Birth of a Mortal God

by Armand Viljoen

  “Now with that said, I am sure you have noticed I have also asked my brother G’nar, my father F’lar, and our healer E’lir to attend. I have done so because they all play crucial roles among our people. What is decided within this room will change the yog’murgarr, and it is up to us to make sure it is for the better and not for the worse.”

  U’nark lifted his hand. “If there are to be no more chieftains, what do we call you?”

  “Just Asteroth is fine.”

  There was a murmur and F’lar said, “We can’t allow that, my son. You now lead all the tri—I mean all of our people. You need a title that conveys respect; not just among our people, but among the other nations, as well.”

  There was a general mutter of agreement, and he sighed. “Very well. What would you prefer to call me?”

  “What about Tsa’rog?” Everyone turned to Elizabeth, and she added, “According to the tome we found, that is what a leader was called when the yog’murgarr were still an united people.

  Asteroth waited for any objection, then said, “It is settled then, my title will be Tsa’rog. Any other concerns?”

  Ra’lak raised his hand. “I’ve only heard rumours about the book E’lir mentioned. As I understand it, it is written in a foreign tongue and has yet to be fully deciphered?”

  “Yes, but the language is not too foreign; it is written in what appears to be ancient Yog’mur.”

  “None the less, would it not be faster if you just read it? You do know all languages after all,” pointed out the former chieftain.

  Asteroth shook his head. “I can only speak all languages; I can not read them. Otherwise I would not have had to suffer through my father’s lessons on how to read.” Ra’lak nodded, seemingly content with the answer, so Asteroth continued. “We are faced with somewhat of a problem. It seems that a human army is amassing with the singular purpose of killing every last one of our kind.”

  “It is hardly cause for concern,” said the former chieftain of Tribe Mu’lor. “We fortify our position and wait. We are high up the Viper Valley; not only will we have the higher ground, but they will be on unfamiliar terrain.”

  Asteroth sat back in the dark linwon throne, keeping his wings tightly folded against his back. “Normally, I’d agree, but I was told that this coming attack is going to be unlike anything we’ve seen before. It won’t just be a few men on foot or horseback, but tens of thousands of them with great war machines capable of hurling rocks from great distances. Most of you experienced firsthand what a few well-placed boulders could do; now imagine what would happen if they brought twenty or more of their war machines. Not to mention the city can’t hold all our people. If we wait, we endanger our women and children.”

  “What do you suggest, Tsa’rog?” asked another at the table.

  “We need to intercept them before they reach the Viper Mountains.”

  “An ambush?” asked G’nar.

  “Yes, the humans are unaware we know of their plan to invade. This gives us the advantage. They will muster their forces beyond the Great River they call the Line of Life, in an attempt to hide their intention. But once they have gathered their forces, they’ll have to cross it. They can’t use ships, for their army is too big. That leaves only their Bridge of Sorrows.

  We will wait until half their army has crossed and then attack. They’ll have to defend themselves with the river at their backs. If we push through them and take the bridge, it will serve as a choke point for their reinforcements, where two hundred or so warriors could easily keep them from relieving their comrades,” said Asteroth as he drew imaginary lines on the table.

  “What about their war machines? Surely, they will be among the last to cross the bridge. Will they not then just simply rain down a hail of stones on us?” asked U’nark.

  “No, they disassemble their war machines for easier transport, so it will take them a while to assemble them. But you raise a valid concern, which is why I would like to have a small, elite strike force hidden a few weeks in advance on the other side of the river. When the chaos from the ensuing battle is at its height, they are to burn all of the human army’s wagons.”

  “What about food? This strike force will be detected if they hunt or raid nearby villages,” noted another.

  “Thanks to E’lir, we have enough latar to supply them with what they would need to survive.”

  “How real is this threat?” asked one of the more sceptical attendees.

