Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  “You’re a worthless Skillbarren,” a twelve-year-old Odella once shouted from across the Creation Fountain.

  Elina and I had been walking toward her workshop, enjoying the beautiful spring day.

  “Ignore her,” my friend said, hooking her arm with mine.

  But Odella—Meristo right behind her—wouldn’t be ignored and moved to block our path. “You’re nothing without a sword.”

  “Go lash yourself,” Elina spat, trying to pull me around them.

  Just that morning I’d beaten Odella during practice. She clearly hadn’t forgotten.

  “I should make you jump off a cliff,” Odella said, brushing my arm with the tips of her fingers.

  Elina gasped. I took a step back, eyes wide with fear.

  Odella and Meristo threw their heads back and laughed.

  My heart slowed down a bit when I realized Odella hadn’t really compelled me to jump off the side of the citadel, even though she was fully capable of doing so.

  “You wouldn’t dare break the rules,” Elina said. “Though you deserve the lashes, regardless.”

  “And who would tell?” Meristo asked, looking around at the crowd that had started to gather.

  “Not me.”

  “Or me.”

  “Or me.”

  The voices of my fellow Potentials seemed to repeat in an echo. There was a code amongst us. We didn’t tell on each other.

  Gaining confidence from this display of support, Odella seized my wrist. “Filthy Skillbarren,” she said between clenched teeth.

  Losing control of my own body and mind to her Godskill, I marched toward a nearby flower bed and fell to my knees right in the middle of it. Helpless to stop myself, I pulled out the flowers, threw them aside, scooped handfuls of black, moist soil, and proceeded to smear it all over my face while everyone laughed and chanted filthy Skillbarren in unison.

  A few clicks passed before I snapped out of my trance and stopped. I fought back tears as I stood, dirt crumbling off me. There were curses at the tip of my tongue, and the desire to jump on Odella and strangle her. But I contained it all, telling myself revenge would take place in the arena.

  I walked out of the flower bed, my head lowered. I felt so ashamed of who I was.

  Filthy. Worthless. Skillbarren.

  Everyone hated me, even my own Mother. I didn’t deserve to be in the citadel, and yet, I’d never be able to leave.

  I tried to get past the crowd, but they didn’t move away. Backtracking, I went around the Creation Fountain. A murmur began among the Potentials. Something was happening, but I noticed too late what it was.

  Vines were sprouting from the ground at Meristo’s feet, snaking their way toward me. I hurried forward, but the vines slithered fast and tripped me.

  Arms windmilling, I stumbled and fell into the fountain face first. I sputtered to the surface, coughing and pushing hair off my face. The crowd laughed and jeered, while the diamond statue of the Original Mother looked down on me.

  “What is the reason for this ghastly disturbance in front of the Sacred Diamond?” a harsh voice demanded from the back.

  The crowd parted and scattered like bugs.

  I stood at once, even as my soaked tunic tried to pull me down. I recognized that voice and loathed to be found in my current defeated state.

  Mother walked to the edge of the fountain and looked down on me. Rivulets of muddy water slid down my face and arms. Her mouth twisted, and her eyes darkened.

  “Get out of there,” she ordered. “You’ve soiled the water.”

  As I clambered out, Meristo chuckled, attempting to hide it behind his hand.

  Mother turned her attention to him. “Potential Meristo d’Jade.”

  “Godleader Helena,” he said, forgoing the respectful salute we owed our elders, a fact that—judging by Mother’s raised eyebrow—was dutifully noted.

  “Can you tell me what happened here?” Mother asked him.

  “I cannot.”

  “Anyone else?” Mother’s stare darted over the crowd. No one said anything, so she turned to me. “Bia, then. Tell me what happen or face the whip.”

  Odella and Meristo looked fearful until I shook my head and lowered my chin.

  “Well, then,” Mother said. “Follow me.”

  I’d only taken one step when Elina’s voice rose from the crowd. “I can tell you what happened.”

  With a warning glance, I shook my head at Elina. She ignored me.

  Mother walked in Elina’s direction and stopped a few steps away from her. “Do tell, Potential Elina d’Rubí.”

