wreck of heaven

by Holly Lisle

  "Molly," she shouted. "We have to hurry. Help me!"

  Molly turned, shouted, "Lauren?!" and ran straight for her.

  Baanraak's massive body, thrashing in its death spasms, caught Molly, and the splayed, razor talons ripped her into pieces, flinging her head in one direction and body in another. And the gleaming jeweled gold necklace in a third. It happened so fast that at first Lauren couldn't comprehend it. Molly—dead again.

  Lauren couldn't think. She fought her way out from under the monster while ponderous footsteps and roars and groans crashed ever nearer. When she finally broke free, she raced to Molly, grabbed head and body and scrambled after the necklace, finally finding it in the pile of carcasses. She dragged everything together, and willed Molly to heal. To live.

  But Molly didn't. Head and neck did not rejoin, and the necklace, gleaming in the dying light cast by the guttering fires on Baanraak's body, mocked Lauren. Above, but closer every minute, the horrors cast by Baanraak moved toward her. No sense hiding any longer. No sense trying to be stealthy. All she needed to do now was get out.

  But had she won, or had she lost? If the necklace came off of Molly before she was dead, then all of this had been for nothing, because the necklace would not bring her back.

  Lauren tried not to see her sister's ravaged body, and tried not to think about the horrors her sister had endured. She created a gate that would carry her to the surface, and prayed that she would be able to get everyone away safely, and prayed, too, that Molly would return.

  Using the circumference of the tunnel to cast her gate, she called forth the wall of green fire. She felt the floor of the cave tremble beneath her feet in rhythm to the steps of whatever approached. She could hear it breathing. She could smell it.

  Then Lauren heard a banshee wail, a sound so terrible that it ripped the silence of the cave into shreds and forced a horrified cry from her. The surface—she thought. The big trap on the surface had just sprung.

  The sheet of green fire formed, and as it did Lauren heard a low, deadly growl, and felt the air move behind her. She jumped into the gate even though it was not completely formed, and for an instant she felt the universe embrace her, and comfort her, and support her.

  Then she toppled out the other side.

  Copper House

  Jake sat in the safe room, tucked into one corner of the couch. He did not want anyone to see him, because when they saw him, they would take him away. In this room, he could make the things he wanted happen. In this room he could feel Mommy, and the next thing he wanted was to be with her. She was on the other side of the mirror, very far away, in a bad place.

  But he could not see her. He could not find her if he could not see her. So he watched Doggie walking back and forth in front of him, and he wished that no one could see him so that he could stay close to Mommy. And he waited to see her.

  He had his cape. He was Superman. And Daddy told him to take care of Mommy.

  Jake was ready.

  Dalchi

  Seolar, in his bubble, saw the ground rip open like a wound beneath him as the first of the dark gods touched Baanraak's mound. He watched fire blast out and up—not gaseous fire, but fire that spurted and popped and oozed like sludge, like white-hot molten metal poured from a forge. And shoving, squirming, clawing its way out of that blazing hellhole came a light-sucking horror with a ring of eyes that burned white as the fire that gave it birth. It had the look of embodied shadow, of places where living things could not traverse. It held to the merest suggestion of form—Seolar thought he saw arms and legs in multitudes, but he could not look at the horror long enough to be sure. It would have been at home in the worst hell of any world, but from the reactions of the dark gods who saw it shouldering its way up to tower above them, it was no stranger to them.

  Big, Seolar thought. Big, oh big, oh gods. Standing on the ground, it would have been able to look into the tower on the fifth floor of Copper House with ease. It hadn't been that big at first. It couldn't have been.

  It swallowed the dark god that triggered the trap almost without thinking, then scooped up as many close to it as it could reach and tossed them in its mouth, the way a child would scoop up spilled sweets.

  In its birthing, it crushed the opening to the cave, and Seolar cried out for Lauren and Molly, trapped inside—but then green claw-tipped hands dug through from beneath the rubble, and a head poked out, and then a body, and the second monster formed a new opening as it emerged onto the battlefield. Glistening green scales like plate armor, a body heavy and solid as the mountain, teeth jagged as serrated blades. And behind it came another—a thing that skittered out on spider legs, but that made even the most hideous and deadly of spiders seem tender and charming playthings by comparison. And behind that, another horror, in another form.

  Seolar, stunned by the spawning of hell before his eyes, did not realize his danger until the first and worst nightmare turned its face toward him. It opened its mouth and let out a scream that froze his blood in his veins. All he could think was—Away.

  The magical tether he'd formed for himself snapped and he soared skyward, out of reach of the monster. Out of reach of all the monsters.

  And then he realized that he had the gate. That he was the only retreat for his men, for Lauren, and please, God, for Molly.

  The monsters had the dark gods in hand. He needed to clear his people from the battlefield—Lauren would not need an army. All she would need was a way home, and even after his people were safely out of harm's way, Seolar could provide her that.

