The Last Whisper of the Gods

by Berardinelli, James

  “The day you’re guilty of indulgence, my friend, is the day I take another wife.”

  Azarak shrugged out of the heavy robes of state and donned a lighter cotton tunic. He had to remember to have the palace seamstress fashion less cumbersome garments. The current ones had been designed for a climate when it was cold at least some of the time. In the Summer heat, he was sweating off more weight than he could replenish with a full meal and two mugs of ale.

  “I’ll be in the library,” announced the king.

  Unsurprised, Toranim nodded his acknowledgment.

  For more than a year, Azarak had spent nearly every free hour sitting at the single reading table in the royal library, surrounded by piles of rolled and bound parchments. The room contained the greatest collection of written works in Vantok, exceeding even what was available in the temple. The library was a repository of literary wealth - everything from the histories and philosophies of men dead for two millennia to the fictions that had become popular less than a century ago when writing became seen as a respectable pastime for those who were suited to, but didn’t enter, the priesthood.

  Azarak confined his studies to three areas: elves, prophesies, and wizards. The more he read, the more convinced he became that the world might be on the brink of some great change, although he didn’t yet know whether to accept Eylene’s explanation. By their nature, the words of augers and mystics were couched in riddles, open to multiple interpretations. The art of prediction was so inexact that those practicing it couldn’t afford to be specific.

  Azarak’s readings about wizards were enlightening. Those men once had walked the lands in actuality and weren’t merely part of ancient legends or tied to long-held traditions, such as Vantok’s persistence in naming one young woman of each generation as the “Wizard’s Bride.” They had been revered - even worshipped - because of their great powers. Wizards, however, were more apt to consider magic a curse than a blessing because the usage of their abilities ate away at their flesh, leaving them twisted and weak. Few lived to an old age. Most died before they saw thirty years, their bodies desiccated and broken. Once used, magic was said to be an addiction whose application couldn’t be slowed or stopped. The greatest wizard of all time, the feared and revered Malbranche, had vanished two days short of his thirty-fifth birthday. No one knew what had happened to him but there were stories aplenty, few of which Azarak considered plausible.

  Then, some 900 years ago, the magic died. No more men were born with the innate capacity to channel the energy. All who underwent the trial to activate their powers perished. People became so frightened of the sacred portals that they destroyed them. It was said that the gods removed magic from the world because men had begun to do more honor to wizards than to them. Was it possible that, upon their deaths, they had re-instated magic as a parting gift? Eylene had counseled against such a belief, calling it superstitious. There was sense in that advice, but what if the unnatural heat plaguing Vantok was magical in nature? The more he studied wizards, the more intrigued Azarak became by them. Despite Eylene’s warning, he wasn’t eager to summarily dismiss the possibility of magic’s return.

  Azarak had never been a scholar, as a boy preferring weapons training to studious pursuits. Consequently, his perusal of the ancient scrolls, many crumbling with age and nearly indecipherable, often led to frustration. The repeated use of the term “Otherverse” was one example of a cryptic word or phrase; he encountered it dozens of times but had no understanding of its meaning. But there were times when he experienced a flash of insight, as if the documents chose to reveal something to him. It was never sufficiently definitive to offer the king a solution to his most pressing dilemma, but it kept him from giving up his quest for hidden knowledge.

  The time had come to bring the matter before the prelate. Although Ferguson’s public stance hadn’t wavered, Azarak was certain the high priest’s personal faith in the everlasting favor of the gods would be found wanting. He knew more than he had revealed and the king wondered whether, faced with Eylene’s pronouncement, Ferguson might be prompted to provide additional insight.

  Less than an hour after entering the library, the king emerged, sought out Toranim, and ordered his carriage to be brought.

  “Where are we going?” asked the puzzled chancellor.

  “The temple. It’s time we paid our respects to the gods and their chosen representative among men.”

