Tower of the Arkein: Kan Savasci Cycle Book 2, page 18
The cliffs that rose to either side of the River Lif were sheer walls of immense beauty. They had the appearance of having been sculpted and smoothed over the centuries. Veins of marble colored the walls, creating patterns that the mind struggled to understand.
The cliffs were highlighted in rays of light under a still and quiet sun. A startling blue sky watched over thick puffs of white clouds that billowed about lazily. The morning air was cool, and the subtle texture of history weighed upon the gentle breeze.
“We’re getting close,” the archduchess said, approaching Aeden.
Aeden looked up, surprised she had ventured out into the sunlight.
Alina had spent the entire prior day and night in the shelter of her cabin. Perhaps she had simply come for some fresh air. He didn’t care the reason. She was out, and he was happy.
“Close to what, my lady?” Aeden asked.
She pointed ahead to the gentle curve in the river. The cliff walls on either side grew narrower and even taller still.
“Godsend’s Pass,” she said reverently.
Aeden nodded his head, as if he knew what she was talking about. Verold was huge. In the last couple of years, he had seen more of it than he had ever imagined, yet he knew that he had only scratched the surface. There still lay vast continents unexplored, unclaimed islands beckoning the adventurous, and places that lay uncharted and unseen by human eyes.
He had read about The Great Mysteries of Winter’s Bind, The Forbidden Forests of Varna, the wild tribes of Dimutia, and only a scattering on the great empire that once was Templas, yet the more he read, the more ignorant he felt on the vast span of history that was Verold.
Aeden’s revere on the breadth of his ignorance was interrupted by movement. He noticed one of the crewmen join the other at the front of the barge. He then glanced out along the portion of water before them. They were alone. No other rivercraft was within sight. The waters were moving quicker as the river narrowed, but never dangerously so.
As they rounded the great bend, the clouds parted and shafts of light fell upon the rock sculptures of Godsend’s Pass. There, stood immense carvings of each member of the Scapan, the Old Gods; Anat, Ansuz, Baal, Balder, Bellas, Enlil, Gauri, Ghut, Huta, Kegal, Kurat, Marduk, and Zhov.
They stood proudly on the southern side of the River Lif. Each crafted in such detail, one would have thought the sculptor had just finished yesterday.
Aeden studied each in open-mouthed awe. Here they were. Here were the gods of his people, The Thirteen. Here was a reminder of his failure to avenge the fallen villagers of S’Vothe and free them from their semi-mortal coils.
“They’re amazing aren’t they,” Alina whispered.
Aeden looked over. She was closer now, studying his expression. She seemed amused by his amazement. He closed his mouth, his face turning slightly red. He normally masked his emotion the way a fire gecko masked its scent.
“We had something similar back home, the Sacred Pools we called them, but,” Aeden paused taking a moment to study every lovely line that made up Alina’s face, “they were nothing so large and impressive as this,” he broke his gaze and gestured to the statues.
“You see that one there,” Alina pointed to the tallest in the center, “that’s Magis, many believed him to be the most powerful of the old gods.”
“We called him Ansuz,” Aeden said quietly.
Alina turned to look at him. Her face oddly passive.
“What did you say?”
Aeden peeled his gaze from the monolithic carvings to return her look. Had he said something he shouldn’t have?
“Ansuz, my lady,” he said, wondering if she was upset by his lack of formality.
He still had great difficulty with formality.
“That’s his old name, banned by Church Doctrine and smutted by Salvare himself.”
The archduchess had taken on a more formal tone. Her voice was serious and her face was once again an unreadable mask. Aeden was taken aback. Furthermore, he could have sworn Blaise had used the name Ansuz, but it’s possible he simply interchanged the names in his head.
“Then how do you know?” Aeden asked, curiosity consuming any sense of propriety.
Alina opened her mouth to speak then caught herself. She glanced back over her shoulder. Yates was using a piece of silver to examine his reflection. Dixon leaned against the far side of the barge, silently studying the sculptures. The Bodigan stood by the doorway watching over everything.
