Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Kadmus walks into my peripheral vision, his fists clenched tight at his sides. Blood streaks his face, and his right eye is nearly swollen shut. He looks well enough, considering what he just went through.

  The irony of my situation isn’t wasted on me. I’ve won, but I owe it to this human. What kind of lesson is life trying to teach me?

  “Why did you do it?” he asks in a whisper that I can barely hear over the crowd.

  I frown, not understanding the question at first. It takes me a moment to get transported to the horrifying moment where the question becomes as relevant as the hatred in his eyes.

  After a deep breath, I stand, take a few steps in his direction and stop close enough to let him hear my own whispered words.

  “Because we could.” There’s no justification to what Mother did other than this.

  Kadmus shakes his head. “Why did you let me live?”

  I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but I never imagined that he, the green-eyed boy of many of my nightmares, would ever wonder the same thing.

  I could tell him that on that dreadful day, I was too scared to breathe, much less talk. Though that would be a lie. I was scared and didn’t want to draw Mother’s anger my way, lest she turned me to Albasino, too. Except this is not the reason I didn’t give Kadmus away.

  Many other answers cross my mind, all dishonest. I hold them back, lock them away, and forget they ever existed. I’m not sure why—it could be because of the horrible way we lost our innocence together, or because he’s the only other being who knows exactly what happened that day—but I must tell him the truth.

  “Because I’m a coward,” I say, “and it was the only act of defiance I could muster.”

  His expression doesn’t change, not one bit. Maybe I expected my honesty to crack the hatred that hardens his expression, but the mask remains as solid and immovable as before.

  His upper lip twitches as he speaks in a low rumble that vibrates from the bottom of his chest and spews out with more conviction than I’ve felt in my entire life.

  “Defiance isn’t silent,” he says.

  I can’t hold his gaze, so I nod and avert my eyes. “I know. I told you I’m a coward.”

  It’s then I realize Hali was right.

  Sometimes it takes more courage to live than to die.

  Dying is even easier than my pathetic, silent defiance.

  But Descending . . . that would be loud, like roaring right in Mother’s face, like telling her to lash herself to the very end of Chaos.

  Kadmus turns away from me and faces the crowd. “Whatever you have won today,” he says, “is meaningless. You people love nothing, value nothing, and deserve whatever comes your way.”

  It sounds like a threat, like he knows something we don’t. Many in the crowd cheer for him while others taunt him.

  “This spectacle is a clear example of your low morals and insubstantial existences,” he continues. “You call us animals and think you’re better than us, but you are worse than animals. You are monsters.” He faces me again.

  “I feel sorry for you, your defiance and your stupid quest.” He jerks a hand toward the fallen flag. “The crowd roars, but they may as well be silent because this is savagery, because you made me kill that woman, so I could live, so I could be like you.

  “My only satisfaction is that I still can look forward to watching you die one day. Enjoy yourself while you can.”

  Chapter 23

  I stare at the reflection in my tea cup, asking myself the same question I’ve been asking since yesterday.

  Do I dare Descend?

  Godmaster Neo takes the cup from my hands and gives me a new one. “I’m afraid this one’s gone cold.”

  “Sorry.” I shake my head, straighten in my chair, and force myself to take a sip. It feels wonderful going down. “Thank you. It’s very good.”

  He makes a sound of approval in the back of his throat and sits opposite me.

  “I wish I could stay here forever,” I say without thinking.

  “You can.”

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, “I mean here in front of the Godfire with a cup of your excellent tea.”

  “I suspect that would become quite boring.”

  “The human, Kadmus,” I say, “he’s back in Cima, right?”

  Godmaster Neo nods. “He and all the others who survived.”

  I knew this, of course, but hearing it from Godmaster Neo is reassuring.

  “They must hate us.”

  “Their memories have been wiped. They won’t remember any of it.”

  “What?” I blurt out.

  Disappointment blossoms in my chest, and it takes me aback.

