It smiled at his surprise, exposing gigantic teeth; not slightly pointed like that of a yog’mur, but blunt like a human.
“The stories about your people do not do you justice,” he said, embarrassed at his reaction.
“Tales rarely do,” said the left head.
He noticed the right head’s eyes were closed, as if sleeping, when they finally sat down.
Following his gaze, the yethlo said, “Don’t mind her, she’s not needed in peaceful conversation such as this.”
“She?” he asked, not being able to see a clear gender difference.
“We yethlo are both male and female, but our female counterparts are only awakened when we use magic. But enough of that, we have yet to introduce ourselves. We are known as Talvirnia, you can just call us Tal.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Tal.”
It grinned. “That is yet to be seen. But let us carry on. First of all, there never was a Black god. What you have to understand is that Univarus weaved together truth and lies in his so-called revelation. The so-called Black god is actually a misrepresentation of a god named Killmar. Now as Killmar told it, he—”
“What do you mean as Killmar told it?” interrupted Asteroth.
Tal scowled. “Now listen here, young one, we don’t want to be interrupted, we’ll explain everything, so you just be quiet and wait.”
Power radiated from the yethlo, and Asteroth found himself nodding like a scolded child.
“Now, where were we? Oh yes, Killmar said that there was once nothing living on this world. Then, something happened and the gods were born. Even they do not know what this event was. They found themselves alone on a lifeless world and began manipulating the matter around them, creating all that is over a span of uncountable years. They were beings of unfathomable power, so much so in fact that they themselves didn’t fully understand their capabilities.
“They kept creating, striving to make more beings such as themselves. But as their creations grew more intricate, the gods grew weaker. They didn’t understand why, and at first, it was a miniscule change, so they paid no mind to it, but by the time sentient beings walked upon this world, the gods had faded from the mortal realm.”
“Faded? Where did they go?” asked Asteroth, when he got a look that could only be described as disapproving.
“They entered the spiritual realm. That’s where they met Killmar. He told them that each time they had used their powers to manipulate matter in the mortal world, they had weakened their mortal vessels; that, unlike their creations, they were not mortal beings, but beings of quenru. Now, we do not blame you for your dim-witted expression, for even we did not know what this quenru was,” said Tal nonchalantly.
“Well, thank you,” replied Asteroth mordantly.
“From what I could understand from Killmar’s explanation, quenru is a kind of spiritual energy. It is within all beings, but it needs a vessel. When the vessel is destroyed, it fades into the spiritual realm. Spiritual beings use their quenru to alter the world around them, much like how we mortals manipulate natural energies to perform magic. In fact, it is quite exciting when you think of the applications—Oh, forgive us. We get distracted sometimes.”
“It’s fine. Please continue,” he said, anxious to know more.
“The gods soon discovered that little by little they were again starting to grow weaker. Having learned from their mistake in the mortal realm, they immediately sought Killmar’s counsel. He explained that spiritual beings needed to be worshiped, that the prayers of mortals would supplement their quenru, and that, if they did not gain worshipers, they would eventually fade into non-existence. Quite different from what the gods claim, yes?”
He only nodded.
“The gods could no longer enter the mortal realm now that their mortal vessels were destroyed and were thus unable to physically influence their creations. Luckily for them, most of us came to an awareness that there was something greater than ourselves, and the more we believed, the easier it was for the gods to communicate and influence us, allowing them to bless those who believed in them and perform miracles through them. It didn’t take long for fighting to break out in the spiritual realm, for if a god was weakened, he couldn’t influence his followers, making them vulnerable to be converted to another deity.
“This carried on for a while until they realised they were going to drive each other into extinction. So they changed the way mortals worshiped them, each taking on only a few functions in the mortal realm instead of trying to do too much. And so the gods we worship today were born.”
Asteroth was a bit dubious but kept silent.
If the yethlo was bothered by his scepticism, he didn’t show it. “All was well for a long time. The trouble came when a fight broke out between Killmar and Junakina, resulting in Junakina’s death and the revelation that Killmar possessed the ability to drain quenru from spiritual beings. Now as you might guess, the gods didn’t exactly like the idea that there was a being that could effectively kill them. It didn’t take long before they all rallied to imprison him.”
He stared at Talvirnia a long while. “This is all so . . .”
“Different from what you’ve been taught?” supplied the large being with a smile.
He hesitated. “Yes, please continue.”
“It is apparently true that Ashaat granted Killmar sanctuary, but we are afraid the tale of your conception is not,” said the yethlo almost sympathetically.
“Tell me.”
“During the chaos that followed Killmar’s prosecution, Vendrious made plans of his own. At that time, humans were nothing but scattered barbaric nomads, constantly pillaging and killing each other. They were the god of war’s favourite, especially one man, a ruthless killer who waged war simply for the sport of it. He was fanatically devout, so much so in fact that Vendrious was able to possess him for a brief while.
“During that period, Vendrious raped a woman and infused the child-to-be with his power. The plan being to create a disciple that would tip the balance, and have all mortals worship him, and him alone. Killmar discovered his plan and approached the woman in a dream. He told her what had transpired and informed her that she would bear twins.”
