Birth of a Mortal God

by Armand Viljoen

  She decided to cast her worries aside and approached the tranquil man appreciating the beauty of the dell below. “I’ve done as you asked.”

  He smiled. “Thank you, my adorable assistant. Now, please wait for me outside, I’ll be out momentarily.”

  “Why should I wait outside?”

  Suddenly, she felt an unexplained pressure on her very being. It became hard to breathe and her knees shook under the weight of her body. It took only seconds for them to buckle, and she crashed to the ground. She stared up, and all she saw was Killmar’s golden gaze glaring down at her.

  The world seemed to darken a little as his eyes gained a savage glow. “Do not question me. You are only still upon this world because of a whim. I do not seek to explain myself each time I make a decision. Now leave.”

  The pressure stopped, and she felt strength return to her body. She stood and hurried out without a word, fear cautioning her against any inquiry about what had just happened. After a few minutes, he strolled out of the cave and indicated she should follow. Curious about the furs, but too scared to broach the subject, she decided to follow silently. After all, she now had all the time in the world.

  Chapter Three

  Preparations

  “WE NEED MORE time. Between breaking down the village, securing our livestock, and warding off the humans, our forces are spread a bit too thin.”

  “Yes, it seems Father was right. We underestimated their insatiable curiosity. The more of them we kill, the more curious they get. I swear their entire race is mad,” said Asteroth as he sat down on the dark linwon throne.

  He had assumed the role of chieftain without much difficulty or protest from the tribe, but he was from time to time struck by the absurdity of it all.

  “Father was right, but I doubt we could have changed this outcome. Had we killed that human, they would have been curious about what happened to their army. This was unavoidable,” said G’nar as he pulled a chair to the fire.

  Asteroth noticed the informal act and smiled. Had he done so when their father was chieftain, he would have been buried to his neck in a hur’thlu mating ground for a day. “I don’t mind, but you shouldn’t let any of the tribe see you do that. I might end up being forced to sentence you to some kind of punishment.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I know. But had our roles been reversed, would you act any differently?”

  “I wouldn’t bother with the chair, I’d just sit on your throne.”

  The brothers’ laughter was cut short as their father entered the Strong Tent. He frowned at G’nar and seemed about to say something when he turned to Asteroth. “Another band of humans approaches our border.”

  “Father, I might bear the title of chieftain, but the Ur’akgarr still trust your judgement, and so do I. You don’t need to report matters such as this to me. Feel free to handle them as you see fit.”

  “Thank you, my son. I will do so from now on, but this is still a matter for the chieftain of our tribe. The band of humans I spoke of, I suspect there are Art users among them.”

  “I suppose it was only a matter of time. Why do you suspect Art users among them?”

  “B’gor, a shang’goma with one of the border patrols, reported that he felt the Art being used when he neared their group. I have also faced human Art users before. They tend to prefer a specific garb: a hooded dress. I believe it is called a robe. The report stated the band consisted of: twelve armed soldiers; seventy-five unarmed, robed individuals; and a meagrely stocked supply wagon.”

  “Is there any indication that they intend to trespass?”

  “They are lingering closer and closer to our border, so I’d say yes.”

  “This presents an opportunity; these are the first Art users to approach our border since we crushed their army. I’m not sure in what light the humans regard their Art users, but if nothing else, they should at least be wary of the power they possess. If it becomes known that such a large group of them has been slain by us, it might just invoke the fear we had hoped for when we decided to spare that human.”

  “I will assemble a suitable war party,” said his father.

  “No, we don’t have the men to spare. I will go,” said Asteroth as he stared into the fire.

  G’nar met his father’s gaze and saw the concern in them. “Brother, you are our chieftain, now. We can’t have you rushing off into battle alone. Especially not against Art users.”

  “A fundamental weakness of all who can use the Art is that they are vulnerable to sudden close-range attacks. I’ll strike them as swiftly as a wyvern. Once upon the ground, I’ll push my attack. They won’t have time to use the Art.”

  “There is still too much risk. If you were to fall, or worse, get captured . . .” G’nar pressed on.

  “I agree with G’nar; the risk far outweighs the reward.”

  “Your concerns and objections have been noted, but I am the Chieftain, and as such, it is my decision.”

  G’nar exchanged a worried glance with his father but stayed silent.

  “G’nar, you are in command while I deal with these humans. Father, see if the shang’gomagarr who aren’t on patrol can somehow use the Art to hasten the dismantling of the village,” said their chieftain as he rose from his throne.

  “Kar’ta, and be careful . . ., my son,” was all their father said before leaving.

  “I bet he wishes he was still chieftain right now; then he could just order you to stay.”

  “Sometimes, I wish he was still chieftain, too, but not today,” said Asteroth with a devious smile.

  “Just keep in mind that, should you get yourself killed, I’ll personally march into He’nensu’s hall and give you such a beating that the god of death himself will wince.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Now see to our people.”

  “Kar’ta.”

