Blood Of Gods (Book 3) (57 page)

Ceredon dropped to his knees, his head back as the demon’s maw rapidly descended on him. He couldn’t help but smile. It hadn’t mattered what anyone had done, how brave any of the soldiers had been in defending their lives. It didn’t matter how much magic they threw at the beast, how many arrows plinked against its hide. In the end, it was Boris Marchant’s version of the story of how the evil thing was defeated before that told him all he needed to know. Because of that, he finally understood the true meaning behind the words Celestia had whispered to him in Dezerea.
Become the
mountain
.

A mountain is resilient. A mountain stands unmoving and accepts whatever abuse nature brings upon it without complaint. A mountain offers up its surface as a sacrifice for all the creatures that call it home.

The descent of Darakken ceased.

The ground rumbled beneath Ceredon’s knees, shaking him to the core, but he didn’t move. He kept his gaze up, staring at the ancient demon as its fiery red eyes widened. It huffed, casting down a gust of breath that reeked of smoke and rotten meat. The thing then reared up on its hind legs, pawing at its chest.

Ceredon looked on in astonishment as the ground rose up around the beast, swallowing its hooves, its reverse-jointed knees. The earth rumbled once more, and Ceredon finally scurried backward as lances of stone burst from the ground, pointed tips driving into the demon’s hide, shattering its scales, making it bleed.
Demon’s blood,
Ceredon thought as he put more distance between himself and the demon.
Elf’s blood.

Spires continued to break out of the soil. One lanced
Darakken’s
shoulder. One broke through its clawed hand and exited the other side before embedding in its neck. One punctured its back, extending outward until it punched through the creature’s neck as well. The demon struggled, gurgling in pain, but only succeeded in thrusting the earthen spears deeper into its body.

Soon, at least a hundred of those granite lances locked the demon in place, bent upright. The blood continued to gush from each and every wound, but the flow slowed, the blood seeming to harden as it rolled over its scales, as if it were turning to mud, then clay, then solid granite. Its struggles diminished as well, and there was an audible
creak
each time a limb bent. The area beneath the demon’s scales, where its heart should have been, began to glow, and Ceredon swore he saw the darkened outline of a book in the center of the light. That light was soon covered over by a thick glob of soil-like blood that oozed from the demon’s throat.

Darakken’s scales slowly changed color, transforming from green-black and shimmering to a deep red and then to a pale shade of brown. Ceredon looked on in awe as those same scales seemed to calcify, nodules rising on them, covering them over, filling in the gaps between them. The thing was turning to stone before his eyes.

Become the mountain, indeed.

The earth swallowed the demon from the bottom up, snaking over the stone spires, congealing, becoming solid. The last thing Ceredon saw of the beast was its eye, the red now faded, as it rolled and stared down at him in both fear and hatred. Finally, that too was covered over by the upward cascade of dirt, clay, and stone.

Darakken was no more.

“That . . . how did you do that?” Ceredon heard the spellcaster named Turock ask.

Ceredon stood in front of what was now a stony hillock. The thing took up much of the clearing, closing his view of the forest behind. The soldiers who had survived the demon’s assault rounded the massive obstruction, some on horseback, most on foot, limping. Rachida, a woman Ceredon had met once long ago when Karak’s First Families visited Quellasar, rode elegantly into view. He
nodded
to her, and she nodded back before going about taking measure of her losses. Ceredon lifted his gaze to the sky, tears welling up. He faced north, toward Celestia’s hidden star, and whispered, “
Thank you.”

The deed is not yet done.
Her voice was an enraged whisper on the wind. Ceredon whirled around and faced the mob of Stonewood Dezren that lingered by the cliff’s edge. All their eyes were on the heavens, their expressions of relief washing away, replaced by confusion. Even Aully, Kindren, and Lady Audrianna, who had been striding toward him, stopped and stared. Had they heard the voice as well? Was that possible?

My children have disappointed me,
the goddess said, and sure enough the Dezren
did
hear, for many of them fell to their knees, breathing in panicked breaths.
You were blessed with lives longer than any other mortal beings, and yet those lives were squandered by hatred and war. Beauty was handed to you, and yet it was not enough. All you had was bartered to a childish god, for greed, for fleeting power and shallow pride. Such immaturity, such ugliness. I have stood aside and allowed you to err, but no longer. Your sins shall not be tolerated.

