The Hollow God (Swords and Saints Book 3)

by JA Hutson

  Be quiet, you fool! I scream inside my own head, but of course the thing that sounds like Valans ignores my silent plea.

  “Talin, come to me.”

  The snake-tail unspools, scraping across the stone. I watch the monster’s face intently, but her eyes remain shut.

  “Talin, I know you are there.”

  The whispering voice is definitely coming from the space beyond the lion-woman. I can’t see what’s there, as the ivory-white bulk of the monster is blocking the rest of the vast chamber from me.

  I’m going to have to shut him up, or he’ll wake this beast, and I have no illusion about how long it would be until I suffer the same fate as the unfortunate little men in the wall carvings.

  Gritting my teeth, I will my legs to move, trying to be as silent as possible. I have a brief spasm of panic when I think I see a sliver of golden eye, but after a moment I dismiss this as an illusion conjured up by my terrified mind. If anything, the beast’s breathing seems to deepen as I creep in a wide circle around where she sprawls.

  When I finally get a glimpse of what lies beyond the Devourer – if that’s what the monster truly is – my breath catches. The chamber continues on until the light fades and the farther reaches are swallowed by darkness, but almost directly behind the beast a circular hole wide enough for an elephant to tumble inside has been cut into the stone floor. And scattered around the edges of this pit are the dismembered remains of men and women. There are arms and legs and torsos, but no blood or viscera, surprisingly, nor can I see any signs of decay. It almost looks like these are the remnants of life-sized dolls.

  I look around wildly, peering into the blackness beyond the light. Where is Valans? Is he crouching out there, watching me? Could he have fallen into the pit?

  “Talin.”

  The whisper is so close that I jump, my hand flying to my sword.

  His bloodless head is perched on the edge of the pit, only a handspan removed from tumbling into its depths. Whatever wrested his head from his shoulders did it crudely, with more of his flesh remaining on one side of his neck. This makes him tilt to one side, as if watching me quizzically.

  And he is watching me. His copper-colored eyes blink slowly, as if to prove to me that he’s really conscious. There’s no confusion in his gaze, no panic such as I would expect from someone reduced to a decapitated head stuck between a mysterious abyss and a monster that could leap over a city wall in a single bound. He studies me calmly, his lips pursed.

  “You look terrible,” he says, his dry whisper not quite aligned with the movement of his mouth.

  I hold back panicked laughter.

  Pushing aside my rather complex feelings at seeing the son of the Red Sword again, I edge closer to his head.

  “What happened?” I ask as quietly as possible, trying to angle myself so I can see the sleeping monster and the head at the same time.

  If Valans had the rest of the body, I suspect he would shrug. “I broke the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  Copper-colored eyes flick towards the lion-woman and then back to me. “Yes. We saints are strictly forbidden from interfering in the mortal world. Well, the occasional vision or prophecy might be within bounds, but I was a bit less subtle.”

  “Then this thing is the Devourer?”

  Valans raises his eyebrows in the suggestion of mild surprise. “Not that you should know that, but yes. Tasked by some higher power with first keeping the gods in line, and then the saints that followed. The mess here is the remnants of those that thought they could skirt this edict and meddle with mortal affairs.”

  My gaze travels over the jumble of body parts. It appears that dozens of divine beings have been torn apart by this god-beast.

  “You’re the only head.”

  Valans sighs. “Yes. I’ve been quite lonely, to be honest. There was another here when the Devourer first dragged me back to its lair. Some blue-skinned fellow with gills. We had the most interesting conversations until the noise annoyed the Devourer and she batted his head into the pit.”

  “Aren’t you worried that she’ll hear us?” I ask, throwing another nervous glance at the beast.

  Valans’s mouth twists. “I’ve had enough, Talin. I’m ready for oblivion. Whatever afterlife exists for immortals cannot be worse than this.”

  He’s probably right. “What did you do to end up here?”

  “I tried to kill you.” He says this with no trace or remorse or malice. I remember the twisting pillar of flame that caused the avalanche during the crossing of Hesset’s Wall. I’d thought the man-shaped shadow I’d glimpsed within had been familiar.

