by Sam Bowring
Bel could not believe what he was seeing. Fahren had said Querrus had been sent off on some errand!
That did not happen. It is some trick, some lie.
We are close enough now that you would sense if I was lying. And while we’re taking a look at Fahren, let us glimpse one possible future . . .
The battle raged across the Grass Ocean, just as it had been doing when Bel had left it – except that he saw himself still there, fighting wave upon wave of attackers. Meanwhile Losara and his mages were gaining ground, Kainordans falling in their hundreds, the tide turning vastly against them. Fahren blasted a Graka from the air and spun, desperately seeking Bel. Bel, lost in his frenzy, did not notice Fahren approaching. They were surrounded by the enemy, closing on them like a giant fist. The light was losing.
This is not how it happened.
But if it was, said Losara, then what would Fahren do, I wonder?
Fahren saw Losara looming, his shadow growing larger up the funnel of a hurricane that blasted aside lightfists like leaves.
‘Blade Bel!’ he called, but Bel did not turn, merely howled as he put his sword through another foe. Fahren paused, tears in his eyes – then he shot a light bolt into Bel’s neck. Bel was flung flat on his face and Losara reeled, the hurricane unspooling as both of them died together.
You see, said Losara. Even your greatest advocate could potentially betray you.
He had no other choice, said Bel dully.
Perhaps if your leaders had implemented conscription, your army would not have been overwhelmed.
We have NOT been overwhelmed. This is but conjecture.
It is an outcome that Fahren has considered. Do not fool yourself – if it came to this, he would kill you if it meant killing me also. Better to return to balance than be defeated.
Would Fahren, as good as any grandfather, really do such a thing? But then he was also the Throne, and as such had to make difficult decisions.
Perhaps I would not blame him, said Bel, though he was thankful the theory had not been tested.
This is not about blame. It is about you supposing to know the difference between good and evil, and attributing them in a broad sweep to entire lands, when in fact they are hard enough to discover in individuals, and certainly have little to do with the conflict between us.
What do you call this, then?
Lalenda rose from hiding to fly out and attack Jaya in the stream.
How can you profess not to know evil, and yet love one such as her?
Losara watched his little pixie, her face a mask of rage, as she struggled to slash at Jaya.
She is not evil, he said sadly. She is driven to hate by love, for she fears the light will take me away.
So she directs a malicious attack on a woman who never did her any harm?
She fears that once you and I combine, we will love Jaya and not her. I have tried to reason with her, but passion and logic do not share a bed.
Oh, I don’t know. She has reason for concern.
Why? You did not choose Jaya, nor she you. You were assigned to each other by some echo of ancient magic, love not earned, but arbitrary. Look at this . . .
Bel and Jaya sat together on the ridge, watching Hiza and Fazel collecting firewood while Gellan healed M’Meska. Bel had just learned that Fazel would obey him because of his soul’s shared connection to Skygrip Castle.
‘It was enough,’ said Bel, ‘when I realised that Losara’s life is tied to my own. And now this.’ He turned to her. ‘Not seeing some slick of shadows under my skin, I hope?’
‘Would it matter?’ she said, sounding more contemplative than reassuring.
Would it matter? asked Losara. Would it matter if her man was on the side of shadow or light, when she has no choice but to love him?
Do not belittle us, Losara. Look at her – how beautiful she is, how strong, how cheeky . . . the soul kiss of the Sprites is not arbitrary, and if you had any understanding you would not say so. It is a recognition of compatibility, not the creation of it – and if I was not a Sprite, I would love her anyway. Even you cannot deny that you have been curious about her. You even saved her from the Mireforms against the possibility that losing her would one day be your anguish.
Losara remembered, and Bel was right.
As for you, said Bel, and your woman, if we are examining such things . . .
Losara and Lalenda were in his quarters in Skygrip, making love. She moaned as he caressed her, her wings flat beneath her, the tips fluttering. He started to fall to shadow, streams of it curling to encircle her, to hold her fully in his grasp, running over every part of her . . . into her.
For a moment Bel found the scene alluring, but he steeled himself to the point he was making. Look at this aberrance, he said derisively. You call yourself a man, yet this is how you show it? How does this finish, Losara? With a squirt of squid ink?
He willed them into another memory. The great green dragon Olakanzar dozed as he soared over the land, nothing above but twinkling stars. Across his back, between his spines, ran a network of ropes that kept Bel and Jaya secure. Bel held on fast as she scrambled to sit astride him.
Look at us, said Bel. Now that is something. How many couples can say they made love atop a dragon?
There, chuckled Losara. You did it so you can say you did, for the sake of vanity.
You diagnose one symptom, and claim it the single motivation?
Pride and vanity ripple through you, Bel – it cannot be denied.
Bel walked through the streets of Kadass with Jaya. It was the Throne Naphur’s funeral day, and his hair was shining its newly revealed blue. Around him people stared, worried and frightened.
It became so important the world knew who you were that it eclipsed all else – you did not think of the effects on the populace, of the fact that the only blue-haired man they knew of had just murdered their Throne. After years of hiding, pride finally got the better of you, and robbed you of the most basic wisdom. And here . . .
