by Rob J. Hayes
Ishtar groaned beside me. "If you had told me you were going to start another fight with this god, I would not have sat so close, terrible student."
The winds of the Djinn seemed to calm a little at her words. "At least your pahht knows how to properly pander to its betters." There is a truth hidden in that statement, one I have spent many years ruminating over. In my many dealings with those creatures that we mistakenly call gods, I have discovered that the Rand truly desire our worship. They changed us. In many ways, they really did create the terrans, the pahht, and the tahren. They took what we once were, and warped us to be more to their design, and they did so because they wanted to be gods. And they wanted us to elevate them to that status through belief. The Djinn, on the other hand, do not care what we believe, they just want us to bow and scrape and flatter. Unfortunately, I've never been very good at any of those things, so I chose to stand there defiant instead.
"What is it you want, terran?"
"We made a deal, Djinn," I spat the words into the centre of the vortex. "Ishtar's freedom for yours."
A hissing laughter whistled around the arena, stirring up sand and whipping it in every direction. "Be careful of your choice of words. You would tie yourself into an impossible task."
The Djinn are not to be trusted, but take that warning to heart, Eskara. Make no further deals with this creature. Get what we are owed and leave it to rot here on this island.
"What happened to wanting to kill it?" I asked.
The churning winds drew back a little, the Djinn pulling back into itself slightly. "Who is it you talk to, terran?"
It was your grief, not mine, that led to your rage. I just directed it where it belonged. Now we both know this creature is beyond us. For now. It offered you power. Take it. Learn from it. Then, let it fade away to obscurity up here on its floating prison. Become the deity it wishes to be.
"I agreed to free Do'shan," I said, trying to ignore Ssserakis. The horror could get quite passionate when it talked about rule and the worship of others. It longed to be back in its world, where it was one of the rulers. "To let you travel the skies once more."
"You did. And you are running out of time."
"That is a hefty price you paid," Ishtar said. "Just to free little me."
I turned to her and shrugged. "I'd pay it again. In an instant."
Ishtar chuckled. "Such a terrible student, but a better friend. Thank you, Eskara." Ishtar rarely used my name, only when the weight of the situation called for it.
"I gave you three days, terran," the Djinn continued.
I let out a snort and smiled. "I don't need them. Tell me about the chains. What are they made from? Why do you need me to set you free?"
Tamura chuckled. "The chains are Iron, not made from, but of."
"But the Djinn are the masters of earthen magic, no?" I asked. "Surely you can break the chains yourself."
A chill breeze gusted through the amphitheatre. "The crazy Aspect confuses the matter. I suspect, deliberately. The chains are alive. Grown from one of Mezula's children, one she named Iron. He rests at the heart of my city like a parasite. His limbs worm their way through the rock, an infestation of unbreakable metal, locking my prison in place."
"He is the chains?"
The Djinn paused a moment before answering. "The chains are Iron. Surrounding him, enveloping him. A great web buried inside the rock, a fat spider cocooned at the centre."
It should not have surprised me as much as it did. A similar monster lives in the centre of Ro'shan, a giant whose bones grow upwards to form the very city. One of Mezula's many children. I have never learned the name of the creature that lives in her mountain, providing shelter to all Ro'shan's citizens. As far as I am aware, there is no way down to meet the living heart of the city. It slumbers there, responding to the will and whim of the mother. Iron was not so different in scope, though with a far-removed purpose. An Aspect created for the sole reason of keeping Do'shan anchored to the earth. A creature of metal limbs that fed on the nutrients of the earth, sucking up what it needed through the ground so far below. I wonder if it was aware of us, of anything that happened around it. How much intelligence had Mezula granted her child of iron?
"Why can't you destroy him?" I asked. "You're a Djinn, aren't you? Powerful beyond measure, worshipped as a god. Has Mezula truly bested you so easily?"
I perhaps should not have taunted Aerolis so. There was a saying back in Keshin, one I remember for some reason despite the passage of years. Don't poke the fire. It cares not whether you burn. The wind picked up once more, the calm breeze turning to a howling gale. Sand was sucked into the air and whirling tornadoes formed around us. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and pulled it close around me, but my cloak whipped about me in a mad flurry of activity.
