Do the Gods Despise Us?

by Jeff Henrikson

  Reality hit Jefon like fire from a dragon. Martel was offering him a choice, but what choice did he have? He could accept his place among the honored dead and doom Armena, or he could reject the paradise he had always dreamed of and continue to fight and bleed on Tellus. He wanted nothing more than to rest inside his god’s kingdom and fight his battles in the heavens, but how could he be so selfish? His brother’s life, indeed all of Armena, was on the line.

  Martel waited for Jefon to digest all that he had shown him. As Jefon resigned himself to the choice that seemed to already have been made for him, Martel continued. “If you return to Tellus and continue my work you will not be alone. My power and wisdom will always be with you. You will have abilities that make you greater than other mortals. Together we may yet be able to save the First Heir and restore him as King of Armena. If you return to Tellus, our bond will extend beyond that of blood and family, and I will be the center of your life. A person can serve only one master, and if you return to Tellus as my chosen, then I must be that master. These are the truths that lie behind your choice. Now I will ask you for the final time, do you choose to join with me forever in my kingdom, or do you choose to continue my work on Tellus?”

  Jefon had always been a devout follower, but now he would be his god’s hand and voice in the world. Ever since Jefon had been a boy, he had gone off alone to explore the world around him and flourish in his personal freedom. It was difficult to sacrifice that freedom for a closer relationship with his god. In the end, there was only one option. Without enthusiasm, knowing what he was giving up, Jefon responded, “My lord, I choose to continue your work on Tellus.”

  The huge golden image of Martel disappeared with a flash, and Jefon was left once again in the void. A moment later an elf stepped out of the void and walked toward him. The darkness disappeared and the bluest of skies replaced it. Jefon looked down and saw plains and rolling hills come up to meet his feet. He looked behind him and saw a creek flowing by in a perfect caress of the landscape with a forest and mountains off in the distance. As the elf walked confidently toward him, Jefon realized that it could only be Martel himself. He was plainly dressed with brown pants and a brown sleeveless shirt that would blend in with the woods. His plain appearance couldn’t cover up the fact that he was the most striking elf Jefon had ever seen. The divine aura surrounding him was unmistakable; Jefon knew he should fall to his knees, but he could only stare in awe at his god’s approach.

  Martel stopped within five feet of Jefon and smiled the warmest of smiles. “Welcome to my kingdom, Jefon, son of Lacrue.” Tears threatened to well up inside of Jefon as he realized what a gift it was to see Martel in his true form inside his own domain. Martel looked him right in the eyes and said with compassion in his voice, “I know what it is you truly want, but it is your courage that has accepted what you know you must do. Being my chosen on Tellus will not be easy, but you will have no regrets. There will always be an honored place for you here in my kingdom.”

  Martel’s compassion for Jefon’s sacrifice filled the well of his spirit like the desert bloom after a soaking rain. He would not have paradise, but he would have significance. He looked Martel in the eyes and gave a single curt nod of his head.

  Martel reached out his arm and waited for Jefon. “Take my hand and fulfill your destiny.” Jefon thought about his faith and his commitment to Martel, then he reached out his arm and grasped his god’s outstretched hand with his own.

  Pain lanced through Jefon’s body and he screamed out loud. Through the pain, Jefon saw visions that wrapped around each other, coalesced and then separated again. He saw Valihorn standing before a colossal green dragon. The dragon said, “Valihorn, it seems you and your friends have gotten into a little trouble.” The image then quickly flashed to the fortress in Darkwood Forest. Jefon looked on in amazement as the green dragon flew overhead and roared a sound so terrible that men and Krone alike could only cover their ears in fear.

  The scene flashed again to a road in the forest where Jefon could see his brother and friends galloping on horseback, weary to the bone. Time flashed forward to a similar scene on horseback as Jefon saw the companions race hard into a magic portal and disappear. He turned away from the portal wondering what was wrong and gasped in utter awe as he saw a ten-foot tall angelic being of pure light face off against a skeleton army with a lich in command. The angel swung his sword viciously, destroying scores of skeletons with every swing, but it was no use as the skeletons and other undead swarmed the angel. The scene faded as the lich looked on and the angel fought desperately.

