What They
Say:
A hundred times a hundred seasons have turned since
the Goddess banished the Small Gods to the sky, leaving the land to mankind
alone.
For Prince Teryk, life behind the castle walls is
boring and uneventful until he stumbles upon an arcane scroll in a
long-forgotten chamber. The parchment speaks of Small Gods, the fall of man,
and the kingdom's saviour—the firstborn child of the rightful king. It's his
opportunity to prove himself to his father, the king, and assure his place in
history. All he needs to do is find the man from across the sea—a man who can't
possibly exist—and save mankind.
But ancient magic has been put in motion by a
mysterious cult determined to see the Small Gods reborn. Powerful forces clash,
uncaring for the lives of mortals in their struggle to prevent the return of
the banished ones, or aid in their rebirth.
Named in a prophecy or not, what chance does a
cocky prince who barely understands the task laid before him stand in a battle
with the gods?
Links:
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00SR1DFCE
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18453373
Thunderclap Campaign for the deal days 8-9-10-11
Feb
Author bio:
Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British
Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos
don't take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the
nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.
Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours
north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow. Since snow isn't
really a pressing issue, Bruce spends more time trying to remember to leave the
"u" out of words like "colour" and "neighbour"
than he does shovelling (and watch out for those pesky double l's). The father
of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of a burlesque diva.
Bruce's first short story, "Another Man's
Shoes" was published in the Winter 2008 edition of Cemetery Moon. Another
short, "Yardwork," was made into a podcast in Oct., 2011 by
Pseudopod. Bruce's first Icarus Fell novel, "On Unfaithful Wings",
was published in Dec., 2011 while the follow up, "All Who Wander Are
Lost", came out in July, 2012. The third in the series, "Secrets of
the Hanged Man", came out in July, 2013. The first part of his Khirro's
Journey epic fantasy trilogy, "Blood of the King", was released
Sept., 2012, book 2, "Spirit of the King," in Dec., 2012, and book 3,
"Heart of the King," in Feb., 2013.
The two books in the Small Gods series, "When
Shadows Fall" and "The Darkness Comes", were released in 2013,
after which Bruce took a year out to concentrate on his family and career. Book
three in the Small Gods series is Bruce Blake's current project.
Excerpt
Prologue
It rained fire
the day the Small Gods fled.
Balls of flame
fell from the sky, shattering homes and skulls alike, burning gardens and
turning forests to ash, setting alight both farmers’ fields and farmers’ lives
with disregard. Much later, it would be said the Goddess banished them for
their wicked ways, but on that day, the Small Gods were naught but men and
women afraid for their lives. In the eyes of history and legend, the width of
the line between banishment and flight is thin.
***
“Watch out!”
the priestess Rak’bana shouted, ducking behind Love—one of the granite Pillars
of Life.
A ball of flame
hammered into the earth with a spray of dirt and the stench of burnt grass. She
covered her head, waiting for the ground to cease shaking before she peeked out
from behind her arm to find her twin brother. Ine’vesi peered back at her from
around the corner of the next column in the row of nine—Trust.
“Are you
alright?” he asked.
The crackle of
flames all but kept his voice from her ears, but they were well enough
connected she knew what he’d ask without needing to hear. She nodded in
response and he crept out from behind the column, the roll of parchment in his
hand.
“Time is short,
Vesi,” she said. “The Goddess is angry.”
Ine’vesi made
no effort to hide the sneer upon his lips as he hurried across the ruined
garden to her side. Before he opened his mouth to spill out the blaspheme
imprinted on his brow, she raised her hand and gestured with her fingers. A
thick stream of water the height of five men rose from the river and flowed
across the air. It splashed into the newly lit fire with a hiss of doused
flames and white steam billowing toward the sky. Another ball of fire crashed into
the top edge of the nearest wall, sending chunks of stone tumbling to the
ground. The twin siblings ducked their heads.
“We have to
go,” she urged.
“Out of the
city.” Ine’vesi brandished the roll of parchment. “Once we have inscribed the
scroll, it will not be safe here. The wrong hands will find it.”
