Godmaker
Ingrid Seymour
PenDreams • BIRMINGHAM
To the boy who loves Olympian gods
Chapter 1
Today, I’m a Goddess, but I fear that soon I will be nothing more than a filthy, disease-ridden human.
The thought twists me up inside. The trials are in two days, and I’m as Skillbarren as the day I was born. If only I were like Elina, I would have nothing to worry about.
I look at her over the worktable. Her brown hair falls to either side of her face as she looks down at her work.
“Bia, isn’t this one pretty?” she asks now, pushing a Godhoned jewel across to me. “Though I’ve made a few others like it today.” She shrugs as if her magical creations are nothing special.
I pick up the sparkling, purple gem. It’s as beautiful as any she’s ever honed—including those she created when she was seven and first discovered her Godskill.
“What does it do?” I ask, turning it around between my thumb and forefinger.
“I don’t know,” she answers, but she’s not looking at me. She’s intent on her fingers as they move and hone a new jewel from the ether or wherever.
These days, Elina is always experimenting, creating jewels in ways she’s never tried before. Her worktable is piled high with gems she honed in the last few hours. My guess is she has no idea what any of them do. She rarely ever creates known jewels. She mastered those a long time ago.
I smile fondly. She’s determined to hone the next Cardinal Jewel, one like the Godmaker wields which is responsible for many of our woes and blessings, one like the legendary jewels birthed during the Chaos of Creation. She even fancies I will be the wielder of said magnificent jewel, which explains why she has to work so hard and why we’ve been bonded as friends.
“Ooh, what about this one?” She hands me the newly made gem. “I think that’s the most beautiful today. I’ve never made one shaped like a pyramid. It is so rare to be able to create one. And the colors are amazing. It still needs some work, but I think it’s the best I’ve ever made.”
I shake my head, amazed at her relentless enthusiasm. They all look equally beautiful to me, and each gem she hones is better than the last.
She peers at me with her green eyes. They are wide with pleasure, reflecting the light coming from outside through the arched doors. Her brown hair and golden brown skin are like mine, but her light, twinkling eyes set us apart. Mine are brown, like most of Joya d’Diosa’s inhabitants.
Still shaking my head, I pinch the gem from her hand to inspect it. My eyes grow as wide as my friend’s. She’s right. It is beautiful. I turn it around in my hand, fascinated. The jewel is a deep shade of green, lighter on the surface, but darker toward its core where it throbs with the secrets of Elina’s skill. Light bounces off its multiple facets, making it sparkle with mesmerizing intensity. It’s a perfect four-sided pyramid, the size of an almond, and for the life of me, I can’t imagine why it needs more work.
“I think that’ll be a special one,” Elina says.
“I . . . I agree.” My voice sounds distant. The center of the jewel calls my name. My fingers close around it.
“Can I keep it, just this once?” I ask.
Elina rolls her eyes. It is the game we play. I always ask for the jewels I like though it’s against the rules and Elina would never break them. Not even for me.
All of her jewels are to go to Godmaster Calandra who is to inspect them, categorize them, and test them on Skillbarren Potentials like me. Except, the last test took place a few days ago, and I won’t get the chance to attend the next one because, by then, I’ll be dead. Or worse, human.
She puts out a hand and wiggles her fingers at me. I sigh and hand the gem over with a pang of regret. She follows the rule with seal. She has never let me keep any of them.
“The other one.” She wiggles the fingers of her other hand.
“Oh.” I had forgotten about the purple jewel. “Here.”
I open my other hand over Elina’s. Nothing but dust falls onto it. “Oh, sorry.”
Elina blinks at the glimmering particles on her palm. “Must have been a bad one.”
“Shame.” I wipe my hand on my tunic. “I guess I should go. It’s that time.” Potentials, like me, are expected to train for the trials before supper. We’ve been doing it since we were five. If we are late, we are subjected to a lashing, though this final week the punishment has been suspended. How generous of them!
Elina peels her gaze from the jewel dust and turns my way. Her confounded expression changes to one I’m too familiar with.
“Chaos, Elina! Don’t start again,” I say.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” She starts anyway.
“Because I am.”
Elina crosses her arms. “You have nothing to prove.”
“That’s not what it’s about, and you know it.” We’ve been over this too many times to count.
“Sometimes I wonder,” she says.
Yes, my sisters, both of them, made Mother proud during their respective trials. Amela with her skill over the elements, and Rozana with her ability to see things ahead of time. And though I would love to follow in their steps, proving myself is not the reason I’m choosing to fight in the trials rather than bow out.
“You know why I must fight, so stop trying to rationalize my decision in any other way.”
Elina wouldn’t like to become human any more than I do. Probably less, to be honest, and that’s saying a lot. She has grown up knowing she will always be a Goddess, so it’s virtually impossible for her to imagine being anything less.
“We’ll find a way.” Elina’s eyes waver.
I turn away and check my hair in the looking glass behind me. It’s tightly coiled in a tress on top of my head, ready for battle on the training arena. It doesn’t need my attention, but I don’t want Elina to see how vulnerable I’ve become. Lately, I’m bound to cry at the smallest, most unexpected things. Godfruit brought me to tears this morning, for Chaos sake! If I let it, the sight of sympathy in my best friend’s silver-lined eyes could render me useless for the rest of the day.
