“Can this truly be so?”
Tomas shrugged. “Even to such as us some things remain a mystery. Some agency constructed those tombs.” He pointed at one of the major buildings near the square. “That bears the name Isanda.” Tomas looked lost in memory. “When my kin rose up against the gods, I remained apart.” Pug did not fail to notice Tomas’s reference to his kin; in the past he had spoken of Ashen-Shugar as a being apart. Tomas continued. “The gods were new then, coming into their power, while the Valheru were ancient. It was the passing of an old order and the birth of a new one. But the gods were powerful, at least those who survived. Of the hundred who were formed by Ishap, only sixteen survived, the twelve lesser and four greater gods. The others lie here.” He pointed again to the building. “Isanda was the Goddess of Dance.” He looked about slowly. “It was the time of the Chaos Wars.”
Tomas moved past Pug, clearly reluctant to speak more. Upon another building was inscribed the name Onanka-Tith. Pug said, “What do you make of that?”
Tomas spoke quietly while he walked. “The Joyful Warrior and the Planner of Battles were both mortally wounded, but by combining their remaining essences they survived in part, as a new being, Tith-Onanka, the War God with Two Faces. Here lie those parts of each which did not survive.”
Softly Pug observed, “Each time I think I have witnessed a wonder unsurpassed . . . It humbles me.” After a long stretch of quiet, as they passed dozens of buildings upon which were inscribed names alien to Pug, the magician said, “How is it that immortals die, Tomas?”
Tomas did not look at his friend as he spoke. “Nothing is forever, Pug.” Then he looked at Pug, who saw a strange light in his friend’s eyes, as if Tomas were poised for battle. “Nothing. Immortality, power, dominance, all are illusions. Don’t you see? We are simply pawns in a game beyond our understanding.”
Pug let his eyes sweep over the ancient city, its strange assortment of buildings half overgrown with lianas. “That is what humbles me most.”
“Now, we must seek one who might understand this game. Macros.” He pointed at a gigantic edifice, a building dwarfing those about it. Upon it were carved four names, Sarig, Drusala, Eortis, and Wodar-Hospur. Tomas said, “The monument to the lost gods.” He pointed to each name in turn. “The lost God of Magic, who, it is thought, hid his secrets when he vanished. Which may be why only the Lesser Path rose upon this world among men. Drusala, the Goddess of Healing, whose fallen staff was picked up by Sung, who keeps it against the day of her sister’s return. Eortis, old dolphin-tail, the true God of the Sea. Kilian now holds sway over his dominion. She is now mother of all nature. And Wodar-Hospur, the Lorekeeper who, alone among all beings below Ishap, knew Truth.”
“Tomas, how do you know so much?”
Looking at his friend, he answered, “I remember. I did not rise to challenge the gods, Pug, but I was there. I saw. And I remember.” There was a note of terrible, bitter pain in his tone, which he could not mask from his lifelong friend.
They began to walk on, and Pug knew Tomas would speak no more on this subject, at least for the present. Tomas led Pug into the vast hall of the four lost gods. A fey light illuminated the temple, filling the gigantic room with an amber glow. Even to the high vaulted ceiling, no shadows existed. On each side of the hall a pair of gigantic stone thrones sat empty and waiting. Opposite the entrance a vast cavern led away into darkness. Pointing at that black maw, Tomas said, “The Halls of the Dead.”
Without comment, Pug began walking, and soon both were engulfed in darkness.