A fiery ball
crashed into the base of a towering pine, its flames leaping up the trunk,
spreading through its branches, jumping to the next tree like a playful
squirrel, then skipping to the next. Rak’bana raised her hand again, intending
to call the river and extinguish the fire to save her garden, but Ine’vesi
caught her by the wrist.
“Let it burn,
Bana. Let it be a testament to the unjust wrath of a jealous Goddess.”
The priestess’
eyes widened and she shook her head, unable to comprehend why he’d speak such
blasphemous words. She pulled her hand free of his grip and faltered back a
step toward the river.
“You are a
priest, Vesi. You know as well as I that we have brought this on ourselves.
Righteous anger falls from the sky, not jealousy. The Goddess gives what is
deserved.”
“The--”
Another ball
slammed into the pine. The great tree leaned with a creak of wood, bending
slowly at first, then the trunk split with a crack louder than thunder, and the
tree that had grown in the courtyard for a dozen hundred seasons toppled,
spilling flame across the dry grass. The fire raced toward the siblings, fueled
by a swirling fireball, then another. A third pelted the ground, the closest
yet, and the impact threw Ine’vesi into his sister, his momentum carrying them
both into the river.
The frigid
water clung to Rak’bana as she clutched her brother, and the red rage of the
Goddess’ flames shone through the shimmering river. She understood that, if
they surfaced, the fire would hunt them mercilessly, never giving up until the
blaze consumed them. Deserving of the Goddess’ wrath or not, the priestess
could not let that happen before they’d completed their task.
She held
Ine’vesi tight to her chest and swirled her free hand, manipulating the water
around them to increase the river’s current. It bore them away from the garden,
away from the courtyard, but the red and orange glow above them brightened and
the water grew warmer, heated by the anger of the Goddess. Worry burned in Rak’bana’s
chest along with her held breath—if they didn’t leave their warning, this would
all happen again. They’d both seen it in their dreams.
The water
shivered around them as the Pillars of Life toppled, thumping to the ground.
Ine’vesi jerked in her grasp, fighting the current and the heat, but she held
him and gestured again. The river flowed faster, carrying them along like
autumn leaves fallen from a dying tree, dragging them on until the light
disappeared.
They’d entered
the channel beneath the temple.
The river
cooled again, but Rak’bana held them under, allowing the raging current to
carry them deep into the heart of the temple and away from the Goddess’ fury.
Only when her breath threatened to explode in her lungs did she allow the river
to bear them to the surface. Ine’vesi’s head emerged from the water and he
gasped a ragged, angry breath.
“Are you trying
to aid the Goddess in killing me?”
“I saved you,
ingrate.” The priestess stroked toward the side of the channel, pulling her
brother along behind. “You should thank me for not letting you burn.”
“Hmph.”
They reached
the side and she hooked her arm over the edge, pulled Ine’vesi close to allow
him to do the same. No light penetrated so far into the tunnel, leaving them in
utter darkness, but she knew the door to be directly in front of them; she
sensed it as surely as she sensed her brother at her side.
“One way or
another, you were going to get me here, weren't you?” he said, pulling himself
out of the water to stand on the narrow stone path beside the channel.
“You know it
must be here.” She climbed up alongside him, rested the palm of her hand
against the door.
“It won’t be
safe here, Bana. The scroll might fall into any hands. It must go to Teva
Stavoklis.”
Rak’bana
hesitated before opening the door. They’d had this discussion and thought
they’d decided the matter, but it appeared Ine’vesi remained unconvinced. Her
mouth opened to argue the point, but the stone of the tunnel shook minutely
with an impact to the building above them, stopping her.
“Come,” she
said instead, and pushed the door open.
The pristine
chamber beyond gleamed, its white marble walls and soaring granite pillars
flickering with the orange light shining through the high windows. Rak’bana
hurried into the room and down the three steps to the floor, sparing a brief
glimpse for the massive suits of armor standing guard beside each of the four
columns.
