The Godling Chronicles

by Brian D. Anderson

  He would find a way to save both of his parents, whatever the cost.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Linis had been deliberating for weeks on how to tell Penelope and Maybell what he had discovered about their brother. He looked again at the drawing of a young man, bent down on one knee and leaning heavily on his sword. The face was unmistakable. And even if it were a lookalike or a coincidence of some kind, the titled scrawled in gold lettering near to the bottom of the page was more than enough to banish any doubts. Jayden Prays.

  The first drawing was of Jayden battling another man, who by all accounts resembled Gewey. But the idea was just too far-fetched. Gewey would never fight his own son. Not for any reason.

  “Are you ever going to tell us what’s so important inside that damn thing?”

  Linis looked up from his place by the fire to where Maybell was sitting nearby. He closed the book and shoved it under his bedroll. “Not yet. I’ve already told you that I promised not to reveal anything until your mother is safe.”

  “We’ll be in Sharpstone tomorrow,” she pointed out.

  “And we have no idea of her condition until we arrive.”

  That said, he had been mightily relieved that both of the girls could still feel the bond with their mother. If nothing else, it at least meant that Kaylia still lived.

  “Why are we taking her to Felsafell’s old house?” Maybell asked.

  “Because only a few people know how to find it. I’ve told you this a dozen times already.”

  “So we’re just going to carry her there the entire way?”

  “If we must.”

  The house of Felsafell, last of the First Born, was the safest place he could think of. Throughout the ages, countless elves had tried to locate the secluded cabin and failed. It was only if the old hermit wanted you to find him that you were able to do so. Of course, as Linis had learned from Gewey, Felsafell was now mortal and traveling the world with his true love, Basanti, The Oracle of Manisalia. Penelope had pointed out that, seeing as how the First Born no longer actually lived there, it might not be as safe as it once was. And Linis conceded that she might be right. But short of heading north into the mountains, a journey which would take them much longer and be far more difficult, he could think of nowhere better.

  The next morning, they set off at a determined pace. The mounts they’d acquired two days prior after leaving the river were of good quality, and by midday Linis thought they might reach their destination sooner than expected.

  Though uneventful, he had remained ever vigilant throughout their journey. The closer they came to Sharpstone, the more anxious he became to arrive. Dina would be worried and likely making everyone around her suffer for it with her dark mood. All the same, he had to admit it gave him no small measure of satisfaction to know how much she cared. It was the one thing about his new life to which he had never quite grown accustomed. When a seeker, he’d always had kinship with his brothers and sisters. But no one ever gave a thought as to his safety when he was out alone in the wild. After all, he was a seeker. He could take care of himself. As it was with Dina, he had seen the same concerned look in Kaylia’s eyes whenever Gewey was away. And he was a god. Yet as it turned out, her worry was justified. Even gods face peril sometimes, it seemed.

  When they were about five miles away from Sharpstone, Linis sensed a presence…Vrykol. The girls sensed it as well.

  “There are three of them,” said Penelope. “They’re waiting for us about a mile ahead.”

  Linis could see the fury and hatred in their expressions, and he felt a massive surge of the flow entering both.

  He drew his blade. “Three we can handle,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

  “You don’t need to handle a thing,” Maybell told him. “We’ll take care of this.”

  Linis nodded. He doubted very much that three Vrykol would be capable of stifling their combined power. The only time he had ever felt the flow stronger in anyone was in their father. It looked like the hunters were about to become the hunted. Had the situation not been so dire, he might have been amused.

  Just as Penelope had stated, a mile further ahead he saw three cloaked figures standing in the road, though none of them had weapons drawn. The Vrykol in the middle stepped forward and held up his hand.

  “Peace, daughters of Darshan,” he said. “We have not come to fight.”

  “You are right about that,” Maybell responded, malice dripping from her every word. “You have come to die.”

  The Vrykol pushed back his hood, revealing the features of a young, dark-haired human. “We are not your enemy. We serve Ayliazarah, and have been sent to both warn and aid you. Be aware that a dozen of our kind who serve Saraf await you ahead.”

  Maybell exchanged pensive glances with the other two.

  “We cannot trust him,” said Linis.

  “Your trust is not required,” said the Vrykol. “Should you wish it, we will leave. Our mistress has instructed that we do as you command. But know that I am telling you the truth. There are enough of my kind to prevent you from using your powers. And more than enough to kill you all…including your mother.”

  “If that is so, why have they not killed her already?” Penelope shot back.

  “To lure you in,” he answered. “They are aware of the connection you share. You would know at once should something befall her, and they did not want you alerted to their presence in Sharpstone until you arrive. Fortunately, Saraf is not the only god capable of creating my kind. As he has sent Vrykol to hinder you, so my mistress has sent us to help.”

  Linis shook his head. “I still don’t see how we can trust them.”

  After a long silence, Maybell said, “But if they are telling the truth and a dozen of those creatures are waiting, that’s too many. All this will have been for nothing.”

