“The story would’ve been sad regardless,” he continues, thankfully, “because Colden was in love with Fia, and he bore a curse only Asha could break. And Queen Drumera, well, the new queen was betraying Asha with the man the goddess still desired, a man despised by every god for his immortality. Colden knew this was a dangerous game, yet he couldn’t leave Fia’s arms. And that was their doom.”
His dark hair falls across his face as he spears another sliver of moonberry fruit and slips it carefully into my mouth.
“On that third night,” he says, “Asha betrayed Queen Drumera’s request and arrived for the celebration only to find Colden missing, as was Fia. When Asha found them together, Mount Ulra and every surrounding dwelling trembled. Colden went to her, an attempt to calm her anger, but in her fury and jealousy, Asha cast him away, forbidding him to step foot in the City of Ruin ever again lest he crumble to dust. He didn’t even have time to kiss Fia goodbye, let alone tell her what Asha had done. Little did they know that Neri loomed near, observing his old lover consumed with the likes of a mere man. Later, Neri approached Asha with another offer.”
With his knife, Alexus points at me and narrows his eyes in a way that makes it clear he’s absorbed in his storytelling.
“Asha could never have Colden Moeshka,” he says, “and Colden Moeshka could not enter the City of Ruin, but who would stop Fia Drumera from leaving her throne and seeking the man of the north? So Neri made Asha a deal. If she gave him her heart once again, this time for eternity, he would do the thing she could not. He would make Fia Drumera immortal as well, but worse, he would cast within her the element of fire and in Colden Moeshka the element of frost, that they may never—for all their infinite days—come together again.”
I sit back, saddened for these people I’ve never met. People who have lived only as legends to me. Does my sister know this story of her lover? And if so, does she not care that his heart once burned so brightly for another? That it might still?
“The Eastlanders have learned this tale,” Alexus says. “It’s been kept secret for over three centuries. It’s the reason the gods destroyed themselves. Thanks to Thamaos’s influence, Neri and Asha were condemned and buried at Mount Ulra, where they might spend eternity together in their shame. After their deaths, Thamaos wanted to claim their lands, but the one decent god of Tiressia, Urdin of the Western Drifts, blamed Thamaos for everything. Thamaos knew Urdin would be a problem, so he did a thing that you and I may regret, even three centuries later.”
“What? What did he do?”
A solemn expression falls over Alexus’s face. “Thamaos, unlike Neri, was a believer in choosing a king or queen to rule his lands. He treated them like servants, their purpose to deal with the pathetic Tiressians in his way. He put a man named King Gherahn in power.”
I’ve heard this name, again, from lore.
“And King Gherahn,” Alexus continues, “employed the sorcerers of the land for the Land Wars. His pre-eminent sorcerer was a young man from the Tribe of Ghent. They called him Un Drallag.”
Again, I nod, more urgently this time, recognizing the name from my father’s stories. I’m beginning to see the different tales weaving together.
“Un Drallag.” I spell the name in Elikesh, though I never imagined him being a young man. “The sorcerer who created the God Knife,” I add.
Alexus’s eyes light up. “Yes. You know this part?”
I shrug. “Father told me a little. That Un Drallag fashioned the knife from the bone of a long-dead god. Thamaos?”
“Yes, but Thamaos was very much alive when the knife was made. He cut himself open and tore out his own rib, offering it to Un Drallag for the creation of a weapon, so that he might defeat Urdin when the time came. But he failed. A battle ensued along the Jade River, close to Fia Drumera’s gates. Thamaos took Urdin from behind and drove the God Knife into his chest. But before Urdin died, he shoved the blade through his own body, driving it out his back and into Thamaos’s heart. The last two gods of Tiressia died that day. Summerlanders came, and the final deities of our lands were buried at the Grove of the Gods.”
A gasp leaves me. “The Grove truly exists? I thought it was a myth. We all did.”
Alexus runs a hand over his beard. “It’s a very real place. Ancient as Loria. Gods of other lands are even buried there. The Prince of the East knows this, as have other eastern rulers before him, but Fia Drumera has managed to keep the Eastlanders at bay. Now, however, they’ve learned that the queen’s greatest weakness might just be the isolated King of Winterhold, who will turn to nothing more than desert sand if they bring him across the Jade River. This is why I’m so selective about who I collect from the valley, and it’s why they don’t return home. They have a choice, but they know it’s best for all of Tiressia if they stay and learn and protect. After they’re told the importance of guarding Colden, they understand why we cannot tell the whole vale. Some secrets can change the world, and those we love most can be terribly tempting.”
I curl my fingers tight as my throat closes. I can’t say that I would be so noble, but knowing this gives me some sense of peace about the matter, about why Nephele never came home.
“Colden Moeshka is his own force to be reckoned with,” Alexus continues. “As restitution, the gods gave Colden and Fia a certain degree of command over their elements. He can breathe an icy fog. Freeze an enemy with a touch. If the Eastlanders manage to take him, I worry they will use him against the Fire Queen, so that they might access the Grove and the magick she has protected for so long.”
“What could the Prince of the East even do?” I ask. “The gods are dead.”
Furrowing his brow, Alexus switches to speaking with his hands. “At Nephele’s refuge, you asked me what the prince wanted with the knife. It is said that a god can rise, Raina. Remember what I told you about resurrection?”
So many things rush into my mind at once. Alexus’s words about resurrection, yes, but also my father’s words about the God Knife. It can kill anyone and anything, the blessed and the cursed, the forever living and the risen dead—even other gods.
The risen dead.
“A resurrection was performed with an Ancient One centuries ago,” Alexus says, quietly. “The story tells of rituals and Healers, not unlike yourself, using the hair of a dead god to bring them back from the afterlife. Some worshippers saved locks of the god’s tresses, not realizing their treasure could be used in a rite to restore life. All that was needed was a god remnant and an intact grave.”
A chill runs across my skin as I glance at the God Knife strapped to his thigh. “Are you saying that…Thamaos could be resurrected?”
“I fear that is exactly what the Prince of the East plans to do, especially now that the knife has been found.”