The Godling Chronicles:Book 05 - Madness of the Fallen

by Brian D. Anderson

  They continued to the market and saw Mayor Freidly still hanging from a post, his body bloated and decaying.

  “You left him hanging?” shouted Gewey, his eyes burning with fury.

  “I thought it best not to leave any signs that I had been here,” explained Lee, unmoved by Gewey’s anger.

  Gewey used the flow of the air to lift the body from the post and lay it gently on the ground. A white-hot flame then sprang to life, turning night into day and forcing the party back. In less than a minute, Mayor Freidly’s body was reduced to ashes.

  “He deserved better than to be left to rot,” growled Gewey. “You should have taken him down.”

  Kaylia touched his shoulder. “That is enough. Lee did what he thought was best.”

  Gewey snorted and strode off with long methodical steps, sword still in hand. When he reached the main avenue once again, he stopped and closed his eyes. For five minutes he remained motionless, searching for signs of life.

  Finally, he gave a heavy sigh. “They are three miles north of town - all of them.” He took Kaylia’s hand and looked at Linis, ignoring Lee. “Find out what happened and tell them to return to their homes. I’m going back. They shouldn’t see me.”

  “Whatever drove them there may return,” said Linis. “Perhaps they should remain hidden.”

  Gewey sniffed. “They’re not hidden. They only think they are. The Vrykol could find them easily. If they are to be killed, better they should die in their own homes rather than alone and afraid in the cold forest.”

  Gewey turned and set off east from town, Kaylia at his side. His obviously ill mood kept Weila and Lyrial from following.

  “You should not have vented your wrath on Lee,” scolded Kaylia as they turned from the road into the forest. “He did not....”

  “He left Mayor Freidly hanging like a common criminal,” barked Gewey, cutting her off. “I knew that man all my life. When my father died, it was Mayor Freidly who stood beside me as he was buried. Not Lee.” Gewey’s fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked. “When the town wanted to take my farm, once again it was Mayor Freidly who came to my aid. Where was the great Lee Starfinder then?”

  In a flash, Kaylia’s hand struck hard Gewey’s cheek. “Lee is your friend.” Her voice was steel. “And he gave up his wife and child for you. He has risked his life, and the life of his own son…for you.”

  Gewey rubbed his face where the blow had struck. A single tear fell as the truth of her words struck home. “I…I should never have gone home.”

  In an instant, Kaylia’s features softened and she took his hands. “I can feel the war waging within you. You struggle to keep the rage from taking control of your spirit.”

  “And I’m sorry you have to feel it.”

  “I am grateful,” she said, smiling. “I love you, and I would not have you go through such hardship alone. But you have to remember that the others are unaware. They see only your strength. And your anger frightens them.”

  Gewey thought about what he had said to Lee. He had nearly hit him, and probably would have done so if he had stayed around longer. “I will apologize when he returns,” he said.

  At that moment, the hairs on the back on his neck stood up. He felt a foul yet familiar presence. Kaylia felt it an instant later.

  “Vrykol,” she hissed.

  Gewey sneered. His blade sang as it slid free. “They must be mindless fools to attack me after what I did to them at their fortress.”

  He reached out and found twelve Vrykol a quarter mile away, approaching slowly from the northeast. A pang of fear from Kaylia came through their bond. He gave her a reassuring smile and moved forward.

  The world burst into life as he drew from the flow of the spirit. Bells and laughter filled his ears. The air twinkled with so many lights, they outnumbered the stars.

  Why are they attacking? Gewey wondered. Surely they know that it’s hopeless.

  It was enough to give him pause. He shook his head and pressed on. What did it matter why they were attacking? In a few minutes, he would rip their spirits to shreds and the souls of the first born would suffer no more. He thought back to the Vrykol he had killed in the Black Oasis. They had endured beyond the death of their corrupted bodies. But that was only due to the nature of the Oasis. In the rest of the world they remained tainted. Gewey dearly wished that he knew how to cleanse them.