The elves surged forward, their pleading voices rising to the heavens, while the humans stood around and gawked at the scene, confused. Ceredon lowered his eyes and saw one elf standing out among the rest. For a moment, Ceredon was taken aback—the elf looked like a thinner, younger version of Cleotis Meln. The elf raised his hands to the sky.

“You owe us!” he shouted. “It was
you
who turned your back on
us
!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ceredon saw Aully glaring at the elf, her hands curled into fists.

The wind blew silently for a moment before Celestia spoke
once mor
e.

You were to be the wardens of humanity.
Her voice came from all around, on the wind and in the stillness between, and it was laced with fury.
And when your leaders refused, I accepted your choice. I let you be, with two simple doctrines: Protect the beauty of this world, and remain impartial in the affairs of man. Both have been broken, and those who have broken them, in all the lands you call home, shall be punished. No longer will you know beauty. No longer will your lives be long. You will only know an undying hunger, an empty pit in your souls where my love once resided. You will always remember all that you once had, and the knowledge that it is no longer yours will drive you mad.

Some of the gathered elves began weeping. Others shouted angry decrees at the heavens. Ceredon pivoted on his feet and walked toward Aullienna, gathering the young princess in his arms, holding her head to his chest. Kindren was soon there as well, followed by Aully’s mother. The four of them stood there amid the lament and anger, holding each other silently.

Vile children of mine, I revoke my love. Take my curse instead.

The land filled with the screams of a thousand voices. Ceredon, Aully, Kindren, and Lady Audrianna separated, looking all around them. One out of every two elves had dropped to the ground, where all of them writhed in pain. Among them was the elf who looked so much like Cleotis Meln. Their bodies contorted, their teeth bared. It looked as if there was another entity beneath their flesh, fighting to get out. Ceredon backed away from them, toward the hillock that had once been a demon, dragging the three frightened Dezren with him.

“Celestia, what is this?” he whispered.

He looked to the sky and saw a dark cloud approaching. It moved faster than any cloud he had ever seen before, churning and bulging, growing bigger and bigger on the horizon. He dragged Aully and the others a few steps onto the hill, keeping his eyes up, and as it drew nearer, he realized that what he saw was hundreds of winged horses, flying in formation, descending as they approached.

You faithful few, accept my sanctuary.

“Aully!” he shouted. “Kindren, Lady Audrianna, all of you who haven’t fallen, come!”

Ceredon raced up the rocky side of the steep hillock, the others on his heels. The winged horses were so close now that he could see the mist from their noses when they exhaled. He continued to climb, stumbling over loose stones, holding tight to Aully’s hand just in case she fell. The first of the horses broke away from
the rest
, sailing over his head, soaring toward the other side of the knoll, and pivoting in midair. It was a she, and she landed on the broad, flat surface at the top of the hillock, whinnying and snorting and kicking her hooves. Another of the winged horses landed just
behind her.

Ceredon raced for the mare, dragging Aully behind him. The horse bent her front legs, lowering herself so they could climb on her back.

“Two on each horse!” he shouted to the throng of elves as they crested the hillock’s short peak. More and more winged horses landed while the rest circled up above, waiting for space atop the narrow crest. Ceredon helped Aully onto the horse’s back and then climbed on in front of her. “Hold on to me tight,” he told her. He glanced over at Kindren, who was helping Lady Audrianna climb atop another of the majestic, winged beasts. The boy prince looked at him, and he dipped his head. “She will be safe,” Ceredon
told him
.

Their horse rose to her feet and galloped along the ridge. Then, she took to the air, her massive wings flapping. Wind blew through Ceredon’s hair; Aully’s arms squeezed his waist. The horse banked low and to the side, turning toward the east, and when she did so, Ceredon gaped in both horror and wonder at the scene down below. Elf by elf, winged horse by winged horse, the Dezren took to the sky behind him. The human soldiers had tried to scamper up the side of the hillock, but it was too steep, and they were slow, weighed down by their armor. The cursed elves had risen. Their skin was gray, their faces hideous, and they attacked the humans with a sort of bloodlust that made Ceredon’s skin crawl. Men screamed, swords clashed, blood spilled. Once more violence had come to Dezrel.

