by C. M. Carney
“Um, what?” Lex asked.
37
Gryph struggled against the soul bands that bound him, but each motion tightened the spectral grapples. Over Aluran’s shoulder, Raathiel struggled, failing to activate several of her abilities. She tried Shift Form, and then Gaseous Form, but each attempt caused a surge of silver energy to tear through her body, weakening her.
Raathiel, stop. You’ll only hurt yourself.
I cannot let him harm you Menaaire.
Aluran cocked his head to the side and looked from Gryph to Raathiel. “We’ll have none of that,” the High God said and snapped his fingers. In an instant the warm presence of Raathiel’s mind disappeared and despite repeated attempts, reconnecting failed.
Gryph’s eyes snapped to her, and he saw his pain mirrored in her eyes. Aluran grinned and rotated his fist. The silver bands twined about his hand, pulling Raathiel from Gryph’s view. It was a small, yet effective cruelty.
“You are quite the mystery Gryph. You are from Earth, but none of my agents have been able to discover who you were back there, or why you are here now. That is a state of affairs that I cannot allow to continue.” Aluran’s eyes grew black, as if midnight ink had poured in through his tear ducts filling them like a reservoir after a levee break.
“I’ll ask you again, who are you and where did you get the Godhead?”
Gryph flinched as sharp talons of mental energy sunk into his mind. He tried to resist, tried to push all thoughts of his true name away. But each deflection showed Aluran which direction to turn, each small triumph handed the High God a pathway to victory. Soon, Aluran would flay his mind open like a book laid flat on its spine.
There was only one chance to prevent that. Gryph had to give him the truth, or part of it anyway. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me Morrigan,” Gryph said, forcing a grin through the fog of pain.
Aluran’s eyes went wide at the use of his first name and a mélange of fear and confusion took hold of him for the briefest of moments before he regained his composure. But Gryph had seen that moment, and he understood. Aluran no longer believed he was Morrigan, in the same way that an ex mob lawyer in witness protection comes to think he is just a Cinnabon manager.
Since returning to the Realms, Aluran had painted himself as a savior, a righteous god, bringing peace and order to a chaotic world. It proved that the High God had learned from the mistakes of his past, but it was all bullshit. The man, the god who’d consumed souls still lived inside Aluran and whatever force motivated Morrigan to his evil, still drove Aluran.
I just need to draw that out, Gryph realized.
Aluran squeezed his hand, further tightening Gryph’s bonds, slowing crushing the air from him. “How…?” he said, before Gryph spoke again.
“I told you, that day on the wide plain, I would always be there to stop you. No matter the cost.”
“Ossyrion!” Aluran gasped. “But you’re dead?” One question hung between them, despite Aluran refusing to speak the word. How?
“You of all people should understand the power of the soul,” Gryph said, answering the unspoken question. “You’ve fed on enough.”
Aluran came close enough for Gryph to feel his breath on his face. “You know what I did to the others. Are you foolish enough to believe I would hesitate with you, or have you forgotten?” The High God’s eyes bore into Gryph and too late Gryph realized that despite his rage, Aluran was playing him for information. Gryph’s momentary blank stare, the unintended admission that his memories were not complete, that he was bluffing with the flimsiest of cards, gave the High God the opening he needed.
“Your mind is fractured Ossyrion. You fumble in the dark like a frightened child.” Aluran pushed his mind deeper inside Gryph. “Tell me where you got your Godhead. It is not the Order Godhead, your old friend belongs to Ramsey now. Nor is it any of the others borne by the Cabal. Those parasites still scheme and squabble back on Earth.” A moment of panic burned to rage and Aluran pulled Gryph close. “Have you found the Vault? Did you steal this Godhead?”
Order Godhead? The Cabal? The Vault? Gryph tried to focus his curiosity, his need to get answers to these questions, but his confusion and his pain made that all but impossible. He’d not known his Godhead had an affinity. Was it something that only became clear after evolving to a higher tier, or had he been using his Godhead wrong all this time? And who was Ramsey and the Cabal? There were other gods on Earth? And what was the Vault? Another thought occurred to him, one he tried to push away before Aluran could read it. But it was like trying to fight the tide and his mind was laid bare. What does this have to do with the Colonel?