“Hurry,” she
said as she swept across the chamber toward her goal at the far end: a marble
lectern that sprang up out of the floor as though carved of the same block of
stone.
Droplets of
water fell from her hair and dress, spattering on the smooth marble. The air in
the room smelled old and unused, as well it should; no one had entered this
room since the building of the temple. Thousands upon thousands of times the
sun had risen and set, shining its light through the high windows, and the
Sek’bala had stood watch beside the gray and white flecked granite columns, but
no foot had touched the floor until Rak’bana’s. The immensity of it was not
lost on her but, with fire falling from the sky to spread the Goddess’
punishment, no time for emotion and awe remained.
She reached the
podium and glanced back across the room at her brother near the entrance.
Ine’vesi stood motionless, staring at the imposing guards with their horned
helmets and gleaming weapons.
“Vesi,” she
cried, waving for him to join her. “Bring the parchment.”
He set one foot
in front of the other and crossed the room slowly without tearing his gaze away
from the Sek’bala. Outside the sanctuary, something rumbled. Rak’bana raised
her eyes to the high windows, the flicker of flames shining through the narrow
frames. Vesi had paused halfway to her, the roll of paper dripping as he held
it out toward her.
Time is running short.
The priestess
came around the lectern and jumped down the three stairs to the floor, her
sandals slapping wetly on the white marble. The time for waiting and marveling
had passed.
“Give it to me,
Vesi.” She held out her hand, expectant. “We must speak the words to prevent
this from happening again.”
Her fingers
brushed the edge of the paper, felt its roughness, its power, but then it
disappeared. Ine’vesi pulled it away and glared at her, his brows drawn
together.
“Prevent it?”
he asked, incredulous. The priest shook his head without removing his gaze from
her eyes. “We must take this to Teva Stavoklis and leave instructions on how to
bring us back.”
Rak’bana’s
mouth fell open. How did she not see this coming? She’d heard his words
bordering on sacrilege, seen his disdain toward the Goddess in this time of
judgment. But her sight had been clouded by the dreams, her mind filled with
visions of the gray man, the Mother, the man from across the sea. She’d
neglected to think for a moment that her twin brother—the man with whom she
shared the priesthood and trusted more than anyone short of the Goddess
herself—could have anything but the same goal as her.
How wrong she’d
been.
“We can’t let
this happen again, Vesi.” She despised the desperation creeping into her voice.
“The generations that come after us must know.”
Another rumble
echoed through the chamber, this one louder than the last. Ine’vesi sneered.
“We are in agreement, sister. This cannot happen again. The Goddess cannot be
allowed to treat her loyal subjects in this manner. They must be given a way to
prevent it, and bringing us back is the way.”
“No. We deserve
it. The Goddess never intended us to live this way. We--”
The priest took
a step back and her gaze fell to the parchment he held in his right hand, out
of her reach. The visions that visited her dreams meant nothing if she did not
set them to words on the scroll, left them to be found when the time they were
needed came. If she didn’t, she’d have failed the Goddess.
“The scroll
will go to Teva Stavoklis, to be used when the Goddess again over-steps her
bounds. To ensure her subjects are never again punished for being human.”
Rak’bana
narrowed her eyes. “We are no longer human, Vesi.”
“No, I suppose
not,” he conceded and took another step back. “We are closer to gods, aren’t
we? Small gods, perhaps.”
She bit down
hard and fought against the oncoming tears choking her throat. A louder rumble,
and this time the walls trembled. The long pike of one of the Sek’bala warriors
shivered in its hand, the metal shaft rattling against its gauntleted fingers.
Rak’bana directed her gaze toward the massive suit of plate, lowered her chin
and raised her hand. She wiggled her fingers the way she did when she called
the water to her bidding and her brother realized her intent. Ine’vesi’s head
snapped to the side, eyes wide as he looked to the Sek’bala, expecting it to
come to life.
