When the Age of Heroes Ends

Lifting the mountain they climbed would have been easier than lifting his own legs, Dhyses decided. He felt a curse smiting the gods of Emsding for not dissuading him from following his blasted old man ahead of him and what remained of his retinue. Thirty men from across the known world, for their pride’s sake at least, had agreed to accompany Soreus Emberwood. Every single one of them had chosen glory over a boring life in their villages. They had all chosen greed over their wives and children. None of them had given it a second thought. And look at them now: only three of them remained to follow this madman.

Battle, in fighting, and straight out murder had dwindled their numbers. Diseases, starvation and accidental drowning had taken the rest. The three of them who had by the grace of the gods managed –somehow—to survive the quest to Bevergenna Mountain, their clothing stained and threadbare and every inch of their skin darkened with blood and dirt. None of them should have made it this far, Dhyses knew. For the sake of the beautiful daughter he had abandoned to join his employer, Dhyses should have turned back after the first battle. Facing the shame of his own cowardice would have been better than all he had endured to get here.

A gust of wind came up behind them, pushing their exhausted bodies faster than their legs could carry them. At least one thud echoed forward, along with a hint of a child’s laughter. The voice sounded like his daughter, his Ebon. He knew then his mind was playing tricks on him. The girl was back home, cradled in her grandmother’s arms, listening to the lies the woman breathed. Though her father had left them, he would return home a hero with enough riches so that no one in their village would know hunger again.

Dhyses twisted his body to catch a glimpse of his fallen comrade. He should not have wasted the energy. His right foot sunk deeper into the snow than it had earlier. He whispered a curse as he turned back to Master Emberwood and the trail he blazed. The old man had promised them hardship if they didn’t follow his orders word for word. Every moment that passed had proven him right. Dhyses was about to die in this winter nightmare. Ebon had lost her mother, a voice in his head reminded him; she didn’t need to lose her father too. She would never remember him if he died here.

“Ye be my strength, Ebon,” he whispered.

His fellow villagers might not give him a hero’s welcome when he returned, but he would see his precious Ebon again. The gods seemed to agree with him: they gave him new strength to help Dhyses push himself out of the trap he had fallen into. The instant he found his footing again, he looked up the trail. Emberwood, though ancient in years, had more stamina and strength than a sixteen-year-old boy. Only a heartbeat had passed since that hole had nearly swallowed Dhyses and the old man had doubled the distance between them.

“There better be a fortune at the end of his,” he muttered.

He had come too far to turn back, no matter how much he wished it. When he returned home with donkeys carrying bags of gold and silver, every woman in the village would be more than willing to mother a child that wasn’t her own. An eternity later and too many gusts of wind to count, he caught up with Soreus. Clouds had obscured the peak of the mountain since the range had come into view. But now, the puffs started to clear. A ruined castle could be made out. A maze of rubble and ice greeted them. Yet Soreus refused to slow down. Somehow the man stayed on his feet as he marched over the ice. Not once did he fall. Dhyses would ask how this was possible if he thought the gods would answer him.

Even using the rubble around him to lean on, Dhyses still slid, nearly falling on his ass as punishment. No amount of care could change that; his cursed employer had no issue traversing the path. The man continued on without any concern about what happened behind him. The rising walls blocked most of the wind from drowning out their voices. But Soreus still seemed deaf to the action behind him. Dhyses forced himself to stop every few moments for a chance to breathe and to let his legs recover. He couldn’t help but glance behind where he had planted himself to see another of his fellows slip on the ice and fall backwards, his head slamming into the ground beneath him. Dhyses felt his shoulders tighten at the sound of the man’s skull cracking. Drops of blood splattered the rock next to him. No one else stepped around him.

He crushed his teeth together then swung his head to the path ahead and the crazy fool who had hired thirty men to follow him up this blasted mountain. Now only one still followed. Only one could help the old man carry any of the treasure off this mountain. One small bag, Dhyses told himself, he needed only one small bag of gold and silver to start over, to begin again. After this he vowed, only death would separate him from Ebon again. He pushed himself off the rock and continued down the same path that sorry old fool had taken.

