The Call of the Void (Shadows and Crowns Book 3)

  Copyright © 2021 by S.M. Gaither

  Cover Art by Amalia Chitulescu

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  For all of the broken but still bright lights;

  Chapter One

  Gone.

  The door to the haven of the Moon Goddess was dark. Empty. Closed. Casia had gone through it.

  She was gone.

  She was safe.

  And it was the one thing— the only thing— that mattered to Elander. It was all he wanted to think about.

  But as he turned away from the row of doors that led to the other godhavens, he came face to face with the divine beast he had once served: Malaphar. The Dark God. The Rook God. Chaoswalker, Nightbringer…

  A hundred different names existed for this towering being.

  None completely captured the terrifying reality of him.

  That upper-god stepped toward Elander, adjusting his grip on the glowing white sword he carried, and Elander could no longer dwell on what had become of Casia.

  Rage twisted Malaphar’s expression into something monstrous. Something far less human-looking than the mask he had donned at the beginning of this meeting. And the rest of his body was changing, too, as he moved. The black wings upon his back unfurled; the tip of one grazed the wall to his right, knocking an ornamental sconce to the ground and extinguishing the flame it held. A deeper darkness sank over the room, and his eyes seemed to glow within that darkness, burning as bright and as terrible as his sword.

  He lifted his hand.

  A swirl of black feathers encircled his weapon with the motion.

  When those feathers fell away, the sword he held had transformed into two separate blades, each pulsing with silvery-black energy.

  He swung them both.

  Elander dove forward, slipping underneath the sweeping swords and narrowly edging past the upper-god’s leg. He rolled across the marble floor of the Oblivion Tower that had once been his haven. Fought his way back to his feet—

  Just in time to twist wildly and avoid a second strike.

  Bits of that silvery-black energy shook free of the Rook God’s blades as he swung them, filling the space with swirling threads of magic that burned Elander’s skin whenever he wasn’t quick enough to avoid them.

  Elander sprinted to the other side of the room, seeking cleaner air.

  There wasn’t far to go in the circular space before he met a wall. He braced a hand against it and tried to catch his breath. Tried to think calmly. His gaze darted back to the last place he’d seen Casia; his eyes always seemed to seek her whenever he was searching for calm here lately.

  But she was no longer there to find, of course.

  There was only the portal she’d disappeared through.

  He saw a pinprick of light in the center of that portal. Focused his senses. Felt the distinctive energy still radiating from it…and with it came a creeping sense of dread.

  The doorway was not as completely closed as he’d thought.

  And so his next move became immediately clear: If he could do nothing else, he needed to fully close off that doorway. Destroy it, if that was what it took to give Casia a greater head start— to make it more difficult to follow her.

  The only problem was that the Rook God now stood between him and that doorway.

  He knew what he needed to do. But the question was how to fight his way past that monstrous god—and it was one he had been grappling with for weeks now. Because this fight went against the laws of their world. Against the hierarchy that had built that world and filled it with life and death and everything between.

  He had agreed to serve this upper-god, not challenge him.

  He wouldn’t overpower the upper-god’s magic; his own magic derived from Malaphar, and thus it was more limited by design. This was a battle Elander was not meant to win. He would be a fool to even fight it, honestly.

  He foolishly scanned the room for a weapon all the same.

  There was a sword on the floor a short distance away. Caden’s. It had been knocked from the lesser-spirit’s hand when Malaphar had attacked him, right before…

  No.

  Elander couldn’t think about the things that had happened before. Only the present. Only the sword.

  He raced toward it, grabbed it, and swiped it upward just as the Rook God descended with his dual blades falling in furious arcs.

  Sparks of magic flew in all directions as the three blades collided.

  The force of Malaphar’s attack would have sent a normal human through the floor. But some of Elander’s once-divine strength still remained— and this particular sword of Caden’s was elven-made, which helped it withstand the dark energy of Malaphar’s swords better than most weapons would—so Elander managed to stay on his feet, and to push back.

  He gripped Caden’s sword more tightly. Pushed until that sword was locked against the crossed blades of the Rook God’s. For several painfully long moments they remained in this stalemate, until Elander’s arms began to shake and his balance threatened to slip against the slick marble floor.

  He rolled abruptly away, throwing the upper-god off-balance, and then he backed up, catching his breath and getting a more proper grip on his weapon as he went.

  The upper-god strode after him with calm, unhurried movements.

  They circled each other, swords at ready, and Elander tried to spot any weaknesses he might manage to strike.

