Kill the Gods

by E. Michael Mettille

  She dropped her head into hands folded against the ground and cried out, “Please.”

  Kaldumahn’s voice boomed, glorious and terrifying, “I came to you bearing a gift, and you have spat upon the gesture. You are my chosen, but do not humor yourself into believing we are equal. If you refuse my request, I will levy a command. You will dissuade your daughter from her vile campaign. You kneel before me at this very moment praying for death. I promise you this is but a taste of the horrors you will encounter. Fail me, and I will cause you pain your simple mind could not possibly imagine. After I feel you have suffered enough to atone for your defiance, I will cease your torture. Only then will I give you reprieve from the pain and rip your soul from your body. But you will not find peace with Coeptus. Your soul will not journey to the Lake to be one with them. I will cast you to oblivion. You will be alone and cold, but most importantly, aware for all eternity. You will never know peace.”

  “Forgive me,” she cried out. “I am willful and stubborn. I am beneath you. You are generous in your grace. Your will be done. Please, give me peace.”

  “Do as I have commanded, and I will grant the peace you seek. Your husband lives. He is rightful and true. Mighty Moshat, my brother, the great and terrible bear who lumbers across the north wood, has gone to him offering guidance for the city he protects. A mighty force from all the great cities of men travels to Havenstahl from the southeast. They will defend and rebuild the city. Havenstahl and Druindahl will find their former glory through the grace of the lion and the bear. You will control your Dragon, and she will be their protector.”

  Leisha remained there on the floor cowering with her head buried in her hands and her eyes clenched tightly shut for several moments after the god stopped speaking. Only after that silence did she dare open them again. When she finally did, the light was gone along with Kaldumahn. He had only come to her twice prior. During neither of those encounters had he showed that aspect of himself. He came wrapped in glory, love, and generosity. She felt none of those things from the monster who had just spoken to her. Perhaps Cialia was right about the gods. Perhaps they were all violent, childish things who cared nothing for the insignificant creatures who worshipped them. She buried the thought deep for fear he might find it in her mind and exact the tortures he promised.

  Chapter 42

  Swords of Light

  It was impossible for Cialia to determine her surroundings. She imagined rocky walls stretching up from a stony path, but she could not see them. Perhaps stalactites stretched down from a ceiling high above toward stalagmites reaching up to greet them from the floor, or perhaps not. Perhaps pools of clear water surrounded her, teeming with unknown life existing for hundreds of years but hidden from record. Perhaps streams flowed connecting these pools hiding unknown mysteries in their depths. All those things could be true, but she would never know. She had not stepped in any water, so she had no evidence to prove or disprove the existence of any of it. The only thing she could be sure of was the dim light she had been following for... How long had it been?

  Time was another thing impossible to gauge in the darkness. Whether she had been walking for hours or days was a question which would remain unanswered. She had not slept. That was a clue. It seemed she had covered a great distance, but the light had not changed. It seemed no closer or brighter than when she first saw it glowing deep within the cave.

  The great hawk entered her mind. He seemed wise. He certainly posed some interesting questions. However, she did not know anything about him or his goals. It suddenly occurred to her the mission belonged to him. Her mission remained trapped at the top of a mountain of fire while she burrowed deep underground seeking a girl who allegedly knows everything. Could any creature or being truly know everything? The question seemed far less important than the reason Cialia sought an audience with her. She could just turn around.

  “Your true goal lies before you, Cialia,” though she could not see the hawk or the glowing old man he became, his voice was unmistakable, melodic yet booming.

  She had questions for him, but her voice remained trapped in her throat. None of the answers to the questions she had posed when first they met seemed useful as any more than riddles. She had no time for riddles. Two missions lay before her. When the dim light she had been following for hours or days or longer finally began to grow, she decided to finish the one she was on.

  It only took a few moments for Cialia to realize the light itself was not growing. She was getting nearer to it. The realization caused her pace to quicken. Before long she found herself jogging toward it. Brief whistles began filling the air, rapid and short. Perhaps they were the sounds of some animal she had never seen. She drew her swords as her pace quickened further to an all-out run until she saw a doorway in the distance, the source of the dim light she had been following. Though she could not see anything inside the room, she suddenly recognized the whistling sounds. They were the sound of sharpened metal slicing through still air. Someone trained with swords.

  The whistling sounds grew louder as Cialia approached the doorway. A heavy wooden door hung open as if an invitation. She accepted. The room itself was a massive empty circle with no windows. Both the floor and walls stretching up from it further than she could see in the darkness were crafted of rough stones of odd shapes. There appeared to be no mortar holding them together, but the pieces fit perfectly like a puzzle sprung from an insane mind. Those impossible stones would have been worth examining had something even stranger not entered the room through an identical door immediately across from the place where she had entered at precisely the same moment. It was someone who looked just like her in every way from each strand of hair to every stitch of clothing. She even held her swords the same way Cialia held her own.

  “State your name and tell me why you wear my face,” as the words left Cialia’s lips she realized the doppelganger replied with the exact same words at the exact same time.

  “I do not have time for this,” Cialia complained at the same time as her twin.

