The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 1-3

by Brian D. Anderson

  “A dangerous game,” Kaylia grumbled under her breath.

  “But necessary,” Lee insisted.

  “I agree,” said Millet. “This is a good chance to test our deception.”

  Kaylia clearly didn’t think so. “You had me working openly with these - these monks. If one of these oafs had bumped into me and discovered my identity, what then?”

  “I’m counting on your elf dexterity to prevent that,” Lee replied. “If you had not behaved as a pilgrim should, it could have put us in danger. And please, don’t call them oafs. Men and women like these here do nothing but good works. Their lives are dedicated to it.”

  Just then, Gewey saw the figure of Brother Salvo approaching.

  “Brother Milton,” called the tall monk.

  Millet stood and bowed low. “I thank you for sharing your meal,” he said. “As do my companions.” Gewey, Lee, and Kaylia bowed their heads in turn.

  “We’re happy to have you among us,” said Brother Salvo. “Pilgrims on the road have become more and more rare these days. It’s good to see those willing to make the journey of faith.

  May I sit with you?”

  “Of course,” said Millet, offering his blanket. Millet sat next to Kaylia so that he could face Brother Salvo directly.

  “Where do you come from?” Salvo asked.

  “We are from the Temple of Ayliazarah in the eastern kingdom of Palinsali,” answered Millet. “We’re on our way to the Temple of the Far Sky.”

  “Ahhh,” said Salvo. “Servants of sacred love. We haven’t seen many in these parts for some time. You have a long journey ahead. The Temple of the Far Sky is many weeks from here.”

  “All the more reason to thank you for your hospitality,” Millet said graciously.

  Brother Salvo pushed back his hood. He was older than he sounded, yet he was still quite handsome. The years showed in his eyes, but his blond hair and squared features suggested the type of maturity that Gewey had heard the women of Sharpstone speak of with admiration and desire. His skin had a golden hue that could only have been the result of years of hard work in the sun.

  “You won’t find much generosity beyond this point,” Brother

  Salvo lamented. “The world is being consumed by darkness. All the news we get here is filled with sadness.”

  “Are you part of a temple?” asked Millet.

  “No,” said Salvo. “I follow Saraf, but for the past few years I have maintained this encampment. We serve as a refuge for pilgrims and travelers, though lately there have only been a few. This is the largest group we’ve had in months.”

  “I see,” Millet said thoughtfully. “But why do the pilgrims not take refuge in the city temples? It’s less than a day’s ride from here.”

  Brother Salvo smiled feebly. “I see that things aren’t as bad in the east. Here, the temples are turning everyone away - and it’s the same in the western kingdoms. The High Priestess of the Temple of Ayliazarah in Kaltinor has actually turned out her own novices and acolytes.”

  Millet looked mortified. “How could she? She has no right.”

  “I agree,” said Salvo, “but there’s little that can be done.”

  “What has caused this?” Kaylia asked suddenly.

  Gewey felt Lee stiffen next to him.

  “I don’t know, Sister,” Salvo replied. “But I’ve heard stories - terrible stories.”

  “What kind of stories?” asked Millet before Kaylia could speak again.

  “It is said that Angrääl is alive again, and that the dead are rising from their graves,” whispered Salvo. “Stories are spreading everywhere of an evil power bringing darkness across the land.”

  “Angrääl?” said Gewey.

  “Please, don’t speak that name too loudly,” Salvo warned, looking around to see if they had been heard. “You may be too young to know the story, but a thousand years ago Angrääl was a kingdom far to the north, well beyond the White Wilderness. Legend says that the Demon King Rätsterfel rose up to challenge the gods. The war raged for a hundred years. Eventually, he was destroyed in a battle with heaven itself - but not before he had laid waste to half the world. Some say he has returned to take his revenge.”

  “Do you believe that?” asked Gewey.

