Lee put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Son. You must trust me when I tell you that this is the only way either of us will ever have a chance to be free.”
He got to his feet. “Now I must speak to Millet alone. And if we are on our way to meet our fate, you should take this time to talk to your mother.”
Jacob glanced sideways at her, but said nothing as Lee continued. “A piece inside of me died every time I thought of what I’d left unsaid to both of you when you were a child. Please Jacob, do not suffer as I did. She is here with you now, and you may never have another chance.”
He nodded to Millet and the two of them moved off to leave Jacob and Penelope alone.
They wandered around the back garden for a while until settling on a bench beside a small marble fountain.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Millet asked. His head was bowed and his shoulders slumped, as if carrying a great weight.
Lee was grateful that his old friend was not trying to dissuade him. He gave a crooked smile. “To be honest, no. But the moment I saw her again, I knew I couldn’t bear for us to be parted. And to keep her here would mean–”
“To keep her here would mean us having to imprison her.” Millet completed for him. He sighed. “I would not wish to be responsible for that, either.” Leaning back, he met Lee’s eyes with understanding and forgiveness. “Where will you go?”
“The desert,” he replied. “She can do no harm there. And neither can I should the Dark Knight break my will further.” He squeezed Millet’s shoulder fondly. “Take care of my son. If given the chance, he’ll be a great man. Far greater than I ever hoped to be.”
Millet could not find the words to express the deep sorrow and boundless respect he was feeling at that moment. But Lee understood anyway. Between the two friends, such words were unnecessary. They sat listening to the sounds of the city until the afternoon threatened to turn into evening.
When the sun fully set, Lee would leave Baltria. He would leave Millet. And he would leave his son…for the final time.
Chapter 23
It was many mortal lifetimes since Felsafell had been so close to a city while in his true form. The last time didn’t go well, he recalled. The elves became fearful and had tried to capture him. Would it have made any difference, he wondered, had they had known how closely they were related? He doubted it. The elves of that era were a brutish lot: confused and full of rage.
From outside the Althetas city walls he could easily hear the bustle of people within: working, seeking entertainment, and spending time with friends and family. All of the things that brought mortals together. And all of the things that he missed about having living kin.
For a while he listened beyond these common sounds, but could hear nothing unusual. If Melek was close by, then he was certainly not drawing attention to himself.
The army returning from the south had been divided in two. One half had marched east for twenty miles and was currently awaiting orders. The other half had been set to work repairing damage to the city. The all too familiar smell of recent battle was still hanging in the air.
The king had returned three days ago amid tremendous fanfare, but from Felsafell’s vantage point of more than a mile away he could not tell if the mad god was accompanying him. Word of how Melek destroyed the invading armies of Angrääl had spread like wildfire, and the mood inside Althetas was one of hope and joy. The enemy was all but defeated - or so everyone imagined. Felsafell pitied the humans and elves. To be given such hope, only to have it stripped away was a miserable thing. And he was certain this was exactly what Melek intended to do.
Within a day of the king’s return there was a subtle change. The people began speaking about ‘The Messenger of Darshan’ rather than of Melek directly. It appeared as if he was doing all he could to win Gewey’s support and favor. But to what end, Felsafell wondered?
He could still see the once proud cities of his people crumbling before the wrath of the mad god. The screams of those who would not bow before him still haunted Felsafell’s dreams. Just once had he seen Melek up close, and for this he had barely escaped being consumed by flames. It was Melek who had shown his people destruction and pain for the first time – a concept they later used to cause themselves immeasurable harm. Though his name and deeds were erased from all records and never spoken aloud, his people never forgot. To them he was always Melek: The Bringer of True Death.
Felsafell had circled the city walls many times in the hope that listening to talk amongst the inhabitants would lead him to a course of action. But Melek was not behaving as he once had by marching boldly through the streets and imposing his evil will. In fact, after the second day it was the name of Darshan – and not Melek - that was being spoken of as the savior of the battle.
Avoiding detection by humans and elves had so far been simple. Even when they thought they'd seen something, Felsafell’s incredible speed allowed him to disappear before they could be sure he was actually there. He marveled at how much trust had been built between the races in so short a time. All the patrols were now integrated, and they had found ways to complement their inherent strengths. Though physically weaker and unable to use the flow, humans showed an uncanny sense of knowing when something was not quite as it should be. Many times it was the humans who had spotted him in the shadows, even if only for a split second. And when the elves could find no one there, they did not ridicule their new comrades for being wrong. Rather, they respected the human’s instincts and became ever more cautious as they patrolled.
It was well past midnight when he began his search for the best spot along the wall to enter Althetas. There was nothing more he could learn from eavesdropping outside. Now he would have to risk the city itself. He smiled at the fact that, had he remained in the form of a doddering old fool, he could have simply walked in through the main gates unnoticed. But the transformation would take too long. Last time it was three days, and rushing it was painful beyond imagining.
He made his way toward a section of wall where there was a large warehouse on the other side. From there he would be able to make his way to the king’s manor with less chance of encounters. What he would do after arriving was still uncertain at this stage.