“The Colonel?” Aluran said in alarm and took an involuntary step back. “Are you working for him?”
He’s afraid of … Gryph started, but then used every iota of his waning mental strength to not finish the thought. If Gryph betrayed the connection between the Colonel and himself, it would expose Brynn and no matter what feelings Aluran claimed to feel for her, the exposure of her betrayal would mean her doom. Gryph had to give the High God something.
“Asheara would hate what you’ve become.”
Gryph watched as Aluran became fully Morrigan once more. Gone was the kind veneer, the powerful, but benevolent father figure. The madness in the man was terrifying. He grabbed Gryph by the neck and squeezed. “You will not speak her name.” Gryph's bones crunched and breathing became impossible. “You will not think her name.” Aluran lifted Gryph off his feet and squeezed. In moments Gryph would be dead.
As the blackness filled his vision and stars burst behind his eyelids, one final memory drifted to him from the darkness of Ossyrion’s past. Asheara was killed by the Prime. The truth of the memory and all its consequences descended upon Gryph like the weight of a thousand worlds. He blames me for her death.
“Yes,” Aluran hissed. “And I will tear the Realms asunder to get her back, starting with all you hold dear.” Aluran relaxed his grip on Gryph’s throat just enough to allow a trickle of air to pass, enough to watch what was to come.
The High God rotated his fist again, pulling Raathiel back into Gryph’s view. A pulse of silver energy exploded up Aluran’s arm and down the bands enveloping Raathiel. The energy wormed inside her body, one that suddenly seemed so frail. Her eyes locked on his and though he could not hear her thoughts, he knew she forgave him.
“No,” Gryph croaked through a ravaged throat. Aluran grinned and increased the flow. Glowing spheres of pure silver light pulsed from Raathiel and up the bands. “Please,” Gryph begged, but Aluran paid him no heed.
Gryph struggled, trying to tear his bonds, but they just gripped him tighter. Only the first two fingers and the thumb on his right hand remained free. A desperate idea came to him. Perhaps it would be enough. Mana filled him and a chill wind flowed down his arm. His fingers twined through the basic spell gestures and he felt motion at his waist. The motion became a slither as he directed the length of empyrean spider rope up and around him, seeking the last, desperate chance he had to save his companion.
Globes of silver light flowed up the bands and into Aluran’s fist. The High God closed his eyes and leaned back, in ecstasy as he began to feed upon Raathiel’s soul. Any glimmer of goodness that remained in Aluran faded and then blinked out like the light of a dying sun accepting it now belonged to the darkness.
The spider silk rope found the bandolier at his chest and flexed, pushing the bands of energy ever so slightly, buying enough room to coil around the base of the last bandersnatch quill and pull it free. It moved back down Gryph’s body careful not to prick Gryph. It found a space between the bands and eased between them.
There were two choices. Attack Aluran, who’d already shown the capability to avoid the bandersnatch quills, or save Raathiel, assuming his aim was on target. He didn’t trust in the rope’s ability to toss the quill, for that was far beyond its purview, but with half a hand he would not trust his Thrown Weapon skill either.
Raathiel�
�s mouth opened and closed in fatigue and pain, and a tear fell from her eye. Whatever he did it had to be now. He decided, and the rope brought the quill to his hand. He gripped it, his thumb caressing the fine wire Errat had wrapped around the base of the quills at Gryph’s request. That bit of foresight might just be the difference between life and death for Raathiel.
Gryph pushed mana into the bracers on both arms. Waves of magnetic force built around Gryph’s forearms and he pushed into the quill. It zipped down and then up, arcing around his body and into Aluran’s blind spot.
That was when he realized his trajectory was wrong and panic bit into his soul. The magnetic bracers, while powerful, were not capable of the fine control necessary for Gryph to direct the weapon. The quill would miss both Aluran, and his last-ditch secondary target, Raathiel. Unless Gryph did something.
“Got you fucker,” Gryph said.
