Mortals & Deities Read online

  Before Delmith answered, a whoosh—like wind whipping through a tunnel—filled the room. It lasted mere moments before the chamber fell into darkness. A hand reached out, grabbing Delmith by the arm, and he recoiled in horror before realizing it must be Aritian. Straining his eyes, he tried to make out his Prince who stood next to him, yet he could not. The blackest of black filled the room and he could see nothing.

  A bright flash of light slammed into the chamber, made all the worse by the fact that Delmith had opened his inner eyelids in an effort to see in the darkness. He found himself blind, though the chamber once again shined with a bright silvery light. Prince Aritian let go of his arm with a gasp, and staggered with his own hand over his eyes, as stunned as the rest.

  The room dimmed. The bright light replaced by a low, silvery illumination. With his vision clearing, Delmith noticed a form moving in the center of the dais. It was Alant, and the boy looked fine! He leapt to his feet and stared at them in defiance. The massive bowl above the boy’s head sat empty. The black, vine-like roots of the Chandril’chi tree penetrated the ceiling in several spots before fanning out across the bottom of the bowl.

  A bead of Essence fell from the dais to the bowl above, and Alant flinched. Crossing to the far side of the dais, the boy squeezed between two stalagmite-stalactite posts and hopped down to the floor on the far side. He looked for an exit, though the door where they had entered was the sole portal to this chamber.

  Aritian, a smile sliding across his thin black lips, reached out and grasped the cuff of Delmith’s serota. “Well, Delmith, it seems that our little rat has survived, would you agree?” His excited words echoed throughout the chamber. “It has worked! The Essence is ready! No more shall we have to fear the Age of Power!”

  Delmith himself could not find words. He stared at the Human, stunned.

  “Gralets! Kill the Human!”

  Though Delmith knew the reason the Gralet’nars had accompanied them, he wanted to protest—to cry out and stop the hulking guards even as they rushed across the room toward Alant. The desire to study what had just happened and explore the possibilities overwhelmed him. Had Alant really become more than he was before entering the Chi’utlan? A true Mah’Sukai, as the history books told from the last War of Power?

  Yet, can I stop this? Do I dare take that chance? If the boy has truly ascended to a Mah’Sukai, he is now the most dangerous creature on the Plane!

  The Gralet’nars parted, each taking a different side of the dais to prevent the boy’s escape. Delmith waged his internal war, his caution winning out over his curiosity. He wanted to save the boy—to learn what had happened inside of the Chi’utlan—yet, it was just too dangerous. His heart wept as the two Warrior Servants raised their crossbows and took aim. Not for the loss of his Human student. That was a shame, yet not one that could be avoided. He knew that now. Still, the loss of the knowledge the boy held pierced him just as the two bolts resting in the crossbows pointing at Alant would pierce his flesh. The twin snaps of strings slapping staves echoed throughout the chamber, followed by two hollow thunks as the bolts buried themselves into the limestone wall on either side of Alant—one less than a hand-width from the boy’s head.

  At such close range, it amazed Delmith that the Warriors failed to hit their target.

  “Fools! You missed!” Prince Aritian’s hiss echoed in the chamber. “Kill him! Kill him now before it is too late!”

  The Gralet’nars dropped their crossbows and drew their long, sickle-like swords. With just a moment’s hesitation, they dashed across the room toward Alant. When they reached the boy, his left arm bent back upon itself with a loud snap. The boy screamed, terror filling his eyes. Then, his right arm bent like his left, bones snapping. Like a child’s fun-toy, both arms rolled up upon themselves, the crackling of bone just audible above Alant’s continued screams. The Gralet’nars, not the smartest of creatures, backed away from the hideous sight as Alant fell writhing to the floor.

  Delmith ran behind his Prince, followed by the others crossing the room for a better look. Aritian pushed his way between the guards. “What is happening?”

