Birth of a Mortal God

by Armand Viljoen

  “It seems you examined me very thoroughly in that cave,” she said dryly.

  He smirked. “I had to make sure you were uninjured.”

  “I’m sorry I deceived you.”

  “No need to apologise; there was no deception. You have been earnest in all things you’ve said and done since I scolded you in that cave,” he said warmly.

  “I—”

  “Didn’t plan on being sold as a slave?” he finished.

  She stopped and looked into the still lush greenery, despite the first assaults of winter, attempting to will her tears back home.

  “Are you all right?” he asked seemingly surprised.

  “I am of noble birth. I should stop weeping like—”

  “A common barmaid?” he supplied with the same look upon his face that had disarmed her more often than she’d like to admit. It made her feel silly and seemed to mock the world of pomp and procedure.

  He stroked her cheek as if he spoke to a child. “You are but human, a mortal with a fleeting life. Kings, queens, bakers, farmers; all are judged equally in Henensu’s White Hall. You have as much right to weep and bawl as any fishwife or servant girl. You are but mortal.”

  She felt her defences crumble and buried her face in his shoulder. For the first time, she truly wept for her loss, the loss of her brothers, father, mother, uncles and aunts; she wept for the loss of her homeland and those who had fallen heroically defending it. Lastly, she wept for her loss of innocence, taken from her by rough pitiless hands.

  Killmar stood holding her and felt his mind wander. He had told her to mourn her loss and understood the importance of it. And to his surprise, he was growing fond of her company, but still, her mourning took longer than he would have liked. As she continued to wet his shoulder with her tears, he wondered what kind of object Ryuuhan had to offer as payment. The Eranian Emperor had an uncanny ability to always make an offer he couldn’t refuse. It has been a long time, but he was excited.

  RYUUHAN, HUNDRED AND sixth Emperor of the Eranian Empire, Pillar of Light, and the Most Holy Tiasekai’s Chosen, sat alone in silence. Alone was a relative term when you were emperor, for an emperor was never truly alone. But he was practicing Mokuming, so his guards did him the courtesy of appearing to have left his side.

  He smiled. Despite their long relationship and years of training, Kaou still demanded his complete attention.

  “Why are you so worried, Ryuuhan?” Kaou asked as the connection was made.

  “Because there is ample cause for worry.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “And you do not worry at all.”

  “That is because it is beneath me.”

  He laughed.

  “It is also beneath you, you know. You’re the Emperor of the Eranian Empire, few are your equal. Which is why I chose you,” said Kaou in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I called for him,” he said, being deliberately vague.

  “Who?”

  The Old Emperor stayed silent.

  “Ryuuhan?”

  “It was necessary.”

  Then came the unavoidable rage. “Damn you! You called for Killmar, didn’t you?”

  “It will save the most lives.”

  “You should not trust him. He is not like . . . He is dangerous, Ryuuhan. More dangerous then you can possibly imagine.”

  “You have never liked him; even after he saved Hinamori.”

  “You are a fool to let gratitude cloud your judgement.”

  He knew that marked the end of their conversation and opened his eyes. Carefully, he lifted the katana from his lap with shaky hands and sheathed it. “Well, that went well.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Your Eminence, can you spare a moment?”

  “Is that you, Joneras?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “Enter.”

  The slender mage did, but he kept his head bowed as he approached the lone cushion. The room was devoid of any furniture, but a variety of exotic flowers were planted all along the circular wall, filling the room with an assortment of sweet fragrances.

  Everyone thought him unaware, but Ryuuhan knew what everyone called this room and the story that went with it. They told how he, the Emperor himself, had stormed into a common storage room and tossed all the contents outside in a fevered rage, before giving his servants manic instructions of where he wanted stones removed and flowers planted. Gods, was it really so strange that he wanted a single place in this damned palace to have some semblance of privacy to practice Mokuming? The name they picked was catchy though, the Mind Garden they christened it. He thought of making it the official name but then all the gossips would probably come running and beg for his forgiveness. A prospect he found as appealing as a bleeding anus, a condition he wished he wasn’t as familiar with as he was.

