And just what was that life? he asked himself.
His city was burning around him. His people were dying. The world he had known was ending. Gebrem’s hand crept toward the rod that had been passed down unaltered for countless generations. Now it had changed. And it was time for him to change as well.
His fingers curled around the rod.
And everyone assembled in the circle, Amiya and Believer alike, cried out in agony and wonder at the force that suddenly flowed like a surge of lava through their bodies and souls.
5
Deities do not die. Weak or strong, worshipped or abjured, they dwell in their infinite, timeless Realms beyond the world. Within that isolation, the petty concerns of the mortals’ sphere can be as distant, or immediate, as the gods and goddesses desire them to be ....
In their Realms, the Jagasti dwelt in isolation. Long ago, they had forsaken direct involvement in the lives of their worshippers. They retained a tangential and superficial role over the centuries that had passed since the calamity of the Storm Wars. Now the people who venerate them were in peril. But the Jagasti could do nothing; they had spent too much of their endless time in their own Realms, and their potency in the mortals’ world had diminished accordingly – and voluntarily. And so their Vessels had abandoned them and turned their worship to a new divine being.
Once they had walked among the Matile, and were part of their lives. Now they could only watch helplessly as a new conflict shook not only the world of mortals, but the Jagastis’ Realms as well.
Only one deity continued to play a direct role in the world of mortal—Legaba. The other gods had long since cast him from their company. They considered him a fool and left him to pursue his twisted dreams. Now that those dreams were becoming a terrible reality, they still did nothing ....
6
Legaba’s Realm was a gray, gloomy place replete with leafless black trees. The branches of the trees intertwined like huge spiderwebs, and were bowed down as though in perpetual sorrow. Neither sun nor Moon Stars shone in Legaba’s Realm. Still, a dim twilight illumination glistened in drops of water that clung like oily perspiration to the tree trunks. The trees did not grow out of soil, but out of water ... dark water covered with green slime and festooned with grass that was sharp as the blades of knives.
Legaba’s Children – pythons, toads, crocodiles, water-rats and other creatures of the dank swamplands – crawled and slithered through the trees and splashed noisily in the foulness that surrounded their maker. More than anything else, though, the Realm teemed with spiders ... spiders of all shapes and sizes, from tiny creatures no bigger than a thumbnail to gigantic predators the size of lions.
In the midst of his endless swamp, Legaba loomed like a mountain. His immense, arachnid body was larger than an elephant’s. Eight eyes burned like crimson coals in his formless face. But instead of the eight limbs of the spiders that surrounded him, Legaba had dozens, each one thicker than a python’s coils. Those limbs waved constantly, as though stirred by an errant breeze. But there was no wind of any kind in Legaba’s Realm ... only an oppressive humidity that weighed the air down like a gigantic blanket of wetness.
Legaba poured his twisted ashuma into the supplicant souls of his minions in the mortals’ world through the medium of Jass Imbiah. He knew they were winning their battle. And when it was over, the ultimate victory would belong to him, not his followers, regardless of what he would lead them to believe.
He also knew his own battle had yet to begin. The one who aided the doomed worshippers of the other Jagasti was coming to him. He knew it. He could feel it. As if in anticipation of what Legaba had already sensed, his Children swam, scurried and dove away from him, even the spiders. For they knew the coming battle would be his alone, not theirs.
Suddenly, Legaba’s limbs ceased their movement. His eyes flared like small suns. Then, with a loud, rending sound, the fabric of his Realm was ripped apart as though it were nothing but a sheet of flimsy cloth.
A white-gold opening split the dark sky. The aperture quickly extended down to the swampy soil. Trees toppled; stagnant water bubbled and hissed, fleeing creatures screamed as they were boiled alive.
Then, out of the substance of the light, Legaba’s adversary took form. Manlike in shape, Almovaar stood as tall as a tree. Like a silhouette of light, his face and body showed no features.
A substance that resembled sand turned into motes of light that swirled around him. No words passed between the two deities as Almovaar confronted Legaba. None were necessary.
Almovaar stretched his arms, and the trees closest to him burst into golden flames, casting unwelcome illumination on the desolation that surrounded Legaba. In response, Legaba’s numerous limbs stretched with frightening speed toward Almovaar. One by one, they wrapped around the intruder until he could no longer be seen, his light snuffed out as though it had never existed.
Then Legaba’s tentacles contracted, squeezing inexorably, compressing the once-imposing manifestation of Almovaar into a sphere no bigger than a berry.
Legaba’s multiple eyes flared in triumph. Then the sphere exploded, and bits of Legaba’s flesh hurtled through the fetid air. Legaba’s body shuddered, and his fragmented tentacles hung limp, powerless, even though they continued to move.
His form restored, Almovaar towered over Legaba. His effulgence blazed even brighter, and Legaba’s vast bulk appeared to shrink under the merciless illumination.
Then a javelin of light appeared at the end of Almovaar’s hand. At first, the weapon was part of the deity’s substance. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. Like a bolt of lightning, it flashed toward – then into – Legaba.
Legaba’s tentacles writhed wildly, smashing limbs from the nearest trees. His body bulged and contracted like a blacksmith’s bellows. His eyes sizzled and sparked,
