Those weapons bit into M’gulfn’s soul like bitter-cold iron, because they were a taste of a power that should not exist, that could only exist if it died. It lost the strength even to scream. Still it clung to its Wormish body, but its grip was becoming feeble, and it was whimpering inwardly, begging Medrian to help it.
‘Leave your body. Come to me,’ she said to it. ‘Quickly, so that this terrible pain will cease. Please, M’gulfn…’
There was a massive split in its neck now, and its head was half off. Chunks of flesh flew into the air with every blow, spattering the snow and their clothes. The sickly glow exuding from its sides had faded and they knew that it was dying. By the time their axes met its spine, it had ceased struggling altogether. There was a cracking and splintering of unnatural bone, then the remaining flesh of the neck parted like butter; a moment later the head lay severed. Then Ashurek and Estarinel proceeded to split the eyes and cleave the skull, striking manically as if they could not believe it was truly dead.
#
Indeed, M’gulfn clung desperately to its body for as long as it could bear to. But at the cold touch of that baneful sorcery within its skull, it could tolerate no more; it forsook hope of regenerating its physical form and, gathering up the cognizant atoms of its being, it fled wailing into Medrian.
As Estarinel’s and Ashurek’s axes cut through the brain, a leaden burst of dark power throbbed into the air, flinging them backwards. They lay winded on the snow, braced for a further shock.
Nothing happened.
The sudden, absolute silence was eerie. They dragged themselves to their feet and looked with objective disgust at their surroundings: the flat, defiled snowscape under an oppressive sky; the brown-tainted atmosphere; the ghastly body of the Serpent lying in the snow, its head severed and horribly crushed, its blood and glutinous venom smearing the snow for yards all around it.
And Medrian, lying unconscious in the snow just in front of the head.
Estarinel rushed over to her and lifted her gently off the ground. ‘She’s still alive. I don’t think she’s hurt,’ he said.
Ashurek, trying to wipe the gore from his hands, looked at him holding Medrian in his arms; and he suddenly understood about the Silver Staff. Feeling that he was going to weep, he turned away, only to find the ghastly remains of the Worm before him.
‘Ashurek, come on, let’s go back to Silvren,’ Estarinel said. ‘It’s dead. How can you bear to stay near it?’
‘Have you still got the H’tebhmellian fire?’ Ashurek asked as they walked back across the snow, begrimed and too exhausted to feel anything about the Serpent’s death – not elation, not even relief, nothing.
‘Yes, I retrieved it after Arlenmia knocked it into the snow. Why?’
‘Because I think the Worm’s body should be burned, and the H’tebhmellian fire is the only means we have to set it alight,’ Ashurek replied.
Silvren and Arlenmia both looked equally numb; it was partly the aftermath of their horror of M’gulfn, and partly the feeling that the horror was not yet quite over. There was no sense of release; the world still seemed to be sinking into a swamp of brown and grey filth.
Silvren came forward to meet them, embracing Ashurek with no regard for the blood on his clothing. ‘Oh, thank the Lady!’ she cried. ‘I was sure you would be killed.’
‘Only because of you were we able to destroy its body,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘But it is not yet over.’
#
Medrian, groaned the Serpent. How could you permit this? You have betrayed me; you should have let me go to another host. This pain is intolerable. I will make you sorry yet.
It raged on and on within her, swamping her as it had when they had left the Blue Plane. Medrian knew that its body was dead and that its psyche was now wholly within her. The shock of its transference had caused her to faint, but she now listened to its ravings in the smooth grey void of unconsciousness. Its anguish and indignation were boundless.
How dare you sing that song of death? I could despise you as I have always despised the others. How shall I avenge…
‘But I saved your life,’ Medrian interrupted. It paused in its outraged flow.
Yes, yes, you did. How foolish you were to think that you could slay me, when all the time you were my protection. You were bound to fail. And now you lie humiliated before me, as I promised.
‘Did you really want me to fail?’ Medrian asked, but it did not seem to understand her question. What a fool you are. I will rest within you awhile, for as long as it takes me to regenerate my body, and then I shall punish those others.
