Forgotten Gods Boxed Set 2

by S T Branton

  I knew what I wanted to say, but I kept it locked tightly behind my teeth. What the shit was that guy doing there? My fists clenched instinctively at my sides. I still wanted to throw that punch for everything he’d put me through.

  The man watched us impassively as he took another deep drag. “Come,” he instructed, his head wreathed in a white plume.

  As if compelled by an outside force, Marcus and I stepped forward in unison until we stood below the steps that led to the throne. The smoking man uncrossed his legs. He stubbed his cigarette out in a jeweled ashtray and its miniscule embers faded into nothing. Then, he stood and something happened to the sinewy old-man body. He grew and his shoulders broadened. His jawline became clean and sharp. The shape of his muscles filled out. He even glowed a little.

  I blinked. The smoking man had gone, replaced by a man who could only be a king. Although his face was drawn with hidden pain, his features looked like they’d been sculpted by an artist and he exuded an irresistible charisma.

  Marcus gasped. When I glanced his way, he had dropped to one knee, his head bowed in utmost reverence. “My Lord,” he intoned.

  I folded my arms. “My Lord is right,” I said. “Will somebody tell me what in high freaking heaven is going on here?”

  The old centurion looked aghast at my impropriety. “Victoria!” he chastised. “That is no way to speak before the God-King. I will thank you to show the proper respect in his hall.”

  I gave him a hard look. “Dude, listen to yourself right now. The God-King’s gone, and it’s a damn good thing he is because Delano beat me up and took his sword—or don’t you remember that part? Something tells me he wouldn’t be too happy if he knew.”

  Marcus grimaced. He obviously wanted to shrivel up and die of embarrassment. “Victoria—”

  “Well, she’s not completely wrong.” The man spoke for the first time since his transformation. “I must admit, I was disheartened to witness that particular defeat. But the fault lies with me, Vic. Not you.”

  I stopped cold. My eyes locked onto his face and revelation crashed over me. “Tell me who you are,” I said. “Uh…please.”

  Marcus sighed audibly.

  The man only smiled. “My name is nothing you don’t already know,” he replied. “I am Kronin, former king of the gods, ruler of Carcerum, and bearer of the Gladius Solis. Loyal Marcus speaks the truth. You walk in my domain.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My jaw dropped as the force of the truth smacked me in the face. The smoking man, the guy who fished me out of an Indiana river after he’d left me and my crew to fend for ourselves against Delano, had been Kronin the whole time.

  Memories of his brief appearances during the last months of my life flashed through my head. They all had one thing in common—he showed up, dispensed some sage wisdom, and dropped off the face of the earth again, often for weeks without any form of contact. Knowing that he had likely retreated to his undisturbed godly kingdom during those periods of strife made me mad. Then I thought about it some more and it made me furious.

  Marcus must have seen the color rise in my face because he reached out a hand toward my arm, ready to mediate between me and his lord and savior.

  Steaming, I brushed him off. “You have some nerve, Kronin,” I said. “You know that? Leave it to one of the freaking gods to let the world fall into chaos while they sit idly by, doing nothing.” I glared directly into his eyes and refused to give an inch. He made no reply. “And now you have nothing to say. Typical.”

  The centurion’s hand landed on my shoulder. He tried to ease me back gently, maybe because he was afraid I’d storm up those fancy golden steps and slap the God-King in his omniscient face. His grip was firm but I didn’t budge. My hurt leg trembled slightly and I prayed it wouldn’t give out. Marcus made another attempt to mollify me.

  “Keep your temper,” he said softly. “We need Kronin now more than ever.”

  I had already seen red, however. “No,” I retorted and continued to glower at the king of gods. “We don’t. The only thing he’s done for us is make false promises.” I could literally feel my blood pressure rise and a tension headache brewed in the back of my skull.

