The Godling Chronicles

by Brian D. Anderson

  Leanna groaned with exasperation. “Jayden is not Darshan. What’s more, the gods who oppose us are powerless to intervene.”

  “Don’t be a fool. They are far from powerless. And though Jayden may yet have to discover his power, that can change very quickly. He has the elf from across the Abyss to aid him, not to mention his sisters.”

  Leanna stood, tucking the sketchbook under her arm. “You are young for an elf, am I right? Less than two hundred years?”

  “I am of age,” Zarhari replied. “But yes. I am considered to be in late youth by my people.”

  “Then you were not around during the Great War.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Her dislike for the woman was increasing by the second.

  Leanna placed the book down on the table beside Zarhari and took a seat opposite. “Let me tell you a story,” she said. She drew a long breath before beginning, as if summoning the memory. “When I was a little girl, my mother took me on a journey to see the Oracle of Manisalia. Well, in truth, Mother was the one who wanted to see her. But I was permitted to go along. Unfortunately, an early winter prevented us from getting to our destination, and we sought shelter in the manor of a minor lord named Gromich. He was originally from Hazrah but had chosen to leave the turmoil of the city.” A distant smile eased its way up from the corners of her mouth. “A sweet man. He didn’t give a second thought to offering us aid. Both of his sons had gone to Angrääl to serve the Reborn King, so I think it was as much to do with loneliness as anything else. Regardless, we were grateful and did our best to help where we could.

  “Mother was an accomplished cook, and I, though young, was old enough to help keep things tidy. Not that Lord Gromich wanted me to work. He objected every time he caught me dusting and would instead take me away to his library to read me stories. He believed that a young lady should spend her time in learning, not fiddling around some old house that was already as clean as he cared for it to be.

  “I loved listening to him; he had this rich baritone that made each tale come alive. It was a special treat when the books had drawings. Though I’ve never had a talent for art myself, I do love it so. Lord Gromich noticed, of course, and showed me his collection of sketches and drawings. Most were from Hazrah – images of the people and mountains, things of that sort. But there was a special book I loved most of all. The skill was far superior, and the pictures of a fantastical nature. I spent hours just gazing at them. When the snows melted, Mother decided to forgo the trip to the Oracle and return home to Althetas. I wanted to stay. I’d enjoyed far more freedom to do as I pleased than I did back home, though I would not have admitted this to Mother. I never saw Lord Gromich again, but he did give me something to remember him by.”

  She nodded toward the book she had placed on the table. “It’s quite old. From the days of the Great War.”

  Zarhari rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Please tell me there is a point to this.”

  Leanna laughed. “You are impatient for an elf. Of course there is a point. And when you understand, your fears will be laid to rest. All is unfolding as it should.”

  “I have no fears. I am simply being cautious. We need Jayden to be returned to us. Should the Vrykol fail –”

  “It won’t matter a whit,” she said, cutting her short. “Jayden’s fate is sealed.”

  Zarhari cocked her head. “How can you know this?”

  “There is a favorite picture of mine,” she replied, nudging the book a little closer. “I’ve always been drawn to it. I think you’ll like it too.”

  “I do not care to look at pictures, thank you.”

  “Humor me.” Her smiled broadened. “There’s a page marker.”

  Zarhari rolled her eyes in resignation. “Very well.”

  Placing the book in her lap, she flicked through the pages until coming to a thin strip of red silk. The scene was of a battle: two massive armies clashing on a field of yellow grass. The banners they carried were unfamiliar. One depicted a bull inside a silver star, and the second, a red flame on a white background. In the very center of the sketch was a pair of warriors on horseback, both of them with swords held high and poised to strike the other down. The detail was truly magnificent, almost to the level of elf artisans. Whoever had drawn this was definitely a master.

  “It’s very nice,” said Zarhari. “However, I still do not see the point you are making.”

  “It depicts the Battle of Maiden Pass. Have you heard of it?”

  “I have indeed. It was what allowed the remains of our forces to escape annihilation at the end of the war. The humans were turned back at the cost of many elf lives.”

  “That is one version, yes. And possibly the correct one. This particular sketch was procured at great cost by Lord Gromich from the Temple of the Far Sky. Human hands created it, so it’s possible some of the details were altered. Nonetheless, the heart of the story is the same. As we tell it, there was a man who took pity on the elves and fought to save them when all others were bent on their total destruction. No one knows his name. It really doesn’t matter.”

  “None of this matters,” Zarhari responded, trying not to let her irritation bleed into her tone.

  Leanna pointed to the book. “Keep looking. You’ll see it eventually.”

  She returned her attention to the picture. Nothing. Just a battle. Then, as she was about to look away again, she noticed something curious. It was one of the two commanders. She held the book closer.

  “Turn the page,” said Leanna, spotting her reaction. “Then you will be sure.”

  Zarhari did as instructed. The next picture was of the same two men, this time on foot with swords clashing. Her eyes went wide. “That’s not possible,” she whispered. “A coincidence. Nothing more.”

  “You think so? There’s another marker. It has a title.”

  After staring at the picture for several more seconds, she turned the pages until she found a second piece of red silk. Her mouth opened, but her voice was completely gone.

