Jason grimaced. “Sel doesn’t see anything inside, but we can both sense the demon and the Eye. She suggests we wait a while and see what happens.”
“But you want to charge right in.”
“I want answers,” Jason said, thrusting out a hand and conjuring a spark of lightning into his palm. “And it’s time to go and get some.”
He reared back and kicked open the door. Despite Selvhara’s assurances, he fully expected a pack of demons—or at the very least some regular Crell soldiers—to come charging outward. But the only thing waiting for them was ominous silence.
“Subtle,” Sarina muttered from over his shoulder. “You might make a decent Asgardian after all.”
Biting down on his lip, Jason stepped inside and attempted to track the Aetheric echo to its source. The vibrations seemed to be everywhere at once, almost like he’d walked into a metal chamber two seconds after someone had bashed the wall with a gong.
I assume that was you who bashed in the door, Tam said. You want us to come in?
You might as well. Just be careful—I don’t see anyone, but there’s definitely a presence here.
A few seconds later he heard the crunch of wood from across the warehouse, and fresh beams of sunlight blasted in from the opposite side as Tam and Gor joined them. Again no one leapt out to confront them, and Jason grimaced in confusion as he peered between the crates and barrels along the northern wall.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to see the demon?” Sarina murmured. She had an arrow nocked and ready. “Because I’d rather not be clawed to death by an invisible monster.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Lady Zharrs of Asgardia,” a deep, bellowing voice echoed off the walls. “There are no demons here, I assure you.”
Jason dropped down into a crouch and whipped his head back and forth in an attempt to pinpoint the mysterious speaker. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flicker of movement from the shadows along the opposite wall, and he pulled Sarina protectively behind him.
“Stay right where you are,” Jason warned, electricity arcing dangerously between his hands. “We have this building surrounded.”
The shadows stirred almost like they were a living creature, and a tall, broad figure adorned in simple white robes emerged from the darkness. He was unarmed and unarmored, but the aura of power radiating from his body was almost blinding.
“Yes, I know,” the man said, his voice preternaturally calm. “I’m glad you decided to bring your companions with you. We have much to discuss.”
An instant later, the rest of the group rushed into position. Gor and Tam stormed inside from the other doorway, the former having drawn his weapons and the later having summoned Aetheric flame to his palms. Above them, Selvhara floated down from the hole in the roof, a crackling band of electricity coiling around her like a serpent.
“Who are you?” Sarina demanded. “And where in the Void did you come from?”
“My name is Dathiel, and I have been waiting in this city for several days now.” He pulled back the cowl of his cloak to reveal a bald head framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and crowned by a pair of glimmering golden-brown eyes. If he was at all concerned by the angry-looking channelers surrounding him, his expression didn’t show it. “I have wanted to speak with you for some time, Mr. Moore. You are a genuine curiosity, the likes of which I have not seen for a very long time.”
“I’m not sure how to take that,” Jason said, attempting in vain to swallow the nervous lump rising in his throat. Dathiel’s aura seemed to grow stronger with each and every step he took. He wasn’t just radiating an Aetheric echo; he was radiating an Aetheric nexus.
And it was then, as the man came to a halt just a few yards away, that Jason finally understood.
“Few mortal men on this world have ever attempted to carry a Godsoul within them,” Dathiel said, “and fewer still have survived the process unscathed. But you are truly unique—you have retained your own mind and memories, and my organization believes that makes you a threat. I am here to evaluate whether or not that is true.”
“Not another step closer,” Sarina warned as she drew back her bowstring. “Jason, what the hell is going on? If this is a demon, shouldn’t we attack?”
“He’s not a demon,” Jason whispered. “He’s an Immortal.”
***
“You are widely considered a clever man, Mr. Moore,” the Immortal said. “I see your reputation is well-earned.”
Jason lowered his hands and forced himself to take a deep breath. The faces of his comrades were frozen in various states of shock and disbelief. Even the normally unflappable Gor looked stunned; the fur on his neck rippled up and down, and his tail was locked in a straight line. Jason didn’t blame him; he was still trying to work through the implications of his own epiphany.
The power and radiance of this Dathiel’s aura made sense, given what Malacross had told him about her people. The Aether was essentially the spilled “blood” of the Immortals after their destruction during the Godswar, which meant that the Immortals themselves were walking fonts of pure Aetheric energy. The creature before him now was practically brimming over with this power.
The power of a god.
“Anvira have mercy,” Selvhara breathed as she gently floated the rest of the way down to the floor. “How…why…?”
“That’s how we were able to track him,” Jason explained. His voice sounded like a dry croak, but considering the circumstances he was surprised it worked at all. “Demons are comprised of Aether just like the Immortals. They’re remnants of the battles and destruction of the Godswar. That’s how he was able to animate those dead bodies in the statue back in Talisham—he’s basically a living conduit of the Aether.”
“The gods are dead,” Sarina rasped. Her hands trembled, and she nearly dropped her weapon. “They were destroyed thousands of years ago.”
“Not all of them,” Jason told her. “Malacross survived inside a cube for two thousand years. Even she couldn’t rule out the possibility that others of her kind had found a way to survive.”
