by Rob J. Hayes
On the bottom of the sceptre is a spike and Josef stabs it into his left hand, the metal piercing all the way through his palm. It's not like before, when he absorbed the Source from the sword that had run him through. That Source was dead, utterly lifeless. But this one is charged with life, primed with the energy needed for rebirth. He tries to absorb the Source, tries to open himself to it and draw it in. Something fights back. It resists him, pushes away. The Source glows brighter and brighter still. It hums with an electric energy. And then it explodes.
Josef wakes to find the Iron Legion standing over him, a gnarled hand pressed against his chest. He hurts everywhere. All trace of the Sweet Silence is gone now, and he feels everything. He doesn't want to feel it. Doesn't want to remember it. He wishes the numb fog would come back and take it all away.
"I've helped where I can, but the healing from your innate Biomancy is astounding," says Loran "It would be an interesting experiment to see just how much it takes to kill you, Yenhelm. Luckily, I have bigger plans for you."
The laboratory bears the signs of extreme violence. Cages mangled and ripped open, bodies strewn about the place, walls with deep scars in them. Josef raises his hands and finds them slick with blood. He killed them. Two hundred and sixteen people. He killed them all! Tears stream down his face. What is he? What has he become?
"Something went wrong," the Iron Legion says. "Something we're missing. We'll try again. Soon."
Josef lets out a strangled sob.
Chapter 15
Madness is a strange word. We so often use it as an insult; claiming someone is mad, or their actions are madness. It is a way of invalidating their opinion or purpose. But madness is something else, as well. It is desperation and necessity. Perhaps my actions were madness, but they were born out of purpose. Not just mine, but Aerolis'. The people of Do'shan, we were dying, starving. I could have saved myself and my friends without doing what I did. I could have opened a portal and carried us all to safety, but I would have been condemning all the ferals up in that city to death. I had a way to save them and to give Aerolis what he needed to save them. My actions may have been madness, the history books certainly claim it so, but I did it to save them and us. I just didn't fully understand the cost. We rarely do until it is time to pay our debt, and by then it is too late.
This is madness, Eskara.
Hardt echoed Ssserakis' sentiment. "I don't claim to know a damned thing about Sourcery, Eska, but Tamura reckons this will kill you. I'm not about to let you die."
We were all gathered once more at the edge of Do'shan, where I had broken the first of the chains. Below us lay a rocky expanse. To the north the Forest of Ten, and to the west was the Pit. By some magic I didn't know or understand, Aerolis had slowed Do'shan as much as the Djinn was able. The mountain barely moved in the sky, but without a chain to anchor it to the ground, the slowed pace was temporary. We had a limited amount of time for me to do what needed to be done. What I had set my mind on doing. That was the place, where my third deal with the Djinn would go down. Payment rendered on both our parts in one location.
In my hands I held a new Source, one not part of my original deal with Aerolis, and a small length of rope no longer than my arm. "This will work?" I asked the Djinn as he hovered nearby, a whirling vortex of grey wind.
"I have created the barest framework of a realm within it," Aerolis said. "It should serve as a conduit."
"Should?" Imiko asked. The little thief twisted her fingers together, clearly nervous. The ringlet sitting on her shoulder mimicked her action, though I doubt it had any idea what was going on.
"This has never been done before," Aerolis whistled.
"That's not true." The words were bitter in my mouth and I'm certain they came out as such. "This is how you won the final battle against your sisters. The other Djinn hid themselves away in the book, the lamp, and the crown. You convinced Sourcerers like to me die in your place."
Aerolis laughed, a gusting of wind whipping at us all. "Not I."
"No. You just convinced the others to fight, all the while you bound yourself to Mezula and hid here. I'm sure it came as quite a shock when you realised she had betrayed you and your magic was locked to this mountain, just as hers is locked to Ro'shan."
"Betrayal from the treacherous should never be a shock," Tamura said. The old Aspect had finally ditched the sling, but his left arm was still clearly tender and he favoured it.
Again, Aerolis laughed. "And yet she sent you here to finish me, and you are undoing her treachery. The world has a strange way of working in circles, little terran."