Rak’bana leaped
toward him and snatched at the roll of parchment, her fingers grasping the
edge. It took only an instant for Ine’vesi to realize she’d tricked him. The
priest danced back two steps, but she’d gotten a grip on the scroll and it
unrolled between them. They both stared at its blank surface as another ball of
fire struck the building and a shower of sparks spilled through one of the high
windows.
They raised
their heads; their eyes met.
“Bana,” he
said, voice calm and even, though his eyes reflected different emotions. “Don’t
do--”
“When days of peace approach their end.”
“Rak’bana.”
“And wounds inflicted are too deep to mend.” Fear and disappointment surged through her, but she forced herself
to speak clearly, drawing out the words to their full power, ensuring the
parchment heard her over the reverberating impacts shuddering the walls. “A sign shall
come, a lock with no key.”
“Stop, Bana!”
“Borne by a man from across the sea.”
The wavering
light of the flames licking the world flashed on Ine’vesi’s blade. Rak’bana had
an instant to recognize the slender knife before he jerked her toward him and
plunged the tip between her ribs.
The wicked
point tore through her flesh, found its way between the bones, and pressed
against her heart. The agony of the wound stole her breath, but the anguish of
her brother’s betrayal crushed her soul. He pulled her close, the loose
parchment folding between them, and a fresh wave of pain crashed through her,
transported along her veins to the tips of her fingers.
“I am sorry,
Bana, but it must be this way” he said, his tone quiet amongst the thunder of
the Goddess’ judgment. “We are gods.”
Unable to do anything
more, she stared, open-mouthed, at her twin brother, the priest to her
priestess, the man for whom she’d always thought she’d give her life if
necessary, and now he’d taken it.
Ine’vesi
pressed harder on the stiletto and the point pricked her heart. The priestess
gasped; her skin went cold as hoarfrost. Her brother pulled the knife out and
jerked away, attempting to wrench the parchment’s edge from her grasp, but her
fingers held fast. The paper stretched, then tore, the sound of it ripping
echoing through the marble chamber. Ine’vesi stumbled back, caught his balance,
and advanced on her, his expression pulled into an angry shape that made him
nearly unrecognizable to her.
Another
fireball struck the temple. Then another, and another. The armor of the
Sek’bala shivered and rattled, their weapons clattered in their grips. Ine’vesi
glanced away from his sister at the towering guards, the sparks cascading
through the high widows, and stopped, the anger on his face melting to fear.
He brandished
the half of the parchment he still held. “This is all I need,” he said, backing
toward the door.
“Vesi.”
Rak’bana reached her hand out toward her brother. “Please.”
The priest
stopped short of the doorway, gazed back at his sister. For a second, his
expression appeared regretful, and she thought he might return to her, help her
complete what must be done. Instead, he shook his head.
“This wasn’t
what I dreamed, Bana. I saw a world where we can be what we are, and not be
judged by a jealous Goddess. I dreamed of becoming the Small Gods we are meant
to be.”
He hesitated a
second before disappearing through the doorway and into the channel beneath the
temple. Rak’bana stared after him, her belly clenching at the thought of losing
him, but soon, it would no longer matter. Soon, they’d all be gone, but she had
one last task to perform before the end.
She glanced at
the red stain spreading across the front of her dress, the droplets falling to
the white marble floor, running along its veins, filling them. The temple shuddered
under the Goddess’ wrath and the priestess raised her head, gazed toward the
lectern.
It seemed so
far away.
Rak’bana put
her left hand on the wound in her chest, felt her life force pulsing out of it,
making her fingers sticky. With careful, plodding steps, she crossed the smooth
floor, smearing her blood behind her as she went. It spread out along the
stone, coloring it red; the Sek’bala watched, unconcerned.
A few paces
from the goal, the fingers of her left hand tingled briefly, and then she lost
feeling in them. The tingling climbed up her arm, racing toward her chest. Her
breath shortened, cold sweat fell like winter dew on her brow, her knees
trembled. She stumbled the last few steps, caught herself on the lectern’s edge
before her legs gave way and spilled her to the floor.