  The horrors had gone back to feeding on the dark gods. And there it was—the friendly fire Lauren had hoped for—one dark god setting his weapons against other dark gods. And Seolar found it much less welcome in reality than he had in his imagination. He noted which of his people were closest to danger. He aimed himself for a clear patch sheltered a bit by trees and rocks and raced the shield and the gate within it down to the ground as fast as he could.

  His men saw him coming, and he willed them to hear him. Retreat, he told them. You're done here—now get out.

  His men came at a run, keeping to cover as best they could, but mostly just watching the sky for incoming attacks. When the first reached him, Seolar shoved them through the gate. Each time it flickered a bit, but held. He prayed to gods he no longer believed in that it would hold long enough to get everyone through. He prayed, too, that his men would run faster—Baanraak's monsters, perhaps wearying of a diet of dark gods, were beginning to look his way.

  To his left, up toward the rise, he caught a flash of green fire from the corner of his eye. He turned away from his men, who kept moving into the gate as fast as it would take them, and saw Lauren burst out of the wall of light at a dead run. Even from where he stood, he could see the glint of gold in her hand. A hairbreadth behind her, another nightmare made real, maw gaping and claws unsheathed—a horned and hideous four-legged demon-spawn in gleaming red erupted from her gate and charged after her.

  Copper House

  Jake watched the tall people running into the mirror and then jumping out into the room where they sat. He could see monsters, big scary ones, on the other side of the mirror.

  He watched and watched, and suddenly he saw her. He pointed to the mirror and shrieked, "Mama!"

  She did not hear him. But Doggie did.

  Mama ran toward the mirror, but one of the monsters chased her. She was afraid.

  "I'm Superman," he screamed at the monster. "You don't chase my mama!"

  He put an arm in front of him and jumped into the air, and flew into the mirror. He would save his mama from the monster.

  Copper House to Dalchi

  For Doggie, it all happened too fast to stop. The veyâr were retreating, pushing her back against the wall as they leapt, bleeding and battered, into the room, when suddenly over the noise of their arrival she heard Jake's voice in the room, where he could not be.

  She looked toward the mirror and briefly saw the Hunter, pursued by so
mething terrible. She heard the little god's voice again, and this time caught a flash of red as he flew over her head into the mirror.

  Doggie screamed, launched herself through the veyâr, and raced for the mirror. She had promised to keep him safe. She promised the Hunter, and now, inarguably, Jake the Hunter's Son was not safe.

  Doggie could not get into the gate, because one of the veyâr was coming out—but the instant he was clear, she charged in, begging the Big Fates and the Little Fates that the boy would be safe, and that she would not fail in this, her duty.

  She spun through the green fire and for a time lost herself, filled with wonder. She could hear the voices of her ancestors singing, just as the Speakers for the Big Fates said she would when she crossed from death through to life. She could feel her own past, her present, and her future flowing through her, and in them she felt eternity. She would go on—she could feel the truth of that, where before the promises of the Speakers for the Big Fates had seemed like just so many words to her. Peace filled her, and joy. She was safe. She would always be safe.

  Doggie had no idea how long she hung suspended in that wonderful place, but she came out the other side changed. And she came out knowing that she could do whatever she had to do to save Jake.

  She saw him in the air, rocketing like a tiny shooting star toward his mother and the monster that pursued her, and Doggie had just enough time to register the horror on the faces of the veyâr around her—veyâr who were still plunging headlong toward safety through the gate. Doggie raced out of safety, into the fray.

  She bounded through grass up past her eyeballs, and wished with everything in her that she were taller so that she could see over it.

  Then, suddenly she was out of the area with the tall grass, although it looked no different. Doggie ran more easily once she could see, but still not fast enough. By all the Fates, if only she could fly…

  She nearly screamed when one foot, striding forward and expecting hard ground, failed to find it. The second found only air, too, and for a moment she windmilled ludicrously, fighting for traction that no longer existed. When she realized that she could fly, though, and that she could catch Jake, she tore forward through the air, closing the distance between them.

  He reached his mother and the monster before Doggie could get him, though, and screamed at the monster, "GO AWAY, BAD MONSTER!"

  The monster turned its attention to Jake, and its jaws gaped in a feral grin. And then it was gone.

  No flash of light, no puff of smoke, no sparkles of dust and debris hung in the air. Doggie careened into the ground facefirst, stunned and frightened.

  Jake flew into his mother's arms and the Hunter stumbled trying to catch him. She slowed her run, and Doggie said, "More things come behind you, Hunter. Fly to safety." But the Hunter wasn't looking at her. She stared, instead, behind her.

  Doggie twisted in the grass. Saw the red monster now attacking the veyâr. The child had moved the horror; he had not destroyed it. And, being just a little child, he had not moved it far enough.

  More monsters moved toward them from the high ground, and fireballs and projectiles arced overhead, pounding the shield into which the veyâr fled. Most of them, Doggie saw, had reached safety. A few had not, and those the red monster cut off, chasing them around the shield. The Hunter got one clear shot at the monster as he passed between her and the shield, pointed her finger at him, and snarled, "Die!"