Asteroth held his head in his hands as Tal continued. “Killmar told the woman, your mother, that only one of her children would be tainted by Vendrious and asked if she would allow him to use the other as a vessel to be born into the mortal realm. He explained to her what was happening amongst the gods and that this was his only way to effectively escape his celestial kin, as well as stop Vendrious’s plot. She agreed under the condition that, once in the mortal realm, he would lead her people away from their savage ways. He agreed and sealed himself within the second child.
“When the gods learned of what he had done, they sent their most devout worshippers to kill your mother. However, Killmar’s power prevented her from being harmed, so they captured her instead. They performed rituals on her that allowed them to seal the both of you in separate magical prisons at the moment of your births; your imprisonment being punishment for Vendrious’s plotting.
“But mortal magic was far weaker than the gods expected. Despite the fact that the ritual had cost the worshippers their lives, the prisons were incomplete. As time passed, they began to wane, enabling you both to break free. The rest we are sure you can deduce.”
Asteroth sat like a lifeless object. No matter how outlandish this tale sounded, it resonated within him. He knew it was true.
“You all right, young one?” asked Tal sincerely.
It seemed to snap him from his reverie. “Yes . . . I’ll be fine. When did you meet him?”
“Who? Killmar?”
He nodded.
The yethlo stroked his left chin. “Let’s see, it was so long ago, five hun—No wait, it should be a little over a thousand years by now. My, how quickly time passes. Someone should really consider talking to Annak about it. Or perhaps the Old Man of Time likes it this way?”
“No, that can’t be. I am but eighteen years of age. How can his vessel be so ancient?”
“No, no, we remember correctly. It has definitely been more than a thousand years since he swam onto a beach not far from here. Ah, he was such an interesting character.”
“But how—” he persisted.
Talvirnia waved away the objection. “Do not presume to know what that man is capable of. We made that mistake when he first arrived here at the Dale, and he gave us quite a hiding. No, no, we do not believe there is another in Cortast that commands such monstrous power.”
“How is it then that you still live? And from what you have said, it would appear you’ve lived here for a long time. But I know that your kind only withdrew from the Viper Valley some thirty years ago. How do you explain this?”
“Ha, it seems you’ve got something between those ears of yours, after all! Well, we don’t blame you for your suspicion, but we are somewhat of a special case,” he grinned. “Our brethren did come here seeking sanctuary only thirty years past. It is for them that you travelled here, yes? You wish them to join your little campaign, are we right?”
“Yes, that is right. The humans will—”
The yethlo held up his right palm. “Stop right there. We do not need to hear your little oration. If it were up to us, we would send you back with our foot’s imprint on your arse. But we do not rule over our kin, so we’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll tell them about you, and those who wish to go join you can go of their own free will.”
Asteroth stood. “That is all I ask.”
Tal watched him soar through the sky. “We have broken our oath as you requested.”
“Why so sad? Soon you’ll be reunited with your brethren,” said a voice smugly.
Tal turned to the little grey-skinned man and their right head awoke, exposing pale eyes. “Not soon. Now!”
The young ewien pushed back his ashen hair. “Now, now, it would be best if you checked that temper.”
She went back to sleep, and he lowered his head in resignation. “What is it that you wish to accomplish by this, Joneras?”
The Emperor’s household magician sniggered. “You would never be able to comprehend the majesty of our plans.”
“That’s because the Harbingers of Obscurity are made up of fanatical lunatics,” Talvirnia retorted coldly.
“Silence, beast! What do you know of our sacred cause?! Were I a petty man, I’d have the lives of your kin for that insult. But—” he said completely calm. “—I will honour our agreement. After all, Asteroth will need the addition to his army.”
Talvirnia watched as dark purple smoke surrounded the magician before he vanished, his appalling laughter still lingering in the air.
Chapter Eight
Shadow Games
JESSICA SAT DUMBSTRUCK, swaying slightly from side to side as the ship sailed down river. She had expected Killmar’s past to be fantastical, but not a revelation that would shake the very core of her religion.
He regarded her a moment. “I am not done. I have only told you of my past. Do you still want to know what had happened at Larin?”
She only nodded dumbly.
“You remember the substance, quenru, I explained to you earlier?”
Again she only nodded.
“Whenever quenru is used in the mortal realm, it damages the vessel of the wielder. In their ignorance, the gods destroyed their vessels and ascended to the spiritual realm. But they were beings of quenru to begin with, where as those created by them are not. Mortals possess minuscule amounts of quenru and are generally not able to consciously use it. Instead, when they die, they ascend to the spiritual realm where their quenru is sculpted into a new form by their favoured god; after which they spend their second existence in said god’s or goddess’s realm,” he said lying back on the small bed located in the captain’s cabin.
“What if someone worships no god or goddess?” she asked, her curiosity overcoming her shock.
“It is rare, but in such cases when judged by Inkanak in the White Hall, they are sent to Ashaat where he remakes them.”
“They are sent to the Nine Hells?” she whispered as if the Lord of Evil were now listening in on their conversation.