  “It is true that all the information regarding the humans came from a foreigner, an ambassador from the Eranian Empire. He gains nothing from lying, however, should his information be accurate, his people will have gained favour from ours. Simply put, we can’t afford to ignore it. If it all turns out to be a lie, we shall later pay this Eranian emperor a visit. For now, we must assume the threat is very real and prepare for it.”

  “What would you have us do, Tsa’rog?” came the question almost in unison.

  “Ga’nir, C’lek, Br’gug, E’rar, and S’gha; I want you to take all the women, regardless of their craft, and enlarge our cattle herds, hunting parties, and foragers. I was told it will take the humans two months to gather their army. That is how long you have to increase our latar production threefold. Assure the women that this is only a temporary measure to provide our warriors with the rations they’ll need,” he said to the former tribe chieftains of Ro’lek, Wok’sar, Bac’ra, Gar’we, and Arr’va in turn.

  “Kar’ta!” they answered as one.

  “J’nar, Ng’sah, I want the two of you to start fortifying the encampment beyond the wall, just in case the humans manage to outmanoeuvre us. You can take twenty thousand men to help you with this. Choose well for they will stay behind with you to protect our women and children.” The former Tol’hor and Han’ga chieftains confirmed the order.

  “Are so many really necessary, brother? That’s a third of our army,” said G’nar.

  There was an intake of breath from the discharged chieftains, and Asteroth knew he couldn’t ignore the breach in protocol, despite his personal feelings. “You dare question my orders?! You would rather leave our women and children unprotected?!”

  G’nar instantly recognised what was happening and quickly kneeled. “I beg your forgiveness, Tsa’rog.”

  “Were we not preparing for war, I’d have you buried up to your neck in a hur’thlu den! But as it happens, I have an important charge for you to complete. But perhaps you think yourself above the tasks of your Tsa’rog?” he said theatrically.

  “I am shamed. Please give me a chance to redeem myself, Tsa’rog,” pleaded his brother.

  “Very well. Due to our people’s lack of ranged weapons, I want you to take a few small groups of men and see if you can’t locate the yethlo. It has been thirty years since they moved up into the mountains, so take men who know how to climb. Now return to your seat!”

  G’nar did so very humbly, and F’lar smiled at their theatrics. I know them far too well, he thought to himself.

  Asteroth folded his hands in front of his beardless chin. “Father, you have informally led the shang’gomagarr up to now. I think it is time to change that. You are hereby given the title of Prime Shang’goma and have full authority over all shang’gomagarr, those present excluded.”

  A murmur spread among those present, for the shang’gomagarr now numbered near, if not more than three thousand. Their Tsa’rog had just made his foster father the second most powerful man among their people.

  “Tsa’rog, you honour me. I will do my utmost to live up to the faith you’ve placed in me,” he replied, touched by his son’s gesture.

  Asteroth only nodded and turned to Ra’lak. “Our plan to ambush the human army hinges on them not learning of our movements. Take those most skilled in woodlore, whether man or woman, and have them locate all the human spies from here to the Great River. Father, assign a shang’goma to each of our scouts to ensure the spies die when found.”

  They confirmed the order as he turned to Eliz
abeth. “E’lir, you won’t be going with us to war.” She was about to protest when he held up his hand. “I want you to work with my father to decipher the tome you found and help in your research.” She didn’t need to ask to which project he referred as he continued. “I intend to have all the shang’gomagarr march with us to face the human menace, but until then, they are all at your disposal.”

  She nodded but as all eyes lingered on her, she quickly added, “Kar’ta.”

  The big yog’mur shifted uneasily in his throne, clearly nervous about being the last to be addressed. “U’nark, I’m making you the representative of the Moulders.”

  “You honour me, Tsa’rog,” he said, humbled.

  Asteroth continued. “All projects are suspended until after the war. For now, I want every moulder crafting armour for our men; I want every man in the vanguard fully armoured. Don’t worry about weapons; we’ll use those we have.”

  “We shall not disappoint you, Tsa’rog.”

