Tam glanced around, exchanging confused and worried looks with the others. “You know how that sounds, right?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jason muttered, leaning against the wall. They needed to know everything, but he wasn’t even sure where to start…
“If Malacross is still alive, doesn’t that mean other gods are as well?” Gor asked with an uncharacteristic solemnity.
“No,” Jason said. “Look, it’s going to take me a while to explain, but she told me things…she showed me things…that completely rewrite what we know about her people—about history itself. It could change everything.”
Tam frowned skeptically. “This better not be some obscure lecture like the one you gave us on why Hammassus the Third was actually the fourth ruler in the Kona Dynasty because his half-brother had died a week after taking the throne…or something. I fell asleep after five minutes and you still didn’t take the hint.”
“It’s not,” Jason replied gravely. “This is serious.”
Tam grunted and turned away. I just don’t want to feel stupid, and sometimes it seems like you just want to prove you’re smarter than we are.
Jason paused. He wanted to respond but stopped himself. He shouldn’t be able to hear these things; this was definitely going to cause problems. He could feel his curiosity naturally piquing, and that was a bad sign. Were they annoyed with him? Were they really so disinterested in all the things he told them? He had always just wanted them to understand why they were spending time digging up something…
“Are you planning on telling us or just sitting there?” Gor asked sharply.
Jason shook his head and glanced up to the chagari. Oddly enough, he wasn’t sensing much of anything from him. “The gods are all dead. They mostly killed each other, but we helped the process along. And the Ascendants are not carrying their spirits and memories—I’m the only one with that honor.”
Selvhara’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“We did it all,” Jason whispered. “Humans, I mean. We learned how to channel the Aether ourselves, and we’re the ones who passed on that knowledge to others.”
Their expressions ranged from confused to downright mystified. But the truth was so clear in his mind; he had never been as certain about anything else in his life. They had to know; everyone had to know. This discovery could very well change the course of history. The entire legitimacy of the Ascendants—and the persecution of the Unbound—was predicated on a lie. The truth had to come out.
“There were no divine decrees in the early days of our nations, no original texts laying out how we should live our lives,” Jason whispered. “The Immortals didn’t design societies around their beliefs or carve up the world as it is now. The Ascendants that rule Obsidian aren’t part of some divine purpose passed down through generations.”
Tam glanced to Sarina, to Gor, and then back to Jason. “Then what are they?”
Jason swallowed heavily. “Frauds.”
***
“You’re going to have to elaborate,” Tam said as he sunk down into the closest cot. “Should I get some beer and crackers first?”
“This will take some explaining, so be patient,” Jason told them, rubbing groggily at his eyes. “And yeah, I could probably use a drink.”
Selvhara nodded. “Let me get you some water.”
She slipped out of the room to retrieve a pitcher, and Sarina took the opportunity to quietly slink back into the corner of the room. Whatever history lesson Jason was about to give them, she was far more concerned about the fact that she was suddenly standing in the same room with a telepath. All Ascendants had that power, of course, but she had never really thought about it until just this moment…and the concept horrified her.
She had grown up surrounded by channelers, of course, just like most people in Torsia. The king had stationed many of his shamans inside Valheim, the Asgardian capital where she’d been born. They served as spiritual guides, healers, and chroniclers of history, just like the Bound of most other cultures, but despite that she had never felt completely comfortable in their presence. The idea of someone unwillingly reaching into her mind and plucking out her most intimate thoughts…
It sent a cold shiver down her spine. And somehow the thought of Jason doing it was even worse. There were plenty of things she didn’t want him to know, especially now when they hadn’t seen each other for several years. She felt naked and vulnerable; she felt violated. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, what if he was still reaching into her mind right this instant?
Selvhara returned a few moments later, and Jason drank greedily from the goblet. Once he had settled himself, he nodded thankfully and then took a seat at one of the tables.
“According to conventional wisdom, the Immortals were engaged in a great civil war, and humans organized around them shortly after they appeared—first villages, then cities, then entire nations,” he said. “The Immortals imbued humans with a fraction of their power to fight in their name, and for centuries these conflicts consumed Obsidian. Then, one day, a human who felt used and betrayed by the gods managed to kill one of them. He was overwhelmed with a great power, and it transformed him into the first Ascendant. He shared his power with other humans and ultimately led them to victory over the gods themselves.”
“That’s not a universally accepted interpretation,” Selvhara pointed out. “The Solarians insist Sol gave his life willingly to imbue a mortal servant, believing it was his atonement for the war he had brought to our world.”
“Yes, I know,” Jason replied with a bit of a huff. “There are variations across the globe ranging from who killed the first god to what gender he or she was, or even what day it was on. None of that matters, though. The point is they are all wrong.”
The druid cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Malacross die centuries before the Godswar? You thought she couldn’t even be an Immortal.”
“You were right earlier,” he conceded. “Her people were here many centuries before the Godswar—the one that involved us, anyway. Their civil war started much earlier…and we were the cause.” He took another gulp before continuing. “When they visited our realm for the first time, they came to an important realization: they drew power from our worship. Suddenly some of them were much stronger than the rest, and divisions invariably formed.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Gor asked.
