And then there was Jason. If he survived, he could change everything. He could shift the balance of power in the upcoming war and give hope to these people. He could be a single beacon of light flickering against the encroaching darkness.
“I wonder what he’s going through,” Aidan whispered. “I wonder what it feels like.”
Elade reached out and squeezed Jason’s hand. “So do I.”
***
A blinding white light seared into Jason’s eyes, and he blinked in vain to try and shield himself from the radiance. It felt like the sun was floating three feet from his face, and his head pounded as if someone had repeatedly whacked it with a mallet. He coughed once and immediately regretted it. His entire body was under assault, and he was completely helpless.
After a few minutes of painful struggle, the light dimmed to a bearable level and his muscles once again responded to his call. His head still pounded, but at least he could sit up and figure out where he was.
Or try, anyway. One quick look at his surroundings confirmed that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Surrounding him on all sides was some type of arboretum rife with a diverse array of strange flora, and he appeared to be sitting atop a long, wooden table for some reason. A heady mix of fragrances assaulted his nostrils, but at least the sun had returned to the sky where it belonged. As far as he could tell, he was sitting in the middle of an otherwise lovely spring garden.
Two immediate problems leapt out at him. First, he had never seen this particular garden before; second, it was nearing the end of autumn. Either he had been unconscious for six months and dragged halfway across the world, or he was dreaming. The latter seemed the most likely, except for the fact he shouldn’t know he was dreaming.
So what the bloody hell was going on?
“You must accept that you will not immediately understand everything,” a calm, collected female voice said from behind him. “It will take time.”
Jason turned. A woman approached down a pristine path of stones, hands clasped behind her back. She was maybe five and a half feet tall with pale skin and brown hair and eyes. Her dress was eccentric but familiar: a vibrant green silken blouse with gold trim and a matching gold sarong. She wore an eclectic assortment of jewelry, but it was her emerald earrings that triggered his memory.
“Hassian.” He didn’t really mean to speak the word, but it came out anyway. “Uh, I mean…where am I?”
The woman stopped and eyed him quizzically. “You are not anywhere.”
Jason frowned, but then another fresh surge of pain jolted through his skull. He rubbed at his temples, but it didn’t seem to help. He really needed to find Selvhara before his head exploded. Where was she, anyway? Had he been taken somewhere away from the others?
His memory abruptly clicked a second time. He had escaped to the rebel safe house, but the Crell had found it. Sarina and Elade had tried to battle off a Zarul Imperator, but the man had managed to fend them both off and come after Jason…
He had used the cube just like back in Taig, and he had hoped it would blast his assailant with a beam of Aetheric energy. But this time the cube had opened, and he had found himself blinded by a strange burst of light…
And then he was here, wherever “here” was. Perhaps his first guess had been right after all.
“I’m dreaming,” he murmured.
“Your mind is incapable of comprehension,” the woman told him. “I have attempted to take a form you would understand.”
“Hassian…the cube…” he rubbed his eyes, as if it would make everything clear. “You are Queen Malacross, aren’t you?”
“That was once my name. Now I am nothingness given physical form.”
Jason took a deep breath and tried to steady himself, but it didn’t work. His head continued to pound, and now his hands had started shaking. “So, what…you’re inside my head now?”
“Your mind is incapable of comprehension,” she repeated.
He recalled Tevek’s words back at the compound. Absorbing a divine spark could be lethal to an unprepared mind, and even when it wasn’t, the Ascension process often took days or weeks.
“You are an Immortal,” he said. “A goddess of the ancient world.”
“Your people have many names for us.”
“That sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” he muttered. “I thought the spark was supposed to contain your memories? I don’t feel like I know anything about you.”
“Your mind is incapable of comprehension.”
“Right, I got that the first two times.”
Jason studied her more carefully for a moment and belatedly realized that she looked like he had imagined her—exactly like he had imagined her. It was some amalgamation of paintings, drawings, and descriptions he had accumulated over a decade of research and expectation. If this really was some aspect of her consciousness and memory, she must have appeared that way for a reason.
“You’re trying to make this easier for me,” he reasoned. “I suppose I could ask why.”
Her expression shifted, though he couldn’t really place what it meant. “My people no longer exist.”
“No, they were wiped out thousands of years ago. Mostly, anyway. Some people believe a few of you are still around somewhere buried inside the fabric of the world. Anvira, Maeleon, Orias…”
“You claim to know much about our people, but you are wrong. You know little.”
“Trust me: I’d love to know everything about your kind. I’ve spent most of my life trying to learn more about the past.” He pursed his lips. “You’ve been insensate for thousands of years, but your species was able to pass its memories from one generation to another. That’s one way you could live forever even if you died. So if you can give me your memories now, in a way you’ll live forever again.”
Malacross stepped closer to him, her face still expressionless. “You do not understand us.”
“Like I said, I want to,” he assured her. “Shouldn’t you be able to…I don’t know, project information straight into my head? Telepathically, I mean. I thought that was how this whole thing worked.”