“Not many, but a few,” Dathiel confirmed. “And the survivors are very interested in the man who carries the spirit of their lost sister.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet they are,” Tam mumbled. His eyes flicked about the warehouse as he broke himself free of his awe-induced stasis. “Did you bring any of your Crell friends with you?”
The golden-eyed man shook his head. “I am no friend of the Crell or the Elashi, and I wish you no harm. As I said, I am here to evaluate Mr. Moore. I am an envoy of an ancient organization known as the Watchers.”
“The Order of Orias,” Jason said, nodding. He inched forward, and the hair on his arms stood and tingled as if he were standing in the middle of a thunderstorm. “The third part of the Triumvirate along with Anvira and Maeleon.”
“That is the conventional wisdom, yes. Though given your previous line of work and your more recent…transformation…I’m sure you’ve come to appreciate that conventional wisdom isn’t always reliable.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Jason grunted. For a moment, he considered trying to hide his identity or pretend he wasn’t carrying around the spirit of Malacross…but he had a feeling this man would see through any guise he attempted to wear. “Conventional wisdom states that the Ascendants are all carrying the ancient souls of your people…but that isn’t true, either.”
Dathiel smiled again. “I’m sure you’ve learned more these past few months than you ever thought possible. It has been many ages since one of the Old Gods has chosen to merge with a mortal outside of the Order.”
Jason frowned at the subtle shift in language. “So you’re not really an Immortal, then. You’re just a human host like me.”
“You almost make it sound commonplace,” Dathiel said. “We are the True Ascendants—we are the ones who share in the consciousness and power of the gods. The mortal kings are pretenders, as you now know.”
“Except that they ca
n empower followers to channel the Aether. We cannot.”
“A talent that is more of a curse than a boon in many situations.” Dathiel waved a dismissive hand. “Regardless, you and I are the bearers of a tremendous privilege. Only a select few members of the Order are even chosen for such an honor, and you have received this gift almost entirely by accident.”
“He’s spent his whole life stumbling into rare treasures by accident,” Tam muttered. “Apparently it’s just in his nature.”
Jason took in another deep breath and once more tried to calm his nerves and think rationally. “The Immortals can’t manifest in our world without a mortal host,” he said, as much to himself as anyone else. “They’re like demons in that respect, except that apparently they’re willing to co-exist with their mortal hosts.”
“Or perhaps they are simply too weak to take over completely,” Gor suggested. He, too, seemed to have finally returned to his senses, though his tail was twitching apprehensively. “I see no reason to give them any undue credit.”
Dathiel smiled. “You are wise to be cautious, but Old Gods who chose to linger within our realm have no interest in tormenting us. They do not possess their hosts without first receiving permission, and they would not do so at all if it were not necessary for their continued survival.”
Sarina’s lip curled in disgust. “How noble of them. And what if the hosts change their minds later?”
“We know the risks, and we understand that the process is irreversible. I chose to accept this gift willingly. It was—and is—a great honor.”
“Yeah, what’s not to love about sharing your mind with crazy, ethereal beings who nearly destroyed the world a few thousand years ago,” Tam mumbled, tossing a meaningful glace at Jason. “I can’t see how anything bad could come of it.”
“The Watchers have always remained neutral in political struggles,” Selvhara put in. Her face was stoic, but Jason could see her hands trembling at her sides. “They rarely communicate with others who serve the Triumvirate, even when circumstances are dire. I only spoke with your agents a handful of times in all the years I lived in Sorthaal.”
“The Order prefers to operate in the shadows whenever possible,” Dathiel explained. “Our enemies are subtle compared to those of the Last Dawn, and we must be equally subtle in our efforts to combat them.”
“Your enemies,” Jason whispered. “You mean the Unbound.”
“Yes. Orias and his brethren brought the power of the Aether to this world, and they feel that it remains our responsibility to temper the worst abuses of its power.” His golden eyes flicked briefly to Tam, then back to Jason. “You can understand why the appearance of one of their sisters has been a cause for both joy and trepidation. Still, the fact you survived the merging process speaks to the strength of your mind and body.”
“Or he’s just really damn lucky,” Tam muttered. “That’s always been my theory.”
Jason licked at his dry lips. “You said your purpose here was to evaluate me, but what about the Eye of the Pah? What does it have to do with any of this?”
“Finding you after your flight from Lyebel was difficult, but once we heard rumors about the discovery of a lost Talishite relic, we knew you would make your way here eventually.” Dathiel reached down into his satchel and retrieved a milky white gemstone the size of a groll’s fist. “The Order has been searching for the Eye for many centuries. As you can imagine, an artifact with its unique abilities could be very dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Or the right ones, Jason thought to himself. The idea of any organization, even ostensibly well-intentioned ones, having their hands on the Eye was downright terrifying—assuming the artifact worked the way it was supposed to. In theory, the Watchers would be able to use it to hunt down renegade Unbound anywhere in the world, including people like Tam and Elade.
“It’s obvious why you would want the Eye,” Jason said, clearing his throat, “but that doesn’t explain why you didn’t just wait in that statue for us to show up. If you were so interested in finding me, why not confront us immediately?”
