The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  Gwenneth stopped, her feet reaching the last step available as the floors and stairs below were completely submerged under at least fifty feet of water. Her light shone brighter upon mental impulse, revealing treasures and coins beneath the flooded temple, and a round moon shaped door open far ahead beneath.

  “I am afraid this is as far as we go!” Gwenne had to yell, seven waterfalls landing in all directions around her from varying heights from up where they had traversed. The streams came from this pool of a floor as well, spiraling into rushing brooks through midair, twirling into the lonely emptiness of the temple. It was majestic, mythical divine powers at work, but the spectacle seemed to end here at the bottom.

  Saberrak walked past her, up to his knees now, then his waist, down the stairs he went. Shinayne lunged and grabbed his shoulder to pull him back, then James grabbed her arm, each of them holding on to one another as they tried to stop their minotaur friend from disappearing under the waters.

  “Saberrak!” Shinayne’s hand slipped off of his wet scalemail.

  “Damn it all! He’s gonna drown, that mist got him thinkin’ insane then, stop him!” Zen held James, an anchor to the line of arms reaching.

  “Saberrak, wait for us, come…on…no use…” James reached and yelled, it was as if Saberrak heard none of them.

  Without a word, the minotaur strapped his axes to his sides, and lowered his head as he descended into the flooded lower temple. The waters swirled, his eyes illuminated the entire submerged area with deep blue, and then everyone froze with awe.

  As the gray minotaur reached the bottom, completely submerged and ignoring the muffled pleas of his friends, he felt to take a knee. As he did, the water parted just enough to breath, just a sliver of a finger wide in front of his bovine tattooed face. Saberrak raised his hands, placed his palms together as he knelt, and then put his hands into the open wedge of water. Opening his eyes, he slowly spread his hands apart, and the five floors of water moved aside with

  his palms. Saberrak Agrannar felt no struggle, no effort needed, and within moments his arms were straight out to his sides with a spanse of nearly ten feet from hand to hand. The waters were parted, from the ground to the fifth floor.

  “I…I do not believe what I am seeing.” Shinayne whispered to James.

  “Nor I, but I am not going to wait for it to drown him either.” James rushed down the stairs.

  “I am not going in there, no way on Vundren’s Mountain. He slips or snorts, and we are all drowned like fish.” Zen looked at the massive walls of water on either side of the minotaur, waiting like uncertain rocks to fall any moment.

  Gwenneth’s eyes flared yellow with arcane sense, she gazed around, every direction then shook her head with wide eyed disbelief. “Impossible.”

  “What is impossible? Not that I would disagree at this then, but just curious.” Zen backed up another step.

  “Nothing there. There are auras from our gifts and weapons, some arcane treasures hidden throughout this temple that I can see, but nothing there.” She pointed to the kneeling minotaur with the walls of water held by his palms.

  “This is not magical, no arcane trick, it simply…is…it is not possible.”

  “Who treads blindly into the Temple of the Sea? For wind and storm and water divine should block those that seek my misery…” The voice was old and deep, raspy, and it echoed from far into the halfmoon doors beyond Saberrak.

  Zen cleared his voice. “I am Azenairk Thalanaxe, heir to Kakisteele, devout of Vundren. And who be you then?”

  “No matter to me, follower of the mountains and seeker of glories long past.” The walls of water crept in and bubbled with disapproval.

  “Shinayne T’Sarrin, faithful of Siril, and I seek your protection and wisdom in this ruined---“

  “Bother me not, I care nothing for the sky and song, nor can I see the stars of which you serve.” Anger brewed in the water, it hummed with old fury, and Saberrak now looked to be struggling to hold his arms out.

  James stepped forward next to the minotaur, placed his hand on his shoulder, and let the blue light flow from his palm into Saberrak. The walls of water seemed to weaken back. “I am James Andellis, and I ask your permission to pass below.”

  “Ahh do I feel my brother on your heart yet my mother in your touch. But you do not know of me, nor I you, so bring not your confusion and sorrow here, I have enough in my eternity to suffice.” A stone slab began to close and grind shut, a halfmoon slate of stone slid down to close the portal ahead, and the voice drifted further away.

