False Gods Read online

  His congregation was assembled as they did each day. Several hundred gathered close, awaiting their God, hungry for wisdom and healing. He climbed the short steps and stood upon the altar, raising his arms, searching the faces before him.

  “I feel your need, your hunger,” his voice resonated: a booming echo from the mountainside. “I will satisfy your desires. Focus your thoughts on me. Whatever sickness plagues you, whatever you wish for your life, ask it of me, and I will deliver it.”

  Everyone dropped to their knees, heads down, hands stretched out before them. The murmur of three-hundred prayers—like waves breaking on a rocky shore. The sound built to a crescendo, amplified by the stone.

  Kavan felt the power course through him. All the attention, the focus of all those souls, forcing stray Orphic energy into his body, more than he could ever summon alone. He glowed, starting at the top of his head—the golden light enveloped him, moving down his body, becoming brighter. He chanted in the speech they’d taught to the adepts, waves of light pulsing from his body, passing through the masses.

  “Eriod falen dae, cassius mystiae, enactus!” He spoke it several times, each louder than the last—the final utterance accompanied by a bolt of luminous golden lightning from a clear sky, striking the center of the altar before him—a deep crack of thunder from overhead. The reverberation threw everyone to the ground—they writhed in joy, filled with the power of their God, the remnants of the golden glow fading from their bodies.

  Kavan stepped down from the altar and motioned a black-robed Herald to his side. The Herald followed his God down the smooth stone path, careful to stay one pace behind—the silver staff he carried made a metallic noise as it struck the stones, in time with his steps. At the entrance to the cave, Kavan turned, his dull black eyes capturing those of the Herald. “I need you to relay a message.”

  The Herald nodded, saying nothing. His grip on the silver staff tightened, his knuckles white.

  “Go to Mordus,” Kavan said. “You know where to find him?”

  The Herald nodded, fear creeping across his face. “But my Lord, they will kill me on sight…”

  Kavan grasped the black knob on the Herald’s staff. Releasing the energy he’d gained from the ceremony, he infused the staff with power. Golden light flowed from his hand, down the staff, surrounding the Herald.

  “Delius visio null.”

  The Herald’s body and staff shimmered like the surface of a waterfall, becoming thinner until he was invisible to all but Kavan.

  “There, only Mordus will see you—his Heralds will not perceive your presence. When he discovers you, show him this,” Kavan removed the small black capsule-shaped object from the pocket of his robe, it was covered with glowing pale-green runes. He placed it in the Herald’s outstretched hand, “before he turns you to dust.”

  “Y-yes, my Lord,” the Herald stuttered. “What is the message?”

  “Tell him; the past may have caught up with him.”

  Chapter Three

  Alisha followed Dalo through the streets of Erador Prime. She watched him as they walked. He wore hardened leather armor with metal reinforcements, ornate silver bracers encircled his forearms, too expensive for a common man. His Zyrsteel spaulders were inlaid with golden Draggons; she had never seen their quality, not even on the armor Garrian and Eustas owned. He was tall, half-a-head more than Garrian, and broad. He reminded her of a bull—subtle power—deceptive agility.

  His jet-black hair was tied back with a thin leather band, the tail brushing the hilt of his broadsword. The sword pommel was gold, engraved with the image of a Draggon’s head, the dark leather-wrapped grip showing darker stains of blood. The scabbard was hand-tooled leather with silver bindings. A plasma pistol hung from his belt.

  “Where are we going, Dalo?” Alisha asked him, almost out of breath.

  Dalo glanced over his shoulder. Seeing she was having trouble keeping up, he slowed his pace. Walking together now, he smiled and answered. “We need to see a woman—I think you know her. We’re going to Cirrus.”

  “Cirrus?” Alisha gasped, stopping in the middle of the road. Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “What do you know that I don’t? And why should I follow you to Cirrus? I mean, I just met you…”

  Dalo smiled, the tenderness in his eyes disarmed her. He placed one large hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She felt as though she’d known him her entire life.