Dathiel shrugged. “The Order wished to know the full extent of your capabilities. We still weren’t precisely certain what had happened to you, and I decided that more observation was required. Only another bearer of a Godsoul—a divine spark, as you might call it—would be capable of tracking me here to Elashi.”
Jason frowned. He didn’t buy that explanation for an instant. “You’ll have to do better than that. If you really wanted to test me, you could have just confronted me in Shanizaar or the temple or even out in the middle of the desert, but you didn’t. Why?”
Dathiel’s pleasant smile faded. “There are other factors of which you are not yet aware, but you will be soon.”
“That almost sounded like a threat,” Selvhara said, creeping forward a step.
“Not at all,” Dathiel said. “The rest of you have nothing to fear from me, I assure you.”
“But Jason does?”
The man’s golden eyes glimmered. “I was sent here to Torsia for two reasons: to retrieve the Eye of the Pah, and to confirm the rumors that Mr. Moore was carrying a lost Godsoul. Now it is my duty to return both to Calhara.”
“I see,” Jason murmured. He shared quick but meaningful glances with the rest of his group. They had all recovered from their awe-induced paralysis, and more importantly he could tell that they all remained firmly on his side—even Gor. “And what happens to me when I get there?”
“The Order will wish to ensure the health of the Godsoul, of course,” Dathiel said. “Assuming all goes well, you will be allowed to live among us in peace. You are clearly a capable and knowledgeable host, and I’m sure we have much to learn from each other. In time, you might even choose to join us.”
“Right. And if things don’t go well?”
The man’s cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. “You must understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. Moore. Torsia will not survive this war, not without careful and precise intervention…and if it falls into chaos, all of Obsidian will surely follow. A terrible reckoning is upon us.”
“I understand the threat,” Jason said. “What I don’t understand is why I should trust you or the Watchers to handle it properly. I don’t know you, and I don’t know anything about Orias, either.”
“My lord is one of the stewards of this world, and he has protected our kind for thousands of years,” Dathiel said. “But the Godsoul you carry is of paramount importance. Precious few of the Immortals remain on this world, and we desperately need their help. I am offering you the chance to be a part of the healing process.”
“And what about the rest of us?” Sarina asked.
“You are free to do as you wish, of course. The Godsoul is my only concern.”
“You still didn’t answer his previous question,” Selvhara said. “What happens if things don’t go well? What happens if the Godsoul is damaged?”
Dathiel turned and eyed her for a moment. “Then it will need to be extracted and healed.”
“Which will kill Jason,” Sarina said. “Right?”
“Regrettably, yes,” Dathiel admitted. “Once the merging process has begun, there is no way to stop it. The host body cannot survive.” His eyes slowly returned to focus upon Jason. “My hope is that this will not be necessary. You seem healthy, and in all likelihood you will be a suitable host.”
“Well, you make a flattering offer,” Jason said, trying not to sound overly sarcastic, “but I came here to use the Eye to track down my father. He is the threat you should be worried about, not a handful of rogue Unbound.”
“If only that were true,” Dathiel whispered. “Your father is less of a factor than he would like to believe. But he will be dealt with soon enough, I assure you. In the meantime, however, I must insist that you come with me.”
Jason stiffened, and his fingers instinctively brushed against the pommel of his sword. He feared to imagine what kind of power this man might wield. Dathiel had p
robably been carrying around this “Godsoul” for many years now, while Jason had only just begun to unlock his own powers. Still, it wasn’t like the rest of his group was helpless…
“And if I refuse?” he asked.
“You would only be doing yourself a disservice,” Dathiel told him. “As I said, your father will be neutralized soon; you need not worry about him. And more to the point, there is much the Order can offer a man like you. You are a lover of knowledge, Mr. Moore—the search for the truth is your one, true passion. Our archives can provide you enough secrets and ancient stories to last a lifetime.”
“Be that as it may, I still decline your offer,” Jason said. “Sorry.”
Dathiel took a menacing step forward. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
“Insist all you like—you have your answer,” Selvhara said. She opened her left hand, and sparks of electricity began crackling in her palm. “Now please, leave.”
Dathiel didn’t even look at her. Instead he stared at Jason for a long, intense moment before finally grunting. “My Lord Orias did not believe that you could be convinced to see reason, but I insisted upon making the effort regardless. Once again I see the folly of doubting his wisdom.” He shook his head. “Very well. You and your friends may stay here if you wish—but the Godsoul is coming with me.”
And then Dathiel moved. It was the most subtle motion Jason could have imagined—a slight tilt of the chin followed by a fractional shrug of the shoulders—and then suddenly the entire world exploded in a brilliant flash of light. His companions were flung aside like leaves caught in a hurricane, and Jason himself was hoisted up off the ground and nearly crushed by an invisible fist of Aetheric energy. He tried to move—he tried to breathe—but it was as if his entire body had been shut down in the span of a single heartbeat.
“Goodbye, Mr. Moore,” Dathiel said, his voice booming off the warehouse walls. “The Order thanks you for your service.”
Chapter Twelve
“Tears from the heavens,
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 106