  Brother Salvo lowered his eyes. “I’m not sure what I believe any more,” he said. “But I do know that I’ve never seen such hardship in the world. There is something sinister behind it. I can feel it. Whether or not it’s the return of the Demon King is impossible to say, but there is a pestilence spreading, and it’s growing stronger. If it wasn’t for the help I get from passing pilgrims and the few nobles still dedicated to the gods, I wouldn’t be able to do what little I manage.” He sighed heavily and shook his head.

  Millet reached over and put his hand on brother Salvo’s shoulder. “Have faith, Brother. Things will get better. What you do here is important; there’s nothing little about kindness.”

  Brother Salvo looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Brother. It’s hard not to despair sometimes. Your words comfort me.” He rose to his feet. “Now, I must attend to my other duties. Please stay as long as you wish.”

  “Thank you, Brother Salvo,” said Millet. “But we’ll be leaving at sunrise.”

  “Then I hope you’ll stop here on your return journey,” he said, and walked back into the heart of the encampment.

  “Surprising,” said Kaylia.

  “Surprising, how?” Gewey asked.

  “Such kindness in a human is to be admired,” she said. “My people would be very interested to see it.”

  “It appears you have as much to learn about us, as we do about you,” said Millet.

  “So it seems,” she replied.

  “I’m worried,” said Lee. “I had intended for us to stay a few days at the temple in Kaltinor, but if what Brother Salvo says is true, we may have to make other plans.”

  “That would be fine by me,” said Kaylia. “I never thought it to be a wise plan.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re not in charge then,” Lee said, glancing at Kaylia. “We need information, and the temple is the best place to get it. Without it, we travel blind.”

  “So what do you suggest - as the leader?” Kaylia asked sarcastically.

  Lee smiled devilishly. “I could say we’ve killed an elf, and that we need somewhere to dispose of her body. They’d let us stay in the High Priestess’ apartment if we did that!”

  Kaylia glared at Lee from underneath her hood. “You could try,” she hissed.

  “Enough of this,” said Gewey. “Let’s just get there. Maybe they’ll simply let us stay.”

  “The first intelligent thing I’ve heard all night,” Millet declared. “I, for one, am going to sleep. If you two wish to insult one another, be my guest. But please do it quietly.”

  There was silence among the group. Though tension remained between Lee and Kaylia, they eventually decided Millet was right and lay down to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  In the morning they said their goodbyes to brother Salvo. Millet gave him two gold coins that Lee had provided, and promised to stop there again when they returned home. As they pulled away, Gewey wondered if they would be able to keep that promise. The more he learned, the more it seemed unlikely he would ever see his home again. Kaylia was deep in thought, her robes pulled tight around her.

  “Are you alright?” asked Gewey.

  “I’m fine,” answered Kaylia. “I was just thinking about the people at the encampment. They weren’t what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Gewey asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kaylia admitted. “I suppose I expected them to be more brutish. I didn’t expect to see the kindness they show to one another.”

  “Millet’s right,” said Gewey. “You have a lot to learn about humans.”

  Kaylia was silent.

  “The story Brother Salvo told about the Demon King,” said Gewey. “Have you heard it before?”

  “Yes,” said
Kaylia “Though it’s told differently among my people. In our tales, he’s a hero.”

  “How could someone called the Demon King be a hero?” asked Gewey.

  Kaylia laughed and said, “We don’t call him the Demon King, we simply call him King Rätsterfel. In our stories, he stood up to the tyranny of the gods and tried to free the world.”

  “I wonder which story is true?” Gewey said pensively.

  “Perhaps neither,” Kaylia replied. “It was long ago, and storytelling among my people is not what it was. Much of our history was lost with the fall of our Nations."

  “That must be hard,” said Gewey. “My people depend on their stories as a way to connect them to our ancestors. If we didn’t have them, we’d be lost.”

  “You keep referring to the humans as ‘your’ people,” she said.