"Eska?" Hardt's voice raised to a shout over the wind. I glanced over to see him crouching low, braced against the fury of Aerolis' gale. Imiko clung to Hardt's arm, white knuckles standing out even in the frigid winds.
What are you doing?
"So much bluster!" I had to scream into the wind just to be heard. "Give up the show, Aerolis. It doesn't fucking impress me." You might wonder how I could be so calm and confident in the face of such power. A hurricane was blowing through the amphitheatre, trying to tear us all from the ground. Localised tornadoes tore at the sand and the earth beneath. The sound was deafening. The violence of the storm, mind numbing. Yet we were all of us, unharmed.
I have a taste for gambling, a vice earned from countless hours at the gaming tables down in the Pit. The thrill of a wagered bet, the anticipation of victory or defeat, the battle against an opponent who desires to take all you have. But I learned long ago that for most games of chance, the outcome relies not upon the cards or chips or dice, but upon the players. A lesson from Josef, whispered down in the dark just moments before the oblivion of sleep, but a lesson I had taken to heart. Bet against the player, not against the game. Silva taught me a similar lesson, that negotiation is much like gambling. Sometimes it is worth giving something away, losing a round, just to see how the other person will act. Occasionally it is worth feigning value for an item that means nothing to you. Knowing when your opponent is bluffing, is nine tenths of any victory.
The storm grew yet more violent. Ishtar slumped sideways off her little pillar and clung to it. Tamura crouched down, curling into a ball and clutching at the ground. Even Horralain and Hardt, each as big as a horse, had trouble bracing against the fury that whipped through the arena. Ssserakis snaked my shadow into the earth beneath me, anchoring me against the buffeting, and I leaned into the winds. One last gasp of defiance. One last bet into the bluff.
"Enough, Djinn!" I screamed into the winds and the Arcstorm roared to life around me, lightning sparking off my skin and lighting up my eyes. It is a strange thing, the storm I carry inside; it reacts to strong emotion. Pleasure and pain, fear and exhilaration. It is sometimes awkward in that regard; I have been known to accidentally shock lovers in the throes of passion. But most often it reacts to my anger. "You're not going to harm us, so give up this pathetic fucking act and tell me what I need to know!"
The winds died so suddenly that Horralain pitched forward and sprawled upon the ground. I probably would have too if not for Ssserakis anchoring me to the earth by my shadow.
You gamble so easily with your own life, but risk all to protect those around you. A foolish trait that will lead to your death.
"What do you care?" I whispered the words as quietly as I could.
I have invested a lot of time and effort in you, Eskara. I will not permit you to die until you have sent me home.
The swirling vortex of the Djinn reformed before me; the winds reduced once more to a whistling breeze. "How can you be so sure, terran?"
I stood before the Djinn and straightened my back, refusing to show any measure of the fear I felt. "Because you need me. If you could free Do'shan yourself, you would. I can do it for you. And you know it, or you
would have already killed me. That storm you just summoned was an attempt to intimidate, all show and bluster. Just like Vainfold, you posture and put on a bloody impressive show in the hope I will tell you how grand you are. Well you are. You're Aerolis, the Changing. You are rock and wind, and probably countless other things. Grand and magnificent and powerful. There, have I appeased your bloated fucking ego yet? Can we get on with things?"
Tamura snorted in laughter. The crazy old Aspect was sitting cross legged in the sand. "All of life is mirrors. Reflections of truth are often lies."
"As mad as your mother." The Djinn's words hissed around the arena.
"Why can't you destroy Iron yourself, Aerolis?" I pushed.
The vortex of wind shifted slightly. It was hard to look at the madness of the Djinn's form, difficult to focus on such a writhing mass of nothing. Impossible to tell where the creature's attention lay. "We made these mountains, my brothers and I. Five of them. Our bastions in the sky. Fortresses from which to wage the War Eternal. We made them to resist magic, our own and that of the Rand. We did not consider how insidious our sisters can be. Once again they subverted our creations."
