And Kingdoms End (The Sixth Book of the Small Gods): The Books of the Small Gods, #6

By Bruce Blake

Evil courses through the land, seeking to choke the roots sprouting from the Seed of Life and destroy humanity's last shred of hope.

The Evenstar has returned, and with him comes the rise of the Small Gods.When armies amass at Ikkundana, the City of the Sick prepares for the final battle.

But where is the firstborn child of the rightful king, the one prophesied to save humankind? Who will save the kingdom?

A sailor. A child. A once great warrior now a shadow of himself.

None can stand against the invincible statue, nor hope to turn the tide of a war waged against the gods.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Blake
• Release date: May 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781927687222

Book preview

And Kingdoms End

The Sixth Book of the Small Gods

Bruce Blake

Comments?

Contact Bruce at: [e-mail]

Click her to get FREE SHORT STORIES and keep up to date on new releases

Copyright 2021 by Bruce Blake

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form of

by any electronic or mechanical means, including information and retrieval

systems, without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer

who may quote brief passages in a review,

This is a work of fiction, names, characters, places

and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events, locales

or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-927687-22-2

Contents

1. Prologue

2. I - Teryk - Ikkundana

3. II - Ishla – Road to Ikkundana

4. III - Teryk – Healer

5. IV - Horace – Travelin’

6. V - Erral – On the Road

7. VI - Mother of Death – Passing

8. VII - Strylor – Prince and Queen

9. VIII - Dansil – Arrival

10. IX - Trenan – Battleground

11. X - Ishla – Finding Trenan

12. XI - Dansil – Opportunity

13. XII - Erral – Trenan

14. XIII - Teryk – Fade to Black

15. XIV - Ishla – Resurrection

16. XV - Evalal – Ikkundana

17. XVI - Horace – Golem

18. XVII - Osis – Yoli

19. XVIII - Vesisdenperos – Fight

20. XIX - Horace – Diggin’

21. XX - Danya – Inside

22. XXI - Ailyssa – Priestess

23. XXII - Yoli – Fight

24. XXIII - Danya – Chasm

25. XXIV - Horace – Meltin’

26. XXV - Trenan – Mercy

27. XXVI - Dansil – Ends

28. XXVII - Teryk – Awake

29. XXVIII - Horace – The Sea

Also By Bruce Blake

About the Author

Prologue

Sunlight streamed between the tree boughs hanging overhead, warming his cheeks on his upturned face. The best part came when he opened his eyes—no more balls of fire racing across the sky.

The sun had risen and set one less time than the number of fingers on both his hands since he’d seen the last of them. Not only did he feel better, everyone else did, too. Today marked the first day the elders felt comfortable enough to let him wander off to explore his new home. The other young ones were up to the same, each followed by an elder. The difference was, he’d already lost his.

He lowered his chin, inhaled the scents of the forest. He couldn’t identify them all yet—so many new and unfamiliar odors—but he’d figure them out, and the prospect of doing so filled him with joy. A smile spread across his face. Safe, happy, an entire world to explore. Only one more thing could make the day better.

Maybe today will be the day this one gets a name.

A few of the other young ones had earned theirs, but not him. He understood; the dangers brought by the migration distracted everyone. Memories of being chased by metal men on horses kept him awake some nights, even curled up secure with the rest of his kin. But the green wall protected them, and the fireballs drove them off. He knew they were safe again, and the elders comfortable, because the fire only stopped falling when She Who Watched Over became sure they endured no more threat.

He set out following a vague path in the brush made by some animal’s passing. With a little luck, perhaps he’d find the animal and enjoy its company for a while. All his friends came with them, but with their new home being so large, he had yet to locate any of them. He knew he’d encounter them soon; in the meantime, many other fresh companions waited to meet him.

Leaves brushed against his bare gray legs, caressing his skin with their supple green fingers. He smiled at the texture, kicked at a pebble in his path and sent it skittering into the underbrush. Birds twittered and sang overhead, their words unfamiliar to his ears. Ahead, an emerald glow emanated through the trees. He paused, stared for a moment, then broke into a run, leaping through the brush and over logs, deftly avoiding branches and rocks.

His heels skidded on the loamy ground as he came to a halt in front of the shimmering wall. He inclined his head, gaze crawling over its surface climbing way up to touch the sky.

We made this.

He kept looking up and up and up until he tilted over, falling onto his back. Broad leaves and mossy earth cushioned his fall, and he laughed aloud at his silliness, at the barrier, at the sky and the trees and the brush. When his mirth settled, he lay on the loamy forest floor, staring up at the blue and brown and green overhead until a mouse scuttled up beside him, sniffed at his ear. He turned his head.

