The Godling Chronicles: A Trial of Souls (Book 4)

by Anderson, Brian D.

  Nehrutu only nodded at Aaliyah, cheerlessly.

  “I must help Nehrutu,” said Aaliyah. Without waiting for a reply, she followed him and the healers as they set to work.

  Gewey was led to a wagon just behind the king and sat down. Kaylia settled beside him. The elves all bowed before speeding off to return to the fray.

  “Bloody fool,” Lousis repeated. He shook his head and stared angrily for a full minute. Gradually though, his mouth turned up into a smile. He then he let out a soft chuckle. “But fool or no, songs of your deeds will be sung for generations to come.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Gewey. “I failed; far too many have died.”

  “Failed? Are you not thinking clearly?” Lousis took a seat next to Gewey and leaned back on the wagon. “Never have I seen such power. Your mad charge opened the way for our men to break through. And let’s not forget what you did to their heavy horse.” He grabbed Gewey’s shoulder firmly and gave him a fond squeeze. “This battle would have happened regardless of your presence. But had you not been here, we may well have been defeated - even with the elves at our side. You saved thousands of lives this day.”

  This did little to console Gewey. He smiled at the king and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Kaylia.”

  Kaylia took his hand and placed it in her lap. “We can discuss that later. For now you must rest.”

  Gewey allowed himself to drift to the edge of sleep. The sounds of the battle still carried over the field, and for several hours he lay still and quiet. From time to time reports would come back to Lousis. The enemy was not surrendering, but was still being pushed back ever further. They had managed to regroup, but most of their archers had been slain and they had only a few horses remaining.

  An hour before sunset a messenger arrived with news that King Halmara had been killed and that the remaining generals were asking for terms of surrender. Lousis bowed his head and said a quiet prayer.

  “Tell them to lay down their arms,” Lousis commanded. “Those who comply will be imprisoned until this war ends. Those who do not will die. Any who attempt to flee will be put to the rack before they are hanged.”

  The messenger hurried away.

  Gewey smiled up at Lousis. “You are far kinder than I might have been.”

  Lousis shook his head sadly. “I don’t know how kind I am. War causes hardship and famine. Those men who surrender will likely starve before our victory comes.” He sighed and walked away.

  In that moment Gewey felt pity for Lousis. Even though he had known him for only a short time, he realized that the king cared deeply for his people, and the thought of their suffering weighed heavily on his heart. The harsh days ahead would take its toll on everyone.

  Gewey felt Kaylia’s comforting presence within him and allowed himself to drift off deeper and deeper until sleep overcame him.

  He was already accustomed to the odd sensation of waking up inside the dream world. His mind had changed from the moment he’d first felt the touch of the flow. Sometimes though, it was difficult to recognize the difference between the spirit world and the realm of his own mind. He’d even managed to pass from one to the other while returning from the desert when Kaylia had reached out and pulled him to her. This time, however, he was alone within his dream. He could still feel the connection, but it was distant and faint.

  He was standing beside a shallow ravine surrounded by rolling hills that were covered by tall pines and great oaks. He reached down to touch the rich black soil and gazed up at a cloudless sky. The sun hovered just above a far hill, but the light cast no shadows, and was as bright as that of high noon. The scent of honeysuckle and pine needles carrying on a warm gentle breeze brought a smile to his lips. Looking out over the landscape, he spotted a thin wisp of smoke rising from the trees atop a distant hill.

  Well, I suppose that’s where the dream wants me to go, he thought with amusement.

  When he was a child, the Sharpstone village mother’s would tell him that dreams were windows where the soul could be revealed and the future told. Vera Tarver, wife of Walt Tarver, a master mason, was said to be able to interpret their true meaning. On more than one occasion his father had taken him to Vera after a particularly bad nightmare. He remembered how comforting her words had been. Of course, when he was older he soon realized she had only said what he needed to hear in order to calm his fears.