  “I had the same reaction,” Leanna told her. “As you can see, there is no question.”

  Zarhari closed the book and looked up at Leanna. “Do you know what this means?”

  “Yes. It means we cannot fail. We are already victorious.”

  Holding the book tightly to her breast, Zarhari stood and crossed over to the window. “I am not so sure that is what it tells us.”

  “How could you still doubt?” Do you not believe your own eyes?”

  “I can believe what I saw well enough. All the same, we cannot know what it means.”

  Leanna let out a derisive laugh. “Perhaps you cannot. But I know what it means to me. It means Darshan is gone forever. We have won.”

  “I would not be so sure about that,” came a voice from the doorway.

  Both women glanced across to see the figure of an elf woman standing there. Clad in black and with a long knife in her right hand, she moved toward them with deadly intent in her eyes.

  “Sayia!” gasped Zarhari.

  “You were expecting someone else?” she mocked. “The Vrykol, perhaps? Or the men you sent to slaughter the innocents at the temple?”

  “They were not innocent,” Leanna snapped. “They earned their fate.”

  Sayia switched her attention to glare at the human. “I think I do not care to hear your voice any longer.”

  Her movements became nothing but a blur as she spanned the gap separating them and let fly her blade; the steel sliced across the tender flesh of Leanna’s exposed throat in one clean strike. The woman’s eyes shot wide. With fresh blood spurting in time with her every heartbeat, she clutched desperately at the fatal wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow. Inevitably, it was over quickly. After gurgling out her final breath, she slumped back in the chair.

  Zarhari stared with horrified eyes at the blood-soaked corpse. “Please. Stay your wrath. You do not understand what is happening.”

  Sayia sniffed. “I understand that you have
betrayed your own people. It matters not whether it was you or this pitiful wretch who sent those beasts to the temple. You did nothing to prevent it.”

  Still clinging to the book, Zarhari pressed her back to the window. “I am in the right. Can’t you see that? Darshan would have damned the world to darkness. He had to be stopped.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I did not come here to debate.”

  “So you’re nothing but an assassin? Is that what the elves have become?”

  Sayia sheathed her blade. “When I first came here from my homeland, I did not understand vengeance. I could not fathom the need for retribution. But at the time, I had never lost anyone I loved to betrayal. This has now changed. You and your kind changed it.”

  “If you think I would want elf blood spilled –”

  “You think elf lives are all that matter?” Sayia’s voice ripped through the air, the ground trembling as the flow penetrated every fiber of her body and spirit. “The men you sent…they…” Tears welled in her eyes. “There was a young boy I knew named Kaleb. Not a child of particular talent, perhaps, but he was blessed with an extraordinarily kind soul. Something I doubt you could ever understand. He gave willingly when he had barely anything for himself. And when he had nothing left, he still offered compassion and comfort to anyone who needed it. He was the first human to touch my heart. This young boy could see my loneliness. He saw how isolated I felt in this new place and found the words to give me strength. For him, it was nothing. A simple part of his nature. His parents had died, so he too knew what it meant to be alone.”

  By now, her tears were falling freely. “I planned to take him to my home so he could see the splendor of my land. I wanted to show him that he need never be alone again. But he died before that could happen – a sword rammed through his gullet. Killed by the men you sent to the temple. He died alone and afraid; the only voices he could hear were the terrified screams of his friends. Yes. I well understand the meaning of vengeance now. You taught it to me.”

  Zarhari’s eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape route. “I swear I had nothing to do with that,” she protested. “I would never order the death of children. Never!”

  “Maybe not. But you knew it would happen. And you did nothing to stop it.”

  “Please! Spare me. There are things you do not know. Things only I can tell you.”

  “Of that, I am sure. But even if I were inclined to spare you, the soldiers you sent are due to return soon. And as much as I would like to watch them die as well, I have not the time.”

  Zarhari held out the book. “Look at this. Please. You must look.”

  Sayia sneered. “You think to bargain with me?”

  A blast of air slammed into Zarhari, causing the book to tumble from her grasp. In retaliation, her arms shot out to send a series of tiny fireballs racing toward Sayia. These were easily deflected and sent harmlessly to the floor. Letting out a feral cry of fear and fury, she released another blast that had the floor beneath Sayia’s feet erupting. Yet again the assault failed. Leaping sharply to her left, Sayia used the flow of the air to hurl the resulting debris at her foe. Several large pieces of this thudded into Zarhari’s chest and legs, pummeling her to the floor.

  “You cannot match me,” Sayia told her.

  Pressing herself up on her hands, Zarhari glared spitefully back. “You think not?”

  Bells and laughter filled the room. Sayia could feel the flow of the spirit pressing in, trying to subdue her will.

  “Impressive,” she remarked. “In time you might have become truly powerful.”

  Terror splayed across Zarhari’s face on realizing that her attack was ineffective. The look was still there when another blast of air lifted her to her feet and slammed her flat against the far wall. Sayia walked casually toward her, stopping a few feet away.

  “You have lost,” Zarhari spat at her. “Whatever you do to me, know that you have lost.”

