Paladin (Graven Gods Book 1) Read online

  More memories came, faster and faster, building into a mental whirlwind that tore at my consciousness with a rising psychic screech. I could only endure the storm as I reeled under the impact of the memories I’d craved so long.

  * * *

  December 25th, 1996

  Squealing in excitement, I raced through the Victorian’s hallways at Richard’s heels. Together we pelted into the parlor to find our parents waiting, smiling indulgently from the couch.

  All my five-year-old’s attention locked on the Christmas tree by the fireplace. Balls of red and gold hung from its fragrant pine branches, and colored lights flashing among its boughs. Packages stood around it, each painstakingly wrapped and topped with big, colorful bows.

  I dove for the side of the tree where my gifts waited, even as Richard attacked the ones on the left. Shreds of bright paper flew as we unwrapped them with gleeful greed…

  * * *

  October 31, 1997

  My big brother was dressed as a Wookie, complete with shaggy brown fur and big fuzzy mask. I skipped alongside him in my long white dress, my dark hair coiled in buns on either side of my head.

  “The Force is with us!” I waved a light saber flashlight in one hand, a plastic pumpkin half full of candy in the other.

  Our parents trailed behind us, far more wary than you’d expect, projecting shield spells to keep any enemy avatars from sensing us.

  They had reason to be paranoid. Demis like us -- children bred for magical talent -- were prime kidnapping targets for evil gods, either as sacrifices or potential hosts. But our parents were determined that we wouldn’t miss the pleasures of childhood. Besides, being avatars, they were more than capable of defending us…

  * * *

  July 21, 1998

  My father watched us, handsome and smiling. Blond, green-eyed, with the same broad cheekbones Richard had, the same shape of the nose. Above his hand hung a rotating globe of magic. “You reach deep into the base of your brain, and let the magic spill, then shape it to your will.”

  The ball became a glowing horse dancing on tiny bright hooves just above his hand. I heard Richard laugh…

  * * *

  September 3, 1999

  My father in the kitchen, slow dancing with Mom, a beautiful woman whose dark curls fell to her waist. She lifted her arms to drape them over his shoulders, smiling up at him. He lowered his head and kissed her. Richard and I giggled, fleeing back the way we came…

  * * *

  November 6, 2000

  My mother’s dark eyes shone, serious and intent in her delicate face as she paced around Richard and me. We faced each other with wooden weapons -- bokken, Japanese practice swords. “Go.”

  We began to pace in circles around each other. I focused on my brother intently, watching his weapon, his hands, his dark, determined eyes.

  Spotting an opening, a fractional dip of his wooden blade, I sprang forward, swinging my weapon in a furious overhand pass. His bokken flashed up, parrying mine with the crack of wood on wood.

  “Good, Richard!” my mother said. “A little faster on the attack, Summer. He’s got reach and strength on you. You have to use your speed or he’ll eat your lunch.”

  I bit my lip and concentrated, surging forward, swinging. My blade popped him on the shoulder, but he didn’t so much as flinch.

  “Better, Summer!”

  I smiled…

  * * *

  The memories began to come faster, then faster, a blur of action and images, moments I desperately fought to seize and process, but they slipped away, spinning around me, lashing my consciousness, merciless as a tornado.

  Tearing me apart.

  Not just as images, but emotions. Fear, excitement, boredom, delight, love, hate.

  And sensations: the smell of my mother’s perfume, the warmth of my father’s arms around me. Hurling a snowball at my brother’s head with a triumphant shriek, hearing his sweet childish giggle followed by my father’s deeper boom of laughter. A thousand memories, filling my brain and my heart until I screamed at the hurricane of awareness.

  I felt my mother’s loving hug at the same time I heard her cry of woe and grief at my father’s death. Memories pelted me like hailstones, ripping at my senses, burning me… .

  “Summer!” Paladin’s strength closed around me like the warmth of his arms, anchoring me against the blizzard of memory. “Stop it, Summer! If you don’t stop it, it’s going to drive you insane. I can’t protect you this time. You’re going to have to find the will to do it yourself.”

  “I can’t!”

