The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  “No, that took place five or more years before you were born. Nearly a decade ago now.”

  “What’s a decade?” Curly blond hair all a mess, his eyes barely blink, and he is deep in thought.

  “Ten years, son.” I hug Alessandeir, intent on him going to sleep, and I pull his blankets up to his chin. “A decade is ten years.”

  “So are you friends with Queen Shinayne?”

  My four year old boy, I have kept him so isolated here, the word friends seems an odd word to come from his lips. I wonder at times if I am raising him rightly.

  “Sort of, perhaps. We have met and we know of each other.” I smile, recalling my first meeting with the beautiful elves of Tintasarn. “Yes, we are friends to some degree, you could say that.”

  “So can I learn to fight like her, with all those swords and so fast like that? And like Lavress and Kendari?” My son smiles a bright grin as his dimples show.

  “I am not that fast, but I can teach you the sword. Sticks first, steel when you are older, son.” I flick his nose with my finger and he giggles.

  “Will I be strong and big like Saberrak Agrannar when I am all growed up and up?”

  “I hope so son, not quite that big, but you will be strong and devoted to honesty and courage, I have no doubt.” My mind begins to wander, knowing in my youth I was not devoted to anything but power.

  “Can I grow horns and get tattooes on my face of them under my----“

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Awwww. Can I have a glowing blue hand like Sir James and throw lightning like Gwenne?” Alessandeir makes a pouty face, a face that makes me smile.

  “I can teach you those things, some of them anyway, when you are older.” I think of my wine cellar, the passage through it, and all that I have in secret, from thousands of years ago.

  “It is time to sleep son, under the blankets now.”

  “Can I learn magic, like you and Gwenneth Lazlette do, dada?” Alessandeir grunts and sighs as he begins to fall asleep.

  “Yes son, in time. I will teach---” I close my eyes and pray that he will not make my mistakes.

  “No, I want to learn from Gwenneth, can I dada?” He rubs his eyes and looks to mine.

  “We shall see, son. Perhaps.”

  “Dada, I think I want to be like Zen the most.” He yawns again.

  “Why?” My eyebrows raise, curious as to his young rationale.

  “He is the king, his God is always with him, and he does not kiss girls like James does. If I can’t have horns, I want a beard then, like king Zen.” He rubs his chin, raises it up, and crosses his arms.

  “I am King Alessandeir Azarris, son of Sodom.”

  “Ha!” I laugh until my eyes water, thinking of my boy with a full beard.

  “But you are not a dwarf.”

  “So? His God lets him see his dead family, so then I can see mom, right?” His eyes bore holes through me, a serious question that I am not ready for.

  I pause, I have no response, my eyes water a bit. “Son, she is up there, just look to the sky, and close your eyes.”

  “I know dada.”

  “Allright then, it is time---”

  “Dada?”

  “Yes, son.” I sigh, even I am tiring now.

  “If you were not at the battle, how did you see all these things and know these stories?” He cuddles into his blankets, half his face covered as he lay on his side, head on the pillow. His right eye looks at me, while the other is hidden with faded blue wool.

  Another question I am not ready for, this one I can not answer honestly, either. My son is nearly four, too young to hear of the things that are now flashing in my mind. Two millennia of damnation and servitude have left many a scar, some on my flesh, and some much deeper. I see his eye drift shut, then mine follow as I sit next to his bed, and the world fades away.

  “Tell me more about Mooncrest, and Gwenne, dada.”

  “Tomorrow son, I promise, tomorrow.” My eyes drift back open and meet his.

  “I will tell you everything I know of Gwenneth Lazlette, the Staff of Imoch, and the Tower of Carados and…”

  He is asleep again, in his room, under the moons. I sleep next to him, guarding him carefully in the night, and watching his every little breath. He is my reason to live, to carry on in a mortal life, and he is my most valued treasure. All that has been good, pure, and of value in me, is now in my son.

  I tell him stories, true tales of the Gods above and their heroes here on the ground. I have no history of honor, of chivalry, or of selfless sacrifice to pass on to him. Those experiences never graced me, in all my years. But, I know of others, far and near that I have met, and I hope he would learn from them, as I have. The hardest and most humbling thing to admit as a father, is that I hope my son will not turn out to be like me.

