He knew it had been enough, but Elal gave the glowing blade one more strike, showering sparks that sprayed everywhere but caught nothing alight. That last one had been for personal satisfaction, to vent the frustration he felt. His medium frame and angled features belied his strength, but his callused hands spoke to the truth of his profession. He dropped the hammer, reflecting on what he had felt earlier, one hand still holding the shining molten blade. He had felt the sheer power, the massive energy that had been released somewhere close by, north. In Cetelian city proper. North of Elal's quiet cabin retreat, where only customers and Ayvare, his single friend, ventured.
Elal had so treasured his obscurity, but something had happened tonight, something that threatened an end to his anonymity, perhaps an end to a many things.
what has she done?
He thrust the bright blade into the water. Through the rising steam he could almost make out hints of faces, events, indistinct like that idea on the tip of your tongue, a wavering mirage. He rose, turned to his workbench and lifted a different blade, a completed blade, that hummed as it kissed the air. Elal went outside into the chilled air, standing in the same spot he had stood countless nights, wondering at when it all might change. He had remembered how to correctly mix the elements to create this blade, indistinct from any blade unless you had the vision. But the God of Memory knew that he could not forget the recipe or most anything else, and this very fact caused him to come out here every night to contemplate the irony of his situation. He was the God of Memory and yet his recall was suspect and severely limited, like the rest of the Six Who Seek. But when they had first awoken, it had been him who named them from memory, one by one, by reflex and nothing more. He would never reveal that it had been impulse, that he may very well had condemned them to the roles they now filled, by some cosmic accident. Tell a God they're a God of Truth, they're liable to believe you.
they'd already known what they were, even if they didn't remember where we came from, what we are. I can hardly feel him now, he's hardly there at all. Oh, Sondi...
"Should I root out that poor blade's mother for recompense, I heard you beating it mercilessly" Ayvar drawled from behind Elal, to the left. "Are you a blacksmith or a bondsman, you were striking that blade as though it owed you a debt. You're troubled..." Somewhere between apple and pear-shaped, Ayvare was an older man with a rapidly developing bald spot on the back of his head. His gangly legs were covered by the same robe he had worn for what seemed like a full twenty years. But It wasn't just the man's appearance or companionship that kept him an unwitting friend to the God of Memory, though he was congenial and intelligent enough. He was also a Demonologist, an adept of what passed for the highest order, on this planet. He had been Charter Mage for three successive campaigns on this continent alone, and his history suggested more than he ever cared to share. He ambled forward to stand beside Elal, the blade in his hand the same he carried every night, always bared. His wheeze escaped into the chilled night air, a passing fog that rose up and out of sight, out of mind.
it's time. I'll need Ayvare and his demons sooner than I care to admit.
"Ayvare," Elal began, but was promptly cut off by the pudgier old mage.
"You're a God," Ayvare finished. "I know."
"And you're a demonologist," Elal had managed to disguise any surprise the old mage had stirred in him. He shouldn't have been able to know that. How did he know that?
"It's what I've come about, Elal. Something's happened. My magic, it's," He raised his hand up, palm down. A sprout broke through the ground and unfurled, began to ascend up and up. His eyes rolled into white orbs and his chant took on the myth of history that only Elal, a God, could remember. The stalk rotted and grew in size, then folded in upon itself to once again look alive. This shouldn't have been possible.
The thrum of the old Mage's chant drew Elal back into memory, into that which was his power and curse. The God of Memory, bathed in the fell pulsing light of the Demonologist's magic, tumbled into the past, if only in his mind...
I remember the winter that year had anticipated the bodies that would litter the nearby meadow turned killing ground, and had provided ample snow to preserve the memory of war in the corpses of soldiers. Sondi had sent message via bird that Khyr's forces had started marching, with the God himself in the vanguard. I rode out that day, to stay the hand of the God of Domination, as we'd done, and would do, so very many times.
