This story is a xover of David Eddings works of Belgariad/Mallorean and Elenium/Tamuli series. I love those books. I've read the 5 from belgariad more then 30x each, and the mallorean at least dozen times. And the Elenium/Tamuli books I've likely read nearly a dozen times each.

Just a recap: Pandions ask for Aphrael, Genidians ask for Hanka, Cyrinnics ask Romalic, and here, Alciones ask for Naslin. When I say ask, I mean pray/cast spells. Since in the E/T world, magic is done by the caster using a prayer spell to ask the gods to do something for them. Which words they use and which gestures are important as they have to be framed in a ceertain manner for the Gods to consider doing what is asked of them. Unlike in B/M where the power is inside the person and they just need to have the believe that what they want to happen will happen. Then they pull in their Will(power) and so the Word(anything, no special words, just an aural cue to release the gathered Will) Gestures not needed, but done for extra effect on witnesses.

To answer a few reviews:

First Thank YOU ALL FOR REVIEWING AND READING. I can not express my thanks enough to any one who has read or reviewed my works, especially this one.

2nd: This is a combination of the two worlds with Bel/Mallorean having taken place roughly 50thousand years before the Elen/Tamuli. So the geography has changed due to natural and unnatural forces(to be explained later, hint hint) and no one really knows about the civilizations that existed so long ago. In 50 000 years, a lot of history was lost or confused. So anything that seems odd about what the people of the Elen/Tamuli say about the Bel/Mal people is due to the perversion of time. Only Eriond was around back then, the Styric gods having come into being about 20 000 years before this story, and the elder gods some 20 thousand before that. Eriond(and Garion) have been around for about 50 000 years. Hell, Garion's just stating what he thought of the gods. Nedra and his people were obsessed with wealth and status, Chaldran and his people were consummed by their senses of honor and chivalry(that's why they were so dumb, too much honor not enough brainpower). And his memories of that time are kind of scrambled after spending nearly 45000 years as various animals.

As I stated, in the story, the Styrics believe the world goes in cycles. Those cycles are about 20-25 thousand years. So Ul and his children had been around for about 15 thousand years when Garion was born. Then 10 000 years later, they were all gone but Eriond and new gods came into being. These were the Elder Gods of Styricum. 20 000 years later, the Younger Gods(the Thousand) came into being. Now, 20 000 years later, the end of the Styric gods is approaching and there's a chance for new gods to take their place.

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Sparhawk was feeling nervous for the first time since he'd faced his first pitched battle. He was following Aphrael through the streets towards the chapterhouse, the little goddess flitting through and around the still forms of the few people wandering the streets at this late hour. She had moved them into that gap between times that she usually used when they had to travel long distances, and Sparhawk was glad for it. It was raining out, which wasn't unusual for the time of year, but he'd been woken in the middle of the night and told he had to go visit his God, and he would hate to have to do so while getting soaked.

He sighed as they reached the carved doors of the massive structure. There was supposed to be a guard at the doors overnight, and Sparhawk noted with irritation that the guard was not standing before the doors. He made a note to have a word with whoever had been scheduled for duty that evening as the little Goddess pushed against the doors that, by all rights, should have been immovable for such a small person.

The doors swung open silently, revealing the missing guards standing just out of their arch range. The two men were as frozen as everyone else they had passed taht evening, and Sparhawk felt his irritation swell for a moment before sighing. It wasn't worth it, he thought. They are guarding the doors, they're just doing so from INSIDE instead of getting soaked and ruining their mail outside. He decided to see if it would be possible to make an overhang just outside that would allow the guards to remain dry during the rain, yet keep them ouside where they were supposed to be.

Aphrael paused from halfway down the aisle of pews. She turned back to face Sparhawk, who was still glaring at the men. "Are you coming, father? We have to go to the chapel upstairs, you know."

"Just a moment, Danae." Sparhawk stated distractedly. He moved to the guards and studied their faces, matching them to their names. He would mention them to Kalten tomorrow, and have them assigned a patrol of the outer walls of the city. He then pushed the doors closed. "Okay, let's go then."

They made their way up stairs to the small chapel on the upper level next to the Preceptor's quarters. They were empty, as Sparhawk had much more comfortable quarters with his wife. They entered the small chapel and took seats in the front pew. There were only three rows, and a chair behind the podium facing into the room. They had just sat, when a soft chiming filled the room and a light started forming in front of the chair. The light expanded in a flash, causing Sparhawk to blink, though Aphrael only rolled her eyes at her compatriot's antics.

