Read Online Younger Gods 1: The Younger Gods by Michael R. Underwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael R. Underwood
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the Gardener.”
Gardeners. The Celestials that refused to take sides in the divine civil war.
In the beginning, the gods were born of the Deeps, and made the worlds and the myriad species. The Bold, my family’s ultimate patrons, grew eager to control all of creation and went to war with their siblings.
The Gardeners stood aside, cultivating humanity in their garden, refusing to take part. So when the Celestials cast down the Bold, they punished the Garden, exiling them and their pets, humanity, to earth.
The Gardeners were lesser than the celestial gods, but they were true immortals, though limited to acting through their chosen humans, their crop.
“I’ve not had the honor of meeting one of your company,” I said, standing again and offering my hand.
The Gardener didn’t move. “Antoinette says you’ve turned away from your family. Why?”
“They’re monsters. They raised me to be a monster. And the day I realized that, I decided that I wanted nothing to do with them.”
“Quite a revelation to come all at once.”
I signed. “Should I keep justifying myself to you, or would you like to try to find a way to stop my sister? She’s already got at least one of the Hearts.”
The Gardener gave me a long look, not talking. Then he turned to Antoinette. “You were there. What will it take to stop her?”
Antoinette recoiled from the question. “She was gone by the time I arrived. And Jake was there too. But we faced a spirit she’d summoned in the park. She’s strong.”
“My sister is the most talented sorcerer the family has seen in generations. Drawing on the Deeps and our—” I stopped. “—their pacts with the Gatekeepers, she will be able to trump a cloister of mages or match an arch-mage.” I turned back to the Gardener. “But if you join us and we chase her down, we will win. Even the scion of the Greenes cannot stand against a Gardener.”
The Gardener narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “It is forbidden. Or are you so charmingly naive that you believe you’re special enough to earn an exception?”
“But you have your chosen. You can strike through them, right?” Carter said, joining the conversation.
The waiter appeared beside me, interrupting the flow of conversation by asking for our drink orders.
Antoinette asked for a diet cola; Carter ordered water. The Gardener ordered something entirely in Italian.
“Coffee? Black?” I asked. The waiter, a solid Eastern European woman who seemed unimpressed by the world, took notes and left, returning us to the conversation.
“I can, but each one I activate puts years, decades, or centuries of work at risk. I don’t just cultivate individuals. I am building legacies across time, boy. Your family should appreciate that.”
I raised a hand toward the Gardener, one finger extended. “Stop. I don’t understand what you want here. You want us to do what we’re already doing, and you’re not going to do anything to help because your own agenda is too important?”
The Gardener raised his voice. Not in volume, but in scope. The air filled with his words, shutting all others out. The room froze, and only the Gardener moved as he stared through my skull.
“Put your hand down, whelp. I should wipe you from this place by reason of your bloodline. That I tolerate your presence is a gift you should take gracefully. That I called you here is an honor. You will listen, and you will answer my questions with respect, or you will all die.”
The world unfroze, and I dropped my hand. Either the Gardener was what my classmates would call a colossal asshole, or he was on edge. Was my family so terrifying to a being that had seen the dawning of the worlds?
And that was it.
“You’re scared,” I said.
“Jake, shut up!” Carter said, cutting me off.
The server returned with our drinks, putting a pin in the tension, which hung in the air, unspoken while the woman set a ceramic mug with an intricate geometric pattern in front of the
Gardeners. The Celestials that refused to take sides in the divine civil war.
In the beginning, the gods were born of the Deeps, and made the worlds and the myriad species. The Bold, my family’s ultimate patrons, grew eager to control all of creation and went to war with their siblings.
The Gardeners stood aside, cultivating humanity in their garden, refusing to take part. So when the Celestials cast down the Bold, they punished the Garden, exiling them and their pets, humanity, to earth.
The Gardeners were lesser than the celestial gods, but they were true immortals, though limited to acting through their chosen humans, their crop.
“I’ve not had the honor of meeting one of your company,” I said, standing again and offering my hand.
The Gardener didn’t move. “Antoinette says you’ve turned away from your family. Why?”
“They’re monsters. They raised me to be a monster. And the day I realized that, I decided that I wanted nothing to do with them.”
“Quite a revelation to come all at once.”
I signed. “Should I keep justifying myself to you, or would you like to try to find a way to stop my sister? She’s already got at least one of the Hearts.”
The Gardener gave me a long look, not talking. Then he turned to Antoinette. “You were there. What will it take to stop her?”
Antoinette recoiled from the question. “She was gone by the time I arrived. And Jake was there too. But we faced a spirit she’d summoned in the park. She’s strong.”
“My sister is the most talented sorcerer the family has seen in generations. Drawing on the Deeps and our—” I stopped. “—their pacts with the Gatekeepers, she will be able to trump a cloister of mages or match an arch-mage.” I turned back to the Gardener. “But if you join us and we chase her down, we will win. Even the scion of the Greenes cannot stand against a Gardener.”
The Gardener narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “It is forbidden. Or are you so charmingly naive that you believe you’re special enough to earn an exception?”
“But you have your chosen. You can strike through them, right?” Carter said, joining the conversation.
The waiter appeared beside me, interrupting the flow of conversation by asking for our drink orders.
Antoinette asked for a diet cola; Carter ordered water. The Gardener ordered something entirely in Italian.
“Coffee? Black?” I asked. The waiter, a solid Eastern European woman who seemed unimpressed by the world, took notes and left, returning us to the conversation.
“I can, but each one I activate puts years, decades, or centuries of work at risk. I don’t just cultivate individuals. I am building legacies across time, boy. Your family should appreciate that.”
I raised a hand toward the Gardener, one finger extended. “Stop. I don’t understand what you want here. You want us to do what we’re already doing, and you’re not going to do anything to help because your own agenda is too important?”
The Gardener raised his voice. Not in volume, but in scope. The air filled with his words, shutting all others out. The room froze, and only the Gardener moved as he stared through my skull.
“Put your hand down, whelp. I should wipe you from this place by reason of your bloodline. That I tolerate your presence is a gift you should take gracefully. That I called you here is an honor. You will listen, and you will answer my questions with respect, or you will all die.”
The world unfroze, and I dropped my hand. Either the Gardener was what my classmates would call a colossal asshole, or he was on edge. Was my family so terrifying to a being that had seen the dawning of the worlds?
And that was it.
“You’re scared,” I said.
“Jake, shut up!” Carter said, cutting me off.
The server returned with our drinks, putting a pin in the tension, which hung in the air, unspoken while the woman set a ceramic mug with an intricate geometric pattern in front of the
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