Shem o' the West: Shem's Quest, #1

By Bill Eckel

First in a series of four.

Kidnapped as a child and bonded to the Sun Father of the West, Shem seeks redemption. While drowning his lost love in ale and wine, he pledges to the new Central Lands goddess, Tierra, who accepts him as her Hero. To save himself and the Central Lands, Shem must raise the Hjerte, the heartstone, before the western goddess, Mieze, achieves her Ascendency and the power to prevent Tierra's awakening.

 

Distrusted as a lush, the Hero is anchored by a quirky pixie-sized creation with an ego larger than Shem and a priestess acolyte for the new goddess, Tierra. The trio is chased across the war-torn Central Lands by Shem's brother Ham, who hates as only a brother can. In the climatic finish, Shem faces his brother and the two bonds. Which will prove the stronger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Eckel
• Release date: Jan 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215727812

Bill Eckel

I published my first novel, "Shem's Quest" a fantasy and the first novel of the Shem o' the West series, in 2014. Since then I've written four more novels and a collection of scifi short stories. I've studied under two New York Times bestselling authors and have won a couple of minor awards.  I have two books presently in the works, "Space Force" and alien invasion story and "First Created" the second in the Shem o' the West series. "First Created" will be released shortly. When I'm not writing, I play bass and write songs with my wife of many decades. It just seems like forever.

Book preview

Shem’s Quest

Shem o’ the West

The dappled shade of the deciduous canopy danced among the wild hydrangea and giant astilbe growing beneath the black walnut and sugar maples, concealing the two humans who crept near an unusually large oak tree. Squirrels chittered at the turkeys scratching through unripe acorns looking for treasure. Others watched with more interest.

Shem stared, immobile. They’re like me. Except one’s female. He remembered his mother, the last human female he had seen since U’bad raided his family’s farm and dragged him off into the night. She was kind and loving. Is this one?

He couldn’t drag his attention away from the strangers, especially the female. Humans didn’t explore the Western Forest, not more than once or twice. In moments, these two would find out why.

U’bad, the Un Tier clan leader, huge ogre-like people of limited intellect and few social skills, crouched next to Shem. He nudged the human man-child and pointed to the pair of Sol Dat, a smaller, more limber race, luring the man intruder on with dropped trinkets from their camp. Another pair followed the female.

I have decided your challenge for clan acceptance, said U’bad, drool dripping from the tusks in his lower jaw.

The anticipated rite-of-passage marked the end of childhood for the younger members of the clan. With painstaking thoroughness, they created challenges to exhibit their greatest usefulness. The clan treated Shem differently. He was their token Soft Skin, kept around to demonstrate the superiority of the Un Tier over the Central Landers. Shem didn’t like his position in the clan, but it was the only one available to him, so he had accepted it.

Task is? asked Shem.

U’bad bobbed his head at the intruding human. Man given to scavengers. You kill female.

Kill? Shem’s heart lurched. His body flushed, then tingled. He squeezed back a shiver. None of his pendulum-wide shifts in body sensations matched with the need to kill. They celebrated life. He just found her. He wanted to keep her.

They discover Temple of Land, said U’bad, referring to the immense oak, whose expansive branches overlay the understory like a loving, protective hand. You know price.

By viewing the temple, the strangers forfeited their lives. So said the law. While the Sun Father and the West worshipped Mieze, they honored the Land. The Land is alive. The law would be obeyed.

Shem balked. I don’t want to. Puny target. I have no honor?

Kill own kind. Prove loyalty. U’bad pulled his knife from his belt. It could have served as a short sword for Shem. Or I kill you. Take female slave.

For the clan, said Shem, and leapt into motion. He had no idea what would happen, only that killing the female felt wrong.

Despite his speed and size, Shem’s feet whispered across the undergrowth. Still, whispering is not absolute silence. A stand of canes rustled as he passed.

She turned his way. Their eyes met. He lost himself in her liquid brown eyes, drifting as time stood still. No crime justified extinguishing the light, the sparkle of life he saw there. He fell into their enchantment and hopelessly in love.

He brushed against a paw paw tree. Uggh. The rotten odor of a stale fart clung to his tunic where his shoulder disturbed the bark. He noted the pair of Sol Dat, monitoring his progress for the clan, laugh. Shem’s face burned. He increased his speed.

The female’s eyes widened as she realized Shem came for her. She reached for her sword.

A scream, barely recognizable as human, froze her. She turned her head toward her brother.

