Mighty Hammer Down (5 page)

He made his way to the next street and
turned right toward the Temple of Inshae. He passed a few guards,
but they saw he was a Mage and let him pass without hindrance. What
fools they were. Superstition made them fear the Mages, who were
harmless, but any dangerous person could wear a black cloak or robe
in this city and go wherever he chose, free to commit almost any
crime. All this because people feared the Mages and their pretend
powers. He laughed at their lack of intelligence and reason, and at
their trust in the Mages they so feared. He figured that the
personal guards of the Emperor would not be afraid to kill a Mage,
but just about every other soldier backed off.

The marble city was blue in the full
moon light. It was getting late enough that most of the city’s
windows were dark, but the temples on the mountain still ruined the
perfect darkness. When he became Emperor, he would swiftly put a
stop to that ridiculous tradition. He made his way up the
cobblestone street and found himself at the temple steps much
sooner than he thought he would. He walked up the steps and entered
the massive structure.

Inside it was dark, but large openings
in the roof let in the moonlight. The clever architects kept most
of the rain from entering the temples by using mirrors to bounce
the light in at angles, rather than just having the ceiling open to
the sky. Most of the temple was made of white marble, but black
marble was used for accents. In the center of the floor was a huge
circular pattern made of the black marble that somewhat resembled a
flower. All the columns inside the temple were black, and topped
with capitals covered in pure silver. In fact, silver was used
everywhere that the black marble met the white. He wasn’t sure of
the reason for it, but he assumed it was some old superstition
about keeping the dark spirit of Inshae from being able to enter
the precious white city of Brinn from this temple. He laughed to
himself at the people who must have built this temple, knowing
nothing of the truth.

He crossed the floor and came to an
altar at the back of the huge open room. Above him stood a towering
statue of Inshae himself, with moonlight falling on his hood and
shoulders. The imposing black figure seemed to suck all sound from
the room, leaving nothing but a heavy silence. He thought about how
difficult it must have been to carve an accurate statue of a god
who in reality appears to be made of nothing more than dust and
mist. He looked up at the statue, staring down at him with his
empty eye sockets, his skull face devoid of a mouth, and heavy
robes cascading to the floor. Inshae was said to be unable to
speak, but he was able to whisper directly into one’s mind. He
bowed his head reverently and felt behind the altar, finding the
round carving of a flower he was looking for. He pressed at the
center and it slid into the back of the altar. The floor shook as
the flower pattern in the center of the room began to slowly fall
away into the floor, creating a circular staircase of black marble.
An orange glow appeared from below and he quickly made his way down
the steps before the mechanism reset itself.

Down below there was no white marble
at all. Everything was as black as death, with the exception of the
torches burning on the walls of the large circular room. Many
hooded men stood in a circle awaiting his arrival. Some had purple
satin accents on their robes, some blue, and some had no accents at
all. The colors were meant to signal the rank of the Mage, and
since names where seldom used, they called each other by rank, or
sometimes simply "brother". But their identities were no secret to
each other. The omission of names was simply a
formality.

As the stairs grinded back into
position, Uritus made his way to the center of the circle where a
black altar rose from the floor with its own grinding sound. He
placed his wooden box carefully in the center in reverence for the
item inside. He felt a warm pride rise inside him. From this night
onward, there would be no more skeptics. No one would doubt the
power of the Mages or their ability to shape the world. Starting
with the men in this room, the whole world was about to
change.

"Brethren," Uritus said as he turned
from the altar, "this night, we finally control the shifting sands
of fate. We have been handed a power that all the Mages before us
could only dream of."

He turned as he spoke, looking into
the darkness under the hoods of each man, knowing their eyes were
intent upon him. "Soon we will not only make it possible for Inshae
to truly walk among us, but also control Arius as well. In time we
will unlock the secrets to controlling all the gods, and we will
pave the path for Inshae to become more powerful than Oderion
himself!"

The men all raised an arm, bent at the
elbow as a salute to their leader. Cheering was inappropriate in
such a sacred room, so a simple salute would have to do.

Uritus approached the altar as he
continued. "Capture is no longer necessary. When you see him, kill
him."

He slowly opened the box. He knew that
when these men saw what was inside, that they would no longer have
any sort of doubt. All their blind following would be blind no
more.

He reached inside and pulled out the
item, glowing gold as it caught the torchlight. The men gasped in
awe as the sparkling artifact lit the room. Most of them shrunk
back, feeling unworthy to be near it.

This was from the world of the
gods.

This was the golden sword of
Arius.

Chapter 5

Rommus woke up to the annoying sounds
of birds chirping. He shouldn’t have been sleeping, but staying up
so late the night before had drained him, and he must have fallen
asleep while relaxing in his woods. He called them his woods
because no one else ever visited them as far as he knew. Most
people were content living in the city with all the pretty marble
and gold, but he was just as happy to be leaning against a tree and
sitting in the lush green grass. The fact that humans built the
giant structures in the cities was amazing, but the pristine beauty
of nature was equally impressive to him. He smiled to himself as he
thought maybe the gods felt like they were in competition with the
creations of man.

He wondered for a moment about those
jealous gods. If they really were up there in the Land of the Gods,
it wasn’t likely that they cared much about what the hands of man
had built, but he wondered how they viewed mankind in general. If
someone was up there pulling the strings, what was the overall
intent? Was there an agenda? What reason would the gods have for
humans at all, let alone their pathetic little problems and
desires?