  “On the mountain?”

  Valans can’t nod, so he again blinks slowly. “I won’t ask for forgiveness. You share the blame for everything that happened – when you dumped the Cleansing Flame on me the process of becoming a saint became corrupted. I was trapped half-way to divinity, burned and reborn countless times. I went quite mad.”

  I want to say that he’d been mad well before he tried to ascend, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “The only thought that persisted through all this was my hatred for you. So not even truly knowing what I was doing, I sought you out and manifested myself in the mortal world. My memories are scattered, but I remember you being swept away by the avalanche I’d started, feeling intense satisfaction . . . and then being seized by great claws and dragged away.”

  Burned and reborn countless times, then dismembered by a vicious god-killing monster. All while remaining undying and aware of what was happening. I eye the remains of Valans uneasily. His mind must be shattered after such an experience. The calmness and lucidity in his copper eyes is unsettling.

  He seems to read my thoughts. “You are wondering about my current mental state.”

  I open my mouth to assure him I am not, but then close it again and shrug. “Yes.”

  Valans smiles thinly. “I was lost, but I have returned to myself. I now realize that a worm of madness had been wriggling deep in my brain ever since I passed through the door and found myself in the sewers beneath Ysala, alone and terrified. It was not until I saw Valyra again that this fever finally lifted.”

  “You saw her?” I ask in surprise, perhaps a little too loudly, as the sleep-grooved rumbling of the monster suddenly hitches. The flash of fear in my face causes Valans some amusement, as the edges of his lips twitch upwards.

  “Yes,” he continues, apparently not concerned about the possibility of the Devourer awakening. His eyes indicate the gaping pit beside him. “In there. I found that if I look long enough into the black I can see the mortal world. It took me some time, but eventually I was able to locate my sister in the convent of those shadow sorcerers. I watched as the warriors of Zim led by that black-scaled brute of a lizard attacked and dragged her under the ground. Then to my great surprise I saw that a Voice of the Shriven commanded them, and that he planned to use her to open the door to our old world. I thought she was doomed.” Valans closes his eyes, as if what he has to say next pains him. “And I saw you rescue her. Without your aid she would have died. And so I have forgiven you for what happened to my people.”

  He pauses, as if expecting me to thank him. I don’t know what to say, but it certainly isn’t about to be some expression of gratitude.

  “You brought me down here into the lair of this monster to tell me that you forgive me?”

  A shiver of something like annoyance passes across Valans’s pale face. Then with what looks like an act of will his expression grows calm. “No. I brought you here because I can show you where Valyra has been taken. Look into the pit.”

  His eyes indicate the gaping hole beside him. I step forward tentatively and gaze down. There’s just darkness, so total it seems to pulse. No, in truth there is something forming deep within, rising up from below. It shows an ancient manse of weathered stone and soaring towers. I know this house – I’d been to it before. It’s the Contessa’s manse in Ysala.

  “She is in there,”
Valans says, his voice sounding strained. Sweat glistens on his fish-belly pale skin. “The Contessa was my greatest rival for control of Ysala. Yet I never realized she was from our world as well. She is ruthless, and her will indomitable – please, you must rescue Valyra from her.”

  I am tempted to tell Valans that I already know Valyra has been abducted by the Contessa. But from the desperation and hope I can see in Valans’s face he must think he has given me some essential clue as to her whereabouts. If this is what was sustaining him in this hellish existence, I don’t want to let him know that this gesture is meaningless. Despite the harm he’s caused me, I can’t help but feel pity for the son of the Red Sword.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I will find your sister and keep her safe.”

  Another ripple of emotion goes across his face, and Valans lets out a deep sigh. “Good. Then I have done all I can.”

  A snort like a clap of thunder makes me jump. The great lion-woman has shifted again, her tail twitching. Saber-length claws have emerged from the paw closest to us.

  “Now how do I get out of here? And what happens when this monster wakes up and smells that I’ve been here?”