  Now, having been within the spirit world and having seen so many wonders, he no longer paid heed to dreams. To Gewey, they were merely his fears and desires coming to the surface of his mind. Even so, when they were not bringing horrifying images of war and death, he found them to be quite enjoyable. And being able to experience them as if they were real made the pleasant ones a welcome respite.

  On entering the cluster of trees at the top of the ravine, he found himself walking along a narrow trail that wound its way up and down the steep hillsides. As he moved on, he increasingly felt that he had trodden this way before. The trees seemed somehow familiar. He passed by a thick willow, its curved drooping branches hovering low over the trail. Leaning against the trunk was a gnarled and twisted branch that made Gewey think of Felsafell’s walking stick. He then understood why this place seemed familiar. He was dreaming of the Spirit Hills. He half expected to see the old hermit appear.

  ‘I wonder where he is?’ he thought, while ducking under the willow.

  “I am here,” said a voice from behind him.

  Gewey spun around. There stood Felsafell, clad in his worn buckskins and smiling his crooked friendly smile. He walked with long strides to the branch and picked it up. After looking it over for a moment, he returned to the trail.

  “And what does a child of heaven want with poor old Felsafell?” he asked. “I heard your call and swiftly to your aid I come…yes, oh yes. Could it be that power found satisfies not? Does the awakened god have questions? I think he does, or I think he dies.”

  “I didn’t call you,” said Gewey. “But I do have questions.”

  “Then let us walk and talk,” he replied. “We will wander the dream. But all answers, I have not. More questions you will have, once our time is done.”

  Ahead, the trail broadened enough to allow them to walk side by side, and they continued along at a leisurely pace. Gewey was quiet for a time. He had contacted people through their dreams before, but it was always a bit unsettling. His troubles had begun in Sharpstone when his dreams were invaded by the Dark Knight. Kaylia was always welcome, but anyone else felt like an intruder, regardless of intent.

  “Where did you go when you left The Chamber of the Maker?” asked Gewey.

  “I journeyed through snows and mountains,” he replied. “So I could see the cold, dark with my own eyes. The king in his castle. The enemy of my kin.”

  Gewey stopped short. “You went to Angrääl?”

  Felsafell’s usual cheerful countenance turned sour. “His face I viewed, though I remember it not. His name I heard, but the memory vanished.”

  “Why did you go there?” he asked, unable to hide his suspicious tone.

  Felsafell laughed. “Please, have no fear. I am not his. Though his power is great, a mortal man I am not. He cannot trap my soul. I asked him to free my kin and let them fade.” He lowered his eyes. “The Reborn King refused my plea. His servants they will remain until his destruction.”

  Gewey shook his head and sighed. “You didn’t really think he would do that, did you? He would never give up the Vrykol.” He noticed Felsafell’s surprised expression. “I know what has happened to your people.” He told him about his time in the desert and the Black Oasis.

  “Far have you come in a short span of earthly life,” said Felsafell. “But farther still have you to go. The king in the north has stolen the souls of the innocent. Trapped them and bound them...enslaved them he has. He thought to do the same to poor Felsafell. But only a dying mind can fall under his spell, and mine can last as long as the stars.”

  “I’m amazed h
e let you live,” remarked Gewey.

  “Kill me he cannot,” said Felsafell. “But I think he was unaware his power had failed. I think he believes me trapped like the others.” He met Gewey’s eyes. “Beware those who have looked upon his aspect. For they are his, and his alone. They cannot betray him, nor fail to answer his call.”

  “How does he do this?” asked Gewey.

  “I think you know…Darshan.” Felsafell laughed wistfully. “But perhaps the knowledge bringer knows not. How merry a laugh the thought brings. But you shall know all too soon.”

  “He must use the flow of the spirit,” Gewey mused.

  “Indeed, he must,” agreed Felsafell. “A power you have neglected. Your strength ignored. Air, earth, and water are but toys. The spirit is where true power lives. The dark one knows this. Oh yes, he knows this all too well.”