Shem had to decide now. With one swift blow, he could fulfill the law, but what did that leave him with? A lifetime of being an outcast, existing only on the fringe, and at the whim of another?

You would eat every day. Shem argued with himself.

So do the boar we raise for food.

Where would we go? Shem realized he had decided. Once he and the female run, the clan would become hunters, and Shem knew from cycles of training with them how effective they could be. But there was one place they had never found.

He passed a clump of canes and grabbed a handful, flinging them into the air toward the Sol Dat monitoring his progress. Then he lowered his shoulder and scooped up the female, cutting hard to the east and running for his life. Bolas clattered amid the canes he had thrown.

Shem didn’t bother checking for pursuit. His attention centered on ducking the female’s battering of the back of his head and her kicking of his legs and abdomen with her feet and knees. He yelled, Saving life! Stop.

You stink, she screamed. Put me down before my brother gets here or you’ll be sorry.

Grab them, bellowed U’bad. Kill Soft Skins.

There was no outrunning the Sol Dat while carrying the female. Shem said, I put you down, you do as told?

She snarled, I’ll make you wish your hands had kept to themselves, Stinkbug. Don’t you ever bathe?

He wondered if he made the right decision in rescuing her. Not that they had escaped. The hunt had just started. If you run, I drag you by hair, puffed Shem.

You and what Hand? she said.

He slowed a step and dumped her off his shoulder.

She rolled with the impact and popped up to her feet, tensing to bolt away.

Shem lunged and grabbed the thick brown braid that hung down her back.

Ow! She jerked up short.

Do as told.

My brother.

Dead. Fell in scavenger pit, said Shem.  He shook his head. None escape scavengers.

She grimaced. The four-inch-long beetles were well known to anyone living near the border. They kept the forest floor clear of carrion, though some didn’t necessarily have the patience to wait until their prey died.

Thunk. An arrow quivered in a tree trunk inches from the female’s head. Which way are we going? she asked. My name is Rebecca.

Down swale. I know secret place.

Two Cycles Later

Shem floated in and out of consciousness. Where am I? What’s happening? I was in the woods, the woods, the Western Forest! I’ve got to escape! Shem sat up suddenly. Too suddenly, the forest floated in circles, robbing him of balance and orientation. He slumped back to the ground.

A pair of hands touched his face. Comforting, vaguely familiar, they gently, but hurriedly, probed his face and head, searching.

Shem? Are you alright? Shem! We have to keep moving.

Uh. Shem winced as the fingers touched a particularly tender knot. Whose hands were they, and that voice? He had heard it before.

Rebecca. It was Rebecca’s voice! Becky! Beautiful Becky. Skin as soft as fine cloth and warm to the touch. Luscious lips that begged to be kissed but hid a sharp tongue that was just as quick to belittle as praise. Shem worked hard for the praise and usually got it.

Becky was everything that Shem had ever imagined a woman could be. Not that he’d seen that many. Being kidnapped as a child and raised by Un Tier had not provided Shem an opportunity to learn much about his own kind. Since Shem had found her and been accepted by her, his life had been one blissful moment after the next.

Well, nearly. At present his head hurt, his brain was foggy, and he and Becky were in the middle of a forest where they shouldn’t have been. In addition, they were both armed to the teeth and, apparently, running for their lives. One thing he had to say about Becky, you couldn’t claim to be bored.

His vision settled and Shem found himself peering into liquid eyes clouded with concern. Becky, what happened?

A sideways knock from a bola lumped your skull. Get up, Shem. Keep moving. They’re right behind us.

Shem staggered to his feet. His sword was still at his side and his sling tucked into his belt. A bag of Un Tier trinkets lay spilled on the ground at his feet. Now he remembered. He and Becky specialized in exotic Western goods. He bent to retrieve the Un Tier trinkets.

Leave them. We haven’t the time, urged Becky.

But, Shem’s head popped up, sniffing the air. Sol Dat.

He spied the distended snout and the bat-like ears of a Hunter topping the rise above them. He grabbed Becky’s hand and they dashed off in the direction he hoped was east.

The pair raced through the nut-laden pecan trees, as many yellow leaves as green falling in their passage as they zigged and zagged to provide a less predictable target.

Shem leapt over a fallen log, throwing up his arm to protect his face from low-hanging branches. He veered to the right, his steps whispering through the underbrush. Faster. He increased his speed to keep close to Becky, who ran as if with winged feet.