  The visions continued as Jefon flew like an eagle to the west of Armena, past Locus, and settled in the castle of Jewlian, capital of Kentar. The companions were being judged by a court of fifteen wizards arranged around a horseshoe table with the high chair for the head wizard curiously empty. One wizard raised his hand and guards rushed into the room and surrounded his friends. The scene began to fade and Jefon fought to stay with this view of future events, but it was no use. Jefon soon found himself in the throne room of the King of Kentar. The King’s bodyguards lay dead all around him as four wizards advanced on the throne. The King rose to his feet as the lead wizard bowed low and said, “Die, Wrath. Go back to the hell from whence you came.” The four wizards raised their hands in unison and lightning ripped through the King. The King fell dead at the foot of his throne.

  Jefon came back to reality as the visions faded and the intense pain began to encompass all. His body recoiled as every nerve in his arm fired at once, but his mind wanted more. He refused to let go of his god’s hand, and the pain faded once again as Jefon appeared outside the cell of a prison. Xander’s unconscious form lay in the middle of the cell, with an elf whose features were strangely obscured by shadow standing nearby. The elf was conversing with a well dressed halfling who stood outside the bars. Jefon watched as the shadowed elf reached down to Xander’s unconscious form and dug the gem out of his belongings. The elf stood up and showed the diamond to the eager halfling. The halfling opened the cell and the elf walked out into the hallway. As the shadowed elf emerged from the cell, Jefon noticed the symbol of an open book emblazoned on the elf’s collar bone. At first the symbol was faint and indistinct, but as the elf moved closer, the symbol of the open book burned like a fire against his skin.

  Jefon’s brow furrowed at the number of questions that came to mind, but the scene changed, and he found himself looking on as Xander lay unconscious before a group of elf wizards at a meeting place in the woods. The shadowed elf was there, and the wizard conducting the ceremony was the same wizard who had visited Evisar and Jefon in their home some moons back and urged them to travel to the town of Wessex. The lead wizard said, “We accept Xander as a member of the Philosophers.”

  The scene shifted one last time to the stone halls of a great church where Jefon saw what could only be a human vampire floating down the hall toward him.

  Martel finally pulled back his hand and Jefon fell uncontrollably to the ground. It took a long time for the pain and spasms to subside enough for Jefon to move and think again. He felt different, but he couldn’t say how. No doubt the answers would come with time. Eventually Martel spoke once again. “Arise, Mestel, chosen of Martel.”

  Jefon moved at his god’s command but was slow to clamber to his knees and slower to rise to his feet before the golden eyes of Martel. Jefon asked, “Why do you call me Mestel?”

  Martel chuckled with pleasure at his question. “Every chosen of mine symbolizes his new life by taking my namesake. Jefon the elf, son of Lacrue Talisman, brother of Evisar, is no more; he has died. Before me stands Mestel, servant of the Faithful Falcon. You will strike down those who abuse their power and make scapegoats of my people. You will free those who have been wrongfully imprisoned.”

  Jefon was proud to be named by his god and honored to be picked as a chosen, but truth be told, he didn’t feel as though he deserved the honor. Many of the greatest tales he read as a child involved ch
osen avatars of the gods. Those who fought for good were fearless, honorable beings who achieved great deeds. Those who fought for evil were some of the most fearsome beasts, merciless, and full of power. Jefon was none of these things. His fear had paralyzed him during Gaston’s attack in Austen’s tower; his lack of power and vision had allowed the bandits to capture Valihorn. When offered a choice by his god, he had been so paralyzed with fear that it had nearly cost him everything.

  His will didn’t match his god’s great commission, and he could only say, “Yes, my lord. I will do my best to justify your faith in me.”

