by Mark Eller
Then again…what did it matter how or where? Somehow, both Hell’s environs and populace had been expanded past design. All that truly mattered was that Hell was coming because King Vere had given it his worship. Although most of Yernden was still clear, Grace would soon be under siege. Calto and his knights were the last of the resistance to Zorce’s reign inside Grace, but Omitan doubted the priest would do much good. With only four hundred knights answering his call, his forces were stretched too thin to withstand a siege. No, the best they could do was run.
“Starlite…where are you?” Omitan looked about the garden. He had originally summoned her while he stood in the forest, but she had yet to appear. He waited a few more minutes before trying again.
“Starlite. I need you.”
Something skittered along the ground, shot up the side of the statue, and then peaked out from behind its head.
Omitan smiled. “Come now little one, no games today. This is important.”
The creature scuttled down the statue and came to an abrupt halt before him.
“Father Forest,” the tiny gelf whispered, “you are sad. Why do you cry?”
Despite the grim circumstances, Omitan had no choice but to smile thinly at one of his favorites. Small, the gelf barely reached his knee. Its thin, stickish body loosely resembled an overly slim naked human woman. Like the tree she once inhabited, Starlite’s skin was a nutty brown, rough, but flexible, again, like a human’s. Moss brown hair flowed down her back, and large, curious, dark brown eyes looked up at him. In many ways, she reminded him of a child’s doll.
“I am sad,” Omitan admitted. “Some very bad things have happened, Starlite. I must leave soon, and when I do you will come with me for your safety, but first you need to bring Ani to me. I have something for her.”
The gelf shook its head. Her overlarge eyes seemed to engulf her face in shock. “No. I cannot. I am her guardian. You told me never to leave her, and I have not. Even when she hunts for your very great and very pretty granddaughter…I stay with her.” Straightening, Starlite held her head high. “She needs me Father Forest. I will not leave her until she is safe from harm’s way.”
Omitan was surprised at Starlite’s devotion. Normally, gelf’s did not form attachments to people. They seldom worried about anything other than tending their forests. Few chose to live close enough to a human settlement to even see a person or a household in their lifetimes. If asked, Omitan would have placed Starlite among their number before he gave her this charge. What had changed?
“You don’t understand how serious matters have become.” Omitan shook his head slowly, his face creased in sorrow once more. “Go, little one. Go. Bring Anithia to me. Time is short. I will explain everything when you both come back.”
The gelf twisted her hands in front of her for a moment before leaving in a blur of motion. Omitan paced as he waited for Anithia, worried the horde would make it to the manor before his charges had time to prepare for departure.
Ten minutes later, Ani ran down the graveled path dressed in a grubby brown tunic, pants, and soft leather boots, a short sword in her hand. She stopped several feet away, her eyes large, her face panicked. “Sorry it took me so long…my…my god. I was sleeping. What’s wrong?” She clenched and unclenched her free hand, obviously nervous and afraid.
Omitan gave her a sad smile. “You won’t need your sword Anithia. Nothing here will harm you.”
Ani looked at the sword, at Omitan, and glanced around as if searching for a place to lay it. When Omitan held out his hand, Ani shyly laughed and handed it to him.
“Trust me,” Omitan smiled. “I have something better for you, anyway.”
With a brief focus of will, he caused the sword to disappear before turning his attention once more to the task at hand, namely, telling Anithia the bad news. He needed to take care not to make an admittedly difficult road seem like a lost cause. For a moment he lost himself in regrets for allowing Anothosia and Trelsar to talk him into fathering children again. After all, he had allowed his offspring to be used by others in their ploys and machinations. To his discredit, Omitan had remained aloof, wanting none of it. Hadn’t he suffered enough, lost enough over the centuries? His daughter’s sweet round face floated to the surface of his memories. Sarah was only twenty-four when she died giving her life to preserve others. The oak whose forever leafy boughs she lay buried beneath remained untouched; he had made sure of that in his grief, if nothing else, by demanding Anothosia place a barrier of time around it. She had; without a single word of protest about the effects the barrier would have on the local reality. Neither Anothosia nor her father had asked for his assistance again from that day until they asked his permission to enter his grandchildren into the fray after hearing Zorce and his army of ill breeds planned on pushing their bid for the upper world.
