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

by Anderson, Brian D.

  The soldier returned with the wine and they sat together briefly, drinking to the memory of those who had died. The cool liquid soothed Lousis’ throat and warmed his belly. He wondered if peace was now within reach, or whether his life would be forever plagued by war. After dismissing the soldier, he shouted for another bottle. He no longer cared to keep his wits. The taste of the wine helped to ease his mind a little, though it did nothing for the heaviness in his heart.

  “They are retreating to their ships,” came a voice.

  At first Lousis didn’t respond. He drained the bottle he was holding and tossed it to the ground alongside the three others already discarded.

  “Your highness.”

  This time he looked up. It was Eftichis. Lousis smiled, his spirits lifted. “I feared you dead.”

  “Many times this night I nearly was,” he replied.

  Lousis looked around and wondered how long he had been sitting there. He held out his hand and Eftichis helped him to his feet. “My city burns.”

  “We will put out the flames,” said the elf. “And we will rebuild your city. Do not despair. We have cast out the enemy and wounded them deeply. Though many have died, we are victorious.” He noticed the king’s unsteady legs and the wounds he’d sustained in battle. “Why have you not been treated?” Before Lousis could respond he raced off. A few minutes later he returned with Lady Bellisia.

  Lousis had all but forgotten his injuries. Bellisia cleaned his wounds, using the flow to make certain the bleeding had stopped.

  “You are very fortunate Nehrutu taught me this skill,” she said, noticing the empty wine bottles. “Wine thins the blood. You could have bled to death.”

  Lousis chuckled. “My time has not come just yet. I still have work ahead. I will see my city rebuilt and the war won. Only then will I allow myself the long sleep and join my forefathers.”

  “You need rest, your highness,” said Eftichis. “At least for a short while. You cannot continue as you are.”

  Lousis wanted to protest, but his voice abandoned him. Slowly he lowered his head and allowed Eftichis to lead him to a bedroll that had been prepared a few yards from the pavilion. All of a sudden he felt old and weak, powerless to keep his eyes from closing before his head had even touched the pillow.

  Even so, sleep was briefly denied. For a short time his mind would not release him from thoughts of the battle in front of his manor, nor of his holding the dying Lord Maynard in his arms.

  “And there I have left my strength,” he whispered. Seconds later his breathing was steady as he entered a dreamless slumber.

  The light of the dawn awoke him. His muscles still ached and the wine had left his head pounding. In spite of all this, his mind was clear. He sat up and stretched.

  “Good morning, your highness,” It was Aaliyah. She and Nehrutu were standing a few feet away, together with Eftichis and Lord Amnadon.

  Lousis struggled to his feet and looked up at the smoke still billowing from the smoldering buildings. “It is good to see you all. But you should have awakened me sooner.”

  “There was no need, your highness,” said Amnadon. “Angrääl has been defeated and we have already begun putting out the flames. Nehrutu has set up a hospital just beyond the east gate and the wounded are being brought there.”

  “Where are Lord Chiron and Lady Bellisia?” he asked, half yawning.

  “Resting,” said Aaliyah. “I had to insist. They are not nearly as powerful as Nehrutu and I, and even we are very nearly drained to the point of collapse. There are many injuries. Far more than the few kin I have with me can treat in a single day.”

  Her words struck at Lousis’ heart. “How many?”

  Aaliyah sighed despondently. “Tens of thousands. Angrääl did not spare your people their wrath. They made no distinction between a soldier and a citizen.”

  “Also, we just received word from the south,” said Amnadon. “The peninsula is theirs, as well as half of Tarvansia. It seems that King Victis has managed to stop their advance for the moment, but how much longer he can hold them is uncertain.

  Lousis’ anger began to rise. “How soon can we be ready to march?”

  “We can be ready in two days if pressed,” Nehrutu replied. “But I suggest you wait a few days to repair your defenses. The city is still vulnerable.”