  “You found a safe place to hide it?” he asked as Joneras stopped and kneeled, touching his forehead to the floor.

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “And you are sure no one will find it?” he asked as he ran a hand through his red-streaked hair.

  “I am sure,” answered the mage without lifting his head.

  “I doubt I need to stress the consequences if it were to be stolen.”

  “None but I know where it is, and I have placed several glamours and wards to protect it. It is safe.”

  Ryuuhan placed Kaou back on his lap, his frail hands quaking as he stroked it. “The Most Holy Tiasekai refused you a reibai, and I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to grow up without that bond. But you are also a mage, the first in over three thousand years. Make no mistake, you are the pride of the ewien race. However do not let it go to your head, and never underestimate the Mages’ Guild.”

  “I—” started the young man before realising he should hold his tongue and let the Emperor finish.

  “I do not deny that your power is probably unmatched within their ranks, but they have significantly more experience in the mystical arts than you do. Although they would never openly risk my wrath, they most certainly would dedicate all their resources to its silent theft if they knew I had obtained it.”

  “I took that into account, Your Eminence. It will cost them dearly if they somehow gained such knowledge and tried to locate it. I won’t claim it is safe indefinitely, but I am confident it will be secure until he arrives,” answered Joneras, his head still firmly against the floor.

  “Good. I have another assignment for you.”

  “Name it, Your Eminence, and I shall see it done.”

  “This creature the humans of Zinox call Asteroth. . . It is said some of the beastmen follow him. If they also believe him the myth come to life, it is not incomprehensible that he might unite the tribes of the Viper Mountains. At which time, he would either be a dangerous enemy at our southern flank, or a valuable ally to the Empire. Go determine which of the two he will be.”

  “At once, Your Eminence,” said the grey-skinned man before disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

  “I never tire of seeing that,” said Ryuuhan before looking down at Kaou. “Let my scolding continue.”

  THE GREY-SKINNED MAN stopped at a seemingly unimpressive body of water. It was deep into the wilderness west of Erana, far removed from any civilization. He lightly placed his hand on the surface of the murky water and muttered a few words. The water began swirling, barely visible at first but spiralling more violently by the second. It took only a minute for a dark hole to form at its centre, and without a word, Joneras teleported just above it, leaving behind only a puff of purple smoke.

  He fell into the darkness, barely managing to land on his feet as he entered the chamber. It was just large enough for two men to stand side by side. He raised his hands to where he knew the black hole still loomed and uttered another phrase, allowing it to disappear and the whirlpool to dissipate.

  He was in utter darkness with limited air. He knew if he did the next incantation incorrectly, all the air would be sucked from
the room and he would die within minutes. Carefully, he placed his hands on the two opposite ends of the wall and spoke the words, “Sinrar villion ental ciin’rux troz’we nasiouo zanzibarion.”

  There was a rumble, and the wall in front of him phased out of existence, revealing a well-lit hall. He stepped into it; there were four doors on either side and one at the end. He took the first on his left into the small library, where a black robed figure sat in a large wooden chair in one of the corners, reading. His hands, the only thing visible, but due to their nature, it was more than enough to identify him.

  “Good news, I hope?” said the chair’s occupant in a gurgling voice.

  Joneras smiled. “The Emperor has asked me to evaluate Asteroth’s temperament and see if a possible alliance could be brokered.”

  “Ah, that is good news. If handled correctly, we may be able to move ahead of schedule,” said the occupant as he flipped a page with his tentacle-like fingers.

  “Do we have enough tools?”

  “Almost, it was a sound idea to use Kingdom slavers. The fools don’t share information amongst themselves, hence none of them knows of us or what happened to their peers upon delivery. One more shipment should give us the numbers we need.”

  “But they still need to be processed, which takes time.”

