The Great Light (Pt. 1)

Chapter 1: Godslayer



Malt gazed sorrowfully down at the horse he had just slaughtered and made the sign of benediction over the corpse with a deep sigh as its brilliant white soul floated off towards the Great Light.

“Marek, I am sorry, old friend. Mine was the hand that felled you, but they are the ones responsible for this.”

For a moment, he gently tapped the tip of his sword against the centre of the animal’s chest before his face hardened and he plunged the blade through the tough hide. Over the next hour, he worked a few long strips of flesh from the carcass, pausing only occasionally when the pain in his shoulder grew too intense.

They had done that to him too, an axe that had barely nicked him but an axe tainted with a weave of purple ether that prevented blood from clotting. He had still been bleeding out when they had portalled him and it had taken all his remaining strength to weave enough fire to cauterize the wound, and faugh! a weave of fire under a pure purple ether, of all things! He should have died there and then, not least because they had no doubt intended to portal him into emptiness. He must still hold the favour of Otara to have survived the wound and to have been blinked onto solid rock, though it had been a long while since he had spoke to Her.

“Solid rock?” he cursed as he cut one of the strips of flesh in half and neatly spitted it on his sword. He gazed around at the half-mile of jagged stone that hung suspended mid-ether. When he had regained first consciousness and then strength after his healing, he had scouted out the whole rock top- and bottom-side in less than an hour. Wherever the Discs hung, there was no sign of them here. He couldn’t even see another rock as far as the ether stretched.

Nothing here, save a couple of hoary trees riddled with worm. Nothing edible, save the rations in his pack which he had finished three weeks ago. Malt felt a pang of disgust and sorrow as he gazed down at the roasted horseflesh, but he had grown too weak with hunger to... Malt’s eyes closed in sorrow, but starvation drove him to raise the flesh to his lips. How had it come to this?

It had been ten years since he had slain Te Basa and earned the name of Godslayer, ten years of being fêted as the saviour of not only the Discs, but all other solid lands, the ether itself and even the Great Light. He had enjoyed wine, women and wealth beyond all imaginings. Wise men and mages traversed thousands of miles of empty ether to seek his advice; kings deferred to his every whim, Emperors bowed their heads. And yet... he could never escape the feeling that he had cheated his way, that he was a fraud, that he was unworthy. He had only managed to beat Te Basa by being imbued with his mother’s power, the great goddess Otara. He, like so many other heroes of legend was merely a Puppet, strings tugged by a bored divinity in some endless and incomprehensible struggle for power. Yes, it had been ten years since he killed Te Basa, but it had also been ten years since he had spoken to his mother. Taking another bite of horseflesh, his face soured; his powers, for the most part, had deserted him when she had achieved her ends through him. His strength halved, his weaving of the ether reduced to that of any other man, his prophetic powers gone. She had discarded him, she had left him as a shadow of the man he had been. He cursed her name, mouth screwed up in a snarl, lifting his fist and shaking it at the empty skies.

“Is that what you really think, Malt? Do you really think I would abandon you, my son?” Dropping his food in shock, he followed her voice, raising his eyes to one of the sickly trees. Otara sat in the branches, looking down at him with a teasing half-smile on her lips.

Fixing his eyes to the ground in deference, Malt’s face crimsoned in embarrassment. “Forgive me, Goddess. In the extremity of this desperate situation, I cast around for someone or something to blame, when the fault lies entirely at my feet. I had grown careless and negligent of my own safety; I should have prepared better for the ambush and dealt with those who attacked me easily, as the man and warrior I once was would have.”

Pushing herself lightly from the branches, Otara floated down from the tree. Hovering close to him, her eyes dazzled with mirth. “Oh really, Malt. Are you still so formal with me? Do you resent me so?”

His blush deepening, Malt raised his eyes for a moment as he stammered out a reply. “No, no! It is honour! Respect! Forgive me my wandering thoughts and ignorance.”

