And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) (38 page)

Sweat formed on his brow and Kuneprius shook his head, slowly at first, then with more urgency. The golem’s grip tightened on his shoulder, rubbing the bones together and twisting the tendons. He grimaced, grunted in his throat, and raised his hand to accept the offering.

Only he and the abomination knew the truth.

When he accepted the knife, the golem’s grip eased enough Kuneprius no longer wanted to cry out, but not so much as to allow him to flee. The weight of the dagger surprised him. He turned it in his hands, examining the fine quality of the blade with its delicate inscription despite his wish to throw it away. With his fingers touching the weapon, it seemed natural he should wrap them around the grip. He sifted it one hand to the other, nicking the side of his finger with the edge.

Blood sprang to the surface, as though it had been awaiting the opportunity. He watched a droplet roll down his finger into his palm, following the lines, blossoming across his hand.

My life line is filled with blood.

A chant began on Kristeus’ lips, the words whispered but familiar. One of the Brothers took up the mantra, making the whisper into a murmur. Another joined in, then another. They all knew the incantation—Kuneprius included—though none among them other than Kristeus understood their meaning. Since they were all children who’d seen only enough seasons turn to learn to speak, they’d practiced the words taught by the priests.

The Brothers’ voices united, increasing exponentially until the chant filled the room, floating up toward the sky and the Small Gods trapped in the night. Their words vibrated in Kuneprius as he watched another drop of blood run down his finger, his palm, his wrist. The first plummeted to the floor, landing on a green stone.

One.

More followed.

Two. Three.

How high would he count before he could no longer do so? Each morning, when he held his breath and laved his sins in a bowl of water, he knew what numbers he’d reach before having to stop and remove his face, draw breath again. But how many drops before the end came, relieving him of his sins and his life?

Six. Seven.

“Now is the time, Kuneprius,” Kristeus said, breaking away from the chant as the others continued. “Fulfill the prophecy and return the Small Gods to their rightful place.”

The incantation shuddered along Kuneprius’ bones, gripped his muscles. He had no choice but to relinquish control and watch as his hand raised the knife in the air. His lips moved, forming the same words spoken by the others, the words he’d repeated over and over and over again.

His mind wanted to stop this, but it no longer had dominion over his body. The chanted words enveloped him, permeated his skin, forced his arm skyward. The dagger shook in his grasp as he resisted. His gaze fell on the Small God.

And Thorn opened his eyes.

***

Thorn’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Dark sky dotted with pinpricks of light hung above him, a rush of water filled his ears. Hard, smooth stone pressed against his back, cooling his fevered flesh and bringing him a comfort he hadn’t felt in many sunrises.

He blinked, inhaled. An unfamiliar odor mingled with the tang of sea water and the dusty scent of old stone.

Where is Thorn?

His eyelids slid closed once more as he concentrated on sounds and smells. The aches and pains in his muscles and joints distracted him, but he centered his focus, shifting it first to listening. After a few seconds, he noticed a repetitive sound beneath the rush of water: many voices joined together, chanting. This puzzle piece showed him what the unfamiliar odor was, too. The sweat of many men. He recognized it because his friend Horace Seaman smelled of it whenever he went too long without washing.

“Horace?” Thorn’s voice came out a croaking whisper to which no one responded. Did his friend hear him?

When Thorn opened his eyes this time, the world blurred. The stars became fuzzy streaks of light across a black canvas. He attempted to move his head, see who gathered around him, but the pain it caused in his neck was too great, so he settled for directing his gaze to his right.

A man stood beside him, both arms raised as though appealing to the sky. Thorn’s vision remained blurred, but there was a familiarity to the fellow, the shape of his face.

“Is it you, Horace? Thorn is happy to see you again.”

The voices surrounding him grew louder, the chanting more distinct, speaking the words of a language Thorn had not heard in a long time. He thought that, if he had his wits, he’d be able to decipher them, but both his wits and the words’ meaning eluded him.

He blinked again and the fuzziness of his vision cleared. The features of the man standing beside him became visible, as did the shapes of the hooded men gathered in a circle around them. Thorn felt an instant of disappointment it wasn’t the friend he thought it was, but it was still a friend.

“Not Horace,” he said on a sigh. “But Thorn’s other friend.”

The man’s face contorted, twisting into an expression of agony and despair. The chanting grew in volume, overpowering the rush of water.

“I’m sorry.” The words squeaked out of the man’s throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“Do not be sorry, friend.” Thorn forced a smile onto his lips in spite of the discomfort in his body. “Thorn will be fine.”

The man’s eyes closed, his mouth opened expelling an anguished cry, his shoulders shuddered. Light flashed on metal and the knife he’d been holding aloft came down. Its point tore through Thorn’s flesh, through his chest, not stopping until it chipped the stone of the altar beneath him.