  He’d seen Malaphar take this form before, but not often. The upper-god’s armor was black as night. His face was vaguely human, but had too-sharp edges wrapped in unsettlingly thin, mottled grey skin. The entirety of him was surrounded by the swirling shadows of his magic, making it difficult to tell where the armor ended and the physical body began.

  But at least he was currently in a physical form…which meant he could be struck, if only Elander could figure out where to do it.

  Malaphar stabbed one of his swords toward Elander’s chest.

  Elander knocked it aside, sidestepped, and swung forward in one fluid motion—only to have his blade parried away just as quickly.

  Again and again they clashed this way, the metallic cries of steel echoing around them, the air growing chokingly thick with the Rook God’s magic. Angry ribbons of Dark power siphoned off of the god’s hulking figure after every strike that Elander managed to defend against. Every successful par
ry only angered that god and his magic further, and soon the same desperate thought from before wound its way through Elander’s mind: You can’t win this battle.

  They both knew it.

  The Rook God was toying with him, it felt like.

  But Elander pressed on, spinning and swinging until finally he noticed a flash of pallid skin amongst the dark shadows and armor—

  He ducked to avoid a vicious swing, rose with a sweeping swing of his own, and the tip of his sword brushed the exposed skin of Malaphar’s wrist. It caused a hiss of pain to escape the upper-god. The pained noise turned quickly to laughter, but it didn’t matter.

  It had already betrayed a weakness.

  Elander darted forward again without hesitation, aiming this time for the opposite wrist.

  His blade cut deeply into that wrist. What looked like shadows spilled in lieu of blood, and the first sword fell from Malaphar’s grip as the upper-god jerked his hand away from the attack.

  The sound of the sword clattering against the floor was a small victory. One that sent renewed strength and determination surging through Elander’s blood. He briefly considered knocking the second blade from Malaphar’s other hand, but he settled for kicking that first sword away.

  The Rook God bared his teeth as he watched it spin away. He moved toward it with the same powerful, unhurried, almost mocking stride as before.

  Distracted.

  In the next instant Elander was sprinting for the doorway Casia had disappeared through.

  All of these doorways were constructed in a similar fashion. They were framed in jobas wood—a material that could withstand the magic that created the paths between the godhavens. Different symbols were carved in the wood, heralding the different deities that each door led to, and a jewel that served as an ever-renewing source of the pathway magic was affixed to the highest point of that wooden frame.

  Like the portal beneath it, the jewel surrounded by the Moon Goddess’s symbols had turned almost completely dark, all save for a tiny spot of light in its center.

  With several quick, expert strokes of his sword, Elander carved that door frame into pieces. The jewel shifted loose and fell. As it bounced across the floor, he reached for the small knife at his boot.

  He caught the gem and stabbed its center.

  Cracks slowly spiderwebbed across its face. Ghostly wisps of pale green and silvery white magic drifted up from those cracks, startlingly bright in the shadow-drenched room.

  One more powerful stab shattered the gem completely.

  As the last bits of it scattered away from him, Elander’s eyes followed them for an instant too long; he sensed the sword falling toward him, but he moved too slowly to avoid it.

  Steel pierced his shoulder.

  He twisted instinctively away, and he was met with claws as they slammed upward into his stomach. The Rook God smiled as he lifted his once-servant into the air and hurled him into the closest wall.

  The pain was dizzying. Paralyzing. Elander slumped down against the wall. His vision dimmed. The room twisted and shifted around him.

  But he didn’t care.

  Because the door was destroyed.

  The Rook God fixed his gaze upon the pieces of that door. Upon the tiny bits of the shattered jewel. More of his dark, humorless laughter echoed through the room. His voice was quiet, cold and calm as a snow-draped morning, as he turned back to Elander and said, “You have turned out to be incredibly annoying.”

  Elander didn’t reply. He tried to move, but the floor beneath him was too slick to find purchase against. Slick with blood, he realized, faintly. He was not exactly mortal, but he was no longer a true god, either. He was something in-between.

  Something that was losing far too much blood.

  So it was easier to keep still. He closed his eyes and settled back against the wall. He could feel the space growing colder. Heavier. It was the Rook God’s anger made ever more tangible—more of those threads of magic reaching out, tightening around Elander’s body. Already, Elander could scarcely breathe within their dark embrace.

  So perhaps this would be quicker than he could have hoped for, at least.

  “I imagine it will be sheer agony,” said Malaphar. “Being truly human again, that is, after having tasted divinity—not that you’ll last longer than a few minutes in that mortal form. Humans are such…fragile things, after all.”

