Forged: The World of Nightwalkers (40 page)

That was when he knew it was Weysa, the goddess of conflict. The shield goddess. He had erected statues of her above her altars where spoils of war were frequently laid upon it in homage to her when an army or fighter was victorious. He had prayed to her before every battle and he had seen her fury when he had drunk from the forbidden waters, so it was no wonder that he knew her at first sight. He shuffled about on his hands and knees, rolling himself into obeisance, his forehead touching the scalding hot rock, his palms doing the same, his
flesh searing against the stone like a cut of fresh junjun beast is seared in a pan.

She seemed to regard him in silence and as she did so the fires remained completely abated for the first time since he had come there. He was grateful for the reprieve, no matter what the reason, no matter what further curses she might rain down upon his head.

“Low beast,” she said after long moments.

“The lowest,” he agreed with her, fearful as he spoke that she might grow angry with him for speaking aloud to her.

“What have you learned here, in your time spent?”

He did not know how to answer her. He did not know what she wanted to hear. So he fumbled for the most honest of answers he could come to.

“Never to cross the mighty gods, for their will is the only will.”

“Do you beg for mercy?”

“No, Mistress,” he said, “For your will will be done and there is nothing I can do to change it.”

“Good, because We have been merciful thus far. Your fate could have been much worse, but We took into account all that you have done in Our name.”

Merciful? This torment had been the gods’ idea of mercy? Dethan felt a wash of rage overcoming him, and he struggled to fight it back. What if she could divine his thoughts? He would anger her and then she would show him what it meant for a god to be unmerciful.

“So,” Weysa said, “your time here has not cowed you completely.”

Dread filled him. Surely she would become angry with him now. What would she do with him?

“Good,” she said then, surprising him. “I need a true warrior. A man loyal to me who will fight in my name.”

She wanted him to fight for her? Yes. He would fight for her. Anything. Anything to be free of this hell.

“Fortune has told me that you are my one true hope in this matter. And so you will be. Rise.”

He did so, leaving strips of his flesh behind, burned to the floor, all the while keeping his eyes cast downward. Partly to honor her, partly because her armor was too brilliant for his eyes to bear.

“I have grown weak,” she said, surprising him. “Things have changed greatly since the times you have fought for me. My strength lies in those who worship me and so many have fallen by the wayside, worshipping false gods instead or … following my enemies and giving them the strength I need. You see, the gods have split into two factions, low beast. We war. We war violently. But We cannot win or find advantage unless We have devotion to Us. I need you to find me that devotion, to win over those who do not believe and those who would worship my enemies over me.”

Dethan remain silent as she relayed this, but all the while his mind was racing. A war between the gods? This did not surprise him. They had always been a contentious lot. But things must have fallen desperate if she was coming to him for help.

“I will give you these gifts and you will not squander them or you will pay dearly for it,” she said. And suddenly a suit of plated armor appeared at his feet. It seemed to be made of hedonite, a black, shining stone known for its lightness of weight. It was far too fragile to be of use in an armor.

“Do not let the look of it deceive you, for this is god-made armor, forged by my own hands and imbued with my strength. It will protect you against any weapon. It will make you invulnerable. Invulnerability coupled with immortality will make you nigh invincible. But be warned. You can die if your head leaves your shoulders by way of a god-made weapon, and my enemies
will make gifts of such weapons to stop your progress. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“Good. Then there is this.” A sword appeared at his feet. It too seemed to be made of the black hedonite. “This is a mighty weapon. In your hands, be your intentions true and just, it will cut down your foes, of which there will be many. It can pierce god-made armor, no matter how strongly imbued. This was forged with the strength of six gods. All of our faction together.”

“Mistress, may I ask which six gods?” he asked, knowing there were twelve gods over all and this meant they were split exactly down the middle.

“Our faction consists of Hella, the goddess of fate and fortune; Meru, the goddess of hearth, home, and harvest; her brother Mordu, the god of hope, love, and dreams; Lothas, the god of day and night; and last is Framun, the god of peace and tranquility.”

“So you war with Xaxis, the god of the eight hells; Grimu, the god of the heavens; Diathus, the goddess of the land and oceans; Kitori, the goddess of life and death; Jikaro, the god of storms; and Sabo the god of pain and suffering.” He swallowed. That Kitori had sided with five of the darkest gods did not ring true to him, and she was the queen of all the gods and demanded much respect.

“Your thoughts do you justice, low beast. Kitori has been swayed by these other gods. I believe she is held hostage more than she had sided with them. They together have the power to subdue her in spite of her great powers. And that is part of your goal. By gaining me, and these other gods that side with me, worshippers, I believe I will be able to rescue Kitori from their influence. Such a coup would no doubt turn the tide of this war. And there is something else …”

“Yes, my mistress,” he encouraged her. His mind was
racing. If she was rescuing him from this fate worse than death then things were as dire as they appeared. He would fight for her, as he had done in the past. This in spite of the rage he felt toward all of the gods for the suffering they had subjected him to. Especially if it meant freedom from this torment. It was the only choice really, because there was nothing he could do in the face of their power. But perhaps … perhaps he could convince her …

No. He would not try to manipulate his goddess. That was a slippery slope and he would not risk angering her. But he would ask … he would beg …

“There is a great weapon that can be used against Xaxis’s faction.”

So, it was Xaxis leading the faction, Dethan thought. That figured. Xaxis had been trying to wrest power from the other gods for time immemorial.