  “Before you stands Saberrak Agrannar, blessed of your lost brother Annar!” Gwenneth yelled it, though not truly sure if she believed it, and she thrust her hand forward with all her force. Purple pulsing spasms of arcane light ripped from her fingers to the stone slab, and it lifted.

  “You dare defy me, woman! You believe in nothing, in none of the Gods nor Goddesses, and you defy me here? How would you enjoy your punishment?” The stone began to close again, splintering as the powers unseen from beyond forced it closed while Gwenneth unleashed humming energies that held it open.

  “I believe in him!” Gwenneth pointed with her eyes and staff toward Saberrak. “And you shall allow him, and hear us, for our arriving to you was no coincidence!”

  Gwenneth clenched her fist, sweat beading on her face, and forced her arcane powers to open the portal once more. It raised, mere inches from the ceiling, the forces immensely potent, yet she overcame them. “As for punishment, you may find that difficult with me!”

  “Powerful you may be, but I do not suffer mortal threats nor the forces of my fathers magical tricks! You will---“

  The gray minotaur stood, keeping his hands out wide to hold the water, and he raised his head. He spoke soft yet firm as his eyes wisped blue mist in threads of whipping anger that stretched far into the waters now.

  “Haddius, Ruler of Oceans and Winds, my brother… please… let us enter.”

  “I know not that voice, yet I feel you…Annar…could it be?”

  The waters that began to crush then released, the halfmoon door was open, and a faint blue light shone from descending stairs beyond as if beckoning them to come forward. Gwenneth released her arcane forces, James let go Saberrak’s shoulder, and the minotaur bowed as he let down his arms. The water held safely to the sides on its own and calmed immediately. Shinayne and Azenairk stepped closer, watching, waiting for the water to crash and drown them all, yet it did not.

  “I am not sure who I am, but I know who you are, I feel without seeing you. Let us pass.” Saberrak walked forward.

  “There are ones among you who believe, and I wish to see what they see. Enter, brother, it has been untold millennia since we have spoken.”

  Haddius, forgotten and imprisoned God of the Oceans and Winds, son of Seirena and Megos, invited the five beings into his prison. He had not seen a living soul in over two thousand years, since his last priests passed on here, entombed in water and sealed forever. In fact, he could see nothing, since God Yjaros had taken his freedom and had him chained to the bottom of his temple in darkness and solitude. Where his elder brother Solumet had been taken, he knew not. Like Solumet, none knew where Haddius had been imprisoned, all this long eternity.

  Yet, his feelings ran to his brother Annar, from what he could recall of him, and his immortal heart beat quick as these five approached. Haddius would never admit it, but the arcane forces holding his stone door open had been stronger than his will to have them shut. For the mortal woman wielding such power, he was most curious indeed. Almost as curious as to how he felt his younger brother Annar walking toward him now, in a body not his own.

  Pagans IV:I

  Crossroads

  South of Vin Armon

  Kingdom of Armondeen

  Quite an encampment, this is no scouting party or border guard. Angeline whispered into the thoughts of Kendari, through the air, despite his previous warnings to stay out of his mind and speak normally.

&n
bsp; “I am very impressed on your conversational abilities, but my ears function just fine, stay out of my head.” He whispered back, crouching unseen behind the grove of maple and birch trees covering the crossroads.

  “And no, that would be an army, several in fact. Not that I care, just that they are in my path to Vin Armon, and now I have to go around.”

  Angeline of Charity looked down at the tents of indigo and gold, banners of talons clutching lances and scepters, and the three thousand or more men that had raised camp with the eastern setting sun. Their scouts constantly watched the east, toward Freemoore, as if waiting for something. She, the deer, and Kendari had circled around west to the south side of the armies, yet Angeline sensed the soldiers would eventually head that direction. Her feelings were strong that the men leading these forces, Armondeen by the flags, had ill intentions. So in the cover of dusk the three quietly avoided notice.

  “They have set camp early, with several hours of sun and strength remaining. Why?”

  “Seems they wait for someone, royal formation posted there to the east. Why does it matter?” Kendari raised his eyebrow, sensing a little curiosity and danger on the horizon, and mildly surprised she had spoken aloud, finally.

