Dawn of Swords (71 page)

“And the children, given no choice? The young, the helpless?”

“Do not chastise me on this, brother. You would have done the same.”

Ashhur’s teeth ground together, the sound like two boulders colliding.

“Never,” he said.

“Of course, the pacifist, Ashhur,” laughed Karak. “My gentle brother, who bribes his children with flowers and fornication and loathes violence.” The god gestured to the bodies lying all around him. “It is a poor god who cannot practice what he preaches.”

“Enough,” growled Ashhur.

“Yes, enough. This land is
mine
, brother, as are its people. I will do with them as I choose.”

“This land was given to neither of us.”

Karak shook his head.

“You are an ignorant, idealistic fool, brother. We fled here for a reason, seizing the chance to make amends. We would wash away our failure, give life to a far greater kingdom than the one we saw destroyed. Yet it seems that as long as you are here with me, there will always be at least one failure hanging over our perfect world.”

Ashhur lunged, his colossal blade aimed for Karak’s head. The Eastern Divinity raised his hand, and a blade of purple-tinged blackness, the mirror of Ashhur’s, appeared where before there had been none. The swords met, and an explosion of light flashed across the meadow. Sparks rained down all around the gods, and as their blades slid against each other, the sound was like a thunderclap. Energy sizzled overhead as the gods danced. Ashhur swung, Karak blocked. Karak jabbed, Ashhur parried it aside. And that same rumble and flash came each time their blades collided. The ground beneath them cracked from the power of their movements, and the air became supercharged. Roland could feel
it penetrating his flesh, setting his insides abuzz, making goose pimples rise on his flesh.

Karak landed a blow on Ashhur’s left breast, charring his brother’s polished silver armor. Ashhur fell to a knee, holding his sword up with one hand, his body jolting each time his brother battered it with his own. Roland feared the his god was done for, that Karak would sever Ashhur’s head from his spine right there and then, but Ashhur was far from beaten. He dropped his sword arm, providing a tantalizing opening. Karak immediately lunged for it, and when he did, Ashhur rolled to the side. Karak stumbled past him, and Ashhur spun in a circle, chopping slantwise at his brother. The blade found purchase in the bare flesh below Karak’s coal-colored vambrace. Its cutting edge sank deep into the eastern god’s forearm, almost to the elbow. Streams of liquid shadow flowed from the wound, snaking around Ashhur’s blade, dulling its brightness.

Ashhur pulled his weapon free, and Karak’s wound closed almost instantly. It was his turn this time, and he slashed out with his sword of shadow. Ashhur tried to lean back but was not quick enough. The blade passed through his neck without the slightest resistance. Ashhur’s throat bled out smoldering magma, dripping down his chest and coating his breastplate. Roland screamed in horror, thinking that he was witnessing the death of his god, but then that wound closed too.

The two gods met each other once more, slamming their ethereal swords together in mid air. Clouds rolled in, blocking out the moon, and a light rain began to fall, forks of lightening flashing down from above. Roland looked up at the pitch-black sky that sizzled with electricity and wondered with strange detachment if this were Celestia’s way of closing her eyes.

Karak leapt into the air, holding his blade above him like an executioner’s ax, and landed hard. Ashhur’s sword came up, and the two weapons locked together, sliding downward until their pommels touched. The blades wound together, their light and darkness
swirling together into a single beam of gray. The brother gods began to thrash wildly, trying to free their swords, but both slipped from their grasp at the same time. The weapons disappeared, vanishing into the night before they ever reached the ground, the magic that formed them dissolving as soon as they left the gods’ hands.

The loss of their swords didn’t mean an end to the gods’ battle. Now weaponless, they rained fists down on each other. Heads snapped back and bodies doubled over as blow after blow landed. Ashhur flipped backward, barely avoiding a swinging punch from his brother, but then Karak leapt high into the air and knocked Ashhur flat by planting both feet firmly on his chest. Karak slid down, pinning down his brother’s shoulders as he mercilessly clouted his face, time and again, until Roland’s beloved god was covered in a litany of bulging, magma-leaking wounds.