The winged horse pitched back to level out, and thankfully Ceredon could no longer see what was happening below. Soon, even the sound of the clash faded away as they soared higher and higher, rising above Stonewood Forest and the demolished city within the trees. He took in all he saw, and though the wind was freezing this high up, he barely felt it, for what filled his vision was beautiful.

“Where’s Kindren?” Aully shouted, still pressed against his back.

“Right behind us,” Ceredon called out over his shoulder. “With your mother.”

“And where are we going?”

“Home.” He couldn’t say where they’d find it, but he knew that’s where they were going.

C
HAPTER

50

V
elixar lay on his side, his blood leaking away as
Ashhur
towered above. Scarlet drops caught fire on the god’s shimmering blade. He couldn’t begin to interpret
Ashhur’s
stare. Was it anger? Regret? Or detachment, the curiosity of one who’d stepped on a strange insect?

All around them, those who had been fighting for Dezrel’s soul gawked.

“You,” Velixar gasped, and despite his grievous wound he tried crawling toward his former god. If only his power had been stronger. If only he hadn’t pushed his limits, if only his human body weren’t so pathetically weak. “You won’t . . . ”

The ruins of the castle shifted, followed by the
boom
of heavy footsteps that shook the ground. Ashhur looked away and lifted his sword. Velixar heard Ashhur sigh, and he knew Karak had finally emerged from the wreckage.

“You should not have come,” said Karak.

Ashhur’s mouth twitched, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

“You knew I would,” Ashhur said. “This conflict must end.”

It was pandemonium as those who had been battling in the gods’ names fled.

Karak was just beyond Velixar’s sight, and he turned his head to look. His god wore his brilliant armor; his short, dark hair was blown back by a breeze, and he held his fiery blade in both hands. His armor was stained with soot and clay, and a grim smile played across his face, eagerness in his eyes that burned greater than his sword. This battle, Velixar realized, both had been yearning to revisit since their fight in Haven ended in a draw. Damn the followers and armies and supplies and movements. There would be no retreat this time. Their blades were drawn, their power naked. Here they would fight until one of them would forever die.

Velixar’s fingers pressed against the blood-soaked cobbles, and he begged for strength. Only the magic of the ancient beast within him kept him alive, kept his rent body together, kept the blood pumping through severed veins. The pendant that had singed his chest pulsed with energy. It was agony, and took great concentration, but he would not die. Not yet. Before he passed, he would see a victor. The damn world owed him that much.

“What happened to the paradise we were to create?” Karak asked as he braced his back leg for a lunge. “What happened to the perfection we swore would blossom? We watched worlds burn. Ours was to be different. Ours was to be better. How did our creations fail us so?”

Ashhur settled low, readying his blade, preparing for the charge.

“They never failed us,” he said. “Not as much as we failed them, as
you
failed them.”

Karak’s smile spread full, and it was a look Velixar hardly
recognized
. His god seemed . . . crazed. Feverish. “You are right,” his deity said. “We gave them their free will. Knowing their imperfections. Knowing their sin. Every murder, every blasphemy, it is on our heads. It is our failure, our greatest failure, and once your body breaks before me, I will sweep across this land correcting it.”

Ashhur looked horrified.

“You would strip them of their will? Their choices? Their
very souls
? This conflict was your doing, not theirs.”

The fire on Karak’s blade burned all the greater.

“You still don’t understand?” he asked. “Life is chaos. Creation is stubborn and wild. There is only one way to obtain true order. Only one way to obtain true justice, yet you are too blind to see it.
Emptiness
, my brother. Pure, quiet, blissful emptiness. We were doomed the moment we stepped foot on this land and sought to create anything other than monuments to ourselves. Proud gods are we, but we must be prouder still. We must cast off these inferior beings, cast off our need for their love, our yearning for them to live and grow and understand things they will never truly comprehend. They will only know suffering, misery, and confusion before they succumb to their graves. You cannot cast dirt to the stars and expect it to understand the vastness, and that is all these humans are, the dust beneath our feet. Let me help you before it is too late. Before these wretched things, by their very existence, result in the death of a god.”

Velixar was in too much agony to understand it, his god’s words flowing over him like a frozen wind, their meaning horrifying yet so simple, so frighteningly believable, just like the vision of a burning, peaceful world Karak had shown him. Looking to Ashhur, he thought there was no way another perfect being could hear and not agree. What counter could Karak’s brother offer? What wisdom could he refute it with? The god stood still as a statue before the ruins of the castle as Karak waited for an answer. And when it came, it came with tears in Ashhur’s eyes.