  “Yet they are not. Being raised as a human does not make you human. If they found out what you are, do you think they would bow down and worship you, or would they run in fear and disgust? Though I admit the monks surprised me with their kindness and selflessness, I wonder how kind they would have been if they discovered what I am? What if they knew they had shared a meal with an elf? Do you think they would just ignore it and smile?”

  “And what about your people?” interjected Lee, who had been listening from the front of the wagon. “They want to murder you just for traveling with humans. Are they any better?”

  “You’re right, half-man,” Kaylia acknowledged. “The old hatreds run deep on both sides. I cannot claim differently. Perhaps on this journey we can find a way to change that.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something,” Millet added. “Now that would be an adventure I would be proud to be part of.”

  “I think you speak for us all, old friend,” said Lee.

  For the rest of the morning, conversation between Kaylia and Lee was more civil than usual. They even exchanged a few stories while Gewey listened with a pleased grin.

  It was just before noon when they reached the gates of Kaltinor. They had expected the gates to be open during the day, but instead they were shut tight and protected by four members of the city guard. Millet pulled up and halted the wagon.

  “What’s your business?” the guard captain inquired. As the captain spoke with Millet, the other three guards moved to the back of the wagon and looked inside. Gewey and Kaylia bowed their heads and stayed quiet.

  “We’re just pilgrims passing through,” said Millet.

  “Pilgrims, you say?” said the captain. “I’m sure you saw the monks camped back the way you came, and I’m sure they told you the temples will not receive you. We have no room here for a bunch of poor pilgrims. Best you move on.”

  “They did tell us,” Millet affirmed. “All the same, we are just passing through.” He reached down and handed something to the guard captain.

  The captain looked at it for a moment, then quickly put it in his pocket. “Your stay here can be no longer than three days. Any longer and you’ll be arrested. Understand?”

  Millet nodded. “Completely.”

  The captain ordered his men to open the gates. Millet glanced over at Lee and sighed with relief. There was a loud screech of metal on metal as the gates slowly swung open. Millet urged the horses forward and passed through.

  “We’ve managed to bribe our way through the gates with little problem,” said Lee. “Let’s see if our luck holds at the temple.” He glanced back at Gewey. “If you want, you can walk beside the wagon. I know you’ve never seen a city before, and you won’t see much of it from back there.” Gewey smiled with excitement and leapt from the wagon.

  The streets of Kaltinor were thirty feet wide and paved with smooth stones. Most of the buildings along the main avenue were two stories tall; the bottom levels held shops of all kinds, while the upper floors held residences where Gewey could see people eating and talking on small balconies. In just a few minutes, he had counted at least five taverns and three inns - a far cry from what he’d grown up with in Sharpstone. People of all kinds surrounded him; commoners, lords, monks, and merchants all moved about at a pace that astounded him. In the distance, towering above it all, stood a large manor of deep gray stone. At four stories high, it was by far the largest building Gewey had ever seen.

  “What do you think, young master?” Millet asked. Gewey could barely hear him over the noise of the city.

  “It’s amazing,” he said breathlessly. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to live here.”

  “Like living in a hornets’ nest,” muttered Kaylia, who had jumped down beside Gewey. “It’s unnatural.”

  “I agree,” said Millet. “Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate living in the country.”

  Lee laughed. “So I guess all that about hating the smell of horses and pigs, not to mention the constant complaining about not having proper shops and clothing, was nothing but hogwash.”

  “Not hogwash, My Lord,” answered Millet. “I guess I’ve just changed more than I realized.”

  “We’ve both changed,” said Lee, thoughtfully.

  They wound their way west through the city’s temple district and approached the Temple of Ayliazarah. The temple was made from red granite and bore elaborate carvings of the goddess along the outer wall. At the front, a stone staircase led up to an arched entranceway with two large oak doors. Statues of Ayliazarah, each one holding a harp in one hand and the Moon in the other, stood on the either side of the door.

  Millet stopped the wagon and they climbed down.

  “Remember,” Millet advised. “Speak only when spoken to, and say nothing of what Brother Salvo told us.”