  “You have three days,” said Lousis. “Then we go to expel Angrääl from our lands once and for all.” Suddenly his limbs were revitalized and his fatigue gone. “I want the commanders gathered in the council chambers an hour before sunset. And send word of our intent to Skalhalis.”

  All bowed in unison and watched as Lousis strode away. His tall frame looked regal and strong - his steps sure. Amnadon motioned for a few soldiers to follow, but they were very nearly forced to break into a run to keep up with their monarch.

  The thought of King Victis fighting desperately to defend his people was steeling Lousis’ resolve. He swore on everything he believed in that he would drive this scum into the sea and save the people of the Western Abyss.

  Even if he were to die achieving it.

  Chapter 20

  With Shen standing silently at his side, Mohanisi looked at the distraught faces of the elders gathered inside the former home of Oliana. It had taken several weeks for all of them to arrive, and most looked distant and confused. The light of the lanterns made evident their pale unhealthy complexions, as if a foul disease had stolen their spirit.

  “I know many of you are still uncertain as to why you are here,” said Mohanisi in a clear deep voice.

  A thin elf woman stepped forward. “What is uncertain to me is how we are here. I have no memory of my journey - or of much else. It is as if my life has been ripped apart and cast into the wind. I can barely see the faces of my own children.”

  “The destruction of the Reborn King’s evil has touched each of you differently,” explained Mohanisi.

  A short male wrapped in a thick fur blanket shook his head wildly. “I cannot accept what has happened. I saw my brother engulfed in darkness and my village tear itself apart.”

  “The object your brother carried was tainted by evil,” explained Mohanisi. “And it would seem that all these objects were connected. When I destroyed the dagger possessed by Oliana, this somehow destroyed every one of them. I am sorry. I did not know that would happen.”

  “And had you known?” asked another.

  “It would have changed nothing,” he admitted. “I did what needed to be done. And though you are in pain now, you are free. And in time you will heal.”

  Shen touched his shoulder. “They are too wounded. They need more time.”

  “We have no time,” he replied sharply. He turned to the gathering. “I know you are confused, but the enemy who trapped your spirits will not wait for you to regain your strength. He marches on your brethren in the south, and seeks the destruction of our entire race.”

  A dark haired elf man in grey robes spoke next. “I am Frenil, elder of the Lor Nabi tribe. I watched as my father died and my people went mad. In my grief I swore revenge on whoever had brought this evil down upon us. But it is not the death of my father, or the pain of my people that drives me. It is that our will and spirits have been stolen and corrupted. We killed our brothers and sisters. We made war on our kin. For these sins I cannot seek redemption.”

  He turned to meet Mohanisi’s eyes. “When I received word that the same thing had happened throughout the Steppes, and that the elders were gathering here, I hoped to find a way to unburden the rage in my heart. I prayed to the Creator that I would learn what had happened to my people. You have given me what I sought.”

  Spinning around, he addressed the others. “I will fight, wounded or no. If I must, I will go alone, but this Reborn King will pay for what he has done.”

  Murmurs of agreement mixed with those of fear and doubt.

  “You have told us that our kin have arrived from across the Western Abyss,” Frenil continued, “and that they fight
with our people in the south. Also that it was their power...”

  He turned again to Mohanisi. “Your power, which freed us. It can be no coincidence that our legends tell of our bygone kin returning to show us what we have lost.” He paused and lowered his head. “For that reason alone, I would go to war.”

  “And what of the humans?” cried an angry voice.

  Frenil’s eyes scanned furiously for the source of the objection. “Our hatred of humans is what weakened us. Do you not see that? Our fear. Our clinging to old ways. It was what allowed the Reborn King to blind us in the first place.” He pointed to Mohanisi. “If this noble elf who has saved the souls of everyone in this room, fights with humans - so shall I.” With this final statement, it was as though he had expended his final bit of energy. With sagging shoulders, he returned to his seat.

  Shen leaned over to whisper in Mohanisi’s ear. “We should allow them time to discuss this alone.”