  Martel frowned at Jefon’s lackluster response but continued on as if he hadn’t noticed. “Together we will free the First Heir of Armena from his wrongful imprisonment in the Underworld and restore him to his birthright. The pouch at your side will overflow with platinum from my divine treasury as long as you use the money to further my goals. You will be able to see in the darkest of dungeons, sense danger before it comes, and have wisdom beyond your years. But these gifts come with a price. You are no longer a warrior who fights blindly against what you do not know, but rather, you are a chosen. You will not be as quick or strong as you remember, and you will be frailer as well. Your wisdom and your bow will be your weapons now, not the sword. Train yourself to see the truth before you, for many of the enemies you will face cannot be beaten by sword or bow alone.”

  Jefon hung his head and said, “My lord, I am not worthy of your faith in me. Nothing about me is great or deserving of this honor. It is only through your strength and your visions that I have been able to accomplish your goals.”

  Martel responded confidently, “The same has always been true for every chosen down through the ages. Chosen are made from flawed mortals who all possess the divine spark. What makes you worthy is your faith and your incorruptible spirit. Your sense of righteousness has been joined with my power and my divinity. You are greater now than you ever thought possible, and you will grow to fulfill that role.”

  Jefon looked down again as his eyes watered with emotion. Somehow Martel had filled his spirit once again with a hope and a certainty that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Jefon marveled at the strength and wisdom of his god. He felt a resurgence of determination well up inside of him as Martel spoke forcefully. “Who is your god?”

  Jefon’s head snapped up. He looked his god in the eye with determination and said, “Martel.”

  Martel continued, “Whom do you serve?”

  Jefon felt an undefeatable surge of strength flow through him as he said, “I serve the Faithful Falcon.”

  “Will you be my hand, my voice, and my chosen on Tellus?”

  In that moment of determination and pure clarity, Jefon ceased to exist and it was Mestel who answered, “Yes, master.”

  Martel sensed the transformation and responded with equal grit. “Then return to the fortress in Darkwood Forest and continue your chosen quest.” Abruptly, Martel turned his back on him and walked confidently away. As he did, the scene faded from Mestel’s sight, but not his memory. There was a flash and Mestel was flying through the air with the ground far below him. He flew over Darkwood Forest and recognized the fortress up ahead. His spirit flew over the walls, into the dungeon underneath, past his brother who had a sword pointing at his heart, and settled over his broken body. Mestel took his first breath of stale dungeon air and slowly sat up to take in his surroundings. In that moment, hope returned for Armena.

  Chapter 65: Homecoming

  Gram rode through the fortress gate with the rest of the search party, spitting curses with every beat of his horse’s hooves. Beaten by some lowly thief in his own dungeon. How had that little pissant beaten the truth spell? Gram dismounted and threw the reins at the stable hand with a look that brokered no discussion. Someone’s head was going to roll. Right now. His reputation was permanently damaged and someone would die for it. He was so close to having everything he wanted – everything he deserved. All he needed were a few more magic-users and that gods-forsaken gem. Gram waited a heartbeat for Gaston to jump off his horse and join him at his side, and then the pair marched straight for the dungeon without saying a word. Both of them knew what was about to happen.

  Gram threw open the dungeon door and walked briskly down the steps. As he passed the first alcove, the guard on duty immediately stood at attention, but Gram did not even give him a thought as he continued down the stairs. Nor did he care why there were a dozen guards watching the cell when normally there were four. Xander was still chained to the wall. Valihorn and Evisar stood at his approach. They all had fear in their eyes, as well they should, but they were not nearly as afraid as they should have been. Gram came to a brisk stop in front of the cell and waited until he had everyone’s attention. Without saying a word, he took a few steps toward the closest guard and grabbed the heavy crossbow out of his hand. He checked to see it was loaded, lifted the crossbow toward the cell, and then without preamble, pulled the trigger. The bolt flew cleanly through the bars and buried itself in Evisar’s stomach. Evisar fell to the floor in pain, but Gram did not feel any better. He walked back to the guard and grabbed another bolt out of his quiver.

  As Gram wound the string of the heavy crossbow for another shot, he said, “I have to admit, Xander, that I am more and more impressed with you. It is too bad you did not stay with the Guild longer; you could have gone far. It is not just anyone who can defeat a truth spell.