Aeden glanced to the fore of the ship, catching sight of a crewmember making a religious gesture and mumbling quite words of prayer.
“I didn’t know,” Aeden finally said, relinquishing the point.
“Of course,” Alina continued, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She took in a breath, her features softened and she continued, “and that one is Gauri, wife of Chronum. She was the goddess of love and purity.”
Aeden nodded. He knew Chronum as Kegal, the guardian of the Fire Mines of Janam.
“We believed that Gauri tempered Chronum the Destroyer,” Aeden said, once more risking impropriety at a chance to entertain the archduchess, at the very least to maintain her interest, and in a valiant effort to see her smile, “She was the only one he ever loved. After he split Verold and set time flowing, she curbed his rage and tempered his strength, so that life could spring forth and cover the lands.”
The archduchess looked up at the stone carving of Gauri, standing regally next to Chronum. A serpent coiled between their outstretched arms, linking them together in a union of eternal love.
“It’s the oldest love story of all time,” she said wistfully.
“But not the greatest,” Aeden interjected.
Alina looked over to him and raised an eyebrow, “You’ve read of Lady Ella and Prince Mazin?”
Aeden wrinkled his brow, “No, I was talking about Ans…Magis,” he corrected himself, “and his wife Bellas.”
“Bellas despised him,” Alina responded quickly.
“Only after the Great Schism. She had grown saddened by all the death and destruction the war had caused. She had fallen silent for a hundred years. Magis had become sick from fighting the other gods and had become reclusive. Yet he never stopped loving her, and he used his final piece of strength to reshape a small corner of Verold.
“He created a space so beautiful, and so different, that many have gone mad trying to find it. And when he took Bellas to see what he had created, she smiled, laughed, and spoke again. Her words caused flowers to grow and the sun to shine.”
Aeden stopped talking and looked at Alina. What was it about her that so captivated him?
“The story is far more complex than that you know,” the archduchess said.
Aeden’s smile faded. She often made him feel like a boy instead of a man. It was infuriating and embarrassing. Of course he knew more. He grew up listening to the stories of the gods, the history of the Thane, and the shaping of Verold. He had listened to Blaise tell stories night after night when he had been banned from kayles. He had read every book he could while in the monasteries of Bodig and Treton.
“Do you care to elaborate?” Aeden asked, curbing his tongue.
Alina smiled.
“You’re competitive,” she said.
“Of course I am, I’m of the Thane!”
Alina regarded him for a moment, before looking at the final rock carving, it was of Zhov. He held the egg of a draccus fiend in one hand and a book in the other.
“How about this,” she proposed, “I’ll tell you one of my favorite stories if you tell me about your home.”
Aeden suddenly looked away. He was torn. For the Thane don’t speak of the dead, except on their name day. Yet, he wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to see her smile. Perhaps, he would tell her of what life had been like. He didn’t need to tell her about the fateful day his village was destroyed. Instead, he’d tell fun stories of happier times.
“Deal.”
Alina smiled, “you first.”
“My lady, I think it only fair you begin,” Aeden said.
He noticed she was itching to tell her story. He also wasn’t sure what he’d say yet.
She smiled and glanced aft. The clouds closed once again, casting the cliffs in shadow. The old gods were now hidden by the veil of history, and the gentle curve of the River Lif.
“Very well,” she began, “This is a story about Huta, Balder, Enlil, and the Scrolls of Destiny…”
The boat had passed beyond Godsend’s Pass and the river slowly widened. Aeden didn’t notice. He was too enthralled by Alina and her story.
Chapter 39
“Dup Shimati perpetrates the myth of a secret to the universe, when faith is all that is required to understand Salvare’s great creation.” A Study of Theology, Abbot Jamis of Gemynd
Few know that the most powerful of the old gods was Enlil. It was said that his power was so great that not even the other gods could look upon him for fear of burning their eyes to ash. It was his humility and wisdom that tempered his greatness and cast him in the shadow of the other gods. His power was derived from the Scrolls of Destiny, in which the very fate of the universe was inscribed. Every detail of what happened, was happening, and would happen was written. Every secret of the underlying principles of the universe were encapsulated in three special scrolls contained within cylinders of pure magic.
