“Do you feel anything now that we’re standing in front of the godstone?” Rayne inquired.
Caelan nearly smacked himself on the forehead. The sight of the godstone had rattled him so much that he hadn’t even thought about the telltale tingle he usually felt any time he was near one. But now that Rayne mentioned it…
“No, I don’t. I don’t feel anything. If I’d walked in here blind, I would have told you the godstone wasn’t here.”
“Then Nyx really is dead,” Eno whispered. “I would never have thought that you could kill a god.”
Caelan would rather not think about what it took to kill one. Right now, the bigger concern was waking one from death. A tremble ran through his left hand and he clasped it tightly in his right, rubbing it as if to settle the nerves.
Touch the stone and wake my brother, Tula said. Her voice drifted through his mind, but it sounded like it had been carried on a breeze past his ear. She made it sound so easy, as if he were just going to shake Nyx’s shoulder and draw him from his warm bed on a lazy Sunday morning.
Dropping his hands down to his sides, Caelan took a deep breath and slowly released it between clenched teeth. He took a second to meet the eyes of each of his companions, men who had walked beside him through death, destruction, and chaos. “Be right back,” he murmured, trying to sound confident.
Drayce’s smile was thin and brittle. He looked nervous but was fighting hard to remain strong. “You got this. Quick little chat and we’re out of here. On our way home.”
That sounded perfect to him.
He clung to that thought as he walked up to the floating crystal and placed his left hand against the cold, slick surface. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember his other interactions with the gods that had called them forth. Kaes had caught him mentally talking to himself. And Tula…that had been a fit of rage about the loss of his mother. But in the end, they were simply there, waiting for him to finally reach out.
Nyx wasn’t there. He needed to be woken using the power from the Goddess of Life.
Putting his right hand on the center of his chest, Caelan dug deep inside of himself, spooling together all the power he could from Tula. When the air crackled around him and the hairs on the back of his neck lifted with energy, he pushed it deep inside the crystal, seeking the Dead God.
And he was instantly met with rage.
A roar echoed through the cavern, shaking the ground and cracking stone. The power of the goddess slammed into his body, slicing cleanly through his heart. He staggered, his hand losing contact with the stone. There were shouts, but they seemed almost muffled as he fell. Bones rattled and jarred when he hit the floor. The pain was all consuming, but it was already starting to ebb as fast as it had hit him.
Three fearful faces he knew so well appeared over him. They were shouting, but he couldn’t make out the words. He was slipping deeper into darkness. Falling. And they were all so far away.
No…he was dying.
The darkness swallowed him completely. A lone, pained roar chased him but faded and dropped away.
He’d failed. He’d failed to wake the Dead God. Failed to stop Safa and keep Zyros in her prison. Failed to stop New Rosanthe’s march toward power.
He’d failed to protect his people.
He failed…
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” an unfamiliar voice bellowed.
Caelan coughed, choking on a sudden gasp of air. He blinked and found himself on his hands and knees, staring down at what looked to be purplish-black marble. He sucked in another gasp of air and with it came searing pain. Every bone, every nerve ending hurt as if his entire body had been shredded and ground to pulp.
“Who…” he gasped.
“Who do you think I am?” the angry voice boomed.
Caelan tipped his head up toward the speaker to find a tall, lean man with skin the color of dark rust reclining on an elegant white sofa. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with fine bits of purple trim the same shade as the godstone. “Nyx. The Dead God.”
Nyx leaned forward, bracing a forearm on his knee as he stared down at Caelan. A wicked grin twisted up one corner of his thin lips. “Exactly. And you’re dead, kid.”
“No,” Caelan choked out. His arms shook and his knees ached from pressing into the marble. He couldn’t be dead if he felt pain, right?
But…he’d felt himself dying. Sinking into the darkness. Heard his friends shouting.
Nyx shoved to his feet and paced away from the sofa, the hard soles of his shoes clicking loud enough to echo through the vast silence of the room. “And why am I the Dead God? Just because I don’t want to talk to anyone for a few millennia, they all assume I’m dead. Maybe I’m just ignoring all you assholes.”