  “You’ve got to, or it’s all for nothing! You’ll be lost, and so will I. I can’t survive without you. I won’t!”

  That reached me. I was damned if I’d let Paladin be destroyed after so many centuries because I was too weak to withstand my own memories.

  In that moment, I knew what to do -- what I always did when Paladin’s memories rose up to overwhelm me. I reeled blindly to my feet and headed to the desk where my laptop computer sat, booted it up.

  And began to type -- furiously, beating my fingers as hard as I could on those keys, trying to get it all out before it destroyed me. Before my memories devoured me, and left nothing but an empty husk of skin and bone, burned mindless.

  * * *

  August 3, 2000

  I sat shoulder to shoulder with my brother as he read aloud from one of Paladin’s great diaries, each of which were several inches thick. We were being home schooled. Hardly unusual -- though we were probably the only two kids being taught by a cat. Especially one who was the avatar of a cat goddess.

  Calliope had been an ally of Paladin’s for generations. Unlike human avatars, she was immortal. Her power so filled her cat body that she was almost more magic than flesh. She paid for it with the lack of opposable thumbs -- and the fact that she couldn’t upgrade to a genetically superior offspring. She always insisted her body was the product of uncounted generations of Egyptian magic and selective breeding; trying to breed a new avatar with another cat would actually be trading down.

  Now Calliope watched us, sitting on the table above the spot where the book lay, her tail curled around her toes. “Page 536, Richard. The entry for January 6, 1902.”

  My brother nodded. “‘The mate’s ball was quite productive,’” he read, deciphering the swirling curls and loops of Paladin’s script with the ease of long practice. Richard was a tall, slim boy, with our father’s blond hair and our mother’s chocolate eyes. He was also the Heir of Ulf, god of wolves, just as I was to inherit Paladin, god of justice.

  The two gods shared our parents’ bodies, acting through them and adding their magic to their avatars’. When we inherited them, our names would change, taking on the hyphenated form that would mark us as Avatars in the Demi community.

  When referring to a human host, the name of the inhabiting god came first. So my parents were Paladin-Barbara and Ulf-Graham. Eventually I’d be Paladin-Summer, while my brother would become Ulf-Richard.

  That wasn’t the case with the avatars of dark gods like Valak, who burned away their hosts’ minds when they seized control. That was one reason we fought them and their cultists with such cold implacability. They destroyed everything they touched.

  But we had a lot to learn before we’d be expected to defend mankind from Valak. Every day we spent hours reading from the libraries of our two gods, learning their histories -- the tribes they’d led, the battles they’d fought, the enemies, major and minor, they hunted through time. The allies they made who helped them in those fights. And the names of our Demi ancestors.

  “‘There were several prospects at the ball who interested me,’” Richard continued. He read well, of course, having been bred for intelligence as well as magical talent and physical strength. “‘But I’ve found a strong candidate for Charles’s mate, a lovely little blonde named Chloe Anderson. She is the avatar of Artia, a bear goddess, who has bred her line through five generations. Not so many as I would like, but Chl
oe has great natural potential for combat magic…”

  “Calliope, what’s a ball?” I interrupted. A mate, I knew, was a word for husband or wife, but not one we used in public.

  “It is a type of formal dance,” Calliope explained in her purring growl. She taught us whenever Mom or Dad had a particularly hard night fighting. One or the other of them normally instructed us. Father and his god, Ulf, usually handled the bookwork and spells -- he had particular skill with magical theory and application -- while Mother and Paladin taught us combat tactics and strategy. “A Mate Ball is when the gods and goddesses gather to show off their avatars and seek new breeding stock. It’s all very formal and stuffy. Everyone dresses to dazzle -- ball gowns and tuxedos and expensive gems to show one’s wealth. Quite the most amazing display of conspicuous consumption. I’ve been to several, advising Paladin and his avatars.”

  “And that’s where they fall in love?” I’d probably seen more Disney princess movies than was strictly good for me. “Like Mama and Daddy?”