  Perhaps soon I’ll find a way, he thought.

  The instant the first Vrykol came into view, Gewey reached out to destroy the creature. As he did so, the others rushed in with blinding speed, three loosing arrows as they ran. But it was not fast enough to stop the inevitable. Even before Gewey reacted, Kaylia had blasted the arrows with the flow of air, sending them falling harmlessly to the ground. He laughed inwardly, sending loving appreciation through their bond.

  The flow of spirit touched each Vrykol simultaneously, causing them to flail wildly. Gewey slowed his attack in order to make them feel every second of their doom. He felt a rush of pleasure as he watched them become more and more disoriented.

  He turned to Kaylia. She was staring at the Vrykol with a sinister grin, sharing Gewey’s bliss. It was one thing to be cruel to a human or elf, but in her mind there was nothing more foul and evil than a Vrykol. Only the Reborn King himself deserved a more horrible death.

  One by one the Vrykol fell to their knees, unable to move. It was then that Gewey finished the job and ripped their spirits apart. A metallic scream tore through the air. Then there was silence.

  He was about to turn again to Kaylia when a pain shot through his arm.

  * * * * *

  Kaylia saw the flash of the dart in the corner of her eye and watched in horror as it struck Gewey’s right shoulder. Instantly, his body crumbled lifelessly to the ground. A searing pain shot through her entire being as their bond flashed out of existence. With a primal scream of unfathomable suffering, she fell to her knees.

  With tears streaming down her cheeks, she pulled Gewey’s limp body close to her.

  “No! No! No!” she cried to the heavens.

  “Yes,” came a reply from just a few yards behind her.

  In a single motion Kaylia leapt up, her long knife in her hand. Her body shuddered as the pain of the broken bond increased. She knew that her training with Nehrutu and Aaliyah would keep her from following Gewey into death, but nothing could prevent the agony she now felt. Her eyes fell on a cloaked figure with a long curved blade in its hand.

  “I thought your kind perished when a bond is broken by death,” the figure said. It pushed back its hood to reveal elf features. “Little matter. You will die in a moment – though I’m afraid you won’t be joining your love in spirit. I’ve sent him to a place where you cannot follow.” He laughed cruelly.

  His taunts created blind anger in Kaylia. Madness seized her as she charged at the Vrykol with a ferocity that took it completely by surprise. The tip of her blade cut deep into the creature’s neck. Only its unnatural reflexes kept its head attached to its shoulders.

  Ignoring her pain, Kaylia pressed the attack. Her fury was beyond reckoning. Oblivious to danger, her fist crashed into the Vrykol’s jaw, sending it stumbling back. It tried to counter, but could only block the furious onslaught of blows. Soon, several of these found its flesh. Thick, black blood began to ooze, causing the creature’s shredded cloak to stick to its thin frame.

  Aware that it could not sustain its defense for much longer, the Vrykol lunged desperately, attempting to skewer Kaylia through the heart. Twisting left, Kaylia easily avoided the attack and brought her blade down hard, severing the beast’s sword arm at the elbow. The Vrykol stared down in shock at its lost limb on the ground. It was still gripping the sword and twitching violently.

  Kaylia paused just long enough to spit in the creature’s face before, in a flash of steel, she took its head from its shoulders. The body remained standing grotesquely erect for a moment, then toppled over.

  Without a pause, she rushed
back to Gewey. His eyes were staring vacantly into nothingness. With all the power she could muster, Kaylia desperately attempted to transfer the flow from her own body into his. But there was no life to receive it.

  Gewey was dead.

  * * * * *

  Nehrutu and Aaliyah stood hand in hand on the beach as the elves gathered to march. The previous night had been everything they could have dreamed of.

  Several of the elders had suggested that they split their army in two and try to flank the enemy on both sides. Their experience in the Great War told them that the humans would not be able to react in time. If their own army moved fast enough, they should be able to get too close for Angrääl’s soldiers to use their deadly weapon.