"Once there were five. Lights in the sky. Beacons of hope and wonder," Tamura almost sang the words. "Two were torn down amidst fire and flesh, the ground ripped asunder at their ending. One was drowned, swallowed whole, a gift from Rand to mur. That left just two lights in the sky, endless circling, closer year by year, until one day." Tamura clapped suddenly, the slap of his hands echoing about the arena. He looked up from his hands with a sly grin at the Djinn. "Just like our moons."
"Quiet, Aspect!" Aerolis roared. "I may need this Sourcerer's help, but you are nothing to me."
"I have a name, Aerolis," I said, pulling the attention back to me. It seemed far safer than letting it linger on any of my friends. "And it is neither terran, nor Sourcerer. Your brother knew well enough to learn it. So should you. So will you!"
I think maybe I pushed too far, demanded too much. I admit, I have never been good at knowing when to back down. "Do you learn the names of the insects you crush underfoot?" Aerolis asked. "Or perhaps of the animals you kill to eat? No. Why learn the name of something so brief in its existence?" A gust of wind that sounded suspiciously like a snort passed through the arena. "Be content that I know your name, terran, and I will use it when you prove worthy." Oh, how I fucking hated that.
Another step towards the Djinn and I felt the wind of its form tugging at my coat once more. "You're no longer powerful enough to break the enchantments the Djinn placed on the flying mountains. With each death, your people grew weaker. Just like Vainfold no longer has the power to escape his crown, you can't affect Do'shan anymore. So how can the Rand? How is it Mezula is able to do what you are too weak to?"
The wind grew cold around me. I might have shivered, but the horror inside was colder still. "The Rand did not use magic. Iron is a living creature. His limbs are chains which tunnel their way through my home, infesting it. The mountain resists magic but pick and shovel and time could achieve what all my power cannot." The Djinn paused and a wind breezed through the arena like a sigh. "Unfortunately, the creatures that remain here are not bright. Directing them is possible, but only to a degree. Teaching them to use weapons of war to attack invaders was difficult enough, but they simply do not understand the need to dig out the chains infesting their home."
"Weeds!" Tamura shouted. "Even the smallest plant can crack stone."
I do not see how we can break something even the Djinn cannot unmake. Coddle the creature with promises and run. Let us be done with it.
I ignored Ssserakis. The horror was playing a game I didn't yet understand, and every time it counselled me, its advice changed. Instead, I focused my attention on the Djinn. "I promised to free Do'shan. And I will."
A laughter rippled through the arena. "Would you like to know the consequences if you fail?"
"Why would it matter?" I turned from the Djinn and nodded to Horralain. "Pick up the hammer."
A roar of wind stirred the amphitheatre once more. "I will kill anyone foolish enough to touch that thing." The Djinn's words were no idle threat, that much was obvious. Horralain paused, glancing between myself and the whirling vortex.
"Ignore the wind, Horralain. Pick up the hammer." I turned back to the Djinn and took another step forward. "Stop getting in my fucking way! I don't know why you're so afraid of this weapon, but I can feel the fear on you." It was true. The taste of a Djinn's fear was a heady thing. Perhaps that was why I was feeling so bold, the intoxication of such a powerful fear. The strength that flooded my limbs washed away the exhaustion of the past few days. Ssserakis seeped its power into me, readying me for a confrontation both of us knew we could never survive. I tried to ignore the false confidence it loaned me, but my hand inched towards the snuff pouch at my belt, and my stomach growled at the thought of a Source inside.
Horralain reached the hammer and extended a hand. It hovered just before the haft. Blood still speckled the weapon, both from those it had killed, and the final moments of the last person to wield it. That same person lay dead and cold on the ground nearby, his chest collapsed inward under the force of the Djinn's magic. It served as a grisly reminder to Aerolis' promise to kill anyone who touched it.
An odd stillness settled around the amphitheatre, and I had a strange feeling the Djinn would remain trapped on Do'shan forever before it allowed anyone to touch the hammer.
You've killed him. Ssserakis' whisper felt too much like truth.
"We're not going to turn on you, Aerolis," I whispered. "I don't know why you hate the hammer so but let me use it to free you."
Horralain's hand wrapped around the hilt of Shatter.