  “Not always,” said Calliope, ever honest. The fact I was nine and Richard was eleven was not, in her opinion, a reason to give anything less than a truthful answer to any question. “That’s the ideal of course, but not all couples are love matches like your parents. I’ve seen some who had wonderful genetics, but the avatars simply couldn’t stand each other. Sometimes if the genetics are desirable enough, the parties may arrange a breeding. There may be a steep breeding fee, but if the DNA is desirable enough…” She flicked her ears in her version of a shrug.

  “A breeding fee?” Richard looked up at that, his eyes wide and interested. “Like with horses?” He loved horses. My parents owned four of the animals, which were boarded at a farm in the countryside. Our gods considered riding a useful skill for us, building strength and balance.

  Calliope nodded approval. “Exactly like horses.”

  “Do they race them? Because how do they prove they’re worth the fees?”

  Calliope’s muzzle curled in that way I knew was a smile. “Why yes, now that you mention it. There are many games the week of the mating ball to demonstrate the avatars’ skill in all manner of physical contests. Strength, combat, agility, track and field… All very entertaining. Those avatars who do best attract the most attention at the ball.”

  I frowned, thinking of Paladin’s mortal enemy, Valak. “Do the evil guys come?” That struck me as a good way to get ambushed.

  Calliope flattened her ears in revulsion, and her tail lashed once. “I have no idea how the dark gods breed their little snakes. Frankly, I don’t care to think about it. I can assure you we would never pollute our bloodlines with such trash.”

  * * *

  March, 2001

  I was too late throwing up a shield. The globe of magic struck me squarely in the face. Invisible fingers dug into my ribs, tickling mercilessly. I squirmed, gasping with laughter. “Darn it, Richard!”

  “You’ve got to be faster than that, sis!” My brother did a mocking little dance, wiggling his hips back and forth.

  Which is exactly when my mother’s spell splashed against his chest. He didn’t even get a hand up in time to shield. He convulsed, collapsing into giggles.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” my mother said. “You have to keep your mind on the fight at all times.”

  My father gestured. Instinctively, I snapped up a hand. Though I didn’t yet have the amplification tattoos that would make my spells stronger, I knew the principles. Dad’s spell splashed against my shield, and I crowed in triumph.

  “Good one, Summer!” My father cheered, simultaneously flicking a spell at my brother, who blocked it, tongue clamped between his teeth.

  With that, the game was on, spells zipping back and forth through the cool autumn air of our backyard, as fireflies orbited around us, blinking in the dusk.

  Some families had snowball fights. Ours were a lot more fun, though the purpose was deadly serious. We had to know the skills of magical combat.

  Too many people wanted to kill us.

  * * *

  September 28, 2001

  “Summer…” My mother’s voice woke me, clogged with tears. My eyes opened wide in alarm, my body tensing to fight. “Get up! Get up now!”

  She hauled me out of bed as if I were a toddler instead of a ten-year-old. The devastation in her eyes froze my heart in my chest. “What’s wrong? Is it Daddy?”

  He and my brother had gone to meet with Richard’s potential mate, Charlotte, and her father, Daro-John. My brother was only twelve, but he’d been excited at the idea of a chaperoned date with Charlotte, though they wouldn’t actually marry until they graduated college.

  My parents had been in negotiation for a mate for me, too -- a boy named Mark Andrews, Richard’s best friend. But I was ten, too young yet for even such a chaste date.

  “We’ve got to go. Put on your shoes! Hurry!”

  I snatched them out from under my bed and stuffed my bare feet into them. Mom grabbed my hand and hauled me after her. I raced at her heels in my Gryffindor pajamas, Calliope bounding beside me, my fear growing with every step. My mom never panicked; this was utterly unlike her. “Mom, what’s happening?”

  But she was too busy arguing with the cat to answer.

  “You can’t take her!” Calliope insisted, her voice spiraling dangerously close to a yowl. “It’s not safe. This may be exactly what they want, to lure you out there so he can steal her, burn her out of her own mind, and wear her body like a sock.”

  My mother didn’t even slow, though she spoke in the deep tones I associated with Paladin. “She’s right, Barbara. Their trap netted them Richard and Ulf-Graham. Do you really think they’re not going to try for you and Summer?”