  One of the human commanders offered to charge his soldiers directly at the front as a distraction. Knowing that most of the humans would perish in such an attack, Nehrutu initially refused to allow it. But the commander insisted, and in spite of Nehrutu not wanting to send men on a hopeless mission, he knew that using such a tactic would give them their best chance of success. He couldn’t help but admire such selfless courage, nor could he help but be saddened that such sacrifice would likely be necessary.

  Aaliyah tightened her grip on his hand, feeling the sorrow creeping into his heart. Though he had been taught long ago what to expect from their bond, it still did not prepare him for the reality of such an intimate union. It was simultaneously unnerving and glorious. It had been less than a full day since the bonding, and already he could not imagine being without it.

  “We will see that their bravery is remembered,” said Aaliyah. “The songs of every soul that has died will be sung from the Spires of Parylon.”

  “I long to see those spires once again,” mused Nehrutu. “I would survive this war, if only to walk the streets of our beloved city with you by my side.”

  Aaliyah closed her eyes, smiling. “I am well pleased to be with you here and now.” She leaned her body close. “Though I admit, I would love to walk the hills and forests of my childhood and share with you the contentment I feel when I gaze upon its beauty and majesty.”

  Nehrutu wrapped his arm around her, bathing in the unique feelings of shared love that only the spiritually bonded are capable of achieving.

  Aaliyah sighed. “We should join the....”

  A searing pain shot through her body. Had Nehrutu not had his arm around her, she would have collapsed. He could feel her pain and instinctively saturated her with the flow. “What has happened?” he asked.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to speak. Her hands trembled and her breathing was quick and shallow.

  Finally, she gathered her wits sufficiently to say in a whisper: “Darshan is dead.”

  Chapter 4

  Yanti stared nervously at the small rustic house. The wicker chairs scattered indiscriminately on the front porch were rough and not very well made. In fact, the house itself was little more than a shack. There was nothing about it to indicate that the oldest and most powerful being that still breathed air dwelled within.

  It had been over one hundred years since he had last seen Felsafell. Yanti still hadn’t forgiven him for taking his sister away from him that day, in spite of the fact that he knew it was for the best. Since then, his life had become a never-ending cycle of trials and failures. This latest was by far the worst.

  For more than two hours he had been standing behind a massive oak tree, about fifty yards away from the house. There was no doubt that he feared the encounter. Not that he thought Felsafell would do him harm. But he was afraid of what would come from their conversation. No matter how hard he tried, he could not build up the courage to approach the house. In fact, he was on the point of leaving when the snap of a twig sent him spinning around. His blade was in his hand before he could even see what had caused the sound.

  He blinked. Instead of the young man he had met before, standing in front of him now was an old man with a scraggly beard and crooked teeth. In one hand he carried two dead rabbits, in the other a gnarled tree branch he was using as a walking stick.

  Yanti knew that he was looking at Felsafell, even though he could not explain his change in appearance. His accusing stare and a disapproving expression was enough to confirm this. He sheathed his sword.

  “You have changed,” remarked Yanti.

  “You have not,” said Felsafell, eyeing the blade at his side. “Come. Eat.”

  Felsafell led Yanti into his home. The simple interior and rough furnishings suited the place well. Yanti took a seat at the crudely built dining table while Felsafell began to prepare the meal.

  “Do you still eat?” asked Felsafell.

  “Occasionally,” he replied. “I still enjoy it. Wine and roasted pheasant in particular, when I can get it.”

  “I have no pheasant,” said Felsafell. “But I do have wine.”

  Once the meal was ready, they ate in silence. Felsafell did not appear to be interested in conversation, and adjourned to the porch as soon as the table had been cleared. Yanti followed.

  Felsafell offered him a seat and took out a small flask. The sweet scent of brandy filled the air. By now, the light of day was beginning to fade. The whisper of the wind in the trees was singing in perfect harmony with the chirps of the crickets.

  “Why have you come?” asked Felsafell.

  “I want to see Basanti,” he replied. He was unable to look Felsafell in the eye. Did he know of the many bad things he had done?