The High God’s eyes opened just as the quill zipped behind him, and his ecstasy turned to rage. His own mana flared, and a gust of wind tore from him, buffeting the quill and altering its trajectory. A small grin passed Gryph’s lips as Aluran’s spell pushed the quill into a new trajectory, one that took it into Raathiel’s body.
“Thank you for the assist,” Gryph said and watched as Raathiel disappeared with a flash and a puff of black smoke.
The tendril that had been siphoning the coatl’s soul snapped back into Aluran’s face, leaving a welt on his cheek. Furious, the High God punched Gryph in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. Gryph sputtered and coughed, but through it all he laughed.
Aluran pulled Gryph towards him and pointed his forefinger at Gryph’s face. A lance of silver light exploded from his fingertip and exploded into his forehead. It wormed towards the center of his being, to the shining mote of silver light at the heart of who he was, of who Ossyrion had been, who a thousand others had been.
“I’ll give you one last chance, Ossyrion. Or do you prefer Gryph? Who were you on Earth, and where did you get your Godhead? I will know who has betrayed me.”
As Gryph choked, Aluran began to feed on his soul.
38
By now, Lex should have been used to the utter absurdity of daily life in the Realms. But he wasn’t, and he suspected the reason for that was that weird shit happened to him far more often than it did to anybody else. It had to be, otherwise the entire world would be as insane as the dude staring at him all grins and waves from the opposite prison cell.
“Who the hell are you?” Lex asked. He triggered his Analyze, but the man started jabbering before Lex could assimilate the information.
“I am me, that is myself, and I am named Bart the Seeker,” the bedraggled man said and then waved again. “Short for Bartholomew, though I myself am quite tall. I am a Seeker of the Great God Cerrunos, though I have not always been such. When I was a wee lad living on the coast of the Bright Isles, I was but a boy. Not quite as tall and without the beard of course. That state of affairs stayed true for many years, apart from the less tall bits, for my bits did indeed grow, both in height and in girth.”
Bart began to dance in an odd hopping manner that revealed far too much of his girth. For the man was as unencumbered by clothing as he was by sanity.
“Okay, not gonna unsee that,” Lex said, turning away with a grimace. “This is a really great story man but can we…”
“And as I grew, many a maiden and quite a few lords found my height and my girth appealing, but even then, I knew my calling lay elsewhere.” He brought a hand to his forehead like a sailor on an ancient ship looking at a distant horizon. “And, I Bartholomew, who is Bart, went on an epic journey, to all corners of the flat disc that is Korynn, seeking the meaning of life.”
“That’s an awesome story man,” Lex said, desperate to contain Bart’s inane ramblings. “And I’d love to hear you tell it another time, perhaps over a beer and with a bit more clothing. But, for now, can we stay on point and…”
“It was after many a year that I that is me who is also Bart, was found by the Great God Cerrunos.” Bart’s tale ceased quite abruptly, leaving Lex open mouthed and surprised.
“That’s it?” Lex asked, annoyed with himself that he’d become entranced by the story.
“Indeed,” Bart said.
“Seems like there might be some bits of your tale missing. Like how you got here?”
“Well sure, I did some other stuff,” Bart said with a shrug. “I helped start a religious war by desecrating the temples of rival gods. I altered the political landscape of the Bright Isles by assassinating the reigning lord. I even went undercover as a eunuch in the pleasure palaces of Gypt.”
“Huh?” Lex sputtered, his traitor eyes involuntarily drawn to Bart’s girth.
“I know, I have led a boring life. A true waste of potential.”
“Ummm…” Lex muttered.
“This may be the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless,” Vonn said to Lex, who could only nod in agreement.
“Ha. Errat thinks stinky man is very funny.”
“He is a religious zealot and a madman,” Ovrym said. “He will be no help.”
Lex waved a hand at the xydai. Ovrym backed into the gloom of his cell and sat, presumably to work on perfecting his sullenness. Lex looked to Eris for aid but got nothing but empty eyes. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to Bart.
“Great tale Bart, but can you tell me this? Why are you here?”
