Without another word, he flapped his wings and was in the air.
JAMES STARED AT the beastmen on top of the hill. “What are they waiting for? They’ve been standing there for only Annak knows how long, when are they going to charge?”
“I don’t think even the Old Man of Time can answer that,” came an unexpected answer.
James turned at the sudden reply and found himself facing a man wearing a plate mail; crystal blue eyes the only thing visible beneath it. “Captain Reave, sir! I didn’t mean any—”
“At ease, James. Despite my reputation, I won’t devour you alive if you relax a little.”
“Um, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“This is odd behaviour for beastmen, however. They are more the rip-out-your-entrails-and-eat-it-later type, as opposed to the composed guards we see now.”
“Should we attack them then?”
Captain Reave laughed. “Boy, the Black Griffins are renowned because we think before we fight. Charging a bunch of beastmen is not thinking; it’s suicide. Their skin is as tough as any leather armour you’ll find, and they possess the raw strength to crush a man’s skull with their bare hands. No, I think we’ll just stay put. By the nine hells, I’ll make camp here if I have to.”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing they’re out there watching us,” said James as he turned back to the hill.
“Sleep? Do you sometimes get the feeling you’re forgetting something important?” mused Reave as he stared at the receding red horizon.
“Captain, should we light torches?” asked one of the lieutenants; a man with a scraggy blond beard.
“Vendrious’s blood, the light! They’re bloody night-eyed!” he said suddenly before hearing a bone-chilling crash, followed by the screams of his men. He turned and found that the platform of the archer tower was gone. Those he had stationed on it lying either dead or screaming on the ground.
He rushed over and kneeled by one of the survivors, calling for a surgeon. “Matt, what the hell happened?”
The man choked on blood as he whispered, “A gigantic boulder, from the sky. It came out of nowhere.”
He turned to the surgeon as Matt lost consciousness, but the physician only shook his head. Cursing Nekt for their sudden change in fortune, he called for torches to be lit, when the surrounding men suddenly called to him in panic. They all pointed at something, and as he turned to see what it was, his world went dark.
JAMES TRIED TO blink away the darkness. He wasn’t sure if he was trapped in some kind of nightmare, or if Henensu had sent one of his servants to reap souls from the world of the living. All he knew was that he was scared, more scared than he had ever been in his entire life.
News of the captain’s death had quickly spread through the ranks, and when the chaos and confusion had been at its peak, the beastmen struck. The sudden attack had kept everyone’s attention, and it was only after the sun had set that some tried to light torches. That was when it struck again. The red demon fell from the sky like divine punishment, killing any man who bore a torch.
It seemed to be unmatched in skill, cutting through them as if they were a bunch of children wielding toys. No one seemed to be able to even land a single blow, despite its enormous size.
James took a deep breath before crawling out from underneath the supply wagon. With each inch he moved, he cursed Nekt, figuring that he had nothing more to fear from the goddess of fortune and mishap.
He had waited until the sounds of fighting had ceased and then had waited some more, hoping that the beastmen would think them all dead and moved on. He only prayed that Xenusê took pity on him and that the officers’ mounts were still tied off.
He kept crawling for what seemed like hours, and just when he was about to lose hope, he pushed his arm into fresh horse faeces. A sensation that would normally bring disgust filled him with so much delight that he almost exclaimed. His heart pounded with excitement as he crawled onward, then he heard something. He stopped, held still, and soiled himself, hoping the smell would aid him in appearing to be just another corpse, or so he told himself.
Then he heard it again, this time a little louder. “Get up, you jackass.”
He had to stop himself from jumping to his feet and running toward the blessedly familiar voice. Instead, he slowly resumed his crawling.
“James? Is that you?” whispered the voice.
“Yes, where are you?”
“Look to your right.”
He did as instructed and saw a small group of men standing back to back a few feet from him. “Have you all gone mad? Get down!”
“The horses are gone, James. Unless you intend to crawl your way out of here, you can get up.”
“But the beastmen-”
“Damn it, boy! They can see you,” said the lieutenant before dragging him to the group.
“Gods, James, you reek,” commented one of the men.
He blushed. “I crawled through some horse shit, all right?”
“Do you got a flint?” asked another.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because I want to eat it. What in the nine hells do you think it is for? We want to light a torch.”
“No! You’ll draw that demon to us.”
“Vendrious’s blood, boy! Give me your flint or I’ll gut you right here,” answered the man.
“The only ones blind in this darkness are us, James. There are now eleven of us. If we work together, some of us might live to tell others about this day,” said the lieutenant gently.
He handed over the flint, and one of the men quickly set it to a blade, setting a torch ablaze with the sparks. The sudden introduction of light stung their eyes, and as their sight adapted, they saw they were surrounded.
“Do you think we are the only ones left?” asked one of the men to no one in particular.
“Yes, you are all that remain,” replied a deep voice from the surrounding darkness.
The group tensed at the sound, and James heard his heart pound against his ears. “You speak Zinoxian like a native, are you from Zinox?”