  “But how can I use it to fight him?” asked Gewey. “War is fought with swords and spears. I can’t defeat armies with the spirit.”

  Felsafell raised an eyebrow. “So strong in body and young in mind. War can only be won with spirit. What is a sword without the will to use it? Just shiny metal. Neither man nor elf will make war without the heart to fight, or a leader to follow. Soon you must raise the hopes of the world, and all must flock to your banner, or they will surely flock to his.”

  Gewey frowned. “But how? I don’t know how to use it. At least, not in the way you’re saying.”

  “Then learn you must before time has faded.” He continued to stroll down the trail.

  “Can you teach me?” asked Gewey.

  “The powers are unknown to me and mine,” he replied. “You must be your own master.”

  “What about the Book of Souls?” asked Gewey. “Are the answers there?”

  “Answers, yes. But the question may not be the same.”

  “Then where should I look?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” said Felsafell. “My kin are gone and cannot whisper in old ears. But have faith that things will unfold as they should. The fates have brought you love and fortune. I do not believe they will abandon you now.” He looked up at the forest and sighed woefully. “It is good to see my home again…even through your eyes.”

  “Where are you now?” asked Gewey.

  “Far away,” he replied. “Far from home and comfort. But you shall see me soon enough. But now you must wake. Your destiny calls and you must pay heed.”

  Gewey opened his eyes. Kaylia was still beside him, sipping a cup of wine. King Lousis approached, followed by Chiron, Ertik and Bellisia.

  “The enemy has surrendered,” said Chiron. “The armies of elf and human are victorious. The King of Angrääl is cast out.” His face shone with pride.

  Bellisia did not look as pleased. “Yes. But at a great cost. Thousands lay dead upon the field. Thousands more are badly wounded.”

  Gewey felt guilt strike at his heart. “I am sorry. I did not suspect the Vrykol could have such power. Nor did I expect Yanti to be so strong.”

  Bellisia gave Gewey a compassionate smile. “I would be a fool to blame you. Every elf knows that you ensured our victory, and that without you many more would have perished. I am just saddened by the death of so many brave souls.”

  “We all mourn,” said Lousis. “But it is also a time to rejoice. More shall join our cause when they hear of Angrääl’s defeat.”

  Gewey struggled to his feet, wincing from the wound in his stomach. Kaylia was instantly at his side. “Your people have good reason to celebrate,” he said. “But I cannot join them.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Lousis. “This is your victory.”

  Gewey shook his head. “No. My victory comes later.” He told them about his dream. “I believe what Felsafell says, even if I don’t fully understand. I must learn to use the flow of the spirit.”

  “What will you do?” asked Chiron.

  Gewey shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think first I shall read the Book of Souls and hope it will give me some guidance.” As he spoke his legs faltered and he was forced to lean on Kaylia.

  “But for now you will rest and heal,” said Kaylia sternly.

  All nodded in agreement.

  Gewey smiled “I wouldn’t dare to argue. Once Aaliyah and Nehrutu are finished treating the wounded, tell them I would speak with them.”

  Kaylia led Gewey away to a soft bedroll and helped him lay down. It wasn’t long before Althetan soldiers and elf warriors began seeking him out. Some asked for his blessing, which he reluctantly gave, while others came simply to thank him for their victory. After a time, Kaylia ordered the guards to turn them away.

  “They don’t see my failure,” muttered Gewey.

  Kaylia looked displeased. “I think you are the only one who sees it as failure. No one expected you to destroy an army alone. Only you would be so foolish as to imagine you could.” She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to meet her eyes. “You must know that there will be more battles, and more death. If you wish to stop it, you cannot do so alone. Gerath knew this. That’s why he gave you his gifts, and why they were meant to be passed on to those who love you.”

  Gewey leaned in and kissed her. “You’re right. I know you are.” He lowered his eyes. “And I’m sorry for what I did. I didn’t intend to use my powers on you. And when it happened, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of it.”