  I get up, turn to the oil lamp by the window, and blow it out. Then the candle, the one Alessandeir insists upon every night, for his mother. I close the door and lay back down with him, and hold him close.

  “Good night son, sweet dreams.” I whisper as my eyes tear, just a bit.

  “Good night dada, I love you.” His little hand curls in mine, and I feel again the reason to live.

  “Thank you for all the stories.”

  “You are welcome, son.”

  Alessandeir falls asleep in my arms, a smile upon his face, surely dreaming of Mooncrest and the tales to come. My eyes wander to the window, to the little lights flickering and listening in under the moons. That moment of peace and tranquility, I feel it, and I smile. A little whisper I hear, just before sleep takes me.

  “There are more, right dada?”

  “Many more son, many more stories, yes indeed.”

  “Can I hear one more, just one? Please?”

  “It is late…”

  “Just one, dada, I cannot sleep.”

  “Why not? Too much adventure going on in that mind of yours?” I smile and fake a yawn, hoping to get him to produce a real one. No such luck. Yet, as if sleep itself were sneaking around the very keep, we whisper still to one another.

  “No, a question. It won’t let me fall asleep.” Alessandeir rolls his eyes as if reading something up in his very head.

  “And what question is that, son?”

  “The dust was the angels of the dwarves that died. The deed in the box is to show them all who is the real and true King of Kakisteele.” My son taps his finger to his lips, pondering and choosing his words with care.

  “Yes, but I fail to see a question here.”

  “The key, the one in the rusty iron box, what was it for?”

  “As Mudren Sheldathain told Azenairk Thalanaxe son, it was for the latrine.” I smile wide, but in those blue eyes, I can tell he will not be fooled.

  “Dada…”

  “Yes, son?”

  “No one would save a key for two thousand years just to make poo and pee, that’s just silly.” Alessandeir giggles. “I am only four, but even I know that.”

  I laugh, my hand covers my mouth to try and hide it, but it is no use. For moments untold, we giggle and laugh together, under the covers, long into the night.

  “Very well, one more story…”

  The Exodus Sagas Quartet

  Final Chapter

  Throneroom

  Deep Kakisteele Mines

  Azenairk marched at a quick step, his eyes alert in the tunnels of Kakisteele, hoping they were not mobbed. It was not an army of the dead, demons of old, nor an enemy force that he feared. It was the people. Zen needed respite from housing, touring, meeting, greeting, and retelling tales that the masses had begged for. Since the battle, it had not stopped. Zen needed to breath.

  The first few days were somber with burials, prayers, and sorrow had filled the sunlit hours and warm nights. The next week had been nothing short of demanding. Deciding where who shall live, who gets what, and all the municipal duties of a sudden reborn realm had taxed Zen and his friends to their limits. He needed to talk with them, al
one, in private.

  His boots turned past the massive stairs to the sandstone plateau overlooking the white stone forges. Zen stopped and looked back.

  “All the way down?” Shinayne met his gaze, spoke low, and hoped this was far enough. Zen nodded to her, and she sighed.

  “He continues?” James looked to Shinayne as she turned to them. Her eyes rolled upward and then she turned back to continue the descent.

  “Further?” Gwenneth asked James, their hands held tight in the cool air of the underground.

  “Seems that way.”

  “He wants solitude, I cannot disagree.” Saberrak huffed, recalling the battle with Arabashiel that took place just ahead.

  “How far does this go and by Alden is there an end?” Cristoff was sweating now, the walk was nothing short of challenging at his age. The full dress of armor was a mistake he had realized all too late.

  “Throne is just past the forges there, across another bridge, some more stairs, and a very long hallway. Should I carry you?” Saberrak grinned to Cristoff.

  “You can carry me when I am dead, minotaur, and not one moment before.” Cristoff laughed as he wiped his brow.

  “A few more walks like this should do it.” Saberrak chuckled and grinned.

  “Likely so.”