  “The Devourer was created to consume gods. You are safe from its hunger. I do not think it can even see or hear you. And there is a way out of this place, a passage in the darkness beyond us.”

  A wash of relief goes through me, and I crouch beside the severed head. “I can take you from here.”

  Valans blinks rapidly, as if my offer has caught him completely off guard. “That is . . .” His copper eyes suddenly focus on something beyond me. “Oh. Perhaps I am mistaken.”

  With a creeping dread I realize that the steady rumbling that had been reverberating in the vast chamber has vanished. Slowly I turn and find myself staring into a vast pair of orange eyes. The Devourer cocks her head curiously to one side, like a cat trying to understand something that has caught its interest.

  My limbs are frozen. I have a sudden, irrational surge of hope that this beast’s gaze will slide over me as if I’m not even there.

  Then its paw sweeps down like an avalanche.

  There’s nowhere for me run, and all I can do is throw my hands up, fully expecting to be crushed like an insect or torn to shreds by the monster’s claws. I’m screaming, as is Valans. The paw hesitates, coming to hover above me, the Devourer’s attention seemingly torn between us.

  Then it decides, its paw dipping down to bat at Valans. With a final, bloodcurdling shriek he is sent spinning into the abyss. The Devourer cranes her neck forward to see what has happened to him, again not unlike a cat investigating what happens after it pushes an object off a table.

  I seize this moment, sprinting towards the darkness. I’m expecting to feel something massive come down on my back, smashing me into the stone, but I manage to reach the shadows, and then I steal a glance over my shoulder. In the radiance infusing the chamber, the lion-woman is staring after me. She crouches, preparing to leap, and in terror I turn back to the blackness ahead and run as hard as I’ve ever run before. There’s no sound, but I imagine the Devourer soaring through the air, a hunting cat the size of a castle about to pounce on me.

  There’s a popping sound, and I tear through wisps of darkness like they are cobwebs. My foot strikes a stone and I stumble and go sprawling. Light has returned, and I roll onto my back expecting to see a massive furred shape descending. Instead I find myself staring up at a night sky filled with strange colors. Bolivan, Xela, Deliah and Bell are looking down at me, their faces creased with surprise and confusion. I glance around in panic, but there’s no sign of the Devourer or her lair. There are only the tumbled white stone ruins of the House.

  I try to say something, but can only manage a panicked gasping.

  Deliah is the one that finally breaks the silence. “Where in the seven hells were you?”

  4

  Bolivan sets a punishing pace after I finish babbling out my tale. We hurry to follow him, scrambling over toppled pillars and sliding down collapsed walls, and I can sense that my companions are as unsettled as I am by how disturbed the saint appears. Bell tries to draw out more details about what happened, but I only shake my head. My mind wants to get as far away as possible from the lair of the Devourer – otherwise I’m afraid it might fracture. What I experienced was not something that was meant for mortals. Eventually she lapses into silence and instead concentrates on keeping up with Bolivan.

  “Here I am,” the blacksmith saint grumbles, not turning around, though I know his words are meant for me, “trying to save the world while staying out of sight of the Devourer, an’ you go an’ poke her an’ run away.”

  The saint’s accent has thickened enough that it takes me a moment to parse what he’s just said. It hits me that this sudden change in his speech is probably related to the fear I’ve stirred up by my story of encountering the god-eater. I have to admit to feeling a twinge of satisfaction at seeing the saint shaken.

  A glimmering blue comet blazes across the heavens and Bolivan leaps backwards, his arms upraised. When he realizes the unexpected movement is not a lion-woman the size of a hill he turns back to us, his glower evoking both sheepishness and annoyance.

  “Surely we’ll see this thing coming?” Deliah drawls, apparently unconcerned. “If it’s as large as Talin claims.”

  “I never seen it, but one of the keleski saints claimed he saw it just pounce outta nowhere and drag his hive-brother off. It don’t follow the same rules as the rest of us.”

  “Typical cat,” Xela muttered. “The abbess of the Umbra was convinced they exist partway between several realities.”

