by 5kops
Scanned & proofed by 5kops
FORGE
OF THE
GODS
The Last Knight By
ERIC FOGLE
Cover design by Jeremy Robinson
BREAKNECK BOOKS
Publishing Company
Published by Breakneck Books (USA) www.bteakneckbooks.com
First printing, February 2007
Copyright © Eric Fogle, 2007 All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all inquiries to: [email protected].
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit Eric Fogle on the World Wide Web at: www.ericfogle.com
The first book of the Forge of the Gods series is dedicated to my wife, Kristy,
who sparked my desire to pick up a pen and helped in every part of the process.
She is also the one who gave me the resolve to never accept the word "no."
Acknowledgements
I have found the experience of writing a novel both exhilarating and mentally exhausting. In fact, writing with whatever talent I may or may not have, has been one of the hardest things I have ever done—I compare it to playing collegiate baseball and football.
With that said, I have been blessed with so many people who have helped in the process, that should I leave any out, I hope they will remind me later. Each one deserves a bow of deep appreciation for all their hard work.
First and foremost, I want to thank my wife, Kristy, for buying me a journal in which to jot down my ideas. It was so simple . . . but without that gift, I would never have taken my hobby to the next level.
I also would like to thank my mother-in-law, Nancy, who with a single discussion helped transform Forge of the Gods: The Last Knight from a single concept into a multitude of ideas.
I offer many thanks to Charity Hogge, my editor and friend, who read my novel in its roughest form, helping me take an unfinished manuscript and turn it into a piece of art. Without her aid, you would not be reading this.
My appreciation also goes out to Zak Salhab, Scott Bartholomew, Sakuri Hakari, and Seth Chase. Though I have never been able to sit them down and personally offer my thanks for their being my beta readers and hardest critics, they have my gratitude. They helped me refine ideas by calling into question my philosophy, world-building knowledge, and deities.
I wish to thank my publisher, Breakneck Books, for believing in my work. Simply put, if they did not embrace the religious undertones of the novel, there would be no book to read. Thank you for giving me the chance, guys!
Finally, I would like to offer my thanks to the readers. You are the ones giving this small-time author a chance. I hope that this epic tale both enchants and challenges you.
Extras
The world of Aryth, like all good fantasy worlds, is as vast as its characters are rich. To aid the reader in keeping track of this world and those who dwell within it, the author has created a website that both enhances the reading experience and provides wonderful detail beyond the scope of the first book in the Forge of the Gods series. At the website you'll find maps, journals, character charts, video and images that enrich the Forge of the Gods experience. Visit the author's website at: www.ericfogle.com.
Part I: Death of a King
-PROLOGUE-
20th Eternity (Eternal Timeline)
WHEN DISCUSSING reality, we can only describe it as experienced by humanity, and more importantly, as it is known to Heaven. Bound by its own laws, actuality is based upon the perception that any given thing that is—if real. However, perception is multi-faceted, since mortals are //aired creatures limited by their fragile existence. Thus when we break down reality, a distinction must be made between those things that are known to be real (Heaven) and those that are assumed to exist (Material Plane).
ljet us examine Heaven in its entirety, then. It can be argued that the gods are pure existence. They are the functional equation that cannot be denied, a focal point that binds everything else—a circular algorithm of order and chaos, destruction and creation.
Assuming the gods are reality, it is only logical that Heaven is where all things begin and end. If Heaven is the center of creation for the rest of the multi-verse, it is also the destroying agent that governs reality, bound by its own certainties: what is created must be destroyed.
In Heaven, there exists a single rule of reality which has never been violated, a certainty that binds both immortal and mortal beings alike: time shall a/nays move forward. Though this law is experienced most keenly by humanity, it still must be realised throughout eternal existence. In essence, even the gods age. This is a limitation; a flaw that goes against the certainty that the gods are the only beings that completely experience reality, for aging is a fact of reality that they cannot recognise.
from here we descend to the Material Plane (The Mortal Plane) of existence. Here time flows as mortals know it, an unpredictable equation of plausible possibilities that only the gods may view at any time in the sequence. From a heavenly perspective, the Divine Plane passes these events off as flutters of realised potential probability—those events that unfold dynamically on the Material Plane—only to be viewed by the gods as a truth of unreality. This is why on the Material Plane, change is permitted, evolution may happen, and the fn I arc corresponds directly to the present and the past. Tor it is only there, on the Mortal Plane, that the gods are recognised and cherished hy lesser minds that cannot comprehend the lairs that bind them.
An angel, Gabriel Truthbringer, contemplated these things as he strolled down a path made of pure order, reflecting on his existence and that of the gods. In his infinite wisdom, he could see how eternity rolled on—a metropolis of souls, angels, archons, and demons—all bound by that which he knew to be real and all very static.
Stasis isn't necessarily a bad thing, Gabriel thought. For he knew that on the Divine Plane death was impossible: a being either existed in a corporeal sense or was winked out of existence completely.