  “Not necessarily,” the Vrykol told her. “As I said before, we came to aid you, not fight.” He opened his cloak and spread his arms wide. His companions did the same. “As you can see, we come to you are unarmed.”

  “So it seems,” agreed Penelope. “But tell me exactly how you intend to be of aid us.”

  Linis could not believe what he was hearing. “You can’t be serious. Why are you even listening to them?”

  “I see no other choice,” said Maybell, a look of reluctant resignation in her eyes. “If they are willing to help us, we need them.”

  “And if it’s a trap?”

  “They needn’t have made themselves known to us,” she pointed out. “They could have just waited for us to arrive. Why warn us ahead of time?”

  The Vrykol spoke again. “Your enemies have withdrawn and are waiting in the forest beyond your farm. Only one of them will remain within the range of your senses. They think you would not be afraid of a single foe. But the moment you step inside your house, he will call on the others. My kind are swift, and carrying an unconscious elf will make your passage much slower. They will surround you long before you can bring your mother to safety.”

  “So what do you propose?” asked Linis, with undisguised antipathy.

  “I suggest that you allow us to retrieve the elf woman for you,” he replied flatly. “They will not recognize us as an enemy until we are well away. They are unaware Ayliazarah has created us, so will think we have been sent by Saraf. You can wait for us at the docks along the Goodbranch. If your enemies give chase, we will hold them off long enough for you to escape.”

  “I don’t like this,” Linis muttered. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “Neither do I,” said Penelope. “But he’s right. If they sense us coming, they could have us surrounded long before we could get away. His plan has a far better chance of working. I will scuttle all but one craft at Sharpstone’s dock. That should give us the time we need.”

  Maybell’s brow was knitted and her eyes downcast. “My sister is right, Linis. I can see no better alternative.”

  He pondered for a moment, then looked directly at t
he Vrykol. “Tell me, beast. How would they perceive me?”

  “As an elf, nothing more. But the sisters’ power is unique. They would know them instantly for who they are.”

  “Then I will go with you,” he said. Before either Maybell or Penelope could object, he added: “They want you. Not me. I have fought their kind many times. Besides, Dina is likely at the house too. I must be sure that she is safe.”

  The sisters exchanged glances, then nodded their agreement.

  “When shall we leave?” Linis asked the Vrykol.

  “The daughters of Darshan should leave now,” he replied. “We will wait until nightfall.”

  Linis steeled his wits. This was madness. However, regardless of that, Maybell was correct when she said they had little choice in the matter. And if Dina was watching over Kaylia – which she almost certainly was – he must get them both out of from there.

  He considered the situation for a moment. It did make sense. If Saraf could create Vrykol to oppose them, then it was reasonable to think that the gods still loyal to Darshan might create others to help. All the same, he could not bring himself to trust them. The memory of what these creatures had done during the war was still fresh in his mind. Pure evil; that was what they were. To think that there might also be good Vrykol was more than he could wrap his head around. He knew Basanti was one; or at least she had once been. But she was different, at least in his mind. None of this settled his fears and misgivings.

  “Try not to attract too much attention to yourselves,” he told the sisters, dismounting and handing them the reins of his horse.

  Maybell smiled. “It’s been years since we were in Sharpstone. I doubt anyone will recognize us. I do wish we could see the farm, though. I miss my old bed. I was really looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”

  “Me too,” sighed Penelope. “I suppose it will have to wait until this is over.”

  “If we are not there at the docks to meet up with you by daybreak, head west to Althetas,” Linis instructed.

  Both Maybell and Penelope laughed as if to say they had no intention whatsoever of abandoning him…or their mother. Even to suggest it was an absurdity. They were still smiling as they set off once again along the main road that led into the heart of Sharpstone.

  Linis watched them ride away for a few moments, then joined the Vrykol.

  Leaving the road, the four of them walked quickly on. After pausing at a nearby shrub to recover the weapons his new companions had hidden, they wound through the forest for about two hours, eventually halting a few miles south of the road leading to the Stedding farm. The Vrykol did not speak a word throughout. Linis kept well behind them, his hand never drifting far from his blade.

  While they waited for the sun to go down, he found it somehow odd that the creatures sat and appeared to rest. Did Vrykol need to rest? Surely not. They even began making light conversation with one another. In fact, had Linis not been able to feel the vile power coursing through them, he would have taken them for nothing more than simple travelers.

  “Tell me,” he said while leaning against a tree a few yards away. “Was it painful when the gods created you?”

  “Yes,” replied the Vrykol who had been their spokesman on the road. He appeared to be their leader. “Very painful. But it was our pleasure to serve.”

  His remark took Linis aback. “You mean you actually volunteered to become…this?”

  “Of course we did. What have I become that would make you speak of me so? I am an instrument of the goddess Ayliazarah. To serve fills me with great pride.”

  “To become a monster fills you with pride?”

  “Perhaps I am a monster. I certainly am when compared to those who came before me, when humans were but servants and the elves their masters. Their mission was to guide and shepherd the world. Mine is to fight for it. I have not yet spilled blood, though I will undoubtedly do so soon. If I have one regret, it is that.”