  “I left here with a search party yesterday afternoon and went straight east from the gate, just as you said, and just as my truth spell had confirmed. After a long ride through dense forest, we eventually found the only white tree I have ever seen in the forest, just as you said it would be. I must confess the tree was tranquilly beautiful, with its white leaves and white bark set against the light of the moon behind it. It was a stark contrast to the forest canopy in the background. You can imagine my excitement as we approached, and then my disappointment when we discovered the gem was not there.”

  Gram finished winding the crossbow and loaded the bolt. He turned to Xander without any sort of hesitation and pulled the trigger, sending the bolt into Xander’s stomach. Gram looked at Xander’s anguish and had to admit he finally felt a little bit better.

  Xander cursed out loud and said, “What do you mean? It’s there, I tell you. You just didn’t look hard enough.”

  The lie made Gram’s anger flare anew; he jabbed the bolt in Xander’s stomach several times until he felt the bolt hitting the wall on the other side of Xander’s body. He was sick of the lies! He was the wizard Gram, and he would not stand for it. Xander spasmed and yelled in pain as Gram pulled the bolt out of his stomach, taking a large chunk of flesh with it.

  Gram turned to one of the guards and said in a kind voice seemingly out of place for the situation, “Would you please go and tell Arun her healing powers are needed down here?”

  The guard bowed curtly and said, “Yes, my lord. Right away,” and walked briskly up the stairs.

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  Nero heard the door to the Noble’s Keep open and shut. He felt the guard coming up the stairs and knew what he was looking for. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and Arun was still asleep in his bed. He had enjoyed Arun immensely, even if she was a Krone, and now the final chess pieces were about to be set into motion. The guard would find Arun with him and report back to Gram. Gram would then come out of the dungeon with most of the guards in order to kill him, leaving room for the guard he paid off with a fortune of gold to set the elves free. Gram wouldn’t know how the elves escaped, and he would assume Nero fled because of his indiscretion with Arun. Gram’s bloated ego wouldn’t allow him to consider any other alternative.

  The guard came up the stairs quickly and looked in the first two rooms on the top floor of the Keep. Nero lit the lamp on his bedside table so the guard would be sure to see Arun and pretended he had been roused by the noise just as the guard came to his open doorway. The guard looked in on Nero with a quick
scan and almost left to go back downstairs when he did a double take. Nero smiled inwardly. If he hadn’t lit the lamp at just the wrong moment, the guard would never have seen Arun lying next to him.

  The look of shock on the guard’s face was obvious, and Nero said, “What is it, guard? Why do you invade my privacy?”

  The guard was silent for a moment as he searched for something to say. “Sorry, sir. Gram ordered me to find the priestess Arun and bring her to the dungeon so she can heal one of the prisoners.”

  Once the talking started, it took Arun only a moment to realize what was going on. She shot up in bed and covered herself with the sheets. She looked from the guard to Nero and back again. Nero let the appropriate mixture of surprise and horror play across his face, and then he turned to the guard and said, “All right, you’ve delivered your massage. Go back to the dungeon and tell Gram she will be there shortly.”

  The guard looked away and shook his head, as if trying to clear the image from his mind. “Very well, sir, but Gram insisted she come as quickly as possible.” The guard turned around with this last statement and nearly ran down the stairs.

  As soon as the guard was gone, Arun flew out of bed in a fit of rage and confusion, not even bothering to cover herself. “What have you done to me? Gram will kill me for this.”

  “You’re the one who came to my room last night, remember.” Nero got out of bed and put on his pants as Arun picked up her clothes and began hastily putting them on. Nero went to her side of the bed with gentleness in his eyes. Just a few more pieces to put into place and the trap would be set.

  “Please don’t regret what happened last night, Arun.” Then he tried to hug her, and she pushed him away. Nero continued, saying, “I know it’s not good, but Gram may not even find out. Even if he does, he cares for you too much to let anything happen to you.”