  ASTEROTH EASILY SPOTTED the odd band of humans. One thing B’gor had neglected to report was that all the hooded dresses were universally blue. All except one, which was bright red with golden patterns embroidered on its sleeves and edges. It was obvious its wearer was their leader by the way he gave commands to his fellows. Asteroth began his rapid decent when the man suddenly looked up, as if he had sensed his approach.

  The red-robed man extended his open palms towards him and mouthed a few words. Moments later, a ball of blue fire exploded from his hands. It sped the distance between them in seconds, striking him on his right wing as he attempted to evade it.

  “Shuk!” cursed Asteroth as he started to spin uncontrollably towards the ground. He attempted to stabilise himself, when another ball of flame hit him squarely in the stomach. Air exploded from his lungs, and his body went limp.

  He struck the ground hard, causing a slight tremor. Within moments, he was surrounded by hushed voices. He wanted to open his eyes, but feared he would then find himself in a very unsavoury position. He chose, rather, to do the cautious thing and play the part of a lifeless corpse.

  “You bunch of cowards can relax. It’s dead.”

  Asteroth felt someone lift his right wing. “Remarkable, it is not even burnt. I suppose I now understand why this creature brought about the rumour of Asteroth’s appearance. It is quite intimidating.”

  “Elric, is this really wise? We are not even sure if it’s dead. Maybe I should stab it a couple of times to make sure?” said a raspy voice, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

  “No, you might damage an organ that could be alchemically invaluable. It is dead. I have yet to find a creature that could survive getting hit by that spell once, let alone twice.”

  “What of the beastmen? If they were to find us here . . .” said another voice.

  He felt hands upon his face as his head was raised slightly. “Gods, just look at it. I’ve never even read of a species such as this. It must have awakened from some sort of prolonged hibernation. This creature could be the first of an entirely new race.”

  “You mean there could be more of them?” asked another nervo
usly.

  “You’ve prodded it enough; let’s get it on the wagon and get out of here,” said the raspy voice.

  “Oh, all right. I suppose the sooner we’re off, the sooner we’ll reach the Arcane University. Who knows what mysteries I’ll uncover with its dissection?”

  Asteroth took the last part of the sentence as his cue and leapt to his feet, seizing both of Elric’s arms. “Sorry, human, but I have no intention of becoming your prized specimen.”

  The magician paled as he stared into the resurrected creature’s pitch-black eyes, he tried to say something, but all that came out was an inaudible whimper.

  In contrast, Asteroth responded with a roar that vibrated in the bones of every man present, before ripping the mage’s arms from his torso. The combined effect caused the crowd to scatter in every direction.

  The Chieftain of Tribe Ur’ak smirked at their cowardly behaviour, before retrieving the axe he had tied to his waist. It became immediately apparent that Elric had been the only adept Art user as a few of the blue robes tried to defend themselves. Some killed themselves with wild energies; others failed their incantations completely; a few produced results, but their inexperience in combat made their spells easy to avoid.

  Although female shang’gomagarr were not unheard of among the yog’murgarr, he was surprised at the number of women among the blue robes. He took no pleasure in slaying them, but the battlefield was no place for hesitation.

  “Please spare me,” begged the last blue robe as he advanced on her. She tried to flee upon seeing his determination but stumbled and fell like a newborn buck. “I mean you no harm, I swear.”

  He could not help but smile at the statement. “Really? You came here to kill and dissect me, but you mean me no harm?”

  The woman angrily pointed to the armless corpse. “We are only here because of Elric! He was to escort all us apprentices to the Arcane University in Erana for enrolment. But he was interested in the rumours about you, so we took this detour. None of us wanted to come here.”

  He lifted his axe. “I have no way to tell if you are speaking the truth or spitting out lies so I’ll spare your life.”

  “Wait! I can be very useful to you!”

  The descending blade stopped an inch from her neck. “How?”

  “I’m very gifted in the healing magic. I don’t know much about beastmen magic, but surely your magicians would benefit from my knowledge.”

  “Very well. I’ll spare you. But know, human, that our shang’gomagarr will quickly determine if you do, indeed, possess the skills you claim to have. And if you have lied to me, your death will not be quick. Now, stay here while I crush the last of your companions,” he said as he lowered his axe.

  Only the twelve armed men remained. They had taken the time during which he was killing the blue robes to regroup. Two had bows and were now trying to shoot him down as he glided towards them. He easily avoided the arrows and swept down, leaving a pair of corpses as he regained altitude.

  But the others stood steadfast, waiting for the next attack. He made another sweep, killing another two, but instead of soaring away, he smashed into the ground. He turned, surprised, and saw six men holding onto his legs for dear life. They screamed to their bow-wielding fellows to fire, and he felt cold panic shoot through him as they loosed their arrows. Iron tips slammed into his chest, but instead of piercing skin and slipping into flesh, the arrows broke, as if they’d struck stone.

  Everyone stood stunned as Asteroth ran his hand over the sore flesh where the arrows had struck. Coming to his senses, before they could loose another volley, he hacked at those holding his legs.

  The archers rushed forward, ripping two of their comrades off him before his axe could get them.

  “Gods, what in the nine hells is it?” said one of the rescued men.