They burst into a small clearing and skidded to a halt, kicking up the pungent aroma of decaying vegetation. Before them, owning the clearing, stood their pursuers. Shem’s heart jolted.

U’bad!

Broad of shoulder and heavily muscled, the huge Masher and his mate seemed pleased. He thumped his chest with his mallet. His outer skin, more closely resembling some sort of bony plate than the regular epidermis, rang like a hammer striking an anvil. Only the joint areas gave any indication of flexibility or vulnerability.

It had been U’bad’s clan that had raided eight-year-old Shem’s farm, killing his parents, and leaving his brother, Ham, for dead. Shem had learned his life skills with Un Tier cubs, lessons which consisted mainly of surviving situations like this.

He knew better than to let U’bad’s disproportionately small head with a sloping brow fool him. His tiny ears were set low, and his snout-like nose severely upturned at the end, but he was not stupid.

Good job, I’van, grunted the largest Masher. You herd them right to me. Now U’bad will smash Soft Skins. Goddess Mieze, she will be pleased.

Leaves rustled behind Shem. He whirled around.

I’van and I’gor stepped out of the woods and into the clearing. The Westerners spread out, encircling the pair of Central Landers.

Un Tier were, as suggested by their protruding mandible sporting a set of menacing tusks, single-minded and obstinate. They couldn’t look any more different from the Hunters, three on each side, that accompanied them.

I’van said, So, I’van and I’gor do the work, so U’bad can steal the glory? Many times, we could have claimed the kill!

Does puny Sol Dat want to challenge U’bad? As soon as I’m done with Soft Skins, I will take it!

Shem leaned close to Becky. He whispered, We can use this. Back me up.

You’re crazy, she replied.

Do you have a better idea?

No. Oh, Shem?

Yeah.

I love you.

His heart melted. Becky! You don’t know how long I have been wanting to hear those words. Shem stole a glance at his love. You picked a fine time to tell me. Try to watch my back, please.

If you get yourself killed, I’ll never talk to you again.

I love you, too.

Shem stepped forward. He drew his sword. It rang out of the sheath. All attention focused on him as he drove it point first into the ground. U’bad, you think all Soft Skins inferior. I challenge you. One on one. Personal combat.

Why should I accept, cub? Yes, U’bad remembers Soft Skin cub who ran from clan like scared rabbit. U’bad pointed his mallet at Becky. For her we fight, challenge or no! said U’bad. His beady little eyes drank in Becky. Saliva drooled from his tusks.

Shem put as much menace and bravado in his voice as he could muster, Then let us finish this now. After I win, me and my mate go free.

Mate? whispered Becky. You wait until now to name me mate?

Shem whispered back, You just now said that you loved me.

Men!

Women!

I lose, go where you will. Dead not care, declared U’bad.

His Masher partner retreated to the edge of the clearing. I’van and I’gor each took one of Becky’s arms and escorted her to the edge of the clearing.

Shem withdrew his sword from the ground. He stepped back to assess his opponent. Cycles of living in U’bad’s clan had taught him that Mashers, or Un Tier as they called themselves, preferred brutish, single-mindedness. Shem feinted a straight ahead thrust, then skipped to the side, narrowly avoiding the huge mallet as it smashed into the ground where Shem had been standing a moment before.

Fiona! I had forgotten how fast he was!

Shem continued, circling, and probing for a weakness. His childhood training with the Un Tier cubbies had proven that a headlong rush was useless. There were few places of vulnerability. His jabs and thrusts met little resistance from U’bad. More than once his sword point had come into contact with bony plate with little result.

Ha! Puny Soft Skin’s sword has no might! boasted U’bad. He stood still, spreading his arms, opening his defenses. Strike! Hurt if you can.

Shem launched an overhead stroke aimed at U’bad’s head. U’bad shifted slightly. The sword cut slammed into the bony plate covering his shoulders. The jolt of the impact caused a tingling in Shem’s elbow and shoulder. On its heels came the realization that he was in trouble.

He could barely hold his sword at the ready as he circled the Masher. He made a couple of quick feints to discourage U’bad and try to shake some feeling into his arm.

U’bad reeked of confidence. He brought his mallet across his body in a sweeping maneuver. The jarring clang of mallet on steel sent another stinger burning up Shem’s arm.

His sword dropped from nerveless fingers. Shem refused to submit. With his good hand, he unwrapped the sling from around his forehead.

U’bad stepped forward, raising his mallet.

