The Godling Chronicles:Book 05 - Madness of the Fallen

by Brian D. Anderson

  Pósix had been highly pleased with Felsafell for the creative way he had found to protect her. She strengthened Basanti’s ability to foretell the future, and in appreciation of Felsafell’s achievement had granted him a boon – though she found his request to be odd.

  He asked that the goddess destroy the temple that Basanti so detested. And not only the one currently standing, but also any others that the people might try to build in its place. Reluctantly, Pósix complied. It was in that moment that the Oracle’s heart belonged to him.

  In only twenty years Felsafell managed to convince people that the foundation was built on the very spot where the gods had first breathed life into humankind, and because of that no structure could ever stand there. After a few more temples collapsed, the story became an established fact passed down through generations and no further attempts were made. Only the immense floor remained. Basanti told her followers that this was where her powers were at their strongest, just in case any thought to build her a temple elsewhere. The only solution after that was the tent where she now dwelled. It allowed her to feel the open air and reminded her of days when life was simple and free. Though she would rather be wandering the world with her brother, it was not such a bad life.

  She guided both the mighty and the meek with her visions. And while many of them left her tent more confused than when they arrived, she was satisfied that the gods were revealing their plans through her and was honored by their faith. In spite of all that had happened, she still trusted them.

  A comely young woman poked her head inside, smiling brightly. Shilsa had served the Oracle since she was little more than a child and was Basanti’s favorite amongst all of her followers. She waved for Shilsa to enter and offered her a seat. The woman complied with the elegant grace of a noble born. In her arms she carried a small, plain wooden box. Just as she sat, the fuzzy head of a puppy poked above the rim.

  Basanti squealed with delight. “Where did you find it?”

  Shilsa carefully lifted the animal out. It was nothing more than a mongrel, but with black patches scattered all over its soft, medium-length white fur, there was no denying that it was truly adorable. The puppy whimpered and whined as it was handed over to the Oracle.

  Basanti held the furry bundle close. Within seconds it began licking her face excitedly.

  “It was left just outside your tent, My Lady,” said Shilsa.

  “Left by whom?” she asked. But in that moment, it didn’t really matter.

  Shilsa held up her palms and shrugged. “We don’t know. It appeared from nowhere. One moment it wasn’t there, and the next it was. Some of the others think it must be a gift from the gods.” She reached inside her sleeve and pulled out a small scrap of parchment. “There was a note with it as well.”

  “Read it,” said Basanti, unwilling to put down her new companion.

  “It says: His name is Felsafell - a gift to keep you company and help you remember more carefree days.” She folded the note and frowned. “What does it mean?”

  Basanti giggled as the puppy continued with its barrage of kisses. Eventually, she placed it on her lap. It struggled and squirmed for a few seconds, then settled down and rested its chin on her thigh. “It means that I have a visitor,” she said. “I will see no one else today.”

  Shilsa stood, smiling with approval. “It’s good to see you happy, My Lady.” Just as she was about to exit the tent, she paused. “Should I bring food and wine?”

  “No, thank you,” Basanti replied. The puppy was already beginning to doze, kicking slightly and grunting as it dreamed. “My guest always provides the meal.”

  “What is your friend’s name?” Shilsa asked. “So that I know who to allow in.”

  “There’s no need,” she replied. “You won’t see him enter.”

  Pretending to understand, Shilsa nodded and left.

  The tent flap was still moving when Basanti heard a movement behind her.

  “What did you bring, old hermit?” she said, doing her best to sound serious. “Aside from this mangy animal.”

  Felsafell moved nimbly to take a seat across from her. In his left hand he held a basket, and in his right, a large jug. “If my gift does not please you, I’ll gladly take it away.” He set down his load and reached out for the puppy.

  Basanti recoiled and glared at him. “You will do no such thing.” She maintained her look of anger for as long as she could before finally bursting into gay laughter. “You have stayed away for far too long.”

  “I will come more often if you wish it,” he promised.

  “Of course I wish it,” she mocked. “You know that you do not need to be so formal with me.”

  “And you know how I sound when I speak the new tongue,” countered Felsafell. “Though it does indeed fit in with my current appearance.”

  From the basket he produced a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a string of summer sausages. Basanti’s eyes sparkled at the sight.

  When the meal was finished they talked cheerfully for several hours. Regardless of how long they were apart, after only a few minutes together it always felt as if he had never left. Just one thing was missing. One thing that gnawed at her heart.

  “Have you heard from him?” she asked, trying to sound as if it were merely a passing thought.

  “Yanti has become quite adept at avoiding me,” he replied. “I do not think he likes that I keep track of him.”

  “How long has it been?”

  Felsafell leaned back and sighed. “More than fifty years. I lost sight of him as he was heading west. He was still searching for the god stones. At least, I think he was. With Yanti it is difficult to know what he is planning.” He looked at her with sudden concern. “He has not been here, has he?” But the sorrow behind her eyes already told him the answer.

  “All I want is for him to send word,” she said. “Just so I can know he is safe, and to show that he still thinks about me sometimes.”