Her mood changing quickly, Otara shook her head sadly. She rested a hand upon his wounded shoulder, allowing a soft white light to shoot from her fingers. “I shouldn’t tease you so, Malt, but you were ever my most serious of children. Will you tell me what happened?”

Flexing his healed shoulder, Malt chanced a grateful smile at his mother and nodded. “It happened about a month ago, I would guess. I had attended my morning prayers at the temple at Pearne, and dismissed my clients and retainers so that I might meditate for a while on the wholeness of the Sphere and the Great Light that encloses and protects it.”

A flicker of a tiny smile crossed Otara’s lips at Malt’s pious earnestness, vanishing before he noticed. “Continue, please.”

“I had marshalled my thoughts, feeling refreshed and strengthened. Gathering up my possessions and mounting Marek, I left the temple complex. Less than a mile outside, in the gardens of Kiratha where there is that copse of alders, I was ambushed; five men, clad in black, surrounded me. Each wore a mask; one for each of the major gods, including... including you, my mother. I was caught without armour, and bearing only a small ritual sword for the church services. They engaged me in silence, fighting with skill, using axe, sword and weave. I countered their every move, dancing as well between them as I could on horseback, though my blunted sword cost them but few wounds. Suddenly, the largest of them, wearing the mask of Te Basa and with a red ribbon tied around his arm, cried “Enough!” . . . It was then I realized they had corralled me in my ignorance onto a pentagram etched on the floor. I knew what was coming, but before I could move, each of the five pulled out a bell from their belt pouches and rang it as they spoke words of power. The portal opened, and Marek and I fell. And that... that is the whole of the matter, goddess, though I am sure you would like to know more.”

Tapping her lips, Otara remained silent for a moment, her forehead creased. “There is more that you should know, my son. The portal... the portal did not just move you in space. It may seem to you as though this happened a month ago, but there has been no sign of you on the Discs for over five years. I have been searching for you ever since.” She squeezed his hand. “It was only when I felt Marek passing that I could locate you. I am sorry, Malt. I am sorry I could not help more.”

Malt turned his gaze to the corpse of his old war-horse. “I apologized to him, mother, but at least now he can join the Great Light and serve us against the darkness outside. He was my oldest and dearest friend, a constant companion in battle and peace.”

Otara’s eyes glittered again as she again squeezed his hand. “Would you like to see him join the Light?”

Malt’s face lit up, a confusion of hope and amazement. “I... would love that more than anything, mother, but it has been over an hour since he died. Would his soul not have reached the Sphere yet?”

Pulling him up easily into the ether, his mother simply shook his head. And then, they flew. Faster than he had ever moved before, they dipped and raced and soared through the ether, heading steadily down and west. Now, other small rocks came into view, and ether-whales lazily munching on floating balls of vegetation, and small winged creatures of all shapes and sizes darting to-and-fro. After a few moments, they drew alongside a horse-shaped soul, a flashing light. Malt reached out and touched the vestige of his companion, and the soul responded by drawing nearer to them, both delighting in the purity of the freed spirit. The three of them played in the ether for an hour, dancing loops in the air and pirouetting in the emptiness in sheer ecstasy. All the while, they were heading further west and soon they could see the near-blinding whiteness of the Great Light, the boundary between the worlds and the outer darkness.

The soul of Marek pressed itself one last time tight against Malt, before shaking its phantom mane and soaring into the boundary, strengthening, reinforcing it. Malt, tears in his eyes, noticed with pleasure that the place that his horse had taken in the Light was noticeably brighter than before.

“Such is the fate of all of us, mortal and god. We will finally end our lives and preserve the Light, Malt.” His mother wrapped him in her arms as he wept, as her mind turned in concern to those men who had ambushed him. Who were they? Why did they portal her son away, and why banish him to such a rock five years in the future? What role were they laying stake to with their insolent mummery of gods? Beginning the long flight to her son’s home, she resolved that she needed to talk to her brother, Dz’Dz, as soon as she could.