Mortals & Deities

As this is only my second novel, you will still have to suffer through a long-winded dedication page, so here it goes…

First and foremost, I want to thank all the fans who have jumped on this series with such fervor! Your emails of kind words and your dedication to these characters and this saga have moved me beyond words. This one is for you.

My thanks goes out to everyone who worked on this project. Especially to Jo Wilkins for her amazing editorial work. Lorraine, Amber, and Joni, for continuing to make sure all those myriad of type-os are found. Lars Grant-West for his continued contribution and growing friendship. Lars, you are more than an amazing artists, you are an amazing person. And, to Drew Caldwell, for making such an awesome game - Barca! Yea, the game they play in this book is real. You can check it out at www.playbarca.com.

And finally, as always, to my friends and family. To Kane & Wade for putting up with hours of me rattling my plotline to them. To my grandparents and mother for their continued support, both emotionally and financially. My lovely wife, who is the Joy of my life. And my two boys, who are more than worth “paying what needs be paid.”

MAD

Delmith Bathooll glided down the hall following his Prince on their way to the Human quarters. Behind him, two Gralet’nars, their hulking masses filling the corridor, lumbered along. They flanked the other members of what Prince Aritian called his
little circle
. The Gralet nearest him turned its empty eye sockets toward Delmith and he shivered. Though he had grown up with the creatures, he had always found their Essence enhanced method of sight disturbing. Each of the Gralet’nars wore their awful-smelling hide armor, and carried large curved swords strapped to their hip. In addition, muscles bulging under taut gray skin, each gripped a crossbow almost large enough to be considered a ballista. Delmith was certain that Prince Aritian did not intend for the Human to survive this night, regardless of how the Melding with the Chi’utlan went.

It was late, well past the time when the tiny yellow moon, Treynor, would have set and the larger moon, Sainor, should be filling the night sky with its silvery light.

Why are you thinking of moons, you fool?

He knew why. The rest of the students, staff, and even the servants here at the Chandril’elian in Hath’oolan slept. And here he was, walking the deserted halls of the school, not wanting to dwell on the task at hand. He had no wish to remember the vacant, haunted eyes of the Human Initiate that served as his Prince’s last test subject—the orphan boy, Quiln. Except, it was not just that. For some reason, his final discussion with the Human Initiate, Alant Cor—the one they were on their way to collect—still troubled him. The boy
was
defiant—claiming to have no knowledge of the Chi’utlan nor of the Mah’Sukai. At least, he still clung to the feeble story of having read about them in an old book he found while studying at the Chandril’elian of Mocley.

As if you could call
that
excuse for a school a real Chandril’elian. The Human Shapers can barely Meld the Essence!

Still, the information Alant held caused concern. Other than here in Hath’oolan, Delmith knew that no tome could be found anywhere on the Plane of Talic’Nauth that would contain the information the boy possessed.

How can a
Human
, much less one who is a simple Initiate, have so much knowledge about things not shared outside of the Elmorr’Antien people? Add in the fact that he seems to understand our language! It is a puzzle I cannot solve.

Being the only Vanria willing to teach the few Humans allowed to study here in Hath’oolan, Delmith had spent plenty of time with the boy. Alant had shown his gifts during the first tenday of his arrival. Untrained, without a doubt. Yet, gifted nonetheless. The boy would outperform many Elmorr’Antien Grays once he reached his full potential.

Very impressive for a Human.

Still, Delmith felt the boy needed more time, not that he would get it. His stomach turned as he glanced at the Gralet’nars and their weapons. It was not as if he had an affinity for Humans, as his Prince accused him of on multiple occasions. That was absurd! However, he did feel a small tinge of guilt for using the Human Initiates for this test without their knowledge.

Though, Alant’s knowledge tells me that mayhaps the Shapers of Mocley are growing suspicious of the “accidents” we have had here these last few turns of the seasons. My Prince must see this and slow down these experiments with the Chi’utlan.

Delmith remained unconvinced, however. The fervor in his Prince’s voice of late bordered on…

I will not say madness! Blues may be eccentric. Yet, they are not insane! What he does, he does for his people. To protect us from the destruction of the Human Mah’Sukais. The cycle must be broken!

