J. Michael Hileman - VRIN: ten mortal gods

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VRIN: ten mortal gods

Copyright 2004 by J MichaelHileman

All rights reserved

Amlin Publishing

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personalenjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given awayto other people.

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To my precious wife Joan for the manygrueling hours spent editing and refining my vision. You are a giftfrom the Creator and I am diminished without you.

To Nate Dudley- You were inspiration when itwas needed most.

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A GOD AWAKENS

001001011001110

So there I sat, wondering how long I had beenstaring at the same page of my book. My head was fuzzy, and mythoughts were scattered. I could remember starting the book, and Iknew it was important that I finish it, but not much more wouldcome to me-- including my name.

Somewhere a log popped.

I pulled my eyes from the page and tried tofocus on the lavishly decorated room around me. Light from afireplace scattered dancing trails of orange on bookshelves liningthe walls and in the corner a spiral staircase wound its way up toa balcony where statues of mythical figures sat balanced ondelicate podiums.

I shook my head; something was wrong with myvision. The effect was subtle, yet distinct. Every color in theroom shimmered with a life of its own and my eyes tingled from theinflux of shades and tints. I closed them and gave a squeeze, butthe problem persisted. I looked down. Even the hands gripping thestrange leather book had a color fluctuation, as if they could notdecide on a proper shade of tan.

How long had I been sitting? I reached up andrubbed the back of my neck. The stiffness there indicated it hadbeen awhile-- but I was unable to draw upon any workable memory toconfirm that conclusion. Scenes passed before me, but theirmeanings ran like frightened shadows. Face after familiar facepushed forward from the murky pool of my consciousness, but whothese phantoms were and how I knew them was a mystery. Am Idreaming?

I shook the jumbled images from my head,pulled forward in the chair, and put weight on my feet. Theytingled but had not yet fallen asleep. Placing the heavy volumeaside, I stood and shuffled over to the fireplace where a varietyof framed pictures sat lining the mantelpiece. The colors continuedto dance, but I managed to bring things into focus. There wereseveral portraits: a family gathering, children in color, a couplein black and white-- and a panting dog next to a smiling manholding a trout. I sensed these images held a secret to my past,but whatever that secret was, it eluded me.

Something caught my eye, a trophy tuckedbehind one of the larger portraits. I moved the picture to get abetter look. The inscription read, 1976 Bar Harbor GolfTournament, Second Place, Jason Tardin. Jason Tardin? Wasthat my name? There was a faint recollection. But nothing more.

Again I surveyed the room. There was suchfamiliarity in this place. No. More than familiarity-- a sense ofsecurity-- like a childhood hiding place. I felt safe here, butsafe from what, or whom?

My eyes came to rest on the book I had placedon the end table. I could remember nothing of its contents andyet-- there was something in it I needed to know. I walkedover and looked down at the volume. On the cover emblazoned in goldwere the words, Davata Notrals, and a line of letters Iassumed was the authors name. I started to reach for it, butfroze. Why could I remember nothing before holding thisbook? Could it have been tainted with a poison or some kind ofdrug? Crouching down I examined the worn out pages from the side.They appeared to be stained from age but-- could the stains havebeen caused by something else?

Using a nearby pencil I turned to the firstpage-- then stared in confusion. It was written in a foreignlanguage! I flipped to the next page, and the next... They were allthe same. I stared long and hard at the stylized calligraphy,hoping my mind would string the characters together in somemeaningful way, but it was no use. I let the pencil fall from myloosened grip. It didn't make sense. I could rememberreading this book. But how?

The door to the study creaked open and afinely dressed man stepped in. "Master Tardin, a gentleman is hereto see you, sir. Shall I show him in?" His voice was deep and hismanner showed the distinct signs of cultured refinement.

The astonishment on my face must have painteda pretty picture. Uh, I'm sorry. What?

You have a visitor, sir.

--Who? I asked, trying to appear calm.

A Mr. Sajin Barrows, sir.

Sajin Barrows? The name held nofamiliarity. I straightened. Uh, yes. Show him in.

As you wish. He bowed, and without so muchas a raised eyebrow, turned and exited.

Show him in? What was I thinking? Ididn't know who this man was-- I didn't know who I was! Ifelt my head. There was no damage, nothing to indicate an injury.What then? Was this a mental institution? Was I a part of somepsychological experiment? Had I been started on some new drug thatwas messing with my mind? Is that the answer? They'vedrugged me because I'm crazy?! No. Crazy people dont wonderif their crazy. Theyre just crazy. Thats all.

Footsteps approached in the hallway.Frantically I looked about. The colors continued to shimmer; theroom shifted at odd slants. It had to be drugs! I needed toget ahold of myself! Just let things play out. Go with the flow.Dont give anyone a reason to believe youre crazy!Regardless of what had caused this problem, the best course ofaction would be to pretend there was no problem. Until anappropriate opportunity presented itself-- if I could just playalong-- maybe the answers would come. The doorknob clicked.

I gathered my wits for the performance of mylife.

A man entered the room, a distinguishedlooking gentleman in an elegant gray suit. The material wasflawless, almost too perfect, and at his side he wore-- a sword? Mymemory was messed up, but I was pretty sure Id never seen anyonewearing a sword before, not in real life anyway. I fought to keepmy expression from revealing my confusion.

The man had a strong physique and his shortblack hair shadowed the determination on his face. Keeping his eyeslowered, he cautiously strode forward and reached out his hand.Greetings, Lord Tardin. I have been sent by Vrins ruling house towelcome you to our world.

Our world? I shook his hand and keptmy expression neutral.

I am Sajin Barrows. He looked up andoffered a smile. But of course you already know this.

I returned his smile.

The Prime Median, Daru, apologizes for hisabsence, but his reason for not being here is my reason for coming.I have come to implore you to consider a matter of grave importanceto my people. I have no knowledge of how your kind communicates soif I cover anything with which you are already familiar, pleaseforgive me.

I nodded stiffly, wondering what he meant bymy "kind".

Since the awakening we have no doubtwitnessed indescribable wonders, things we never would haveexperienced on our own in a thousand years, and most of my peopleare thankful for the intervention of the gods. We believe theancient prophecies and we believe you will one day deliver us toEthral...

Gods? I was immediately thankful forthe quasi euphoric state I was in.

Nevertheless, there are some who areprofoundly affected by the seemingly incidental acts of the gods,and it has caused in my people a troubled heart. We want tobelieve, we want to trust, but it is difficult to reconcile thecontradictions. We need you to lead us to reason. Hepaused.

This guy was good! If he was acting,he was totally believable. Fine. If this is the game, I'll playalong.

Too which 'incidental' acts are youreferring? I said, trying to sound broody as I imagined a godwould sound.