Old, useless jewels of Elina’s creation make up the frame around the looking glass. I helped her put them there one sunny spring morning several years back. My throat tightens at the memory.
I cough to steal my nerves and walked away from Elina, toward the arched doors. “I have godly asses to kick.”
Gossamer curtains blow inward, spurred by a warm, northern-bound breeze. They flutter into the room, allowing an ample view of our beautiful citadel. I stop and press a hand to one of the many white Godhoned columns. Joya d’Diosa is entirely made of the same material.
Albasino.
The sight can bring anyone to tears, not just me. Joya d’Diosa is built at the top of Mount Blanco—the tallest mountain in the region—nestled securely between its precarious peaks, a feat only one of our kind could ever accomplish. More specifically, a Goddess named Helena. Even more specifically, my dear mother.
Elina stands behind me and presses a hand to my shoulder. “The sky is as blue as Romer’s eyes, today.”
“Yeah, I heard the humans were praying for less rain. I think Amela was trying to drown them. Mother had to order her to stop.”
We both laugh.
“Bia . . .”
“Please don’t make me cry,” I blurt out.
She chuckles. “I was just going to say to please say hello to Romer for me.”
“Sure.”
Romer is also a powerful Potential, the difference being he’ll probably win the trials and stay in Joya d’Diosa, unlike the rest of us.
I look back at Elina. Her l
arge, green eyes stare into the distance, above the top of the buildings below, far into the horizon where the closest human city lies. Is she imagining Romer there? Or me?
Her tawny skin—the exact same shade as mine—is smooth with youth as it’ll be for now and forever. We are both seventeen. She will grow older in years, but not in appearance. I will die and, thus, remain the same, if only in her memory.
Elina gasps, startling me. She runs back to her worktable. Her red tunic billows behind her.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing, just a thought.”
She scatters the pile of jewels, spreading them all around. They glitter with the rays of sun that seep through one of the skylights above. Her fingers move quickly through the flashy bits, sorting, categorizing.
When she gets like this, it’s useless trying to talk to her. She goes somewhere else, perhaps all the way to Chaos. I chuckle and don’t say goodbye as I go down the pristine white Albasino steps and head toward the arena.
No Skillbarren Potential has ever won the trials. I practice and practice, so I can be the first.
Chapter 2
The white Albasino streets shine in the sunlight. Planters full of greenery and flowers line each passage, adding color to the stark, white backdrop. Fruits hang from lush trees, always ready for the picking. The air smells sweet, and a gentle wind whistles through the mountain like music from a flute.
Ahead, on one of the many grassy fields that dot the citadel, a gaggle of children roughhouses. I smile remembering Elina, Romer, Delfos and I doing the same. As I get closer, however, I realize it’s not a game, but a bullying match of four against one.
“That is hardly honorable,” I say in a booming voice.
All four bullies jump back, leaving a bloodied boy on the ground, a boy I know well.
“Oh, it’s just Bia the Skillbarren,” the oldest of the bullies—a pale girl of about ten—says in a mocking tone.
Used to the ugly insult, I ignore her and help the boy to a sitting position. “Uriel, are you all right?”
He pulls long legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. A muscle jumps in his jaw but, to his credit, he doesn’t cry. He’s a brave boy, too young to be called Skillbarren, yet treated as such by most of his peers.
“Your protégé is worthless,” the pale girl says.
Straightening to my full height, I face the bullies and look down at them. “Not so, if it takes four of you to beat him.”
Uriel is one of the few children without a Godskill who I’ve been teaching to fight for the last couple of years. I suffered the bullying myself and cannot understand why others turn a blind eye to it.
Mouth twisted, the girl looks at her companions, as if considering whether they can take me or no. She does the math and comes up with zero. She takes a step back and spits on the ground, her friends do the same like soulless puppets.
Once they’ve left, Uriel stands, rubbing the side of his face. His eyes are full of pain, but not one caused by his injuries. It’s a different sort, one I know all too well.
“Who will take care of us when you’re gone?” he asks, not at all aware that his question means he assumes I‘ll be defeated during the trials.
“You will take care of yourself,” I say, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“I will Descend, like you.”
So he doesn’t think I’ll be defeated. He thinks I’ll choose not to fight. How little he has learned about me in these past two years.
“Don’t worry, Uriel,” I said, “You’ll soon find the jewel that will unleash your Godskill.”
He shakes his head.
But I squeeze his shoulder and say, “Don’t lose hope. Promise me.”
He avoids my gaze.
“Promise me,” I insist.
His gray eyes finally meet mine. “I promise.”
I smile at him because I hear the hope in his tone, and that’s what he needs. For now.
“Be on your way,” I give him a slight push and watch him leave, wishing someone other than me care about these powerless children.