  “I am playing a role, Sorceress, much as you are.” Dalo removed his hand and adjusted the strap across his chest, holding the sword in place. “As for not knowing me, you have the pledge I made to you earlier. No harm shall come to you in my presence. That’s the best I can do for now, as explanations go.”

  “But there is something you’re not telling me…” She said, watching his face.

  Dalo averted his gaze, looking at the street before them, and behind. “There is always something we are not told, Sorceress; I‘ve come to understand over the years. The question is, will you do what is necessary, regardless? Most people will not.”

  She placed her hands on his cheeks, staring into his eyes. The soft light from the streetlamps illuminated his face. The pain was still there; sincerity too. Maybe he wasn’t telling her the whole truth, but she could find no deception.

  Alisha turned in the direction they were walking and strode off. “Fine, let’s go.”

  ***

  Eustas felt his shoulders impact the hallway wall; he winced in pain. Garrian’s hands twisted into the lapels of his uniform jacket, pushing him back, holding him tight. He saw the rage in his son’s face, felt his hot breath and the spit flying from the corners of his mouth. He understood the anger, had expected it, but it was unavoidable.

  “What do you mean, you sent my wife to Cirrus?” Garrian’s face contorted; his eyes were thin slits. “And with a stranger... How could you not tell me?”

  “Because I knew you would insist on going with her,” Eustas said, “and that’s not where I need you to be.”

  Garrian released his hold and stepped back, glaring at his father.

  “You need…” Garrian laughed: a cold, bitter sound. “It’s still the same, isn’t it? Always about what you need...”

  Eustas straightened the front of his jacket. He watched Garrian pace back and forth in front of him. The remaining Senators cast glances at the pair as they passed, headed for the exit. Eustas smiled as they walked by, slapping a few on the shoulder. At last, they were alone.

  “Dalo is no stranger, Garrian. I’ve known him the better part of his life. He’s my best friend’s son and the most dangerous man on Erador. She is safe, I assure you.”

  “Your assurances don’t sway me. There is always a hidden agenda with you.” Garrian’s anger had diminished. “She deserved to know.”

  Eustas watched the waves of emotion cross Garrian’s face. He didn’t want to keep secrets from them, but The Oracle had warned him to do otherwise might jeopardize everything they fought for. He thought about the last time he spoke to her. In his mind, he pictured the scene: the silver mirror between them on the floor of the darkened cavern, the smoke-filled air, heavy with the scent of…

  “... Jasmine helps me focus my mind,” she explained, staring at the dark surface of the mirror. “It could be any scent, but I prefer this.”

  Eustas watched her. This time, she was a young woman. She was beautiful, captivating, sitting across from him on the stone floor, dressed in a short white gown, but barefoot. Her toenails were painted bright pink; each had a single red dot in the center. Stuck in her hair was a pink feather, with the same dot.

  The smoke from the incense wafted through the cave, mixing with the smell of jasmine thrown about all around them. Intent on the mirror’s surface, a low musical hum came from deep in her throat, song-like. Several minutes passed, and he became impatient.

  “Can you see anything?” he asked, touching her forearm with the tips of his fingers.

  “Nothing has changed…” she sa
id. Her eyes remained fixed on the mirror.

  “Nothing?” he asked, not sure what she meant. “So, it will still happen, like before?”

  “I still see many possible paths, as I explained last time. In certain paths, you’re successful, in others, not so much. Whatever might change the outcome in your favor, you haven’t done it yet.” She brushed a stray hair out of her face. “On the bright side, nothing’s gotten worse…”

  “I still don’t understand. How do I decide what needs to change?” he asked.

  “That’s something you need to determine for yourself,” she said, “I only see the potential result of things. The choices you make along the way, I can’t see, because they’re not fixed. You have free will, so you can influence your own destiny. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful...”

  Eustas sat brooding, unsure of himself. The feeling was foreign to him. “Can you give me any guidance at all?”