When Sparhawk was able to see, he gaped silently at the figure seated in the large chair. Though the figure was not what he'd been expecting, he knew without a doubt that this was his God. The God he had believed in and been taught to worship. The God that for the longest time, he had believed to be the only God. The God he was told had created the world and brought life into existence. Priests and artists portrayed God as a wise, gentle man, with a flowing white beard and hair, dressed in whtie robes of impossible cleanliness and softness. Often, he was depicted with a large staff, upon which a glowing orb was often depicted. Theologians claimed the glowing orb was the world from God's perspective.

The reality was different. Seated in the chair was a man seemingly about half Sparhawk's age. He was wearing what looked to be peasant outfit of blouse, leather pants and vest, and at his hip was a slim sword of a style Sparhawk didn't recognize. The man was seated casually, but upright, and had a gentle smile on his face. Really, the only things that matched any of the descriptions Sparhawk had ever heard were that smile and the calm, gentle blue eyes reflecting back an inner light and power that Sparhawk could feel down to the depths of his soul.

He slipped from the pew and fell to one knee, bowing as deeply as his aching body would allow him. "My Lord." he whispered in awe, knowing on an instinctive level that this was his God.

The figure nodded his head and gestured towards Sparhawk. "Rise, Sir Sparhawk of Elenia. You need not bow to me."

Sparhawk gulped and rose to his feet, standing at military attention while looking towards the other man. "But you are God!" he protested.

Eriond smiled and stood. He walked towards the statue like form of the Pandion. "I am but one of many Gods, Sparhawk. Unfortunately, the truth of my origins and the origins of the church have been lost to the ages. I am not the Creator, Sparhawk. Merely his last son. The church has confused my self and my brothers and joined us all as one, along with my father."

"Your father, my Lord? Brothers?" Sparhawk asked, genuinely confused. Nothing he'd ever taught or experienced had prepeared for him to meet God and have him explain that the church had mistaken his teachings.

"Yes, Sparhawk. The Seven. We were the children of UL, the All-Father. Creator of the universe and first being in existence. There has always been some debate as to whether UL created the universe or whether the Universe created UL. Either way, he created everything within the universe, including us, his children, and those we were given to watch over. The church you know, has confused myself and my brothers and lumped us all as one being. I haven't bothered correcting them, since it did no harm for them to teach such, so long as they had the proper message of tolerance and love for all mankind. I have been greatly disappointed in recent centuries with their direction, though I am immensely proud of the successes of the Order Knights. Especially the Pandions and your ancestors in particular."

Sparhawk was filled with pride. God had been watching over his family, just as the priests taught. "I am honored, my Lord, that you have expressed interest in my family and by your praise for my fellow knights. I would one day like to learn more about your Father and Brothers, but right now, if its not too presumptuous. Why am I here?"

Eriond grinned and slapped a hand to Sparhawk's shoulder, ignoring the strange look that filtered across Sparhawk's face. "I need your help, Sparhawk. Or more accurately, the world is going to need Anhaka's help."

Sparhawk groaned, and ignoring all propriety drilled into him by his family and instructors, collapsed back onto the pew, causing the ancient wood to shake with the weight of his form. He covered his hands with his face and started muttering under his breath.

Eriond and Aphrael exchanged confused glances, not understanding what the problem was. Eriond gestured for Aphrael to approach the man, since he was aware his presence overwhelmed Sparhawk, though he would wish it otherwise.

"Father, what's wrong?" the goddess asked, her small hands on Sparhawk's knees.

Sparhawk dropped his hands to cover Aphrael's own. He stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and frustration. "Why me?" he asked desperately, "WHY ME?" He yelled out, standing and staring at his God. He was shocked into silence by his Lord's reaction.

Eriond tried hold it in, but he wasn't able to do so. Slowly, little snickers broke out, and eventually, he started laughing nearly hysterically, grasping his aching sides as the force of his laughter shook his body. For a being who didn't really need to breath or have a body, this was a trully phenominal feat. He tried to stop at the puzzled looks Sparhawk and Aphrael exchanged. Especially since he had been listening to Aphrael talking to Sparhawk to get him here.