He should have known better than to enter the original fray. It had cost him his most beloved child. Now, much to his chagrin, this new uprising might cost him another of his blood for whom he had discovered some affection, unless he took steps to help preserve her safety.
Shaking his head, he drew in a deep breath. This was not a time for an old man’s mental ramblings and regrets. “Anithia, the horde is coming from the northeast…now. They are less than three miles away.”
Ani gasped, and all the color drained from her face. Fear stench exuded from her body in almost visible waves. “But the most recent scout didn’t see anything,” she protested. “I stopped and asked him in the hall.”
“I believe you have a spy or two among you,” Omitan explained. “If so, it won’t be the first time Zorce has murdered an innocent and put a corrupted soul in his place. If you suspect this spy…or any other…sing. Your voice will reveal his true form.”
Swallowing, Ani nodded.
Omitan hesitated at delivering his next news. He looked down at Starlite, seeing her tiny little body eagerly standing at attention. His stomach roiled, making him think he would soon vomit. This news would devastate the little gelf.
“Starlite…Loc Mir forest…it’s been burned…every living creature was...” He couldn’t finish. He couldn’t say the wordsmurderedorkilled,destroyed, or corrupted.
But the tree gelf knew. She read it in his face. Her hands trembled uncontrollably and her knees sagged. “My-my— family?” Her voice was so quiet Omitan barely heard her.
His heart aching, Omitan shook his head as pain spread across Starlite’s face. She was such a loving soul, trusting, kind, and he had just damaged her world.
A long, mournful keening came from Starlite’s mouth as she tipped back her head and fell to her knees. Wiping a slow hand across his damp face, Omitan reached to gather the heartbroken gelf to him. Accepting his embrace, she curled into a ball in his arms and sobbed. Silver tears leaked from her eyes and ran down his leather clad arm.
“I’m so sorry.” Anithia whispered. Tears welling in her eyes, she looked at her feet unable to watch the gelf’s pain.
“I will take Starlite with me.” Omitan said.
Ani nodded. “I’ve got to tell Calto. We don’t have enough people here to defend the manor.” Anithia started to leave.
“Anithia…wait. I have something else for you.” Omitan motioned for her to come forward.
Anithia hesitated but then came slowly to him. She seemed too delicate to have gone through what she had, but her eyes and face told him different. In her bright blue eyes, reminding him so much of her great grandmother’s, he saw determination, strength of will; in her face he saw the courage needed for this war to not tear her apart. Instead, if she survived, it would make her more fierce and capable. Pride in his bloodline made him stand taller. This woman was his Sarah all over again. Harder perhaps, with a touch less compassion, but with the same fierce spirit within.
Reaching out. Omitan cupped her chin in his hand. She smiled hesitantly at his touch. He wished he’d had time to get to know Ani better, to show her more of whom she really was, but the war was upon them,
threatening to tear everything they loved apart. Time was of the essence, and every breath was precious.
He placed his hand upon her shoulder and concentrated on opening a portal; a neat little trick Anothosia had shown him and a few of the other capable gods near the end of the first godwar. Around them, the air shimmered and warped like a heat wave in the desert. He reached through with his mind, pulled out Sarah’s armor, and willed it upon Anithia’s body.
Ani gasped as the bronze plating coalesced upon her along with a short sword and dagger which set themselves at her hip.