  Both shook their heads in unison and approached each other, “If you stand as an obstacle to my goal, you will be removed.”

  When they were within five feet of one another, they both stopped and looked each other over. After a few moments of quiet examination, Cialia and the doppelganger both said, “Stand aside or prepare to defend yourself.”

  Neither moved. After several moments had passed, and Cialia decided she had given her adversary ample time to avoid conflict, she raised her swords and struck an offensive stance. Her twin mimicked her exactly. She stood the same and held her swords in exactly the same fashion. She even wore the same expression. Cialia took a deep breath and attacked.

  Swords clashed so rapidly it quickly became impossible to distinguish between the ringing of sword kissing sword and the echoes of those sounds reverberating back off the walls. The two combatants matched each other perfectly in every way. Each attack earned an equal defense and counter. Neither proved able to gain an upper hand.

  The battle raged for hours. Both Cialia and her opponent were unwilling to give up any ground, and neither proved able to gain any. They remained there in the center of the room surrounded by the ringing sounds of their battle matching each other blow for blow.

  Frustration began to set in. Her journey could not end locked in a never-ending battle with herself. That gave her an idea. It was risky. However, as the battle raged on, she grew more and more confident the stalemate would never finish. She felt none of the exhaustion the duel should have easily earned her. It seemed likely her opponent remained equally fresh. On top of that, the doppelganger had proved her equal in every way.

  Cialia unleashed a vicious barrage, both blades arcing toward her opponent from impossible angles. They were all easily dodged, blocked, or parried. She expected it. The series of movements was only intended to give her enough time to disengage without getting nicked on her way out. It worked. Before her opponent could respond with a similar attack
, Cialia retreated several steps. The doppelganger copied the move precisely with equal timing. Once at a safe distance, Cialia tossed her blades aside. Again, her opponent copied the move exactly.

  “I have figured you out,” they both said in unison before charging toward one another.

  Cialia never slowed nor braced herself for impact, but she fully expected to feel something when she slammed into her opponent. Her momentum was stopped abruptly, as if some unseen hand had grabbed hold of her, but she felt nothing. The doppelganger simply vanished within her, and she was alone.

  A wind picked up, swirling clockwise around the room. She could not see it, but it howled like a mighty gale tearing across an open field. After a few moments, all four swords were lifting off the ground to chase each other around the room. Before long, her blades caught those of her opponent and absorbed them in a flash of light so bright it forced her eyes shut. When she opened them again, her swords were back in her hands glowing like the sun had been trapped within them.

  She remained there for a good while glancing around the room and trying to make sense of what had just happened. As she glanced around the empty space reflecting on the battle, it became increasingly apparent her opponent had been herself. She got in her own way often enough that the symbolism was obvious. However, the idea was impossible. She had studied every book she could get her hands on and knew enough about the world to know one person cannot exist in two places at the same time no matter their proximity to each other. The laws of nature forbid it, but she could not deny the truth of it.

  Perhaps she was dead. The idea seemed unlikely. Surely, she would remember dying if she had. Even if the memories were not vivid images of what happened to her, or even lingering feelings, perceptions, or emotions, there would be something. Of course, she could not truly know if she were dead or not. Some of the books she had read spoke with great certainty about an afterlife, a place where the soul goes to spend eternity in bliss or damnation. Though the accounts were all similar, no two were the same. For a logical mind like Cialia’s, it made them all seem less than reliable if not flat out lies. As far as she was concerned, they were all just fanciful tales. None of the authors of those tales had any experience being dead.

  As she stood there contemplating whether she was dead, the hawk’s words stormed back into her head. He told her to wake up. Those had not been his exact words, but that was the essence of it. He seemed wise. What if she were not dead but dreaming? Would any of it matter? Someone once told her if you die in a dream you die for real. Could that be true? If she tested the theory, she may never know. That would probably depend as much on the virility of the stories she had read about what happens when someone returns to the Lake as on the answer to the question of whether or not she was awake or dreaming. If it were true, and she was dreaming, she would die just the same as if she were awake. Either way, she would never know. And so, the circle ended. She would not test any theory. She had one mission to finish before getting back to the one she had started.

  The door through which she had entered the room was closed, but the one before her still hung wide. She could not be certain it was the correct path as she walked through that door, but she had decided it was the path she would take.

  Chapter 43

  Alhouim has Fallen

  The hall was a giant, empty thing. Crests from the great cities adorned the walls, massive, wooden, and painted with the colors of the city they represented. Some were cracked or chipped. Others lie broken on the floor. Daritus paid them no mind. He did not care about the great fish of Belscythia, or the furious scarra of Gandystrint. Nor was he nostalgic about dignitaries from those cities lining up at tables to feast and pay tribute to the mighty fallon of Havenstahl. When those haughty, righteous men packed up a month’s worth of supplies to drive their horses and servants across vast swaths of unforgiving land filled with nightmare creatures and the vilest of men, none of those cities were friends to the city the weary general missed so much nor the Dragons he protected. No, none of that history mattered to him just then. As had regularly been the case since word of massive warships docking in Biggon’s Bay had reached his ears, he was worrying over a map.