Time passed and he eventually regained control of himself. By this time, the two were staring at him, and he could tell that Sparhawk had lost his awe and inherant respect for him. Not that he minded. Earned respect from a man such as Sparhawk would mean a lot more then the blind devotion and obedience of a thousand other men. "Sorry. Just remembering old times. Actually, I knew someone who used to ask that all the time, Sparhawk. A distant, very distant ancestor of yours. In fact, he's kind of the reason we need Anhaka."

"What do you man, my Lord?" Sparhawk asked, wondering what was going on. God was acting very different from everything he'd been taught or been told by Aphrael and other Styric gods.

Eriond waved his hand, brushing off the question for a moment. "Did you know, Sparhawk, that your line is the oldest continuous line of ancestry in the world? That it has never been broken and never been interrupted or sidetracked? That I could list your ancestors back for over 60 thousand years?" He sat next to Sparhawk on the pew, looking at the depiction of himself painted above the chair on the small dais. "Look at your right hand."

Sparhawk obeyed without thought, unclenching his fist to stare at his palm. Slowly, a pale circular makr was forming on the palm. It looked almost like a burn mark, something he'd had a few off in his long life. He had never noticed such a mark in all his remembered years, but there it was. As real as the scar that bisected it, and the callouses on his fingers that even years as little more then a token courtier or Preceptor hadn't softened. He hadn't had to lift a sword for more then pracitice or teaching in nearly a decade. He hadn't ridden a horse since Feran had died three years before, finaly succumbing to old age. Now, he rode in carriages next to his wife, and carried a sword for purely ceremonial purposes, though he considered himself as good as always. Maybe a half step slower, and not quite as powerful a strike, but he still had all the skill he'd acquired over the years. Was still a dangerous man. His eyes might not be as good, and he might not be able to see fine details more than an arms length away, but he was still a soldier. No matter what time and battles had ravaged on him, he was still capable and solid fighter.

Yet, he knew that even with all those battles, and all that experience, he had never seen that mark before. It was something new yet old. There was no tighness in the palm of a fresh wound, and in truth, aside from looking like a scar, it felt like a normal part of himself. Like he'd been born with it. However, he could swear that it had not been there even minutes before. "What is this?" he asked, looking at the person sitting next to him.

Eriond smiled wide. "It's a birthmark that has been in your family for over 50 thousand years. To first to bear it was named Riva Irongrip, and he was king of the island nation that bore his name, Riva. Riva was the son of the King of Aloria, Cherek Bear-Shoulders. They were even before my time. I wasn't born until a few thousand years after they had died."

Sparhawk set aside his surprise at learning that God had been born. "So you've known my family for a long time, then?"

Eriond grinned. He'd shown more expression in the last days then he had since Polgara and Durnik had chosen to give up life. "You could say that one of your ancestors and I were almost brothers. We were raised by the same woman after all. I've always had a soft spot for the family. Though I've only kept track of the main two branches. I could go over the others, but only those two are really important."

Sparhawk was wondering when the shocks would stop. "So what does the mark mean?"

"It means your family was marked as being special. Very special. Out of all the world, and all those who have ever lived, only your ancestors and only you were able to do what was needed. Only your line was able to control the force that you have called Bhelliom."

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Garion was seated on one side of the fire, with Tynian and Ulath on the other side. Garion had managed to search the bodies and found that several of them had the Bear Claw mark of the Bear Cult. Some of the others had other marks. What looked like a bull's horns, a lion's paw, a hooded snake, and boar's tusks. Whatever was going on seemed to involve the ancient gods who had long since left this world. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but long experience had taught him that sometimes hunches were just a way for your unconcious mind to give you information it had gathered that you waking mind had missed. And he had a strong hunch that whatever was going on involved a cult or series of cults who were worshipping the Seven. And since no one alive now should even KNOW anything about the Seven, then the only conclusion he could come too was that someone else from his time was alive. Someone who had dubious intentions for the rest of the world. And Garion could think of no one who fit the description.

He sighed as he used Ulath's whetstone to sharpen the edge of his sword. It had not been used in more then 15 thousand years until this evening, and even though it had been in the non space existence objects were stored when a sorceror changed his form, the sheer amount of time had dulled the blade and rusted a few spots. Even his conjured clothing was threadbare and torn in spots, though he set a simple use of his will to mending it to appropriate appearance. He was dressed in clothes similiar to those he'd worn during his formative years, before he'd learned of his true heritage. It made him look like a farm hand or conscripted soldier, but he had never felt comfortable in the finery he'd been forced to wear while ruling Riva. Though Ce'Nedra had certainly appreciated the way he'd looked in it.