  * * *

  Vantok’s temple was the most grand structure in the whole of the city. Towering high above all other buildings, even the palace, it was a destination that attracted tourists from across the continent. Pilgrims from as far away as Andel and Syre came to the city to admire what was claimed by some to be the pinnacle of human architecture.

  The walls were formed from interlocked blocks of white marble and black obsidian, the colors alternating to suggest a balance between light and darkness. Of the four giant steeples topping the edifice, two were white and two were black. They surrounded a translucent golden dome that formed the ceiling of the main worship hall. The high-set windows, of which there were many, were circular panes of colored glass - blue for air, green for water, red for fire, and umber for earth. Each block of marble or obsidian depicted a scene out of mythology. The walls of the temple told the entire history of the gods and their interaction with men. Even in an era when religion was losing its importance in the day-to-day lives of Vantok’s citizens, no one approached the temple with anything less than reverence. Its appearance encouraged humility, if not necessarily piety.

  The king arrived with minimal ceremony, but his emergence from the palace had generated enough interest that word of his approach preceded him to the temple. Flanked by two dozen of the palace militia, he was met at the gilded double-door main entrance by the prelate himself, dressed in full ecclesiastical regalia. Wearing the robes of state and the crown of Vantok, Azarak dismounted and inclined his head in respect. The gesture was reciprocated. Then, with the growing throng gaping, for this was the first time since the death of his wife the king had visited the temple, the two most important men in the city vanished inside, followed by various aides and guards.

  Thirty minutes later, Azarak, Toranim, and Ferguson gathered in the Prelate’s private study. The form and function displayed in public, as well as the bulky robes and uncomfortable accoutrements of rank, were cast off.

  “Your visit surprises me, Your Majesty,” began Ferguson after they were seated in upholstered chairs around a circular wooden table with a map of Vantok carved into its surface. His tone was neutral, not indicating whether the surprise was a welcome one.

  “You’ve come to the palace often enough, Your Eminence. I thought it was past time for me to return the honor. A conversation between the two of us is overdue. Since we last spoke, the grim predictions of your augers have borne fruit.”

  “For all that I might wish you were incorrect, Your Majesty, you are not. But if you’ve come seeking additional wisdom about the future, I am afraid there’s little I can offer. The augers have been silent for more than a year now.”

  “You mistake the meaning of my visit. I haven’t come to ask about the future but to reveal it.”

  The prelate’s reaction was characteristically impassive, as if he had expected such a pronouncement. “Very well,” said Ferguson, one eyebrow lifting.

  “Some time ago, I received a most unusual visit for a late night audience at the palace. She came and left in secrecy. She identified herself as an elf, ‘Eylene of the Farthan tribe,’ and her appearance was consistent with what we know of the elves from historical descriptions and paintings. She offered her people’s insight into our current situation and what may be to come. Unwilling to take her claims on faith, I began a systematic program of research that has kept me sequestered in the royal library for long hours. Although my studies haven’t enabled me to verify her statements, I’m convinced the peril she hinted at may be real.”

  “A most unexpected development indeed. I s
hall, of course, rely on your identification of this ambassador as an elf. It doesn’t seem as unlikely to me as it might to others; I have long doubted their rumored extinction even though they have absented themselves from human congress for centuries. Of greater interest is that they have chosen this time to reveal themselves.”

  “Then you believe her to be legitimate?”

  “I didn’t meet her, Your Majesty, so I cannot say for certain. But why would anyone go to the trouble of impersonating an elf? What would be the point and purpose?”

  Azarak had considered this argument and, despite the seeming unlikelihood that a creature of children’s stories had walked into the palace and requested an audience, he had decided to accept Eylene as what she claimed to be unless evidence to the contrary could be produced. Her motives, however, were inscrutable. There almost certainly was a purpose to her visit beyond inquiring about a potential alliance and warning him about a threat to the south.

  “What information did the ambassador offer?” Ferguson’s voice betrayed only a mild curiosity.