  “Don’t know anything about that,” Bolivan said, shaking his head, “But –”

  Whatever he was going to say next dies in his throat. He steps forward carefully, tracing the dark outline of a door drawn onto a crumbled wall. “We’re there.”

  I share a glance with Bell. It looks like someone has smeared ashes onto the white surface. “Is it closed?”

  Bolivan pushes on what appears to be very solid stone, and, unsurprisingly, nothing happens. My heart drops a little, and my eyes wander around the cold and forbidding ruins. This is not the place I want to be right now.

  He sets his shoulder against the wall and leans into it, grunting. He looks ridiculous, straining to open a crudely drawn door, but then I hear the sound of grinding and an entrance swings wide. On the other side is darkness, but I can sense a large open space. The saint turns back in satisfaction and sweeps his arm out.

  “Ysala. Not the brightest and most welcoming corner of it, but I’d recognize the smell of my city anywhere.”

  Bell looks dubious. “Are you sure?”

  Bolivan flicks his wrist and somewhere deep within the darkness a light kindles. It swells quickly, filling a great crystal that hangs high overhead and illuminating a vast underground chamber. I can’t help but gasp when I realize I know this place.

  Bell makes a strangled sound.

  “Look familiar?” Deliah asks.

  It’s the poelthari’s barrow. Soaring shelves have been cut into the walls, but still those aren’t enough to hold all the books in the room, as countless other volumes have been mounded into great piles. There is the long table with its slumped skeletons, and I can even see the desiccated carcass of the great centipede creature that tried to eat Bell. It doesn’t look like any of the ghasts that inhabit the barrow have dared disturb the poelthari’s inner sanctum, even after the creature finally abandoned this place.

  I realize suddenly that we must be looking through the Gate fixed between the legs of the enthroned skeletal giant.

  “It’s Ysala,” I agree. “This is the poelthari’s barrow.”

  One of Deliah’s immaculately shaped brows arches. “I thought you said the spirit had departed?”

  “It did – or, at least, I suppose it’s still gone. It seemed consumed with escaping this world. But apparently these doors can open into different places, as I certainly
don’t think it fled to the House of the Gods.”

  “Then let’s go,” Xela says, approaching the shadowy door. “As creepy as that place looks, it still seems a bit more welcoming than here.”

  I jump as Bell grabs my arm. Her face is ashen.

  “Talin . . .” She swallows, and I realize why she looks terrified.

  “It’s not here,” I say, trying to reassure her.

  She turns her head away from me. Her eyes are squeezed shut, but a tear still manages to escape, and she wipes at her cheek angrily. “It was so terrible. I could see myself, like I was looking down from above, but no matter how I screamed I just couldn’t make myself hear.”

  I reach out and brush away another tear with my finger. It must have been horrific to have her will slaved to whatever the poelthari was, endlessly searching for a key to fit the door Bolivan has just opened, watching others around you waste away and perish as they pursued the same goal with single-minded fervor.

  She touches her head lightly. “Sometimes I feel like there’s a little trace of that thing still in here. Watching and waiting.”

  “It’s gone,” I repeat, more firmly than before, my hands on her shoulders. She nods jerkily.

  “Time to go,” Bolivan says gruffly, as if embarrassed by Bell’s obvious discomfort. He steps away from the door.

  “You’re not coming?” I ask.

  The saint shakes his head, his beard wagging. “Been pressing my luck by helping you all. The Devourer usually grabs us saints when we’re in the mortal world, and I have a hunch I wouldn’t last long if I stepped through that door.”

  “What if we need your help?” Xela asks, hovering on the threshold of the portal.

  “I’ll help ya if I can,” Bolivan says, crossing his great arms above his ample belly. “But I can do less than you might think. Stopping this Prophet and the beasties that want to cross over into our world is on your shoulders.”

  I wonder if this claim is entirely true, or if he’s simply afraid of attracting the attention of the god-eater. But still I hold out my arm, and after a moment’s hesitation he clasps it.