Cursed by Fire (2 page)

And then … then the gods had come. With a mighty storm of fury, clouds full of lightning and thunder, snow driving them down to the ground, the ground itself hauling and shuddering with rage. Oh yes, they had come.

You dare steal this reward when you have not deserved it in our eyes? You dare to do so without permission, without honor? You will pay for your folly, foolish, arrogant worms. You will pay for your immortality with blood and bone and flesh. We cannot take this gift back, but we can see to it you wish you had never dared to think you could push the hands of the gods to your will and your liking
.

Then Dethan had been thrown down from that mountain and into the deepest chamber in the eight hells and had been left there to burn. He did not know what had become of his brothers, Garreth, Jaykun, and Maxum. He could only assume they had been thrown into similar caverns and were suffering similar fates. He had been alone ever since, day after day, with nothing to keep his interest and nothing but the fire for company.

So Dethan was not prepared when, just as the fires were about to roar to life once more, the softest waterfall of sparkling light appeared before his eyes. It started small, with just a falling dot of light, then two, then twenty, then hundreds. The sparkling bits of light began to form into the shape of a woman. Then, in a flash, a woman of dark hair and blinding beauty was standing before him.

He blinked hard several times, trying to rid himself of the vision. It would not be the first time he had hallucinated under the stress of his torment. But there she stayed and there she stood, wearing a dress so glittering and beautiful it refracted the firelight like diamonds might do. Or perhaps kitomite, which was harder and more brilliant than diamonds. Yes, that was it. The
dress, he realized, was a suit of chain-mail armor, fitting her form with perfection and looking as stunning and impervious as it must be if made from kitomite.

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 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 and subsequently banished him to this place in the eight hells, so it was no wonder that he recognized her once he had seen past the blinding brilliance of that armor. 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 being seared in a pan.

She regarded 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 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 shall 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, again surprising him. “Things have changed greatly since the times when you 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 choose my enemies over me.”

Dethan remained 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 grown 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 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 also 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 in 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 tranquillity.”

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

“Your thoughts do you justice, low beast. Kitari has been swayed by these other gods. I believe she is held hostage more than she has sided with them. They together have the power to subdue her in spite of her great powers. And that is part of your goal. You will be gaining worshippers for me and the other gods who side with me. By doing this I believe I will be able to rescue Kitari 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 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 take you above the hells and you must begin your work. But be warned: You do not go freely. You are cursed ever after, 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.” She looked over her shoulder again and this time Dethan saw true anxiety on her features. “I must go now. Fight, warrior, as
you have never fought before. Find an army. Fight to take my name to the people. Fight until the day I deem your worth restored. 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, Dethan found himself standing at the mouth of one of the four 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 others placed upon the face of Ethos. One he knew was underwater. 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 he had no clothing, so he stood 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 dead 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 ages 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?