Crossroad

by Riley S. Keene

  Elise continued walking forward. She tried to avoid looking down at the bridge when she stepped on it. But an uncomfortable creaking noise accompanied that first step. The whole structure shivered and shifted under her weight. She focused on making her next step lighter than the first, but the whole thing swayed, creaking and groaning. It was almost as if it were a living creature. Could the bridge be some form of awakened undead? Elise felt tingles run up and down her back, and she swore she could hear tortured voices in the movement of the unstable structure.

  But the bridge didn’t collapse under her weight. And so, Elise continued her way forward, moving with caution and poise, but also trying to hurry. She was walking over a grisly monument to at least a hundred murders. It was disgusting to think about, and impossible to ignore. Her flesh crawled, but Elise couldn’t take her eyes off the human bones beneath her feet. She couldn’t risk stepping on a bone that wouldn’t support her, as that would likely be the end of her.

  It felt like bells before she got to the stone dais. When her foot came down on stone, she felt a thrill of relief. Her legs shook, and her skin still crawled, but she was no longer treading on victims of some lunatic death cult. And it felt good.

  She released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and gasped for fresh air. There was a metallic taste to the air here, although it was ancient.

  The suspended dais was almost a hundred fen across, more than large enough for a dragon to curl up and rest. Or to sit imperiously with its tail hanging off the edge into space as it postured and made demands of the humans brave enough to speak to it. But in the center of the dais was that floating object. It glowed gently with a white energy that Elise associated with the holy power of Ydia. This was the glow of the beacon lights, and the glow Elise had prayed to see and feel in moments of sheer distress.

  Elise didn’t hesitate a moment more. She drew closer to the object, and as she did, it came into focus. Originally, Claus had told her it would be a chunk of a corpse. She wasn’t sure if time had worn away the flesh, or if he were just mistaken. The object was about the size of her hand, triangular and ridged, with a few holes through it. Holy light pulsed around it, drawing Elise closer and closer. As she approached, she realized what it was.

  Another human bone. A sacrum—commonly called the tailbone—was suspended in mid-air by divine energy.

  Her first instinct was to recoil, but this bone felt different from the bridge. It was human, sure, but this bone was given willingly.

  She wasn’t sure how she knew the difference. Perhaps it was the divine energy enveloping the bone. It wasn’t as loathsome as the bridge had been. Both bone and energy called to her, beckoning her forward.

  Elise stepped up to the bone cautiously, and she reached out to touch it. Her fingers grazed the edge. It was held in place by an unseen force, but as she closed her fingers around it, there was no resistance. She pulled it out of place easily. It continued to glow, but Elise felt nothing special in that glow. The bone wasn’t even warm to the touch. It was just a bone, untouched by age, sitting in her hand. Nothing special, aside from the divine light.

  It wasn’t as if she had expected an unseen choir to sing an ode to her triumph, or for a divine voice to ring in her head, or something else equally obvious. But she had certain expectations.

  She thought it would feel special. Like she was holding a relic that would respond to her wishes. Instead it felt like she was holding a torch that burned without heat. It glowed, and it was obvious that it held power. But that was it. There was no sense that the power within would respond to her wishes, and leap at her command.

  “I want Athala back,” she whispered to the bone. “I wish for her to come back to life.”

  Elise waited a moment, staring at the bone.

  Nothing happened. Not even a shift in the gentle glow it emitted.

  It was inert. Useless to her hands.

  Frustration flooded her. Had they come so far, gone through all this, for a thing that didn’t work? Were the texts just rumors? Would this prove to be useless?

  Elise turned and stormed back across the platform. She picked her way across the bridge—faster this time, but still fighting back as sense of nausea—and returned to the awaiting Ermolt.

  And Claus. The High Priest of Isadon.

  She brandished the tailbone at the old man. “Is this it? Is this the fabled Favor of Isadon? It isn’t doing anything!”

  “Of course,” he sputtered, his eyes wide. “Why would you ask? You’re holding the last divine reservoir of Isadon’s strength! What did you expect, a notarized certificate of authenticity?”