  Mohanisi nodded, then rose. “I leave in two days. You have until then to decide.” He strode from the room, Shen at his heels.

  The morning was frigid, though the wind calm. The dim light of dawn revealed the depth of sorrow set upon the village by the curse. Elves wandered aimlessly with vacant expressions, occasionally stopping as their eyes grew full of tears. Some dropped to their knees and wept, while others cursed and spat angrily. But even this was an improvement over the insanity of the first few days. Some had torn out their eyes and slashed their own throats. Others had run into the sea and drowned. A few seekers such as Shen had managed to hold their minds together sufficiently to gather the children before any harm could come to them. Gradually though the madness had subsided, to be replaced by utter despair.

  “I will speak with the prisoner again while we await their answer,” said Mohanisi.

  Shen frowned. “He has not uttered a word since his capture, nor eaten a morsel. How he still lives…”

  “His spirit remains possessed,” said Mohanisi. “For whatever reason, the destruction of the dagger did nothing to help him.”

  “Why are you obsessed by this?” asked Shen.

  “He was important to Theopolou,” he replied earnestly. “He intended to save him. So if I can, I will.”

  Shen sighed. “I wish I had known Theopolou better. My mind was so clouded when last we met, I can scarcely recall the encounter.”

  Mohanisi smiled. “You should be proud. Even when possessed you behaved with honor. You stood as his second and ensured your people’s redemption.”

  “It is strange.” Shen’s voice was now a whisper. “I can recall days - weeks at a time. But then there are gaps. Time I have lost to oblivion. I remember you. I remember Theopolou’s fight with Oliana. I can even remember wanting her to be defeated. But it is like remembering moments from my early childhood. The memories appear distant in my mind.”

  Mohanisi touched his shoulder fondly. “The poison lingers and it will take time for it to completely drain away. But you are strong and of good heart. You will see it through.”

  They walked to the small building where he and Theopolou had been held when they first arrived. One of Shen’s fellow seekers guarded the door.

  “Has he eaten?” asked Shen.

  The seeker shook his head. “Nor has he made a sound. If I could not see his breathing, I would think him dead.”

  “In a way he is,” remarked Mohanisi. “But I hope to restore him to the land of the living.” Reaching to his belt, he removed a small flask. While he took a long drink, the scent of jawas tea filled the air. He could feel the fire running through his veins as the tea strengthened his power.

  “How?” asked the seeker.

  “By attempting the impossible,” he replied.

  He opened the door and light flooded the room. The glow orb had ceased to work, and the lanterns left inside to replace this lay shattered in the corner. In the center, a ragged figure was curled up on the floor. Mohanisi filled himself with the flow and shut the door behind him.

  “Are you willing to talk?” he asked. There was no movement or response. “Malstisos. Speak to me.”

  Mohanisi reached out to touch his mind, but was met by fierce resistance. He’d tried this several times before during the past week, but had been unwilling to attempt to force his way through. But now he knew he must. He pressed in, breaking down the barriers and overwhelming his spirit.

  “Enough,” cried Malstisos, desperately clutching at his head. He rolled over and faced Mohanisi. His features were gaunt. His skin pale and blotched. “What do you want of me?”

  Mohanisi sighed. “I only want to save you.”

  Malstisos let out a disdainful laugh. “Save me? Perhaps you should save yourself.”

  Mohanisi shrugged. “Perhaps. But Theopolou held you in high regard, and I will do what I can.”

  “Theopolou was a fool,” he replied.

  “Theopolou was many things,” said Mohanisi, steel in his tone. “But a fool was not among them.”

  Malstisos sneered. “And you are an even greater fool. You follow a false hope and a false god. You will bring doom to all who are willing to listen to your words.” He sat up and brushed the dust from his shirt. “Your efforts to enter my mind will continue to fail too.”

  “Perhaps,” he replied thoughtfully. “But I have come to believe that you cannot be free of your curse unless I use more…” He paused. “More intense means.”

  Malstisos huffed. “You are powerless. Unless you intend to torture me. And even that will do you no good. I will not betray my master.”

