Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 35

The shrill cry of a bird ripped through the quiet night, and brought Farren out of her trance, the God's words finally seeping in.

"You ask me, an insignificant, mere mortal to free you from your own shrine?" she said.

Shrine? This is but a prison.

Prison. Was that all he thought of the statue she had loved for the past seven years?

This blessed waterfall in the woods was his abode, a place where folk could reach out and feel his presence, an echo of his existence upon the mortal plane.

Lord Rhilio had countless such shrines in almost every other intersection of the capital city. Priests of Rhilio, enchanted statues raised in his name, justified the truth of testimonies in the Council's courtrooms.

Mother Draedona's presence graced each cemetery. From the vampires, she'd heard tales of sorcerous ice-sculptures of Edis in his dragon form in Valston city up north. Even Lord Atruer had altars dedicated to him in the darkest corners of Silver Knife, forbidden as they were.

In Farren's belief, what was a shrine but a claim of power over the mortal worshippers?

Yet the Unnamed was trapped in his.

The God cleared his throat now, as though urging her to continue. Well? May I count on your help?

Farren hadn't a clue how to respond to this absurd request. Usually it was the job of a God or Goddess to bestow a blessing, or a curse-- or dubious deals that seemed tempting at first and eventually became a pain in the arse.

"Er..." she said, "where do I start then?"

A hint of annoyance crept into the voice of the Unnamed. Had I known that, mortal, I would have found my way out long past, would I not?

He did have a point. Being trapped in a rock for centuries did not seem the most enjoyable thing, if it really was that way and the God was not exaggerating in his despair, by calling the extraordinarily beautiful sculpture a prison.

You...think I am being dramatic?

Farren jumped. Of course, if he could sense even the... unorthodox condition of her soul, he might sense her thoughts as well. Although, there wasn't much he could do to her, could he? He was the one who needed her help.

Sure, go ahead. Be arrogant all you want, demean me-- like everybody else. My hands are bound, as they always have been. Even Dresius, he promised he would come back, but--

The immortal soul in her seemed to let out an exasperated sigh and rolled its eyes-- if that was something possible for an orb of energy to do.

"With due respect," said Farren, "yes, you are indeed being dramatic, Lord. since you are not of much help, it'd be helpful if you'd just sit still."

I shall. Been doing this since...ah, I've lost count of the days.

His pleasant voice now sounded indignant, like a huffy child who'd been grounded. A crooked grin spread across Farren's face. She could gain something out of this; heavens knew she could use some divine help, with those Council Mages coming after her.

"Let's get to it, then." She rubbed her hands together. "What say you, Dresius dear?"

The immortal soul, whose faint presence had been no more than a pile of crackling embers for all these years, rose to a blazing fire. The God's voice had breathed new life in it.

Goosebumps erupted on her arms. From the way the Unnamed addressed Dresius, it appeared he had been someone who commanded the Chosen Warriors in the Great War.