The Godling Chronicles

by Brian D. Anderson

  Tears fell. “Don’t you know me? You must. You have to remember something.”

  His father’s scornful laugh said plainly that he had no idea what Jayden was talking about. “A coward…and an insane one at that. The world will be well rid of the likes of you. But don’t worry – soon the rest of your wretched race will be joining you. Though I doubt they’ll welcome your company in the afterlife.”

  He gave a dismissive wave, signifying to the guards that they should take the prisoner away.

  The reality of what was happening to him was threatening to break Jayden’s mind. The truth, no matter how unavoidable it appeared, still seemed utterly impossible.

  Once back among the other prisoners, he was tied up again and thrown to the ground.

  “What did the Bull want with you?” asked the elf who had spoken to him previously.

  “The Bull?”

  “What is wrong with you? Lord Zarin. The Bull of the West.”

  “How long has the war been going on?” he asked, praying to the Creator that he would not hear the answer he knew would come.

  “You really are a simple one, aren’t you?”

  “Please,” Jayden begged. “Tell me.”

  “Four years,” he replied. “But from the way our fortunes have turned, I fear it will not go on much longer.”

  This was all the confirmation Jayden needed. Somehow the vortex had done more than transport him from the desert. It had taken him – and his father before him – back to the time of the first Great War. This explained why Darshan seemed to have vanished. But it did not explain why he remembered nothing of his past; not even his own son.

  His father had called him insane. Perhaps he was. Maybe the vortex had done something to his mind. To both their minds.

  “Take heart,” said the elf. “All is not lost. The Creator will welcome us home soon.”

  That the elf was so accepting of death stirred unexpected anger. Jayden had not come this far to give up now. If it turned out he had gone mad, or that this was an illusion, then so be it. Either way, he had no intention of dying. His mother’s life depended on him staying alive. Somehow, he would have to make his father remember who he really was. Unfortunately, a plan for how to achieve this was not readily forthcoming. Determination alone – no matter how much he possessed – would not cut his bonds nor get him past the hundreds of armed men. And assuming his father’s orders would be followed, he did not have long to think of a way out.

  His bonds had been tied well. He might possibly have been able to free himself, but it would take hours, and time was something he did not have. Just beyond where the guards were standing, he could see another soldier, keeping himself intentionally in view of the prisoners, already preparing the nooses.

  As the minutes passed, it became depressingly clear that there was nothing he could do. He’d attempted to use the flow, but had succeeded in drawing in only a small portion, not nearly enough to give him the strength needed to break free.

  The elf beside him decided to speak again. “You never told me what you’re doing so far away from your home,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” Jayden lied. “I have no memory of anything before a few days ago.” It seemed as good a story as any. “I just remember waking up in the forest.”

  “Were you ill?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I have heard of a brain fever robbing an elf of his senses. But to lose your memory completely… still, I suppose it is possible.”

  Jayden could see that he didn’t believe his story. Not that it made a great deal of difference. If they did somehow manage to escape, he would deal with the matter then.

  It was less than an hour later when a detachment of soldiers began hefting them all to their feet. The soldiers then cut their ankles free and forced them into a ragged line. There was something about the way the elves appeared accepting of their fate, almost to the point of being docile, that Jayden found infuriating. How could they simply march off to their death so calmly? Even if they all simply fled in a rush, a few might manage to escape.

  The men carrying the ropes led them far into the forest. Soon the camp itself was completely out of sight. Why they were going so far was perplexing; they had already passed several rows of trees that would have easily accommodated the number of condemned. Whatever the reason, Jayden’s hope was renewed. This would be the perfect opportunity for a mass escape. It would take time for the camp to react and send more men. Sure, some of the elves would be killed, but not all of them. Unfortunately, there was no way to convey his thoughts to the others without arousing suspicion.

  A soldier commanded them to halt beside a line of young oaks.

  Jayden knew he had to take a risk, or this would be the end. He shifted as close as he dared to the elf with whom he had spoken earlier and whispered, “We should all make a run for it. Now, before it’s too late.”

  “Have faith,” the elf replied calmly.

  A surge of anger filled him. Have faith? In what? Did he think that the Creator Herself was about to descend from heaven and save them? His mother often told him that everything was by Her design. An easy thing to say when you were not faced with the hangman’s noose. Then again, he knew that she had faced death more times than he ever had, or likely would from the look of things.

  Ropes were thrown over the various limbs, and the elves were herded beside the trees in smaller groups. The elf he’d spoken with earlier was standing to his left, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips. Had Jayden’s hands been free, he might well have throttled him. He decided there and then, even though it looked like he would have to do it alone, that he would still make a break for it before they put the rope around his neck. His chances of survival would be minimal, but even a tiny chance was better than no chance at all. His eyes searched for a likely path to take.

  “Are you scum ready to see that Creator you love so much?” called one of the soldiers.

  His taunt drew harsh laughter from the others.

  “They can’t fight,” remarked another. “Let’s see if they’re any better at dying.”

  “I hear they piss themselves with fear,” said yet another. “I’ll bet they even –”

  He never finished the sentence. The whistle of the arrow came a moment before it sank into his heart. A perfect shot.