“Before they met us, they were all part of a great, equal collective. None of them possessed any more power than the others. Once this changed, their entire society collapsed. They battled amongst each other, and the Godswar was the eventual result.”
Selvhara nodded distantly. “It makes sense, actually. What are gods without someone to worship them? They were beings of great telepathic ability, creatures of thought more than tangible substance—they only took physical form to contact us. The more we thought about them, the stronger they became.”
“That’s the first part,” Jason said. “The second is what happened after they started killing each other. They were creatures of pure thought and memory, and when they died that mental energy seeped across the world.”
“The Aether,” Tam reasoned, flicking out his arm and conjuring a tiny ball of flame in his palm. “So you’re telling me that I’m literally igniting the blood of the gods? Because that’s about the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Metaphorically, I suppose. But think about it: when you draw the Aether into your body, you’re basically transforming yourself into an Immortal. Suddenly you can do things that the gods could do naturally.”
“Not everything,” Tam muttered ruefully as he extinguished the flames. “Not all channelers are equal.”
“Your mind still has to be taught how to control the power, just like learning any other skill,” Selvhara told him. “We can all walk, but that doesn’t mean we can all ride.”
“Anyway,” Jason continued, “Malacros told me that no human could ever kill an Immortal with
something as trivial as a sword. Even in physical form, they could only be killed by other Immortals. We were basically a glorified food supply; they wanted to kill each other’s worshippers to starve and weaken their competitors.”
“So our ancestors were basically god food,” Tam said. “I guess that’s kind of a compliment?”
“Think about this,” Jason went on, ignoring him. “Why would the gods give us the ability to see their own blood, as it were? How would they even know how the Aether would affect us? And on top of that, how could a mere human have possibly killed one of them in the first place?”
“They couldn’t,” Sarina said, her voice barely a whisper. Her mind flashed back to all the Asgardian myths she had heard as a child. Her people had never been fascinated with the rote truth of history—they cared far more about inspirational stories of legendary battles and heroic deeds. But most myths possessed at least a grain of truth, and the more Jason explained the more everything crystallized in her mind. “Not unless they wielded the power of the gods themselves.”
Tam cocked an eyebrow at her. “You don’t mean…”
“Unbound,” Selvhara murmured. “The Unbound destroyed the gods.”
“Exactly,” Jason said. “As the Aether spread across the world, more and more humans emerged with the ability to channel its power. They were the only humans that could kill Immortals, and that’s what happened to Malacross—a man in her tribe assaulted and wounded her.”
“But where did the Unbound come from?” Sarina asked. “Why were they able to channel Aether when no one else could?”
Jason shrugged. “I have no idea. We don’t understand Unbound now, either. It’s mostly hereditary but not always.”
“So then where did the Ascendants come from?” Gor piped in. “Were they Unbound who stole the power of the gods?”
“No, that’s not even possible, at least not like we’ve all been lead to believe. The entire idea of a ‘divine spark’ is just a creative myth. When the Immortals died, they vanished just like any other creature. Their memories and thoughts didn’t linger on in a glowing ball.”
Sarina frowned. “So then what the hell was in that cube you used?”
“Like I said, Malacross didn’t really die. Her residual essence was trapped inside the cube. She wasn’t strong enough to maintain a physical body, but she can share mine.”
“Sounds a lot like a divine spark to me,” Tam muttered. “If she managed to survive, why didn’t others?”
“It’s possible others were wounded in the same manner, but she didn’t—or doesn’t—think it’s very likely. And even if they did survive for a time, she believes they’re all probably gone now.”
“So the short version is that the first Ascendants didn’t get their power from the gods and pass it on through the generations,” Sarina reasoned. “They were just powerful Unbound.”
“Yes, and they were the ones who have passed on their thought and memories through the generations,” Jason said. “I know it’s a little confusing, but the point is that the Ascendants aren’t the legacy of the gods—they’re just men and women carrying the memories of the first Unbound.”
“Who don’t sound like they were particularly nice people,” Tam commented. “They killed the gods, then concocted a false history to make themselves seem divine. And I bet they’re also responsible for demonizing other Unbound throughout history.”
“It was the best way to ensure their legacy. They turned their competition into social pariahs over the centuries.”
Tam bit down on his lip. “Do you think the modern Ascendants actually know the truth? Do they have any idea where the power they carry is actually from?”
“My cousin certainly doesn’t,” Sarina said, thinking back to her homeland. Doyd Zharrs, her first cousin, had Ascended to the High King of Asgardia just four years ago. She hadn’t spoken with anyone in a long time at this point, but there was no way in the void he knew about any of this.
“I doubt any of them do,” Jason agreed. “The Ascendants are mostly just regular people transformed by a Rite of Ascension. Essentially they’re just the vessels of ancient sorcerers. I doubt that even the Unbound Ascendants like the vaeyn Matriarch Queen know the truth.”
“This is all pretty crazy,” Tam murmured. “You’re basically telling me that the whole reason I’m hated is because of a two thousand year-old lie.”