  Elina took a deep breath and went straight to the point. “Odella and Meristo used their Godskills against Bia.”

  As Mother whirled to face the culprits, her emerald crown caught the light, making her look almost as regal as the Original Mother herself.

  “That is a grave thing indeed,” Mother said, leaning into them. “If you were adults, that would mean a no-return visit to the Godmaker.”

  Jaw clenched, Meristo held her gaze, and I had to admit he was brave.

  “Then I would be just like your daughter, a Skillbarren,” he spat the last word as if burned his mouth.

  Mother’s hand went up, ready to strike, but it never did. Instead, it came down slowly and touched Meristo’s tunic. To my horror and everyone else’s, the fabric of his green garment turned white, slowly hardening into Albasino.

  His eyes widened in panic, then he fell to his knees defeated by the weight of his rock solid tunic.

  Mother lowered her face to only inches of Meristo’s and said, “You will have a chance to prove your worth in the arena, dear boy. But for now, the whip will prove its worth to you. Twenty lashes.” She turned to Odella. “Each.”

  And with that, she walked away, ensuring a hatred much deeper than any Odella and Meristo already felt against me.

  Chapter 10

  The sun has gone down on the horizon, and the arena pounds like an agitated heart. Large Godfire orbs float above, lighting every corner. The Godleaders sit at their place on their preferential rostrum, presiding over the spectators and competitors.

  We, over one hundred Potentials, wait under the stands, sitting on long benches and staring at the ground. We have our weapons of choice with us. I clench mine with knuckle-white strength. Most mouths are shut tight, free of their usual banter.

  This is it. This is what we’ve been training for, except not exactly. Godskills have never been allowed but, today, there is no rule against them.

  The confidence I’ve always felt during training has abandoned me, and I wonder if I’ll survive through the sixty drumbeats of the clash. Perhaps, I shouldn’t worry about it. If I die today, my suffering will be over. But I want to help my friends live. They deserve it.

  A horn bellows. It is our cue. We stand and file out, crossing the archway into the arena. The crowd explodes into cheers, whistles, and applause. The horn clamors grandly, resounding over the excited voices.

  Banners in all the Godline colors flap in the wind, high above the stands. The Godleaders stand prominently at the far end of the arena, Godfire orbs floating around them like giant fireflies.

  Romer elbows me and lifts his chin to demonstrate a banner at the edge of the arena. It hangs at chest height from a wooden rod that has been spiked into the ground. The banner is made of cream-colored fabric with a thunderbolt stitched in black thread at its center.

  “What are those supposed to be?” Romer whispers.

  My eyes rove around the expansive arena’s circumference. There are more banners set at equal intervals, all with a different token artfully stitched at its middle. I shake my head, panic surging higher inside my chest. I have no idea what they are.

  Godmaster Salino and Godmaster Mador, the trial stewards, wait for us in the center of the field. We make a circle around them, as we’ve been instructed, each alliance sticking together.

  I look toward the audience members of Rubí Godline, trying to spot Elina. I don’
t see her, and my heart aches a little more. I had expected to meet her yesterday after the Descension ceremony, but she never came to our Tier hall, and I couldn’t go looking for her since we weren’t allowed to leave—not on the night before the first clash. She must not have been brave enough to come visit me, and I don’t blame her. Still, I would have liked to tell her goodbye, the way Romer, Delfos and I did. This could be our last day, after all.

  “Gods and Goddesses of Joya d’Diosa,” Godmaster Salino’s voice resounds inside my head as well as everyone else’s in the arena, “this year’s trials begin today in accordance with tradition. Potentials will fight for the right to forever remain in our glorious citadel.

  “Only one Potential will be allowed that honor. The rest will either Descend or die. Let’s be reminded of the rules.

  “Alliances are limited to three members each. Every Potential is allowed to pardon one and only one other Potential. Everyone must fight or be disqualified. Godskills are allowed.

  “That is all.”

  Godmaster Salino pauses and turns in a circle, as if to make sure everyone understands the rules.