  Suddenly, the air was full of deadly missiles as soldier after soldier was struck down.

  “Now we run,” said the elf.

  So strong was Jayden’s surprise at this sudden turn that he was at first too stunned to react. But instinct quickly kicked in, and he raced to follow the now fleeing elves into the darkness of the forest. Twice a pursuing soldier came within a few feet of catching him, but each time a well-aimed arrow struck to clear his way. The problem was, with his hands still bound behind his back, he found he wasn’t able to run as fast as he normally could. Adding to this problem, the humans behind him were already raising the alarm. In short order, the camp would be aware of the elf attack and come rushing to their comrades’ aid. He needed to cut his bonds before then or be in serious jeopardy of recapture.

  Keeping the elf ahead of him in sight, he zig-zagged with the rest between the gradually thickening trees and brambles until coming upon a dozen bowmen, all of them still firing rapidly at their pursuers. An elf nearby with a long dagger was cutting the ropes of his kin as they quickly halted and then vanished into the night.

  A wave of relief rushed through Jayden once his turn came and his hands were freed. But by then the humans had recovered sufficiently to counter with more than a few arrows of their own, one of which thudded into the leg of the elf who had been in front of him, sending him to his knees. Jayden wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him back to his feet.

  “Leave me,” the elf told him. “If you don’t, they’ll catch you.”

  Ignoring his protests, Jayden pulled him along as fast as he could manage. He’d expected that other elves, seeing them struggling, would stop t
o help. But none did. They simply raced past them as if they were invisible.

  It soon became obvious that the injured elf was right. They would undoubtedly be caught if they didn’t pick up the pace. Even so, Jayden knew he could not leave him behind. And he was sickened that the other elves were willing to do just that. Linis, his mother, or any other elf he had known would never have acted so cravenly. Not that there was time to dwell on this right now.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw torches flickering in the near distance. The camp was roused and was giving chase. The sound of orders, curses, and swords being drawn penetrated the forest.

  “Leave me,” the elf repeated. “Our lives are too valuable to waste.”

  “I agree,” said Jayden. “So we have to move faster.”

  By now, the rest of the elves were completely out of sight. The situation was looking dire. Jayden then spotted a tall birch tree a few yards ahead and an idea formed. Without warning, he ceased walking and grabbed the shaft of the arrow, removing it quickly from the elf’s leg with a sharp tug.

  His companion yelped and dropped to one knee. “What the –”

  “Can you climb?” Jayden asked him, pointing to the tree.

  He seemed to grasp at once what Jayden was thinking and looked up, his face racked with pain. “I can try.”

  With Jayden pushing from behind, they gradually made their way up. Blood dripped from the elf’s wound throughout, most of it landing directly onto Jayden’s face and arms.

  Only after what felt like an eternity had they climbed high enough to reach the thicker branches that Jayden was sure would not break under their weight. Once there, he stripped off his shirt and bound his companion’s leg. The very last thing he needed was for dripping blood to fall on anyone below who was searching for them.

  Within the thick of the leaves, he was certain they wouldn’t be spotted. And seeing as how their pursuers were without dogs, he was counting on them walking straight by. Linis had taught him this ruse as a boy when they would play hide and seek in the forest during their frequent hunting trips.

  “No one ever looks up,” Linis had told him. “Not so long as you’re quiet.”

  Only minutes after they’d settled into position, the pursuing soldiers were upon them. Jayden held his breath as two of them walked by only a few feet away from the tree. A combination of the cool night air and the fact that he was now bare-chested spread goose pimples over his body.

  The humans made it a few more yards before a horn blast halted them. A moment later, shouts from the direction of the camp could be heard calling them back.

  “What now?” said one of the men.

  “It could be a trap,” suggested the other. “The Bull is smart. He’s not going to let them lead us away. Come on. We’re not going to catch them anyway.”

  Jayden barely managed to contain a sigh of relief. He waited until the torches had completely vanished before speaking a word. The elf was looking none too well, most likely due to loss of blood.

  “Can you still walk?” Jayden asked.

  He nodded. “I can manage.”

  Once back on the ground, they set off in the direction the other elves had taken earlier.

  “What’s your name?” Jayden asked.

  “I am Theopolou,” he answered. “And since it seems we have managed to evade capture, you can now tell me who you really are and why you lied to me.” There was no threat insinuated in his tone. “I felt the flow running through you. Only a seeker can hold so much, yet I know every seeker in the Hastriatis clan, and you are not among them.”

  Jayden was uncertain how to reply. The truth of what had happened to him was still impossible to accept. For all he knew, he had gone insane.

  “I can’t tell you,” he said. “Just be assured I am not an enemy. That will have to do.”

  “You are not the first elf to run from the war,” Theopolou responded. “Even I have considered it from time to time.”

  “I’m not running. I just can’t tell you the truth. I have my reasons.”

  “We all have our reasons. But if you intend on joining us, you would do well to think of a way to explain yourself. You use the flow, yet you did not sense our kin arriving to save us from execution. That on its own is concerning.”

