Chronicles of Death

Dim lights at the centers of round tables in the pub cast shadows over the faces of those crowded within. A half-empty glass of mead left a dark ring on a table marred with countless rings from drinks long since past. Hood pulled over her head, Katya observed the bustling pub and waited.

Mahinaka had only one major city and she was as far from it as one could be while still remaining within the borders of its country. The southern town she’d stopped in was twenty miles from the bridges that crossed the ocean between Layabre and Mahinaka.

At first glance, Mahinaka was beautiful.

Lush green fields nestled within a large valley that yielded food for its peoples. Mountains lined the southern end of the continent and thick forests encompassed the north before sloping down into idyllic shores. Lakes and rivers were sprawled generously throughout Mahinaka, and the towns were impeccably kept (or at least they appeared to be). Roads were paved with cobblestone and storefronts were constantly bustling. But beneath the polished façade there were cracks.

Murne was the capital and home to Veran’s palace. Veran was the God who ruled over Mahinaka. No town or city was permitted to grow beyond the size of Murne and Murne was a modest sized city at best. This left every other city overpopulated and cramped. Oftentimes, beyond the perfect façade, the conditions were deplorable.

Through the large glass window of the pub, Katya spotted the dark silhouette of mountains just to the north. Most of Mahinaka’s cities lay either to the north of the mountains of Luha or south of the forests of Dalam. Farmers and their fields were scattered throughout Tumba, the land between the mountains and the forests.

Soon, she would make her way past sprawling Luha and all the way to Murne.

A leatherbound journal rested in her lap, filled with scribbles. To most, it would seem like nonsense but to her they were plans for what came next. And what came next was no simple task.

She would kill a God.

A thing said to be impossible.

The sword in its sheath that rested against her chair was no ordinary blade. It was a sword blessed by one of the ancient Gods who had created Lupinaio, her home, and all its peoples.

Godkiller, it was called.

The chair next to hers scraped on broken tile as a tall sturdy man claimed it as his own. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief from beneath the hood of his dark cloak. They reminded her of ice after the first snowfall. Reflecting impossible light.

He ordered a pint as a bartender walked past them and turned to her. This man with the icy blue eyes, strong jaw, and permanent smirk was the same who had gifted her the sword at her side. The same who had granted her a second chance at life.

Well, that was only partially true.

Raven had not been the one to grant her those things. He was but the man who had been chosen as the voice of the one who had. Vrana, his master, was one of the old Gods who had created Lupinaio, the only one who had not abandoned it. He’d only ever been a legend in comparison to the New Gods who were their current leaders. Vrana was a thing written about in storybooks. A thing that Katya had not believed in until she’d been making her vow to him.

Raven watched her curiously, leaned against the table. A pint was placed in front of him, and then they were left alone. Then he cleared his throat, and she gave him her full attention at last. The patrons of the pub barely lifted their heads. Overworked and underpaid, this was their only refuge from the difficult life of the lower class of Mahinaka.

Mahinaka’s idyllic visage fractured with every passing second.

Veran, their leader, was a tyrant.

The Gods had chosen their own titles and his was God of Magic. Self-proclaimed arrogance to describe his gift over the elements. He ruled over his peoples as though they were vermin.

It had been rumored that Mahinaka was the ideal place to live in all of Lupinaio, but Katya knew that was far from the truth. All the continents were struggling. Every perfect fixture was a clever ruse. Those who spoke of greener pastures were kidding themselves.

The rich dwelt in the innermost part of the Capital of Murne and they, as few as they were, ruled over the poor of the other cities. Many were treated more like slaves than lower class citizens. They were paid just enough to scrape by. It was an unfortunate reality most of Lupinaio lived in. Most didn’t know there could be better.

The rich were born rich while the poor remained poor.

Veran’s system of government bred abuse and tyranny.

Katya had been lucky enough to be born in Pabigo. A continent in the south ruled over by what she considered to be one of the lesser wicked Gods. She’d had a farm, her life, and peace. That had been enough for her. It wasn’t her dream, but dreams were unattainable in Lupinaio. A fact learned quickly by all.

“He’s locked himself away.” Raven pushed the hood away from his face. His long, dark purple hair was pulled into a ponytail that was lazily draped over his shoulder. “The gates are near impenetrable.”

“And how do you expect me to get past impenetrable?” Katya pushed her long wavy white hair back almost instinctively at the sight of his messy hair. Impenetrable didn’t frighten her. She just needed to know more. Katya was a born and bred warrior. A General in the longstanding war between the New Gods. After the recent death of Paya, the God of Shadow and ruler of Lillim, the war had come to a screeching halt. No one believed the Gods capable of death, but Katya had witnessed it with her own two eyes.

