was going. She only had to listen.

  The wails of anger were as harsh as the winds that cut at her exposed flesh in the cold of the storm. Whomever it was who had died out in the wastelands around her was furious to the point of madness.

  She walked and she shivered until, at last, she located the source of the rage that burned so brightly and made her walk so far.

  That he was dead was impossible to deny. He seemed to have fallen from a very great height and shattered on the ground, but if he had fallen from a mountainside that mountain had moved on.

  Daivem carefully removed the snow from the frozen corpse. It was broken and bloodied and if there had been a face it had been pulped beyond recognition even before the cold and wet got to it.

  As often happened the spirit was tied to the corpse and not at all pleased.

  Daivem nodded her head and spoke softly. “You would be gone from here. Yes?”

  The only answer was another scream that no one but a trained Inquisitor might ever hear.

  Without a body the spirit would either disperse or go away, but this one seemed to want more. For that reason alone, when she freed the essence of Niall Leraby from his remains she carefully bound him to her walking stick. It was a temporary solution, of course. But it would do.

  “Yes.” She listened and she nodded. “Yes, I can find them for you.” Her smile was warm. “Of course I will find them. It is what I do.”

  She left the body where it lay. It was only meat and bone and without the spirit locked into it, there was little purpose to it, save to feed the crows that had already been feasting on frozen bits.

  Beron

  The behemoth surged and pounded toward the mountains, but was not seen by even those who were currently on their paths.

  All they saw was the water, an endless wave that hammered toward the Broken Swords at a speed they could not hope to match.

  The soldiers looked to their leader. Ulster Dunally in turn looked at the water surge coming their way and called out, “Run and ride! Get up the trail and go higher!” They were fortunate in that they were already near the top of the mountain. There was no careful thought given. There was only retreat.

  The men in charge of the prisoners did their jobs. They took control of their horses and they rode, urging the powerful animals higher and higher toward the crest. Those caught in the wagons screamed and roared and prayed as they saw fit but there was nothing they could do.

  Beron had never felt so helpless in his entire life. He was chained in place and locked inside a slaver’s wagon – one of his own, actually – and there was nothing he could do but hope they did not lose purchase and slide back down the mountain toward the monstrous wall of ocean that was hammering toward them.

  “Ariah. I have failed you, but I would serve you still if you will allow it.”

  He closed his eyes as he spoke and in an instant was once more in the garden of Ariah. The long, lean form of the creature was the same as before.

  “You have not failed me, Beron.”

  “I haven’t?”

  “Not at all.” The handsome face was amused. The vines wrapped around the demon’s arm had swelled even more and thorns punctured his flesh bloodlessly. “I am not done with you yet, Beron of Saramond.”

  “The world looks to be ending.”

  “I am not done with the world, either.”

  “Where am I to go? What am I to do?”

  “You are already here, Beron. There is nowhere else to go for now.”

  “I thought…” He looked down at his hands. “I thought this was all in my mind.”

  “No. Not this time.”

  Ariah came closer to him, his serene smile in place, and touched the iron that locked Beron’s hands together. The metal corroded and fell apart in seconds. As he watched, the chains around his ankles crumbled away as well.

  “The world is changing. Beron. That cannot be stopped. But you are still my faithful follower and you will lead my armies across the face of this planet when I am freed from my domain.”

  “Your army?”

  “They will rise soon enough. In the meantime, I need you to ride for Torema. There are people who are merely waiting for you to come to them and lead them.”

  “Ride?”

  “I brought you here, Beron. Did you think I couldn’t bring you a horse?”

  “I never truly thought about it.”

  Ariah turned and walked. “I have a horse. I have your weapons. I have a shield for you this time, too. Try not to lose them. They are precious to me and hard to find from my current location.”

  He nodded to the demon as if the words made perfect sense. Ariah may as well have been explaining the basics of flying between Harlea and Emila. Beron heard but without much comprehension. He was still working out the details of being alive when he knew that the mountain he was standing on was about to be destroyed.

  Ariah stopped before a table laden with fruit and nuts and even a selection of fresh meats. The sounds that Beron’s stomach made would have intim
idated the average bear. Ravenous was the only word that worked.

  Ariah gestured for him to eat and Beron listened enthusiastically, nodded as the demon talked on, explaining in detail what was expected. He had to ride to Torema. There he would find his army waiting. In Torema he was to attack and seize control of the lands. The people there had to be made aware that they fought for Ariah or they died.

  He’d had his fair share of dealings with Hillar Darkraven. He would make her see reason or he would cut her head from her shoulders and march it through the streets of her city.

  Ariah continued, “More will join you. They’ll have no choice. The time of weak people ruling is over with, Beron. You will be strong for me. You will gather allies and kill foes. There can be no mercy in this.”

  Beron nodded. “No mercy. None.”

  “Tell the slavers to join you or die, Beron. Let them know those are their only choices.”

  Sated for the moment, Beron looked up from his plate and stared at his host. “They join us or they die.”

  Ariah waited until he’d finished eating. It seemed he devoured a great feast, enough for a dozen men. Trays and platters were emptied of their offerings and little remained but husks and lengths of bone by the time he was finished, and yet he was still hungry.

  “That’s the way it is with demons, Beron. We are always ravenous.” The words came from Ariah as if he’d asked a question but at that moment Beron was comfortably drunk on sweet wines and sufficiently sated that he did not care.

  The companionable hand that touched his shoulder urged him quietly toward the first place they’d ever met. There, Beron saw the great steed that would be his and the weapons he’d carry.

  “I will send you to Torema. Once there you will gather your army and seize the city. They will serve you or…?”

  “Or they will die.”

  Beron felt feverish as he climbed the horse and settled his weight in the saddle. Once again his spear and his sword were ready. Once again he was given a chance to rule if only he could fulfill his part of the bargain.