Arkus stood before Bel and Fahren in a circle of light, while the rest of the world faded around them. The Sun God had come to claim the weaver Iassia, but also to deliver a message to Bel.
‘If Bel and Losara return through the gateway of the Stone, to emerge as the individual soul they once were, we will have won.’
‘How?’ asked Bel.
‘Because you are stronger than Losara,’ said Arkus.
You accept his words so easily, observed Losara. You want to believe them, so you do. Vanity prevents otherwise, but I suppose you can be excused when your god presents his fervent hopes as truth – perhaps he is as vain as you?
While the Dark Gods are faultless?
I would not say that.
Even Battu, supposed to be their most loyal servant, hated them so much he turned against them. And now he has returned to them, to be punished for all time.
While Arkus is so merciful? He would rather torment Iassia, his own creation, than simply deconstruct him. And he punished Battu as well, even though the man risked everything to help him – shall we see if the same is true of the Dark Gods?
Battu’s soul drifted from his body, even as Tyrellan noticed his new butterfly. The goblin’s rage was too great for a simple scowl or growl; instead he fell still, watching the creature that was Battu’s legacy. Meanwhile Battu journeyed on through the veil of the world and out across an endless sea, dark beneath stormy clouds.
I don’t think I should be here, said Bel.
Do not fear, said Losara. We are but observers.
I am not afraid, bristled Bel, wondering if either one of them believed him.
Battu struggled as he raced over the waves, but there was nothing he could do to halt his passage. From out of the sea a great cauldron rose, water frothing against its sides.
Barnacles grew richly along the lower half, and strange sucking things, and all manner of stationary sea creatures. Shapes loomed out of the depths – the twins Mokan and Mer, and Elsara the lionfish, Chirruk the watcher, and finally the serpent Lampet and the great Assedrynn, his wide mouth brimming with whiskers. Before them, Battu came to a floating stop.
‘Battu,’ rumbled Assedrynn, ‘you have defied us. Attacked the light when we said to rest, failed to deliver the suspended dead, sought to kill who you were charged to protect, sought indeed to end us.’
Lampet coiled forward, his luminescent eyes flashing from green to red. ‘You were not a good choice,’ he hissed.
‘We had no other!’ wailed Mokan.
‘He killed Raker!’ shrilled Mer.
‘None to replace him!’
‘No more offerings across the sea!’
‘Caretaker, we named you,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Yet no care was taken.’
‘Am I to be punished?’ said Battu, his voice rising as he tried to contain his fear. ‘I should not be blamed – it was you who chose me!’
Assedrynn gurgled, the twins gave a long, low moan, and Battu quailed.
‘What good in punishment?’ said Assedrynn. ‘You think we wish to concern ourselves with you any longer, little soul?’
‘Destroy you,’ said Lampet, and Chirruk clicked his immense lobster claws. Battu glanced between them, terror writ plain on his ghostly face.
‘You can destroy souls?’ he whispered.
‘We are the gods,’ said Assedrynn. ‘We can do what we please.’
Elsara, whose glassy eyes had remained half submerged in the waves until now, rose with her spines standing up strong. ‘Enough of this,’ she said in a voice like metal grinding.
Assedrynn’s eyes rolled to her slowly . . . then back to Battu.
‘You,’ he said, ‘will enter the Well.’
Battu looked up. ‘What?’ and then, ‘my lord,’ he added.
‘All experiences enter the collective,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Nothing is wasted, whether they be lives well lived, or lessons in the perils of avarice.’
‘But . . . but . . . it is said that those who betray the Dark Gods will be punished for all time!’
‘Of course it is said,’ hissed Lampet. ‘You think we want you running about doing whatever you wish, with no thought for those who govern your souls? We put that about. But now you are here.’
‘Now you are here,’ echoed Assedrynn. ‘And perhaps you will make a good shark, next time.’
Battu gave a cry of surprise as he was suddenly sped towards the Well. He passed through the side, and was gone.
Assedrynn’s gaze came to rest on Bel and Losara.
You said they couldn’t see us!
I merely said we are observers.
In a panic Bel took over, forcing their retreat, returning them to the first memory he could seize on as a means of escape . . . and shouts rang out over the fading sea, the waves replaced by warring soldiers.
I don’t understand.
It’s called mercy, Bel. Ah, here I am.
Losara of the recent past appeared out of the shadows, too late to save Roma from a violet vortex.
Let us both be me in this memory.
It was time.
Time to try the idea that scared his Lalenda so, the idea he had journeyed in disguise with Bel to explore. During that period he had come to know his other as best he could, to try to predict what might really happen if they joined each other through the Stone.
He took a deep breath, and was more afraid than he had ever been.
Along the row of lightfists he faced, many pairs of hands sprang forth emanating light. Waves of it cascaded towards him, meshing together into a sphere. He went on to play a little game with them, letting them think that they had encased him, when really he stood apart from an illusion of himself. As the sphere formed, it broke his connection to his doppelganger, which faded. Fahren and Battu started casting shockwaves of Old Magic at him, and he ducked and wove, falling to shadow and re-forming in new places. Finally they hit him, and he did not have to pretend that the blow stunned him. Foreign magic shook him to the core, and he fell. The light grew around him again, and soon the sphere was complete. He pushed against it so Fahren would know he did, but not hard enough to escape, even though he could have done so if he’d wished.