  The Human continued to fold in upon himself—his bones snapping and breaking. His shrieks of pain filling the chamber. Everyone fanned out, creating a circle around Alant. The poor Human’s spine bent backward and his screams took on a renewed vigor. It seemed to Delmith that the boy’s mass shrank, as if a giant hand was crushing him out of existence. Alant’s face fell in upon itself as his head caved in, silencing the last of his screams. The cracking of bone reverberated in Delmith’s ears for several more moments as the boy’s body continued to fold in upon itself.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the boy vanished. Not one trace of him remained. Even his robe and sandals disappeared. The chamber lay silent as a tomb. The plop of a bead of Liquid Essence hitting the ceiling caused Prince Aritian to flinch. Shaking his head, he waved at the spot on the floor where Alant had just been. “Where…What happened?” His voice, now void of the manic zeal from earlier, sounded anxious. When Delmith did not answer, he turned to face him. “Delmith?”

  Never taking his eyes from the spot on the floor—he had no answer anyway—Delmith shook his head. “The boy is most certainly dead, though how he died…” He shivered. “It was horrifying.” Lifting his head, he stared deep into his Prince’s large black eyes. “This proves that the Chi’utlan is not ready. Please, my Prince, stop this testing. It is madness!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Delmith wished to take them back. Aritian’s dark lips bent into a frown, and his jaw flexed. Still, it was too late to stop now, so Delmith forged on before his Prince could speak. “Time is all I ask for. To see if I can figure out…” He waved a thin gray arm over the floor. “…figure out what has happened here and how the Essence could do this.”

  Aritian looked back at the spot on the floor as silence stretched. “Your caution may be justified for once. I will not use another Human.” His voice remained calm and Delmith let out a sigh of relief. However, his pulse quickened and his heart skipped a beat when his Prince turned and looked him in the eyes once more. Aritian’s chin quivered with rage and a deadly gleam filled his gaze. “For now, at least. Still, you will get me answers, Delmith. You will or you may find that your value to me is at an end.”

  Delmith did not stop shaking until his Prince brushed by him and headed for the door. He was glad that his knees continued to hold him up. At the last moment, he remembered to bow his head. Glancing around at the others, he saw a mix of shame, pity, and even smugness in their expressions. He knew of several who would not hesitate to take his place as the Prince’s advisor in the Chandril’elian.

  “At least the Human Tak’ju’nar is dead.” Aritian’s voice sounded controlled, yet Delmith knew he now walked a razor’s edge. If he did not produce something—some explanation for what had happened here this day—he knew his Prince would not hesitate to fulfill his threat.

  With a final glance at the spot where the Human Initiate, Alant, had been crushed out of existence, Delmith followed his Prince from the Chamber of the Chi’utlan.

  Yet, what has happened here this day, and how I am to find any answers, escapes me.

  Blood sprayed into the air from the man’s nose as his head snapped back from the impact of her soft-soled shoe against his cheek. An onyx staff followed the path of her kick, cracking the back of the man’s skull and sending him flipping to the sand-covered ground. The staff—made of Ratave—felt almost like steel and almost like stone at the same time. Vibrations rippled down its black length, dissipating at the strong, slim fingers of Elith. Without pause, the thin girl bent backward to avoid the blade from a second man slicing through the spot her head had just occupied. The man wielding the blade let the momentum carry his weapon in an arc, spun, and brought the sword back around to slash at her legs.

  Pivoting her body, Elith slipped the staff down between her and her a
ttacker, slamming one end into the sandy floor. The clang of metal on metal reverberated off the sandstone walls of the small chamber as the sword struck a finger’s width from her naked thigh. Beads of sweat slid down her smooth, gray-tinged skin. Without taking her eyes from the man with the sword, she cocked a knee to her chest and drove her foot behind her, catching a third man just under his ribcage as he lunged in to grab her. Air rushed from his lungs and she grinned with satisfaction at hearing at least one rib snap. Spinning, her long braid of snow-white hair lashed out at the man with the sword, causing him to dodge away. She slammed the back of her fist into the third attacker’s jaw before he recovered from the kick to the chest. Knees buckling, this third man crumpled to the ground, joining the first attacker. Letting her momentum carry her on, she tucked into a tight roll. The wind of the second man’s sword, narrowly missing her back, whistled in her ears.