  Cristoff nodded ahead, catching Saberrak’s attention. “That has grown quickly.”

  The gray minotaur looked to James and Gwenne, hands held tight as they all took steps down curling sandstone stairs into the ring of forges.

  “And Rosana, how is that growing?” Saberrak grinned more.

  “Careful now, that is my queen you speak of.”

  “Was your queen before she left, when you were a Harlian lord. Refresh my memory, is that still---“

  “I shall remain with Harlian courtesy and chivalry, mind you, and not discuss matters of the heart without the lady present to hear it. She is a widow, of my cousin no less.” Cristoff nodded, then looked up to the forges above with the signs of many a different religion upon them. He made the sign of the feathered cross as he walked below Aldens forge, then looked to his horned friend.

  “All I needed to hear.” Saberrak put his fist over his chest and nodded to the symbol of Annar on another forge.

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. You and I know things, from very different ways of life, but one is the same.”

  “And that is?”

  “One day, either Caberra, Harlaheim, or the White Spider will come for her, or the child. Perhaps even you. So, you keep that Harlian honor and that sword, and keep it close. On that day, titles and papers mean nothing. I may be savage, but a fight will come, and only a man that cares for her will be able to defend her. And, we both know that man is you now. She has lost everything else.”

  “Well spoken, my friend.”

  “Just the truth.” Saberrak remembered the purple eyes in the dark, the fires, and the demons that were here. The stairs up to the hall of the throne brought memories of not long ago to his mind.

  “Is this where she was, the demon?” Cristoff looked around to the cracks in the walls, the floor, burn marks that appeared and smelled all too recent. White ash was scattered all over in front of a massive golden throne, golden braziers lit on each arm, and the Thalanaxe shield sitting where a king would be.

  “Yes, Arabashiel, a Gimmorian. Her curse was undone by those she condemned and cursed herself, with a bit of dwarven justice.” Saberrak motioned toward the forges, knowing what Zen had told him of the women and children that were but ash for thousands of years.

  “The tales of what you have done here, they will live on forever. You realize that your legend, the five of you, this story will be sung and written of in books and poetry, across all Agara.”

  “Nothing is forever, Harlian.” Saberrak looked around, then spotted the alcove to the left of the throne that shone with Gwenneth’s light and several newly lit candles and sconces. “This way.”

  Cristoff thought to retort with mention of Alden, heaven, and words of faith. He remained silent, for Saberrak seemed to have a view upon those things that was larger, simpler, and overshadowed his beliefs. A waving hand of Azenairk Thalanaxe beckoned him to the oval stone table in which his friends and allies now sat.

  “Took you two long enough.” Shinayne folded her hands and rest her chin upon them, sitting at the small sandstone table in a domed room with barely a mark or decoration. For Kakisteele in all of its grandeur, the alcove seemed very plain.

  “This place, the throne, Mooncrest and Kakisteele, I still cannot believe it.” James smiled, looking past his friends to the throne, one hand tight in Gwenneths’ hidden below the table.

  “It is indeed beyond the dreams that I had, thanks be to the five of you, that I followed.” Cristoff laid his pyramid pommeled blade on the table.

  The gesture brought out Loestiri, Carice, Elicras, James’ griffon hilted blade, Saberrak’s sapphire studded axe, then another greataxe, the emerald topped staff of Imoch, and lastly the golden hammeraxe of Mudren Sheldathain. All six present looked to one another, then to the weapons laid across the table, then all eyes were on Azenairk Thalanaxe.

  His voice was a raspy whisper, reminding himself of when his father and grandfather were in their last days. Though but sixty three years, young for a dwarf, Zen knew that no amount of divine healing would ever return his words to full. He was content that the scars on his neck and face, and a struggling voice, were all that he would carry for seeing this place freed.

  “I suppose ye’ wonder why I wanted this private, just us.”

  “No, some peace and quiet with all that is ongoing is quite refreshing, indeed.” Shinayne smiled.

  “Water, water would be refreshing.” Cristoff looked around, no water to be seen.

  “Let’s cut to it, your majesty.” Saberrak snarled with a grin.

