Deathsbane (Godsbane)

Chapter 1

DEATH

Afuneral for a god has to be one of the most ridiculous fucking things I’ve seen in my eons of life.

But then again, the simpering mortals around the funeral pyre don’t know the cold body they’re crying over is a god.

To them, he is an apothecary—a mortal man with a pension for knowing the exact herbs and formulations to craft whatever tonic they believe will cure their ailments.

They call him Gavin, none the wiser of his real name or powers.

Gaius the Green, God of Plants, is not known in this realm.

A lesser deity, he’s not particularly known in any realm, making his lack of worshippers a convenient excuse for his untimely demise.

There is no more effective way to kill a god, after all, than to erase their existence from the minds of mortals. To be forgotten is to be powerless.

Few exist with the ability to kill a god any other way, and despite what others may think, I don’t relish being amongst them.

I may be the God of Death, but the other gods are just as dark.

The ones who hunger most for power—Nobus, Mikais, and the ones who came before them—are the truly wicked ones.

The Progenitors, the original four children of Creation, ensured we were all bred with ruthlessness and hunger in our veins.

What else would you expect from Flesh, Bone, Blood, and Time?

To that, I am no exception. My mother, the Goddess of Blood herself, was the first god I killed. The acts that led me to matricide also led me to the bargain that ensured my eternal sentence: my life tied to that of my realm.

King of the Under Realm is a fancy, enviable title I claimed for myself. But I am a king only in name.

I am a warden, a jailer of souls held captive, forever unable to tell a living soul the terms of my servitude. The dark world of blood and bone comprises the bars of my eternal prison. Death may live in every realm, but only the Under Realm can sustain me—and no one but the dead can reside there.

Any day away from that prison costs me greatly, but today, I pay it willingly, if only to witness what unfurls before me now.

“Thank you for coming.” The sweet voice floats on the late summer breeze, rising above the crowd of mourners. “We’ll light the pyre at sunset.”

Even in a realm that hides her shimmering skin, Selene shines.

The Goddess of Light, with a head of luscious golden curls, cuts through the throngs of villagers like a beacon in the night.

She bobs and weaves past them on a path that leads straight to me.

The shadows that conceal me fall away as she approaches.

“Drayven.”

Why am I not surprised that the only person in all of existence who still calls me by my birth name could sense me here, hidden and cloaked in night?

“When will you stop calling me that?”

“Considering it’s been centuries since you asked me to, I would bet on never if I were you.” White teeth flash in a hint of a smile that disappears as quickly as it arrived.

So few smile in the face of Death, and it’s that unique trait that keeps me sucked into the goddess’ orbit after all these years. No one is permitted to call me by that name, but there’s a part of me, an infinitesimal part, that would be sad to never hear it again.

“Thank you for coming,” she offers. “He always respected you. He understood that his power could not exist without your balance.”

Her golden eyes find mine, tears rimming them. What is it like to have enough humanity to cry? The last tear I shed was a century ago.

“He was a good god.” Always an ally, Gaius often felt like the only being who saw my curse as a gift—well, him and his eldest daughter. They’re both fools.

“I grew as many plants on the pyre as I could. Familial magic isn’t as strong in this realm. Perhaps that’s why he chose this one for his home.”

Magic in general isn’t as strong here, but I don’t correct her. Regardless of the realm, we’re all outrunning the hereditary powers of our parentage, always desperate for a fleeting moment when we don’t feel the crushing weight of our inheritance.

Gods are not made, they are born. Creation, the supremely divine source of life, chooses when a new god is needed, carefully selecting the specific traits of the parents to create exactly what is missing from the Golden Pantheon. Divinely crafted deities made only of the most optimal powers.

The gods of Blood and Time were not enough for Creation, and so the all-parent created me from their union.

Death itself. I must admit—the ability to manipulate both is useful in executing my duty, but luckily for me, there is no need to create anything from death.

The curse of my powers will never be passed to another, and for that, I am grateful.

The Goddess of Light holds up her hand and breathes deeply.

Faint threads of green magic shimmer in the late afternoon sunlight as she channels what little plant magic she can summon.

A dark purple bloom forms in her upturned palm, five midnight-hued sepals surrounding a cluster of yellow nectaries in its center.

Selene smiles at her creation, passing it to me. “They call it godsbane here. Such a silly name for a flower, but then again, it poisons mortals and they do tend to think of themselves as gods.”

“Fools, all of them. You could make up anything, call it history, and they’d all believe it. Gaius proved that.” I slip the stem into my breast pocket, careful not to kill it. “Your plants are…adequate.”