“Your mind is incap—”
“Right, I’m still an idiot, I get it,” he said, sighing. Who knew that speaking with ancient deity trapped in your mind would be so annoying? “Well, let’s just talk then, if you want. Why did you take this form? I didn’t think the gods chose to walk as mortals until centuries after you had already died.”
“I was neither the first, nor the last,” she explained mechanically. “Others had descended to join with your people, to experience their lives and perspectives.”
“Descended, eh? That’s an interesting way of putting it.”
“It is merely a word, and thus imprecise. We left our realm to join yours, with the promise of bringing knowledge to our people.”
“I’m not sure that’s any better,” he commented dryly. “This whole idea of ‘other realms’ isn’t exactly easy to grasp.”
“There is no word that will make you understand. You must accept your ignorance.”
“You sound like one of my old professors,” Jason muttered. “So you existed somewhere else, and some of you came here as what, scouts or something? All the writings we’ve ever recovered from ancient scrolls to stone tablets always suggested you didn’t arrive until about two thousand years ago. Most of the tribes refer to it as ‘the day the Gods fell from the sky’ or something equally colorful.”
“We felt your presence,” she said. “We knew you existed, and we wanted to learn about your ways.”
“Curiosity—now we’re speaking the same language. So once you learned about us, more of your people decided to visit?”
“We could not speak to you the way you spoke to us.”
“Spoke to you?” Jason asked. At first he didn’t understand, but then it hit him. “You mean people worshipped you. Almost every ancient tribe and civilization had some form of religion, some being or beings they believed watched over them from another realm th
ey couldn’t see or taste or touch. Is that what you meant?”
“You asked for many things we could not provide.”
“I’m sure we did. Even now some people still pray to the Old Gods and ask for all types of things. Love, money…even just hope.”
“A few of us learned to answer. We descended and took your forms. We became interested in your affairs.”
Jason grunted. It seemed so…well, so magical he could barely accept it. He had never been a religious man, even as a child. His mother used to pray to the Old Gods, specifically one called Galivar, the supposed patron of Galvia long ago. Jason understood why she sought hope, but never why she’d tried to find it in the arms of an invisible figure. He felt the same way about Selvhara sometimes…though at least her goddess granted her real, tangible power.
Still, the stories of the Old Gods were diverse and often colorful. Every civilization he had ever studied treated the Immortals as a type of other-worldly creature, capable of existing in ways they found impossible. To some, they manifested as winged creatures in the sky above, watching the world below them benevolently. To others, they were incorporeal beings of energy and light, omniscient and omnipresent. During the Godswar, the Immortals manifested in all those ways and more.
“Selvhara once told me that her people believe the Godswar was a result of an internal conflict among your people,” Jason said. “One faction believed they should interfere in our affairs, while the other wished to leave us be.”
“There was division where there was once unity,” Malacross said, “but I am not familiar with the conflict in your mind.”
“You died long before the Godswar started. I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“Events cannot have unfolded as you believe.” Her brow furrowed in concentration as she looked at him. “But the division of my people started as you said. There were those who wished to interfere in the destiny of mortal creatures, and those who did no.”
“You were the ruler of the most powerful tribe in this region,” Jason said. “Wouldn’t you call that manipulating the destiny of mortal creatures?”
“I studied them, and for a time I guided them. Your people were scattered and ignorant. They did not understand their own species, let alone the world in which they lived.”
“We still don’t,” he murmured “We like to think we do, but we really don’t. One of the first things any historian learns is how much he doesn’t know.”
“Guidance was the extent of my influence, but others desired more. They required your worship.”
“Your people enjoyed being worshipped?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You must accept that we are not the same as you.”
Jason shrugged. “I understand that, but we do seem to have some things in common. Curiosity, for one. Perhaps ego isn’t far behind.”
“You misunderstand. You are organic creatures, and you have organic needs. We are not the same.”
“We’re flesh and blood, okay.” He reached out delicately and brushed against the skin on her arm. “You feel flesh and blood to me, but I’m guessing this isn’t what you really look like.”
“This is a form designed for your limited senses,” she explained. “We are creatures of thought and idea, not of flesh. Our needs are not the same.”
He snapped his fingers in comprehension. “The more we paid attention to you, the more powerful your people became,” he reasoned. “Somehow you fed off our people’s worship, didn’t you?”
“You comprehend.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he muttered. “Saying the words is one thing, but that doesn’t mean I understand the process. It’s all very…abstract.”
Jason stood from the table and gingerly tested his legs. They worked fine, and the pounding in his hand had dulled to a persistent ache. He paced around the table for a moment, dragging his fingers across its smooth surface and trying to wrap his mind around her words. This was more than just him talking with himself. Malacross’s spirit was attempting to merge her knowledge with his, and not just through this mental conversation. He could feel something else going on inside his head, like an uncontrolled river of knowledge raging through his mind. Every once in a while the water would strike a rock and slow, and he would have a moment to breathe, but for the most part it was simply carrying him along for the ride.
