When Gods Fall (The Gifts of the Gods Book 1)

1. CHAPTER ONE

If the rumours circulating Camp Bessi held any truth, the Marked healer lived close to the forest edge.

Alena quickened her pace along the winding trail amid the pine trees, Katell’s parting words echoing in her mind. Save Father. Do whatever you must, but save him.

It was the first time Alena had seen her normally indomitable sister so vulnerable. Katell was the eldest, the strong one who always had a plan. Yet when she’d left, she’d hesitated outside their family tent, her usual fierceness melting into the frightened demeanour of a young woman on the verge of losing her only parent.

Alena wouldn’t let her down. She wouldn’t let their father down. She couldn’t.

Setting aside thoughts of Katell’s absence, Alena forged ahead and scoured her surroundings for any hint of human life.

“Alena!” Octavia’s stumbling footsteps trailed behind her. “Alena, stop this madness! Let’s go home before it’s too late.”

“We’re almost there.” Alena kept going. She’d come too far to turn back now. Her father’s life depended on her making a deal with the healer.

The shade from the dense canopy brought an unusual dampness to the air. Though rain was an infrequent visitor to the grassy plains of her homeland, the forest trail was tainted with mud. A cuckoo’s soft, two-note call echoed around them in stark contrast to the constant commotion of Camp Bessi. Beneath the trees, nothing reached their ears—not the gurgling creeks nor the distant bleating of sheep scattered across the nearby steppe.

“Alena—”

“If you’re too afraid, then wait for me here. Or better yet, go back to camp, Octavia.” Alena glanced back, huffing out a short breath. Despite rarely venturing outside Camp Bessi, her friend had insisted on accompanying her. She hadn’t even traded her usual long skirts for more practical hemp trousers. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“Neither should you.” Octavia struggled to keep up. Strands of her mousy brown hair stuck to her sweaty temples. “It isn’t proper for two unmarried seventeen-year-old girls to leave camp, not to mention dangerous. Your sister isn’t here to protect us. Besides, if the elders catch you seeking that Marked woman’s help—”

Alena tuned out her words. Every Freefolk knew the consequences. Meddling with Marked ones—men and women blessed with gods-given magic—was punishable by exile, and in some cases, death.

The elders’ rules were clear. In the Freefolk Lands, the gods were dead, and Marked ones were not welcome.

Alena didn’t want to imagine what the elders would do if they caught her breaking their rules. Though they weren’t in charge of Camp Bessi, they kept the Freefolk customs alive and forbade any discussion or worship of the gods. But with any luck, the Council, the camp’s real leaders, would understand her actions and be lenient should she be caught.

After all, she was trying to save one of them.

That morning, Alena had left her father, lying weak and feverish in his bed of furs, entrusting his care to Elder Yorn, a kind-hearted woman and family friend. She’d welcomed them to Camp Bessi seventeen years ago when Alena was a mere newborn, and Katell a small child. As Alena had gathered her belongings, Elder Yorn had sat by her father’s side, humming and wiping his sweaty brow. A heavy weight had pressed on Alena’s chest when she’d departed the family tent.

Her father’s hunting accident had been severe. All her efforts to mend his broken bones or relieve his pain had yielded little results. His fever had only grown hotter, and with so little time left to act, she’d run out of options.

Marked or not, if the healer could save her father, Alena was determined to find her, cut a deal, and sneak her back to camp.

Beams of sunlight broke through the dense pine trees, revealing a shabby wooden hut nestled in the distance.

Her spirits lifted. The rumours had been right.

“It’s here!” Adjusting the strap of the heavy leather satchel, Alena hurried ahead.

Thin wisps of smoke rose from behind the hut. Chickens clucked and pecked the ground in simple handmade pens, and beside them, a well-tended vegetable patch was bursting with cabbages and carrots.

“Alena, please!” Octavia”s usually polished appearance had all but disappeared after a day of trudging through the grassy plains of the steppe and forest. “You know our rules. You’re making a huge mistake.”

In a camp where girls their age were scarce, circumstances had bonded the two though they were nothing alike. Octavia abided by the camp’s rules without exception, never questioning Freefolk law. Alena, on the other hand, often snuck into the storage tents at night to admire relics or read scrolls from the Old Lands that had yet to be traded or destroyed.

“By the Moon, Octavia, be quiet or go home!” She was being unkind to her friend, but there wasn’t a moment to spare.

She’d promised Katell their father wouldn’t die on her watch, and she would not disappoint her sister.

Not again.

A chopping sound caught her attention, and she followed it around the hut, Octavia on her heels.

Behind the hut, a tall woman stood catching her breath, a large axe clenched in one hand and a pile of logs at her feet. A thick braid held her fiery mass of curls back from her face. The dark-haired Freefolk often remarked on Alena’s own auburn curls, but the Marked woman’s hair was brighter than anything she’d ever seen.