"I have a name."
"We'll soon be far beyond the point of names."
He speaks of past betrayals, but still does not expect it. We can trap him, Eskara. Just as his brothers are trapped in their own prisons.
I shook my head. "No." The word was meant for my horror, but the others heard it all the same.
"This thing you are doing, terrible student, will not bring back the dead." Ishtar limped to stand next to me. "Guilt is a wonderful motivator, but a terrible excuse."
Only Horralain did not counsel against it. I'd like to say it's because the big thug agreed with me, but I think it more likely he simply didn't want his opinion to mean anything. It didn't matter either way. The deal was made.
I drew on the Portamancy Source inside and waved my hand, ripping open a portal in front of me. It was a large distance I was covering, from Do'shan to the ground, and it took quite some effort to maintain. That school of Sourcery has never been my strongest, and I was simply glad that the creature between the portals hadn't taken notice yet.
"Go!" I hissed the words through clenched teeth as I struggled to keep the portal stable.
Tamura was first through followed by Imiko and Ishtar and then Hardt. Horralain waited for a few moments, frowning towards the magic, only stepping through once he saw Ishtar waving at us from the other side.
I don't like it. The horror's fear of the portal almost held me back. Almost. But I have never been one to let fear keep me from what I want, even when the fear isn't my own.
I glanced at Aerolis to find the Djinn silent and hovering nearby. It was impossible to tell where it was looking, but I had the distinct feeling its attention was on me all the same. "Good luck." Meaningless words in the scope of things, and the Djinn only laughed at them. So, I grit my teeth and stepped through the portal.
It was the first time I had set foot on Isha since Picarr. But more than that, I was close to the Pit. I recognised the area and was certain I had seen it before, been there before. Squinting up towards the nearby rocks, I was certain I could see the dark opening where we had finally escaped from the ruined Djinn city, chased by the Damned and Josef and the Overseer's soldiers. The ground was covered in white powdery snow last time, but the landmarks were still there. The Forest of Ten sat in the distance, dark and foreboding. Two of my ghosts stood nearby, the huntsmen I had killed in that forest stared towards the tree line. When they had been alive, that forest had been their livelihood and their home. Now, somewhere on the eastern edge, it was their grave. The older ghost with the square chin turned accusing eyes on me and I had to look away.
A part of me wanted to wait. With the Pit so close, I felt a strange longing to return. There was a saying back in Keshin, I heard my parents use it often. As welcoming as an old boot. At the time I had no idea what it meant. These days I do. These days I have worn many boots, yet I have always found the oldest to be the most comfortable, the most welcoming. That is how I describe my return to that place that was so close to my old prison. The Pit was as welcoming as an old boot. Or maybe it was just the idea of it. Despite all the torture and the digging and the living on a razor's edge, there was a comfort to the simplicity of the Pit. It was uncomplicated. Horralain knew the feeling well, and I wondered how tempted he was to turn in that direction and go crawling back to Deko.
"It feels good to be back on the ground," Imiko said, already stripping o
ff her winter jacket. The summer was a warm one, and the difference from up on Do'shan was shocking. Already my friend's spirits seemed somewhat lifted. Home has a way of doing that to us, and no matter where we went, Imiko still thought of Isha as home. I think we all did. Well, except for Ishtar, but then my tutor named home wherever she could find her next drink. "Can we stay away from flying cities for a while?"
"I second that notion," Hardt said. He was staring off towards the west.
"I don't know." Ishtar was grinning. "I like the feeling of movement beneath my feet. Of course, it could do with some more taverns. And maybe some of my people rather than those savage mockeries."
"The past shows us for what we are," Tamura said as though in agreement. "You cannot erase the things we have been, only hide from them."
Don't do it. Ssserakis spared no time for the banter of friends. The horror's attention was fixed on me and what I was about to do. We are free from the Djinn. Let him pass by up there, trapped and forgotten.
"No," I said again, heedless of the looks the others gave me. They were becoming far too used to seeing me talk to myself.
