Whom the Gods Slay: Book III of The Walking Gods Trilogy

By Ty Johnston

The time for the gathering of the gods has arrived. Some will fall beforehand, others will bring powerful weapons, but none will be the same after they meet again, this time at the Well of Souls.

Two mortals join them this time, a wizard who has slain thousands to gain power and a simple soldier from the future. Both will have roles to play. Both will be transformed. Both will change the fate of humankind.

For the very future of man is what lies at stake here. Will the gods continue to wander? Or will they take their place as rulers once more? And what of the mysterious race of Zarroc, those lizard-like beings who created the gods in the first place?

All of these have their moments, but there is another, an entity from beyond the Well of Souls, a creature more powerful than all the gods combined. It has waited and watched, but now it readies itself to take part in the battle that is to come.

The gods cannot go on as before, nor will the world of Ursia. What occurs this day, what is witnessed, might be forgotten by men in centuries to come, but it will decide the future of men, and perhaps the final fate of everyone.

ALSO AVAILABLE
Where Gather the Gods: Book I of The Walking Gods Trilogy
A Place Called Skull: Book II of The Walking Gods Trilogy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Johnston
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370897414

Ty Johnston

Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

He flew. Flight was still a new experience for Sadhe Teth, but since his wizardly powers had grown in strength he was beginning to enjoy leaving the world of the walking below him. Staring down as he drifted across the bright sky, he could not help but take in the rolling pale dunes of the desert. Sweat beat down upon his brow, but a wipe of his robe’s sleeves set him dry once again, and he could always call upon his magic if he became too overheated, or too hungry or thirsty or tired.

There seemed no end to what he could do, and already he had come to revel in his new strength. He also found his magic now provided a most elegant experience. Walking as he had done all his life had been a necessity, but now it proved dull to him, something which he promised he would return to only when needed.

Then there was speed. His abilities of flight could carry him in an hour what it would take a day for a man to traverse on foot. Miles flowed by far below as the wizard closed his eyes and felt the winds embrace his body. Every so often he would even extend himself higher from the ground, reaching to new heights among the clouds themselves, the dampness often found there enough to keep him cool for some time when returning to the heat of the desert below.

His powers being new, he had feared them at first. There had also been confusion. He had been aware of his new strengths, but he had not been sure of their limits. Now he knew there practically were no limits, at least not beyond what his mind could imagine. He had the Zarroc to thank for that, those long-sleeping alien creatures, seemingly dead for thousands or millions of years.

Shivering, Teth lowered himself closer to the ground. He did not like to think of the Zarroc. They had told him much, had seared knowledge upon his mind, but he did not miss those strange creatures. Their mere presence had disturbed him, making his mouth dry and his stomach feel as if it had been turned upside down. To his senses, the Zarroc had seemed like dead things returned to life. Common sense told him this was not likely the situation, that the creatures had merely been asleep for centuries in the manner of the gods, but he could not shake the feeling. That gray, flaking, reptilian flesh. The dead, flat eyes. Those wispy voices that still continued to break into his thoughts from time to time.

No, he did not want to think about the Zarroc. They had given him much, told him secrets, boosted his confidence in his new abilities, but they were still entities foreign to him. By comparison, the gods were almost human.

Thinking of the gods caused Sadhe Teth to slow his forward momentum and glance over a shoulder to the far horizon he had left behind. The gods would be coming. He was a threat to them, more now than ever. The Zarroc had told him of the Well of Souls and what he should do there to finally, once and for, end the threat caused by these gods. Yes, the gods would follow.

But he was not without defenses. There was his magic, of course, but there was also the Rod of Anguish.

Using both hands to heft the iron rod, he stared it up and down for the hundredth time, noting the ancient runes carved into the metal. There were no more secrets here. The weapon’s truths had been revealed to him. Nearly all the gods would be powerless before him as long as he held the weapon.

A patch of darkness far ahead caught his attention. A blemish had appeared along the skyline, roiling and building, growing into a brownish mass that stretched along the horizon and gradually rose higher and higher. Still floating forward, Sadhe Teth did not think to stop or retreat though the new image before him brought confusion.

Minutes passed as he drew nearer that dark mass. Then he realized what he was seeing, but it was too late to turn back.

It was a storm. Made up of the desert grit itself and layers of soil pulled from beneath, the heavy winds rolled over and over within themselves, scouring across the land like a giant wave barreling onto a soft shore, churning through the sands and spewing them up in all directions. This massive wave showed no signs of halting.

To Sadhe Teth’s eyes, the storm appeared not natural. He had lived all of his life not far from the desert, and what he now witnessed was beyond his experience or recollection. No storm should be that big, that powerful.

He brought himself down, his sandals touching the desert floor.

Now on the sands, he found he had a better view of the scale of the storm. It was a giant, puffing wall of dirt flowing towards him, and it stretched to his right and left as far as he could see. The thing moved fast, faster than he could fly, so there was no avoiding it.

A storm like that, it would be deadly, likely to shred the flesh from his bones. And since he could not flee, he would have to protect himself in another fashion.

Holding the rod up in one hand like a staff, one end of the black shaft sinking into the sand, Teth stretched out his other hand and made a few passages of it through the air while uttering words of magic, the ancient language of the Zarroc.

The ground rumbled beneath him, then walls of living sand rose in a circle all around, climbing above and over his head until the walls reached one another, forming into a round dome around the mage and leaving him in darkness.

Stepping forward, Teth ran a hand along the rough texture of his temporary abode. The sand had already hardened to stone. This should protect him from the storm. If not, he could always do something else, perhaps dig down and down until he was beneath the tempest’s strength.

Yet that would not need to happen, he felt sure.