  “Good. There is another concern. Though not as immediate as the human threat, it is far more troubling. Does the prophecy have any mention as to my mother’s race? She might be long dead, but the Spawn of the Black god was also birthed from her. Would we not then be of similar appearance to some degree?”

  There was a long silence as everyone, save U’nark who seemed lost, considered this. The U’norgarr had lost their Art Archive, and as a result, all knowledge of any prophecies.

  F’lar looked to the other shang’gomagarr and saw they came to the same conclusion. “There is no mention of your mother’s race, Tsa’rog. She is only referred to as mortal. But even if there were, I doubt that there would be any resemblance. You were both born from inconceivable power; it is most likely that it influenced your very appearances, hence your magnificent form.”

  He didn’t like the answer, but wasting more time helped no one save his nemesis. “All right. Let us first deal with the enemy we are all familiar with. Get to your assigned tasks!”

  Their voices echoed in the large empty house. “Kar’ta!”

  ASTEROTH STOOD ON top of the wooden parapet. J’nar and Ng’sah had completed their task in half the time allotted to them. Not all that surprising, considering they had a work force of twenty thousand strong and had exchanged some of their men for a few of the more experienced craftswomen.

  They had done an impressive job; thick trees had been cut down and their boles stacked on top of each other, while ten-inch broad iron rods kept it all together. The parapet was made from sturdy oak planks and even had incremental small weapons caches stocked with throwing axes.

  The wall ran all along the skirts of the encampment, ending at the Black Wall itself. The gigantic two-hundred-foot structure dwarfed it, being more than ten times its size, but it would serve as a decent defence should the human army outmanoeuvre them. J’nar and Ng’sah were now busy clearing the area in front of the wall of any vegetation so the lookouts could have an unobstructed view for miles.

  G’nar ran up the steps behind him. “N’rak has found them.”

  Keeping his eyes on a group of men struggling to remove what was probably a hundred-year-old oak stump, he replied, “I was starting to wonder if they had died out.”

  “Well, if not for N’rak’s initiative, we all might have believed that. They live in the south.”

  Asteroth turned to his grinning brother. “You can’t mean . . .”

  “The Dale of Echoes,” he said, his grin broadening.

  “What?! How is that possible? The Dale has never allowed anyone to occupy it.”

  G’nar shrugged. “Who can say why they survive? It doesn’t change the fact that they are there.”

  Asteroth shook his head. “And how did N’rak end up looking for them in the Dale of Echoes? How did he even manage it?”

  “He was the leader of one of the groups I sent to search the southern part of the Viper Mountains. When they found nothing, he told his team to return while he climbed.”

  “You don’t mean?” he asked astonished.

  G’nar nodded. “Yes, right over it.”

  “Ve’ndrious’s blood! N’ekt must like him a great deal. Where is he now?”

  “He is a lucky bastard that’s for sure. He’s in his tent, enjoying I’ani’s kisses,” replied his brother as he leaned against the wall.

  Asteroth slapped his shoulder. “Then I better hurry before there are no more left for me to steal.”

  G’nar watched as his foster brother jumped from the twenty-foot wall and glided to the ground below. “Lazy bastard,” he said to himself.

  ASTEROTH SMILED AS he walked into the tent. He had taken to visiting the families of his nation seemingly at random as to show he had no favourites, but I’ani was secretly his favourite.

  She jumped down from her father’s lap at his arrival and ran into his leg, her own special way of commanding him to pick her up.

  He chuckled as he placed the little girl on his right shoulder and turned to face N’rak. “I hear you have found the yethlo.”

  The black bear pelt had an array of new marks from its adventure over the mountains, but N’rak was oddly unscathed. “Yes, Tsa’rog.”

  “A lesser warrior would be dead.”

  I’ani interrupted before he could respond. “Yes, but pa unstoppable.”

  N’rak only smiled at his daughter’s praise.

  Asteroth chuckled. “It would seem so, I’ani. How many did you see?”

  “Did not approach. From distance, sixty,” said the old warrior as he clearly concentrated to remember.