  The fact that Kronin had yet to go on the defensive only annoyed me more. There was no honor in simply sitting there and taking it. I was more than happy to force him into a direct confrontation and release some of the pent-up frustration. Maybe after that, I’d be able to look at him without wanting to throw up.

  “You—” I didn’t really know what I wanted up to say, but as it turned out, it didn’t matter. My voice had risen to a level barely below a shout, and when I went to kick it up a notch, my lungs refused to cooperate. Instead of taking a stand, I doubled over and coughed so hard that I eventually sagged onto the floor. Marcus knelt at my side and glanced at Kronin.

  “I must apologize for her, my liege. She is very weak and she is not herself. I am sure you understand that these past weeks have been exceptionally difficult for her on many levels. But she is strong. She will recover.”

  I swatted at him and did my best to indicate that his sentiments were full of crap and he didn’t have permission to speak for me. Recent events had been as tough as hell, but so was I.

  “I’m not weak,” I tried to say. “I’m fucking pissed.” The cough wouldn’t abate, however, and the words were reduced to a series of rusty croaks. Not cool or impressive, I acknowledged miserably.

  “Relax, Vic.” Kronin broke his contemplative silence at last. “I mean that literally. Nourish your body with food, drink, and rest. Hospitality is the least I can provide you in the wake of a journey like the one you’ve had. The halls of Carcerum will no doubt refresh you as they have rejuvenated me on countless occasions. It is an honor to host you.”

  Marcus helped me up and slung my arm around his shoulders. I mumbled a sullen reply.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Marcus said. “We are most grateful.”

  Kronin nodded. He addressed me again. “Once your strength has returned, I shall answer for every choice I have made thus far—the good and the bad. You may judge me then as you see fit.” He stepped back and resumed his position on the gleaming throne. Marcus bowed his head and guided me toward an archway at the end of the hall.

  “Where are we going?” I rasped. “I’m not done with him yet.”

  “It can wait,” Marcus replied, a touch of dry amusement in his tone. “For now, Kronin is right. You need to recuperate and get strong. Time flows differently in Carcerum, but it does not stop.”

  He walked me carefully through shining corridors to a luxurious bedchamber. While I dragged myself under the downy covers, the old Roman soldier brought me strange, brightly colored fruits that dripped with sweet juice, water clearer than crystal, and a ladle brimful of the mystical nectar that worked overtime to keep me alive.

  I didn’t think I was hungry until he piled food on plates in front of me, balanced across the bedspread on a polished tray. Once I’d lifted the first piece of exotic fruit to my lips, I recalled suddenly that I hadn’t had anything to eat since my breakfast of bread and jerky at Shiva’s house. Marcus sat on the end of the bed, watched me devour his offerings, and smiled like a proud dad.

  “You eat like a true warrior,” he said.

  I licked juice off my fingertips. “At least I do something like a damn warrior.” Under the comforter, I stretched my bad leg out in search of a comfortable position. The pain had eased but it did not disappear. “I’m about to sleep like one. That’s for sure.”

  “A hero’s rest,” Marcus affirmed. He cleared the empty plates away and ran a cloth over the tray. The ladle of nectar was refilled.

  “I feel bad watching you act like my butler,” I confessed and took a long draught of nectar. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s also amazing. But I can’t help thinking it’s, like, a step down for you.”

  The soldier laughed. He turned down the edges of the blankets and tucked them in around me. “It is no matter. To have
a corporeal form at all is an occasion to be savored. I would be grateful to do anything with these hands.”

  I gazed at him. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I’m really, really glad to see you but I didn’t know this was possible.” I paused. “How is it possible? I thought bringing back the dead was usually number one on the list of things that are never allowed.”

  Marcus shrugged his shoulders. “No more than the miracle of Carcerum,” he answered. “I am grateful that you are allowed to experience it in all its glory.” A shadow crossed his face. “Well, some of its glory. It wasn’t always quite so…hollow.”

  I shuffled down into the bed and sighed as the luxurious mattress hugged my exhausted body. “I want to ask you something, and I need you to be a hundred percent honest with me,” I said. “No, more than that. Like a thousand percent.”