‘No, you don’t want to regenerate your body,’ she said softly.
What? What are you saying, my Medrian? She could feel its mind writhing like a scaly grey snake within her skull.
‘Think of it. How hard it can be to move, how tired and heavy it makes you feel. The snow grating against your skin. Your vulnerability.’
The Serpent began to moan to itself. No. No. Must…
‘No. You haven’t the energy. Rest, stay with me.’
Ah, but you are right. Most precious of all my hosts… I said you would be my last host. What need have I of a Wormish body? From now on we will be as one. My Medrian… you will share immortality and power with me. It is fitting that I should now take a human form. I have no more need of helpers or servants now. Just you. Forever.
‘Not forever,’ she said, her thoughts now soothing and persuasive and as strong as M’gulfn’s. ‘I said we would be together at the end, but the end will be very soon. We will die together.’
No! How can you say this? It became frantic again, crying out with angry denial. Still you betray me… Ah, the silver weapon. I should have known! But you would not dare. You do not dare to destroy me. I was meant to endure forever…
‘You don’t want that,’ Medrian replied calmly. ‘You are so old… and tired, so tired. You do not even have the energy for anger and hatred. You want to rest. To die.’
No. You shall not slay me. It struggled against her, but its efforts were half-hearted, fading into confusion.
‘Not slay. It will be gentle, a falling into sleep. No more nightmares. No more pain. Peace. You desire peace, don’t you?’
Yes. No. I cannot die… But it did not resist as Medrian showed it the vision she had shown to Arlenmia: the Earth, drifting through an eternity of utter desolation, and itself lying alone and wretched on the dead husk for ever. For the first time, she made it look at that cold grey vista, and like a great rock being crowbarred away to reveal the creatures teeming and scurrying in the dark hollow beneath, so the Serpent’s doubt was laid bare. It was forced to accept the truth, and the truth was unbearable: the grief and despair it had sought to bring to humans, it had only brought to itself. No, it wailed in torment within her. No…
‘This is how your eternal life would be,’ she said. ‘You don’t want this, do you? You don’t want the torpor and desolation and loneliness that would be your future. You want release. Rest from your pain. Not to lie on the ice listening to the cold winds forever.’
Help me, it cried. Please help me.
‘Yes, I will help you. Only stay quietly within me, and it will soon be over.’
No more nightmares. Peace…
‘Be still. We will find peace together,’ she murmured. And the Serpent ceased crying and struggling against her, and it curled up and became utterly quiescent.
#
Medrian opened her eyes. Estarinel was bending concernedly over her. He helped her to sit up and she looked around and saw Ashurek sitting on the snow with Silvren in his arms. She was still holding the red sheath containing the Silver Staff. Arlenmia was a little apart from them, staring fixedly at the grisly remains of the Serpent. A cleansing fire of blue and gold was dancing along the length of the body, the only clear light in the murky surroundings.
‘Why is it burning?’ Medrian asked.
‘We set fire to it with the H’tebhmellian lamp,’ Ashurek replied. ‘And we put
the body of poor Miril there, so it is also a pyre for her – and Skord.’
Medrian nodded. ‘Yes, it’s for the best,’ she said resignedly. She sensed that the others were waiting for her to tell them what should be done next; perhaps they knew, but it had to be her who said it. Estarinel was pale and grim-faced, and she could hardly bear to look at him. She took a deep breath and tried hard to stop herself from shaking.
‘You destroyed M’gulfn’s body swiftly and bravely. It was my fault that it nearly – but anyway, it did not.’ She shook her head and went on, ‘I’m so relieved that none of you were hurt. Except Skord, of course. It was a nightmare, but it is nearly over.’
‘How did you manage to subdue it, after all?’ Ashurek asked.
‘A binding song, which the Guardians sang to it when they took its eye. I think it was to do with Miril. M’gulfn was literally paralysed by fear. And its fear was of what Miril forced it to look at, which was a reflection of itself.’