Hello, little one.

The creature’s whiskers vibrated; it squeaked twice, then scurried away into the thicket. He didn’t understand the rodent—he found the ones with the smallest heads most difficult to decipher—but it seemed important, so he climbed to his feet and followed. The tiny fellow headed straight for the green wall, then went scampering along the base, its passing denoted by the shiver of leaves and the pad of miniscule paws. It paused occasionally, waiting to make sure he kept up.

As he chased after it, he let his fingertips glide over the expanse of the shimmering barrier, his touch sending streaks crackling over its surface. To him, it felt both pliable and resistant, as though he dragged his fingers across the surface of a shallow puddle, like the tips sank in ever so slightly, but didn’t go through.

Nothing can get through. Or over. So says Sky.

The mouse kept going, its tiny legs working furiously as it ran over flat patches, leapt errant pinecones and fallen twigs. The pursuer stifled a giggle at how adorable the small fellow looked with his dark bubble eyes and furry tail. As he followed, he took his hand away from the wall and let his gaze stray to the area on the other side. The translucent green boundary warped things, twisting everything out of focus and painting the world in emerald and chartreuse, but what had happened to the land after they raised the barrier stood out stark and obvious.

Blackened ground stretched from the base of the wall to the top of the distant hill where trees began again, the nearest ones charred and bare of needles or leaves. Other than a few burnt tree trunks, the fireballs had cleared the area of the metal men who’d chased them and everything else, too. Losing the trees saddened him and he slowed his pace without realizing, looking at their scorched remains and entertaining the grief in his heart. What beauty they brought to the world, what loveliness they contributed to life.

A manic series of squeaks returned him to the here and now, and he halted, half a step from where the mouse had stopped. Any farther and he might have crushed the poor thing under his foot.

I sorry, little one, he said, crouching.

He held his hand out in apology and the tiny rodent sniffed his fingertip, nose wiggling against his skin. It looked up at him and squeaked once more before scurrying off into the forest.

Are we done?

He stood, watching the minuscule shake of leaves at the mouse’s passing. The mouse darted behind a tree, gone from his sight, and he lost its path after that. He drew a deep sigh in through his lips, sad for losing the company. Maybe he’d try to find his friend, Raven; the sun’s height above the horizon suggested enough time, but where to look?

He faced the wall again and the figure standing adjacent his position startled him, making him jump back, feet scuffling in the undergrowth. The silhouette on the other side of the barrier stood rigid, staring at him.

Eyes narrowed to slits, he moved closer, staying an arm’s length away from the shimmering green veil. He couldn’t tell if the person was male or female, despite its lack of clothing. Fire had burned everything off the body—hair, nose and lips, skin. Peering through the jade sheen, the flesh appeared brown, though he suspected it might appear red if he saw it through a clear lens, perhaps black in places. Only the eyes remained unscathed. They appraised him with a softness he thought suggested this was woman.

What happened to you? he whispered and inched closer.

A sheet of skin, charred at the edge, had peeled away from her chest; blisters—some whole and others burst—covered her arms and legs. A hole burned through her right cheek flexed and stretched as she pulled apart her lips with a crackle of burnt flesh.

The sound she made would have been more expected from a forest animal, though he’d have had a better chance of understanding one of them if it had a head as big as hers. A croak, a gurgle, a hard breath, a squeak. If what came from her mouth followed any pattern or possessed meaning, he didn’t understand.

He edged closer, leaned toward her. Her eyes followed, but she remained unmoving.

Need help? He paused, swallowed. I do anything for you?

The woman lifted her arm, skin crackling again with the action, and he jumped away despite the safety afforded by the green veil. They’d made it to keep them safe, to hold others out. He’d touched the surface himself and experienced its solidity, but the movement startled him, nonetheless. He shook his head at his nervous reaction and his fast-beating heart.

You scare I.

He settled and watched as the woman reached up and took the edge of the flap of skin hanging from her chest between her thumb and finger. Her eyes remained locked on his as she pulled, peeling it away from her body in one long sheet; he gritted his teeth and sucked air between them, imagining the pain doing such a thing must cause her. If it gave her any, she made no sign.

When it reached her waist, she jerked her arm to the side, tearing the piece of flesh free, the freshly exposed muscles of her torso glistening. She took the top in both hands then, working her wrists, twisted it into a tube. He shook his head, not believing what he saw. His forehead creased, and tears for her threatened at the corners of his eyes.