Except for her flamboyant hair and formidable stature, she looked like any other Freefolk woman dressed in a woollen grey tunic belted at the waist over stitched leather trousers. No stitched Achaean geometrical pattern or rich layers of cloth favoured by the Rasennan people Alena had read about in her father’s scrolls.

If the girls’ sudden appearance surprised her, the woman didn’t show it. She simply paused, her blue eyes flicking between them. “What do you want?”

Alena’s throat went dry. How she wished Katell were with her instead of Octavia. Her sister would have stared the Marked woman down, not cowered before her.

But Katell had left two days ago to join the camp’s hunting party on the Council’s orders, and now Alena was their father’s only hope of survival.

She smoothed her hair and cleared her throat. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”

The woman regarded her with calm curiosity. After a moment, she nodded and picked up a handful of logs in her arms. “Grab the rest of those and follow me inside.”

As she passed them, a dark pattern on the inside of her right wrist shimmered. Alena strained her neck to get a closer look, but Octavia tugged her back, a silent plea in her eyes. Shaking her head, Alena pulled her arm away, picked up the remaining logs, and stepped into the hut.

In the far corner, a fire crackled beneath a hung cookpot, the sweet aroma of rabbit stew saturating the room. Animal skins covered the walls and floors, but other than a couple of wooden chests and a bed of furs, the hut was bare: no woollen tapestries or thick, colourful rugs and no decorative trinkets or weapons.

The tall woman relieved Alena of the logs and stacked them against the wall. A moment later, Octavia’s small frame hovered in the doorway, and the knot in Alena’s lungs eased.

“Where are you from?” The Marked woman unrolled a straw mat by the fire. To Alena’s astonishment, she placed two fresh cups of milk and a chunk of bread on it—a Freefolk custom for welcoming guests.

Octavia only blinked and resumed wiping the dirt off her boots. Steeling her nerves, Alena crossed the room and sat down facing the woman. She picked up the wooden cup and, in a show of good faith, sipped the milk. Octavia hesitated, then sat beside her.

“We’re from the camp near the creek,” Alena answered.

“Ah yes. Camp Bessi. Is Elder Moskon still in this world?”

Alena shook her head. Winter had taken the elder two years past. Snow had covered the steppe for days on end, making food scarce. Her father and Katell had spent days outdoors with the hunters, searching for game, but a dozen Freefolk, including Elder Moskon, had starved before they’d returned.

The woman’s stern features remained unchanged. “Tell me. Why are two Freefolk girls risking their lives to speak with a Gifted healer?”

Only those of the Old Lands used the term ‘Gifted’ to refer to mortals with magic. The Freefolk preferred the more disdainful term ‘Marked’.

“I came to request your help to heal my father,” Alena said. “He was thrown off his horse while hunting and broke several bones. I did everything I could to mend them, but I believe he’s bleeding internally as well. I’m the best healer at camp, after my father, but none of my remedies have worked, and he’s been unconscious since last night.”

The woman tore off a chunk of bread with her teeth.

Alena’s gaze dropped to the green-patterned Mark on the woman’s wrist, scrutinising every detail. The odd triangular shape, formed by three sets of antlers, was a design she’d never seen before in her father’s scrolls. Nothing about the way it glimmered in the firelight was natural. Her pulse quickened.

Without a doubt, it was the Mark of a god. A gift of magic.

She bit back the questions flooding her mind and focused on her father instead. “I’ve heard rumours about you back at camp,” she continued. “The Council—they talk about you and your magic, but only in whispers. They argued about asking for your help when Elder Moskon was dying, but the other elders wouldn’t allow it.”

“Of course, they wouldn’t.” The healer wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “The Gifted terrify those old geezers. They’d never allow one on Freefolk Lands. I was exiled a long time ago; I’ve been lucky to survive out here. Few have sought my help before, and most have been punished for it.”

Pushing down the panic rising in her throat, Alena held the woman’s gaze. “I don’t care what they do to me. I’ll do anything to help my father. Please, you must help.”

“My help is not free.”

“Of course. I brought you something.” Alena fumbled with the clasp of her satchel, and an immaculate, snow-white fur blanket spilled into her hands. It was her most prized possession, and she’d received more than one offer for it.

The woman tilted her head, her expression blank. “Is that all?”

Alena’s heart dropped. She’d been sure the blanket was worth a great deal. Katell had spent two winters hunting mountain hares and collecting their pristine furs to gift to Alena on her birthday. In return, Alena had devoted the entire day to handcrafting the magnificent blanket.

Do whatever you must, but save him.

Rifling through her bag again, Alena produced a long knife. Its leather hilt had been worn smooth from years of use. “How about my father’s hunting knife? It’s worn, but the blade is Megarian steel.”

The woman snatched it from her grasp and turned it over, examining the blade. “You’ve been to the Megara Kingdom?”