"Not a bad thing . . ." he murmured, to nothing in particular. He could not deny that he felt restless, as did most who resided in Heaven.
Gabriel looked up to see a maelstrom of cosmic energy swirling, bright blue flares scorching reality. He contemplated the difficulty one had telling time in this repository of the gods; he supposed that he had resided here since creation, or twenty eternities. He wondered how mortals perceived such things, considering their unreal existence changed so drastically in such short spans of time.
Why am I complaining about complacenty? Gabriel looked thoughtfully at the energy, seeing both order and chaos at work. In my lifetime, I have seen change. I have gone to war and destroyed entire sects of my race for Him. I have watched millennia go by and collected souls for Him. I have even seen the creation and destruction of another divine race . . . in His name. So why am I so restless?
In that moment, Gabriel noticed that even the souls of the faithful looked stagnant. Not for the first time, he wished that he was not the High Seraphim of Starsgalt, or as mortals knew him, the Angel of Mercy. He wished that he could visit the Material Plane and become less than real for just a moment—to see the universe in all of its unpredi
ctable glory.
Gabriel sighed and lowered his gaze. He had been so deep in thought that he had hardly noticed a colossal white building, supported by pillars of law, justice, and war, standing in front of him. To anyone in Heaven it was an awe-inspiring sight, even after so many eternities without change. And even though Gabriel had seen the magnificent residence of the All-Father, Starsgalt—the Halls of Law and Order—nearly every day since his coming into being, he admitted that the grand structure still awed him as well.
Gabriel let the power of the moment sink in and walked by a glowing statue of the All-Father before he strode with purpose up steps made of pure creation. He had come to the Halls for his daily routine of weeding existence, as it was his eternal duty to check in on the All-Father's followers and maintain the faith pool which kept all of Heaven in motion.
Just before the Angel of Mercy entered the great hall of the All-Father, he looked again to the cosmos and irritably muttered, "Why can't I appreciate this? I am the most powerful Seraphim in the entire Divine Plane, a demi-god, what more can I ask for?"
Gabriel silendy cursed his blasphemous words. He couldn't argue with the fact that his faith and devotion had been rewarded by the All-Father several times over. In fact, time had been on his side. The Angel of Mercy had slowly climbed the ranks as a servant to God, using his ability to think beyond his immortal race's infallible limitations. Of course, such infinite wisdom had also propelled him to his current situation—monotony defined.
As he considered Heaven and his place within its hierarchy, a thunderous crack! split the heavens. Though Heaven did not truly consist of "ground," Gabriel watched in horror as the thunderous sound caused order to become organic—which then began quaking.
Boom! Another wave of thunder rocked the heavens, this one undoing the reality of one of the All-Father's pillars.
The effect was so impossible that time . . . began to warp.
For the first time, the Angel of Mercy looked around and did not understand reality. Rules he knew to be true were altered and absolutes became uncertain. Though he could see the limidess plausibility of time, at least fifty million new infinite probabilities erupted forth. It seemed to Gabriel that Heaven was being ripped asunder.
Another piercing boom tore through Heaven. The force of the shock-wave again shook the ground and distorted the basic principles of law and order. Gabriel did his best to stay on his feet as the sky turned from flaring blue to deep crimson. He was sure that both the ground and the sky would soon erupt in blood.
In that moment, before reality was indeed realized, a miracle beyond the power of the gods occurred: time stood still.
Gabriel recognized it as a single thought conceived in his mind. In this brief moment, a mortal generation was created and destroyed (or approximately the amount of time it took to draw a single breath on the Divine Plane).
The Angel of mercy shivered violently and fell to his knees. The unbreakable law of Heaven was being violated! He could only gape as the sky turned purple and red, and black lighting forked out in countless directions, annulling whatever it touched. He told himself that the variation in time was insignificant, that many in Heaven wouldn't even notice that the first rule of reality had been desecrated. Yet it had.
Can it be that this will actually change Heaven? Ciabriel thought as he tried to remain conscious, struggling to convince himself that the impossible was not really occurring.
He tried to stand but another boom erupted. This one ripped at the angel's being. He could feel it tearing him apart.
Gabriel clung to his infallible nature. He could not comprehend an event that was not even plausible on the Material Plane. In his infinite wisdom, he knew the rules of existence almost better than Starsgalt himself. Not even on the Plane of Mortals could one of the gods alter time and perform a miracle such as this!
Angel of Mercy thought reality ceased to exist. The moment of uncertainty caused his essence to unravel. His mind lost focus . . . his hands and feet begin to warp out of existence . . . that which was real distorted to the point of losing its base as reality.
Then, as suddenly as it had stopped, time exploded around Gabriel in normalcy. A rush of cosmic wind picked him up and threw him backwards into the All-Father's home. He thought that if an angel had bones, they would surely have all exploded.