Your world does not need Aerolis. Do not give it back to him. Please, Eskara.
Ssserakis didn't understand. It couldn't. I wasn't just doing this for myself, to ease my conscience. I wasn't just doing it for Aerolis, or even for all the feral lives I would save. I was doing it for Silva. She had been trying to cooperate with the ferals. She had tried to save them… from me. If I let Do'shan float on, left Aerolis up there to rot, they would all die. This was my last tribute to the woman I loved. The best way I could think of. To save an entire city, regardless of the risk. It would have made her proud.
Again, my decisions brought me into conflict with my horror. Again, I overruled it. It was my body, my mind. I made the rules and Ssserakis was merely there for the ride. A passenger and nothing else. The decisions were mine to make. There are ways to punish someone without even realising that you are doing it.
"We have company," Hardt said. A band of ten, soldiers by the looks of them, wearing uniforms and carrying steel. They were from the Pit; I could smell it on them even from a dozen paces away. The smell of that place doesn't just get on you and your clothes, it gets inside of you. It might wear off after a while, but these were some sort of patrol, probably newly instated after our escape, and the smell of the Pit followed them around. They approached us cautiously, but with no weapons drawn. I'd say that was probably quite wise of them.
We made for an odd-looking group. Six of us and barely armed, only Horralain with Shatter and Ishtar with her swords. Of course, the rest of us didn't really need weapons. Tamura and Hardt were masters of unarmed combat and I had magic to back me up, not to mention a horror.
"You're trespassing on royal territory," said one of the soldiers, a tall man with a wire thin moustache that gave his appearance a sneer-like quality.
I wondered if they recognised me. If any of them would look at me and see the young girl I used to be. Perhaps a few of them dragged me in front of the Overseer, or maybe they were there the day I was stripped, dressed in prison rags, and thrown into the Pit. But no, of course they wouldn't recognise me. That girl was gone. I was a woman grown now with muscle on my bones, scars on my skin, and lightning in my eyes. Even my hair was a shade lighter than it had been, dark instead of black, and well-kept instead of the unruly mess it was before. They would not recognise me. I barely recognised myself. There was nothing left of the girl who had fought and lost at the Fall of Orran. They were more likely to recognise Hardt or Horralain. Big men usually leave a lasting impression, though it is often the smallest of us that one should truly be paying attention to.
"Are you ready?" I asked. Another question for my horror. All eyes turned to me.
Yes. There was bitterness in Ssserakis' reply. The horror was not a willing participant, but it would help me, and I needed that help. I needed Ssserakis to help keep Aerolis under control.
"What do you need us to do?" Hardt asked.
"Don't get in the way." I grinned at him, but there was little humour in it.
"What are you doing here?" The soldier with the moustache asked. "This area is under the direct control of the Terrelan Royal Command."
"What about them?" Hardt asked, thumbing toward the soldiers. I could see the real question in his eyes and his hesitation. He was asking if they needed dealing with and hoping against it. Hoping against any more violence.
I focused my flashing eyes on the soldiers and Ssserakis flared my shadow into a burning aura of black flame once more. It was an impressive sight, but it was only meant to impress. "Let them watch," I said loudly. "I like an audience."
The rope was rough in my hands as I started wrapping it around my left wrist and up to my elbow. I stepped away from the others, a few more paces towards the Forest of Ten, my attention focused on it. I trusted Hardt not to let any of the soldiers get too close while I was distracted.
Last chance to back out. This will probably kill you.
I snorted a laugh. "You're just scared I'll take you with me."
I finished wrapping the rope around my arm and tied it off, and in that moment Aerolis was there. Not beside me. Not apart from me. But inside me.