  “She said the gods haven’t abandoned us, at least not in the traditional sense. They’re dead.”

  Ferguson’s reaction wasn’t what Azarak might have predicted from the highest religious authority in the city. He showed neither outrage nor shock at the blasphemous statement. Instead, his expression was serene and perhaps a little speculative.

  “I have held this suspicion this for some time now,” said Ferguson after a lengthy pause. “The evidence has been building over the years. This isn’t a sudden thing. All the high ranking priests across the land fear the same thing. The communion we enjoyed with the gods is gone. It has been thus for two decades. There’s no sense of any living presence at the other end when we pray or meditate. Even abandonment wouldn’t yield such a bereft feeling. You’ll agree, I’m sure, that this information should not be disseminated outside this room. The impact on public morale…”

  “The public already suspects...” began Toranim, speaking for the first time.

  “Suspicion is a very different thing from knowledge,” said Ferguson curtly, as if irritated that someone other than the king had possessed the effrontery to address him directly.

  “I know this must be difficult, Your Eminence…” began Azarak.

  “Your sympathy is unnecessary, Your Majesty. It has taken many hours of soul-searching and meditation, but I have long since made peace with my loss. My calling demands that I minister to my people in this time of crisis. Their faith must not waver.”

  “Faith in dead gods?” Toranim was incredulous.

  “Yes. And in the precarious balance upon which the future rests. If it’s faith that holds the chaos at bay, then I will nurture that faith. People have a need to believe. It’s bred within them. Take that away and you rob their lives of meaning. Outside this room, to speak of such things would be branded as heresy.”

  “Even if they’re true?” asked Toranim.

  “Truth, my dear chancellor, is a flexible concept. If the gods don’t exist, we must invent them. Fact or fiction is ultimately irrelevant. Religion is the only force that will keep man’s base nature from rising to the fore. People will believe because they want to believe, not because the thing they believe in is rational or can be proven to exist. That is, after all, what faith means.”

  Azarak decided that now was not the time for a theological argument. “So you think there’s merit in the ambassador’s counsel?”

  “Elves were said to enjoy a closer relationship with the gods than humans. They would likely know before us if the gods are no more. What else did she say?”

  “She mentioned an alliance. She wanted to know if Vantok would join its military might to that of the Farthan if a threat rose in the south.”

  “If or when?”

  “She indicated it was only a matter of time before there was movement against Vantok. She mentioned ‘the forces of fire.’”

  “You are aware, Your Majesty, that most human cities would balk at such an alliance? In our modern world, the elves are at best a curiosity and building armies to go to war alongside them wouldn’t merit serious consideration. A public declaration along those lines would at best result in your sanity being questioned. At worst, it could lead to your ouster from the throne.”

  Azarak nodded. Were it not for the damnable heat, he would have long since dismissed Eylene as a relic of the past. But the situation was too precarious for such a convenient luxury.

  “Your Majesty, regardless of whether you intend to pursue an alliance with the elves, the path forward is clear. An army must be raised. Conscription will be necessary and it won’t be popular, especially in times such as these.”

  “I haven’t made a decision, Your Eminence.” Azarak was irritated at the presumption.

  “Of course you have,” scoffed Ferguson. “You’ll go through all the motions of agonizing over the choice, then arrive at the obvious solution. If a force antagonistic to the cities is building somewhere deep within The Forbidden Lands, we have a responsibility as leaders to be prepared.”

  “And if it’s not true, I bankrupt my city and lose my crown.”

  The prelate shrugged. “Pray it’s false. Better a bankrupt city and a new king than the kind of war that represents the alternative.”

  Put that way, it was a sobering thought. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the decision is predestined,” acknowledged Azarak. “The question becomes how to do it without alarming the population.”

  “That much is simple. Arrange for conscription cycles for all men between Maturity and twice that age. Six weeks training followed by twelve weeks off then six weeks service, and so on. Exemptions for farmers during Planting and Harvest. The stated goal will be to stiffen the Watch to stamp out lawlessness. The reality is building a fighting force that can be mobilized quickly.”

