The Godling Chronicles:Book 05 - Madness of the Fallen Read online

  The Godling

  Chronicles

  Book Five

  “Madness of the Fallen”

  Written by Brian D. Anderson

  Original concept by Jonathan Anderson

  The Godling Chronicles (Book Five) Madness of the Fallen

  By

  Brian D. Anderson

  Original concept by Jonathan Anderson

  Copyright © Brian D. Anderson 2014

  Published by: Longfire Press

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.

  Dedication

  For Kyle DiBattista. May your future hold a life magic and wonders. I have no doubt that all your dreams will come true.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Prologue

  Basanti knelt at the edge of the tree line, watching with tear filled eyes as a farmer tilled the soft, rich soil of his field, his horse tossing its head up and down in protest at the crack of the reins and weight of the plowshare. In the far distance, a woman and two young children – no older than three and four – were busy feeding the chickens running free in front of a dilapidated dwelling.

  “Why do you do this to yourself?” asked a hushed voice from behind her. “Why do you still come here?”

  “It’s gone, Yanti,” she replied through stifled sobs. “It’s gone.”

  “It’s been more than fifty years,” he said, kneeling beside her. His voice was tender and understanding as he placed his arm around her and pulled her close. “People were already settling in this area even then.”

  Basanti laid her head on her brother’s shoulder. “I know. I should have moved them years ago. It’s my fault.”

  “There was nothing to move,” he said, brushing her hair from her face. “Only stone markers. Their bodies wasted away a long time ago.”

  “I know,” she repeated. “But it comforted me to know that this place was undisturbed. And now that the end is coming…” She looked into Yanti’s eyes, a sad smile on her lips. “I just wanted to see it one last time.”

  “The end is not coming,” he told her sternly. “They won’t find us.”

  “We’re the last.” Her voice trembled. “How can you think we’ll escape?” She looked a final time over the field where once, long ago, she had buried their parents and siblings. Then, with effortless grace she rose to her feet and turned to the forest. “They hate us too much to allow us to live. They’re monsters.”

  Yanti moved in front of her and took her hands. “They’re fools and brutes. And I will not allow them or anyone else to harm you. I swear it.”

  “Don’t you see?” said Basanti. “They have enslaved the humans and hunted us to the brink of extinction. There is nothing that can stop them. Not even the gods.”

  Yanti’s lip curled and he sniffed with contempt. “The gods don’t care about us…or anything else. It’s the gods who allowed the elves to slaughter us. It’s the gods who allowed the humans to be turned into a race of slaves…and I hate them.”

  “Don’t say that,” she scolded. “It was the gods who gave us a new life.”

  Yanti glared. “And now we are fighting desperately to keep it.”

  Basanti looked deeply into her brother’s eyes for a moment and smiled. “Whatever happens, I’m glad you are with me.”

  He returned the smile and embraced her. “As am I. Had you not convinced Pósix to change me, I would be dust in the field as well. For that, at least, I am grateful.”

  They made their way through the forest and around the small farm. Yanti stopped from time to time to listen for signs of elf patrols. They were heading north to the mountains where they hoped the rough terrain and harsh climate would discourage those who still pursued them. By nightfall, both of them felt it was best to continue, their endurance not having reached its limits. The moon was full in the cloudless sky, but a cool breeze from the north caused Basanti to retrieve a wool blanket from her pack and wrap it tightly around herself.

  Yanti looked at his sister with concern. “We can stop and build a fire if you would like.”

  Basanti gave a slight shiver and then laughed. “I’m fine. But I never did like the cold, even when I was a girl.”

  Yanti chuckled. “I remember.”

  Childhood memories of crawling into bed with Yanti on cold winter nights flashed through her mind. He was the eldest and the first to have his own bed. She had always felt safe with him. She loved her other three brothers and older sister, but Yanti understood her far better than anyone. He was always kind and gentle, even when she was being annoying. That was why she had begged Pósix to change him. The thought of immortality without Yanti had been unbearable.

  They paused beneath a thick oak to take a short meal of honeyed flatbread and dried apricots. Suddenly, Yanti’s back went stiff and he leapt to his feet. Basanti quickly moved to his side and listened carefully.

  “Elves,” whispered Yanti almost inaudibly.

  Basanti heard it too. A group of six elves was moving stealthily through the brush a quarter mile to the north. She prayed that they would pass them by, but in less than a minute it was clear her prayer would go unheeded. The elves split into three groups and began to circle around their position. Her heart sank. Even with their immense speed, she and her brother would not be able to escape. Though brutes, elves were expert trackers, and their speed in the forests was unparalleled.

  Yanti reached in his belt and drew a small dagger.

  Basanti looked at him in shock. “You mustn’t. It’s forbidden.”

  “What would you have me do?” he shot back. “I will not allow them to harm you.”