  “If I knew why, I would not ask. But, we need to find out.” Angeline raised her eyebrow back to Kendari as she whispered. She had sensed it in her meditations this morning, something rising this evening, a decision.

  “I am all for sneaking up to thousands of Armondi soldiers at dusk and spying for worthless information and intentions. I doubt, however, that your goddess sent you with such a purpose. There may be much killing involved.” He sneered, flashing his emerald eyes wide with a wicked smile.

  “Seirena sent me west, to find you, to find Gwenneth Lazlette, and something else. This could be that something else, or part of it anyway. I only kill if I must defend myself against the wicked, Kendari of Stillwood, unlike you.” She widened her green eyes at him, in return, with a similar grin.

  “Wicked, eh? I like that word, suits me fine indeed. Very well, follow the line of that hillock, past the stream, behind the brush there. Then, we go in from the north, and be quiet.” The cursed swordsman pointed to the direction of their incursion with his finger as he whispered.

  “Which tent?” Angeline felt Charity throb and send her feelings of care and danger. She nodded to the enchanted Soujan blade on her hip that she would be cautious.

  “The one with all the guards, the large flags of Armondeen, and the one most protected of course. Your goddess needs to choose some educated servants going forward, just my opinion.” Kendari retorted.

  “Grrwwwlll.” The young deer voiced his discontent toward the Nadderi elf.

  Kendari, young deer in tow, crept out from his hidden vantage. Angeline followed, shadow to shadow, her blade disapproving of the cursed elf the entire time. They stopped behind a hillock, Kendari took cover behind the rocky precipice, silent as death. His two companions caught up moments later. Angeline saw the men on patrol now, not one hundred feet down the hill. The sun was falling fast to the east.

  “Remember, assassin, you are in her service now as well. I would mind my words and deeds.” The knight of the secret order spoke under her breath.

  “Assassins get paid, Angeline, so I would prefer vigilante swordmaster for this little trek across the continent. My nights of spilling blood for coin are on hiadus, it would seem. Your goddess must be out of gold.”

  “Good, then keep it that way. A habit of murder is likely what got you as you are, and now on a journey of redemption. Not that you have taken it seriously.” Angeline watched the patrols changing position, their time to close in was near.

  “I would not call four and a half centuries out of six, a habit. At one time, not long ago, it was a great accomplishment.” Kendari waited, his hand up to hold his companions ready.

  “But not now, now you seek it undone or repaid. That is why I am here, and why the deer follows you.”

  “Do not remind me, I may ponder the current situation with my past. Should I prefer the latter, you will be the first corpse to hit the ground, Angeline. You still have not given me the name, remember?” Three more seconds and they had an unseen moment to take.

  “You have said that for three days now, you are not going to kill me, Kendari.”

  There were no words, none were needed. Kendari just smiled his wicked grin, blinked slowly once, and raised his chin ever so slightly at the comment. If I had a platinum coin for every poor soul that spoke words like that over the centuries, I would have my own kingdom.

  I can hear you, Kendari.

  I know. Pass it on to the deer and follow quickly, now.

  Without a spoken sound, the three rushed down the north side of the hill, leapt over the small stream at sunset, and dashed behind an overgrown patch of brush and weeds. Bees buzzed from prickly flower to dying leaf in search of nectar. A pile of bones swarming with flies sat before them, tossed there by soldiers, and the heat washed a sickly stench to their noses. Though the bones held little remains, it was enough to be quite foul, and the wasted leftovers of several deer and horses ruined the harvest air. Eyeballs stared from a doe head, the tongue hanging just as still, and the vertebrae that should have connected to something, did not. Kendari put his hand over the deers mouth fast, hearing the start of a growling whine with a patrol of Armondi soldiers not twenty feet away.

  Angeline soothed the deer with her hand on his back, slow strokes that seemed to calm him. “Not now my friend, not now. Pray for their spirits to be in a better place.”

  Spirits in a…? Pray it was delicious, family or not, I am starv---The Nadderi elf felt something interrupt his thoughts.

  Please stop.