Alena’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. Leaving the Freefolk Lands is forbidden. My father had it since before we came to Camp Bessi. He said a friend gave it to him.”

The woman’s gaze slid to Alena’s open satchel. “Is that gold?”

Alena froze. The object her father had given her was peeking out of the cloth she’d wrapped it in.

“It’s not part of our deal.”

“May I see it?”

“Alena, don’t,” Octavia hissed, her knuckles white around her wooden cup. “Let’s just go.”

Glancing between the two, Alena reached for the object. “My father gave it to me.”

She unwrapped the cloth, revealing the odd jewellery: a stiff circular neck ring with a large opening on one side. Its thin bronze body was intertwined with gold, creating an intricate ribbon effect. The ends had been skilfully sculpted into twin horse heads, though no clasp or string was attached.

Alena had never seen such a treasure before, and no one in Camp Bessi possessed any kind of gold jewellery. Some of the elders wore ornate bronze and silver pendants but never gold. When her father had asked her to retrieve the necklace from his wooden chest the previous night, she’d gasped. Even now, the memory of it sent her heart racing.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was your mother’s.”

Her father’s answer had left her speechless. All Alena knew about her mother was that she’d died in childbirth. He mentioned her so rarely that Katell had once speculated that she might not have been a good woman.

“You need to know…” he rasped, struggling for breath.

“Father, please don’t speak. You need to rest.”

“You and your sister need to leave.” His hot, calloused hand grasped her own. “Alena, when you realise… When you find out the truth… go back. Go back and find them.”

“Father, calm down. You’re not making any sense. Who must we find?”

His answer was a soft whisper, but one she’d never forget. Then he’d lost consciousness, and she’d rushed out of their tent to find Elder Yorn.

Alena snapped back to reality. The meticulously crafted necklace seemed to shimmer with a strange, ethereal light that mirrored the healer’s Mark. How many more secrets did it hold?

Octavia gawked at the necklace. “Your father gave that to you?”

“Yes, last night. But it’s not for trade.”

The healer’s lips curved upwards. “Don’t you want to save your father’s life?”

An unpleasant feeling twisted Alena’s gut. “It’s gold. It’s worth much more than your help.”

“Do you even realise what it is?”

Alena shook her head. “I thought it might be a necklace or bracelet.”

“It’s a torc. A necklace from my people. I haven’t seen one in years.”

She’d heard that word before in a scroll that chronicled the life of the Rebel Queen. “The Western tribes, you mean?”

The healer’s head shot up. “How much do you know about the Old Lands?”

“Only what I’ve read in my father’s scrolls. A few of them mentioned the long war between the Empire and the tribes.”

“Isn’t it odd, then, that a Megarian man would possess such a valuable object from the Western tribes?”

The healer made a good point. How had her father acquired a relic from the tribes? The whole Rasennan Empire stood between the Western tribes and the Achaean kingdoms. Had it belonged to their mother?

Too many unanswered questions filled her mind. If it weren’t for her love of reading, Alena wouldn’t have known anything about the Old Lands beyond the river, let alone the Western tribes. The Freefolk didn’t talk much about their homelands. It was part of the pact they made when they joined a camp: to be free, they had to forget their past, their culture, and especially their gods.

In the Freefolk camps, the gods were dead and had been for five generations. Yet, as Alena stared at the shimmering gold-laced necklace in her hands, they didn’t seem dead at all.

“Alena,” Octavia interrupted, “has your father been teaching you about the Old Lands?”

“No, of course not. It’s forbidden.”

“Then why does he still possess such a necklace? Didn’t the elders make him trade in all his valuables when he arrived?”

“I don’t know.” Alena refused to let the uncertainties invading her mind overwhelm her. “But it doesn’t matter right now. I have to save him first.”

The red-haired woman studied her. Finally, her light eyes flicked back to the torc. “If you give me the necklace, I will ride to your camp and save him.”

Alena hesitated. Her father wouldn’t want her to part with it, no matter what. It was important to both him and her mother. But saving his life was more important to her, and so was keeping her promise to Katell.

“All right.” She didn’t flinch under the healer’s stare. “But we ride back to Camp Bessi now and don’t stop until we reach it. Once you save my father, I’ll give you the necklace.”

The woman’s face lit up. “Deal.”

Alena rewrapped the necklace and stuffed it back inside her satchel. A moment later, a horse’s whinny echoed from afar.

The healer froze. “Who else knows you’re here?”

“No one.” Alena glanced at her friend, who’d gone pale as the moon. “Octavia?”

The girl said nothing. Outside, approaching hooves beat against the dirt path.

“You have to go. Now!” The healer grabbed them both by the arm and hauled them up. “I’ll get rid of them and then head for your camp tonight, but you must leave.”

Alena didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed her bag and bolted, lugging Octavia along behind her. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she sprinted towards the pine trees. If the Council—or worse, the elders—had discovered her plan, then she had doomed them both.