“So I’ll take a guess here,” Jason said. “Once your people learned they could feed off our worship, I bet more and more suddenly wanted to come here and ‘study’’ us.”
Malacross nodded. “There was a great debate. The longer we lingered within your realm, the more our magic grew.”
“Magic? What do you mean?”
“It is your term,” she explained, “to describe abilities we possess that you lack. To us, they are not magic, they simply…are. Consider how you pick up a tool and hold it in your hands. To a beast of burden, this would be magic.”
“In your case, I assume you are talking about telepathy?”
“That is one ability we possess you do not. There are many others. Your people now command some of them.”
“I’ve seen channelers accomplish feats I could never dream of,” Jason murmured. “Read minds, heal wounds, torch buildings. This is what you speak of?”
“Somewhat. As more and more of your people began to worship us, our powers grew. It was…intoxicating.”
He nodded soberly. “I can imagine. ‘Power corrupts’ is an old saying among my people.”
“Such a concept had never existed among us before,” she said, glancing away from him towards the surrounding garden. “None of us possessed abilities that others lacked. We were all equal and united, part of a greater whole.”
“In other words, we ruined paradise,” Jason whispered. It was an interesting twist on a story he had read so many times before. Many cultures, especially ancient ones, believed the gods tempted mortals in various ways, typically with power but also with wealth, lust, or similar things. Those who fell to temptation became vilified and ultimately corrupted from the process. There was a certain irony to the idea of mortals tempting the gods.
“My consciousness ended before the debate was resolved, though from what I see in your mind, perhaps it never was.”
“Apparently not. The war lasted for centuries and nearly destroyed this world. Now your people are gone, swept away into memory. “
“Not gone, at least not entirely,” Malacross said. “Your mind tells me echoes remain.”
“If you mean the Ascendants, then yes. It is believed they each possess the ancient spirit of one of your people—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You call them demons.”
“Ah,” Jason murmured. He had expected that response, but suddenly it made perfect sense. “Yes, they exist, but only when summoned from the Void by a mortal creature. They often demand some form of sacrifice…and I bet this has something to do with your people’s hunger for worship.”
“They are echoes,” she repeated. “They are manifestations of our corruption. They feed on strong thoughts and emotions of other beings. Few existed in my lifetime, but I see many more do now.”
“There are many myths about the nature of demons. Some believe an Immortal named Krosis gathered demons to his banner near the end of the Godswar and destroyed most of Calhara. The Knights of the Last Dawn built their Citadel there to watch over the remains and make sure no more of those creatures remained. Not far from there, the vaeyn wage war against demons rampaging beneath the surface.”
“Such is our legacy,” Malacross whispered.
Jason pursed his lips. “There’s also the Triumvirate, like I mentioned earlier: Anvira, Maeleon, and Orias. Allegedly, they survived the Godswar. The elysians believe that Anvira bound herself to the world somehow in order to continue granting them power. The Last Dawn believes Maeleon did something similar with a massive crystal hidden inside their fortress. And then there’s Orias…I’ve never been able to learn a
nything about him, and he doesn’t seem to have any worshippers.”
“You also believe your ‘Ascendants’ carry the spirits of my people inside them.”
“Yes.”
“It is not possible.”
Jason frowned. “What?”
Malacross walked closer to him and brought a hand to his face. It was an odd sensation to feel the warmth of a being that only existed in your mind. Her face drooped mournfully, and he found himself lost in her gaze.
“Much that you believe you know is wrong. Our memories are gone and our spirits are broken, but you are surrounded by our lost life energy.”
“The Aether,” he whispered.
“Yes. Our blood is the herald of your salvation and the harbinger of our demise. Our legacy is an echo distorted by time. You do not understand us. You do not understand yourselves.”
“I want to,” Jason told her. “Please, tell me. Tell me everything.”
Malacross brought a hand to his cheek. “I will.”
To Be Continued
Book Two
Awakening
Prologue
“History is not about understanding the past; it’s about controlling the future.”
—The Book of Crell’Tarik
It was another pleasant springtime day in the imaginary depths of Jason Moore’s mind, and his eyes burned from the blinding rays of the afternoon sun. Squinting, he leaned up and shielded his brow before glancing around to study his surroundings. He was no longer trapped inside the same small arboretum as before; this time, he appeared to be standing in the center of an endless field of grassy plains. Far off to the south, the peaks of a majestic mountain range pierced the blue sky, and he vaguely recalled the shapes of the slopes from his childhood.
“The Spineshear Mountains,” he whispered. “We’re somewhere outside Dreen not far from the Crell border.”
He closed his eyes and tried to blink away the sun’s afterimage as a cool breeze tussled his brown hair. For all intents and purposes, he felt like he was actually sitting outside on a vibrant thatch of grass…but of course this was all just an elaborate hallucination. His actual body was probably still in Lyebel somewhere, but his mind was trapped inside itself as it desperately tried to process the flood of information from the divine spark.
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