Somehow he reached an arch with rotting wood for doors without a new bruise forming on his body. Soreus waited for him there, an unlit torch in his hand and a smile on his lips that could frighten the bravest of men. Another time Dhyses would have turned and ran, but he had traveled too far to be frightened by one old man. A low chuckle escaped his employer’s lips.

“So only the stubborn goat herder remains,” the old man spat. “But are you worthy?”

“What kind of bloody question is that, ye old man?” Dhyses demanded. “Ye promised thirty men they’d be rich if they followed ye here. I be the only one left. It makes me more stupid than worthy if ye ask me.”

Soreus laughed again, and as his voice echoed past Dhyses, his tattered appearance started to change, starting at the top of his head. The journey had turned the man’s white hair a muddy brown, but it turned back to its original color as the dirt vanished from his skin. His yellow teeth turned white and his tattered clothing returned to its former glory, as if this was the first time he had tried them on. And out of nowhere, the torch’s tip caught fire.

“Follow me, Dhyses of Emsding,” Soreus commanded. “There is one last trial for you to pass.”

The old man pivoted around and with the wave of a hand, he made the doors screech on its hinges. A shutter worked up Dhyses’s back at the sound. For an instant, he believed his ears might explode. His heart started pounding uncontrollably in his chest. How could he follow this man any further after seeing that? Calling him a sorcerer seemed too simple. Not even a magician could pull that off. He felt his breathing quicken as one last choice came to mind: a god could do that and more.

But the gods cared nothing for their mortal servants, nothing beyond the sacrifices they made on feast days. Prayers went unanswered, even then. Why should Dhyses believe this man a god? He had done nothing by deceive thirty men with promises of fortune. Of those men, only Dhyses remained and still Soreus had left out the promises he had made to raise his own army. A lie by omission. There was only one among the gods who enjoyed spreading falsehoods.

“Midher,” Dhyses whispered. “The god of lies.”

He whispered a curse under his breath. He should have abandoned this expedition the first chance he had. But in this moment he could not turn around. When a god spoke, a mortal had no choice but to listen and obey.  After a few shaky breaths, he raised his left foot and stepped into the corridor. Despite the torch, it was still too dim to see what lay on the other side. Dhyses could only see what the god of lies wanted him to see. 

An eternity later, the corridor opened up into an enormous courtyard filled with snow and ice. But as before, the god did not seem bothered. As he walked, a path cleared. Dhyses followed, taking the same steps the god had taken. Midher guided him to a door halfway across the courtyard. The wood here was in better shape than the main entrance but still a child could have broken through without much trouble. On the other side, a staircase descended into the earth.

Dhyses cursed himself for following the god of lies without question. He had grown up being fed the stories of the gods’ love. All the gods were good. If they caused bad things to happen to their followers, it came from a place of love, not evil. The gods wanted their mortal children to learn and prosper. Just because he had grown up believing that didn’t make it true. Midner’s intentions could be evil, and Dhyses had lost his chance long ago to save himself. The stairs kept leading them deeper into the earth.

It seemed like luck had smiled upon him when they finally reached a hallway. Here they no longer needed the torch the god had carried. Torches lines the walls, and each came to life as the god continued to guide him through the corridor in silence. With each step they took, the hotter it became. The heat sapped at the little strength and energy he had left with every drip of sweat that slid down the sides of his face. In front of him, the god continued on as if the temperature had not changed at al. Unlike the staircase, the hallway proved short. Through an arched doorway they entered a cavern.

Dhyses gasped when the god stepped aside for him to take in the expanse before him. Steam rose off a river of red and orange liquid. A little beyond, the rocks began to rise up as the river carved its way through the cave. The god pointed to the top of a hill rising above the lava. Dhyses followed his escort’s finger. In the distance, he saw a figure standing behind a wall. He could make out no features of that person beyond their long hair. An instant later, he turned his attention back to his employer turned god. He opened his mother to ask who waited for them on top the hill but Midner pulled several feathers from his cloak before Dhyses could speak.

“These are the war feathers of the goddess of war,” the god explained.

Along with being the lord of lies, Midner was also known thief. Dhyses could have argued the god had stolen the lives of those men who had followed him, and he had lost time with his precious Ebon thanks to this thief. Was the god expecting him, Dhyses, to return what he himself had stolen? Would the goddess blame him for taken what her fellow god had taken? Would she kill him once her property had been returned to her? Dhyses whispered a curse.