  Asteroth returned I’ani to the ground despite her objections. “Far more than the stories say were left when they relocated into the mountains.”

  N’rak nodded.

  “I best be on my way then,” he said as he peeled the girl off his leg and turned to leave.

  “N’ekt and Ve’ndrious watch you, Tsa’rog.”

  He smiled, sincerely hoping the former would help before there was need for the latter to intervene, then departed for the most dangerous place known to the yog’murgarr.

  ASTEROTH LOOKED DOWN at the Dale of Echoes. It was his first time seeing it in person, and just as rumours claimed, it was a completely isolated patch of land separated by the Viper Mountains on its northern and eastern fronts while the Draconian Sea blocked any passage from the west and south.

  It was said that no one had ever been able to successfully colonize the land. Many have tried, but all disappeared without exception. Some say that a terrible creature lives in the Dale, while others believe that it is the land itself that swallowed up the colonists. Regardless of how it happened, everyone knew that it did and gave it a wide berth.

  Until now, he thought grimly as he landed softly on the lush grass, his superstition getting the better of him.

  Despite the horror stories, the Dale of Echoes was a beautiful place. The trees grew large and fruitful; the grass had a spongy softness to it; and the wild life seemed plentiful. But a thick blanket of mist covered it, and he found himself wondering how N’rak had managed to spot the yethlo at all, when he could barely see a few feet in front of him.

  “So you have come,” said an oddly pleasant voice in the mist.

  He tried to determine the source but failed. “Reveal yourself. I’m not here to do harm; you have nothing to fear.”

  The voice laughed. “Fear? We fear few, and you are not amongst them, Asteroth.”

  “You know me?” he asked surprised.

  “We have been expecting you ever since we captured your yog’mur friend, what was his name . . . I believe N’rak, yes?”

  “Captured? Impossible, I spoke to him but a few moments ago.”

  “We don’t believe we said we held him captive. We released him once we retrieved the information we needed.”

  “Lies! N’rak would have told me if he had been captured.”

  The voice chortled with satisfaction. “He told you what he remembers, not what happened.”

  “Y
ou speak in riddles!” he snapped.

  “You should check your temper, young one. You are far from as indestructible as you believe. If you consider yourself the only one who possesses power, then you are a fool. Your counterpart would rip you apart with little effort.”

  Asteroth frowned. “Of whom do you speak?”

  “The one that bears similar flesh and blood, but not power or soul.”

  “Similar—You mean the Spawn of the Black god? You have met it?” he asked in almost a whisper.

  The voice sniggered. “Spawn of the Black god? We see that you still believe Univarus’s lies. Yes, then we suppose we did meet this Spawn of the Black god.”

  “What do you mean by lies?”

  “Are you sure you wish to know? You’ll not find yourself nearly as heroic once we are done.”

  He felt a stab of doubt and hesitated.

  “Well?” prodded the voice.

  He knew his destiny and what was at stake. This was no time for doubt. “Yes, tell me.”

  “Very well. We’ll tell you what he told us so long ago. We take it you know both Univarus’s Revelation and Annak’s Prophecy?”

  “I do,” he answered impatiently.

  “Before we begin, we wish you to swear an oath that you will never repeat what you hear from us this day. We did the same when he told us, and we only break our oath now because we believe you deserve to know the truth of your origin.”

  “And which god shall be the keeper of this oath?” asked Asteroth, irritated at the oversight.

  The voice was silent, and then said, “It is best we don’t involve the gods in this particular oath. Just your word will do.”

  He raised an eyebrow at the absurdity of making an oath without a Divine Keeper, but he kept his opinion to himself. “I swear.”

  “Then let us sit,” said the voice.

  Asteroth noticed a figure forming in the mist. Slowly, the yethlo became more apparent. It towered over him at a height of nearly sixteen feet, with two heads and auburn skin. It wore an oddly fashionable grey robe that covered most of its body, but slabs of muscle could be seen where it did not.