Shaking his head, he turned to watch as the knights finished their search of the assorted corpses. They'd gathered quite a sum of money in a variety of currencies. The one that he'd insisted on handling himself, however, was the strange red gold. Tynian and Ulath hadn't known what it was, but they'd felt the draw towards it when they'd found it on one of the corpses. After that, he'd stepped in and gathered the rest of the insidious metal, once again finding a clue to people and places long forgotten. Stamped on the face of the coins was the unscarred face of someone he'd not thought of in longer then he cared to think. He wasn't sure exactly, when he'd stopped being haunted by dreams of the dragon god of Angarak, but he hadn't wanted to risk reawakening the nightmares.

"What is that stuff, Garion?" asked Tynian as he stared greedily at the pile of red coins. "And who's the person on them?"

Garion debated with himself what to tell the knights and decided on a short version of the truth. "This is red gold, and it isn't supposed to exist here at this time. It was supposed to have all been gathered and disposed of tens of thousands of years ago."

Ulath frowned. "Who's the king?"

Garion snorted. "He wasn't really a king, Ultath. He was a God. And he's someone who's been dead for about 50 thousand years."

"How do you know he isn't the one behind these people?" Tynian asked. Most of the brigands equipment would be useless, but there were a few pieces they could oil and resell at a later date.

"Remember earlier, when I told you I was called Godslayer?"

"Sure, we thought it was just a title, like duke or earl or something."

Garion laughed harshly, laying aside the whetstone and freshly sharpened blade. "I wish. He's the god I slayed to earn the name. I was about 15 at the time. He wasn't the first person I killed, but he was the most notable." Garion stared into the flame, pondering old thoughts and regrets. "I haven't thought about him in a very long time. And now, I find these." he waved at the pile of red gold. "And those marks on these men. Someone is trying to stir up old troubles, and that's very dangerous."

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"Bhelliom? What about it?" Sparhawk asked. "How could a mark on my palm let me control Bhelliom?"

"Because the mark marks you as being of the proper line. Bhelliom was not always a carved rose, Sparhawk. Long ago, many years before my awakening, it was a stone. A stone polished by the hand of the god Aldur. Stolen by his brother Torak, who used it to do something terrible."

"What did Torak do?" Aphrael asked. She and other Styric gods could travel back into the past, but to go so far was dangerous, even for them, and few had ever risked it. And none was able to recall much about a large block of time that was sealed to their travels.

"He raised up the Orb of Aldur, and Cracked the world." Eriond stated sadly, all hints of mirth and amusement gone from his voice. "He used it to cause a rift in the planet, tearing apart a continent down to the deepest level of the world. The Orb didn't like this, since the planet is in a way it's mother. So it burned Torak, melting away his hand and scarring the left side of his face. After that, only a few special people could hold the Orb and use it's powers. Before, anyone could have lifted up the Orb and used it. Afterwords, it trusted only Riva and his descendants to wield it."

"But how can this Orb be Bhelliom? Bhelliom came from space and was trapped when the planet was formed. Bhelliom itself told us when we were preparing to battle it's enemy, Klael."

Eriond sighed. People, even Gods, were too easily mislead or distracted. "I am aware of all this. However, the essence of Bhelliom, and the essence of Klael, are formless. Their forms are dictated by the needs of their endless battle. When the world was formed, the essence of Bhelliom was trapped into the form of the blue stone that Aldur lifted from the river bed. The trauma was severe, and Bhelliom's mind was scattered. The Orb had only the mental capacity of a child. It was playful and willful, and could only be controlled by the descendants of Riva. Only the one marked by the Orb itself could touch it. As with all things the world changed, and the lands shifted. The Isle of Riva was thrust up and became a mountain range. The Seven had left, leaving me to watch the progress of mankind. I was supposed to be the last, the only. But something happened, and destiny was altered. The cycle started up."

"The cycle?" Sparhawk asked, further confused.

It was Aphrael who answered. "Styric's know that the world goes in cycles. Everything goes in cycles. You are born, grow old, bring life to a child, and die. The same goes with the Gods. The Thousand are the 5th set. The first was the Seven. Then the Trolls Gods and Dawn men, then the Elder Gods, and now us. With each cycle, the powers of the Gods grows weaker, while the abilities of man grow stronger. We believe that the cycles will repeat until either there is only 1 god for all mankind, or mankind is as strong as the gods."