  Kaylia frowned. “That is true. And if you had not already gone through battle, I would most certainly be making you feel as though you had.” Her features then softened. “But for now, I will just be happy that you live.”

  Gewey rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. This time his dreams were of home - with Kaylia at his side.

  Chapter 3

  Theopolou and Mohanisi strolled casually together down a broad forest path. Theopolou guessed that it had been made by human woodsman for transporting lumber to nearby villages, where it would then be turned into building materials. Fortunately, the path appeared to be abandoned at the moment.

  For two weeks they had been forced to wind their way through the forest unseen, Theopolou fearing that a premature encounter with elves from the Steppes might end their mission before it had even really got started. A chance meeting with humans did not concern him so much. From what he had learned, most of the northern cities were similar to Althetas with regard to their attitudes toward elves.

  He and Mohanisi had spoken at length about the fears of the southern cities. Elf lands stretched out east from their borders, and humans were not suffered to pass. This forced most to conduct all their trade by sea, virtually cutting them off from the central kingdoms. Even by ship the human traders were forced to sail near the western isles of Lymbos, off the coast of the Tarvansia Peninsula. More than one vessel had ventured too close and found themselves under elf knifes.

  “It is a wonder there is any peace at all,” Mohanisi had remarked.

  Theopolou couldn’t help but agree. For centuries he had resisted the idea that the world must be shared with their former enemies. He had not seen the inevitability of what was now coming to pass. Even without a foe such as The Reborn King, it was always going to be only a matter of time before the old hatreds spawned another war - a war that would have broken the elves completely. Whatever honor that remained within their race would have been lost forever. And though their doom may still be at hand, at least they will not have rotted away from the inside.

  It would be two weeks yet before they reached the Steppes, so Theopolou was taking full advantage of his time with Mohanisi. He yearned to hear about the original land of his people, and Mohanisi was perfectly willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know. The more Theopolou learned, the more he found it difficult to imagine ever leaving such a wonderful place. He began longing to see it for himself.

  At midday they decided to rest for a few hours. Theopolou had determined early that he would not waste his strength by pressing the pace. A shadow had been growing over his heart, and he could not shake the feeling that
he may be marching off to his death. If that was the case, he would not hurry to meet it. Though he did not fear death, the idea of not living long enough to see his people restored brought him great sadness.

  They found a small clearing peppered with fragrant yellow wildflowers. Mohanisi built a small fire and heated some leftover stew he had saved in a tin.

  “Do you think our brethren will pay us heed?” he asked.

  “I think we shall be fortunate to return alive,” Theopolou replied, giving a weak smile. “The closer we come to the Steppes, the darker my soul becomes. With each step my hope fades.”

  “I feel it as well,” said Mohanisi. “But I do not believe it is your hope fading. We approach something evil, and possessing an unyielding power. It corrupts the flow and causes the spirit to wither.”

  “What could do such a thing?”

  Mohanisi shook his head slowly, staring into the flickering flames. “I do not know. Never have I heard of anything that could do this. Not even in legend.” He stirred the stew with his dagger. “But if this is what has caused our brothers’ hearts to blacken, then I think our quest will fail unless we find it, and destroy it.”

  After the meal they continued on until shortly after sunset.

  As they were setting up camp, Mohanisi suddenly stiffened. He listened carefully. “Two elves approach from the north.”

  “Do they know we are here?” asked Theopolou. He strained to hear them, but was unable to detect anything.

  “No,” Mohanisi replied. “Not unless they possess the same power as I. Not even your seekers can match me in the wild.” He continued to listen. “If we remain here they will find us.”

  Theopolou thought for a moment. “Then let them find us. I do not think two lone elves would seek battle. If anything they are scouts, and I think your use of the flow will be enough to discourage any aggression.”

  Mohanisi frowned. “I am loathe to use such power against an elf - even a misguided one. But I believe you are correct. And if they are scouts, we should know who sent them and why.”