The priestess
spread the parchment across the podium, holding one edge with shaking fingers,
weighing the other down with her dead hand. The blood of her heart smeared
across the paper, sticking in its texture. Thunder shook the walls, lightning
flashed, tears streaked paths along her cheeks. Rak’bana drew her dry tongue
across her icy lips and spoke the words given her by the Goddess in her dreams.
“When days of peace approach their end,
And wounds inflicted are too deep to mend,
A sign shall come, a lock with no key,
Borne by a man from across the sea.
A barren Mother, the seed of life,
Living statue, treacherous knife.
To raise the Small Gods, a Small God must die,
When the stars go out, the end is nigh.”
She paused to
draw a weak breath and watched her blood etching the cursive lines of her words
across the paper. The walls shook and she raised her gaze for an instant to see
the marble had gone red with the life dripping from her heart. She returned her
attention to the final stanza required on the scroll.
“One must die to raise them all,
Should Small Gods rise, man will fall.
One can stop them, on darken’d wing,
The firstborn child of the rightful king.”
As the last
word crossed her lips, a wind carrying swirling flames howled through the high
windows. Rak’bana titled her head back, watched the fire snake toward her and
closed her eyes, waiting for the Goddess to cleanse her and free her from her
sorrow and pain.
And the flames
consumed her.
***
Ine’vesi
stumbled out of the tunnel into what had once been a picturesque courtyard
filled with gardens for prayer and fountains for bathing. Now, instead of a
place of beauty, it was a conflagration. The water for washing billowed from
the fountains in clouds of white steam, the flowers and trees were ash, all but
one of the Pillars of Life had fallen, and the river itself boiled and bubbled
in the heat of the inferno.
The priest
raised his arm to his face, protecting himself from the blaze as he fell to his
knees, the roll of parchment pressed to his chest. His nostrils flared at the
stench of his own hair melting, the stink sickening him, but he ignored it,
thankful he’d paused in the channel to set the words of his dreams on the
paper.
He lowered his
arm and held the scroll on his lap, closed his eyes. Flames licked at the
sleeves of his robe, crackled in the grass on which he knelt. It singed his
flesh, but he’d prepared his entire life to concentrate on the task that needed
his attention to the exclusion of everything else, including himself.
Ine’vesi ran
his reddening fingers along the surface of the rolled parchment. Its coarse
texture instilled hope in him and he brought to mind the solemn, sparse temple
in Teva Stavoklis. He imagined each grain in the wood of its posts and beams,
every rock and pebble strewn across its dirt floor. Bundles of protection herbs
hung on spikes protruding from the walls; greasy smoke snaked up from tallow
candles. He breathed deeply and, instead of scenting the blazing gardens, he
inhaled the unsavory odor of the burning fat.
The priest
opened his eyes and found himself in the temple. He rose to his feet, knees
creaking and vague pain crawling across the surface of his flesh, but he
ignored it, concentrating on the table set in the middle of the room.
When he took a
step toward it, pain shot up his spine. Ine’vesi gritted his teeth and pressed
on, covering the distance with a stumbling gait. He reached the table and
leaned against its edge, raised his hand to place the scroll upon it. Flames
flickered along his sleeve, and he fought the urge to shake his arm in an
attempt to extinguish them. They’d not be put out.
With greater
effort than expected, he extended his arm and set the roll of parchment down.
The flames on his sleeve leaped to his hair and he released his grip on the
scroll lest the blaze make its way to the paper. As soon as his fingertips left
the surface of the scroll, the humble place of worship disappeared. Fire filled
the priest’s vision and the stink of burning flesh replaced the scent of
protection herbs and melting tallow.
He stumbled
back, his foot teetering on the edge of the boiling river. A bolt of lightning
rode a thunderclap down from the sky, striking the base of the last of the nine
Pillars of Life: Faith. The column tumbled, and Ine’vesi watched it fall toward
him. He raised his flaming hands and, an instant later, the heavy stone crushed
him.
On the last day the Small Gods walked the
land, fire fell like rain from the sky.
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