  “Of that there is no question,” he assured her. “Everything he has done - even his blunders, has been to earn his place beside you.”

  “I asked Pósix to redeem his spirit,” she said. “I begged her to repair what he has damaged. I explained that he only did it to protect me.”

  “And what was her reply?” He moved close enough to allow her to lean against him.

  “She said that she was forbidden.” As tears began to take form, Basanti buried her head in Felsafell's chest. “She told me it had been decided that Yanti was to be left to his own fate.”

  “I know it is difficult to understand,” he said, stroking her hair. “But the gods do not act without purpose. I will find him for you.”

  She looked into his eyes. The old man was gone, replaced by his true form. “No. I cannot ask this of you. I must wait for him to seek me out.” She forced a smile. “You have been so good and kind to me for all these long years. You have served as my protector and friend. And never have you asked anything for yourself in return. Why?”

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Because what I desire is far beyond anything I could dare to hope for.”

  Basanti’s heart raced. “If what you desire is me, then I have already been yours for a very long time – in both body and spirit.”

  Felsafell averted his eyes. “How could you love me? I have driven your brother away, and made you into little more than a prisoner in this place.”

  She cupped his face in her hands. “You have been the only reason I have not gone mad with loneliness. You saved me from a world that fears what they do not understand.” She moved in closer. “And my brother chose his own path. You did what I could not. And for that I am eternally grateful.”

  Felsafell simply stared at her, for the moment transfixed and unable to speak.

  Basanti’s mouth gradually turned upward into a girlish grin. “Of course, if I have misunderstood your inten–”

  He leaned in and kissed her. The hundreds of years of waiting suddenly seemed like fleeting mo
ments as he lost himself in the softness of her lips. Basanti wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body close. Within seconds, their hearts were beating in unison.

  Their mouths finally parted, the loss of her touch bringing forth a soft moan of sadness from Felsafell. He wanted to say something - to tell her of all the things he was feeling - but she put her finger to his lips and stood up.

  He watched as her graceful form glided across the tent to, one by one, put out the lamps.

  *****

  Felsafell remained in Manisalia for almost a month. Each day was a gift as they laughed and talked, and each night they explored their love - their passion climbing to heights neither could ever have imagined.

  But through all of their joy, Felsafell could tell that thoughts of Yanti still weighed heavily on her mind. Eventually, he told her that he wanted to discover what had become of her brother, but promised to return the moment he had news to tell. Their parting nearly broke her heart. Once he was gone Basanti refused to see anyone for weeks, and very soon the line of supplicants outside her tent was stretching out for more than a mile.

  Her attendants worried over her ceaselessly, but she didn’t care. Shilsa tried every day to bring her out of her melancholy, though these good intentions only succeeded in provoking a series of angry outbursts. Basanti always felt the pang of guilt immediately afterward, but she was finding it impossible to govern her emotions. Life seemed completely empty and meaningless without Felsafell. And though she understood why he had left, hundreds of years of emotional solitude had been washed away in that magical moment when they had first kissed.

  And now she was alone again.

  After three weeks, she finally built up the strength to venture outside of her tent. She walked until she was beyond the last of the people still awaiting an audience. That none of these had seen her before allowed her to pass unnoticed, and for this she was grateful. Millions of stars, bright in the cloudless sky, were made even more visible that night by the absence of the moon. The clean, brisk air felt good on her skin. She looked up to take a deep cleansing breath.

  “You cannot allow yourself to despair,” came a kind, musical voice from the darkness just beyond her sight. “Felsafell will always find his way to you.”

  Basanti knew at once that it was Pósix. “I know. But his absence leaves such a painful hole in my spirit.” Her heart was struck by a terrible thought. “You will not forbid us….”

  She could not even finish her sentence.

  The goddess remained hidden. “Your love for the first born pleases me. Both of you deserve your measure of happiness, and you are well matched. But I must caution you. You both have tasks ahead that will keep you apart for many years at a time. You must learn to quiet your passion. If you do not, each separation will be unbearable. You will fail in your duty and cause great harm to others.”

  Basanti closed her eyes and allowed the words to sink in. Pósix was right, of course. While Felsafell had been there she had scarcely seen a soul. And now that he was gone….

  The line of people waiting to see her forced its way into her thoughts.

  “Felsafell is good and strong,” said Pósix. “He will understand what I say. And should fate unfold as we hope, you shall be together, untroubled, until you decide that this world is done with you both.”

  The wind began to rise, its wintry breath finding a way beneath Basanti’s robes. She hugged herself tightly. When Pósix spoke next, her voice had suddenly taken on an ominous tone. “A dangerous time is coming. Your courage will truly be needed. And your devotion and loyalties will be tested beyond your imaginings.”

  The sudden chill now touched Basanti's heart. “What do you mean?” she called out into the night. But there was no reply. Pósix was gone.

  Basanti returned to her tent using her strength and speed – attributes she had become adept at hiding from others – to enter unseen.

