“Torsten, are you still conscious?” Modi’s voice asked him.
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
“Your vital signs are remarkably… stable. Heart rate and breathing, adrenal levels. They’re all much lower than would be expected from someone in your situation.”
Now that she mentioned it, he did seem oddly at ease with what was happening. Perhaps he realized that a great deal was beyond his personal control now. If something happened he was dead and there wasn’t much he could do about it. Or maybe it was something else altogether. He fell silently, unconcerned with what might happen.
Sometime later the ground began rushing up to meet him. Impossibly fast. He activated the jump pack and nothing happened. The ground drew closer and closer. He activated it again with a manual control. Still nothing. He finally punched the control with his free hand and the retro rockets on the jump pack roared to life.
The ground seemed so close that he could reach down and touch it, its presence threatening to slap him out of the sky and end him. Suddenly he was being yanked backwards and everything stopped moving. The ground paused and seemed to move away for a second and then slowly and gently reach up to grab hold of his feet.
As his feet touched down the jump pack released itself, falling away behind him, leaving a soldier landing in a hostile zone free to act without its bulk in the way.
He stood on an unfamiliar plain looking at distant mountains and forests. A data stream suggested his location to him in pre-war jargon. A location that was ultimately meaningless to him until it was shown to him on a map along with the borders of The Kingdom and the location of Fort Kasper. He was a very long way from home.
Torsten looked up to see the UN battle station, The Lost Star, The Hall of Iron, throne of the War God Anhur, streaking across the sky and beginning to burn as it entered Veldt’s atmosphere. It left a trail of flames and smoke behind it as it moved across the sky writing the story of its destruction for all below to see.
Most would interpret the fire dancing across the sky to mean the fall of a God. And there was some truth to that, he supposed. But to Torsten it said only one thing.
Liberation.
I had been the warrior priest of my tribe for twenty three winters when I saw the regicide of the divine fall from on high.
Our ranging in the path of the great herds brought us within a few days ride of the Cursed Ruins. A twisted and broken place that poisoned the earth with its presence and killed men brave or foolish enough to linger there too long.
It was my duty to guide us along the path determined by fate. Determined by the will of the Gods. I could read their messages, sent to me and other men like me, written in the night sky. The welkin at dusk was their canvas and there they painted my destiny, the destiny of my people, with the brush of the borealis.
I sat alone that night as I watched, my apprentice sent into caverns below to gather the sacred mushroom and the medicinal herbs that grew alongside it. As I filled my lungs with smoke from a pipe handed down to me through generations, father to son always, I saw it.
A light burning bright across the sky, falling to meet the earth. I saw the Harbinger of the End fall as he was cast out of the heavens above. His punishment seemed fitting yet paradoxically insufficiently harsh for what I would later learn he had done. The evil and destruction he had wrought there would become evident in short order.
Our people, the entire tribe, was gathered early that morning that I might share my vision with them. Screams of terror and panic interrupted me as someone began yelling while pointing to the sky. Together we watched in horror as the Hall of Iron fell from the heavens, burning as it streaked towards the earth. Anhur himself lay dead by the hand of the exile.
There was fear and uncertainty.
I was lost in despair. I had proudly served the War God, as had my fathers before me, since I was old enough to understand. I had devoted my life to his teachings. I had led my tribe in his worship. I had bloodied my hands with sacrifice at his altar. And he had rewarded our loyalty. My loyalty. Weapons of war blessed by Anhur himself were gifted to us that we might strike down our enemies and protect our herds from those that would steal them.
But now, he was gone. Who would lead us? Who would guide us to victory over our many enemies?
My people began to despair. Began to lose trust in the words I spoke to them. If the War God was fallen, then we had no protection against our foes. I took the two greatest warriors and most loyal members of our tribe and led them to the War Gods altar. I led them in prayer, begging for an answer.
When there was none, I answered the test the Gods had set before me and I killed the others as a sacrifice. I washed the altar of the War God with their blood as I prayed to him for guidance from beyond his grave.