Magis was the first to have seen one of the scrolls.
Enlil was tasked with watching over the scrolls day and night. He grew weary after many years without rest. Magis saw this and befriended the tired god and earned his trust. Magis, however, wasn’t concerned with friendship, for what he craved was power.
It was when Enlil was at his weakest that Magis convinced him to rest. Magis told Enlil, that as his friend, he would watch over the Scrolls of Destiny while Enlil slept.
Tired and trusting, Enlil agreed. He handed over the scrolls. But before he did, he enchanted them, protecting them with powerful magic. He called upon the power of the sun, the stars, the oceans, and the wind and cast them within shell-like wards.
Enlil glanced one last time at the scrolls before falling into a deep slumber.
As Enlil slumbered, Magis used every piece of magic he knew to open the scrolls. For nine long years, he struggled. He cast the weight of the wind, the force of the earth, and the power of water upon the cylinders.
He then sat upon the ground, tired, and frustrated. A bird flew to him and sang its sweet song. It was then that one of the cylinders opened. Within, lay the scroll of shaping. Magis studied and learned everything he could. He read until his eyes burned with exhaustion.
On the tenth year of Enlil’s slumber, Enlil finally awoke to discover his scrolls were missing. He searched until he found Magis and uncovered his deceit. Pain and anger claimed him. He cried until Verold flooded. He shouted so that thunder pierced the sky and lightning struck the earth below, creating the Chasm of Dimutia.
Enlil vowed to never allow another to witness the power he held. Enlil knew that for Magis, it was too late, for Magis had learned the words to shape Verold.
It was then that Enlil cast himself in silvery strands of midnight. It was so dark and so bright that not even the gods could look upon him. He then receded into the sky, far from the reach of the other gods.
With Enlil gone, Magis re-shaped Verold, creating wonders yet unknown. Marduk fled to the seas and dwelled among the fishes. Zhov fled to the Fire Islands to the north, along with Balder.
Huta, Magis’ son, remained. He watched as his father shaped the earth. He grew jealous as his father wielded such a great power.
Wishing for power of his own, Huta created men. He shaped them from the clay before him and breathed life into them so that they’d worship and love him. But still Huta felt dissatisfied. Huta, son of Magis, was not happy that his father knew what he did not. The words to shape Verold enticed him into a blind rage.
It was then that Huta vowed to learn what his father had stolen.
Huta spent one long year, thinking and planning. For he knew his father was cunning and Enlil was most powerful. He realized that he would need help if his plan were to succeed.
Huta sought out Balder, knowing that Balder was cunning, ambitious, and evil. It was Balder who had stolen the golden egg from Zhov. It was Balder who had allowed the egg to hatch and thereby introduced the first draccus fiend to Verold. Finally, it was Balder who had tamed the beast and became its rider, its master, ridere af tannin.
So Huta, son of Magis, searched far and wide for Balder. He took to the skies as the form of a great bird, but had no luck. He delved into the realm of Marduk, the great god-king of the sea, yet found nothing but fish and darkness. Huta then entered the fiery underworld of Kegal. There he found pain and suffering, flame and stench, but no Balder.
Then Huta remembered the twin lovers Anat and Baal. They were masters of gossip, the knowers of secrets. If any knew where Balder was, it would be them.
He set out to find the twin gods and question them as to the whereabouts of Balder. He searched far and wide, looking upon the Shrouded Mountains, beyond the white sands of the A’sh, and in the deepest jungles of Dimutia.
He found them in what’s now known as Nailsea, just south of the Dath River.
“Brother and sister, I seek Balder,” Huta declared.
Anat laughed and Baal scowled.
“You seek trouble,” Baal said.