  Elander kept his eyes closed, focusing on breathing through the pain, but he could sense the god moving closer. He pressed a hand against his stomach. Within seconds, warm blood had coated all of his fingers. The threads of the Rook God’s magic tightened around him, and they caused more than just pain, now; it felt like they were pulling, clawing away all of the most vital parts of him.

  Like they were draining him.

  A strange combination of horror and palpable relief washed over him. Because he was being drained of more of his divine power—but now he could also feel the connection between himself and the upper-god severing even further, fraying like a rope stretched too low over a burning candle.

  And there was at least some small solace, he thought, in the fact that he would die more freely than he’d been living.

  He opened his eyes. He didn’t look at the god looming over him. Something else had caught his attention, had drawn it as though by magic: A small, unassuming medallion with a jeweled face was resting amongst the rubble of the doorway.

  For a moment panic gripped him, because his weary mind thought it was the jewel that was connected to that portal he’d destroyed. That he hadn’t truly managed to shatter it.

  But no… This was a different kind of magical object.

  The Heart of the Sun.

  Casia must have dropped it when Caden swept her away to safety.

  As Elander stared at it, all of the memories of the past days rushed through his mind: The realization of who Casia was; the battle they’d fought against her brother and his army; the betrayal they’d faced when they’d arrived here in Oblivion; the fear that had gripped him when he’d spotted the Rook God’s brand upon her face, and the fear of losing her all over again—and now came another realization.

  She isn’t safe.

  He exhaled a slow, painful breath.

  No matter how many doors he destroyed, she could still be found. The bargain she had foolishly started to strike with the Rook God made certain of this—and the upper-god was not the only enemy hunting her, besides. Her battles were not over yet. Not even close.

  Which meant his weren’t, either.

  The upper-god was moving again, a storm of shadows and feathers descending, and then a shining blade extended from the dark, thrusting toward him—

  Elander somehow found the strength to roll aside.

  The sword struck the wall behind him, cutting more cleanly through it than any mortal-made blade could have. When that blade was withdrawn, it caused a series of cracks to spread violently out from the point of impact. Pieces of plaster and wood clattered to the floor.

  Elander rose up from the dust and destruction, through the oppressive weight of dark magic that had accompanied the Rook God’s approach. Caden’s sword was still in his hand. The same warning still snaked through his thoughts: You are not meant to win this.

  And even if he survived today, what then? What if he found his way back to Casia? Where would they go? How did they ultimately win this war and all the others they faced?

  He wasn’t sure.

  He only knew that he did not end here.

  He had set his gaze upon the medallion that Casia had dropped, and nothing was going to keep him from reaching it.

  He darted across the room, snatched it up, and pressed it against his blood-soaked shirt.

  ‘Heart’ was an accurate name, because he would have sworn he felt it pulsing in his fist, growing stronger and stronger. Almost as if it was coming to life at his touch. The energy it radiated was warm. Powerful. Familiar.

  It felt like…her.

  And as the s
econds passed, it seemed as if that energy was filling and fortifying all of the spaces that had been emptied by the Rook God’s draining power.

  He turned back to that god, and he saw something he had never seen upon Malaphar’s face—not in any of the various forms the upper-god had taken over the past centuries.

  Concern.

  Elander looked down at his clenched fist. He unfolded it, and he saw that he hadn’t imagined the pendant within it coming to life; it was truly glowing, the jewels upon its face flashing bright for one beat, dark the next. Strength surged into him with each bright beat. And soon Elander felt—of all things—a reckless smile spreading across his face.

  “Put it down,” the upper-god commanded.

  Elander closed it in his fist once more. Lifted his gaze and met the furious eyes of the towering god. He stepped forward. Kept his eyes locked upon the god’s, and he didn’t stop until he was within mere feet of him. Within easy striking distance.

  “You serve me,” the Rook God snarled.

  Elander shifted the sword in his hand, rebalancing it. “Not anymore.”

  The god opened his mouth to reply.

  With every bit of strength and speed he could summon, Elander brought his sword up and hurled it into the god’s throat, cutting him off.

  The god staggered back, taking the embedded sword with him. He didn’t cry out in pain. Didn’t flinch, even as the sword bounced gruesomely about with his movements. He ran his hand along that weapon protruding from his throat, as if he was more curious than concerned by it.

  Elander clenched the Heart more tightly in his fist.

  Malaphar ripped the sword out and threw it to the ground. Dark shadows rose on either side of him, swelling into a wave that he sent crashing forward with a flick of his wrist.