My actions earned me the distrust and hatred of my own tribe. They wanted to turn me out, to send me to die alone in the wastes. But they feared the wrath of the Gods if they did so. I was a murderer, but I was still a holy man.
That was when Anhur’s sons descended from the heavens above in their chariots of golden light. On pillars of flame they descended, in the very center of our camp, and demanded my presence. Asked for me by name.
“Bring us the priest called Iron Fist.”
And I was dragged before them in chains by my people. With contempt they struck down those that had dared to bind me, and set me free. They elevated me above the others once more, a reflection of their divine will.
I looked upon them in terror. They were unlike any men I had ever seen before. Truly they were not men though. They bore the rudimentary shape of such, but their divine forms were wrought of living steel. The faces of devils and monsters carved by the most skilled of hands looked back upon me, their eyes burning bright in their steel visages. Razor teeth showing in perpetual grins.
They taught me much in the coming days. They spoke to me of the regicide and the damnation that awaited him and any who sheltered him in this world. Torsten, they called him. Betrayer of Anhur, marked for death by his remaining sons. They said that I had been chosen, because of my loyalty to take part in the destruction of this false god. And my people with me.
The men of my tribe underwent training and all of us, myself included, were sent into the Cursed Ruins in search of the weapons rumored to reside there. With the help of Anhur’s Sons we found many. More than we could use. Each man who carried one became the equal of any army we had faced before on the plains. With such power in our hands, who could possibly stand against us?
When they were satisfied that our numbers and strength were great enough, they gave us a destination. A path to tread upon and a goal to reach. They gave us a sacred task to perform once we reached there. All in preparation for what lay ahead.
In a moment of brazen hubris, I dared question them.
“And what is it that lies ahead? What is coming?” My voice cracked in fear with the last word, perhaps realizing too late for my safety what I had done.
A gleaming metallic skull looked back to me, set high on broad shoulders of thick armored plates. The sacred number 13 was emblazoned there for all to see. With piercing blue eyes and flames upon his tongue, the God answered me.
“War is coming.”
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
Join our mailing list for news about upcoming new releases from James Von Ohlen and other Among the Pines authors:
http://eepurl.com/Ou2oz
Wrath of the Gods, Sons of the Gods Book 2
The God of War is dead.
Torsten has returned to Veldt in triumph, and now sets his sights on his few remaining foes. Yet in Anhur's wake comes Unit 13. Powerful cyborg warriors intent on continuing the war of conquest that brought them to Veldt, and avenging the death of their spiritual father. Based on advanced alien
technology, they present the ultimate threat to Torsten and his crew. Led by the ruthless soldier Oro, they gather armies to themselves and begin to carry out their mission given to them a millennium ago: The complete destruction of the Modi collective.
The ensuing battle drives men, machines, and hybrids to their utmost limits. Amidst the clash of arms, secrets of the past are revealed. What Torsten discovers will change his life forever and leave him questioning who is actually his enemy and who is his friend.
Follow Torsten and his elite scouts as they battle to revive a dead civilization and rescue their home world from the destructive ambition of invading alien armies in Wrath of the Gods, the sequel to Sons of The Gods.
Available now at: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KND4PUA
Read James Von Ohlen’s riveting novel of action and terror:
Children of Hel
After brutally avenging his brother's death, viking warrior Einar is exiled from his homeland for his crimes. Intent on rebuilding his fortune and his good name, Einar returns to what he knows best. He joins a band of raiders setting sail for the West. Hard warriors who cross the seas in search of glory and plunder. But when they set their sights on the easy prey of a lone monastery, they get far more than they bargained for. Something sinister has awoken in the tombs beneath the monastery and within Einar himself. Powers beyond the knowledge of men stir from ages old slumber intent on vengeance. The living and the dead clash in the darkness of the catacombs and the desperate battle for survival begins. When all is said and done, there will be Hel to pay.
Available now at:
http://www.amazon.com/Children-Hel-James-Von-Ohlen-ebook/dp/B00EDA97C0
Sons of the Gods Page 37