  This time the monster burst into flames so hot they were blue, and exploded in a rain of charred flesh and bits of bone. Behind the dead monster, the shield flickered once, and died completely.

  "Shit, shit, SHIT!" the Hunter screamed, and pointed at the place where the shield had been. Before she could do whatever she'd intended to do, missiles and fire rained down on the gate, the veyâr moving into it, and the Imallin. The Imallin and several of the veyâr screamed—bloodcurdling sounds, and the Hunter stopped dead in her tracks, even with monsters of every variety moving toward her, and told Doggie, "Hold Jake. Fast."

  Doggie, back on her feet, though skinned and bruised, grabbed Jake, noticing as she did that she was only a handspan shorter than the Hunter now. Strange. She held Jake, who hugged her and stared all around him, no longer the brave little Superman, and the Hunter cast a shield around everyone within range—the veyâr, Doggie and Jake, and herself. She stood with her eyes closed for a moment, and the shield grew so solid that light barely passed through it. "To hell with this," the Hunter said to Doggie, patting her on the shoulder. "Let's go home."

  They hurried to the injured veyâr, and Lauren knelt by each one in turn, laying hands on them and removing their injuries. "You can do this, too, Doggie," she said. "Want them to be healthy, and see them healthy. Get them before they die, though."

  They worked for a while, and Doggie heard the Hunter reach the Imallin, and heard him croak, "Let me die. Let me go to her."

  "Not a chance," the Hunter said. "You have work to do here, pal—as much as either Molly or I do. You'll die when it's your time. But that time isn't today."

  Outside, Doggie heard roaring, and saw splashes of light illuminating sections of the Hunter's powerful shield. She shivered; now that she'd reached relative safety, she could feel how close she had come to death. She nuzzled the little boy in her arms, and thought of her family, and her village. She had a name now—a god-given name. From being a girl of no consequence, she had become a woman of repute. She had stature among the goroths. She could take a mate, find safety, live out her life with children and grandchildren of her own, and never look back to this terror of racing between worlds, seeing monsters, flying, fighting gods, doing magic. She could have the life she'd always yearned for.

  The Hunter spun a gate out of nothing—a glorious circle of light and harmony and song that stretched a bridge through eternity—and Doggie realized that if she followed the path of her old dreams, she would never walk the fire-road again. She would not commune with old gods, nor would she change the world.

  The goroths were not a people given to dreaming vast dreams or seeing themselves in the role of hero. They called themselves a small people, and prided themselves on practicality, reason, and tradition. But inside Doggie, something clicked softly, and she realized that, terror and danger and all, she could not go back to being who she'd been before she came to serve the Hunter. She bore a god-given name. She had flown, she had stretched herself tall, she had seen another world and walked through fire. She could claim the right to dream the dreams of gods.

  Copper House

  Lauren pushed through the gate last, closing it behind her, and setting the shield to shut down the instant she was gone. No use leaving magic running; she had the feeling they would have hell to pay for this day anyway.

  The path between the worlds comforted her, and when she stepped into the crowded room with all the hopeful, waiting people in it and picked up Jake in her arms and held him tight, she felt like she'd come home.

  But.

  "You still have the necklace?" Seolar asked.

  Lauren nodded.

  Cheers broke out around the room, so loud that Jake cringed and buried his face against her neck. Lauren held up the hand that wasn't hanging on to Jake and said, "Don't cheer yet."

  The silence that followed hurt. Every eye in the room watched her, and all she could hear was breathing—and barely that.

  "She came back," Lauren said. "She made it all the way back to being alive again, and she knew where she was, and she acted fast. She's the one who distracted Baanraak—she hit him with a huge magical broadside as soon as her eyes opened. I ran in and killed him before he could do anything to retaliate, but he toppled onto me. Molly ran to help me, and Baanraak, in his death throes, ripped her to pieces, and the necklace came off." Lauren took a deep breath, looked into the eyes of the people whose lives and world depended on what she was about to say, and said, "It may have come off before she was dead."

  The silence lengthened, and lengthened. Lauren didn't have an
ything else to say, so, taking Jake, she pushed her way through the frozen crowd, out into the now-well-lit subbasement. She followed the line of torches to the nearest stairwell—so much easier to find now than the first time she went hunting for it—and finally slid Jake to the ground and let him walk beside her, holding her hand. She slid a hand into the pocket of her jeans where the Vodi necklace rested, but quickly pulled it out. The necklace had a greasy, unpleasant feel against her skin. It vibrated when she touched it, a vibration that felt almost like a cat's purr—but all resemblance to petting a purring cat ended there. When Lauren touched the Vodi necklace, a dark space opened in her mind and filled her with bleak images that scared her. Places where life wasn't, places of horror and pain and anguish and endless suffering and endless loss. She wondered how Molly ever stood having the thing touch her.

  Up one level, and another, and she and Jake came out into one of the beautiful corridors lined with copper arches made to look like trees. This place had such beauty to it, and it might now be doomed.