  The bells and laughter returned, this time at the beckoning of Sayia. “That may be true,” she admitted. “But you will never be able to relish my defeat.”

  The flow of the spirit descended upon Zarhari. At first it was like a gentle rain; then its power increased. Though the blast of air was no longer holding her, she could not move. The flow of the spirit had saturated her completely, crumbling her will and laying her mind bare. She opened her mouth to scream, but could manage only a soft whimper.

  Sayia stepped in close to meet her eyes. “No. You will not be aware of my defeat, should it happen. You will not be aware of anything. I leave you hollow. A spirit trapped in flesh.”

  She watched impassively as the flow twisted and snaked its way deep inside her enemy, severing all ties to the living world. She knew that Kaleb would not have wanted it this way. His soul was too gentle; his heart too loving. For all that, she was certain her actions were just. And if they were not, then let the Creator be her judge.

  She glanced down at the book Zarhari had been holding. What could it contain that she had thought might be enough to buy her a reprieve? Picking it up, Sayia cast a final glance at the now vacant-eyed woman. Even though she knew she should be feeling at least a certain amount of guilt for what she had done, in reality there was nothing but righteous satisfaction. Zarhari would spend her remaining years as a tortured shell until age finally caught up with her. That, or until someone showed her mercy by ending her existence with steel.

  As she exited the room, she could hear the boots of the returning soldiers stomping their way closer. She could feel the Vrykol among them. The rage returned. Now, though, was not the time. She had never before faced a foe such as this creature, and could not risk any more than she already had. There was too much left to do. Jayden had to be instructed; that was vital. Though Maybell and Penelope were certainly able to serve this purpose equally well, they were needed in Sharpstone. Should their mother be killed because they were not there to protect her, there was no telling what such a catastrophe would do to Jayden. The wrath buried inside the boy might well be unleashed in a colossal fit of uncontrollable rage. That would spell disaster for everyone.

  Once outside the temple, she checked to see that the two guards she had incapacitated were not permanently injured. They had done nothing to warrant death. As it was, both were already starting to rouse.

  The fact that she felt no guilt...not a hint of it...continued to play on her mind. What did this say about her? Aaliyah would think her callous and cruel. Then again, Aaliyah had bonded with an elf of deep emotion and passion. This had changed her. She had always been a woman of conviction and sincerity, though never what would be considered soft-hearted.

  A long sigh slipped from Sayia’s mouth. Had she truly become hard and unfeeling?

  After thinking on this for a short time, it did not feel as though she had. Nonetheless, something inside had definitely changed. Or possibly been awakened? Seeing the tiny form of Kaleb curled in the corner, his life’s blood pooled on the floor around him, had stirred a rage that she had not known possible.

  And it was far from spent.

  Chapter Nine

  The salt air carried on the morning wind, forcing back the stench of the marsh. Jayden marched on, his boots caked with slimy mud and every inch of exposed flesh covered in bug bites that threatened to drive him mad with their incessant itching.

  Sayia had rejoined them the morning after her abrupt departure. In her arms she’d been carrying a large leather book that she packed away immediately. Since then, her attention once again had been focused almost entirely on him. There was a curiously stoic look in her eyes. She had gone seeking revenge. The question was, had she found it? It seemed odd that an elf from across the Abyss would do such a thing. Jayden had met several from there, and found them to be ill at ease with the passionate nature of the humans and elves from his own land. Vengeance unquestionably demanded a great deal of passion and anger.

  His mother had always discouraged acts of retribution, even when it was warranted. Ye
t she was not beyond handing out a little of her own on occasion. Not that it was ever anything overly severe. If a woman in the village were to pay his father too much ‘special attention,’ she might find herself tripped in the street and consequently covered in mud – all by accident, naturally. That was about the limit of things. Beyond this, he had never seen her be truly violent or spiteful to anyone. Spirited was what his father called her. All the same, knowing that she had fought in the war, Jayden could not help but wonder what she might have done back then. How many had she killed? Had she enjoyed it? And if so, did she now feel any regret or guilt?

  The marshes were behind them and the ground had become dry, though the large patches of yellow sand made walking no easier than before. Most of the others were looking bone weary from the trek, and the growling of empty stomachs had become a constant companion. Sayia assured them that there was hot stew and good wine waiting for them when they arrived. She had been in contact with her vessel, and the landing craft would be there to greet them.

  That she could communicate over distance by using the flow was nothing short of astonishing to Jayden.

  “Once you’ve learned more, you’ll be able to do the same,” she had told him.

  “How far can you be from your ship and still reach them?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t possess the talent of Aaliyah. But many miles, nonetheless.”

  This made him excited for their journey together to begin. The power he’d felt as the flow entered his body still lingered in his memory. It had given him a strength unlike anything he had thought possible. The potential was enormous. It would give him all the power he needed to protect those he loved. Was this, he wondered, why his father did the things he did? With all his vast power, maybe he felt responsible for keeping the entire world from harm? Of the possibilities Jayden could think of, this to his mind seemed to be the most likely explanation.

  Glancing to his left, he noticed Maybell gazing at him, her expression sorrowful. He moved over to walk beside her.

  “Are you all right?”