  The Oracle looked up from the mirror, her trance broken. Dark green eyes captured him. Her look peeled his natural defenses away. She had this effect at times, depending on her apparent age, which seemed to change with her mood. Sometimes, she would age in the middle of a conversation or become younger. It was all very surreal, and it never failed to shake him.

  “I can tell you this... Give them only the information they need. More knowledge means more choices to account for. The smaller your circle of influence, the less chance you’ll make a wrong decision… Trust the children, they can succeed where the mother might fail alone, but they must be together, and the Draggon is the key...”

  Garrian was shaking his shoulder, a look of mild concern on his face.

  “Father, are you ok?” Garrian asked.

  Eustas snapped out of his reverie. He shook his head, clearing the remains of the memory from his mind. He could still smell the jasmine. Garrian placed both hands on his shoulders, staring deep into his eyes. Eustas saw the anguish in his son’s face. He wished he could tell the man more.

  “This is critical, Garrian. I need you to go to Minos and assemble a small team of soldiers, three or four should do, but only those you trust. They should be able to keep a secret at the expense of their lives. I’ve no right to ask—but do this for me anyway. Do this for Alisha. I’m trusting you with this mission.”

  Garrian stepped back, eyes still locked on his father’s face. Eustas saw his hesitance. The two of them had never been close, and he despised himself for it, but he didn’t have the luxury of self-pity, not now. The fate of their world was at stake.

  “This is important to you?” Garrian asked.

  “It’s important to all of us, Garrian.”

  ***

  The Trans-pod station on Cirrus was well-lit and empty. The incoming pod solidified into a hard purple shell, resting on a Zyrsteel base ring—the two halves of the egg-shaped pod split. Bright white light and luminous mist poured from the void as Dalo stepped out. He took two paces forward and turned, waiting for the other one to form. His pod disintegrated, turning to dust, sucked into the vacuum ports in the wall. The constituent parts would be recycled to create a new pod. Only the hard ring it had sat upon remained.

  A spinning vortex of brilliant white light formed over the second ring. He watched it coalesce. The white light twisted, purple trails of color blended and mixed with it. The ball of light grew until it was the size of a woman, the color fusing with it until it resembled an egg with a hard violet shell. A sharp popping noise signaled the end of the transformation. Dalo watched the egg split in half, extending his hand to help Alisha emerge.

  “I will never get used to that,” she said, holding her other hand against her head.

  “The nausea will subside after a while.” Dalo grinned, inspecting her, rubbing her wrists and checking her eyes. She was fine. He took her hand, leading her toward the exit. “Surely, you’ve used a trans-pod before.”

  “Yes, but I prefer to fly…” She held her fingers to her mouth.

  It was dark, and a silky mist clung to the ground. The streets of Safehaven were vacant. The Cirrians had gone to bed. They passed a few taverns, raucous noise projected into the street; loud yells and the clink of glasses filled their ears. No one saw them as they made their way through the night.

  Their path took them past numerous buildings still under construction—skeletons of what would become the heart of the city. Only eight years had passed since the first settlers arrived, but in that time the Cirrians had constructed a significant portion of their new home.

  Alisha had never been to Cirrus, Eustas had told him as much. She finished her training two years before the Adeptus Order left Erador, spurred by the failure of the Senate to negotiate a treaty between the Gods to end the violence.

  The Cirrian School of Orphic Mysteries loomed before them. It had been the first structure built, and it was huge. It blocked the dim light from the rising moon, casting shadows across the thoroughfare. Large ornately carved wooden doors stood as a testament to the power contained within. He thought it resembled a well-fortified castle more than a school. A small plate embedded into the wall on the right glowed a soft green. He touched the pad. A nasal male voice broke the silence.

  “The School of Mysteries is closed; please come back during our normal hours of operation.” The pad clicked, signaling the end of the call.

  Dalo touched the pad again, unperturbed, grinning at Alisha.

  “Did you not hear me,” the voice asked, “or are you dense?”