***
I’m late. The clashing sounds of battle make it obvious before I even set foot in the arena. In the weapons chamber, I remove my knee-length tunic and drape it over a wooden bench. I’m left in an airy undershirt over which I strap my breast plate. I leave on my leather leggings, but exchange my slippers for a pair of sturdy boots. It’s less than I will wear during the trials, but I don’t feel like training in full gear today.
When I’m done dressing, I retrieve my sword and shield from the wall and turn to leave. Before I’m past the door, however, Aristo comes in from the arena, throws his weapons at the wall, and growls in frustration.
Noticing me, he blinks and shakes himself. “Apologies. I didn’t see you there.” He lowers his gaze.
“It’s all right.”
He seems about to say something else but, instead, he leaves, his bony shoulders hunched low.
Everyone thinks he will choose to Descend, but I often wonder. He has the same tenacious look in his eyes that I see in the looking glass every day, an inner stubbornness that won’t let him bow out of the trials. He’d rather be the first to die than Descend and become human. And he might be first. He’s no good with the sword, and his Godskill is useless. He can heal bones when what he needs is to break them.
I push him out of my mind and walk out, my muscles tingling with anticipation of the blows I’ll give and receive. When I step onto the grass-covered field, I watch the melee for a few moments, trying to see who’s here. Obstacles dot the field. Wine barrels, bags of sand, mud pits, climbing walls, rope ladders, and more. It seems that Godmaster Salino—the first steward of the trials—wants to make us sweat today.
I take a step forward, imagining the stands filled with Joya d’Diosa’s citizens. Two days from now, there will be thousands of them, cheering for their sons and daughters, or simply for those better suited to help their political standing.
No one will cheer for me or any of the Skillbarren. My mother and sisters already consider me lost. They have for years now. I held out hope until I was thirteen. They gave up on me before I even turned ten.
I look up at the sky, wishing there was someone I could pray to, the way humans do, but all I see is Godmaster Salino, standing at the top of the stands, balancing on the very edge of the outer wall. He’s nothing but a small silhouette against the blue sky, but I imagine a satisfied smile gracing his lips. He has overseen the trials for two centuries, but he doesn’t seem to tire of it.
Suddenly, his voice resonates inside my head. “Are you going to join? Or just stand there?”
I shudder. I’ll never get used to that, even though he’s been screaming inside my head since the moment I could hold a sword. Handy skill, his. It’s said that during his trials, he drove his opponents insane by booming inside their heads and speaking fearful messages in their minds as they slept. I shudder again. They probably never stood a chance.
Waving at him, I rush into the middle of the arena where I’ve spotted Romer, fighting against three others. Before joining him, I notice Aristo taking a seat in the stands. He always watches after he’s defeated, perhaps to learn more about his opponents, but it doesn’t seem to help.
I skirt carefully around all the swinging swords. Romer gives me a smile even as he parries a blow from Odella d’Peridoto. She and her friends don’t relent. They have an alliance and mean to take Romer out. He’s the favorite to win, after all. Every Potential would benefit from Odella’s efforts, especially if she takes him out early during the trials. They should know better by now, though. They’ve never beaten him.
“Late again,” Romer tells me as I join to fight and take some of the heat off him. “You should be lashed.”
Besides being the best, Romer also has his own alliance, and we don’t let him down.
“Lashings have been suspended,” I say, parrying a blow from Ximon d’Amatista, a dark-skinned boy who fights with
two swords and no shield.
“You’re lashing lucky is what you are,” he curses at me.
“Oh, Elina says hello,” I say, ignoring his jab.
I wave at Delfos—our third ally. He’s in a heated exchange with Ynes d’Opalo, who looks tiny next to the ruddy-faced giant. She staggers backward with every blow of his sword. I’m lucky to be with Romer and Delfos. Their Godskills are good, enough that they could have joined forces with anyone else, but few are as dexterous with the sword as I am. Godskills are important, but the battle is fought with swords and shields, which makes me a real contender, even if I’m Skillbarren.
Ximon’s weapons cut like scissors through the air. I feign to the right, then strike his left side, which he always leaves unprotected. He’s out of the session just like that. Cursing, he stomps away. Ynes joins him shortly, after Delfos hovers over her, the tip of his sword at her throat and makes her surrender.
I look over at my friend. “That was fast.”
He shrugs and hooks a thumb in Romer’s direction. “He can take care of himself. How about you and I face each other?” Delfos lifts his sword and bends his knees.
“Still holding a grudge?” I crouch and give him a taunting smirk. Last time we faced each other, I left him on the ground, spitting grass.
Delfos flexes his biceps. They are huge, the size of boulders. Sweat soaks his blond hair, making it look dark. His human mother is from the distant mountains south of here, where fairer people live, while my human father is from Cima, hence my darker skin and hair.
Mother didn’t go far to find the necessary human-seed to father her children. But Delfos’s father is a runner—he travels far and wide, gathering supplies our many skills don’t yet provide—so he found a mate amongst the mountain dwellers. Ironic how we need humans for this purpose. I’ve never liked the idea but, unfortunately, Gods and Goddesses can’t procreate with each other.
“So, how is Elina, my favorite girl?” Romer asks, panting as he twirls and coaxes Odella away from Delfos and me.
Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1) Page 1