“Same as you newly met old chum. I have angered the Great God Cerrunos.” The lanky man shook his fist towards the sky, all limbs askew and back stooped. As suddenly as he'd begun, Bart stopped. “I’m only jesting. I love the Great God Cerrunos. He is wise and all powerful.”
Lex stared at Bart for a few seconds. The man reminded him of some odd merging of Errat and Vonn with a heaping helping of John Cleese lunacy on top. “So, what did you do to anger Cerrunos?”
“The Great God Cerrunos,” Bart corrected. “Well truth be told, I cannot remember.” He dug into his beard, extracted some unidentified bit of dried gristle and tossed it into his mouth. “But, I know this, even though I very much deserve my punishment, the Great God Cerrunos still loves me, for he visits me frequently, and when he is too busy, sometimes I go to see him. But only after I have shown the proper respect.” Bart then flagellated himself with an imaginary whip, sighing in pleasure.
“So, buddy, when you say you go to visit Cerrunos, do you mean physically or is it all in your head?”
“The Great God Cerrunos,” Bart corrected again, this time with a bit more heat. He pointed a finger up. “He is watching, always watching.”
Lex followed the finger upwards and wondered if there were unseen eyes on them. It would make sense. This prison did have a panopticon kinda feel. Lex was about to return his attention to the mad Seeker, when a pinpoint of gray light exploded in the empty cell next to Bart.
The dot expanded into a tear and with a puff of sooty black smoke, Raathiel appeared. She fell to the floor in a heap of feathered coils and did not move. Errat, who was the closest of their group to the coatl, rushed to the bars and strained.
“Friend Raathiel looks to be breathing, but she is not awake.”
“That is how we arrived,” Ovrym said. “If the same time-table holds for her that did for you, then she will wake in approximately ten minutes.” The xydai had barely finished speaking when Raathiel stirred. “Evidently she is much stronger than you.”
Lex ignored the adjudicator and breathed easier as Raathiel regained her senses. She tried to activate several of her powers, but the anti-mana field given off by the bleed metal in the cell’s bars remained active and she failed. She coiled herself around the bars, frantically searched the other cells and then stared right at Lex, fear filling her eyes.
“Raathiel, where is Gryph?”
“I do not know,” Raathiel said aloud, in a thick reptilian hiss that sounded almost painful. “The High God has him. I have failed.” She raged against the bars, but her actions did not even
scratch the bars. “I can no longer feel him.”
“Is he dead?” Lex asked. Fear gripped him and his stomach dropped.
“I do not know,” Raathiel said in a desperate hiss, her eyes welling with tears.
A heavy silence hung in the air as each of them faced the full measure of their failure. If Gryph was dead, then there was nothing standing between Aluran and Cerrunos, and the Realms would fall. Fury and anger built inside Lex and he grabbed the bars of his cell and roared up the tower.
“Cerrunos, you coward, release me!”
His voice echoed up and back down the hollow interior of the Archive and then the world became silent once more. For several seconds the reverent silence of a funeral hung in the air, until Bart the Seeker spoke again, his voice angry.
“You have insulted the Great God Cerrunos, and I can no longer abide your presence.” Bart closed his eyes and his body grew fainter, duller, as if the substance of his body was being leached from him. He stepped forward through the bars, his body no more solid than air. Before he could fall, he turned and grabbed ahold of a jutting bit of rock, his body once again solid.
“Aether Magic,” Errat said in surprise.
“Hey!” Lex roared. “Why didn’t you tell us you could do that?”
“I did,” Bart said in confusion. “Just a few minutes ago, before you insulted the Great God Cerrunos. I told you that sometimes I visit him. But you are rude and do not listen.” He turned from Lex, reached up into the shadows and grabbed the end of a rope.
“I am sorry, and you are right. I do not listen. Can you show us how to escape?” Lex asked. “Please?”
“I can, but I do not think I shall. You have hurt my feelings, and those of the Great God Cerrunos. I think I will climb to the top of the tower by myself and make tea for the Great God Cerrunos. He likes tea.” With that Bart began to climb.
Lex panicked inside, but then Errat spoke up. “Hello, friend Bart? I am Errat and I am a big fan of the Great God Cerrunos and also of tea. May I join you?”