“No,” he said, his deep voice but a whisper.

“Why?”
Karak asked, not hiding his frustration and
disappointment.

“Because I love them. And I will die to save them.”

Ashhur leapt forward. Velixar craned his neck to watch, his dying breaths stolen away. Ashhur’s sword swung, Karak blocked, and at their connection the very ground shook from the shock wave, further toppling the castle’s ruins. The massive throng of terrified onlookers shrieked. A mindless roar rumbled from Karak’s throat as he pushed back, muscles bulging, the world beneath him breaking from the strain. At last Ashhur relented, only to swing again. Sword striking, sword blocking, each became a blur, light and fire twirling, mixing. A chunk of the wall still standing was crushed beneath the might of their struggle. Suddenly it was a display Velixar no longer felt worthy to witness, and casting his eyes to the bloodstained cobbles beneath him he crawled, dragging his lower half behind him. He cried out in pain as he lurched over the remnants of one of the onyx lions that had guarded the castle portcullis. He had to be closer. What power he had left, he wished to give to his god. No matter what, Ashhur could not win. Not after all he, Velixar, had given . . . all he’d lost.

As Velixar crawled, his ears ringing from the awesome noise, he felt magic begin to grow around him. It was low at first, a tingle, but soon it seemed the very air was saturated by some ethereal presence. Velixar didn’t know what it was, but it made him afraid, and he crawled faster. His intestines threatened to burst out of him entirely with each movement, but he used the power within him to keep his flesh together, to hold on just a little bit longer. The gods were so close now, and a glance showed them deadlocked, their movements mirrored. No attack went unforeseen; no feint succeeded; every thrust was parried away.

“Karak,” Velixar groaned—another inch crawled. He was nearly deaf now from the riotous clash of the gods’ ethereal blades. Even the screaming host of humanity fell away. It seemed impossible that two weapons could make such a cacophony, but each connection between them was like the collision of worlds.

They had to see it, didn’t they? See how the air was turning a shade of green, how dark clouds swirled above them like the heart of a tornado? His terror grew. So thick with magic now, multicolored sparks shimmering in and out of existence everywhere he looked. Something, or someone, was coming.

Crawl!
He flung himself forward onto the remnants of the castle courtyard, strewn with rubble, without fear of the conflict, but only the deep innate sense he felt that somehow time was running out. The battling gods were close now, mere feet away. The dust vibrated before him; he saw a foot, and then he reached out. Just as he touched Karak’s heel, he heard a sound that shook through his body. It was like a crack of thunder, only greater, so much greater, and it carried the power of a goddess.

Time halted. His heartbeat froze. No blood dripped from his body. The ground vanished, and though he felt a smooth surface beneath him, there was nothing there but a blanket of stars that seemed to stretch out to infinity. Karak took a step, breaking
Velixar’s
touch, and suddenly he could not move, could not speak. He could only watch. Both gods turned to face the intruder, and to Velixar’s eyes she was a stunningly impossible vision. He felt an ache in the back of his mind as he tried to give form to the light shining before him. There was a face, a feminine form, hair like light, eyes like stars, and in seeing her, Velixar realized how
whole
she was. This was not the same goddess he had watched descend from the heavens to find comfort in Ashhur’s bed. This was
true
divinity. The brother gods, compared to her, were incomplete. They were broken, lacking her power, her authority. Right then, Velixar had no doubt that in her realm, the brother gods were mere interlopers.

“This ends,” Celestia said, hovering before them. Her voice was beautiful and terrifying. “No more destruction. No more wasted life. Only the two of you, as it always should have been. Find a victor.”

Karak and Ashhur lifted swords gleaming with energy, light, and fire. If they were upset with the goddess’s intervention, they did not show it. Instead, Ashhur’s brow furrowed, and his gaze narrowed with concentration as Karak grinned wide.

“There is only one possible victor,” said Karak. “We both know who is stronger. Your heart is soft, brother, and it will lead to your downfall.”

Ashhur braced for an attack.

“Too many of my children have died by your hand,” he said. “Come see how little mercy for you is left in my heart.”