  “Then how does it work?”

  Elise could feel Ermolt step up behind her. She imagined his scowl and heard him shift to cross his arms over his chest. Perhaps he as well felt played by this lying man who might not even be who he claimed to be. Was he just stringing them along?

  “What do you mean? Are you daft? You…” Claus paused, looking between Ermolt and Elise in a panic. “You have to pray! What do you think you have to do? Just point it at a grave and wish really hard? It’s a relic of a God. Prayer is the conduit between divine reservoirs and divine power. Even the largest lakes need a path to the sea to make a river flow!”

  Elise looked at the bone in her grip. Prayer. She hadn’t actively prayed since Jirda. Since that time on the road where she had put everything that she had into asking Ydia for help and She abandoned her.

  She was filled with the urge to toss the bone away. To call it a failed experiment. How could she pray for the same thing twice and expect a different result, just because the God’s name was different?

  Elise shook her head, hard. She pushed the bone towards Ermolt. “I can’t. You do it.”

  Ermolt shook his head, firmly. “This one is all you, and the power you were taught as a Conscript. Just try it. If it doesn’t work, we have Catarin’s notes. We can find another way.” A slow grin crossed his mouth. “And failing that, we also have a deep pit that has proved itself quite effective against the undying relics of Isadon’s clergy.” He gave a pointed look to Claus, who flinched away.

  She wanted to refuse. But the gentle glow of the bone reassured her. Perhaps this time would be different. “Fine,” she said, sullenly. She lowered herself to one knee, holding the bone out in front of her like it was an offering. “I’ll try. For Athala.”

  Elise closed her eyes and focused on the bone in her hands. She pushed her thoughts inward, trying to still her mind enough to seek the solace of prayer. But her insides were a rolling mass that refused to still. All she felt was bitterness. Emptiness. She was already trying to think of another way to bring back Athala. Her thoughts betrayed her—told her this was a dud.

  She had no faith in this, just as she had no faith in Ydia. Just as she had no faith in a God who had been dead for centuries.

  When she tried to draw on the comfort of divine power, the only thing she could think of was the woman made of light telling her that Athala had to stay dead. Of blood running down Meodryt’s chin. Sirur’s bellowed accusations of Ydia’s greater plans. The cold wood of the chopping block as she was held in place for the executioner’s axe. Of every day she was a Conscript after her peers were elevated to positions above her.

  No God would answer her even if she could quiet the montage of failures that played through her mind. She was useless. Why bother?

  The answer came quick.

  She wanted her friend back.

  More than any revenge, more than any acceptance or success or victory, she just wanted to see Athala’s smile. To see her dig eagerly into a bowl of stir-fried vegetables as if they were a sugary treat. She wanted to see the wizard pick at her fingernails while Elise and Ermolt argued. To see her cover her mouth when she laughed, and how she would laugh until she snorted, like a proper noble lady who was raised to follow the letter of decorum, but was born to violate the spirit of it.

  Athala had saved their lives time and again, and had given her
life to do it this time. And Elise swore she would do whatever needed to bring her back.

  For Athala, Elise calmed her mind. She found the strength.

  And she prayed. She prayed for Athala’s return, infusing every thought of the wizard with need. The world was lesser for her absence, and her return would be a service to Neuges itself. Athala was a brilliant wizard. Her life was cut short far before she had contributed all she could to humanity’s knowledge and understanding of magic. She had the tools and the intelligence to make the world a better place—she just needed the opportunity once more. If Elise needed to trade her life for Athala’s, she would. She would trade a hundred for the wizard’s life. Athala was the best of them, and Elise would not stop until she was back.

  But nothing happened.

  There was no answer.

  Elise opened her eyes. She stared at the glowing bone in her hand. It didn’t feel any different, and nothing had changed. She was still kneeling at the top of the Temple, with Ermolt nearby. There was no sign of Athala, no sign of rising power that would coalesce and bring her back.