  “I can’t feel our kind like other elves do. I don’t know why.”

  He hoped this lie was somehow convincing. The last thing he needed was for the elves of this era to discover his true nature. He was already facing the dilemma of his father. That alone was making his situation appear hopeless.

  Theopolou scrutinized him for a moment. “Perhaps you were ill as a child. Though I know of no illness that would affect you in this way.”

  Jayden thought it best to change the subject. “Tell me about the one they call the Bull.”

  His question attracted a curious look. “You know nothing of the Bull of the West? You are indeed a mystery. Still, as we have time before we reach my kin, I will enlighten you.”

  He drew a deep breath before continuing. “The Bull arrived two years ago. No one amongst us knows where he’s from or how he rose to his position. What we do know is that, until he took command of the human forces, we had the war all but won. Despite this, somehow or other he managed to galvanize the squabbling human rulers and shape their armies into a vast and all but unstoppable force. It is widely believed that he will one day become a king himself. His men are completely loyal, and though we know little of him, most think him to be a half-man. His strength is well beyond that of any human or elf. It is said that to face the Bull in single combat is to stare into the eyes of death itself.”

  Jayden’s mind reeled. It was almost unbelievable to think that his father, one of the kindest and most gentle men he had ever known, was feared and despised by the elves. Of all the tales he had heard about the first Great War, never he had come across anyone called the Bull of the West. Surely such a fearsome warrior would have been well remembered and much spoken of?

  A few minutes later, Theopolou staggered, and had to steady himself against a nearby tree.

  “You should rest for a moment,” Jayden told him.

  The elf looked as if he might protest, but a wave of dizziness forced him to kneel. Jayden examined the wound. Though the bleeding had lessened, continual pressure from walking was not allowing it to stop completely. Theopolou needed proper treatment or he might well bleed to death long before they reached his people.

  Jayden weighed his options. “How far away are the others?” he asked.

  “We should arrive at their camp by morning.”

  That was much too long; Theopolou would certainly be too weak to travel well before then. Though not hopeful for success, there was one thing he could try.

  “This might feel a bit strange,” he said.

  Placing his hands over the wound, he shut his eyes. For more than a minute he concentrated, taking long even breaths while reaching out for the flow. Like in the enemy camp, at first only a small amount of it responded. He tried to recall the sensation he’d felt when Sayia had healed him. The flow itself had felt different then, though in what way exactly was impossible to understand. He tried imagining Theopolou’s wound healing itself, but nothing happened. Bit by bit, more of the flow seeped into him. He then tried to redirect this into the elf’s body, still meeting with no success. He was on the brink of giving up when the words of his mother entered his mind.

  “Healing is a way of giving,” she had said. “A good healer is selfless by nature.”

  His mother had been talking about the elf healer who had taken up residence in Sharpstone several years prior. The woman would rarely accept payment beyond what was enough to feed and house herself. Some thought her daft. Kaylia, however, brushed aside such talk as ignorance.

  With this new insight driving him, Jayden renewed his attempts, on this occasion imagining giving an actual part of himself to Theopolou through the power of the flow. This was successful beyond his greatest hope. In an inst
ant he could feel the healing power entering the elf’s leg, wrapping itself around the wounded flesh to do its work. Theopolou gasped. Jayden could practically see the elf’s tendons and muscles knitting together and the skin growing anew. It was wondrous. It wasn’t until he felt a hand shake him that he opened his eyes again.

  “That’s enough,” Theopolou told him, already looking much healthier and in no small way surprised. “You mustn’t drain yourself too much.”

  Jayden lifted his hands, breaking the contact. A sudden fatigue rushed over him as he dropped back onto his elbows.

  Theopolou leaned forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  He forced a smile. His head was starting to ache and his body felt as if he had spent a hard day in the field behind the plow. “I’m fine. It’s the first time I’ve tried to do that. I guess I might have overdone it a little.”

  Theopolou cocked his head. “That was your first time? Amazing. It takes most healers many years to mend such serious wounds. You truly have a gift.”

  “It was luck,” he said. “I remembered something my mother told me. Otherwise, I don’t think I could have done it.”

  “I don’t know who your mother is,” Theopolou replied, now smiling broadly, “but she must be one of the wisest elves breathing free air if her words enabled you to do this.”

  Pushing himself to his feet, Jayden shivered slightly. The cold air was biting even more viciously than before. “We should get moving,” he said.

  “Agreed.”

  They set off together, Jayden on rather unsteady legs at first.

  “I owe you my life,” Theopolou said. “Once we arrive, I will stand by you when you are questioned.”

  “Thank you.”

  Being questioned did not sound like a good prospect. He would likely need a much better explanation than the simple claim of a loss of memory.

  Death at the hands of his own father, or death at the hands of the elves? It did not seem like much of a choice.

  The essence of his father had expressed belief in his abilities, though at this moment, Jayden did not share his confidence. This was a situation far beyond his understanding. Nonetheless, he was duty bound to battle on. His mother’s life depended on it. As for his father…the thought of him remaining the brutal warlord who was more than happy to kill any elf who happened to cross his path was more than he could bear. He had to make him remember who he really was.