Karak lunged, his sword lashing out, and when Ashhur blocked, it seemed all of eternity shook from the impact. The blades pressed harder and harder against each other, until it seemed they intertwined completely, fire and light swirling together. When they pulled back, neither god appeared fazed in the slightest. Up and around went Karak’s sword, swiping wide for Ashhur’s side. He blocked again, and the shock wave was just as strong, the impact fusing the weapons together once more. Mouth hanging open, Velixar watched as they repeated the dance again and again, sometimes Ashhur taking the offensive, most times not.

This wasn’t like Haven. That wasn’t even close to the battle he’d just witnessed. For once, Velixar saw the gods not bound by flesh, but by something different, something more. The strength of their blades was no longer dependent on the strength of their muscles. Both their eyes shone white with power, and as their intensity increased, so too did their visages grow otherworldly. They were men standing on stars, swinging blades amid the heavens, beings of strength and power that made the very cosmos shudder. Force of will drove them on. Time, already an elusive thing, became meaningless, and Velixar was nothing but a spectator, his own heart not beating, his lungs never once drawing in a breath of air.

Strike. Parry. Swing. Block. On and on, a dance unending, neither able to surprise the other, neither able to bring down his brother with either power or strength. If it tired them or gave them pause, neither showed it. A thousand times their blades struck, then a thousand times more. Through it all watched the goddess, her luminous form saying nothing, only silently waiting for the end.

And then, just when it seemed they would endure forever, their battle stretching on as infinite as the field of stars they warred within, Velixar saw Karak’s blade slow. It wasn’t much, just the faintest spark of white across the tip. It was the goddess, Velixar knew. It had to be. His god would not fail. He felt seething rage in his breast as Ashhur’s sword slipped over the block, through Karak’s armor, and into his chest. It plunged in deep, and instead of shadow, shimmering crimson blood poured forth. A symbol of how weak they were when confronted with true power. Karak stood there for an endless moment, mouth open, his fiery blade vanishing into the ether.

And then he fell.

Velixar wanted to scream, to cry out, but he was helpless. There would be no denying the goddess, not then and there, her collected might gathered and furious. Whatever terror he’d known, it only magnified. Karak had lost. Ashhur was victorious.

“I’ve won,” Ashhur said as Karak knelt before him, clutching his bleeding chest. Karak glared at him but said nothing, would not admit defeat even then. Velixar waited for the horrible moment when the final blow would come, wishing he could shut his eyes, but unable to do even that.

“You have,” Celestia said, and it seemed she grew closer, more human. “But what does your victory mean?”

Ashhur seemed perplexed by the question. He looked down at his sword, stained with the blood of his brother, the blood of a god. His fist tightened. The glow of the blade brightened.

“I end it,” he said.

“There is another way,” Celestia said, and she hovered between them, a ghostly presence. “Let him suffer exile to the world you came from. I allowed your entrance, and I can deny it just the same.”

Still Karak said nothing. Velixar wished his god would object, would cry out at the injustice. Celestia had interfered—did they not all see? The whore had broken the dance, tipped it to her lover. Ashhur was not the stronger. He was not!

“Another way,” Ashhur said, gaze boring into Karak, who shuddered and held tight to the oozing wound in his chest.

“Or you can take his life,” Celestia whispered, and it seemed her voice echoed from a thousand directions. “Take his power into your own. All of Dezrel will be yours, if you desire it. Make your choice.”

Up came the sword. Velixar couldn’t imagine the debate raging within Ashhur, but he could see a glimpse of it. He could see the pain, the exhaustion, the indecision, the doubt and fondness. But then he saw it all replaced by a glimmer, a hint of something he’d seen in Darakken, and in himself. A longing for power. When did a god ever resist power?

Down came the sword.

“STOP!”

Ashhur’s sword shattered. Eternity quivered. The goddess stood between them as a flaring nova, and there was no denying the fury that overwhelmed her every word.

“You still seek blood?” she asked as both gods lifted up, helpless in her grip. “You, Ashhur, my lover . . . you would seek power over mercy? You, Karak, you would have death and emptiness if it granted you order? You entered my world through my grace, my desire to save you, and you have ruined it with fire, flooded it with beasts, and spilled the blood of your own children. I will not have it, even if I must be the one to pay the cost.”