Lysette, Paya’s murderer and one of the Lesser Gods, had declared herself Supreme Goddess after taking Paya’s life, throne, and country. The Lesser Gods were said to be the less powerful siblings of the New Gods. Perhaps they had been misled.

Paya’s murder was an act that went down in infamy.

“The summit between the New Gods and that imposter on Paya’s throne has come to an end. Tentative peace has been struck though tensions are high and mounting. Veran is frightened as are the rest of the New Gods. They thought themselves beyond death. But all living things are but waiting to die. He has locked himself away, convinced he will be killed next. He is not wrong to fear death, but it is not Lysette’s hand that he will fall too.” Raven’s smirk gave her confidence. He took the journal from her lap. For someone she had only known for a few weeks he had certainly become comfortable around her.

Quill in hand, he tapped it with his forefinger so ink would fill it as needed. Katya rolled her eyes.

Magic users.

She slid the small bottle of ink she’d been using over to him, but it went ignored. Raven scribbled on the blank page of the journal. A map with barely legible markers. Raven must have been an artist. Even as he scribbled, the map took shape skillfully. He drew four symbols upon the map that now vaguely resembled Mahinaka.

Snatching the pen from his hand once he was finished, she dipped the quill in ink and then scribbled further on the page to disguise his instructions. No one was looking for her yet but once she’d taken the life of a God that would change.

“I could offer you magic to disguise your journal, if you like.”

“Perhaps when there is more need for such measures. For now, there is little gained by any who may find it.”

“As you desire.” He bowed his head politely then pointed to the map. “You will need four keys to gain entrance to his palace. Each gate is guarded and claimed to be impenetrable without those keys. These keys have been gifted to his four Generals, his most trusted servants.”

“Each represents one of the core elements of nature, yes? I was taught that they made powerful pacts with Veran. It is said that watching them fight is like watching Veran control them as puppets from afar.”

“You are both correct and incorrect.” Raven made no move to hide his delight. “These pacts are strong, yes, but they have weakened Veran significantly. To make a pact, a God must give up a part of themselves. The more pacts made, the weaker they become. Do not underestimate him because of this, Katya. He is still strong even at his frailest. He is a God after all. That being said, he is a shell of what he was when he took Mahinaka for his own many years ago. All the New Gods are. He is one of the most vulnerable by far. He gave away too much of himself and fell too in love with worldly things.” Raven’s warning would not go ignored. Arrogance had no place on the battlefield. “It shouldn’t be a problem for someone with your skill and your gifts. I think that you could have defeated him even without Vrana’s aid.”

“I don’t like to brag about things that I haven’t accomplished, Raven.” Katya kept her attention on the map. “So, that’s where they are then?”

“Yes. If this were my task, then I would kill them and take what I need.” Raven lowered his voice then took a long drink from his pint which did not empty, mysteriously enough. Perhaps he didn’t trust the mead. She couldn’t rightly blame him. She took a sip of her own to prove that it wasn’t tampered with. She’d been at it for over an hour. “They are strong. If you leave them alive then Veran will have a chance to end their pact and recall his gift. If you kill them then the magic will fade into Lupinaio with their deaths. If you allow Veran to return to his full Godly power, then there could be trouble.”

“I can’t pretend to know what I’ll do when it comes to it.” Those kinds of decisions were made in the moment. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Times ahead will be difficult. Moreso than any could imagine. History is being made and it has only just begun. Hide your face. Keep your head down. Be silent for as long as you can be silent.” Raven tapped his fingers nervously against his leg. His pint had disappeared. Magic users. “Vrana has faith in you and so do I.”

“That’s still difficult to believe.” Katya slipped the journal into her bag. Vrana was one of the Old Gods, the ones that had created Lupinaio and all life within. They’d gone from the pages of fiction to ordering her to kill the New Gods in the blink of an eye.

Gods that had fallen to corruption by staying in power for too long.

Their powers should have faded with time. They should have left as the Old Gods had when their time had ended but had chosen greed instead.

Vrana himself had not appeared to her but had used Raven as his messenger. She had not trusted him at first, but he healed her and gifted her magic as promised. She’d been near death then and now was stronger than ever. The wounds she’d suffered were the type she would have carried throughout her life had it not been for his Godly gifts.

Vrana was the self-proclaimed Demon of Darkness.

A title that he had taken after abandoning his place as a King of Lupinaio.

“We trust you. Do what you must. We will meet again soon.” Raven stood, hand on the back of her chair. “Be careful.” He whispered.

“I always am.”