“They’re a mockery of the true strength of his power, but you’re kind to indulge me, Drayven.” The goddess reaches out a hand, smoothing the lapels of my black suit. No one touches Death, and yet she does so brazenly.

“I am not kind, Selene. I am here to collect him, not to pay compliments in the name of a god who spent decades in hiding.”

“Hiding?” Selene recoils, the word piercing her like an arrow. “He loved it here. This realm was a home to him in a way no other could be. You of all people should understand that.”

I turn to face her fully, gripping her elbow and pulling her toward me. I look deep into her eyes, holding her gaze to ensure her attention is fully on me. “Isn’t it always what we love that kills us?”

“You tell me,” she scoffs. “You are Death. What killed him, Dark One?” Venomous words fall from her too-sweet lips.

“This realm is not capable of sustaining a god and you can feel it. Even the air is harder to breathe here. Gaius separated himself from the sustaining lifeforce of the god realm until it killed him.”

The truth. It’s raw and ugly, but I feel compelled to give it to her and not the lie the God King is perpetuating throughout the pantheon.

He wants every deity to reside in his realm where he has the utmost control over them—and nothing is more dangerous than the idea that they might be able to exist elsewhere, or worse, exist without him.

My hold on her drops as the light in her eyes dims. “Nobus says my father had no worshippers, but when I look around his pyre, all I see are devoted followers. Even if they didn’t know who he truly was.”

“On that, we agree.”

We stand side-by-side, silently observing the mortals paying their respects to the one they call Gavin. My eyes may be on them, but all of my other senses are tuned to her. Just like they always are when the Goddess of Light is near—regardless of how I feel about it.

This realm’s single sun inches closer toward the horizon, yet no other deity appears. Not the gods who claimed to be Gaius’ friends nor the children he sired.

My hands itch to touch her again, a strange sensation stirring in my chest. I long to comfort the goddess who swallows down the sorrow that leaks from her every pore, but instead, I ball my hands into fists and keep them restrained in the pockets of my onyx trousers.

When the sun finally completes its downward trajectory, the Goddess of Light clears her throat, hurt etched deeply into the lines of her face. “Well, I guess my sisters fell for the lie. I don’t know much about funerals, but I know the gifts of Flame and Song would have been welcome additions.”

“None of my powers would be of any service to you or I would offer them.” I don’t know why I say it or why the thought of easing her hurt embedded itself into my demented mind in the first place.

Perhaps it’s the way she insists on keeping my long forgotten name alive despite my protest. A rare benevolence for the unexplainable comfort it affords me.

“Not now,” she states flatly. “Though time would have greatly helped before he died.”

“I am not my father. I cannot grant anyone more time nor can I take it away. A few paused moments would not have extended his life by any significant measure. I may be the Reaper of Souls, but I am merely a collector. I do not decide when their time is up.”

Selene sighs, her entire body relaxing from her tense posture. “I know. Taura told me it would happen like this; I just didn’t want to believe her.”

“You shouldn’t put your faith in that seer,” I rebuke.

“She is not a seer, she is the Goddess of Truth. Her power is just as strong as ours.”

“Not as strong as mine,” I correct, my voice even-keeled despite the agitation rising in my blood. “You can hide from the truth, but you cannot hide from death.”

“That is where you are wrong, Drayven. The truth catches up to everyone eventually. No one can outrun it, even you. Fate will be all of our undoing. Embracing it is the only way we get to actually live.”

Selene offers me a final, sad smile. The crowd parts for her without command as she takes her place at the foot of the funeral pyre. Every head bows in solemn reverence for the man they loved.

She takes a torch from an outstretched hand, resorting to man-made fire instead of the magic she had hoped her sister would provide. Words sung in unison begin to rise alongside the flames, an offering from these mortals to the god they didn’t know they worshipped.

I linger in the shadows as what remains of Gaius the Green burns. The now-mortal body is engulfed fully as the last light of day vanishes below the horizon. They will stay until nothing but ash remains. She will stay.

I admire her humanity, though I do not long for it. Grief is perhaps the cruelest of emotions, and I am grateful that I am incapable of feeling it. To miss someone, to cry for someone, to wait for someone—they are each their own sentence and I am thankful to never be burdened with their pain.

But there is something that burdens me—something that I can’t quite name or put my finger on.

Perhaps it’s disdain for how Gaius shirked his duty in order to live amongst the mortals who clearly loved him.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t send one of my Reapers to collect his soul. Maybe that’s why I personally arrived days ago when he first passed. Maybe that’s why I attended his funeral, and why I stayed by her side all afternoon.

Yes, I like that lie much better than the truth.