No matter what answer he got, he was
never satisfied. He would have stopped wondering about it years
ago, but there was always one thing that gnawed at him, keeping the
questions alive. The complication was that if there were no gods,
and no being created the world and everything in it, then where did
everything come from? Both scenarios left him feeling empty and
uncomfortable. Either the strange truths of religion were true, or
he was very alone in the world, with no purpose and no hope for a
life beyond this one.

Then again, he didn’t need the absence
of the gods to make him feel that way. He felt as if he were high
above the waters of fate, on some slippery bridge made of wood and
rope where he could not get a firm hold. Those waters were calm
pools when he was younger, but they were now raging torrents of icy
ambiguity. He had dreamed of that bridge and the water all
throughout his life, and he had recently come to the conclusion
that since he couldn’t swim, the water represented failure. Nothing
frightened Rommus Tirinius, no man or weapon made him hesitate with
fear, but he was terribly afraid of that failure. It was
intangible. It could not be touched or studied. It was an enemy
that offered no soft underbelly to pierce to drive it back or
destroy it. It was always there, always lurking, always waiting for
its chance to strike again and devour any hope he had
left.

He wasn’t afraid of dying. He figured
if he died, then whatever waited for him on the other side was the
unalterable truth, gods or no gods. But he had no map to guide him
here in this world. No matter which way he pointed his ship, he was
sinking, and nothing he could do would stop the black waves from
taking him. He wished desperately for a goal, a shining light to
bring him back to the shores. No light ever came.

He made an attempt to clear his mind
of his troubling thoughts, but it had proven to be more and more
difficult with each passing year. He was a man that people used to
look up to, a man who had an answer for everyone. People trusted
him and sought his guidance at each crossroads in their lives, from
soldiers and neighbors, to strangers and friends. He was happy to
help, and he believed he was providing those people with the advice
they needed to not only be happy, but to become the architects of
their own fate. He had watched many people change for the better,
and he was proud of what he had accomplished.

Recently, however, that power had
slipped from his tight grip. It was a slow decline, hardly noticed
at first, but before he was aware of it, no one came knocking on
his door. No one asked for advice, and on the rare occasions it was
given, it was met with a sharp and cold retort. He eventually
succumbed to his own fate, which was to recede to a dreary and
silent world of his own. He had reached out from that world before.
He tried to tell them he was sinking, but no one listened. It was
probably the fact that while these people no longer respected him
or cared for his opinion, they thought he was too strong to be in
any position where he himself might need help. Sometimes all he
wanted to do was talk to someone and organize his thoughts while he
spoke. He might as well tell the wind or the stars. No one heard
him.

He did have Mirra and Pirius. Both of
them were kind to him for the most part, but neither wanted to hear
his troubles. Pirius always busied himself with women, and Mirra
was great at avoiding particular subjects. He let her get away with
avoiding questions, although he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he was
afraid that the truth might sometimes be harder to swallow than a
lie. But as much as he doubted her, he still trusted her. She had
her quirks, just like he did. Certainly she was off somewhere
thinking about how odd he was, and what it would be like when they
eventually got married.

Marriage was something she had brought
up a few times, but he never did. He was uncomfortable with the
idea of placing his happiness totally in the hands of another. The
whole idea was absurd as far as he was concerned, but the fact that
she cared enough about him to apply her subtle pressures on the
matter brought him small flashes of joy in his darkness. He never
told her no, but he never told her yes either.

He sniffed at the smells of nature;
the grass, the dirt, the fresh air. He watched the dark green
leaves of the trees sway slowly in front of the bright blue sky. No
cloud ruined the perfection by marring the perfect blue or blotting
out the sun. Was this perfection a reminder that things will be
better? Or was it a smug slap in the face from the gods telling him
that no matter how beautiful things seemed, there was always
suffering underneath it all?

He took a deep breath as he watched a
flurry of excited insects in the distance. Insects were such a
nuisance. He accepted them as a necessary part of nature, but they
always seemed to be crawling on him or in his food or stinging him.
Maybe the gods thought humans were the same sort of
nuisance.

He froze when he realized that insects
don’t flutter like that unless they are disturbed. It could be that
some animal was moving through the trees, but with the attempts on
him and his father, he was not taking a chance. In all his years he
had never seen anyone in his woods, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t
followed. He stayed low and moved around to the back of the tree he
was sitting under. There wasn’t anything better in the immediate
area to hide behind so it would have to do. Thankfully he thought
to bring a knife this time, and he pulled it from his belt and
studied the woods beyond the opening in front of him.

A snap of a twig got his attention. He
looked to where the sound came from, but then he quickly looked
behind him, making sure that there wasn’t another attacker ready to
surprise him from the rear. He saw nothing in either direction. He
held his breath as he listened, not wanting to miss a
sound.

No enemy made himself—or herself-
known. He thought briefly about how such a beautiful woman could so
coldly try to kill his father, but before he could clearly picture
her face, the sound came. It was a low, booming rumble, less like a
sound and more like a feeling. It was as if the ground beneath him
shuddered with rage. The waves of that anger thundering through him
to his very soul.

Suddenly, fear struck him. He had to
pause a second to believe what he was feeling. This wasn’t a fear
one might feel while in battle or before being robbed. This was not
a fear for one’s life, but for one’s soul. He couldn’t make sense
of it, but he tightened his grip on his knife, determined to stand
his ground. He would at least see his enemy before he ran from
him.

The rumble changed into a strange
howling song. It seemed as if the trees sang the tormented song of
the dead, struggling to convey the terror felt in the world beyond.
He thought he heard human voices in the cries, but he couldn’t be
sure. The whole world shook with the terrible and violent
sound.