  Planting her staff into the sand once more, Elith vaulted up, letting it lift her into the air. Twirling, feet planting onto one wall, she bent into a horizontal crouch two paces off the floor. Holding herself perched above the man with the sword, locked in place between her Ratave staff sticking into the sand and the wall beneath her feet, she looked down at the one attacker of the three who still stood.

  Twirling the blade in one hand, the man held out his other for balance and glared into her eyes. Feigning a strike with his sword, the man stepped forward and swept-kicked the staff from the ground. When he did, Elith let the staff slip from her grasp and launched herself from the wall. Reaching out with both hands, her lithe gray fingers made a stark contrast against the Human’s pinkish skin. She slid them across the man’s scalp, weaving her fingers into his greasy black hair at the back of his head and whipped his face down to meet her knee coming forward. A low crunch resounded through the small chamber. Tucking into a roll, Elith hit the ground behind the last attacker, pivoted and stood. She looked down at the man who now lay on his back, sword dropped and forgotten, hands held over his ruined nose. His low moans joined those of the other two lying in the sand around him.

  “This has become too easy for you, my dear Elith.”

  In an instant, Elith fell to her knees, forehead on the sandy floor, both arms stretched out before her with palms up. “Revered Father! She was unaware that you would be observing her practice this day.”

  White silk slippers stepped into her line of sight as she prostrated herself. Her heart fluttered.

  To be near one so close to the gods!

  “It pleases me to watch you, my dear.” His voice flowed like a silky river, engulfing her very spirit. “Yet, that is not the reason for my visit this day. Your training has come to an end.”

  His voice filled her with joy. An age-spotted hand slipped under her elbow and bade her to rise. She did not resist—would not resist—yet never removed her eyes from the ground. Instead, she focused on the priest’s snow-white robes, symbols embroidered in thread-of-gold flowing down its hem, glistening in her vision. To stand in the presence of the Revered Father was a gift bestowed on very few. She, herself, had never stood before him in all the winters she lived at the Temple. Always had she prostrated herself, as was proper. “You honor her too much, Revered Father. ‘Those who serve are destined to be held in the highest of honor by the Twelve’.” That passage from the Book of the Twelve always made her feel warm inside. This day, standing before such a man, it had special meaning.

  “It is good that you have embraced the teachings of the Twelve, my child. Their enlightenment will serve you through to the Aftermore and beyond.” The Father placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head. Her heart leapt to her throat—her mouth going dry.

  To look upon the face of the Revered Father is death!

  She shifted her gaze to the side, avoiding what he forced her to see. The man remained persistent, however. Elith had lived inside the temple of the Priests of Fatint on the Isle of Komar for almost a score of winters—ever since they brought her here as an orphaned infant—and for the first time in her life, she stared into the Revered Father’s eyes. Dark blue, like the sea after a storm, they bore into her very core. Their depths timeless, as if those eyes had seen all there was to see and held all the knowledge there was to know. A weakness overcame Elith and she felt faint. Silver-white hair that hung to his shoulders in waves framed a strong face, diminished none by his age. A father-like smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It is time to do what you have trained for, child. After near five-thousand turns of the seasons, a Mah’Sukai walks the Plane of Talic’Nauth once more.”

  A Mah’Sukai! She must not act like a giddy girl in front of the Revered Father.

  She fought down the exhilaration bubbling to the surface. All her life, all her training, everything set for one goal—the hope that the Mah’Sukai would reemerge onto the Plane of Talic’Nauth during her lifetime. To be the one who would bind his power to the Priests of Fatint. For the glory of the Twelve and the betterment of all peoples. The thought of how the Revered Father knew that a Mah’Sukai had returned fluttered through her mind and she stomped it down.

  The Revered Father speaks directly to the Twelve. He knows all things.

  A smile spread across the face of the Father. “Yes, my child. I knew this news would please you. We, of the priesthood, have waited a long time for the return of the Mah’Sukai. It has come. Are you ready?”