“This weapon is surrounded by a great city, a city that guards the mouth of the eight hells.”

“Olan?” he asked.

“Olan,” she agreed. “I need you to conquer this city and to wrest control of this weapon.”

Suddenly she looked over her shoulder, as if she heard someone coming. She turned to him quickly. “This is Xaxis’s territory and he is beginning to sense that I am here. I must leave before I am captured by him. But you are freed. I will bring you above the hells and you must begin your work. But be warned, you do not go freely. You are cursed ever after, a memory to make you remember where you have come from and where you will return should you fail me. Every night, at dusk, you will conflagrate and burn until the juquil’s hour. If you perform well for me I will consider lifting the curse. Do you understand?”

Dethan’s fists clenched in anger, but he controlled the emotion with an iron will. So he would be made to suffer
this same hell again and again even while he worked for her honor and ends. But the rest of the time … the rest of the time he would live in reprieve, and that was far better than what he suffered now.

“Yes, Mistress, I understand. But … if your humble servant might ask … my brothers are great warriors. If you were to rescue them from this torment as well they too could fight for your faction.”

“Your brothers, unlike you, are not here in the hells. However, like you, they are made to suffer in the territories ruled by the other faction. I have risked all coming here and cannot do so again. The only reason I was able to come at all is because the others have distracted Xaxis in order to free me to do this. Your brother Garreth is chained to the very mountain where you found the fountain, freezing solid again and again. The territory is controlled by Diathus. Jaykun is chained to a star and, like you, burns again and again. This is Grimu’s territory and I have no access to the heavens. Maxum … I do not know where Maxum is. He was given to Sabo to be dealt with and Sabo never shared with us the punishment he meted out. Probably so no other god could do what I am doing now.” She looked over her shoulder again and this time he saw true anxiety on her features. “I must go now. Fight, warrior, as you have never fought before. Find an army. Fight to bring my name to the people. And never forget who has set you free and who can set you down again.”

“No, Mistress, never.”

“The fires will see to that. Remember, dusk every day. It will do you well to make sure no others are nearby when this happens or they will be consumed by the flames as well. Now we are off.”

In a flash of speed and burning light that sickened him, he found himself standing at the mouth of one of the entrances to the eight hells, easily recognizable by the dragon’s head carved into the massive stones surrounding it, the mouth of the creature leading downward to the fiery pit. He could assume this was not the entrance in Olan. Weysa would not put him in the heart of the very city she wished him to conquer. So it was one of the four other entrances placed upon the face of Ethos. One he knew was under water. One, like the fountain, was set high on a mountain, and since it was not cold but more summery climes around him, that left the largest opening, the one in Hexis. His armor rested at his feet and he hastened to pick it up. He was still seared and wounded, and had no clothing so he stood bare and naked, knowing nothing of the world around him.

He could have hidden back within the cave, but he could not bring himself to step toward it, his muscle and sinew screaming in fear of moving toward the fires below in even the smallest of increments.

Luckily the closest thing to the mouth of the cave was an altar upon which sacrifices to Xaxis were made. He hurried over to it, hiding and skulking behind it as he
looked around with wide, wild eyes. The altar was laden with all manner of things, from fruits to beasts. Things going to rot and waste. And thanks to that the first thing he realized was that he was starving … famished from who knew how long without food. But to steal from the altar might mean an insult to the god it was meant for, so he touched nothing there, not wishing to incite any further wrath from the gods. Especially not Xaxis. He was to be working covertly for his goddess’s interests. He could not draw attention to himself until it was time to begin to war in her name.

But she had given him no army. She expected him to find one on his own. It had taken years for him to build the forces he had once used to march across the world. But what of those lands he had once defeated? Would they still be his to command? How long had it been since he had been locked away?

No. He could not hope that any of them would know who he was. None but perhaps … home. Perhaps where he had once sat as warlord and master they would know who he was. But it did not follow that they would accept him. And he was a very long way from the massive walls of Toren, his home. It would take travel across a desert, a lush living valley, and an ocean before he could get there.

It felt strange to use the term
home
. His home for so long had been that fiery cavern. His home had been a pair of chains.

That was when he looked down at his arms.

Free.
Free
. His skin, raw and ragged as it was, pale, damp and weak it might be, but it was in the open air for the first time since … well … since. Naked in the cooler air after being in the scalding heat he was shivering so hard his teeth clacked like heavy sticks knocking together.

There was no one nearby. That did not surprise him. The entrance was located well above the sprawl of the
city. Xaxis was not the sort of god one wanted to spend too much time on or get too close to. He was worshipped out of fear. He was worshipped whenever someone died, the idea being that he could be convinced to turn a blind eye to the departed, allowing them to bypass the eight hells and be risen up to the heavens where they would reside in the house of brightness and glory. He was worshipped by those who dealt in death, who thrived in the causing of it, the needing of it. He had been considered to be a worshipper of death because he had dealt in war. And in war there was always death. But in truth it had been Weysa, the goddess of conflict, who had earned his devotion, and that was probably why she had come to him and none of his other brothers. They were all warriors, but in their own way. Garreth had not even been a part of his forces, preferring to take on quests of honor. Maxum was a gold-sword. Selling his sword for gold and going wherever the money was best, whether the cause was good or bad. And yet, Maxum had his own set of morals, his own limitations, his own rules.