  “We need to speak to Arianna Brillow.” Dalo was stern and commanding.

  “I’m sorry, we cannot accept visitors at this hour. Rules... you understand.” The pad clicked off.

  Dalo drew a sharp breath and exhaled, his grin fading. He touched the pad a third time.

  “Look,” nasal-man was terse, “I have nothing to do but sit here all night. I would rather not spend my time telling you how you can’t come in...”

  Click... the pad went silent.

  Dalo scratched his jaw with one finger. He saw Alisha look away, her hand over her mouth. He pressed the pad once more. The voice returned.

  “I will release the dogs soon… I hope you’re not still there... bothering me...”

  “Tell me, are you familiar with the name Delia Karran?” Dalo asked the obnoxious dog-releaser.

  The connection was silent for several moments, it clicked twice, and a softer female voice replaced the annoying male one.

  “We haven’t heard that name in a while... how is it you come to speak it here now?”

  “She is my mother…”

  The pad clicked one last time. Moments later, the massive doors cracked open, the left one swinging wide. A short blond woman in a pure white robe with a golden sash around her neck stepped through the opening and bowed toward him. Dalo watched Alisha from the corner of his eye; she was speechless.

  “Welcome, son of Delia, I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Her eyes never met his; she focused on the steps at his feet. “Please, come inside, anything we can do would be our honor.”

  He grabbed Alisha’s hand and led her in. They followed the adept down massive halls, past rooms with ornate arches. Fine tapestries hung upon the walls, depicting scenes from Erador’s past. The ring of their footsteps was the only sound. After what seemed like an eternity, they stopped before two large wooden doors with filigreed brass handles. The adept indicated he should knock. He brought one fist up and rapped on the door with his knuckles. A muffled echo came from within.

  Light from inside the room split the doors, becoming brighter as they parted. Hinges squealed—a minor irritation. The woman who stepped through the gap made him gasp. Her face was luminous; her dark auburn hair framing it, falling across her shoulders, down the front of her silver-gray robe, brushing the top of her breasts. Emerald eyes held him captive, and her smile stole his words. Of course, she was old enough to be his mother. He shook his head to clear it.

  “Can I help you with something?” Arriana asked, looking first at Dalo,
her gaze ending on Alisha, recognition crossing her face. She smiled and nodded. “Adeptus…” her soft voice was soothing.

  “Preceptor Brillow…” Alisha nodded, returning the greeting.

  They all stood for a moment, wondering what to say. The Adept who led them in broke the silence.

  “This is Delia’s son...” She pointed at Dalo. Gathering the folds of her robe, she backed away, disappearing down the darkened corridor the way they had come.

  Arriana turned and walked back inside her chamber, motioning for them to follow. When they’d all passed the door, she made a gesture with her left hand and mumbled something they couldn’t hear. The hinges squealed; the massive doors swung shut—they fell together with a loud clank as the lock engaged.

  There were couches and chairs along one side of the room; she sat in the largest chair. It looked very comfortable. She smiled, making a sweeping motion with her hand, inviting them to join her.

  “So, are you really Delia’s son, or did you drop her name to get past my guards?” She cocked her head to one side, studying him as he walked.

  Dalo sat across from her on a low wooden bench, to avoid removing the broadsword. He held the Sorceress’ gaze, his look a mixture of curiosity and wonder. Alisha sat beside him on a small couch, her eyes bouncing between them.

  Arriana watched him, her fingers turning the silver bracelet on her left wrist; otherwise, she was still—like a cat waiting for a mouse to make the first move.

  “I am Delia’s son.” His jaw set hard, eyes narrowing.

  “And I should take your word for it?” Arianna smiled. “It’s true, you resemble her, but then so does she.” She aimed one slender finger at Alisha. “Must every black-haired blue-eyed child who passes through here be labeled the offspring of the Prime Adeptus?”

  “Eustas said you would be a hard nut to crack,” Dalo said. He could tell by the tightening of her face he’d struck a nerve. Her smile vanished.