Shem stepped back. Holding the pouch of his sling between his first two fingers, Shem, his right arm hanging useless, reached into his pouch of stones, scooping the first one his fingers came into contact with. He let his sling slide between his fingers for its full length.

Sticks and stones to break my bones? U’bad laughed.

Shem twirled his sling, but he knew it was too late.

U’bad’s mallet came down in a powerful arc.

I’m sorry, Becky.

Instead of pulping him into the next existence, the mallet came down on Shem’s sword, shattering it, leaving only about two hands of jagged broken blade attached to the hilt.

Now stick is broken. Ha! Soft Skin’s sword is puny as Soft Skin! U’bad bellowed, raising his arms over his head in victory.

Shem rocked back and with what feeling he had in his right arm, loosed, the stone hitting U’bad square in the sensitive area of his upturned snout.

U’bad roared, dropped his mallet, and clutched his nose.

Shem scooped up the remains of his sword and drove it deep into the unprotected armpit of U’bad before pulling it out in a slashing motion, cutting through muscle and tendon. U’bad’s arm dropped to his side, useless. Shem’s return stroke opened a deep gash in U’bad’s throat. Shem danced backward out of U’bad’s reach to gauge the damage.

U’bad tried to speak, hurl one more bombast, but could only manage a choking gurgle before falling back.

Shem took a deep breath and exhaled in relief. Thank you, Fiona.

Another held breath behind him released.

Shem spun around.

Becky dashed to Shem’s side. Your arm?

Shem put the arm in question around her shoulder. His reply was drowned out by the keening wail of the second Masher. I’van and I’gor approached Shem and Becky.

Soft Skin, it would be best if you left now, said I’van.  U’bad, the Un Tier you slew, was her mate. She will not honor the agreement.

Westerners have no honor? questioned Shem, though he was well familiar with the system of justice within the clans.

I’gor stiffened. We have honor, but she will soon remember the mate-gild. She will claim your mate as her blood-price.

Shem cursed inwardly. Why did I name Becky mate? How could I have forgotten?

Becky slid out Shem’s embrace and gripped her sword hilt. It was a fair contest.

Fair or no, U’bad was clan leader, said I’van. He had never lost. U’mee’s loss of status will drive her to the mate-gild. One last thing. Your name, Soft Skin? For the death song.

The death song would be sung at all clan meetings. It would tell of the fall of U’bad and by whose hand. It was a tradition as old as the Un Tier themselves. Shem.

Leave now, Shem, said I’gor.

Becky turned to leave. Shem took a last look into the eyes of I’van and I’gor, then clasped their hands.

Next time we meet, friend Shem, one of us will die, stated I’gor. Until then, good hunting.

Good hunting, repeated Shem. He and Becky left the clearing.

They travelled eastward utilizing ravines for cover. Shem’s thoughts spun with the intensity of a tornado. His glib tongue had put Becky in danger. How could I be so stupid. He caught up to his mate. I’m sorry about the mate-gild.

Sorry? Say another word, my mate, said Becky, and U’mee will have to stand in line to get at you.

Shem realized this conversation had already lasted too long. He happily took point.

The keening of the Masher mate had been left behind for the better part of a candlemark when Shem noticed the silence of the forest. There should have been some sound, squirrels, birds, everything made noise. His skin prickled.

He and Becky had been moving at a steady pace and the trees had thinned. He could see the edge of the forest, and freedom, but danger still held him in its uneasy grip. Becky loped ahead of him when he slowed to glance behind.

The Masher mate came crashing into view followed by four of the Hunters.

Not now.

U’mee bellowed in rage as she spied the Central Landers, then sprinted forward with renewed speed.

Run, Becky! Shem yelled, then turned to face the attackers.

He drew Becky’s sword, she had relinquished it after they had left the clearing and faced the onrushing Masher. Something felt wrong. The Masher was carrying a spear, a huge spear, instead of a mallet.

Shem prepared to throw himself to the side as she heaved the spear. It flew over his head. He turned to check on Becky. She still ran toward the wood’s edge. He watched as the spear reached its apex. It was impossible. No one could throw a spear that far, no one human. The Masher wasn’t human.

The spear arced down. Shem watched its trajectory in slow motion. His fear and trepidation rose with the fall of the spear. Becky, turn! Shem screamed.

She continued straight ahead.

Maybe it’ll miss. Maybe it’ll hit a tree.

It did neither. Becky pitched face forward onto the forest floor. After momentum ceased, she moved no more.