‘We could not have slain it without the help of Silvren’s sorcery, either,’ said Estarinel.
‘I know.’ Medrian managed to smile at the pale sorceress.
‘It was Arlenmia, too,’ Silvren said. ‘Together, we had just enough strength.’
Medrian looked at Arlenmia and said, ‘The reason you failed was that the Serpent did not want to be invulnerable. It was confused. On the surface, all it desired was eternal life and power over Earth, but underneath there was always doubt gnawing at it, no matter how hard it tried to deny it. Miril tried to show it that the desire was false and the doubt was real, but the truth terrified it. So, M’gulfn hated her and fled from her, refusing to look. But I made it look. I made it understand the wretchedness of its existence, and that if it won, its desolation and misery would only grow worse, not better. Being forced to accept the truth destroyed it. Now all it desires is death and peace. Perhaps even such a creature as M’gulfn cannot bear immortality. I discovered something as well; that all the torment I have suffered through being its host was its own. I was feeling its pain.’
‘Medrian, is it dead or not?’ Estarinel whispered.
‘Not yet. It is within me.’ She held his arm in a futile attempt to reassure him. She tried to go on but faltered, thinking, how terrible it is to know that when the others go home, I will not be with them; that everything I say and do in this awful place will be for the last time. I can’t do it, she thought, closing her eyes. But I must.
‘I think you all understand the use of the Silver Staff by now,’ she said. She tried to keep her voice steady but it sounded hoarse and faint to her own ears.
Ashurek said, ‘Yes.’ His face was grim with sorrow and she could not look at him, could not look at any of them. She made herself stand up before her resolve wavered.
‘Estarinel,’ she said. ‘This must be the way of it. Take the Silver Staff from Silvren and – and come with me. I want to talk to you alone.’ Numbly, he did as she said. They put their arms around each other and began to walk away from the others, close together but not speaking. She led him to a hollow some distance away, where they would be out of sight and hearing of the others.
They sat down in the snow. Neither was wearing a cloak now, but they were oblivious to the cold. Medrian pulled off her gloves and twined her fingers with his, and although he could feel her hands trembling, her face was diamond-clear and calm.
‘Do you remember, in Forluin,’ she began, ‘I said that I would one day have to ask you to do something terrible? That time is now here.’
‘Yes,’ he replied faintly. ‘And I gave you my word that I would do whatever you asked without protesting.’
She nodded, gripping his hands, hoping desperately that she was not going to give in to the knot of tears in her throat. ‘You understand, don’t you? This is the only way. The Serpent is wholly within me now. It must be absorbed into the Silver Staff. I can’t do it myself... and you are the wielder of the Staff. There is no danger of the Serpent passing into you. It will go into the Staff, and there meet its opposite power, and so be annihilated.’
Inside, he was crying out in bitter denial; surely, surely, there must be another answer. He had sworn to himself that he would save Medrian from this fate, and he could not accept that it was going to be impossible after all. Knowing that his protests would only torment her, he swallowed them, forcing them to remain unspoken, like iron barbs in his throat. He was shamed by the knowledge that he had almost let her down more than once. He could not break his word and fail her again. He longed to hug her, fiercely denying her doom, as if that could magically change things; but he constrained himself. Now, above all, she needed him to be strong.
‘When I am gone, light will return to the Earth,’ she said. ‘Forluin will be saved. Those whom the Serpent did not truly kill may even be restored to life. Your family, Estarinel.’
But that was so far away. Here and now he was with Medrian, and it seemed to him that the Serpent had won after all. It was having the worst revenge against them that it could have devised. Now he understood: it was this that he had foreseen and dreaded from the beginning, this that he had felt unable to face.
Even this that made the Serpent impossible to slay, after all.
All the grisly horror of the Worm paled in comparison to the simple, quiet despair of this moment.
‘You have known that this was inevitable from the beginning, haven’t you?’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘And Eldor and the Guardians knew, and the H’tebhmellians.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But how could anyone have told you? You would never have accepted it. I always knew I would have to wait until the very end. Estarinel, I know how very hard this is for you. I can’t bear to cause you this pain. But please believe that it is inevitable.’