How to explain the presence of another creature inhabiting your body? Aerolis' presence was different to the others. Ssserakis existed with me; a second voice in my mind, a coldness wrapped around my heart. The horror's presence had been uncomfortable at first, even disturbing, but not anymore. I found my horror comforting and reassuring. I liked the company. When Vainfold had taken my body, it had not been to exist with me; the Djinn had pushed me out of myself, taking my place and filling it with fire. There are few things quite as unpleasant as having control of your own body usurped. Aerolis was unlike either of those experiences, though. I could feel the Djinn in my mind, aware and watching through my eyes, and I could feel his power in my chest and limbs and hands. So much fucking power. It was almost overwhelming. It was overwhelming. I think I would have been carried away on the rising tide of that power filling me, if not for Ssserakis. My horror acted as an anchor, keeping me grounded and stopping Aerolis from assuming control. Of course, Ssserakis couldn't do that without Aerolis knowing about it.
They argued. It is a strange thing having two creatures, both ancient beyond years, shout at each other inside you. It was noise without sound, anger without release. Two conflicting powers battering at each other with no hope of conclusion. And I stood in the centre of it, between them, holding both back. In some ways it was like putting myself between two children at odds in the height of a tantrum, only the children were larger than I, and arrogant beyond all reason. Children are rarely arrogant, that is more of an adult trait, they are usually naive, though the symptoms are often the same.
"ENOUGH!" I screamed the word so loudly that the ground cracked beneath my feet. It was not Vibromancy, though I have seen that magic shatter rock before. It was Aerolis' power channelled through me. Containing it was beyond my ability, beyond any terran ability. The Djinn simply possess too much power for a terran body. The Arcstorm, my Arcstorm, flared to life stronger than ever before, surrounding me in an aura of crackling energy. Lightning ripped from my skin to strike at the ground around me. Dirt and dust and small stones rose up into the air, floating nearby. When they got too close to another piece of floating debris, lightning arced between them and both would fall to the ground, only to rise again a few moments later. The air around me shimmered with a haze. I have never felt as strong as I did in that moment. I felt like I could crack the earth open, rip the sky asunder. I felt like I could have rained fire on the entire world!
My friends backed away, wary. Even Tamura looked worried, and I couldn't blame him. The soldiers from the Pit had their weapons out, but none dared venture too close. Only Hardt remained close to me. Too close.
"Eska, what's happening?" His deep voice was edged with panic.
I turned to look at Hardt then,
moving with tiny jerking motions, like a bird fighting against restraints. It took every bit of will power I had to contain the magic of the Djinn. My eyes flashed, my hair floated about my head like a black shroud. My skin was glowed with the power.
"Stay back." The words hissed with power I couldn't hope to control. Only, I had to. I had no other choice. Either I controlled Aerolis' power, or it destroyed me and everyone else along with me. So, I bloody well controlled it.
This creature is trying to tear me from you. There was strain and panic both in Ssserakis' voice.
You are a mockery. Aerolis roared. We should have crushed your kind the moment the Rand created you.
Do it fast, Eskara!
The voices in my head merged into a cacophony of noise I couldn't understand. Aerolis was attempting to take control, to wrench it from me. Ssserakis was there to stop the Djinn with shadow and cold and walls of resistance. But Aerolis was too much. His power too great. Everywhere Ssserakis tried to stop him, the Djinn shone a light so bright my horror couldn't help but wither away. Even with all my power, even with Ssserakis and our strength combined, Aerolis was still too much.
A part of me wondered if this had been the Djinn's plan all along. This was what I had learned from his memories, that Sourcerers could act as a home for the Djinn. They had done just that in the final battle of the War Eternal. This was how the last of the Rand had been slaughtered, with Sourcerers under the control of the Djinn, and weapons forged from the only prison that could hold them. We had made a deal, Aerolis and I, but now he was here he wanted control. I realised then, he was no different than Vainfold. He may have colluded with Mezula, a plan they forged to be the very last of their kind, but he had not forgiven nor forgotten. He wanted vengeance, even knowing it would kill him as well.
The Djinn are mad. The Rand are mad. It is a madness woven into their very core, their very essence. Conflict is in their nature. They are connected in a way we cannot understand. Linked so intrinsically that they cannot exist without the other. Yet they cannot stop fighting. The war between them is as eternal as they are, and even knowing that the outcome can only ever be mutual destruction, they will still pursue it with a determination even I cannot match.