  I don’t want Kadmus to forget what happened. His hatred is like a jewel I’ve earned and can pin to my tunic with righteousness. And what if they wiped more than just the clash from his memory?

  Pressing the tea cup to my lips, I attempt to hide my panic.

  Am I now the only one who remembers that day with the proper degree of horror?

  “Is there a problem?” Godmaster Neo asks.

  “No, I just . . . didn’t know they would do that, that’s all.”

  “Humans aren’t allowed to know many our customs. You know that. How else could we keep them in the dark about the trials?” He asks in a gentle tone.

  I can’t deny the benefits of Kadmus’s ignorance. If he’d known I could actually die during the competition, he would have probably tried to kill me more than once, and he might have succeeded.

  But would that have been so bad? I don’t feel particularly fond of my life at the moment.

  With a sigh, I finish my tea in one gulp and set the cup down. Godmaster Neo looks satisfied, glad—in his mind—that I’ll have a good night sleep. I’d hate to relieve him of this notion, but his sleep-inducing tea has the opposite effect on me.

  I leave our hall, absently rubbing the spot where my Godjewel is hidden. I stop and loop my thumbs into the leather tie around my waist, loosening it a bit.

  The afternoon is pleasantly warm. White clouds roll over Joya d’Diosa, casting light shadows on its bustling inhabitants. Tomorrow, the final day of trials, culminates with a huge celebration for the champion. There are many preparations underway, all having to do with gluttony and debauchery. Five of us are left, the rest died or Descended, though I don’t know who did what. They didn’t let me watch the other groups.

  A group of young Potentials hangs Godfruit from the giant deciduous tree that sits outside the arena.

  When they see me, they abandon their task and come running, calling my name. My heart startles like a rabbit as if I expect them to swarm me. I force a smile onto my lips.

  “Bia Bia Bia.”

  It unsettles me to see the admiration in their eyes, and I must do my best to hide my discomfort. Their questions come fast, like punishment lashes.

  “Will you win, Bia?”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Can you defeat Romer?”

  “Is it true you have a hidden Godskill?”

  My gaze snaps to the young boy who asked this. He shrinks back, sensing my sudden change in mood.

  “Who told you that?” I ask, forcing a smile.

  He shakes his head, looking scared. “I . . . I overheard other Esmeralda Potentials talking about it.”

  I deepen my smile and roll my eyes. “Who would start such a rumor?”

  “They said Godmaster Helena doesn’t bear Skillbarren children,” the boy adds, encouraged by my playful tone.

  Who indeed? I think the boy just answered my question.

  A girl puts her hand in mine and pulls me slightly aside from the others. The golden brown of her skin matches mine perfectly.

  “I . . . I don’t yet know my Godskill,” she says in a shy, worried tone.

  My chest tightens for her. I remember being her age and feeling different from everyone.

  I lean forward, talk to only her. “It’s in you.” I put a finger ove
r her heart. “You’ll find it eventually, but that won’t change who you really are. Remember that.”

  She nods with a smile. Maybe I’ve said the right thing. Maybe not. But, at least, I haven’t lied.

  As I move away from the kids and their cheers, Kadmus’s words echo inside my head.

  You call us animals and think you’re better than us, but you are worse than animals. You are monsters.

  As children, we are taught to think nothing of those who perish in the arena, and even less of those who choose to Descend. Only the champion matters. And when everyone you look up to thinks and feels the same way, who are you to doubt it?

  It takes me twice as long as it should to get to Elina’s workshop. I drag my feet all the way there, considering tomorrow.

  Defiance isn’t silent.

  How could one human affect me so much in one single night?

  Kadmus’s words pierce through me like others never have. Will they change my choice tomorrow? Will I let them? To Descend would be to openly defy Mother, but do I dare choose the pain it will bring?

  Romer and Elina are locked in a passionate kiss when I enter the workshop.

  “Perhaps I should come back at a different time? Or not at all?” I say.