There was a moment of silence before the voice replied, “It’s no business of yours, human, for soon you’ll be dead.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Asteroth. I am your death,” said the voice when James heard screams at his back.
He spun around just in time to see the red demon decapitate three of his comrades with a single blow. Its axe tore through their tower shields like a scythe through wheat. Two more of the group fell before he could even draw his sword. The display of skill turned the remaining five veterans into cowards as they fled in terror, only to be cut down by the surrounding beastmen.
James stared at the demon that called himself Asteroth with terror and disbelief. He could scarcely believe that it single handily ruined one of the best mercenary companies in the kingdom. He remembered the old wet-nurse tale of the Black god and began laughing hysterically.
“What is so funny, human?”
“I’m laughing at the absurdity of all of this! Even if I do somehow manage to survive, no one will believe me. Nine hells, I can’t even believe it, and I’m staring at you. Who would believe that Asteroth, Leader of the Living, crushed the Black Griffins? They would think me mad.”
“You seem familiar with my name, how so?” he asked, confused.
“What? You don’t know?”
“Answer me, human!” roared Asteroth as he moved forward in a menacing fashion.
James stumbled backward. “All right, all right, calm down. I only know the wet-nurse tale.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, there is apparently this prophecy—”
“Stop!” shouted a familiar voice.
Asteroth turned and saw the Chieftain and his foster brother approach, with the rest of the shang’gomagarr in tow. “Father, what do you know of this?”
“Enough that I don’t want you hearing it from some human,” said the old yog’mur as he placed a hand on his foster son�
��s shoulder.
“Have you been keeping something from me, about my origins?” asked Asteroth, his voice betraying his anger.
“I have and I have not. It is complicated, but I will tell you what I know. However, first we have to deal with this human,” he said pointing to the cowering boy.
James found it bizarre that Asteroth spoke Zinoxian to the old beastman while it replied in its strange guttural language. From what he could tell, his situation was about to get worse, and he used what time he had to beg Nekt to pardon his previous impudence, promising a lifetime of devotion if he were to survive.
“We should let him go,” said G’nar suddenly.
Everyone turned at the strange remark, and he continued, “If we kill everyone, there would be no one to tell the humans what happened here. Let this one go, and no human would dare come here again.”
“He makes a good point,” said Asteroth as he turned to his father.
“But he will also tell his people about you, my son. Humans are well-known for their curiosity. We have no way of knowing how they’ll react,” countered their father and chieftain.
“If more come, we’ll kill them and keep killing them until their need for survival triumphs their curiosity,” said Asteroth, placing his foot on a nearby corpse for emphasis.
The Chieftain sighed. “Very well, do as you please. We will start gathering the human corpses for the feast tonight. It seems we won’t soon have a shortage of meat.”
Asteroth turned to the last surviving member of the Black Griffins. “Go, human, and tell all those of your kind that any who come here will meet the same fate as your comrades.”
“I—I can leave?” asked James, his eyes darting to the dispersing beastmen.
“Yes, leave our land.”
James didn’t need more incentive than that and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Several beastmen laughed and indulged in a few insults as they witnessed the disgraced human flee the battlefield.
Asteroth turned to his brother. “He called me the Leader of the Living, do you know what he meant?”
“No, sorry. I’m just as confused as you.”
“I have so many questions,” he said frustrated.
“And you’ll have the answers,” said G’nar, giving him a light punch to the chest. “But first, there is the feast to look forward to. When was the last time we had human?”
“I think it was that group of poachers that was caught in the forest. What was that? Ten years ago?”
“Yes, now I remember, you made the comment that they tasted like pork,” laughed G’nar.
“Well they did. Let’s start gathering all the human weapons for the smiths. With all this metal, I might be able to convince them to make me a proper axe,” said Asteroth as he showed his foster brother the chipped and cracked weapon in his right hand.
“That axe should be commended for surviving your abuse,” said his brother with a smile before staring out over the field of corpses. “It was a glorious battle.”
“Yes, it was.”
DRUMS AND BONFIRES filled the night as the feast reached its peak. Children laughed and played as the women shared stories among themselves while the men enjoyed a Chak Ha tournament.
G’nar passed his brother a mug of radoes. A drink made from the roots of a local herb with anaesthetic properties. “To the fallen.”
“To the fallen,” echoed Asteroth before draining the mug.
“They died well, Asteroth. And you avenged their deaths.”
“Yes, I know. But that doesn’t make the loss their families feel any less painful.”
“Father is right, you are sometimes kind to a fault.”
He smiled ruefully. “Perhaps.”
“Come. Father said he’ll speak with you now.”
The two brothers slipped away to the Strong Tent, the celebrating crowd non-the-wiser.
A congregation of shang’gomagarr greeted them as they entered and took their seats by the fire.
The Chieftain took a long pull on his pipe, blowing out a big cloud of smoke. “Asteroth, there is much to tell you. Some of it will be hard to believe, but I ask you listen to me patiently.”
He only nodded as he felt his heart starting to race.