  “I don’t know, but I would rather die than have you do this.” Her voice was soft, but filled with resolve. She reached out and took the blade from his hand, tossing it quickly onto the ground as if it had burned her skin. Her lip curled in disgust. “We will not become what they accuse us of being.”

  Grumbling in frustration, Yanti took hold of Basanti’s hand. “Then we must run.”

  The words had barely passed his lips when the elves rushed toward them. Although still several hundred yards away, they were covering the distance with blinding speed. Yanti grabbed his sister, shoving her ahead of him. They ran left in an attempt to pass between the elves before they were able to close in. The trees whizzed by as they deftly threaded the dense forest, and for a moment he thought they might m
ake it. Then, from another quarter mile away, he heard the nimble footfalls of eight more elves drawing near.

  Yanti let out a primal scream and ran even harder, passing Basanti and dragging her behind him. They managed to slip between the first six pursuers, but the elves ahead spread out while those behind regrouped and gave chase. Fear gripped their hearts. It was rapidly becoming clear that escape was impossible.

  An arrow struck Basanti’s shoulder, sending her crashing to the ground. In a single motion, Yanti jerked out the arrow and lifted his sister to her feet. She screamed as the shaft ripped free. But her cry had barely faded when another deadly missile struck, this time into her left thigh. She dropped to her knees.

  The song of steel sliding from scabbards echoed through the forest as the elves came into view, their fierce gazes fixed resolutely on their prey while spreading out to encircle the pair. Basanti looked desperately at Yanti. The sight of fear in her eyes sent him into a rage unlike anything he had ever experienced. The sinews of his legs tightened and he sprang forward just as the first attacker reached them.

  Yanti’s fist smashed into his jaw, bones cracking under the impact. The elf’s head twisted and his body was sent flying several feet before crashing onto the forest floor. The other elves slid to a halt, stunned expressions on their faces.

  Reaching down, Yanti picked up the short blade dropped by the unconscious elf. He took a step back, placing himself between the remaining elves and his sister. He could hear her weeping and begging for him to stop. But it was far too late for that.

  “You shall hunt us no longer!” Yanti shouted defiantly. This was the first time he had held such a weapon. It felt strangely awkward in his hand.

  “This one fights!” yelled one of the elves.

  Yanti did not wait for them to recover their senses. He charged at his closest adversary, hacking wildly. The strength of his blow made up for his lack of skill, and for the first time he caused blood to flow. His blade cut his foe nearly in half, from the shoulder to hip. In a single motion he jerked it free and ran headlong at the next elf. Warm spots of his enemy’s blood splattered across his face, stirring in his heart a wild lust to spill more. He could feel himself growing stronger as seconds passed like minutes, and smiled inwardly at the sensation.

  Two elves closed in, but his new found power made them appear as fumbling children. He gutted them both with lethal grace and unbridled fury. He searched for another opponent, but the rest had backed away, hurrying to remove the bows from their backs. Yanti wasn’t about to give them that chance. He spanned the distance in a flash, taking the arm off one elf and the head off another. Then he heard Basanti scream out in terror. Spinning around, he saw another of the enemy holding a blade across her throat.

  “Lay down your sword, Vrykol!” commanded the elf. “Or I will take her head.”

  Hearing the ancient language of his people spoken from elf lips made his mouth curl in disgust. “Harm her and I will cut you to pieces.” He could see the fear in Basanti’s eyes, but there was something else as well. Her mind was begging him to obey.

  ‘No more,’ she pleaded.

  Behind him, Yanti could hear bowstrings being drawn.

  ‘Better to die,’ her inner voice cried out.

  The elf pressed the blade to Basanti’s flesh, causing a thin trickle of blood to run down her neck. Blocking out his sister’s voice, Yanti covered the distance between them with unearthly speed and drove his sword hard into the elf’s chest. No sooner had he done this than the thwack of bows being loosed was followed by the hiss of arrows. He twisted and dove hard down, but three deadly missiles had already buried themselves deep into his back. He let out a tormented roar as his body slid across the ground. Pain was raging through him, but he still somehow managed to rise to his knees and turn. The remaining elves had dropped their bows and were drawing their swords, vengeance flaming in their eyes.

  Yanti glanced at Basanti, who gave him a sad, forgiving smile. A sudden wave of regret washed over him. He found himself unable to look at her any longer. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath and waited for the elf blades to release his spirit.

  It was then that he heard a sharp thud. His eyes snapped open. One of the advancing elves had fallen. Then another dropped, and another, until only two remained standing. Gripped by sudden panic, they turned and ran, disappearing into the forest.

  Stunned, Yanti stared after them for a moment before crawling over to Basanti, the arrows spitefully digging themselves deeper with every small movement.

  She had already pulled the arrow from her own body. “Turn around.” Her voice was soothing and filled with pity.