  That night she dreamed of Felsafell in his true form. He was running through a dense forest with a bow in his hand. He slid to a halt as a deer bearing a set of proud antlers came into sight. With a single motion he notched an arrow and let it fly. The buck dropped instantly, with only the rustle of the leaves shifting under its fall breaking the eerie silence.

  He approached, but just before he reached the animal, it transformed into the body of her brother. As Felsafell reached down to pull the arrow free, Yanti’s eyes popped open.

  “Why, sister?” Yanti cried accusingly. Blood spilled from both the wound and the corner of his mouth. “Why did you do this to me?”

  She tried to call out, but had no voice.

  “Why did you let him kill me?”

  Her brother’s anguished words were still echoing in her head when she became aware that Shilsa was gently shaking her awake. She scrambled up into a sitting position.

  “What?” She paused and calmed herself. “What is it, dear?”

  “King Rätsterfel of Angrääl is here,” Shilsa replied, clearly unsettled. “He demands to see you at once.”

  “King Rätsterfel?” Basanti repeated.

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  She had heard rumors of the man. It was said that his kingdom was mighty beyond the dreams of the elves. His cities boasted towers so tall that they disappeared within the clouds. Not that any of this was important right now. What did disturb her was the widely known knowledge that the king hated the gods with an unrivaled passion, and had publicly sworn that he would see them fall.

  He had risen to power over the past ten years, seemingly from nowhere. No one knew who he really was or where he came from, but it was well known that he had defeated each tribal leader of the northern barbarians in single combat and then used their might to begin his conquest. After seizing the throne of Angrääl, he then immediately set about uniting all of the northland kingdoms under his banner and had achieved this in less than a year. After the first three cities fell, the rest simply surrendered as his army approached. Some said that even the elves feared him.

  Basanti got up and quickly dressed. The puppy Felsafell had given to her whimpered and groveled, as if being threatened. She instructed Shilsa to take it away as soon as she was settled down on a cushion in the middle of the carpet.

  “He’s just a mortal man,” she told herself. But she knew that even a mortal man could be dangerous. Particularly if that man loathed the gods and had come to visit one of their most revered servants.

  Shilsa called out to her. “He is coming.”

  Basanti stiffened. A moment later the tent flap flew open and the king stepped inside. She let out a loud gasp of surprise.

  “Yanti!” Basanti's voice was almost inaudible.

  Her brother was wearing a resplendent purple satin robe and black boots. Rings of gold adorned his fingers and a gold band encircled his brow.

  “It is good to see you, sister,” he said, smiling broadly.

  Her initial shock was quickly overcome by sheer joy. She leapt up and ran into Yanti’s waiting arms. He lifted her from her feet and spun her around.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she said. Tears of happiness began to fall.

  After putting her down, he took a pace back and held his arms out wide. “Well, what do you think? Am I not every bit a monarch?”

  “You are King Rätsterfel?” she asked incredulously. “You can’t be.”

  Yanti raised an eyebrow. “Really? It would seem that I am.” He laughed and led Basanti to the center of the room before sitting down.

  “But all those horrible things I’ve heard,” she said. “They can’t be true.”

  He held his sister’s hand. “People always say horrible things about kings and queens. They need something to be afraid of. Pay such stories no mind.”

  There was a long pause. Basanti did not want to believe what she had heard. Nor did she want to spoil her moment of elation.

  “I see that you have quite the life here,” Yanti said, with a hint of sarcasm. “I take it that this is Felsafell’s idea
of protecting you.” His mouth twisted slightly as he spoke the name.

  Unwilling to allow the reunion to turn sour, she gave an exaggerated sweeping gesture. “Are you mad? I have all this. A tent and a floor. What else could I possibly desire?”

  Yanti frowned. “How about to be with your brother? And now you can be. I have come to take you with me.”

  Basanti’s heart sank. “I cannot. You know that. I still serve the gods, and this is where I am needed.” She reached out and touched Yanti’s face. “Please, brother, let us just talk and enjoy our reunion for a while. Unhappy conversation can wait. Tell me of your travels.”

  “I am sure Felsafell has told you all about that,” he replied with a sneer.

  “He only tells me where he has seen you,” she replied. “And what he thinks you are doing. Nothing more.”

  “Because he knows nothing more,” said Yanti. “He supposes I do not see him lurking in shadows, his watchful eyes ever afraid that I will upset the schemes of the gods.” He rose to his feet and turned his back. “I suppose you know that I sought the god stones.”

  “I do,” she admitted. “Did you find them?”

  Yanti nodded. “Some. But they were useless to me. Even so, Felsafell was wrong to tell me not to seek them. If I hadn’t, they may well have been found by someone else.” He glanced over his shoulder. “They are far too dangerous for mortal men.”

  “What did you do with them?” she asked.

  “I hid them away where only I can find them.” He faced her and smiled. “You see. Not everything I do ends in disaster.”

  “I never thought that,” Basanti said. She patted the pillow next to her. “Now sit. Tell me what you have been doing.”

  Yanti waved a hand. “There will be time to talk once you are in Kratis. As I said before, I have come to take you with me.”