Thorn gasped and his gaze jerked back to the sky. A dark silhouette crossed in front of the stars, its wide wings blocking them out as it passed. Somehow, even in the darkness, he saw the bird’s colors and the storm clouds it left in its wake.

“Stormbird,” he whispered, his mind returning to the day he’d tried to use the creature to escape from behind the veil and inadvertently let it get away. In a lifetime stretching back in time for so many turns of the seasons, that day seemed so long ago.

Despite the pain and the sensation of his life draining from him, Thorn smiled. How could he not? Hadn’t his long life been a thing filled with beauty and wonder? In the last short while, he’d flown with birds and eaten with men, he’d seen and done things no Small God had done since they took refuge behind the veil.

“It was a good life, Stormbird” he said as the bird passed out of sight leaving a night sky full of clouds behind.

He saw the first drops of rain plummeting toward him a few heartbeats before it spattered on his flesh, cooling it. He knew they’d be the last thing he’d experience, the last things to touch his skin, so he savored them. He filled his chest with one last breath, paused, then released it with a satisfied sigh. His vision dimmed, but before it faded to black, he saw the first of the streaks of light break through the Stormbird’s clouds.

And fire fell from the sky.

####

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Epic Fantasy Also Available From Bruce Blake:

Khirro’s Journey:

Book 1 –
Blood of the King

Book2 –
Spirit of the King

Book 3 –
Heart of the King

Blood of the King (Khirro’s Journey Book 1)

“Blood of the King is a masterpiece. It is as close to perfection as I would consider a book to be.”
- Ella Medler, author of
Blood is Heavier

A kingdom torn by war. A curse whispered by dying lips. A hero born against his will.

Khirro never wanted to be anything more than the farmer he was born to be, but a Shaman’s curse binds him to the fallen king and his life changes forever.

Driven by the Shaman’s dying words, Khirro’s journey pits him against an army of the dead, sends him through haunted lands, and thrusts him into the jaws of beasts he wouldn’t have believed existed. In one hand he carries the Shaman’s enchanted sword, a weapon he can barely use; in the other he holds a vial of the king’s blood, the hope of the kingdom. His destination: the Necromancer’s keep in the cursed land of Lakesh. Only the mysterious outlaw magician can raise the king from the dead to save them all from the undead invasion, but can Khirro live long enough to deliver the vial?

Can a coward save a kingdom?

“Blake has a knack for bringing you into the story”

“Mr. Blake’s writing is masterful and clear, he draws you into his story and when its finished you feel like you’re leaving an old friend.”

Urban Fantasy Also Available From Bruce Blake:

The Icarus Fell Novels:

On Unfaithful Wings

All Who Wander Are Lost

Secrets of the Hanged Man

“The next book in this series cannot come out soon enough for this reader. Not just my favorite Kindle book of the year, but one of my favorite books ever.”

“I loved this book.”

“Bruce Blake’s On Unfaithful Wings is a great urban fantasy novel. I love good character development in a story’s protagonist and Blake nails it with Icarus Fell. I found myself rooting for him from the get go and laughing out loud at some of his observations.”

“On Unfaithful Wings was an impressive first novel. All of the characters were interesting and engaging, but in particular the main character and his struggle to reconcile with his new identity/job. This is one of those stories that stays with me long after I read it and I’ll be on the lookout for more from this author.”

To some, death is the end; to others, a beginning. To Icarus Fell, it should have been a relief from a life gone seriously awry. But death had other plans.

Icarus doesn’t believe that the man awaiting him when he wakes up in a cheap motel room is really the archangel Michael, or that God’s right hand wants him to help souls on their way to Heaven. Icarus doesn’t believe there’s a Heaven, so why should they want his help?

But the man claiming to be the archangel tempts him with an offer he can’t ignore—harvest enough souls and get back the life he wished he’d had. It seems Icarus has nothing to lose, until he botches a harvest and the soul that went to Hell instead of Heaven comes back to make him pay by threatening to take away the life he hoped to win back.

To save the wife and son he already lost once, Icarus will have to become the man he never was. Somehow, he will have to learn to believe.

“This is just, simply, amazing. Icarus is one of the best characters I’ve ever “met”, chock full of virtues and faults and doubts and worries and a simple HUMANNESS that comes through so clearly, I almost expect to run into him around the next corner.”

“Icarus Fell is a flawed man but a wonderful character. From the moment I started reading On Unfaithful Wings I was pulled along by this interesting character and wanting to know what would happen next.”

About the Author

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” then he does shovelling. The father of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of burlesque diva
Miss Rosie Bitts.

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 first 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. “And Night Descends” marks his resolute return to the writing chair.

First Edition, 2015

ISBN 978-1-927687-17-8

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Copyright 2015, Bruce Blake

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