Satisfied, Omitan nodded. This armor and these weapons were the only possessions he had kept of his daughter’s. The armor was a masterpiece of workmanship, the metal burnished and unblemished except by design; Throm, the god of metal working and the deep sea, had crafted it to Sarah’s orders. Its intricate engravings had been tooled by gelfs skilled in several small magics. The armor’s breastplate bore his symbol; a circle with a large tree inside. On the tree’s branches were fruits of every nature, a sign of abundance. Beneath the tree were a man and a woman entwined in a lover’s embrace, the sign of fertility and life. These were not the only engravings. Almost every inch of the armor’s surface bore delicate etchings. Some looked like leaves and small animals, but strange symbols were also scattered among the adornments. Omitan had not a clue what most of them signified, but Sarah had known. Though young, mostly untrained, and not exceptionally strong, she possessed an instinctive feel for nano manipulation through symbology which none of the other gods ever matched. When he had asked her about them, she simply smiled, said they were far too complex for the understanding of an old man, and claimed they were only for good luck.
“My god,” Ani whispered reverently. “This is…it’s beautiful.” She ran her hands over the armor’s surface, gently tracing out its patterns.
Omitan nodded. “It was my daughter’s. Sarah wore it in the first God War. Here, don’t forget the helm.” The helm materialized in his hand.
Ani took it carefully, admiring it as she did so. Made from the same material as the armor, the front formed an open heart shape around the face. Sarah had asked Throm to make it this way so it did not interfere with her peripheral vision.
“Sarah? I’ve never heard of her.” Anithia looked at him questioningly. “Is she a forgotten goddess?”
Omitan smiled, sad, hating not telling Anithia the truth; hating calling himself a god when he was not, when none of them were. Each and every one, they had once been human. He liked to think they still were.
“She is a woman who died. No songs, no tributes…she just died.”
Ani frowned. “Gods don’t die, but you called her your daughter. Was she half-human like my grandmother?”
Omitan sighed. “We are running out of time Ani. Let me finish telling you about the weapons. If there is a later we can cover other topics. Now, both the short sword and dagger will grow very warm when a hell creature is about. They will sort of vibrate— much like Calto’s weapons, and both have the ability to amplify your powers when you sing if they are held in your hand. If you get separated from them during a battle, they become transparent and seem to disappear. When things are safe once more, the weapons will return to you. It will take a day or two of you wearing them before they become attuned to your nano, so keep them nearby for a while.”
Ani pulled the dagger from its sheath and studied its handle. The handle, Omitan knew, bore the same symbol as the breastplate except the fruit was made of small precious and semi-precious stones. The detail of the man and the woman were intricate and finely wrought. “I’ve never seen such minute and careful tooling. They’re beautiful.” Replacing the dagger in its sheath, she looked at Omitan and frowned. “What are nanos?”
“You will notice the sword is the same as the dagger. They are a matched set.” Omitan chuckled. “With Sarah, everything matched— the queen of coordination. As for nano, forget that for now. Like so much else, nano is a conversation for another time.”
Omitan’s smile faded. He could sense a tremor in the earth…the disorganized scrabbling of feet. Omitan started to fade. Yernden’s land demanded his attention. “Go Anithia…go. They are almost here. I will do my best to buy you more time.”
Ani’s eyes widened as she watched him fade. Omitan took in her wide and lovely eyes. He placed their beauty in his memory and vowed he would slow Hell’s progress. When his efforts failed, as they inevitably would, he would return to the compound and make sure his new High Priestess made it out alive.
* * * *
Calto stared at the dead spy lying at Ani’s feet, surrounded by a puddle of its own black and foul smelling blood. Ani was dressed in armor he was sure he did not own and held a short sword he knew she could not have afforded by herself. He felt stunned, shocked beyond comprehension by the recent turn of events. Neither he nor Havlar had moved from their spots since she had killed the demon. They stood rooted while processing what had just happened.
Calto took a moment to arrange the episode in his mind. He and Havlar had been debriefing the scout, Pax, when the door suddenly burst open. Singing, Ani rushed in wearing a wild frantic look on her face. Surprised, Calto had turned toward her, wondering if the woman had lost her mind due to the frequent battles and her daughter’s abduction, because Ani’s song was one she frequently used during their night raids, sharp, commanding, and strong. Calto knew she had finally gone over the edge, not surprising in a lowborn whore. He was about to demand she shut up and leave when all hell broke loose…literally.