"And the cycle would end at that time." Eriond added. "And the end was supposed to be with me. It was I who was to be the last guardian of mankind. Yet something has happened that has started the cycle again. And the future is uncertain. That is why we must find a way to bring Bhelliom back and heal it's form back to the Orb. We will need it's power in the coming conflict. And your power as well, Anhaka."

"Me? I have no power. Bhelliom took it back when I freed it."

Eriond laughed. "Oh my son. Bhelliom could no more have taken your powers then you could destroy the world. It's a part of you, Sparhawk. A part of what makes your line so special. Throughout all the cycles of history, your family have put duty and honor above all else. And have been gifted with abilities beyond the normal gifts all humans and gods have. In fact, most of the feats that you acredit to Bhelliom, were done solely by yourself. By the strength of your will and desire to see it done. Bhelliom did give you some power, but it was a loan. Once you used the power, it was gone."

"So you're saying that I did it all? I banished Azash, not Bhelliom? That I did all those things my self? Just because I wanted it to happen?"

Eriond nodded. "Yes. In my original time, it was called the Will and Word. Those special people with certain traits could gather enough Will, with the release of the Word, they could accomplish magic beyond most Styric spells you could imagine. One person, an ancestor of yours, was so powerful, he could raise the dead."

"That's impossible!" stated Aphrael, looking at Eriond with disbelief on his face.

"Oh, is it? Well, you can ask him yourself. He should be here in a few days."

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Garion's eyes opened as the first rays of sunlight crossed his face. He sat up and looked around, noting Ulath standing watch near the edge of the clearing and Tynian still sleeping soundly across the firepit. The fire had been allowed to die, though they had made sure to stir the coals to keep them burning.

Garion stood and walked into the forest to perform his morning absolutions. He returned to the fire to find Ulath and Tynian slicing the rest of the meat from the boar. Ulath took the less edible remains and excess meats and tossed them in the forest, opposite the area they'd disposed of the attackers. The forest animals would eat well when they returned in a day or so.

"So what are we going to do now?" Garion asked the others. He wanted to leave and search for the Orb, but sensed that his best chance of finding it was to stay with these two.

The two exchanged a glance and Ulath gestured for Tynian to give his opinion while he gathered the supplies and stuffed them into the sacks.

"Well, if you're looking for this Orb, then the best chance to learn anything about it would be to find Sparhawk and then search for Sephrenia and Aphrael."

"And who are they?" Garion asked.

"Sparhawk is the Preceptor of the Pandion Knights and Prince Consort to Queen Ehlana. He's also the one all the really weird things like this usually happens to. If something is going on, then Sparhawk is somewhere in the center of it." Tynian explained. He was now loading the supplies onto the horses. "Sephrenia is a Styric, and the person who taught the Pandions how to use magic. She's recently retired back to her homeland with her husband and their child. She's the High Priestess for Aphrael, who is one of the Styric Thousand."

"What are these Styric Thousand? For that matter, what's a Styric?"

"You've never heard of Styrics? Or the Styric gods?" Ulath asked. He was finishing the strapping of the saddle on his mare, while Tynian checked the feet.

"Nope, neither. The only Gods I know left this planet about 50 000 years ago."

Tynian and Ulath shared a look, wondering about the mental state of their new companion. "The Styrics are a race who believe in harmony with all of nature and life. They are vegetarians and have close relationships with their gods. There are a Thousand Styric Gods. For obvious reasons I wont name them all. I can tell you that the 4 orders of the Knights have been granted the right to learn magic from the Styrics in order to be able to combat those threats that are outside of the normal beliefs of Elenes. The orders are Pandion's who are taught by Aphrael, or at least they used to be. Alciones, my order, are taught by Naslin. The Genidians are taught by Hanka, and the Cyrinnics by Romalic. There are others, but only the Styrics know them all."

"What about Elenes? Who do they worship?"

"We worship God." Ulath stated gruffly. "We do not say his name, for it would be disrespectful and arrogant to pressume to address the Lord by name. Most Elenes don't even know Gods name. Though the Order Knights are taught it as part of their theology course."

Garion frowned as both men swung up into the saddle. "Would his name be Eriond? Or something that sounds like that." he asked.

The two froze in place. Then slowly turned in their seats atop the horses to stare at Garion. It was Ulath who spoke next, and his words were like the rumble of an avalanche. "Where did you learn that name?"

"I was one of the ones who gave it to him." Garion stated calmly. "He was practically my brother."

AN:

So what do you think? this going good, or what?