He paused at the base of the wall and listened carefully. All was quiet at present. He was about to leap up and over - a feat that would certainly cause a stir if witnessed - when he caught a foul yet familiar scent. Six Vrykol were approaching from the southeast. He backed away and raced toward the tree line two hundred yards away. A few people were still about, but his immense speed made him seem like a blur to their eyes – gone before they could be even sure something was there.
Just seconds after taking up position behind a thick oak he saw the Vrykol change their course and move in his direction. He was clearly their target. But who had sent them; the Reborn King or Melek? They were spread in a wide semi-circle that gradually tightened as they drew closer. Felsafell knew he could still evade them, but if he did, he would risk having to abandon his objective. That was unthinkable, so he would have to deal with the beasts quickly.
Only six should be easy enough. They may be deadly to mortals, but they were in no way a threat to him. He decided to go to their right and take them one at a time. However, the second he moved they began falling back at a speed he had never seen from a Vrykol before.
This may be more challenging than I suspected, he thought.
He changed direction and headed straight at their center, knowing they would surround him. But it didn’t matter. He certainly wasn’t going to be defeated by this small group of abominations. He stopped just as the first Vrykol came into view.
The thwack of two bowstrings simultaneously being loosed brought a sinister grin to his lips. The creatures at either far side were hoping to catch him off guard. But he was never off his guard. He stepped back, allowing the missiles to whiz by him and disappear into the darkness of the dense forest. The Vrykol halted.
; “Ah! The last of the first born,” came a voice that echoed from seemingly everywhere at once. “Are you still as fierce and defiant as I remember? The way your kind would scream…it was like sweet music. I so loved burning your cities…and your people. Their suffering and pain warmed my spirit.”
Felsafell snarled. “Show yourself, Melek. I have no patience for your mad games.”
The disembodied sound of childlike laughter echoed tauntingly. “You will play my game. You will indeed. Then you will tell me where the creature you travel with is hiding. But first, a small test.”
All six Vrykol burst forth, unsheathing cruel steel. Felsafell suspected that these would be far more dangerous than those he’d previously encountered. This suspicion was quickly confirmed.
He moved left and leapt forward, high enough to pass over the advancing foe. But before he’d even landed, the Vrykol had spun around and was bearing down on him. Though not as fast as Yanti, it was considerably faster than the creatures he and Gewey had faced in the Spirit Hills. His feet had barely touched the ground when he was forced to duck and roll beneath the Vrykol’s steel. His fist smashed into the back of its head, sending it stumbling forward.
Another Vrykol closed in. Felsafell crouched, and with his massive strength, struck it in the mid-section. The force of the blow would have sent the beast flying, but Felsafell caught its sword arm and ripped it from its shoulder. An ear-rending shriek pierced the air.
The detached arm was still gripping the sword as Felsafell swung it around and with a growl, took the head of another foe. Before the injured Vrykol could gain its bearings, he reached over and tore its head off too.
“Enough!” thundered Melek. The remaining Vrykol stopped and backed away.
Felsafell watched closely as they all turned and headed south. To his right he then heard soft footfalls deftly navigating the weeds and roots of the forest floor. A young, fair-haired human male appeared from the darkness, as if stepping from behind a curtain.
“You are different from what I remember,” remarked Felsafell. “More…mundane.”
Melek smiled. “Being inconspicuous has advantages. Though I must admit, I wish I’d had more time to choose a form. I would have preferred to appear a bit older.”
“No doubt it is easier to deceive your human prey in this form,” said Felsafell, not disguising his contempt. “But you do not fool me. You are the same monster you have always been.”
Melek’s eyes darkened. “Mind your insults. I am not Darshan, and I do not look at you in awe. To me you are just another mistake of the Creator. One that I will correct here and now if you are not careful.”
“I do not fear you, Melek,” Felsafell growled. “Do what you must.”
Melek cocked his head and smirked. “In due time. But for now I am wondering where your companion is? You know, the one who is behind the love I see in your eyes.” He took a menacing step forward. “If you tell me, I may allow you to go free.”
Felsafell clenched his fists and glared. “You will not find her.”
“You think not?” Melek chuckled and shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps she can stay hidden. And perhaps you can resist what I have in store for you.” He moved a bit closer. “Or perhaps I will forget about her altogether and allow you to help me in other ways.”
“If you think to coerce me,” said Felsafell. “You are wasting your time.”
“Time?” scoffed Melek. “What could time possibly mean to either of us?”
“It should mean something to you,” he countered. “Once Darshan arrives he will see through your masquerade. Then your time will be up.”
Melek threw back his head in laughter. “Darshan? He is a child, easily manipulated. And once he discovers that he is truly no match for his enemy, he will have no choice but to accept an alliance with me. Which brings me to my next question. Where are the remaining god stones?”
Felsafell met his question with silence.
Melek sighed. “So you wish to test your endurance? Very well.” He took another step. “If you would like to experience the exquisite ways I know of how to inflict suffering, I will oblige.”