Lost in thought, Delmith followed the small group into the Human quarters. Passing the door to Alant’s room, he turned as his Prince stepped up and knocked. Without waiting on an answer, Aritian lifted the latch, swung open the door and stepped inside the tiny room.
“Good. You are ready.”
It still shocked Delmith to watch one of his people speak to a Human in the Elmorr’Antien language. It seemed…unnatural. Aritian stared down at the boy for a moment before he spoke again, a look of triumph on his face.
“Do you ever plan on enlightening us as to how you have come to understand our tongue?”
His Prince shrugged as if it mattered not.
“No? I did not think you would. The better for me, I suppose. I detest speaking in the Human dialect. It is such a crude language.”
Holding out an arm, Aritian motioned for the boy to proceed into the hallway.

Alant stepped out of his small room and stared into Delmith’s eyes. The boy’s gaze held accusations, and shame shot through Delmith, forcing him to break eye contact.

I cannot help you, boy. I have as much control of this situation as you do. Less!

Staring at the white marble floor, it took a moment for Delmith to realize that he stood alone. Hurrying through the archway that marked the entrance to the Human quarters, Delmith fell in at the back of the group just as Prince Aritian stepped up beside Alant.

“I must commend you, Tak’ju’nar. Most Humans are not so willing to meet their fate. Yet, you seem almost eager.”
The tone in Aritian’s voice sent a wave of nausea through Delmith. He could not understand why his Prince hated Humans so much. He, himself, held no sympathy for them. On the contrary, the danger that Alant represented if he truly was a Tak’ju’nar—a spy—as his Prince accused him of, forced him to agree that the boy must not live to leave the island. Still, he did not hate
all
Humans.

A refreshing chill air washed over Delmith’s thin gray arms and legs as Aritian thrust open the doors to the gardens. The cold air invigorated him, as it did all his people. Once again, he found himself wondering if warm air felt the same to a Human as cold air did to an Elmorr’Antien. That was the one reason he did not like touching Humans—they were so hot!

You are letting your mind wander again, fool.

Prince Aritian had already crossed most of the garden area and was almost to the entrance of the hedge-maze, forcing Delmith to quicken his steps once more. Still lost in his own thoughts as he followed the group through the maze, he did not notice when they reached the center. The high walls of the hedge-maze surrounded the large grassy square with benches around its edge. A statue of the Chandril’chi tree loomed in the center, its stone leaves and twisted branches gleamed white in Sainor’s silver moonlight. Delmith jumped when Aritian called his name.

“Delmith, I will give you the honor.”
His Prince stepped away from the statue and indicated for Delmith to approach.

I am still appalled that he chose to hide the entrance to the Chamber of the Chi’utlan with the very thing that marks the existence of the Essence pool.

Stepping up to the base of the statue, Delmith bowed, allowing his long, flowing white hair to dangle down the sides of his face. He stretched out his hands and placed them in the precise location so he could Meld the opening hidden in its base. Though the doorway was Essence enhanced to allow it to operate, the strain of causing a solid surface to change its structure so fast threatened to overwhelm him. Soon, he gulped in air from the exertion. When he had Melded the Essence of the wall to the point of opening, he snatched his hands away. Had he left them there a fraction longer, his own flesh would change along with the stone covering the hidden entrance. The white stone of the base melted away as designed, revealing a dark stairway descending deep underground. It led to the Chamber of the Chi’utlan hidden beneath the very grounds of the school itself, with all the wonders it held. However, the excitement Delmith usually felt at this point did not fill him. Instead, a sense of foreboding fell upon him as he looked down the dark stairway. He could not stop himself from glancing at Alant. The boy looked resolved, and for some reason the boy’s determined bearing fueled Delmith’s fear.

A glowball appeared above Aritian’s palm as his Prince strode down the stairs. Delmith glanced once more at Alant. The boy stared back at him with condemnation in his eyes, forcing Delmith to turn his head once more. He just could not bring himself to meet the boy’s gaze any longer, so he quickened his steps and followed his Prince into the tunnel.