  “It’s workable, Your Majesty.” Toranim was impressed almost against his will. “You’ve been considering plans to expand the Watch. This has added benefits.”

  Azarak nodded thoughtfully. “Do what’s necessary to get it underway,” said the king to his chancellor. “But wait until the worst of the heat is over. Anyone currently in the Watch or in a private militia will be exempt, as well as the farmers.”

  “What have your scouts reported?” asked Ferguson.

  “What scouts?”

  “The ones you presumably sent to The Forbidden Lands.”

  “Nothing. They haven’t gone deep into the territory, but they’ve found nothing out of the ordinary in the northern mountains.”

  “Forgive me for being indelicate, Your Majesty, but there’s also the matter of securing the succession of Vantok. If there’s to be a war, you need to find a suitable wife, bed her, and impregnate her. Your hand-picked choice of a popular crown prince is admirable and workable in times of peace but, should it come to an armed conflict, a blood heir will be necessary to keep uneasy political alliances from fracturing. Should you die in battle, only the existence of a son or daughter of your body will keep civil war at bay.”

  Azarak didn’t reply because he disliked facing the obvious truth of Ferguson’s analysis. Having a named crown prince was only an interim solution. Remarriage was no longer an option; it was a necessity.

  Ferguson frowned. “You have as much duty to your people in the bedroom as on the battlefield, although I don’t mean to equate the two.”

  Uncomfortable about the subject, Azarak changed it. “Ambassador Eylene mentioned something else, something curious. She hinted there are those among humans who might seek to resurrect the ancient ways of wizard selection, but that embarking upon such a path would be ‘an act of desperation’ and ‘madness.’”

  Ferguson’s normally imperturbable features showed a flash of anger. “She is presumptuous and speaks from a position of ignorance and jealousy. Millennia ago, a rift developed between men and elves because the gods granted the gift of Otherverse magic to humans but not to the older races. The resentment fade
d only after the gift was withdrawn. Assuming the gods knew their end was near, they would provide for their creations. The best way would be to open pathways to the ancient powers; when the wizards were in their ascendancy, balance existed without the gods needing to interfere.”

  “So you’re a believer, then? You think another era of magic is upon us?” No matter how highly placed or well regarded they may be... Eylene had been speaking of Ferguson. How had she known?

  “I wouldn’t discount it. The difficulty may be finding likely candidates. If you’d permit me, Your Majesty, this is an area in which I may be able to provide assistance. The temple has a vast selection of genealogical records and we may be able to trace the bloodlines of some of the most powerful wizards of old. It’s well known there’s a strong hereditary component to the use of magic.”

  Azarak nodded, grateful to be able to delegate something. Whether or not he believed in the potential revival of wizards, there seemed to be little harm in preparing for the possibility, Eylene’s warning notwithstanding.

  “In a sense, it’s fortunate that this city, alone among all, still fills the honorary position of The Wizard’s Bride. This tradition, which has been the bane of one girl of every generation for centuries, may allow Vantok to offer an enticement that none of the other cities can match. Power, position, and a noble wife - all for a simple declaration of allegiance.”

  “I almost abolished the position at the request of my late queen. Allowing a woman to grow old waiting for someone who won’t come… It seemed cruel and arbitrary.”

  “No longer?”

  “Perhaps. Toranim, who is the current Wizard’s Bride?”

  “Lady Lavella of the family Darmania. One of the city’s most attractive women, although a little old for her position. She’s thirty years of age.”

  “Perhaps Lady Lavella will become the first Bride in 900 years to find her bridegroom.”

  Later that evening, Azarak and Toranim sat in the king’s quarters, enjoying their nightly tankard of ale. It was sweltering inside but, even with the sun having set, things were hotter without, so the windows remained closed and shuttered. Hopefully by midnight, the king would be able to open them and allow a cool breeze to circulate.