  “Is everyone here of their own volition?” he asks.

  Everyone confirms.

  Godmaster Mador steps out holding a leather pouch. We all exchange confused glances.

  “Everyone will draw a token from Godmaster Mador’s bag.”

  What interesting twist are they introducing now? They do this sometimes: “to keep things interesting.”

  This is a show for Joya d’Diosas’s citizens, after all.

  Godmaster Mador goes around in a circle, letting Potentials dip a hand into the bag to pull out tokens. One of those who already has a token looks around and points outside the circle. I follow her gaze, trying to spot whatever looks so interesting. She’s intent on one of the cream-colored banners. This one depicts a tree with bare branches. However, before I decipher it’s meaning, a small figure waving its arms desperately from the crowd, distracts me.

  I squint. Elina? What in the name of—

  Godmaster Mador impatiently dangles the pouch in front of my face.

  “Sorry,” I mumble and pull out a token.

  The piece is made of Albasino. The side that faces me is smooth and without mark, so I turn it over and find the image of a waning moon painted in black. My thoughts race, trying to figure out what the token means. Eyes roving all around the arena, I spot a flag with an identical moon.

  Romer and Delfos have already retrieved their pieces. I grab Romer’s hand and pull it close to see what is on his token. A goblet. I start to ask Romer what is Delfos’s token, but Godmaster Salino’s voice in my head orders me to be silent.

  They’re going to separate us, I realize. Lashing Chaos!

  How will I get to them? We need to stay together.

  “Now,” Godmaster Salino instructs, “take your positions in front of the banner with the image that matches your token.”

  Romer’s gaze snaps to mine. He opens his mouth to say something but stops, perhaps silenced by Godmaster Salino too.

  A general murmur builds in the circle of Potentials.

  I start walking toward the waning moon banner, throwing glances over my shoulder to see where Romer and Delfos are headed. They are both walking in exact opposite directions. I look for Odella, Meristo, and Ynes. They’re also being scattered wide and don’t look happy about it.

  The Godmasters have decimated all of the alliances. Everyone’s initial plans for battle have been thrown into disarray. My mind scrambles for a positive angle. How can this work to our advantage? Perhaps if Ynes and Odella are nowhere near Meristo, Romer will have an easier time finding Delfos and still be able to follow our original plan. I embrace this possibility.

  Don’t worry about me, Romer. I was supposed to be on my own anyway. I’ll find you.

  I know just where I have to go to join my friends. I scan the arena, looking for Meristo. Before I’m able to spot him, however, I think I see Elina again. She’s waving and yelling like a mad woman, making her way toward me through the audience.

  What in the name of Chaos is she doing? This is a bit too late to say goodbye.

  The horn issues one long note which is promptly followed by a drumbeat.

  Lash me!

  The trials have begun.

  Chaos explodes around me and I have no idea where Meristo is. I try to look for him, but notice Rocas d’Topacio headed in my direction, his sword and shield attached to his arms as if they are part of him. His Godskill allows his limbs to become the same material of whatever he touches, which means that, at the moment, he’s partly made of steel.

  I’ve disarmed and beaten him countless times during training. Now, from the murderous look in his eyes, it’s obvious he’s after revenge.

  Rocas swings with everything he’s got. I don’t have time to block, so I lean back, lose my balance, and fall. He tries to pin me to the ground. I roll out of the way, losing my shield in the process.

  I jump to my feet, blood boiling with rage. Running at him, I swing toward his head. Our swords clash. We exchange several blows, metal clanging, steel against steel. I hit his sword from above, then make a twirling motion meant to disarm him, but my blade tangles with his, and he pulls me in, gripping my sword arm.

  Teeth bared, he laughs. “You’re nothing, and you’ve always been nothing, Bia,” he says. “You should have Descended, but now you will die.”

  We struggle. I’m trying to get away from him, but he’s holding me back. I growl in frustration.

  “Bia!”

  I think I hear someone in the crowd, calling my name, but they’re probably just trying to distract me so Rocas can do me in. The first drumbeat sounds. Fifty-nine more to go.