  “Majesties, we have two here, horned one.” Shinayne winked to the minotaur.

  “Forgot. You too, sword.” Saberrak nodded to Loestiri.

  “So very amusing, minotaur.” Shinayne scowled with a piercing squint to her eyes. “I see you still---“

  “Ahemm.” James raised his eyebrows a bit, and nodded to Zen.

  “James, are you saving Saberrak from another lecture?” Gwenneth smiled, her hand still in his, hidden under the table.

  “Saving all of us, actually.” James smiled to her, their eyes meeting, words fading away.

  “So Zen has a deed and heirlooms and a family line that denotes passed posessions. But, an ancient sword, a relic of my people holds an enchantment that passes a kingdom in the same manner, and it is less in your eyes?” Shinayne took a more serious tone as she stared at Saberrak.

  “Here we are again.” Cristoff sighed, still looking for water.

  “I never said less, elf. I said it was sudden.” Saberrak growled.

  “So that makes it not as important, that it was sudden? I was just as surprised as you, minotaur. But, it happened, and I could use a bit of support on the matter, instead of comparisons.” Shinayne stood, hands on the table now.

  Saberrak stood as well. “I do not care if it is paper, a blade, or a pile of rubble that says you are a queen. I was just stating fact. It was sudden, unexpected, and my support is once and final. It never goes away. Whether here and now, ten years from then, or when hordes of demons are after us and I am carrying you blind---“

  “Do not use that against me, I remember charging into Devonmir after you, all too well! And I would never have let you go, I would have fought thousands and died one hundred times to see you free from that place!” Shinayne raised her voice now.

  “Me too!” Saberrak elevated his tone above hers.

  “Good!” Shinayne yelled it.

  “Right!” Saberrak roared.

  Slam!

  Zen pounded the hammer side of his weapon to the table, stared, and waited until Shinayne and Saberrak sat back down.

  “I asked for quiet, so we could go over a few things i
n private. Save yer’ arguing for another time, then.”

  “Amen.” Cristoff retorted fast.

  Zen waited another moment, to see if it was done. By the simmering eyes of Saberrak and the resigned look upon Shinayne’s face, he was able to proceed.

  “What we need, is to assign some o’ us to certain things, delegate some responsibility, and decide on a few ideals. If no, than we will have a mess upon us, rightly fast.” Zen rasped out the words as loud as best he could without inducing pain upon himself.

  “Agreed. There is much to be done.” Cristoff replied. “However, I must say that those decisions are yours, the five of you, I merely followed you here as God told me---“

  “Cristoff, ye’ saved us on Soujan Mountain before we even left west. You leaving done gathered many from yer’ city, brought hope, brought Shanador, Freemoore, and the elves and dwarves joined ye’. You are more than you like to humble yerself to be, and the only one ever ruled a city. I say ye’ sit with us, unless any disagree.” Zen looked to his four friends, seeing nothing but affirmation in their eyes.

  “Very well.” Cristoff resigned with a smile.

  “Equal then, no one above another, not here.” Zen added and no one spoke otherwise.

  “Good, that be done then. Now, food and shelter.”

  “The harvest is going to be small, miraculous, but small. We have grain, wheat, fruits, some vegetation, even a vineyard or two. But, it will not be enough to feed everyone. We will be months short, to say the least. With nearly ten thousand here, and more arriving, three quarters will starve by spring.” Shinayne spoke low, having scouted the areas south and east with her Loestal elves and Lavress over several days. “There are fields, north though, and east.”

  “Aye, and we will need to protect those fields and farms once we put people in them. Sure Armondeen will be looking to stretch borders fast.”

  “We have nearly no livestock nor fowl, yet there are fish in the small river that winds from that moat out west. But, not enough, not yet. North is the main concern, for the hills and fields there look appealing for crops, but that is closer to Vin Armon.” James added what he had gathered from the camps and the few that had fished the small waterways around the ruined city. “That is the border with Armondeen, half a day’s march past that outpost, and it needs a constant guard detail. I will scout it out, from east to west, and see how much land we will have to watch.”