  Yanti obeyed, never once taking his eyes off their surroundings even as the cruel arrows were pulled free, the tips taking with them a measure of ruined flesh. Whatever had struck down the elves could very well now be coming for them. The snap of a twig from behind a nearby pine tree forced him to his feet, the pain ignored. Basanti reached up and grabbed his sleeve, clinging desperately.

  “No more bloodshed,” she cried.

  “There is nothing to fear,” called a voice. It was rich and deep, and spoke in the ancient tongue.

  “Show yourself,” commanded Yanti. His muscles tensed as he realized that he had dropped his sword several feet away.

  “Of course.” From behind a tree, though far to the left of where Yanti had first heard the voice, stepped a young human male. He looked to be no older than twenty, with shoulder length flaxen hair and a golden brown complexion. His ice blue eyes twinkled and his bright smile was friendly and warm. A white cotton, open-necked shirt and blue trousers were well fitted to his athletic frame, and though not exceptionally tall, his broad shoulders and thin waist gave him the illusion of greater height. He moved with nimble, effortless ease, quickly spanning the distance between them.

  Basanti gasped. “You…you’re beautiful.”

  Yanti looked at her, his brow furled. “What are you talking about? It’s just a human.”

  Basanti cocked her head, looking confused. “A human? Are you blind? No human looks like that.”

  The newcomer laughed. “He can no longer see. The taint that now inhabits his spirit has blinded him.”

  Yanti was not amused. “Who are you?”

  The man bowed low, his gaze fixed on Basanti. “I am Felsafell.”

  “I have heard the name,” she said. “Though the stories that surround it are…well…unbelievable.”

  Felsafell smiled. “And many are not to be believed. The lies of rumor can blacken a good name.”

  “It is said that you are the oldest being that walks in the world,” said Yanti, doubt in his voice. “Yet you look little more than a boy.”

  “And how old were you when the gods changed you?” Felsafell countered. “Twenty-five? You look young, yet you have lived for many lifetimes.”

  “How can you doubt him, Yanti?” asked Basanti. “Can you not see that he is something…different?” She struggled to her feet and took a step forward.

  “He cannot,” said Felsafell, with a hint of sadness. “His crimes have taken his sight.” He looked at Yanti. “Can you not feel it?”

  Yanti sneered. “And what is it that you think you know about me - or my sister?”

  “I know that you were created by the gods to shepherd human and elf through this world,” he replied.

  “Then you know nothing,” shot Yanti. “Elves are our enemy. They have hunted us, and all like us, until we are all that remains.”

  Felsafell shook his head slowly and sighed. “I know it may seem so. But I assure you that Pósix never intended for you to abandon elf kind. That the Vrykol, as they have named you, ignored them is why their hatred for you has festered.”

  Yanti fumed. “So all of this is our fault?”

  Felsafell shrugged. “In a way, yes. You became obsessed with freedom for humans - guiding them against their masters - rather than influencing the elves to change their hearts.”

  Yanti glared. �
�It is not you that they hunt, and it is not you they have enslaved.”

  “True,” said Yanti. “But it is not me who violated the laws of my maker. Your actions have justified those of your enemy. They feared your immortality and your power. Now you have shown them they were right to fear.”

  “And what should I have done?” shouted Yanti. “Allow them to slaughter us?”

  Basanti touched Yanti’s hand. “Yes, dear brother. You should have.”

  He turned to his sister, an incredulous look on his face. “What are you saying? You would have me permit them to cut off your head?”

  She cupped his face in her hands. “I’m saying that I would rather die than have you spill blood in my name. Felsafell is right. What you have done has changed you. I can see it now.”

  “Tell your brother what you see when you look at me,” said Felsafell.

  She didn’t take her eyes off Yanti. “I see a being with ebony skin, long silver hair and striking features: elegant, almost elf-like ears and piercing grey eyes. But I also see the human that he chooses to appear.”

  Yanti struggled to break his sister’s gaze and looked at Felsafell. “Why can’t I....?”

  “Your actions wounded you,” explained Felsafell. His tone was as a father speaking to a confused child. “It has left you vulnerable.”

  Yanti clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “Vulnerable to what?”

  “Look at you now,” said Felsafell. “Can you not feel the anger in your heart? The blackness?”

  A tear ran down Yanti’s face. Catching it with the tip of his finger, he smeared it between his thumb and forefinger, staring at the dampness with a mixture of sorrow and fury. “What would you have me do? I cannot change what has happened.”

  “You must leave,” said Felsafell. “You must stay away from your sister. If you do not, you will certainly bring violence with you.”

  Basanti stepped in front of Yanti, her gaze defiant. “I will not be parted from him. No matter what he has done, he is my brother.”

  Felsafell smiled. “You must.” His eyes shifted across to settle on Yanti. “And in his heart, he knows it too.”