  Elina pulls away from Romer, runs to me, and locks her arms around me instead. “Bia.” There is pain in her voice such as I’ve never heard before.

  I hold her at arm’s length. There are tears in her eyes. “Has something happened?” I suddenly fear her disobedience has been discovered.

  “What a stupid question!” She sits on a wooden bench off to the side and dabs at her eyes.

  I look to Romer for an explanation. He just shakes his head, looking totally miserable.

  “I can’t bear to lose either of you,” she says. “And what if I lose you both.”

  So far, Elina has managed to keep her emotions in check, but I guess the trials have finally taken a toll. And now, the last clash is here, and Romer and I could both very well die.

  “Must you be so selfish and choose death if you don’t win?” she demands. “I could still see you if you Descend.”

  “And would you still have sex with me when my skin looks like a trampled rug?” Romer laughs, trying to make light of the situation.

  “Don’t be stupid, Romer,” Elina says. “Of course, I wouldn’t. But I would still love you.”

  “Would you?” he asks doubtfully.

  “Indeed! It would still be you.” She’s adamant about it.

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Romer plays with the scattered stones on the worktable.

  “Well, maybe you wouldn’t be you, but Bia would. She’s more than just her Godskill,” she adds with a note of sarcasm.

  Romer huffs. “She wouldn’t have to learn to live without it. She’s barely had a chance to use it and make it part of who she is. Not all of us are as lucky as you, Elina.”

  I run a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to run away from this tired conversation. Romer, Elina, Delfos and I have gone over the same arguments more times than I care to remember, and where did it all lead us?

  “Must you be so selfish?” I say, borrowing Elina’s words.

  She looks up surprised.

  I hold her gaze, even though it’s hard.

  “It’s . . . it’s not about you, Elina.”

  Romer looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. Elina has always kept us together. She’s the one we always pampered because we were told she was special. I wonder if it would have been the same if she was really one of us.

  “I know it isn’t about me.” She lowers her head.

  “We don’t want to die, Elina,” I say. “But maybe it’s the best alternative we have, or the only one we’re brave enough to accept.”

  “I’m sorry, Bia. You’re right.”

  “Chaos!” Romer exclaims. “Can we not talk about this? Can we just . . . forget about tomorrow and live tonight as if there are no trials?”

  The idea makes me smile.

  No trials.

  That would be nice.

  “Great idea,” I say, offering my hand out to Elina.

  She looks at it, big tears rolling down her face. For a moment, I think she’ll lash out at the prospect but, in the end, she smiles and wraps my fingers in hers.

  “Yes, it’s a great idea,” she agrees, smiling as if, in truth, there is no tomorrow.

  Chapter 24

  Godmaster Jocobo’s cuspid eagles always circle above Joya d’Diosa like zealous guardians, keeping enemies out and Potentials in. Since early on, we’re taught that leaving the citadel is forbidden, but as is expected, we test the boundaries. It’s a hopeless endeavor, however, what with these winged protectors watching all the time. So sooner or later, we all learn to obey and acceot the confines of our Albasino-wall prison.

  Even Romer learned. In the end.

  It was only natural that he would try to leave the Joya d’Diosa more times than others. He can fly, for Chaos sake. What did they expect? But it was also natural that he would end up in one of the eagle’s talons and dumped right back into the citadel, where ten lashes warned him not to try it again, then fifteen more the next time, and twenty more the next, until the rule finally took.

  Every Potential wants to see Cima with their own eyes, especially since most of us will never get a chance, but only true Gods and Goddesses get the chance, since they are allowed to come and go as they please after their Ascension ceremony. There are, however, other ways to be “outside” of Joya d’Diosa, like my hiding place at the side of the mountain, and our lair amongst the eagles.

  Tonight we go there. For the last time.

  Only one trip will be required of Romer since Delfos isn’t here, so he wraps his arms around Elina and me and flies upward, past the citadel’s tallest edifice, then high above the clouds. We’re silent as we ascend. I think of Delfos, as I guess the others do. He will not share our lair tonight, and it will be strange and painful being there without him. But where else can we go?