A roaring noise bore down upon his shelter, the storm nearing. The ground shook slightly and even the walls of Sadhe Teth’s protection began to quiver.

The noise outside grew louder, building into a crescendo of rage and hate, shaking the floor and the walls and causing the wizard to nearly lose his footing.

No storm, no matter how powerful, produced such an effect as that sound, that noise full of wrath. Only a throat of the living could create such. Was someone out there? One of the gods?

The worst part was not being able to see.

Curiosity more than fear won out and Teth raised a hand in the dark, muttered a few words, and a round section of the wall before him appeared to melt away. In fact, the wall did not vanish nor open. Instead, the one area became transparent, allowing light to shine through and Teth to see the outside world.

What he saw brought him no joy.

The storm was right on top of him, the billowing clouds looking more like waves than before, brash grays and mottled browns mixing and turning over one another all through the sky. There was little else to see, the remaining sky becoming smaller and smaller but still shedding enough light by which to see.

A darkness, a shadow, appeared within the storm, growing larger and larger as if approaching the mage’s sanctuary from some ways off. It came forward gradually like a man fighting his way through the heavy winds, but who would be strong enough to stand against those gales?

Only a god.

Thoughts of Itidal came to the wizard, but he immediately ruled them out. Itidal had not been at the tower. Itidal would not have known all that had transpired, not yet. And none of the gods at those ruins had struck Teth as particularly bold in their physical strength, nor willing to brave the ravages of the whirling winds outside his safety within the dome.

Which meant there was someone else, another god.

That roaring, it became a scream, shaking his sanctuary once more from top to bottom, but more importantly shaking the mage himself. The sound, it was not of pain, but of the deepest wrath, of denial, of hatred so deep and black as to almost be beyond that of mortal men.

Movement outside. Fast movement. That shadow, it was now not so distant. It approached, and with much speed.

Then it took to the air, a seeming impossibility within the power of that tempest. Yet it did. This dark blemish against the storm, it sailed high and shot forward in an arc, darting down towards the dome that protected the mage.

Only at the last moment could Sadhe Teth make out the dark features of the hulking, muscled figure that sailed towards him. Only at the last moment could he see the dark brows, the shaggy hair, the tattered, furred garb, the eyes filled with rage, the massive sword gripped in two hands over the monstrosity’s head, the point of the weapon aimed directly for Teth himself.

Chapter 2

Too many voices. They came at her from all sides, some calm and composed, others screeching and badgering, even threatening. Fatigue did not come easily to the gods, but just then she felt more drained than she had in at least thousands of years.

This was what Djevi got for spending time with her family.

Not that she was with them by choice.

Trapped within ancient sandstone ruins by a magical chain encircling the outside of the tower where she now stood, Djevi brushed away sweat from her brow. She did not know what was worse, the heat of the desert flooding through the tower’s open doorways and windows, or the constant jabbering at her back.

Turning slowly, her scarlet tunic and kilt flowing around her, the goddess grimaced as she took in her talkative kin.

Though all were of an age, Kadedus appeared the youngest of the lot, her hair dark and short, black leathers tight against her slender form. Unfortunately her youthful features held dark bruises and a twisted jaw, signs of broken bones beneath. Her arms and legs lay twisted at odd angles upon the floor, yet her chest still rose, showing life continued to flow within. At least she was unconscious, though she managed to mumble loud words from time to time, adding to the cacophony.

Next to her lay another figure, one looking much like her. This was Avar. Wearing all black like his twin, he also sported a dark eye patch and a slender beard and mustache. He was not unconscious. He was yelling his damn, fool head off, throwing out threats that if he were not untied right that moment, he would kill all of them in a most horrible manner. Yes, he was bound. He had proven himself a danger when he had attacked Djevi and Itidal. Besides, Avar had a long history of not being trustful. He would remain tied.

Djevi looked to Itas, her sister standing crying in a corner, shrieking that they should not have allowed Stolz and the wizard to escape, that all of them were now doomed, doomed, doomed. Normally a beautiful goddess, Itas’s long, blond hair now hung limp across her pale features. Even her simple garb of a skirt and blouse appeared crumpled upon her and dusty from the desert sands sifting across the floor.

At Itas’s feet lay the unmoving form of Vriend. One of the most kind of the gods, he now lay unmoving, his arms and legs torn from his body to leave behind a torso and head, the remains of the shattered form barely covered by tattered cloth. Worse yet, upon that head lay torn flesh and empty eye sockets, dried blood still caking the flesh that remained and the muscles and bones appearing through tears in the skin. Vriend had suffered pain unlike anything most of the gods had ever experienced. Like Kadedus, he lolled in and out of consciousness, though unlike his sister he did not moan or cry out, nor did he move about.

In a corner next to Itas and Vriend huddled the dark-fleshed Humble, his boney frame covered by the thinnest and most basic of tunics, a few gray hairs straddling his head. He had sunk down on his feet until his rear nearly touched the sandy floor, his stick-like arms now over his face and above his head. His body shook as a keening din screeched forth from his hidden lips. The most gentle of all, he had been enslaved and tortured and was now like the rest of them, trapped by the Chains of Binding. Recent events and the clamor within the chamber seemed to prove that poor Humble’s anguish would never cease.

Then there was Bagaer. She was the most beautiful of all the gods. Men had died for her, killed for her. Men had turned away from their families, even turned against their families, all for Bagaer, merely to be in her presence. Despite the fact she wore only a simple skirt and shirt made of softened camel hide, lust seemed to seep from her. At least usually. Now she stood near the room’s only exit to the desert beyond, her eyes locked upon the rows of thick chain that barred the doorway to the outside. Though she looked at none of the others, she gave voice to quietening them, telling them to calm themselves, that they needed to think, to find some manner of escape, though all knew it impossible