“Stop, please!” Roland shouted, running forward. Azariah snatched him by the collar and pulled him back before he could get too close, but his sudden outburst seemed to have distracted Karak, for Ashhur managed to slide a hand out from beneath his brother’s knee. His usually powerful voice was weak and rasping as he whispered something Roland couldn’t hear. His free hand touched Karak’s chest, then a loud
thwump
followed, like a hammer striking a sack of flour, and the eastern god was sent airborne. He landed on his back twenty feet away, a smoldering hole burned into his chestplate, revealing the charred flesh beneath.

Karak and Ashhur each struggled to rise, and they knelt across from each other, gasping, their eyes locked together. It was Karak who got to his feet first. Ashhur looked tired and defeated, as if his attempt to save himself had drained the last of his power. Karak fared no better; he clutched at the hole in his armor as his entire body rose and fell with his breaths.

“Why?” asked Ashhur. Even in his weakened state, his voice still boomed. He reached beneath his armor and pulled out his pendant, the bas-relief of the lion standing atop the mountain. With a single,
sharp motion he snapped the chain and tossed the pendant across the span between them. “Does this mean nothing to you now?”

Karak scowled at him, picking up the pendant. “It does, but its meaning has changed. Do you remember why we came here? Why we came to Dezrel, why we created humanity on this planet?”

“We were to find a better way—one that would not destroy each another. Violence is not the better way.”

“
Life
is destruction, dear brother, it always has been. You should know that better than anyone.” Karak smiled then, perhaps the most hideous and malignant smile Roland had ever seen. “But you are right; we wanted to find a better way. A way for humanity to fully realize its potential, without the destruction and war that has always befallen it. And I
have
, brother. I spent many years in the mountains, contemplating this very subject, and do you know what I realized? In every world we have visited where humans existed, they were locked in a never-ending chain of unnecessary death. What did all of these places have in common? In each world, every single one, the humans fought over the dominance of one god over another. Do you not realize what that means, brother?
We
are the cause of this violence! We will never be able to leave them. Never be able to step aside and watch our creations flourish to their greatest heights. No matter how long our pact remained strong, one day our people would clash, and they would clash over
us
.” Karak’s expression became passionate. “Look how little time it took for a blasphemous temple to be built. Look at the soldiers who clashed in this place, even as you preached against violence and I remained distant in the mountains. There is a better way. Let there be
one
truth,
one
god,
one
faith. Imagine it, brother—all of humanity, united! An end to violence, an end to warfare, an end to chaos. What would follow would be a rise of order! Would that not be wonderful? All I need…is for you to step aside.”

Ashhur stared at him, wide eyed and appalled.

“
This
has been your plan? You are mad,” he said.

Karak offered him a sad shake of his head.

“Not mad, brother, nor did I plan this. I stood back and watched as the events unfolded. Despite our teachings, our wisdom, our First Families, humankind sank to the same conflicts as always. This cycle must be stopped, and I will put a stop to it, no matter what the cost. My way is the
only
way, and I promise you now that if you stand aside, if you relinquish your Paradise to me, it will remain unscathed.”

“And if I do not?”

“I will march west and burn all that you have created. Either way, there will only be one truth.
My
truth.”

Ashhur stared him down, then placed his hand on the ground and used it as leverage, shoving his body upright until he stood at his full height. He looked his brother dead in the eye and gave his answer.

“No.”

Karak sighed.

“Very well. Then let it be war.” His next words were spoken louder; he was clearly addressing all who remained in the flickering light of the burning, corpse-riddled temple. “Consider this a warning to you all. The men who came here in my name are but a fraction of the warriors Neldar will soon have at its disposal. We will march again, with far greater numbers, and all who stand before us shall either pledge obedience or perish. Citizens of Haven, consider this my gift to you. If any wish to join me now, you may do so. All sins will be forgiven. This is your chance to serve a true deity.”