  “Daddy?” Oh, God, it was exactly what I’d feared. I sped up, hauling at her wrist to catch her attention. “They really got Daddy and Ulf? And Richard? How bad are they hurt? Mom!”

  She stopped and turned. Her face was all the answer I needed. Anguished grief lay across her features like disfiguring scars. “Your father… It was an ambush. They’re dead. They… Valak tricked us. There was no date with Charlotte and her father.” Her voice rose. “It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous!”

  “But how? How did they fool us?” They’d have used magic to fake the calls, of course, but why didn’t Dad sense it?

  She turned away and started running again. I sprinted after her. “I’ll tell you in the car. We’ve got to go now.”

  The cat’s tail lashed in agitation as we all thundered headlong down the stairs. “You can’t take her, Paladin-Barbara!”

  “She has to see them!” Mom insisted. “She has to see them one last time.”

  “I know you didn’t get to see your own father when he died,” Calliope protested. “But this is a mistake…”

  “Cal, I don’t have time to argue! I have to get to them before Valak recovers. Ulf-Graham hurt him, hurt him badly enough that he’ll need to retreat to his temple to heal. I can rescue their spirits if I move fast. Otherwise Valak will return and strip-mine their magic.”

  “I didn’t say you shouldn’t reclaim them,” Paladin told her in his deeper voice, as she skidded to a stop at the foot of the stairs. I had the impression he’d forced her to halt. “I only meant Summer doesn’t need to see this. Even aside from the danger…”

  “She has to have the chance to say goodbye, Paladin, or it will haunt her for the rest of her life.” Her voice dropped. “The way my father’s death haunts me.”

  “It’ll haunt you a lot more if you lose another child because of Valak,” Calliope snapped. “Sure, go get them, but don’t take Summer…”

  “And what if Valak has a team watching the house, ready to swoop in the minute I’m gone?”

  “I’m strong enough to protect her here, especially given the house wards.”

  “You’re strong, Calliope, but you’re not Paladin,” My mother shot her a glittering look and strode to the door, snatching it open. “I’m not arguing abo
ut this any longer. I’m her mother, and she’s going.”

  Gesturing, Mom sent magic spilling out to the driveway. Her car started with a roar. She hesitated on the door’s threshold, frowning. “Do y’all sense any evil? I don’t, but… I’m not sure I trust myself right now.”

  I raised my right hand and reached. Instantly, a web of magic unrolled around me, and I saw the sparks of life. The mouse in the Victorian’s walls that Calliope was too dignified to catch. A flock of birds roosting in the trees surrounding the house, a determined possum waddling toward our trashcan. On any other day, I’d shoot a spark of magic at him to startle him away. Tonight I didn’t care.

  Beyond that were the homes of Morgan Heights with their sleeping, dreaming families. The only exception was a man up the street, wakeful as he worried about his sales. All of them living their lives, uncaring of the disaster in mine.

  It hit me like a piston to the gut that I would never again sense my father and Richard sleeping like that. Would never practice my swordplay with my big brother again, would never decorate the Christmas tree or carve jack-o’-lanterns. Would never kiss my father’s cheek with the warm strength of his arms around me.

  They were dead.

  “I’ve got nothing,” I choked, at the same time Calliope said, “It’s clear, Barbara.”

  We strode out of the house and down the walk to the idling car. I picked up the cat and slid into the back seat from sheer habit. Mother threw the car into gear. She didn’t even wait for me to fasten my seatbelt before she hit the gas.

  I fumbled for the belt in the dark, managed to click it closed. “What happened?” I knuckled the tears running down my face. “How did they die?”

  “Valak and his men ambushed their car by dropping a tree across the road ahead of them,” my mother growled, her voice Paladin-deep. “They surrounded them before they could escape.

  “What about Charlotte and her dad? Didn’t they join the fight?”

  “They weren’t there,” she said bitterly. “Valak faked those messages from Daro-John to lure Ulf-Graham and Richard into an ambush.” Her voice spiraled into anguish. “But I would’ve sworn it was real! Valak sounded -- felt -- just like Daro-John in his psychic calls.”