With an effort, he said, ‘Yes. I believe it.’
‘Then would you prefer not to do this yourself?’ she asked softly.
He shook his head. He was unable to keep the grief out of his voice as he answered. ‘No, if it has to happen I would far rather it was by my own hand. I said I would not fail you, Medrian, and I will not.’
‘Oh, bless your steadfastness,’ she said. As if she could not stop herself, her arms slid round him to embrace him and he held her, thinking, this is unbearable, I would rather take my own life.
‘You understand now why I tried to be remote from you. It wasn’t only the Serpent’s presence. I thought that if you cared too much about me, it would make this impossible. I tried so hard to stay detached, hoping that you might even begin to hate me. What a fool I was to think that! In Forluin, when I could no longer pretend that I didn’t love you, I was sure I had doomed the Quest to failure by my weakness. I had accepted that I must die, and I wanted nothing else. But because of you I found out that life could be good, and that made it so much harder to see the Quest through.’
‘Medrian, I’m so sorry, I never–’
‘Hush, let me finish. Oh, I am making this terrible for you, and I swore I wouldn’t. I was going to say that in the end, your love has made me stronger, not weaker. The Serpent can only be defeated, this final act carried out, with love. Not hate, not indifference. Only love.’ She kissed him and went on, ‘Even though I must die with it, it has not defeated me. I used to hate myself, which was what M’gulfn wanted, I suppose. I hardly knew I was alive. If it had gone on, the Serpent’s coldness would have consumed me in the end. But you seemed to see through me to my real self, which I didn’t even know existed. Because of you I can say that my life wasn’t wholly wretched, that I knew what it was to be alive, and happy, and loved. Against that, even M’gulfn’s hate could never truly win.’
He held her tighter, unable to speak. He was still struggling against inward denial; how could this happen to her, after what she had already endured? He wanted her to return to Forluin with him; she could not die here, where it was so desolate, so cold.
‘Now,’ she said, drawing away from him a little, ‘It must be done quickly, while the Serpent is still q
uiescent; it won’t wait forever. Take out the Silver Staff.’ He hesitated and she said, her voice shaking, ‘Please, Estarinel. I cannot live on with it inside me. We must find peace together. Peace is as sweet as happiness.’
Fighting down his distress, he drew the long, slim Staff from its red sheath and held it across his palms. He tried to ask her what to do, but he was unable to find his voice. It glinted like dull steel and there was no song within it to ease his anguish.
‘Put – put the sharp end to my throat,’ Medrian said, ‘and support me with your other arm at my back. As swiftly as you can.’ There was something raw and obdurate in the stabbing gesture she made, and he saw how her hand was trembling.
He began to do as she asked, but slowly, almost faint with the feeling that there must, must, must be some way to avoid this, something he had failed to do or say, a miracle that would reprieve her if only they waited a few moments longer. He gripped the Silver Staff with the needle-thin end poised in the hollow of her throat, knowing that he was about to break his heartfelt promise not to fail her.
Medrian looked steadily at him, her face white with both fear and diamond-hard resolve. How could he hope to equal her strength? Faintly – the words turning in his heart like a cry for pity – she said, ‘I’m ready, Estarinel. Let it be over soon. Please let it be over.’
It was then that he understood what Miril had meant when she said that love was selfish, compassion selfless. In his love for Medrian he was hopelessly seeking ways to redeem her, but every moment he delayed could serve no purpose except to increase her misery. What she needed from him was compassion, the understanding that there was no choice and that to end her life swiftly would be the truest, kindest proof of love. He did not know where he found the strength to act, except that compassion won.
She closed her eyes as she finished speaking, and he seized the instant as if his will had been suspended. The point of the Silver Staff slid deep into her throat. Her body went into spasm, but there was no blood, and she did not make a sound.
The Silver Staff began to glow.
A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2) Page 45