  My eyelids instantly became heavy. I stifled a yawn. The million thoughts in my head slowed to a crawl.

  “I have never been anything but honest with you, my friend,” said Marcus. “This will always be true.”

  “Good.” I rolled onto my side and faced him. “Do you know what’s going on here, for real?”

  He shook his head. “We are in the same boat, Victoria. My guess is as valuable as yours.” His eyes moved toward the half-draped window that caught the light. “But one thing I do know above all else is that if Kronin is alive, all will be well. I feel it in my very soul. He has not forsaken us.”

  “Hmm.” I blinked slowly and fought the powerful force that drew me into sleep. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Marcus touched my arm. “Have faith, Victoria, and hope. Sometimes, in the darkest hours, these are what carry us through.”

  His words followed me down into a dreamless dark. They made me think of Deacon in the moments before I drifted off. If only faith, hope, and love could be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cocooned in the finest, softest blankets I had ever felt, I slept for what might have been hours or days or weeks. All I knew when I woke up was that it was the most fulfilling rest I’d had in a long, long time. The feeling reminded me a little of life before the gods and waking up to go to work, or practice, or college classes.

  Except I now woke up in Carcerum on the other side of the veil from the Himalayan Mountains. Someone had come in while I slept and dropped breakfast off on that same polished tray. I dug in and relished the sensation of being full of rich, nutritious food. Months of stews and preserved rations had dulled my taste buds, but they wasted no time and seemed to spring immediately back to life.

  I leaned back on the pillows for a moment after my meal and absorbed the abundance of comfort. No wonder Marcus could never shut up about the place.

  The bedroom had an adjoining bath. In my haste to fall asleep as quickly as possible, I had not used it. Now, I stood on the bath mat, stripped off my dirty, travel-worn clothes, and dropped them onto the pristine floor. The soles of my feet left smears in the basin of the tub, even though I’d worn boots on my way up the mountain. I twisted the knobs on either side of the faucet and realized they were golden. Everything here was golden.

  Steam curled from the water as it swirled around my feet. I basked in the heat, my eyes closed, and grinned. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so pampered—or had the time and facilities to soak in a bathtub. My worries and fears washed away with the grime on my skin. For the moment, I felt free.

  I lingered there, submerged up to my neck, until the water was gross and dingy. Then, I drained it, filled it again, and washed myself totally clean. As I lathered soap along my legs, I took a minute to inspect my sword wound closely for the first time since I’d received it. There was no more blood but it didn’t look healed, either. The skin around the incision was dark. I touched it lightly, winced, and jerked my hand back.

  “Yep,” I muttered. “It still hurts.” But it was better. I could stand and walk without too much of a problem. I had dealt with far worse than occasional shooting pains.

  The towels were huge and fluffy and seemed to drink the moisture right off my skin. I found a comb and ran it through my hair. The mirror told me that the dark circles under my eyes had finally decided to vacate the premises. To be honest, I didn’t look half bad. Of course, the one day I looked super good, Deacon wasn’t there to appreciate it.

  The simple act of thinking about him made my stomach squeeze uncomfortably. I finished getting dressed and left the bedchamber for a self-guided tour around Carcerum. The inside of my head remained amazingly quiet as I headed down the hall. It was almost weird not to have Marcus constantly chatting away in there. Still, I wasn’t about to take total independence for granted.

  Beyond Kronin’s combination banquet hall and throne room, I found an atrium that opened into the wildest gardens I had ever seen. I took a peek at the throne as I passed. It stood empty and so did the hall before it. The fragrance of flowers struck my senses as I passed beneath a glass dome that filtered sunlight down to hundreds of multicolored blooms. The garden air was sweet and heavy. It was tempting to sit on one of the ornate benches along the path, but I walked on through a door on the other side of the glass-walled greenhouse. A whole world stretched beyond the confines of the palace, and I wanted to see as much of it as possible.