  Nothing.

  She snarled, raising the bone in her hand. Elise vowed to smash the bone on the stone floor. She had been through so much for this useless piece of garbage, and if nothing else, she could take out her aggression on it.

  But before she could bring it down, a hand closed on her wrist. The grip was firm, with wide fingers that held infinite power.

  She looked up, expecting Ermolt’s disapproving frown.

  But it was Claus.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  He could see her growing frustration. Could see her temper rising, and his rage echoed it. They had been played. Shammed. Been given false hope.

  She wanted to dash it on the floor, and a part of him wanted to stop her. But he couldn’t think of a reasonable argument for not doing so. She had been at prayer for what seemed like a half a bell, with no response, and she knew more about this sort of thing than he did. He trusted her instincts, even if it seemed like a shame to destroy the thing they had come so far to retrieve.

  Claus stepped forward, though. He caught her hand before she could smash the Favor, and Ermolt was surprised that he was able to stop her. He knew she was far stronger than the frail old man. She had thrown him around like nothing when he had attacked them earlier—how had he stopped her?

  The bony hand around her wrist began to shift and change. His fingers dissolved into murky darkness, and while Ermolt could see her wrist through the cloudy shape, Elise was still held fast. The murk spread up his arm, darkness blooming across the old man’s body. It reduced him to a shifting darkness, roughly in the shape of a person. As his face dissolved into gloom, Elise’s eyes widened.

  “What—are you…?”

  The dark shape made a noise.

  It was not a voice, but it was hauntingly familiar.

  Ermolt didn’t hear words in it, just a rhythmic clacking noise.

  He knew the sound.

  For a moment, he could hear it from his dreams, a haunting sound of stones knocking together one after another. It called to him from far away. The noise filled the air, for his ears and his alone.

  It was the sound of the stones he had piled on the cairn over his family.

  Ermolt’s skin crawled, and he nearly fell to his knees.

  Here now was a dark, vaguely humanoid shape that spoke in noises and not words. There was fear and awe in Elise’s eyes as she beheld it and heard its speech.

  The dark shape was no undead, but was instead something else that they had encounter before.

  This was the shadowy figure of a God.

  Of Isadon.

  Chapter Forty

  The old man’s form melted away, his featureless and tattered robes and wiry beard transforming before her eyes. Claus filled out, his emaciated form becoming much more robust. He was still an older man, but he had a thin moustache and full lips. His robes were still simple, but the Symbol of Isadon stood out clear and clean on his chest.

  This was Him.

  Isadon himself.

  The long-forgotten God of Death.

  But despite his obviously divine nature, there was a bit of wear to His form. At the edges of His image He was frayed in places, and flickers of smoke seemed to leak from His sides.

  “What—are you…?”

  “Yes,” He said, His voice was gravelly. There was a hoarseness to it, but it sounded natural. “I am Isadon, returned at last.” He inclined His head at her with a smirk. “Thank you for saving Me.”

  “What… what happened? To You? To Claus?”

  Isadon smiled, weakly. “For a long time, I was just what I said. Mostly.” He shrugged, and the motion seemed too nonchalant for a God. “When the first explorers came, I took the form of Claus, and I held it for centuries. I sustained Myself as best I could in my weakened state. But as My power waned, I forgot what I truly was. I became Claus in truth. It was only in My deepest memories that I knew I was something more than that. But with your prayer, you’ve awakened My true self. The smallest spark of faith is all it took.”

  Elise could only stare in wonder. She had never seen another God before, but He acted so much differently from Ydia. Was He truly a divine being, or was Claus playing tricks on her?

  As if reading her mind, Isadon chuckled. “There will be time for more stories later, I believe. For now, I owe you a debt for My return. What is it you desire—what thing drove you here? You’ve faced everything this cursed Temple could put in your path, and climbed here to the top against all odds to retrieve this.” He plucked the glowing bone from her fingers. “My Favor. What is it you could want with it?”