“No brother, I seek peace,” Huta responded.
Anat ran her hands through Baal’s long hair, calming her sibling lover.
“If you wish, I can remain here and call upon my father to reshape these lands,” Huta said with a glean in his eye.
Baal’s eyes grew dark and angry. It was Anat that spoke.
“We seek no quarrel, we’ll tell you where Balder is, but first you must make a promise,” she said.
Huta looked upon her, then to the angry eyes of Baal.
“What is the promise?”
Anat whispered quiet, sweet words into Baal’s ear before turning to Huta. Her face was serious and earnest.
“You must give us a piece of whatever you find,” she finally said.
Huta remained silent as he thought long and hard. He knew that his word was his bond. For among the gods, words have power and meaning.
Huta then thought of the untold power he would yield. He was so consumed by his passion to uncover greater talent that he did not stop to think of anything else.
“I agree,” Huta finally replied.
Anat then spat upon the ground, creating a lake of trust, binding Huta to her and starting the flow of the Dath River. Baal, however, did not spit for he did not agree with Anat. He spoke of war and fire and death. Anat would not listen.
Turning away from her lover, Anat spoke, “Balder is to the north on the Isle of Fire.”
Huta bowed to her and left them to their lover’s quarrel. It was a quarrel that lasted a hundred years and split the sky with rain and lightning, soaking the lands and destroying the crops.
When Huta finally arrived upon the great chain of islands to the north, he yelled out for Balder. His voice echoed off the barren landscape and tore through the rising clouds of acrid smoke.
It was on the third day that he found the god he was looking for. There, in the distance, on the great blackened wings of a draccus fiend, Balder finally showed himself. The draccus fiend belched terrible flames and rumbled a savage warning, but Balder held the keys of protection.
“What do you seek?” Balder asked from his mount atop the great beast.
Huta stood back, weary of the great beast. He knew the power of the draccus fiend, born of magic, molded from the death of Zhov.
“An alliance for greater power,” Huta responded.
Balder remained mounted. He did not trust Huta, or any of the other gods.
“Why should I trust your words?”
Huta had expected such a question and responded.
“Because I seek none other than the Dup Shimati…” he said.
Balder saw the truth in Huta’s eye and dismounted his great beast. He joined the son of Magis and schemed. Plotting their method to distract Enlil long enough to steal the Scrolls of Destiny and uncover the heart of the universe.
Chapter 40
“A single thread binds us, wrapping Verold in a shroud of vibrating energy that we call life.” Anonymous – Tower of the Arkein
Aeden stared at the archduchess, waiting for her to continue.
“Is there more?” he finally asked when he saw she wasn’t going to finish her story.
The archduchess raised an eyebrow and smiled. She liked having a sense of power over a member of the Thane.
“My lady,” her large personal body guard said as he approached.
Alina looked up and a lock of her dark hair fell across her face. Aeden wanted to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. He caught himself, surprised at his lack of discipline. It was as though her mere presence stripped him of the control he so coveted.
“Yes?”
The large man nodded his head upriver.
“We’re coming upon Rocky Point,” he said.
Alina nodded and glanced once at Aeden. Her face was thoughtful with the barest hint of a smile. It was like the final remnants of dew on a late Sumor morning.
“You still owe me,” she said, as a more serious expression fell upon her.
Alina walked back to the cabin and Aeden stood there watching her leave. He had been so consumed by the story that he had forgotten he was on a small barge with Yates, Dixon, the Bodigan and two crewmen.
Aeden leaned on the side railing and looked ahead. One of the crewmen held a line upon his hands preparing for their arrival. The other stood ready to leap onto the pier.
“Story time is done,” Dixon said flatly.
Aeden didn’t reply. He didn’t yet know how to read the man. Was he making a joke?
Ahead, there was a rock outcropping reaching for the sky. It was a lone finger of stone in an otherwise flat expanse. It had the appearance of a sculpted tower covered in bits of green.
A single pier jutted out from the shoreline. It was old and weathered.