I know we'll repel him in this time, as we have for time immemorial, on many worlds. Still, something feels different. Sondi... what have you done?
The God of Memory returned to the now as Ayvare was finishing the demonstration of his enhanced abilities. The stalk had tripled in size and then had returned to a seed lying upon the dirt. "I'm stronger, Elal. Something's changed. I woke up in my third rest, unable to resist canting. It was like something had taken hold of me, forced me to magic. When I approached tonight, I suddenly knew what you were, what you'd been all along. It was as clear as day. You're a God, and not the only one."
"Wait here," the God of Memory ordered the Demonologist, turning for his cabin.
"Your wish is my command... my lord," Ayvare murmured at Elal's retreating back, too low to be heard.
When the God returned, the blade was scabbarded and slung across his back, firmly secured. He was pleased to find Ayvare glowering at him, unimpressed.
Elal and Ayvare arrived at the Yawning Maw Tavern a little past midnight, to a quiet room where only several people dotted the tables in the serving area. Most were drinking, and none paid any mind to two travelers, especially to the old Demonologist. But Sondi had spotted Elal the moment he had stepped foot inside the Maw, and had averted her gaze. It was impossible to see his mortal figure, not when she knew the energy inside the flesh, knew it intimately. But the Queen of Truth had her own reasons, which reason knew nothing of, and insisted on her ways. She would play coy, and would dodge questions until her motives finally made themselves clear. She was as incomprehensible as ultimate truth, and just as slippery. Elal would play her game, though, would speak with her alone if he had to erase the memory of everyone in the Yawning Maw, an act he was repulsed to consider. He had to know, what she'd been up to, what had happened to Khyrs, why everything felt so different this time? She was currently boxing the ears of a young man behind the bar, so he would sit and wait. Manners were, after all, next to godliness.
Ayvare settled into his chair beside Elal, glowering at the young tavern girl who shone like a sun that only he could see.
His attentions were not lost on Sondi.
The Sisters Life and Death neared Cetelian, the expanse between them changing with the approach. Life giggled, elbowing death in the ribs and drawing a stern stare from her sister. The water was retreating, sinking down to leave the city a sore thumb thrusting up from a bed of mud.
"Come on, Dee, don't be sour. This is what we do, why we're here."
Death walked away, the air freezing behind her as she traced a path several paces away from her sister, to look out at the city in the distance. The city they would visit upon. She needed a moment. Unlike her sister, Death was very concerned about the effect her power had on others. She wasn't sure Life understood that creation necessitated destruction. Her blind optimism often left fields of the dead for Death to handle.
Life approached Death, coming to stand quietly by her side, her arm now looped and linked with her sister. "I know, Dee. This isn't a game. Everything begins anew, and that usually means a messy end. I'm not excited, Dee. I'm concerned," Life's forehead creased as she studied the distant city, her eyes seeing something else entirely.
The Sister Death summoned the blade to her hand that lent her cold comfort when there was none within she could call forth. She hated this role of death, this role Elal had revealed to her, so long ago now as to no longer matter. Death did felt comforted, the weight of her summoned blade grounding her in a way that she could not explain, only appreciate.
"Come on, Lee, let's go," Death said, breathing deeply and steeling herself, "How long has it been since we've seen them, a hundred years?"
Life fought hard, but in the end a small giggle squeaked from between the fists that covered her mouth. Dee walked off, muttering.
"Sorry. Sorry," Life said, hurrying to catch up to her sister and goose stepping through the sodden ground where once a lake stood, and where any mortal would sink.
PART I
Thank you for reading the second installment in "Of Gods and Ends."
With Life and Death's arrival in Cetelian, a convergence is at hand. Fell powers gather around a crystal shard universe, where the God of Domination waits.
Where's the Sixth Seeker? Witness revelation next time in "Of Gods and Ends - 3 of 3".
All images were obtained@:
http://www.freeclassicimages.com/
Prufarchy