  He made a sound Joneras assumed was a grunt. “The new ones needn’t require extensive processing. They just need to be able to move as we command, I’ll break their minds if need be.”

  “Our Lord will be most pleased,” said Joneras with excitement before hurrying off.

  The chair’s occupant watched him leave. “Ah, to be young and passionate.” Then he turned back to his book.

  Chapter Five

  Unity

  “PULL FROM THE reserves and reinforce the right flank,” said Asteroth as he saw it wane.

  His distant approach to warfare was at first an issue for many yog’murgarr. A chieftain was supposed to be on the battlefield beside his warriors, not somewhere far removed and safe, observing the battle. But when they started to war against the other tribes, something inside him compelled him to do things this way. His first battle employing this new idea was uncomfortable, and his tribe made no effort to hide their opinion on it, but all that changed when they crushed Tribe Ka’rul in a matter of days.

  Fortunately, the first two tribes up the Path of the Viper, the Han’ga and Tol’hor, were absorbed into Tribe Ur’ak through negotiations. It just took a well-rehearsed speech about Ann’ak’s prophecy and a show of physical strength. When Asteroth dominated both tribes’ Chak Ha champions, they conceded that he was indeed the son of Ve’ndrious. Their additions gave the Ur’akgarr the superior numbers they needed to be recognised as a serious threat and the complete destruction of Tribe Ka’rul after their refusal to surrender showed the other tribes that he was a chieftain to be feared.

  He regretted that all the other tribes always first tried to defend themselves before surrendering. It cost valuable lives, and if not for the yog’murgarr perspective on a warrior’s death, it probably would have bred hatred among the absorbed tribes in his army. But the war was almost over. Tribe Mu’lor had been holding their line, but their defeat was inevitable. A good leader would have surrendered weeks ago, but Asteroth feared he might have another Tribe Ka’rul on his hands.

  “Chieftain, the gate,” said one of the nearby runners, ripping him from his reverie.

  The fighting seemed to have stopped, and someone was being dragged through the broken-down gate. By the red war paint, he could tell that G’nar was the one doing the dragging. The army cheered as the captive was moved through the lines, and he decided to meet his warleader halfway, gliding down the hill from where he had commanded the battle.

  The captive was thrown down at his feet as he landed. The man was a warrior by his build, and was clutching a severed head to his chest. By the braids and totems in its hair, Asteroth took it to be his chieftain’s.

  G’nar smiled. “They surrendered.”

  Asteroth grinned. “Before or after you removed their chieftain’s head?”

  “Oh, that wasn’t me,” said his brother pointing to the severed head.

  “Chief led us to death. I save tribe,” said the captive.

  “I do not know the customs among Mu’lorgarr, but among us Ur’akgarr, harming your chieftain is punishable by death.”

  “My life for tribe. Happy sacrifice,” replied the man with a smile.

  “What is your name?”

  “To’nul.”

  “Stand, To’nul.”

  The man did as he was told, clearly confused, having expected to be executed.

  “G’nar, give him your axe,” said Asteroth as he retrieved his own. His red painted warleader complied without question, replacing the severed head with his own blood-soaked axe. “To’nul of Tribe Mu’lor, you have murdered your own chieftain, a crime which can not be pardoned. However, in doing so, you have saved your tribe from annihilation. An act of a warrior. I give you the title of Nor’wak. You will be forever remembered as the saviour of Tribe Mu’lor. Now come and experience a warrior’s death.”

  To’nul smiled, his eyes brimming with tears before he bellowed a war cry and charged. Asteroth waited for the first strike, stepping forward and left as the axe came down. He kicked hard with his right leg, pivoting on his left foot, causing To’nul’s axe to barely miss him while he beheaded him from behind in a spinning motion. It was executed so fast that most did not understand what they had seen.

  G’nar admired his brother’s skill. Though the subjugated tribes denied it, there are many of them who doubted Asteroth’s heritage. But it was displays such as this that were turning more and more of them into true believers.