He smiled at the typical mortal reaction. “It is less cruel a fate than you believe, but we digress. Despite the dangers of wielding quenru in the mortal realm, it has potent effects; it was used to create life here after all. Only by its use can one create an everlasting magical effect in the mortal realm.”
“You mean to say there is more to enchanting objects than people realise?” she summed up.
“Exactly,” he said, once again delighted by her incredible incisiveness. “Mortal magic manipulates the natural energies of this world into accomplishing a task, and once the task is completed, the energies dispense. In cases of enchantment, however, an attribute is added to an object. Take an incredibly keen edge, for example. Normally, the attribute’s effects would start to wane immediately, the duration until it’s completely dissipated depending on the enchanter’s skill.”
“Which explains why most enchantments need to be recharged,” she interjected as she pinned back her jet-black hair with the three silver hairpins she had bought in Larin; the small sapphires housed at their tips brought out the blue in her eyes.
He admired her beauty a moment then continued. “On occasion, an enchanter would unknowingly tap into his quenru, resulting in artefacts with magical attributes far more powerful than anything that could be created through conventional means. Moreover, the enchantment strength does not wane because the quenru taken from the caster prevents the magical energies from dissipating.”
“What happens when someone depletes all their quenru?” she asked, getting a sense where the discussion was heading.
“Well, nothing initially. You would go on living your life unhindered. It is only when you die that you’ll encounter your problem. You see, there has always been a flow of quenru upon this world. In their endeavour to create beings like themselves, the gods unknowingly made creatures reliant on the consumption of this flow to reproduce. Beings of substantially low quenru, such as most animals, are unable to maintain a spiritual form and relinquish their quenru to this flow, enabling previously mentioned creatures to reproduce. Normally, sentient mortals would not fall under this category.”
“But by lowering or depleting your quenru through enchanting you do,” finished Jessica. “So you lose your Second Life if your quenru is weakened. Isn’t there a way to replenish what you’ve lost?”
“You can gain additional quenru by training the body and mind, but other than that,” he shrugged. “Mortals are not meant to use quenru. You are supposed to hone it as best you can before death, thus increasing your standing when you reach the spiritual realm.”
“But spiritual beings need to be worshiped—” she started.
He moved a pillow to support his back as leaned against the wall of the cabin. “Once in a god’s or goddess’s realm, they supply you with what you need to survive.”
“I see. All right, I understand some of what happened at Larin. You used quenru to heal me which in turn weakened your vessel. But what was all that with the Shield of Yonil?” she said, moving her hand to where the dagger had struck her; the only betrayal of the emotions she hid.
He couldn’t help but miss the girl who gave him hugs in the nude. “Ironically, whether by accident or not, when a mortal uses quenru in an enchantment, it becomes something else entirely. I don’t fully understand the process, but it seems the combination of mortal magic with quenru somehow refines the quenru used. It becomes a thousand fold more powerful. Of course, due to the minute nature of mortal quenru, it does not even compare to the power wielded by spiritual beings. But it has provided me with a convenient resource.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I follow.”
He sighed. “You see, unlike the gods, I have never had a mortal form of my own. Instead, I had to seal myself insid
e a mortal child to enter this realm, which incidentally was not as simple as I make it sound. Once my vessel was born, I manipulated its growth to as close to physical perfection as it was capable of. But I was never meant for the mortal realm. My power immediately began devouring it. I don’t even need to use my quenru. My mortal vessel is being weakened simply because I am occupying it. In mortal terms, I have effectively been dying since the moment of my birth; which is true for all mortal beings I suppose,” he added ruefully.
“That’s why you only accept magical objects as payment,” she said softly to herself.
He gave a doleful sigh. “In the beginning, I devoured any and everything I could to keep the deterioration at bay. My discovery of refined quenru was by complete happenstance.”
Jessica silently stood up, walked over, and mounted him. She stared down at his amused face. “Why did you risk so much for me when your very existence is so fragile?”
He gave a slight chuckle before turning reflective. “Why, indeed? From the first moment I saw you in that inn, there was something about you that drew my attention. You are beautiful, but it was something else, something new; so I grew curious. But somewhere along the way, curiosity became fascination, and when you were dying in my arms . . . I realised fascination had become something else entirely,” he paused, as if unsure what to say next. “I do not regret saving you.”
She kissed him and felt his hands run over her tight-fitting, dark red leggings. She sat back up drawing his hands to the spot where he had healed her, before guiding them to the buttons. Slowly, he undid each button, letting the front of the snug top fall open, exposing her small but full breasts. He lightly caressed them, and she felt a quiver of pleasure run down her spine.
Despite his occupation, his hands were soft as they gently ran over her nipples. She leaned forward and kissed him again, frantically unbuttoning his tunic. He sat up as she pulled it off him, running his hands slowly up her back before kissing her neck. Lightly, he made little patterns on her neck with his tongue. There was a loving warmth as her breasts pushed against his exposed chest; she gently pushed him back just enough so they could kiss. It was long and deep, and they were both breathing heavily as she reached down and unlaced his trousers.
Birth of a Mortal God Page 16