What you do?

She didn’t respond with words; they both realized he wouldn’t understand. Instead, she moved her arm forward. The rolled-up sheet touched the green partition, then passed through. He jumped again, legs tensed and ready to run, compassion for her all but forgotten. Her hand penetrated the barrier to the middle of her forearm. He readied himself to bolt, but she stopped, hand, wrist, and tube of skin on his side of the curtain. As he’d suspected, the flesh on her fingers and the rest of her protruding through was red and scaled from extreme heat, as though she’d plunged her fist into a bonfire, held it in the flames too long. But the same wasn’t true of the roll she gripped—tan, yellowing at the edges, not skin-like at all.

He looked from her offering to her face; she stared, her gaze not having moved the width of one of the mouse’s whiskers the entire time. He sensed pain in them, but not a physical suffering, despite her appearance. Something deeper, worse, a wound beyond healing. Not knowing what else to do, he hopped forward, snatched the roll from her hand, and scuffled away.

He stared at it, rolled it between his fingertips. As he’d thought, it wasn’t made of skin. It was smooth but rough, its edge uneven with fibers, warm to the touch. He’d heard of parchment before, but had never touched or seen any. He believed this might be the genuine thing. With great care, he held the top end in one hand while using the fingers of the other to unroll it. Strange, curved shapes wound their way across its surface. He’d experienced nothing like them before, didn’t understand what to do about them, so he lowered the scroll and peered over top of it toward the veil.

What do…?

The burnt woman no longer stood on the other side of the barrier. Gone. Alone. He released the bottom of the parchment; it rolled itself up with no prompting. Two steps forward and his nose brushed the green curtain, a stick of lightning flashing across the surface where he touched it.

Where you go?

He stepped away, looked at the roll gripped in his hand, then up at the sky, darkening around its edges while he’d engaged with the woman for a much longer time than he’d thought. His heart jumped—he needed to get home before dark. Without a consideration to where it came from, he put the scroll to his lips and cushioned it between his teeth, then got down on hands and knees and bound off through the brush.

He didn’t know his new home yet as well as he would but he always sensed where to locate the others. He leapt over logs and dashed around dense thickets, his animal-like strides eating up distance faster than he could have run on two feet. Each time his hands touched the ground, he took care not to let the impact jar him into clamping his mouth on his precious cargo. Might not harm it to wear an impression of his teeth, but better to not have to find out. He didn’t recognize the shapes it bore, but he knew someone could decipher them.

A direct path, much straighter than he’d taken to get to where he met the woman, got him home to the rest as the sun’s bottom edge disappeared below the rim of the distant sea. Upon arriving at the clearing, he stood, took the scroll from his mouth, and glided past the others who tried to talk to him as he passed. He wanted to stop and tell them of his adventure, but it would have to wait until he delivered his cargo where it needed to go.

He found Sky right where he expected, sitting on the stump near where the firemakers were building the night’s bonfire. She raised her head from her conversation with Twig who sat on the ground at her feet, and her expression brightened at seeing him.

Back again, young one. Sky is happy to see you.

Twig moved aside as he marched up to her and held the scroll out in front of him. She stared at the offering, then peered past at his face, a puzzled look crossing her brow.

What have you brought Sky?

He shrugged and pushed his hand nearer to her, urging her to take the suspected parchment from him. She hesitated for the space of two heartbeats, then reached out and clasped it with a nod. He lowered his arm and waited, expectant.

Sky pursed her lips, turned the roll over in her fingers, regarding it from all sides. Satisfied, she grasped the top between the index finger and thumb of her right hand and unrolled the full length with her other. By her feet, Twig stretched his neck, trying to get a peek at what the paper held. When he couldn’t, he settled in, resting his chin on his knee and watching. Sky looked at the document, tilted her head first one way, then the other, the crease made by puzzlement remaining on her brow. After a moment, realization dawned, and she flipped the parchment around; she cleared her throat.

It rained fire the day the Small Gods fled.

Twig stretched closer, but she read no more. Instead, she lowered the page, releasing it from one hand and letting it roll up. Sky looked at the youth standing in front of her and nodded.

You have done well today, she said, a warm smile spreading across her lips. Thorn has done well.

He couldn’t stop his own grin from turning up the corners of his mouth, but didn’t want to anyway. Energy and delight filled him, making him dance from foot to foot. Sky laughed.

Thorn can go, Sky said.

He spun on one foot and set out away from the stump and the almost-ready bonfire.