In panic, Gabriel pushed himself to his feet and stumbled inside the Hall of Law. The sight that greeted him would haunt him for the rest of eternity—the All-Father was sitting with a look of disbelief etched on his perfect face. The expression marred the god's perfection, another impossibility of infinite proportions. Gabriel could only conclude that the All-Father was confused.
Thoughts of fear and disbelief rushed through Gabriel's mind. It was obvious that Starsgalt had felt the miracle and was too stunned to react.
"What is it?" a golden baritone of perfection poured into Gabriel's mind. It sounded . . . afraid.
He doesn't understand, Gabriel thought, awestruck into silence.
With a single thought, the All-Father sent out the call for a Great Convergence, where all the gods would be represented. In the time it had taken to send the thought, the All-Father was gone and the meeting had begun.
The aftermath left the angel speechless. The implications were preposterous. Another shiver ran through Gabriel's mind as a single thought lodged like an arrow in his heart: is it possible we have just witnessed the birth of something greater than the gods. . .?
1
1999 A.D. (After Devoid), Year of the Crescent Moon (Mortal Timeline)
20th Eternity (Eternal Timeline)
AN OLTHARI walked past a twisted stump, one that had been sitting for countless years under a red sun—a sort of proof that life continues on even under extreme circumstances. The creature, a male version of its divinely immortal race, had traversed so many worlds that it had lost track of the countless probabilities it had seen. Now the creature was growing weary of such travels, and of his search. It seemed as though each new world was a blurry map in his mind, a mere silhouette of life's existence, ever-changing and ever moving forward.
The creature, called Thurm Stormrage by mortals, told himself that all of his inter-planar traveling was a necessary evil to track down the life-essence of his mate, a pursuit that had taken the better part of the past three eternities.
That he had been so close annoyed the immortal. An Olthari's infinite knowledge was supposed to be near infallible—almost perfection— especially in comparison to beings that existed on the Material Plane. There was no reason why his divinity should prove less than perfect! Yet, his opponent had always been one step ahead of him, leaving only hints for him to follow through the mist, to each new world.
This time, though, the mists held little interest for Thurm. He was growing exhausted with the pursuit and, more important, of his existence. Even now he questioned the purpose of living when the life-wave emitted by the Olthari race was weakening to the point of extinction. In fact, the longer his crusade lasted, the more uncertain he became as to whether or not his mate was still alive—her waning life-force ranged from a slow pulsing buzz to a dull beat; and finally, to the nothingness to which his entire race had succumbed.
Such thoughts made him wonder if he truly was the last of a dying race. And if extinction was truly upon them, how long could he could continue as last of his kind? The olthari gazed to Heaven. The punishment of the gods would soon fulfill itself, since he and possibly his mate were the last of a race created by divine hands—now banished, hunted down, and exterminated by their creators. He still felt the divine call, which pained him worse than even the thought of death. That his race was cursed until the end of eternity made the longing for Heaven that much worse. They would never be allowed to return home. It was a certainty he had accepted long ago.
Thurm, why do you torture your mind with such thoughts? The immortal wondered as he looked up at the sky. J don't need to rush the inevitabl
e, do I?
In fact, Thurm knew exactly why he sullenly continued his being—some part of him was still not ready to succumb to the nothingness. He told himself that it was still in his power to end his race's suffering, that there might still be a way to stave off annihilation, even a chance at redemption. Most of all, he wanted to believe that maybe one day he could go home. The thought nearly made him cry.
For that reason alone Thurm tried to never gaze homeward. By looking towards the red sky, he saw the life-essence of his entire race trapped by the gods on a plane of non-existence. It was a dark reminder of the Olthari race's betrayal of their masters. It had been a swift punishment for their crime, carried out the moment it was conceived. After eight eternities wandering the Material Plane, Thurm could still remember the exact terms of the curse . . .
His race had been sentenced to die a horribly slow death—damned to walk the multi-verse, outside Heaven, until their lineage had completely wasted away. At first, the gods had united in this curse by banishing them from Heaven and decreeing that the Olthari should wander as immortal mortals, unable to die except by unnatural death and unable to voluntarily kill themselves.
When the Olthari race had adapted and resumed somewhat normal, albeit shattered, lives, Heaven again came together and decreed that the wretched race suffer another, more diabolical curse—they destroyed the Olthari's ability to reproduce, sterilizing and killing most of the females. Additionally, the god Starsgalt demanded that the soul of a dead olthari could neither ascend to Heaven nor be winked out of existence; all Olthari souls were forever condemned to an infinite eternity in painful limbo.
And simply becoming extinct was not enough. The final sentence was issued by the god Illuviel, who had demanded that no matter how far the Olthari race traveled, and even in death, they would always long for Heaven.
The finality of this curse weighed on Thurm's soul. Not a day passed that he did not consider his unhappy fate. It brought a dull ache to his heart, crushing any passing happiness.