Chapter 8
I sometimes think that all of life is a series of moments, each one a balancing act upon a razor's edge, destined to fall one way or another. The outcome of those moments is irrevocable. Harsh words spoken can never be taken back, no matter how many apologies might be uttered in their wake. Time spent drinking yourself into a stupor is time spent often wasted, often squandered. As any Chronomancer will tell you, time is a finite resource. I bear the proof of that, my body and soul bearing two different ages. And life once taken cannot be given back. Again, I am somewhat of an expert on that matter. I have taken so many lives in my brief time on Ovaeris, and I would happily give most of them back if I could. Most of them. There are those I would guard jealously, even should all the lords of the Other World come to claim them from me. There are some lives I have taken who truly deserved it.
Horralain gripping the haft of Shatter was one of those moments. I could see it going either way. The outcome all came down to Aerolis. I could not say why the Djinn was so scared of the hammer, I had yet to figure out the truth of that, but there was something primal in that fear. Something that went beyond reasoning. I felt it through Ssserakis, and the horror knew it well. It was a master of fear, a creature born of it, and to it. The horror's very existence was to draw out the fear of others and feed upon it. There was no fear it did not understand intimately. Well, perhaps no fear except its own. It wasn't until possessing me that the horror came to understand that it too could feel fear.
The moment passed. Horralain survived.
"Will it work?" I asked.
For a moment the wind grew suddenly hot, like a warm breeze on a cool day, there and gone, leaving nothing but pimpled flesh in its wake. "The weapon can break anything, but Iron has absorbed much of the enchantment we worked on this mountain. His body resists magic."
"So, you don't know?" The mighty Djinn, a creature that called itself a god, and it didn't fucking know.
No answer but the whistling of the wind.
There is but one way to find out. Living metal, a monster at the heart of the city. Make it fear, Eskara. Make it fear us!
There was no easy way to go about the task. We could not kill Iron at his heart, buried deep within the mountain, instead we trekked east, towards the firs
t of the great chains. There were four of them, giant things, each link twice as big as a house. They dwarfed the size of Ro'shan's great chain and anchor, and I suppose that was the point. The chains on Do'shan were never meant to be removed, they were to keep the flying city in place for eternity
Feral pahht watched us from windows and shadows both, so many eyes tracking me. I knew they were there even when I couldn't see them, by the fear they gave off. It was fear of me. In my rush to save Silva and the others, I committed slaughter. I saw many of those I killed as ghosts, and I was becoming quite adept at picking out the living from the dead. Ssserakis revelled in the fear, a joy the horror hadn't felt since being ripped away from its kingdom in Sevoari. The ferals didn't attack, I think they were too frightened to consider it, but their presence was unnerving. I swallowed down Sources as we walked and felt the rush of power in my stomach once more. The Arcstorm inside of me recharged itself from the power of the Arcmancy Source, and lightning crackled around me, intensifying the fear from the ferals.
Aerolis followed us from the sky, keeping a wary distance. The ferals looked up and bowed to the Djinn as he passed. A foolish belief in a false god. We were all guilty of it, really. I, too, once believed the Rand and Djinn to be gods, all powerful and all knowing. At least until I met a few of them. They are petty creatures of unearned power and self-gratifying delusions. They lord knowledge and wealth over those of us they deem lesser beings. They fool us into believing that we should be grateful to them, for they made the world what it is. It is all lies. The truth is, Ovaeris was here before the Rand and the Djinn, and if I ever have my way, it will be here long after they are all gone.
By the time we reached the first of the four chains tying the flying mountain the ground below, we had quite a following. Feral pahht, for the most part, curious enough to overcome their fear of me, and their awe of Aerolis. Ishtar did not accompany us. Too injured to walk, and too proud to be carried, she stayed back at our little house we were calling home. All my other friends were there, not wanting to miss out on what I was about to do. It is funny in many ways; Horralain carried the hammer and it was that giant who would also swing it, yet the act would always be attributed to me. True leaders take responsibility, not only for their own orders, and the consequences that follow, but also for unordered actions. I am responsible for more than a few atrocities committed on my behalf, despite never giving the orders. I am old enough and wise enough, these days at least, to know that I should have kept a warier eye on those under my command.