Shem couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Time meant nothing. Becky’s gone. Emotion drained from Shem, fleeing with the blood of his face, leaving a pale void. A cold emptiness. Gone. Their love was no more.

Rushing in to fill the vacuum was the desire for revenge. Kill. Kill them all. He faced the oncoming Westerners. No longer a threat, he considered them animals, animals led to him for slaughter.

The Masher mate was in the center of the group flanked on each side by two Hunters. None of the Sol Dat appeared to be I’van or I’gor, not that that would have mattered. She had stopped to watch the flight of the spear. Seeing it strike the target seemed to have sated her lust.

The Hunters continued toward Shem, intent on completing the death sentence of the intruders.

With deadly precision, he flowed toward the nearest pair, the ones on his right. Their enhanced reptilian skin, less thick and more flexible than the Mashers, provided little protection from the strength of Shem’s blows.

Two swift sword cuts left Shem facing just two hunters. It had taken mere moments.

The second pair approached with more caution. One went for his bola, but Shem was quicker. The stone from his sling struck the Hunter in the throat, crushing its windpipe. The Hunter fell. The second looked to flee, but found his path blocked by U’mee, who had drawn her sword and was advancing on Shem.

Here was the source of his pain. Here was the cause of his loss. Here was the one who had taken from him all that he had cherished. This one was going to pay. A raging berserker replaced the calm killer Shem had been. He charged, caring little if he lived or died.

Time passed.

Shem looked up at the sky. The sun had moved a quarter-candlemark. U’mee lay face down before him, bony plate rent and bleeding from half a dozen places. The Sol Dat were scattered about, mostly intact. Shem blinked several times. What happened? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Leaves rustled behind Shem. He spun, blade coming down in an overhead swing. I’van’s quickness saved his head, but the blade caught the tip of his bat-like ears, notching the right one.

Peace, friend Shem! It is over.

Shem’s breathing slowly returned to normal, the berserker relinquishing its control over him. He sheathed his sword.

I’van, reminded the Sol Dat.

Shem nodded.

I’van continued, I’gor and me, we tried to persuade her to let you leave, but it was not to be. She wanted blood, little guessing that it would be hers. I am sorry for the life of your mate, but gild is gild.

At the mention of Becky, sorrow overcame Shem. His throat tightened and he couldn’t speak.

But before you leave, there is one thing more, continued I’van.

The presence of Vlad, Sun Father, High Priest of the West, flooded into Shem, inhabiting the bond he had placed in Shem’s mind soon after the Central Lander child had been brought captive into U’bad’s clan. The intrusion was sudden and paralyzing.

Shem. You return to the clan that raised you? The insidious voice pervaded Shem’s thoughts. He was helpless to resist. Vlad slowly extracted information, the scavenging, the challenge, Shem’s suffering. Satisfied that he had gleaned all that was important, the Sun Father released Shem’s mind, leaving his ghostlike apparition standing in front of the Central Lander. So, a deal was made, so be it. Go from my lands and know this, the image of Shem morphed into a Sol Dat burned its way into Shem’s memory. This is your fate. I can find you anytime I wish, wherever you may happen to be. You cannot change what you are.

The apparition vanished, leaving Shem once again in control of his body. He spied I’van kneeling before the slain Hunters cutting off the queues of hair growing from the tops of their heads. He handed Shem the shorn locks.

These are their queues. In breaking the agreement made between you and U’bad, these Sol Dat sacrificed their honor, thus their queues. Go now, Shem, and remember the words of I’gor, for I, too, am now bound by them.

Shem accepted the fallen Hunters hair and tucked them into his belt. Everything needed having been said, Shem made his way to Becky. He knelt to pick her up.

She stays.

Shem remained kneeling beside Becky. The coppery scent of spilled blood rose from the ground making it past the sniffles that promised tears to come. Why?

Her blood has mingled with the land, friend Shem. Were you to take her, her spirit would find no rest. Would you have her become a ghost?

The threatened tears refused to streak the cheeks of Shem’s bent face. The heat from them would have probably scorched his skin.

Now she is forever lost to me. I cannot even take her back. I’m sorry, Becky. Sorry I failed you. My love. My mate. But there is one thing I can do. I can guarantee that I’ll be back.

Shem drew his dagger and extended his arm. He pulled the blade across the inside of his forearm. He watched as the blood welled from the cut and dripped to the ground.