  The land was gorgeous and sweeping, painted in every shade imaginable—plus some I swore I’d never seen. Every blade of grass, every drop of water, and every pebble beside the immaculate roads held a muted glow in its depths. The soaring sky blazed cerulean above my head. The sun followed wherever I went and caressed my skin with its subtle warmth. Winter was nonexistent in Carcerum and I didn’t miss it all that much.

  I strolled along the footpaths that threaded through the kingdom until my leg began to act up a little. It was a simple matter to find my way back. I simply needed to check the horizon for the imperial outline of Kronin’s palace. I chose a straight path toward it and approached the grounds from a different angle to which I had left them. I ended up in a smaller set of outdoor gardens artfully arranged around the base of a burbling fountain.

  Kronin sat on the side of the fountain’s basin—smoking, as usual. He gazed into the rippling water, deep in rumination. I slowed my pace. Food and sleep had cooled a lot of the searing anger I’d unleashed upon my arrival in Carcerum, and although I still had some burning questions for the guy, I harbored a pang of remorse for my actions.

  “Good morning,” Kronin said suddenly. He glanced at me and smiled. “You’re feeling well, I hope.” If he thought I was an asshole for shouting at him, his grace never faltered.

  “Yeah,” I said sheepishly. “Much better. Listen, I’m sorry for acting like a prick—like a jerk—when I got here. I won’t take back what I said, but I realize I could have said it better.” I scratched my head. “I was in a bad way. I guess you could probably tell.”

  He studied me quietly. “There is no need to apologize,” he said. “Your anger is justified. There are many things that I would perhaps change if I had the opportunity. But the past is untouchable, and so we must look to the future instead.” He stood. “Please, walk with me. I want to show you the kingdom.”

  We walked the land in silence for a while, side by side as we took in the immeasurable majesty of the realm. Experiencing it with Kronin was a far different experience than it had been on my own. Miles seemed to slip by in minutes. We followed a path down to a point that overlooked a grand, sprawling city. The maze of streets lay below us, eerily devoid of life. Then, he led me in another direction through thick forests and rolling fields. Small, cozy hamlets dotted the countryside. These, too, were empty. I quickly lost count of the places we saw, and each one stood abandoned, waiting patiently for anyone to return.

  “This place,” Kronin said as he stared out into the distance, “was once inhabited by beings much greater than the gods. They were the creators of all that we know today—the Earth, the gods themselves, even humanity. As you can see, they are long gone. They were gon
e even when I first arrived. Carcerum was empty then, the same way it is now.”

  “Where did they go?” I asked.

  “That is an excellent question.” He stopped to consider it and tilted his head back. The sunlight poured across his face to highlight his impeccable features. “Maybe they grew bored with their little pet project on your planet and left it behind for other, more interesting pursuits. Or they could have died, I suppose, assuming they had natural lifespans. It’s impossible to know.” He continued his walk without elaborating. I found his habitual vagueness annoying.

  “Speaking of death,” I said pointedly, “I thought you were dead. And so did Marcus.”

  The God-King’s smile was grim this time, and sad. “I am not dead,” he answered. “But I am dying. Delayed as its effects may be, the blow that Lorcan dealt was still a fatal one. I have survived this long thanks only to the sustaining power of this wonderful place. If not for my necessary forays down to your realm, I could have lived longer.” He shook his head. “It is not to be. The thread of my existence frays thinner as we speak. The nectar and the herbs can only do so much.”

  I smirked. “I wondered how you could stand to chain-smoke like that.”

  Kronin chuckled. “Yes. In fact, the smoking is what lent me so much borrowed time. The element of disguise was simply a necessary side benefit. To reveal my true identity would have been to invite an even more powerful danger upon the world. The gods’ efforts to end me once and for all would have reduced the human realm to dust.”

  I chewed my lip. “Why did you do it, Kronin? It seems…” I didn’t finish the sentence.