  When they got to the door, Millet pounded it several times with his fist. It opened a few moments later, and there stood an old woman dressed in fine white linen robes embroidered with intricate interlacing gold patterns. Her head was covered in a thin gold silk scarf, and she carried a long white ash walking stick.

  “What’s your business here?” the old woman asked.

  “We’re pilgrims on our way to the Temple of the Far Sky,” replied Millet. “We thought we might stay the night and see the temple while we’re here.”

  “You thought wrong,” said the woman. “We have no room for vagabonds. Be gone.” She started to close the door, but Millet’s hand shot out and stopped her.

  “We are not vagabonds,” Millet said sternly. “As I said, we are pilgrims, and we demand entrance to the temple.”

  “You demand?” the woman scoffed. “You will leave now, or I will call the city guards.”

  “Who is it?” asked a woman’s voice from within the temple.

  “What do they want?”

  “It’s no one, Your Holiness,” the old woman replied, turning her head inside the door. “Riff-raff, nothing more.”

  “Let them in,” said the voice. “Let me see this ‘riff-raff,’ if you please.”

  The old woman glowered at Millet as she slowly opened the door.

  Once inside, they saw a floor made from polished black marble that spanned an enormous room lined with gold columns. The walls were covered with tapestries and frescoes depicting the nine gods, and several immense glass chandeliers hung from the twenty-foot ceiling. In the center of the room stood a ten-foot statue of Ayliazarah, a perfect replica of those outside the door, except for the fact that this one was made of solid gold. At the far end were two spiral staircases leading to the upper level.

  Just inside the door stood a woman dressed in white satin robes. She was holding a large, leather-bound book. She was younger than the woman who answered the door by at least twenty years, although her face looked careworn. Her light brown hair fell down over her shoulders in tight curls ornamented with tiny white flowers. She smiled brightly at Millet and the others as they entered.

  “I don’t know, Maybell,” said the woman. “They look a bit scruffy, but I wouldn’t say they’re riff-raff.” Her voice was cheerful and kindly.

  “Thank you for allowing us entrance, Your Holines
s,” Millet said, bowing low.

  The others bowed as well, but said nothing. Millet introduced them using the same names he had given to Brother Salvo.

  “I’m Sister Salmitaya, High Priestess here in Kaltinor,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “We are but simple pilgrims on our way to the Temple of the Far Sky,” Millet replied. “We seek lodging and a short respite from our travels.”

  “I tried to make them leave, Your Holiness,” said Maybell. “But they wouldn’t listen.”

  “Nonsense,” laughed Salmitaya. “Times may be hard, but if these people managed to gain entry to the city, then who am I to turn them away? How did you get past the gate, by the way?”

  “I’m ashamed to say, Your Holiness,” said Millet. “We bribed our way in.”

  Salmitaya raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? It’s interesting that mere pilgrims would have money enough for bribes.”

  “We have saved for many years to come on this pilgrimage,” answered Millet. “This temple is among those we planned to visit along the way.”

  “I wish I had known,” she said. “I could have saved you the cost of a bribe.”

  “Some pilgrims send word and money ahead,” said Millet, understanding her meaning. “But I think that takes away from the lesson one is supposed to learn along the way. We have not, however, come empty handed. We intend to make all proper contributions before we depart.”

  Salmitaya laughed. “Please, Brother Milton. You don’t need to bother. It’s my pleasure to offer the hospitality of this temple. You may stay as long as you wish.”

  “Thank you, Your Holiness,” said Millet, bowing low.

  “Thank you, Brother,” she replied, bowing in return. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget that this is a place of worship and contemplation. In these dark times we have been all but driven to beg in the streets.”

  “It pains me to hear that,” said Millet. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Sadly, there isn’t,” Salmitaya replied. “Our troubles go deeper than you can guess.” Her eyes became sorrowful. “But this is not a conversation we should have here and now.” She shook off her sadness and her smile returned. “Maybell will see to your needs. I hope you will join me for supper later.”