  Struck by an idea, I stop pulling and push instead. Rocas loses his balance and takes me down with him. My sword flies from my hand, over his head. If I was strong enough, I would strangle him. Or maybe not. All he’d have to do is lift his weaponized arms to cut me in half.

  I jump away instead and scramble for my sword and shield.

  “Bia!” someone calls right behind me. I look over my shoulder and discover Elina. The first set of stands are only a few paces away. People behind her loom, their fists up in the air as they cheer.

  She makes desperate beckoning motions.

  What?!

  To my left, a wall of something like smoke goes up. I scurry away from it. It must be Huma d’Granate, using her fog skill to obstruct visibility.

  I shake my head and return my attention to Rocas. He’s on his feet now, chest heaving. He tosses away his shield and holds his sword with both hands. Steel climbs up his left arm and reaches his elbow.

  He swings at me, as if I’m a tree he means to cut down. I block the blow with my shield. My bones rattle. I take a step back. Rocas chops downward. I raise my shield and fall to one knee with the strength of the blow.

  “Bia! Please!”

  “Elina, I can’t,” I growl, my arm trembling as Rocas tries to dice me like a hunk of lashing Godfruit.

  I manage not to succumb to his sheer weight. He pulls back to swing again. I try to stand, but my legs fail me and, as I waver, Rocas’s sword cuts across my stomach.

  “No!” Elina’s voice echoes in my ears as I fall.

  A warmth creeps along the padding under my leather armor.

  Rocas barks a laugh that becomes one with Elina’s pleading utterances of my name. Holding my stomach, I crawl toward my friend’s voice.

  My opponent stalks behind, a feline playing with its prey. “I always knew you were nothing.” He laughs. “I also know you want to die, and I don’t mind obliging you.”

  I get to the wall and turn around, pressing my back against it. Hugging my middle, I push up, legs shaking, back sliding upward.

  “Move! Get out of my way!” Elina pushes people aside to get closer to me. At least I’ll get to say goodbye.

  I wanted to go with the knowledge that Romer was the winner, and Delfos got
to live, but I won’t have that satisfaction.

  Rocas’s arms return to flesh. He readies the sword, aiming it straight at my heart.

  “No! No! You wait,” Elina orders Rocas. “You wait and you let me say goodbye.”

  “You had enough time for that,” he says and pushes his sword forward.

  Goodbye, Elina. I love you.

  Chapter 11

  I brace myself for the killing blow, but Rocas freezes.

  A drumbeat resonates in the arena. I have no idea how many are left.

  His mouth opens in a big, silent scream. He drops his sword and reaches toward his back, grasping at nothing. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, he falls to his knees, sways for an instant, then collapses on his face.

  Behind him stands Aristo, an expression of utter suffering on his face. His hands shake at his sides. He looks down at Rocas’s immobile body, then at me. The fingers on his right hand drip blood. We stare into each other’s eyes for what feels like an eternity.

  The battle plays behind him like I’ve never seen it before. The Potentials’ Godskills have turned the field into Chaos itself. Smoke obscures the left side of the arena. Body parts, real this time, stain the grass a deeper red than Godmaster Mador’s illusions ever did.

  “Thank the jewel!” Elina exclaims above me. “Bia!”

  I look up and back. My friend’s face peers over the wall, hands reaching for me. She looks blurry. I wipe a hand over my eyes, but it makes it worse. I blink at my hand. It’s bloody, as if I’ve dipped it into the red paint we used to play with as children, when art lessons were more important than training to die.

  “Bia!” Elina calls again, this time with the angry growl of a command.

  I turn around with difficulty and press my stomach to the wall. The pressure on the wound makes me groan.

  Elina reaches down with one hand, stretching as far as she can. Something glitters between her fingers.

  “Take it,” she mouths, fear and urgency in the depths of her eyes.

  I try to grip her hand, but a bolt of pain shoots up my side, and I shrink back.

  Suddenly, Aristo is at my side, helping me. He throws my right arm around his shoulders and makes me stand taller. I reach out for Elina once more.