  “Give all the warriors burials and make sure all the Mu’lorgarr know of Nor’wak To’nul’s sacrifice.” G’nar affirmed the order before Asteroth bellowed, “My brothers, we have won!” The statement was met with a roar of pride and happiness.

  “I’ll signal the women and children to come. Everyone will go about their usual tasks of breaking down the village. Gods know we’ve done it enough times to be experts,” said G’nar as he picked up his axe.

  “Only one more to go, brother. Soon we will be united.”

  His brother’s smile faded. “The next is Tribe U’nor.”

  Asteroth understood his concern. Tribe U’nor was legendary among the yog’murgarr. It was said that during the Time of Proving, they sent fifty warriors to each tribe, each group of U’norgarr killed so many of the opposing warriors that all the tribes admitted defeat within a week. They then isolated themselves on the top of the Viper Valley, killing any who dared come near their fortifications. They were also the only yog’murgarr who knew how to work with Black Stone, building their village from the very bosom of the Viper Mountains.

  “I have an idea on how to handle them.”

  “I know that look. I’m not going to like this idea, am I?”

  Asteroth smirked. “Probably not.”

  “All right, let me hear this plan.”

  “Well, I was thinking of flying into their village and being impressive.”

  “Fly into their village and be impressive. That’s your plan?” he said before running his hand over his face.

  “Well, the stories all say they respect strength. We are now more than fifty-thousand strong. Perhaps I can convince them to join us.”

  “And if they don’t feel very hospitable? Those same stories speak of the horrible things they do to those who come near their black walls, never mind fly into their village. You think they’ll just let you go? Like you said, our army is now more than fifty-thousand strong; we don’t need to convince them of anything.”

  Asteroth shook his head. “Not only do they have the higher ground, they also have black stone walls. My little trick of tossing a rock at them won’t be nearly as effective. We could take their village, but it will cost us dearly. I’d rather risk my life and save thousands of oth
ers. Remember the Spawn of the Black god is out there somewhere gathering his forces. We can’t lose too many of our men.”

  “I don’t like it. If we lose you, the tribes will scatter, or worse, there’ll be a second Time of Proving. Asteroth, the tribes have not been united for hundreds of years,” he said, indicating those around for emphasis.

  “I know. I sat next to you during Father’s lectures,” Asteroth answered dryly.

  “Then you know what this means, for us as a people. We can’t lose you.”

  “I’ll be cautious. If things seem to go wrong, I’ll be in the air before they even realise I have wings.”

  “When will you leave?”

  “We first need to wait for the women and children, then consolidate ourselves. We need to make Tribe Mu’lor feel welcome.”

  “Feast?” he asked absently scratching his right tusk.

  Asteroth smiled. “Feast.”

  THE DARK SILHOUETTE continued to grow as the wind currents carried him forward. He was still a fair distance off, but it was already enormous. It astonished him that yog’murgarr built such a structure and reminded him of the tales the shang’gomagarr would tell the children of dor’gungarr during feasts. A frail people who once constructed structures and mechanisms that could rival even the most powerful shang’gomagarr. Asteroth had often wondered why his people possessed so much knowledge of a long dead people and made a mental note to ask his father just that when all this was done.

  He quickly increased his altitude as he neared the wall to avoid detection, hoping he would be disregarded as a roaming wyvern by any lookout who suddenly felt the urge to look up. Beyond the black wall, he saw houses, roads, fountains, and many other wonders. All were exactly as they had been described to him as a child. It was as if he had blundered right into one of his father’s stories. All that was needed was a lithe frail people. But the fabled dor’gungarr were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the streets were crowded by large olive figures wearing human-like clothes.

  Asteroth wondered if theses were really the feared U’norgarr; the yog’murgarr warriors who stood above all others. He scoured the city for an appropriate place to make his appearance and found a structure much larger than the others. It was circular, and thousands of U’norgarr were in attendance within it. There was a large, open area in the middle, which he assumed was wherefrom the chieftain addressed his tribe.