  “Her name was Athala,” Elise said, the words pouring out of her like water from a well. “She was my best friend, and I failed to protect her. Meodryt killed her—murdered her. More than that, I prayed to Ydia and She answered my prayers for the first time in my life just to tell me no. Athala was supposed to be the Bringer of the Age of Mortals, ordained by Ydia. But even that wasn’t enough for Her to bring Athala back.” She paused, swallowing against a lump in her throat. “I just want her back. I want my mistakes undone.”

  “Your story touches me, Child. I’ve heard a story like that somewhere before.” Isadon smirked, and Elise could see anger lurking in those kind eyes. The corner of His face frayed and flickered, and he winced. “Ydia is well known in these parts for using others and discarding them, no matter how essential She made them feel.” He turned His eyes aside, looking at the bone in His hand. “Whatever reason She had to refuse you, the other Gods would be afraid to cross Her. But I am not beholden to any law of the other Gods. I was murdered and cast aside, presumed gone forever. What else are They going to do to Me?” He laughed, a gruff and gravely thing. “I dare Them to finish the job.”

  “What is it you need from me?” Elise asked. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

  Isadon held the bone out to her. “This contains all of the power I had when I died. I sealed it in here to hide Myself from the other Gods. They did not suspect I still lived.” He turned the bone over in His hand. “With this power, I can bring her back. There should be more than enough. But power isn’t the only thing. I lack faith. My followers are dead. I am forgotten.” He looked down at Elise, and then over at Ermolt. “I will need you both. Gods need prayers to use their power, and this is the first time someone has prayed to Me in many long years. But I need more.”

  Elise looked over her shoulder at Ermolt. The barbarian was staring, slack jawed. Elise knew he couldn’t see divine power as she could, and she wondered what it is he was witnessing now. “I believe that can be arranged,” she said, cautiously. She didn’t want to speak for Ermolt, but prayer was an easy thing.

  “It’s more than that, though.” Isadon looked back down at her. “I need you to renounce your faiths to the other Gods.” He grimaced. “I will need you to become My newest worshippers, to give Me enough faith to wield My power.”

  “You wa
nt us to become Your tools just as we were Hers?” Elise pushed herself to her feet. The God who was once Claus towered over her now, almost as much as Ermolt did. “I’m not saying we won’t, but I need to make something very clear—if You use us as Ydia did, I will not follow blindly.” She shook her head, trying to hold back the weight she felt in her chest. “I will not let Athala be sacrificed again.”

  Isadon smiled, and it was an action full of kindness and patience. “I cannot say I won’t use you. It is the nature of Gods to use mortals as they see fit. But I promise that I will not sacrifice any of you.” He gestured down at the Temple behind him. “With a flock of three, I cannot afford to lose a single follower.” He chuckled at that, and Elise found it difficult to keep herself from smiling.

  “We can’t rebuild your Temple. We have too many other things to do. There won’t be time to pull all this together and bring about the Age of Mortals.”

  “I would only ask that if I wanted to live again,” Isadon said with another grim chuckle. “I don’t. I will be perfectly happy if My memory dies with you three.” He shook his head, and Elise could see the years that had worn on him. “But I will be honest—I want to use you. I want justice.”

  He chuckled, and the top of His head flickered. Isadon winced and He raised a hand to smooth His thinning hair and dispel the fraying in His image. “No. Let me call it what it is. Not justice. Revenge.” He met Elise’s eyes, and through the centuries of fatigue, she saw a fire. “Revenge against the one who orchestrated the death of Barbiel—My dragon—and the massacre of My followers here in My own home. She was the one behind the strike that rendered me powerless and near-dead for centuries.

  “I want revenge against Ydia.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ermolt watched the exchange between Elise and Isadon with patience and curiosity. He was only able to understand one side of the conversation, while the other side constantly sent him back to a time where he was small and scared and alone. It was unnerving, but also exciting. They had walked the halls of a decrepit tower with a God in disguise. Dasis’ Fauna, he had even kept said God from killing them multiple times.