  Linis was well aware of the history. Much of the Book of Souls had been translated, in no small part thanks to Gewey. It spoke of the gods’ efforts to influence the world through their creations, which the elves named Vrykol and hunted them to near extinction. This differed from the elf legends, which described them as ruthless assassins. Only two had survived throughout the ages: Basanti, of course, and her brother, Yanti. And while she had remained pure, her brother was tainted by violence. It had changed him, making him vulnerable to the Reborn King’s influence. For Linis, however, it was impossible to forget the foul and vicious beasts he had fought against in the war.

  “Do you have names?” he asked.

  The creature smiled a very human smile. “Of course we do. I am Berma. My friends are Tylar and Chase.”

  Even hearing him refer to those of his own kind as friends felt strange. “I must admit that you are not as I expected.”

  “I am sure. Becoming a Vrykol, as you put it, was not as I expected either.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Before we were changed, we were but simple monks. When the goddess came to tell us what had happened and why she needed our help, I admit I was more than a little excited by the prospect.”

  “Excited?”

  Berma chuckled. “Yes, why not? At the time I imagined myself becoming…well…godlike, I suppose. Immortal.”

  “Well, aren’t you? Immortal, I mean.”

  “No. We are not like those you have encountered before. Though I am far stronger and faster than I was as a human, and my life span is now more akin to that of the elves. I will continue to age, and in the fullness of time I will die, just as any other mortal. The Vrykol were hated as much for their immortality as anything else. It provokes too much jealousy to be allowed.”

  “It sounds to me as if you were given a gift.”

  Berma shrugged. “In a way, yes, though it is not without cost. I no longer feel human. I lack fear or desire.”

  Linis raised an eyebrow. “And you see that as a bad thing?”

  “Yes indeed. Fear and desire are part of what makes life worth living. As destructive as they can be, they are also wondrous. The fear of something new, like the rush you feel when you ride a horse at full gallop for the first time. Then there is the desire for a woman: to feel the softness of her flesh pressed to yours. These, along with countless other delights, are what I am no longer able to experience.”

  “So you are without any emotion at all?”

  “No, not entirely. But they are dulled. They lack the fire that they once possessed.”

  The tragedy of this was clear. Linis could not envision life without passion – the nuanced shades of simple pleasures.

  “Do not pity us,” Berma added. “We have been given a higher purpose, and one day we will be granted heaven as our reward. Unlike those created by Saraf, our spirits have not been totally and irreversibly changed. Enough of who we were remains within us to bind our spirits together once our bodies cease to function.”

  Linis still wasn’t entirely sure that he trusted the creature. There was no lie in his eyes; but then again, how could one tell when a Vrykol was lying? One thing was certainly true – knowing that they were not immortal was somehow reassuring.

  There were many other questions he would have liked to ask. Did they need to eat or sleep? Could they do so, even if it wasn’t needed? What would they do once their task was completed? It would certainly be difficult for them to find a place in the world that would be willing to accept them.

  On all of these matters, he held his tongue. It was best not to risk becoming over-familiar. Should they prove to be false, he would not be taken off-guard.

  As soon as it was fully dark, the three Vrykol rose in unison and started off at a startling pace. Linis was fascinated by their speed through the forest. He knew they possessed keen eyesight, but seeing well in the dark was not enough on its own. One had to understand the make-up of the wild in order to choose the best path. This was a skill that normally took years to learn. He wondered wryly if
they had perhaps been monks with a monastery set deep in the woods before being changed.

  Just as he was able to see the lights from the farmhouse peeking through the trees, he felt the presence of the lone Vrykol there at the edge of his abilities. The three with him surely sensed it as well, but did not slow their pace.

  Though Linis did not share the same sort of bond with Dina that he would with a full-blooded elf, he could nevertheless feel that she was inside the house. This filled him with both anxiety and relief.

  “We will ready your mount while you fetch the elf woman,” Berma said.

  “I’ll need two horses,” Linis told him.

  The enemy Vrykol had not yet moved. This brought a frown to Linis’s face. If he could sense the creature, surely it could sense them as well?

  As they drew close, he heard the laughter and chatter of the evening meal.

  “Wait for me by porch,” he instructed the other three. “I don’t want you frightening people.” They did not look inhuman…at least, not to human eyes. Even so, a trio of strangers bursting in uninvited would be sure to cause a bit of a panic at minimum.

  “Be swift,” replied Berma, before heading toward the barn with his companions.

  In spite of his urgency, the scent of fresh bread and roasted pork was making Linis’s mouth water. Forcing this aside, he ran to the dining room. Dina was there with several of the farm hands, eating and talking. Her eyes lit up the moment he entered and she leapt up from her seat, toppling the chair over in her urgency to greet him.

  “Thank the Creator!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. Before Linis could speak, she crushed her lips to his.

  He let the kiss linger, then wrapped his arms around her, losing himself for a brief moment in the warmth of her body. It was only with great effort that he released his hold and took a small step back. “I need to speak with you privately,” he told her.