  Onions, garlic, venison, I can smell it now, not sure about horsemeat though. Must be an Armondi dish. I would pass, myself, unless it was that stupid horse tethered back west. Him, I would eat him just for revenge.

  I said stop, you are beginning to disturb my serenity.

  Angeline glared at Kendari, who smiled in return, then went back to watching the patrols light torches as the sun fell to the east. The Nadderi elf took off his leather glove, revealing that his hand was just as pale and covered with black spiral designs as his face and neck. He touched a platinum band with three onyx stones, put his glove back on, and stealthily crept from the brush to the back of a tent. Then to another, pausing for passing guards who saw him not in the shadows, and then he stepped without sound to the command tent. He pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head, squatted low, and placed his hands on his hilts. The slightest nod, the faint flicker of green eyes, and Angeline knew she was signaled to proceed.

  The lady of the Knights Soujan ducked low, focused on the air, and hovered an inch above the grass. The deer followed, signal by signal from their cursed companion, they reached the tent in the center of the camp, in the midst of three thousand soldiers. The sun disappeared, the sky grayed and darkened, and the shadows grew from everywhere. Armondi flags whipped and tossed in the intermittent breezes of night. Torches, bonfires, and braziers began to light from every direction. Kendari motioned to Angeline to wait still, the tent flaps opened from the other side, and they pressed their ears to the canvas.

  “Lord Cetreus, how fares your mighty Feldumesh?” A voice from inside spoke with menace to his jovial tone.

  “I am not here to discuss my city, Sir Yaelsh, nor yours. Where is Harron?” The response was from an older man, his shadow looked large and hunched from the outside vantage.

  “Not coming.” The man referred to as Sir Yaelsh retorted.

  “What do you mean by that? And scar or no scar, wipe that smile from your face when you speak to me, butcher.” Lord Cetreus growled.

  “I can turn my head to the right and show my left, better?”

  “Yes, much.”

  “We are waiting for the bastard brat of your cousin, the queen. Prince Rohne is to be allowed to lead us to unite forces with our Lord Amirak Harron, and
we should be honored. Do you feel honored?” Sir Yaelsh, the Smiling Knight of New Aloeste, informed sarcastically.

  “Is this true, Sir Orlimane?” Cetreus, despite being the cousin to Andora, held a manner of contempt in his voice.

  “Her five silent bodyguards came and informed not two hours past, they wrote it in blood. You arrive late, eat.” The one known as Sir Orlimane tossed what looked like a loaf of bread to the older Lord of Feldumesh, though through the canvas it could have been anything.

  “He is arriving from Freemoore, he was scouting for the ones that we were told of, and he was unsuccessful, I heard. So, be respectful, give him honor, and remember he will be our king oneday soon. The Queen does not want her summoning disturbed with marching soldiers, so we meet a day south and join with our Amirak.” A fourth man spoke, sitting in the corner and sharpening a blade slowly.

  “Ahhh… says the Bishop of Armondeen whose brother is the Lord Amirak of our armies. Says Thohne Vir Magaste, the brother of the man who slays the queen in her bedchambers to make bastards for our future kingdom. That feathered cross on your chest makes sick, shame you must keep up appearances. Give him honor? Rohne Viorius? I will offer a crib for baby Rohne.” The Smiling Knight responded while waving his hands. Laughter erupted from all four men as they ate and discussed their monarchs with disdain.

  “If you had the chance to make princes with one such as Andora, your loyalty to Armondeen would vanish like gold before a greedy dwarf, Yaelsh. My brother has done well for himself, and me. Besides, you know King Ian has but one stiffening left, and that will be when we bury him. He would not have made any princes himself, so, Harron saved Armondeen.” Bishop Thohne Vir Magaste summoned more laughter as he spoke.

  “That is my cousin we are speaking of, men.” Lord Cetreus interjected.

  “It is, but before she was queen, she was a born and raised priestess of Vasentanessa, on the island of Yallah. Cousin or no, you would have shanked that every which way without a second thought. You know what they train those girls as in those serpent temples, and rumor is, they are pretty good at it. The crown and titles, blood and relation, they would not have ever entered your mind, old Cetreus.” Yaelsh countered, and pointed at the older lord.