I have a name, he thought, then corrected himself. Thorn has a name.

He hurried across the clearing and made for the edge of the forest, hoping to find his friend Raven before the darkness came to end the day.

I - Teryk - Ikkundana

The trees to the sides of the dirt track fell away, widening the road enough for eight riders to advance abreast, though the column’s formation did not change. The soldiers of the king’s army rode side by side, their perimeter outlined by warriors of the Goddess.

Teryk traveled beside Trenan as brush and forest turned to flatland, an expanse of yellowed grass stretching toward the walled city in the distance. But the field did not lie empty. Near the walls, plain canvas tents stood in straight rows, their washed-out colors in danger of disappearing against the gray fortress wall. Though they weren’t yet close enough to make out any more than the tents themselves, he suspected soldiers moved amongst those structures. But to whose army did they belong?

He considered asking Trenan, but the master swordsman’s attention flickered from side to side. Sometimes, he jerked in his saddle, as though startled by things he alone saw. He grunted once in a while, guttural sounds emanating from deep in his throat. Despite his gaze jumping around between so many things, he rarely appeared to focus on things near him.

It’s good you’ve recovered, my prince.

His stomach knotted at the undeserved title as the rider ahead of them had slowed to ride beside him. Teryk looked across at the man—a sergeant-at-arms Trenan called Osis. He bit back his response, nodded instead of speaking.

Thank you, he said, though he wasn’t sure recovered was the word he’d use. Only the night before, the healer and his companion had visited him. Were they even real? And every thought of his sister pained his heart as if the sharp tip of a hot poker prodded it. He sighed.

Osis stretched in his saddle, looked past the young man at the soldier riding beside him. Trenan’s gaze may have danced over his subordinate’s, but if he recognized him, he made no indication. His attention darted to the roadside. The sergeant-at-arms leaned closer.

What’s happened to him? I’ve known Trenan a very long time and never experienced him like this.

Teryk shrugged. He’d overheard the master swordsman mumbling about ghosts and dead men sent to haunt him. He’d even seen them himself once, but he found it difficult to believe the souls of the deceased returned to besiege the living. And he certainly wouldn’t suggest such a thing to Osis. Doing so would make him appear as crazy as he likely now considered Trenan.

The black priests have made him sick, Teryk replied, though he knew of no sickness capable of bringing ghosts to haunt a man. This place might be the best place for him.

The sergeant grunted. This isn’t a place for any of us. Naught here but death.

The former prince suppressed a shudder. He knew nothing of Ikkundana except for its other name: the City of the Sick. But if the Goddess worshipers brought their ill and dying here, wouldn’t they have physicians, surgeons, and doctors? Could her followers bring the dead to life, as the black-robed healer claimed?

Is this where he is from?

His eyes widened, and he stared straight ahead at the distant walls. He’d never heard of a man serving the Goddess, but his lack of knowledge didn’t mean such a person didn’t exist. But what he’d seen the healer do went against what he perceived of the women. He understood them to stand for life and peace; perhaps that was a front to distract the outside world from their true intentions—they were a secretive order.

Osis spoke but, distracted by his thoughts and a rising angst, Teryk didn’t catch what he said.

What?

I asked what you think turned Trenan traitor to the king. You know him better than I do.

The question surprised him and Teryk faced the man riding beside him. The sergeant wore an expression suggesting more lurked behind his words than what appeared.

You know him better than I do.

Did he suspect the truth of their relationship? Did Trenan tell him? He didn’t imagine he’d risk the queen’s reputation, but strange things happened in these times. Perhaps he and Osis were closer than Teryk realized.

He is no traitor.

And yet he rides with the enemy.

He may not be himself, but he’d never turn on the…my father. He swallowed hard, wondered if the sergeant-at-arms noticed the pause. He’s sworn his life to the kingdom.

Osis leaned over in his saddle, lowered his voice. Then why does he appear so at ease with these— his gaze flitted to the riders around them, —women?

He told me nothing of them. We had no opportunity for conversation. Teryk’s mind flashed through the time since Trenan showed up at the Green. First, he hadn’t known himself, then rage had consumed him, and finally he’d been paralyzed by something done to him by the healer. More is happening here than either of us understand. Perhaps you should ask him.

He is in no state to respond.

Then maybe her. He tilted his head toward the front of the column where the leader of the women soldiers rode. He didn’t remember her name, but he’d seen her speak with Trenan several times. She must be the reason for his willingness to ride with them.

She sat her mount with the straight back and confidence