  The eagles ignore us, as they’ve learned to do since we’re not really attempting to leave Joya d’Diosa. Their piercing cries let us know they see us, but they don’t come near. The wind is cold and stirs my long hair. It makes me feel free. Moonlight illuminates the side of the mountain, making the peaks look a washed-out gray. The stars scatter around the waning moon, like Godfire orbs that has drifted far, far away.

  Romer touches land gently on the small clearing we created for ourselves all those years back. It’s little more than a small pad for us to descend, but we did our best to push away the big, jagged rocks to create the safe zone.

  The breeze sneaks up my tunic, making me feel alive, even as it threatens to blow me off the side of the mountain.

  Maybe I should let it. I shake my head, appalled at the thought.

  I guess, I’m not that big of a coward.

  “Give me a hand with this,” Romer says.

  Delfos isn’t there to help roll away the boulder, but I suppose that job should have always been mine.

  “Let me do it,” I say.

  Romer frowns, then remembers I’m fully capable and moves out of the way. Though he doesn’t seem convinced.

  I step to the side of the large boulder and easily push it out of the way. Romer blinks. Elina lets out a small gasp.

  “That’s . . . impressive,” Romer says.

  “It is.” I’m a little dumbfounded myself. This is nothing compared to pulverizing Albasino with my bare hands, but the task always proved hard for Romer and Delfos.

  “I admire your modesty.” Romer rolls his eyes and walks into our little den.

  I follow. “It was definitely easier than crushing Albasino.”

  Romer stops abruptly. I crash into him. Elina into me.

  “Albasino?! You mean to say . . . ?”

  “Yes, I do mean that. It was hard, but I can break it.” I don’t mention Mother was the one who put me to the test. Maybe I should, but I’m not in the mood to t
hink of her, much less talk about her.

  “That’s incredible,” Elina says. “It must be very frustrating to hold back during the trials.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Romer mumbles something and walks deeper into our little lair. Elina unpacks the bundle she prepared and spreads it on the floor. She’s brought bread, olives, cheese, nuts, and a bottle of Godfruit wine, which she’s more than welcome to drink now that she has Ascended.

  “Nice!” Romer says, picking up the bottle.

  “Put that down and get us some light,” Elina orders.

  “Yes, Godleader.” He sets to the task.

  “Godleader Elina,” she muses. “It has a nice ring to it.”

  “There hasn’t been a new Godleader in centuries. Don’t get your hopes too high,” Romer says as he strikes the flint. “Chaos, I wish we could manage a few orbs. These human methods are exasperating,”

  There are a few in Joya d’Diosa who have the skill of Godfire. They create the orbs and keep the citadel’s hearths hot. Without them, light and warmth would need to be procured in these primitive ways.

  When Romer manages to ignite his dry tinder, he quickly lights the first candle. After that, he easily transfers the flame to the others which perch on jutting stones along the wall. They are down to nubs and have formed strange wax sculptures with their drippings.

  I procured this last batch a while back, stealthily removing them from the packs of those who travel to human towns to gather supplies. I didn’t realize then that I’d never need to steal more of them again.

  I pick up a small wooden eagle, Delfos’s last attempt at whittling. Placing it next to one of his earliest figurines, I can see how much his technique had improved. The beak is almost perfect, and the wings carved with delicate feathers, a beautiful, minute finish for my friend’s large hands.

  “Do you mind if I keep this?” I ask the others.

  They shake their heads.

  The small, rough item is worth more to me than any of the perfect figures Mother creates.

  After aligning all of Delfos’s wooden animals in a perfect row, I sit with my friends in front of the food Elina has carefully laid out. We savor the wine first. It isn’t the first time we’ve enjoyed it, even if we’re not supposed to, but we got good at stealing what we wanted for our excursions here.