“Not the only reason,” Sarina grumbled. “Your personality isn’t doing you any favors.”
“Hey, you’re talking to a potential god here. You should show more respect.”
“Malacross can’t possibly know all of this for certain,” Selvhara said, her voice a brittle whisper. “She was before the Godswar.”
“True, but she knows that she was killed by an Unbound,” Jason pointed out. “The rest she could piece together. Her people had no ability to share their powers with us; all they knew how to do was draw power from our worship.”
“The Goddess merged her essence with the earth so that her children could wield her power in its defense,” the druid whispered, quoting her people’s scripture. “In the ashes of this great war, there would be many wounds to heal and lives to rebuild. Her voice would be but a whisper, but her children would still know the warmth of her touch.”
Jason shrugged. “I don’t know what happened to the Triumvirate. It’s possible they were actually Immortals at one point, but they couldn’t have granted power to any mortal. My guess is that Anvira and Maeleon and Orias were all just Unbound like the rest of the Ascendants.”
Selvhara shook her head. “No, that’s not possible. They were all gods who sacrificed themselves to save the world.”
Sarina eyed the other woman. None of the rest of them had ever been particularly religious, but she had actually been bonded to an Ascendant. This would undoubtedly be much harder for her to accept…if she ever could.
“As interesting as all of this is, I’m not really sure anyone outside this room is going to care,” Sarina said. “Religions have disagreed about small details for thousands of years. I doubt anything is going to change that now.”
“Are you kidding?” Jason gasped. “This completely undermines the basic claim to authority of every monarch in Obsidian. They all rule because of a belief in a divine right; they are all supposed to be blessed with the wisdom of the old gods. But they’re not—they’re just carrying around the essence of ancient sorcerers.”
She sighed. “I hate to break it to you, but most people aren’t going to give a damn about any of this. You really think some king is going to step down based on your word of what really happened thousands of years ago? Do you think Unbound are suddenly going to walk free across the world? Things are the way they are, and people are quite comfortable with it.”
He frowned, and she instantly knew she’d been right: he hadn’t really thought it through. For all his brilliance, Jason had absolutely no idea how most people actually made decisions. He lived in a mythical realm where everyone was driven by reason rather than passion.
“I know it’s hard for you to accept, but I bet most people couldn’t even pick out their home on a map, let alone tell you anything about what happened before they were born,” Sarina went on. “At best you’ll be ignored. At worst you’ll stir up a riot and maybe get some people killed—maybe even yourself.”
“They won’t just be able to dismiss this,” Jason insisted. “We’re talking about undermining the very foundation of society!”
“Gods, you can be so naïve sometimes,” Sarina muttered. “Most people are too worried about surviving their day-to-day lives to care, and those in power have way too much to lose. Honestly, telling anyone about this would probably do more harm than good.”
“She’s right,” Gor said, breaking his long silence. “You need to pull your head out of the sand, Jason. This is all quite fascinating, but it’s also mostly irrelevant.”
A flicker of anger crossed Jason’s face, but it quickly subsided and he sunk a bit
into his bed. His face had grown pale, and he sighed deeply. “Well, right now we have a bigger problem to deal with anyway.”
Tam frowned. “What’s that?”
“I can’t help the Resistance,” Jason whispered. “People died defending this cube—defending me—and other than picking up some stray thoughts here and there I don’t actually have any magic powers. I can’t channel, and I certainly can’t create a new network of followers. I’m not really an Ascendant.” He swallowed heavily and swept his eyes between them. “Do you have any idea how the rebels will respond once they find out?”
“Not well,” Sarina whispered.
“No,” he agreed. “Not well at all.”
***
Several hours later, once Jason had hunkered down in a more private room and gotten some food, Selvhara slipped away to scout out the rest of the compound. With the Solarian and Dawn reinforcements in town, most of the rebel leaders were occupied…but they wouldn’t stay that way forever, of course. Sooner or later someone was going to notice that Jason wasn’t unconscious in the infirmary, and once that happened she had no doubt that Adar and Ria and the others would swarm over to see how he was doing. Selvhara knew she should have stayed in the room to plan out their next move, but right now she just needed to be alone.
She made her way down to the small stable area sectioned out of the bottom floor. The horses were usually left alone unless it was feeding time, and for some reason the thought of surrounding herself with animals seemed like a good idea. Unfortunately, the moment she opened the door her stomach sank. A few days ago she could have walked up to one of the beasts and touched its simple mind, but now the horses were just as cold and empty to her as everything else.
Sighing, Selvhara reached out and steadied herself against a nearby post. At this point it was impossible for her to do anything without being reminded of what she had lost…and how little she could contribute. Without the Aether, she hadn’t been able to aid Jason during his coma, and dozens of rebel soldiers had spent days needlessly suffering before the Solarian priests had arrived. And it wasn’t as if she could help defend the compound during another attack, either—she barely even remembered how to nock a bow, let alone swing a sword. She was broken and useless…and for the first time in her life, she truly felt old.
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 55