  The battle at Fort Maomnosett had been well planned. Everything should have worked perfectly, and it probably would have had gods not decided to interfere. Despite all his planning and worrying, that battle ended in disaster for Havenstahl along with the men and dwarves who sought to protect her. Truthfully, it had not ended any better for the invaders from across the Great Sea. Everyone lost that battle. The city of Alhouim had fared better. However, a rash response to their king’s death earned them a fate even worse. Maomnosett was reborn as Alhouim quietly ended.

  The difference between that campaign and the current mission was the plan. He did not really have one. Of course, he gave commands, directed this one to do that or that one to do this, but most of them were responses to news about this or that. Rebuilding Havenstahl was a goal. It was under way. Defending it was a different thing entirely. Ott had taken Alhouim, now Maomnosett, and was in the process of moving troops and supplies from the ships docked in the bay to his reclaimed city. Any fighting dwarves not identified as dead or imprisoned remained unaccounted for like too many of his men. How would he find all his scattered forces and bring them home? How would he defend his broken castle?

  Thankfully, Kantiim entered the room to distract him from his fruitless worrying. Daritus did not bother looking up. He recognized the confident gait of his favorite general and dearest of friends as the clicks of the grizzled veteran’s boots echoed from the smooth bricks of the floor to the smooth bricks of the walls. “You are pale,” he commented dryly as he crossed the room. “When is the last time your skin saw the sun?”

  “It has probably been too long,” Daritus finally looked up. “Save the lecture. We still have much to do. I assume you have an update. Let us have it.”

  Kantiim frowned at the unsatisfactory answer but obliged the command nonetheless, “The going is slow, but it is coming together. The main walls around the city are finished and reinforced, stronger than ever. The king’s tower, tallest spire in the city, should be complete by the time we lose the sun today. The rest of the city will finish in due time.”

  “You may have saved the king’s tower for last as empty as it shall remain,” he grumbled. “Solid outer walls will help us defend those who remain. I worry over the north gate since Alhouim has fallen.”

  “Only a fool would attempt it,” Spang’s voice filled the hall as he entered accompanied by Bom.

  “The gate has been fortified, the trail washed away, and traps have been laid all up and down the steep incline,” Kantiim agreed. “Any giants who survive the climb will be greeted with boiling oil and angry spears. Do not fret over the north gate.”

  “That is heartening news,” the broken general nodded. He nearly allowed a smile to his face before turning his attention to Spang and asking, “What is the state of our enemy?”

  “Bom has a report,” the former leader of the Dragon’s Flame glanced up at the giant who bowed to one knee before Daritus.

  Daritus stopped just shy of rolling his eyes at the gesture. “Rise,” he commanded. “You have been welcomed here. I am not royalty in this place, just another general bumbling about trying to keep my men’s souls in their bodies and out of the Lake.”

  “Thank you,” Bom stood and gave the general a warm smile. “The dwarves have failed.”

  “Yes, I had heard as much,” Daritus agreed. “Alhouim has fallen, reborn as Maomnosett. I had promised our friends Havenstahl would answer their call as they had answered ours. Where was our response?”

  The giant’s smile faded, “The one they call Bindaar was determined to have his revenge. By the time we arrived, he had already been defeated. There were few still living. We did our best to aid their escape, but we lacked the numbers to win the day.”

  Daritus set his jaw tight and glared at Bom. Without taking his eyes off th
e giant, he grabbed three tokens off his map and hurled them at the wall. One of them cracked on impact, splitting in two before the four pieces clattered to the floor.

  “It is unfair to place blame at our new friend’s feet,” Kantiim interjected.

  “Had he acted differently, you would be complaining of how many more men we lost,” Spang agreed. “He made the correct choice.”

  Daritus kept his eyes locked on Bom’s as he agreed, “I know. The fact does not make the news any easier to accept. Damn Bindaar and his rage.” He looked over at Kantiim, and then at Spang before adding, “I may have done the same thing if someone brought me the corpse of either of you.”

  “There is more,” Bom interrupted.

  This time, Daritus did roll his eyes, “Could it be any worse?”

  “Sadly, yes,” Bom shrugged. “More reinforcements have arrived from across the Great Sea. If a giant remains in my homeland, I will count it a surprise. Supplies move from the shores to Alhouim.”

  “Maomnosett,” Daritus corrected him. “Alhouim is dead once again.”

  “We could frustrate their supply route over the northern pass,” Bom added.

  “I fear the potential losses we could sustain would fail to justify the impact that might have,” Daritus shook his head.

  “Agreed,” Spang piped in.

  “We should bring all our forces back to the castle and regroup,” Kantiim agreed.

  “Make it so,” Daritus nodded.

  The room suddenly filled with light so bright it reminded Daritus of a dream he had years prior. Kaldumahn had come to him in a dream as the great silver lion blazing like the sun and astride the Dragon. Before any of his companions registered what was happening, Daritus gave a loud command, “Kneel.”

  All four men knelt and bowed until their foreheads pressed against the cool brick of the floor. Even with his eyes clinched up tight, Daritus could tell how bright the light was filling the room. Everything looked red through his closed lids.