  “Why come to me?” Felsafell asked. “By now you know where she is. I will not stop you.” He looked sideways at Yanti. “Perhaps you come to ask for my help.”

  “I do not need your help.”

  “No?” He leaned back in the chair and shook his head. “You have killed no less than twenty people, and only a few years ago you were personally responsible for more than fifty thousand elves being exiled to the desert. I’d say you are in desperate need of help.”

  Yanti didn’t bother asking how Felsafell knew these things. “I only killed when forced to do so,” he said.

  “You were never meant to kill for any reason whatsoever,” Felsafell countered. “You lived for hundreds of years, and you were never once forced to kill. You faced dangers even before the elves began hunting you. You did not kill then. Before you corrupted your soul with blood, you found ways to live without causing death.” His hard gaze softened slightly. “Can you imagine if I had not taken your sister with me? Your sins would have driven her mad. And her love for you would never allow for the possibility that you are beyond redemption.”

  “Is that what you think?” His voice wavered. “That I cannot be redeemed?

  “Do you think you can?” Felsafell asked, as if he knew that Yanti already had the answer. “You are the one who interfered with the elves and turned them against one another.”

  In a flash of anger, Yanti jumped to his feet and strode to the edge of the porch. Then, with a great effort, he managed to calm himself. He drew a deep breath. “That’s not fair. I only did what you said I should do. I was trying to help them. I was trying to make them see that their treatment of the humans was wrong.”

  “What you did was inflame their passions,” said Felsafell. “You used your knowledge to influence those who already understood the sins their people were committing. They turned on their own kin and named them slavers.”

  Yanti spun around and faced Felsafell. “And what would you have had me do?”

  Felsafell took a long swallow of brandy and offered the flask to Yanti, who received it reluctantly. “I had hoped that you would find a way to cleanse your spirit. I had hoped the gods may take pity on you and show you a path.”

  Yanti sneered. “The gods, bah! They abandoned me and Basanti long ago. They are selfish and vile.”

  Felsafell raised an eyebrow. “You really believe that? Basanti would say different.”

  “My sister is a pure soul. She sees only the good - even in me.” Yanti held the flask under his nose and savored the sweet
scent. “I think I will not go to see her. Not until I have found a way to purify myself.”

  “I feel that is wise,” Felsafell told him. He then stared at Yanti for a long moment. “But you think you have already discovered that way, I gather.”

  “The jewels of the gods,” said Yanti. His voice was distant and hopeful. “They have the power to undo what I have done.”

  Felsafell sat up straight. “They are all hidden. And for good reason. The god stones cannot help you. Their power cannot be contained. If you find them, you will only find more death.”

  “You know where they are,” said Yanti. “Don’t you?”

  Felsafell fixed his gaze. “It does not matter. I would not tell you where to find them. Heed my words. Nothing good can come of such a quest. Even were you to locate them, you would not accomplish your goals. They should never have been made. The gods knew this, and that is why they have hidden them away.”

  “If they were such a big mistake, why did the gods not simply destroy them?”

  Felsafell shrugged. “I do not claim to know the mind of such beings; nor have I the wisdom to fathom their motives.” He scrutinized Yanti for another long period and then sighed. “And yet, I know that you will seek them out anyway.” He turned away and waved his hand dismissively. “Go now. Find your destiny.”

  Yanti gazed at Felsafell’s back for several seconds. Then, with a huff of contempt, he spun sharply around and disappeared into the forest.

  * * * * *

  Basanti slowly rounded the corner of the house and sank into a seat beside Felsafell. The old man forced a smile and took her hand. “I am sorry. I know how much you wanted to see him.”

  “You were right to advise against it,” she said, forcing a weak smile of her own. “He is lost. He will find the god stones. Then, as you said, death will follow.” She pulled her hand free. “And there is….”

  Her words trailed off.

  “What is it?” asked Felsafell, concerned.

  A single tear fell down her cheek and she closed her eyes. “I have looked into his future.”