Delmith maintained a brisk pace to keep up with Aritian. He heard the others following, their footsteps echoing in the tunnel. The long stone hall, which had once filled him with wonder while he studied the long forgotten runes carved into the walls many millennia ago by hands long dead and long forgotten, slipped past him without notice. Soon they stepped onto the granite tiles that marked the last section of the hall. In the glow of Aritian’s light, the large jet-black Ratave doors of the Chamber of the Chi’utlan materialized out of the darkness before them. At what point this section of the hall had been built, and where the granite floor tiles and Ratave doors decorated with an inlaid gold picture of a Chandril’chi tree had come from, were lost even to the Elmorr’Antien’s long recorded history. They had been here when his Prince discovered this chamber so many winters ago.

Prince Aritian stepped up to the doors and lifted his arms. The gold embroidered silk sleeves of his serota slid partway down his thin gray arms as he Melded with the Essence of the doors. A small shudder sent a layer of dust drifting to the floor as the doors slid apart. Like the rest of the “little circle,” Delmith expected the bright light that spilled out of the Chi’utlan from the large chamber beyond, and closed his inner eyelids to shield against the blinding glow. He noticed that the Human raised a hand and squinted. Without letting the boy’s eyes adjust, Aritian gestured to one of the Gralet’nars. The large Warrior Servant stepped forward and shoved the Human past the doors, sending him tumbling down the stairs and onto the sandy limestone floor beyond. Delmith glared at the back of his Prince’s head.

That was not necessary!

Even with the anger that welled up inside of him, Delmith could not voice his displeasure with his Prince’s actions, and this added to his shame.

What lay beyond, however, soon filled Delmith’s mind as it always did. The Chamber of the Chi’utlan sat in a massive, naturally carved cave just like the tunnel that led here. Twenty-five paces in height and almost double that in diameter, the reddish-brown hue of the limestone accentuated the silver glow from the Chi’utlan that filled the center of the room. Like a beacon inside a stone cage, the Chi’utlan sat on a raised dais surrounded by connecting stalagmites and stalactites. Mirror smooth, Delmith knew from his studies that the pool was nothing more than a thin sheen covering the platform. The Chi’utlan itself always reminded Delmith of what the Humans called an aurnglass—a device that had two connecting glass orbs that allowed sand to trickled from one side to the other, measuring out the span of one aurn. Except, unlike the sand that flowed down from the top orb to the bottom, the Chi’utlan filled up from the raised dais on the ground to the large indentation in the ceiling. Liquid Essence was pulled up from the Stream of Creation and fed on by the roots of the Chandril’chi tree that sat at the front of the school. Letting his eyes flow up, he saw the large shining pool of Liquid Essence hanging from the ceiling. Though he could not see them, he knew that hidden in that upside-down bowl of silver fluid lay the twisted black roots of the tree.

It is what the Human Shapers, in their ignorance of how the Plane of Talic’Nauth interacts with the Essence, call an Essence Node.

Well, he had to admit even he had very little knowledge of the true workings that lay before him. Still, it all fascinated him.

Delmith descended the small flight of stairs and filed to the side of the chamber with the rest of Aritian’s “little circle,” leaving his Prince alone with the Human.

Aritian stretched out an arm, indicating the pool.
“Your destiny awaits,
Alant.
Do not fear it.”

Standing his ground, the boy looked ready to strike out physically. “It is you,
Elmorians,
who are the cowards. You, who fear me and
my
race! Think
not
that I go into this blind!”

The shock of the racial slur—said in the face of royalty no less!—caused Delmith to gasp in shock. The fact that Aritian dropped his arm and stepped away from the boy in fear…

This boy
is
more than he appears.

Risking a glance at the Chi’utlan, Delmith took a step toward his Prince to try and postpone this “test.” Something was not right. An uneasy feeling crept over him and he had a horrid thought. Had the boy planned this from the moment he arrived on the island?

Yet, how could he? The Chamber of the Chi’utlan is our most guarded secret! Other than those present, only our King knows of its existence.

Then again, how had a Human learned their language? A feat that has never been accomplished before. Delmith took a second step forward when it appeared that Aritian also felt the same foreboding. His Prince reached out for the boy’s arm, and Alant gave an evil, daring smile that never reached his small alien eyes. He turned toward the Chi’utlan. Without pause, he strode to the dais and up the ramp, stopping when he reached the rim of the pool. Standing at the edge, Alant hesitated, as if he did not want to proceed.