  The bowmen released two more arrows as he regained his footing, but he deflected them off his axe, not wishing to tempt fate. It was clear they were terrified, but they knew the futility of trying to flee. They wanted an honourable death, and as he charged, he decided he would grant them their wish.

  He stood over the last man who was clutching his stomach wound, desperate to keep his entrails inside. “You have all fought bravely. Know that none shall feast on your flesh. You will all be given a warrior’s funeral.”

  The man seemed relieved and closed his eyes as Asteroth brought down his axe.

  ELIZABETH WATCHED AS the red creature returned and said a prayer to Xenusê, begging the Matron of Mercy and Life to keep her safe.

  “You will come with me to my village. Cause any of my tribe harm, and I swear to you now, I’ll have you begging me to let you enter Henensu’s hall.”

  She nodded, and he picked her up like a girl would her doll.

  “What are you called?”

  “I am Elizabeth vi Descrinal, third daughter of Duke Jonathan vi Descrinal.”

  “Duke? This is an important title?”

  “Yes, it means I’m of noble birth.”

  She was surprised to find he understood the concept of nobility as he replied, “Why weren’t you on horseback then?”

  “My father sought favour with the Mages’ Guild, so he pledged me to them. Those who are initiated into the Mages’ Guild are stripped of all previous rank and standing, including privileged transportation.”

  The creature seemed disgusted by what he heard. “Do humans commonly treat their children as a commodity?”

  Fear kept any remarks of superiority well in check as she said, “That’s putting it a bit crudely, but I suppose we do.”

  “Children are a precious gift from the gods. Not some piece of property you barter and trade! Is there no limit to the depths your kind will sink to?”

  Her face flushed. “It is a matter of cultural differences. I’m sure the beastmen have customs we’d consider . . . strange.”

  “Oh, I am sure there is a lot you humans dislike about us.”

  She stared at the creature’s face. “Are you really Asteroth, Leader of the Living?”

  “It is just Asteroth. You humans love your titles so much that you even gave one to a figure in a prophecy. It must really hurt your pride that Vendrious didn’t think your kind worthy of raising his son. Now keep quite and hold on,” he said before they exploded into the air.

  G’NAR WATCHED HIS brother lightly touched down on the ground. “This should to be interesting.”

  Asteroth set the terrified woman down and walked over to his brother. “Ah, brother, I see the village is almost entirely disassembled. You seem to thrive in my absence.”

  “Don’t ah, brother me. What is that?” he asked, pointing to the golden-haired woman.

  “That’s a human female, G’nar.”

  “I can see that. Why the shuk is she here?”

  “She is a healer, our—”

  “You brought a human Art user here?! To our women and children!” he hissed.

  “Calm down, brother. She is harmless. I would not have brought her if I thought she could pose any threat.”

  Elizabeth tried to get Asteroth’s attention as beastmen slowly began to surround her, but he was completely focused on his conversation with an unusual-looking beastman. She recalled having once read what now seemed to be a very accurate book about their kind.

  In it, the author elaborately described their features. How smooth their olive skin was and the seemingly endless variations of khaki stripes that adorned them. He went on to reveal that, contrary to popular believe, there was indeed a difference in appearance between the male and female.

  The males were muscular, possessed large prominent noses, and, of course, had the two notorious tusk-like teeth protruding from their bottom jaws, which ranged commonly between one to three inches long. Where as the females were less muscular, feminine even, with smaller noses than their counterparts, and possessed no tusks. The book had fallen into obscurity because it had been ruthlessly criticised as the author had no physical evidence to substantiate his outl
andish claims.

  Elizabeth wished she could trade places with one of those critics; then they’d have their proof. But what burned like fire in her mind was a simple annotation she had read at the bottom of one of the book’s pages, “Should you ever encounter an infant or female by chance, distance yourself from it immediately. The males enter a savage frenzy when outsiders come near their females or young.”

  Her heart drummed in her ears as an infant female moved from behind her mother’s leg and started towards her. She heard the beastmen speaking amongst themselves when the infant started prodding her leg. Despite her efforts, her knees began to quake when a large male, draped in a black bear pelt, started towards her. She closed her eyes and again begged Xenusê to intervene.

  “What are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes and saw Asteroth had returned with the unusual-looking beastman by his side. “I—”

  The infant ran over to the enormous crimson being, and he picked her up, placing her on his left shoulder. She whispered into his ear and he laughed. “She says you look funny with your pig skin, sunshine hair, and sky clothes.”

  Elizabeth smiled at the strangely childlike remark. “What’s her name?”

  “I’ani.”

  She searched her pockets and produced a piece of candy. “May I give her this?”

  He regarded it with suspicion. “Although we do eat some plants, we prefer meat. What you humans may consider a delicacy, could be poisonous to us.”

  Elizabeth returned the candy to her pocket before producing a small brown bundle. “What about this?”

  “And that is?”

  She unfolded the cloth. “It’s called latar. The Harasa desert men make it. It is essentially dried meat with spices. It stays edible for months, thus making it ideal for travelling.”