  Mohanisi leaned forward. “I have no intention of torturing you. What I am about to attempt may very well kill us both. Only Darshan is powerful enough to draw from the spirit of the world, yet I must try.”

  The name Darshan caused Malstisos to wince, but he remained defiant. “Do what you will, fool.”

  Mohanisi drank what jawas tea remained in his flask, then sat down on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. For several minutes he was completely still as he searched for the flow of the spirit.

  Eventually, he heard a soft hum. Distant at first, it grew closer and closer until it completely surrounded him. Then the hum changed to bells and laughter. The sounds were so small and delicate that at first he thought he was imagining them. He reached out to touch them with his spirit, but they were elusive - just beyond his grasp. Summoning up all of his skill, he reached out again until the limit of his power stopped him short. The sounds were still soothing, but as unreachable as before.

  Finally, he sighed in defeat and relaxed his mind. But to his amazement, this seemed to encourage the spirit to come closer. He reached for it, but it pulled away. Again and again it danced around just out of reach, as if taunting him. He recalled Aaliyah telling him of the time she had touched the spirit of the world. She told him it was tender and pure – that it wrapped around her like a mother’s arms.

  He opened his eyes and surrendered his will. At that moment he felt it. The pure spirit of the world. It was as warm and joyous as an elf child’s heart. Tiny lights twinkled and danced all around him like the reflection of the moon’s glow on a calm sea.

  He looked over to Malstisos. He was surrounded by a shadow of bile and corruption.

  “I see your pain,” whispered Mohanisi.

  “Stay away!” screeched Malstisos. His eyes turned dark and menacing.

  Mohanisi ignored his words and reached out with his spirit. The shadow of filth darkened and swirled as he came near. Then, just as he touched it, the world around him abruptly vanished. His vision blurred and his head began to swim.

  When his eyes slowly regained focus he could see that he was standing in the ruins of a ravaged city. But this was like no city he had ever seen before. The three story buildings were made from pitted and worn black stone. Gruesome thorny vines snaked around the buildings in sinister patterns to form ancient elf letterings, each spelling out foul curses. The narrow streets were covered with dirt and ash, and smelled of ro
tten flesh and putrid earth. Smoke rose from the rooftops, yet no flames could be seen.

  “Is anyone here?” called Mohanisi.

  His question was answered by a series of ghastly screams that echoed off the forbidding stone walls and then quickly faded.

  He took a tentative step. The grit of the street crunched beneath his boot. Another scream pierced the air, and this time he could almost make out words within the agonized cry. He reached for his sword, but it was not there. He tried to draw power from inside himself and found nothing but a foul emptiness. It was then he realized that he was virtually defenseless. Fear began to grip his heart.

  Steeling his nerves, he continued walking down the street, his eyes shooting back and forth from building to building. Shadowy figures appeared in windows, but vanished before he could tell what they were.

  “I am being hunted,” he whispered. He stooped to pick up a jagged piece of rubble. “But I will not be easy prey.”

  Again he heard a scream, and this time the word ‘pain’ could clearly be heard within the wretched cry. He tried to make out where the voice was coming from, but the echoes dulled his hearing. On and on he walked, the feeling of being stalked growing ever stronger. Each building looked more decrepit and broken than the last, until after he had walked for about a mile, they were nothing more than massive mounds of shattered rock and dust.

  A great wind rose up, stirring the ashen street and stinging his eyes. He gripped the rock tight. He knew it was only a matter of time before…

  He stopped. “Where am I?” he muttered. “How did I get here?”

  He felt a gentle tug on the left leg of his trousers. Jerking away, he raised the rock to strike. But there, shielding his eyes from the ash-filled wind, was an elf child. Barely as tall as Mohanisi’s waist, the boy was dressed in a gold silk robe. His long, silvery blond hair was blowing wildly. He looked up with frightened eyes that were on the verge of weeping. Slowly, Mohanisi lowered his rock and knelt down.