Midner grinned. “The age of heroes has ended, Dhyses of Emsding, and with it, the torch must be passed to a new set of gods.”

“I don’t follow ye,” Dhyses told him. “What do ye mean a new set of gods?”

The god chuckled. “A new age means a new set of gods must take their thrones. How we pass on the duties remains the same. The old god of lies steals the war feathers of the old goddess of war. They both search out their replacements. The new war goddess must arrive first. Then the new lord of lies must deliver the feathers to their new owner. It could be you, lad, if you can survive the climb.”

“Why me?”

Dhyses watched the god’s eyes glance back towards the entrance. “You survived, when others did not. I searched the world for men like you, for men who have been dishonest with themselves.”

“Ye sayin’ I’m a liar?” he demanded.

“Every unmarried woman in your pathetic village would wed you. They would love to be a mother to that offspring of yours. This is the treasure I promised, lad. Once the exchange has been made you’ll have my powers, and your village can prosper if that is what you truly desire.”

Midner extended the feathers towards Dhyses. In front of him stood the god of lies and a thief of lives. The gods enjoyed treating the mortals they ruled over like pawns on a giant board game. Could he trust a celebrated liar? Would he die halfway up the trail? Should he turn around? Nearly thirty men had already died to come here. No other family or village deserved to lose another loved one. But was he brave enough to put an end to it? How many groups of men had Midner already brought up to Bevergenna to try their hand at becoming the new god of lies?

“Think of Ebon,” a voice whispered.

If what the god said proved to be true, Ebon would never have another care in the world. His fellow villagers would never know hunger ever again. Taking a deep breath, Dhyses lifted his fingers to take the feathers. Let this bloodshed end with him. He had spent his life herding goats along narrow ridges like he saw in front of him. How hard could traversing a river of lava be? He accepted the god’s offering and twisted towards his last obstacle.

Sliding the feathers into his belt, Dhyses examined the path he needed to take. Thin stone pillars jutted out of the lava. The lava was making the pillars thinner. Their ability to bear his weight lessened the larger he stood on this side of the river. For Ebon he would take this chance. With one last inspection, he took one more breath and leapt to the nearest stone. Before he lost his balance completely, he hopped to the next stone pillar. This one gave Dhyses little chance to steady himself, cracking under his way. In the nick of time, he made it to the next pillar without looking back.

Four hops later, he reached the opposite bank. He was still not safe. Puddles of lava littered the hill that led up to the wall. Dhyses followed a trail that grew narrower the further he walked. His legs began to ache the longer he climbed. And the trail kept going, twisting and turning up the hill. He should rest, take his time, but Ebon… She had been without him too long. Dhyses followed the trail until he reached a rope hanging from the edge of a cliff. The trail also ended there. Could it really be that easy? After all the difficulty of the journey, how could it have so simple to get the war feathers back to their owner?

Dhyses pulled himself up the rope, then pushed himself over a wall.  As his feet hit stone, he heard steel against steel. He dropped to the ground, pressing his back against the wall and lifting his hands up. He looked across the platform to a woman with red hair and a sword in her hand. Her eyes widened. He had known her well.

“Conera?”

The woman lowered her weapon. “Dhyses. What are you doing here?”

As he came to his feet, the memories of how he knew Conera returned. She had accompanied her father –his village’s lord—on a tour. He was the only child her age, so they played together every time the lord passed through. She was the first person his body had yearned to love. He had to learn to forget her when she left to train as an assassin. Conera was the best choice to become the new goddess of war. Dhyses pulled the feathers from his belt.

“I think I’m supposed to give these to ye,” he said, extending the feathers in her direction.

“Are ye lying to me?”

“No,” he answered.

Conera lowered her sword and closed the distance between them. Her fingers closed around the feathers. The moment her skin touched the tips, they gasped in unison. The feather lit up. Light surrounded them for an eternity. When the light finally diminished, Conera was dressed in armor, the feathers were tied in her hair, and she looked several years younger. She smiled at him, leaning into him for a kiss.

Midner had promised his treasure and what greater treasure could there be than the woman he had loved since the beginning?