The moment Shem’s blood hit the ground his bond with Vlad strengthened. In ominous tones the Sun Father spoke, The fate of Shem, once of the Central Lands, by his own hand, has been sealed. Welcome home, Shem ‘o the West. 

Sun Father

The Land is alive !

Long narrow shafts cut in precise astrological positions provided light for the chamber deep in the heart of the mountain called the Lair, home of all Westerners. The dim light illuminated Vlad, leader of the Western Lands, High Priest of Mieze, worshipped by the people of that land as Sun Father.

The Land is alive!

The eerie words echoed throughout the central chamber. Vlad stood atop the speaking rock, a flat-topped stalagmite in the midst of an enormous cavern in the center of the Lair. Below him the chamber was crowded to capacity.

The Un Tier stood in clan ranks to one side. Sol Dat stood to the other separated by Gatherers and the priests. All gazed at the Sun Father with rapt attention.

The Land is alive! Vlad thundered for the third time, arms raised and outstretched, And it must bow to Mieze! Soon the Ascendency will be upon us and Mieze will take what is rightfully hers!

Vlad lowered his arms, basking in the stomping of feet and roar of praise and approval rising from the throats of his people.

He could feel his power growing with every turning. Every night the red moon that served as the physical embodiment of the Western goddess, Mieze, grew larger. Her scarlet tinged surface slowly deepened to a rich ruby red, the color of fresh spilt blood. It was blood that their goddess demanded.

We will cleanse the land of the taint of the Central Landers! Vlad declared. Those Fiona-worshipping infidels who blight the sight of Mieze, those that would seek Tierra, they will bow the knee and turn their hearts, or they will die! So says Mieze. So say I, Vlad, the Sun Father!

The adulation of his people had seemed loud before. It now rose to thunderous proportions with a chant of Mieze, Mieze, Mieze, Vlad, Vlad, Vlad echoing and reverberating off the walls of the cavern.

Vlad turned and descended from the speaking stone, his people continuing their chanting and stomping. Vlad signaled Erik, his second, to accompany him. Together they strode from the cavern to the cadence of the chant.

Unlike most of the peoples he ruled, Vlad, and the Priest class, were human in appearance. What resided in his heart could best be described as demonic. Deep, abiding, everlasting hatred strengthened his link with Mieze, the source of his power.

Do you feel the effects, Erik? Vlad asked.

Erik’s reply came slowly, The effects of what, Sun Father?

Vlad smiled. Do you fear me, Erik? You would do well to do so. I took no small pleasure in disposing of your father. I tolerated no challenge then and I won’t now. The approach of Mieze. Does she not quicken your pulse, energize your very core?

I attribute that to your presence, Sun Father, Erik said.

Vlad stole a glance at Erik. A little shorter than himself, his hooded black robe hiding his build, his second had his head bowed in submission, but his hands were clasped behind his back. A self-assured suck-up, then? Some is good. Too much breeds ambition, Cub.

Vlad could have entered the mind of Erik and found out exactly what his second believed but saw no need to do so. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the approaching times. What do you know of the Ascendency?

It has been the life spans of ten Sun Fathers since the last Ascendency. Mieze lowers herself to get a better view of her subjects, to bless them all the more, responded Erik by rote. The Cycles of Power being required reading during priesthood training. During the Ascendency, all will be more than they were, most especially the priest class.

Yes, and the period of the Ascendency? Vlad asked.

The Ascendency lasts for one moon.

That is the length of time we have, Vlad said, to accomplish our mission. Though this time Mieze does not intend for the Ascendency to end.

Our mission?

Passion filled Vlad’s voice. Long had he plotted and conspired with Grist, First Created of Mieze to be Sun Father during the Ascendency. To make me a Demi-god. We are tasked with preventing the rise of the usurper Tierra. To convert all to Mieze or kill them.

Vlad led a silent Erik through a high-ceilinged cavern of natural origin. Only the floor was smooth to the point of being nearly polished. The cavern ended at the edge of a chasm. Steps were carved out of the stone walls leading down to the bottom of a pit. There rested the Auge Ose, the eye of Mieze.

All in the priest class knew of the Auge Ose. They were brought down during their initiation to touch the ruby red jewel and feel the power of their goddess, which in turn allowed Mieze to search their hearts. Failure was not uncommon. In that occurrence, the body simply ignited and burned to ashes in a flash. None came lightly to the Auge Ose.

What we are about to do is similar to a renewing, explained Vlad.