He was exactly where he wanted to be.
Why? thundered Bel. Why did you allow yourself to be caught?
You say I think too much? Well, I have thought long and hard about this, Bel – about what would happen if we entered the Stone.
Bel felt parts of him swirling away, into the single soul that spun between what remained of their individual selves.
What did you decide?
That you’re a simple creature, Bel . . . a collection of surface and base motivations, whom I find lacking. You have never worked things out for yourself, driven instead by unquestioning focus and sharp aggression. Nevertheless I desire these qualities, for no longer can I shrink from the necessary bloodshed, no longer can I meander when I need to take action. These qualities you will provide me with, to ensure I meet my true potential.
But . . . but . . .
Even here you fight me, even though you have tasted what is meant to be. You have revelled in my power, lusted for my woman, seen that my gods are just, and yet you fight on because that’s what you do. You are too full of pride to give up, even though you are beginning to understand that I speak the truth, and that it is really yourself you fight.
More of them went into the swirl, a black hole pulling in the last orbiting moons.
One final thought kept Bel able to maintain a sense of self. What of the path? he cried. It guided me through battles, kept me safe from dragons, urged me to walk into the sphere of light and stand with you as they cast the spell that brought us together . . .
What of it?
I thought it was fate’s threads, guiding me to victory!
Losara chuckled. It was.
The noise in Bel’s mind grew louder as he broke to pieces, unable to hold on.
Do not fight any longer, Bel, and I shall promise you something.
What?
All you ever really cared about was winning, my friend. Well – and there was a surge of elation as Bel shared the realisation . . . no, not shared, for they were no longer apart – you can.
Emergence
‘Stand back!’ shouted Corlas. ‘Give him space!’
The others backed off as the gateway continued to expand. A body was forming – a man, his long, curly blue hair swept about by unknown forces. He spilled forward suddenly into the clearing, onto his hands and knees, his hair falling to obscure his downcast face. Behind him, the gateway snapped closed.
Nobody dared breathe. The man reached down with a finger to scratch at the clearing floor, as if seeing earth for the first time. His arms were muscular, but they did not have the bulge of Bel, or the slightness of Losara. A tiny crumb of dirt caught in his fingernails, and he stared as if unsure what to make of it.
‘Can it be . . .’ he whispered.
‘No,’ whispered Lalenda. She was staring at his hands – human hands, no trace of shadow. She clutched her own hands to her chest as hairline cracks began to split her heart.
Quietly, surreptitiously, Tyrellan pulled a dagger from his belt.
‘Bel?’ said Fahren, not yet daring to edge forward. Jaya began to, taking hesitant steps – but it was Corlas who felt none of their fear.
‘Boy?’ he asked, kneeling beside the figure, putting a hand upon his back. ‘Are you returned, boy? Are you all right? Come, speak to your worried old man.’
The man looked up and, as the cocoon of his hair fell back, he revealed a pitch-black gaze. Even Corlas falt
ered at that, withdrawing his touch.
The man frowned at him. His face had the smooth-featured boyishness of Losara, but there was something of Bel there too. ‘Father?’ he said, and lurched up to fling his arms around Corlas. Corlas, surprised, rocked backwards, but at the same time held on tight. Forcefully he rearranged his embrace, clutching his son to him, his eyes streaming with tears. Charla went to be with them, grinning at her husband’s happiness, placing a hand on Corlas’s shoulder as he wept.
‘My son, Charla,’ said Corlas.
‘I see, my love. I see.’
The man pulled free, and blinked around at all of them: Fahren, fingers twitching, ready for the worst . . . Tyrellan, dagger twisting idly in his grip . . . Jaya, seemingly caught between running to him and running away . . . Lalenda, her hand unclenching from her breast as she stared into his dark eyes . . .
‘Who are you?’ said Fahren.
‘The both of us,’ he said. He raised a hand to his brow, pressed his fingers to his temple and thought deeply for a moment. ‘But I think you had best call me . . . Losara.’
Lalenda gave a cry and ran to him, and he rose from the ground to meet her. As she clutched him, his eyes came over her to rest on Jaya. Hers were open wide and blinking quickly, and her mouth was hanging open in unspoken question.
‘You can still feel it?’ he said to her. ‘Our connection endures, Jaya.’
Lalenda pulled back, her claws now pricking his sides. ‘What?’
He laughed as he smoothed tangled hair from her eyes. ‘It does not exist at the expense of what we share, flutterbug. But there’s no denying it is still there.’
Lalenda glanced at Jaya uncertainly.
‘But your hands,’ said Fahren desperately. ‘How can you be Losara?’
The man held up a hand, turning it for inspection. ‘Bel was always good with his hands,’ he said. ‘It was something we agreed to keep.’ He smiled then, a mischievous smile that Fahren remembered well from another face. ‘A warrior needs his hands, Fahren.’ He wiggled the finger that had been missing.