Pax’s face shifted, changed, became blunt and scaled. His hands grew larger. Long razor sharp talons sprouted from his fingers, and Calto heard ripping cloth as Pax’s shredded clothes fell away. Bones popped, muscles bulged, Pax’s body grew, and then Calto stared at an undersized blue demon where his best scout had previously stood. Its muscles jumped and twitched, and its expression appeared shocked by the forced change.
Face pale, Ani’s voice quieted, and her hand reached for her sword grip.
Screeching, Pax lunged at Ani.
Without hesitation, Calto rushed forward, Havlar by his side. In vain, Calto knew. Ani stood half a pace too far from them and the demon was too fast. This time, he could not save her.
But he did not have to. Before he crossed half the distance, Ani had drawn her sword and severed the demon’s head from his body in one fluid stroke. Stopping his lunge, Calto stared at Ani, disbelieving the woman had it in her. She was calm, her blue eyes dark pools of swirling starlight as she stood over the headless corpse. A chill of recognition ran up Calto’s spine. He had seen eyes like hers before. Something strange moved within Anithia, something close to either madness or godhood.
Kneeling, Ani wiped her weapon clean upon the shredded remains of Pax’s clothes and sheathed her weapon. A hazy nimbus floated about her body for a few moments as bits and pieces of what looked like flecks of gold floated between her body and the demon’s, almost as if she were sucking some part of its essence away. The flecks settled, disappeared, and Anithia’s eyes returned to normal.
Calto shook his head, still not quite believing what he had just seen, could not believe the events he had just witnessed. Before he could question his ward about her actions, the hallway echoed with pounding feet. His partially shut door burst open, and his large and luxurious office suddenly became small as more than two dozen people rushed inside.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of one of his knights. The man appeared harried and alarmed and excited and who knew what else. Two other knights had entered with him. Three or four intruders wore Trelsar’s priestly garments. Another was Parkat Greentimbers, Omitan’s mealy mouthed head priest, someone Calto had happily ignored for the last several months after Parkat indicated he and Calto should consider themselves equals, as if the priests of Anothosia and Omitan had ever been on a par. The others? Calto did not know who they were, and this bothered him. What were people he had not vetted doing inside his manor?
>
“Refugees, Lord Calto,” the knight answered. “Mostly. We were escorting them from their temples when the priests took off like Hell itself was on their heels. The others followed.” He shrugged. “We followed them.”
“Refugees from what?” Calto fought to rein in his temper, a task he found increasingly difficult in these circumstances.
“Temples are falling all across the city, My Lord. Much of Grace’s guard has declared Zorce and Athos the only gods. Much of the populace is rioting. The rest are in hiding.”
“Fucking great,” Calto cursed, mentally picturing chaos in the city. He was about to order everyone to leave so he could rally his knights when he noticed he was not the center of everyone’s attention. Instead, they milled about Anithia, whispering, praying, touching her with awe; all except one.
Parkat Greentimbers stared at her with shock and incomprehension on his craggy face. He was an older man, weather beaten, lean and tall, with streaks of gray throughout his flaxen hair. He stood as tall as Havlar, which placed him several inches above Calto’s six foot two frame.
“Lady Morlon, who gave you the armor and those weapons?” Parkat’s voice was quiet, almost too soft for Calto to hear over the other people.
“Omitan gave it to me in the garden.” Ani said. “Not more than fifteen minutes ago.”
The room grew quiet. They all stared at Ani as if she had told them she was the god herself.
Parkat cleared his throat, straightened his robes. “Woman, you lie! Omitan would never give you the sacred armor. You are no high priestess or anointed warrior.” He looked away from her, arrogant and self righteous.
The entire room broke out in confused debate. Some of Omitan’s followers gathered around Ani. Others stood near Parkat. Trelsar’s priests and followers stood to the side. Narrowing her eyes, Ani headed toward the priest, no doubt to punch the man in his nose, Calto figured. The two had met once before. The experience had not been pleasant for either. Parkat had suffered a shock when she greeted him warmly, saying she was Omitan’s great granddaughter. She had exhibited hurt anger when Parkat named her a fraud.