Felsafell could see the tiny changes in Melek’s expression and knew that he had to act quickly. Melek had moved close enough for him to almost reach out and touch him. Close enough to strike. His fist shot out so fast that even a god would struggle to see it. But instead of flesh, his blow passed right through Melek’s form as if through a mist.
“You are a fool, first born,” Melek said. His tone was calm and unemotional. “I am not unaware of my power, as is the child Darshan. You can no more defeat me than you could your own kin.”
The dim light from the stars and moon suddenly went black and Felsafell was struck blind. But he knew the area well and could recall every tree and bush that surrounded him. The sinews of his legs burst into life as he made a desperate dash to escape.
“To where do you run?” taunted Melek, his voice carrying on the wind into Felsafell’s ears. “Do you run to your love? Do you run to Darshan? Give in, first born. Nothing can save you from me.”
Felsafell knew that he had passed the tree line and was now out in the open; he could hear a few wagons plodding down the nearby road. The main gate to the city was to the north. In the opposite direction the road split to lead both east and south. His keen hearing could help him navigate even the densest wooded areas, but it would be easy for Melek to ambush him.
The angry realization then settled. Why would he even bother doing that? He can likely take me at any time he wishes.
“Do you really think you can run blindly forever?” asked Melek.
Felsafell skidded to a halt. “Then face me!” he shouted.
Almost at once the veil of darkness lifted. He was no more than a few dozen yards away from the road. The tall grass surrounding him was still for a few moments, then bent low as a stiff breeze blew in from the north.
“So you wish to fight me?”
Felsafell spun around. There was Melek, still smiling broadly and holding a dagger in each hand. “You didn’t use a weapon with the Vrykol,” he remarked. “I would be happy to lend you one of mine.” He held out his left hand, offering the blade. When Felsafell did not respond, Melek shrugged. In a blinding flash the two daggers vanished. “You’re right. It’s better this way.”
Felsafell seized the initiative and charged. But Melek had anticipated his move and stepped aside, at the same time driving a foot hard into his gut. Such was the force of the impact, Felsafell was sent flying. Even so, he landed on his feet with uncanny agility, eyes fixed on his opponent.
“Predictable and clumsy,” remarked Melek. “Unbefitting for one of your kind.” He held out a hand and waved him in with the tips of his fingers. “Come, try again.”
Felsafell would not be goaded. He squared his shoulders and waited for his opponent to come to him. Not that this helped. Despite his readiness, the blow still struck his jaw before he realized that Melek had moved. He tried to step back, but was struck three more times and sent sprawling.
He looked up and pushed himself to his feet. Melek was standing in the same spot he had been before, smirking. “Did you really hope to win?” he asked. “I mastered the power that Darshan now wields like a lumbering oaf, thousands of years before your people were even created.”
Felsafell spat blood on the ground and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If you are so powerful, why do you need him? Why enlist the aid of a lumbering oaf if you are so mighty?”
“I have my own reasons,” Melek replied. A hint of anger had seeped into his voice. “For now, all you need to know is one thing. Should you continue your defiance, what little time that remains of your life will be spent in agonizing pain, the like of which you have never imagined.”
Felsafell knew that attacking would only result in further injury, and that running was equally useless. “Then do what you will,” he challenged. “For I will tell you nothing.”
Melek’s smile took
on a sinister quality. “We shall see.”
Felsafell lowered his eyes. The first blow that struck his temple was massive and very nearly sent him straight into unconsciousness. He fell to one knee. He knew that one more would be all Melek needed. He thought of Basanti and hoped she would heed his request to stay where she was. If she did, Melek might not find her - and perhaps Gewey would.
For the first time in many thousands of years despair crept into his heart. Would Gewey be able to triumph over such power? Before he could answer his own thoughts, the second blow sent him into darkness.
Chapter 24
Gewey looked out from their small landing craft as it headed for the shores of the Tarvansia Peninsula. Ahead of them, the wreckage of the ruined ships protruding from the water was a depressing sight.
On drawing closer, his heart seized when he recognized the familiar curved bow of an elf vessel. It must have been caught unaware and assaulted with the strange new weapon they had seen in Baltria. His only consolation was that he knew Aaliyah still lived. There was a short time when he’d felt unfathomable anguish from her and he feared that she had lost Nehrutu. Her anguish though, was very soon replaced by immeasurable joy. But there was no explanation for this sudden change. Whatever had happened, she was still keeping her thoughts closely hidden.
Linis and Dina had decided to join him in going ashore, and it was only after a very long argument that Dina was able to prevent her mother from coming along too. It helped that Kaylia had intervened and agreed to stay on board with Nahali. She would know what was going on through Gewey, and he had sensed no enemies – only a small group of elves.
As the landing boat slid onto the sands they saw an elder elf woman approaching from atop a low dune. Linis raised his hand in greeting. The woman returned the gesture, though without a great show of enthusiasm.
The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6 Page 59