“When we first found your egg, we were unsure as to what it was. Many thought it may be a wywern egg, but I had seen a nest in my youth and knew it was something different. And when you hatched, we knew we had stumbled upon something unique. Now for you to understand the significance of your name, I have to first tell you of an ancient prophecy, so ancient in fact that we believed it a myth.”
Asteroth raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
“However, to understand the prophecy, you first need to understand what happened that led to it. There was once a war between the higher and lower gods and the dark gods. Now as you know, a god’s power increases as his or her worshippers increase, hence they are dependent on their worshippers to grow more powerful. But there was one exception: the Black god. He was called thus because, like an empty black void, he had no name, no function, and consequently no basis of strength. He just was. He was the only one among them all who had no worshippers, which meant he had no reason for being.
“Ages went by as the Black god sought a place amongst his celestial kin but found none. Then one day, Junakina, the old dark god of insult and deceit, sent him into a mad frenzy by mocking his unneeded existence. The Black god lunged at Junakina in pure rage and, to her surprise, easily defeated her. Now a god cannot be killed, only severely weakened. It was then that the Black god did something that not even Un’ivarus himself can do, he killed Junakina by consuming her very essence.
“This not only greatly increased his power, but also sent him into even further despair. You see, even though he absorbed her power, he did not gain her function. Instead, Junakina’s function went to one of the other dark gods, leaving him still without a purpose. Outraged by this, the Black god decided he would pave himself a road to a purpose with his celestial kins’ corpses. One after another, the dark gods fell to his overwhelming might, until they ultimately decided to serve him, for he could provide that which no one else could, more functions.
“He led them against the higher and lower gods in the first known Celestial War. Many gods perished at the hands of the Black god and even more were severely weakened. But not even the Black god could stand against the collective power of the higher and lower gods. When defeat seemed inevitable, the dark gods abandoned him, leaving him to face the angry celestial host alone.
“But the Black god was no fool. He knew he could not best them on his own, so he sought sanctuary from the most unexpected of places: the Ninth Hell. The gods did not dare follow, for Ashaat, Lord of all Evil, is a being of terrible power. And so, they were forced to give up the chase. Though, the Black god’s plotting was far from over. He had somehow gotten wind that one of the higher gods had fallen in love with a mortal woman, and made yet another unexpected move. When the gods finally did manage to capture him, it was obvious that something was horribly wrong.
“He was weak, far removed from the terror he had once been. After rigorous investigation, the gods discovered that he had impregnated a mortal woman and sealed almost all of his essence inside of the growing infant. So much so in fact, that he was dissipating into nothingness. The Celestial Council decided that they would kill the woman and thus the child. But she was no ordinary mortal, she was Ve’ndrious’s lover. Our beloved god of war begged the Council to spare her, revealing that the woman carried twins: one the Spawn of the Black god, the other his own son. The Council however had to be fair in all things. Sparing the woman and allowing the birth of her children would mean giving both infants equal chances at life.
“Un’ivarus, the equalizer and overseer of all things, decided that he would seal each newborn in a protective shell and hide them upon our world. In these shells, they would stay, unaffected by time, until the day the Black god faded from existence. Then they would be re
leased upon the world.”
“How did matters of the gods find our ears?” asked Asteroth dubiously.
The Chieftain smiled at his scepticism, for he was but one among many. “Un’ivarus had sent a revelation to all the faithful, revealing what had happened.”
“I don’t see how any of this affects me.”
“Perhaps telling you what happened next will shed some light. Ann’ak, god of time, feared what the Black god’s spawn would do to the mortal realm when he was finally released, so he sent out a prophecy of his own in which he revealed that Ve’ndrious’s offspring would possess the ability to speak and understand any mortal tongue. He stated that Ve’ndrious’s son will be called Asteroth, and that he will lead an army unlike any the world has every known; one that will fight for all living creatures against the Spawn of the Black god with the fate of the world in the balance.”
Asteroth looked at his hands as if for the first time. “I am the son of Ve’ndrious, the son of a god?”
“When I had named you, it was but the foolish hope of an old man. But now, there is no doubt. You understood that human even though you should not have been able to. You do not know this, but since your birth, we have been searching for any evidence of there ever being a race matching your description, but there has been none. Because you are unique, because you are of the divine.”
“I—I’m not sure how I should react. What must I do?” he asked, lost.
Everyone kneeled as his foster father said, “First, you will unite our tribes, like in ages past. Then bring others under your banner, for we must prepare, if you walk among us, so does the Spawn of the Black god.”
Chapter Two
Lone Traveller
TWO MOONS LIT the night sky. On any other night, the black-robed figure would not have even been visible, but during Lunarium when both the red and white moon are full, darkness tends to be less concealing. Not that anyone in the border town of Willow Way took notice. All were inside trying to get the night’s chill from their bones. Originally founded to house a large garrison, Willow Way had fallen into disrepair due to generations of peace with the Eranian Empire. It was deemed unnecessary and skeletonized, leaving only a few unlucky soldiers and those who refused to pull up roots.
Birth of a Mortal God Page 2