Roland felt the sensation of falling backward. No, that wasn’t it; he wasn’t moving
back
, it was Jacob who was moving
forward
. It was a nightmare coming true, a sight that Roland could not comprehend. The First Man took great, prideful strides, crossing the empty space that separated him from the eastern deity. Roland ran after his master, frantic, but then realized that it might look as if he too were betraying his beloved god. Horrified, he fell to his knees, close enough to hear Jacob’s stunning words.

“Karak, my Lord, my Creator, I am your humble servant,” he said.

Roland’s heart almost stopped beating.

Ashhur’s eyes shimmered and his lips parted ever so slightly.

“Jacob,” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“I am a child of two gods, not one,” Jacob said. “I have always chosen whom to serve, and I have come to realize that I believe in Karak’s vision.”

Ashhur shook his head in disbelief. He showed more pain than he had from any of the blows his brother god had unleashed on him. “I do not understand. You said you loved me. You said you believed in my teachings…and I sensed no lie.…”

“That’s because I never lied, your Grace. You are my father, one of two. I do love you and always will. And I truly do believe that your teachings are righteous and well intentioned…but unfortunately, I believe in Karak’s more. You would never lead humankind to true greatness. You would only coddle us like children, denying us wisdom, denying us knowledge, until some greater threat came along and destroyed everything we held dear.”

Having said his piece, Jacob took his place by the eastern god’s side. He looked at Roland, eyes full of hope, and beckoned him to follow. Roland almost did. His master was all he had ever known, his hero since the first day he could remember, his cool breeze on a warm day, his burning light in the darkest night. If it had not been for Azariah, who clamped down on his shoulder and locked him in place, he might have run across that field and embraced Jacob once more, allowed him to drag him down into the underworld by his side.

“Don’t,” said Azariah, tears cascading down his cheeks. “You know what is right.”

He did. He cast his eyes to the floor, sensing his master’s frown without having to see it. Only Jacob wasn’t his master anymore. Betrayal, Roland thought, felt. Nothing but betrayal.

Karak turned away, Jacob alongside him, heading for the other side of the field, where a white-haired man on horseback awaited them. With a wave of the deity’s hand, the soldiers who still drew breath, were rounded up by the horsemen, forming lines and marching wearily back toward Karak’s Bridge. They disappeared into Neldar, the sound of their clanking armor a ghostly echo. The few remaining defenders of Haven—those who had not fled to join the invading force, as a few had done—stood there silently, staring at Ashhur, who seemed frozen in place. The light in his eyes had nearly extinguished, and the aura of kindness and invincibility he normally displayed had all but been shattered. His silver armor receded, becoming a simple robe once more, the torn and burnt sections slowly fading away. He looked not like a divine being, but like a simple farmer after a day spent tending his fields: exhausted, beleaguered, vulnerable. At that moment, Roland realized that all innocence was lost, for everyone, everywhere, and it would never return.

And the Temple of the Flesh, along with the bodies of more than a thousand old men and women, mothers and children, continued to burn.

C
HAPTER

37

T
he First Man, Jacob Eveningstar, was a betrayer against his own god. It was a sin that made Patrick’s jaw hang ajar. He never would have expected such an outcome, not given how much effort Jacob had expended over the years in Ashhur’s name. It was like a son attempting to debase his father, which, judging from Jacob’s parting words, had been the exact point. Patrick wanted to hate him for it, but he still felt a reluctant appreciation for the man. If Jacob had not sent him to Haven, he would never have found his purpose or a sense of belonging; he would never have fathered a child. It was surreal.

In fact, the whole damn
outcome
was surreal. Here he was: Patrick DuTaureau, the unwanted only son of one of Ashhur’s first creations, kneeling in a field, covered with blood, both his own and that of the countless men he’d killed, watching as Karak’s Army retreated over the eastern bridge. He had gone into this endeavor expecting death—perhaps even
wishing
for it—and yet he’d lived. It didn’t seem quite fair, not when countless innocents, both young and old, had perished. Why had he been spared when so many others had not? What right did
he
have to keep breathing when
babes who should have been suckling at their mothers’ breasts were now blackened and charred, lost beneath the rubble of a toppled monument to unbridled human desire?