  A wave of resolve cut through Elith’s excitement. “She is ready, Revered Father. As ready as the warrior-king, Ramdin, was on the day Mash’ayel”—she made the sign for the God of War—“sent him out alone to vanquish the army of the god Bathane.” She turned the sign of the God of War into one to ward off evil.

  Fear pierced her breast as she watched the face of the Revered Father slip into a scowl. Slamming her knees onto the packed sand, she prostrated at the man’s feet once more. “She has misspoken, Revered Father! Please forgive her!”

  A long pause fell before the Revered Father knelt down and placed his hand upon her head. “No, my child. You have not misspoken. That story is one that always brings great pain to my heart.”

  “Stories of Bathane and his evil trouble her heart as well. Yet, ‘Let evil words fall from your ears as water from the clouds, or find that evil fills your heart like rain into a bucket’.” As she spoke the verse from the Book of the Twelve, the Revered Father’s fingers laced into her long white hair. Her scalp burned with pain where the man tightened his grip. Yet, she did not protest nor pull away.

  The Revered Father’s hand flinched as if he just realized what he was doing. Loosening his grip, he patted the top of her head. “Yes. Evil fills the heart like a bucket.” His voice came out stone hard, and for the first time, the man before her filled her with fear.

  Leaning forward, the Revered Father took her head in both his hands, though he did not raise her face from the ground this time. “I have a gift for you, my child. To aid you in your hunt.”

  An icy rush filled her, starting from her head and cascading through her body to her feet. Out of reflex, she whipped up her hands and took hold of the man’s wrists. Had she been more conscious of whom she grabbed, her reaction would have filled her with horror. Yet, as her body convulsed from the shock of this new power filling her, she lost control.

  The Revered Father released her and stood. “I have placed a Questing upon you, child. You are now my arrow, and the Mah’Sukai is your target. When you are within a quarter league of him, you will know he is near. When you come within a hundred paces, you will be able to point directly at him without error.”

  Elation warred with panic at having him imbue her with such a gift from the gods. Though the icy coldness of his gift had left her, she shivered. Still staring at the sand-covered floor, Elith saw the embroidered hem of his white robe twirl as the Revered Father turned to walk from the room.

  “Your training is at an end. Release the slaves from service and send them on to t
he next. Their time here is at an end. Then report to Vilt. He will have all you need for your journey.” Elith heard the man stop. “Find this Mah’Sukai. Find him and bring him to me as you have been trained. I have waited too long.”

  Elith prostrated on the floor until long after the Revered Father’s slippered footsteps vanished. Closing her eyes, she placed her forehead onto the sand. “Alza’Dysta, hear her prayer. Lend her your skill at hunting and lead her to her goal.”

  Rising to her feet, Elith looked down at the slaves she had used for practice. All three knelt with faces upon the floor, arms stretched out with palms up as was expected of them in the presence of the Revered Father. She dimly remembered that they had pulled themselves into this position when the Father entered. Skirting the last, she bent and retrieved her Ratave staff from where it had been discarded during the fight. Energy crackled into her palm from the onyx shaft.

  Returning to the front of the men, she ground one end of the Ratave staff next to her right foot and flipped her long white braid of hair over a shoulder. “Rise.” She waited until all three stood—the one she had kicked in the chest winced with pain when he attempted to stand erect. Dried blood covered the upper lip and left cheek of the one with the broken nose. “‘True power is silent. When you reach a place of silence within you, you have reached the place of true power. The place where all is one’.”

  While she recited the passage, only the man on her left showed any sign of recognition. And in this, he only had time to widen his eyes before the now spiked tip of the Ratave staff thrust into his jugular, severing his spinal column as it slipped out the back of his neck.

  Willing the other end of the staff to flatten and elongate into a hair thin blade about two hands long, Elith spun, even as the first slave’s body collapsed to the ground. The second slave flinched. His eyes blinked as if the man did not know he was dead. Without pausing in her spin, she stabbed the blood-covered spiked end into the third’s neck in the precise location that would pierce vocal cords and sever the spine, just as she had done to the first. The man died before his body fell.