“Even Dirge Meilan is not worth this price,” Joshua said as he looked up. Tears brimmed in his eyes. His voice was hoarse and full of pain. His cheeks were reddened with emotion and the snail trails of tears. “I watched her die. I watched her put my life, and the lives of everyone, before her own. I watched her disemboweled form seize Manaka… But to expend enough power to destroy the universe to bring her back? Dirge would not want that. It would be better to let her go, Warthor.”
Warthor shook his head. “If it were only that simple my friend. I have spoken with Zef and he agrees. The Lords of Death will not allow her to enter Heaven while Mattoc is still bound to her, and she will not leave him. She cannot stay in Hell. Already, Manaka’s allies in hell have attacked her. They will unmake her given enough time.”
Another shiver rippled down my body. I looked down at the spot where Mattoc was bound to me. I just recently learned why he was here with me, of the deal Dirge made with Rhapsody to save both of them. I knew that both of them were trapped in hell together and that Mattoc wouldn’t talk about it. Was this why Warthor tried to bring me back? Was all that garbage about stopping Manaka, just that? Garbage?
Was that the real reason he moved heaven and earth, literally? Was it because Dirge was trapped in hell and was too damn stubborn to leave her friend behind? Had that stubbornness, that devotion to Mattoc caused Warthor to risk unmaking the world?
Mitsoumi screamed and tore forward. His arm wrenched violently as he moved with the magic-charged strength of a Dioscuri. Sinew and bone snapped, his ravaged skin gave way, and blood spurted from his arm as his sword flashed through the air. The blade dug deeply into Warthor’s side and blood rained down on him, warm and wet. Mitsoumi called on his power and on the power of blood. That was his specialty, blood magic. He could weave tremendous spells with just a drop of his opponent’s blood and now he was covered in Warthor’s.
“Blacken all reality,” he cried. “Gram!”
Warthor faltered as Mitsoumi’s sword, Gram, exploded, sending waves of crimson shrapnel through Warthor’s body. Blood dripped from Warthor’s side, burning white hot and caustic in his veins. Warthor fell to his knees, his hands balled into fists as waves of pain wracked his body.
Warthor gritted his teeth, and his magic lashed out. I staggered under the enormity of it, under the sheer force Warthor was calling down. It quenched Mitsoumi’s power like a match in a thunderstorm and sent him tumbling, his useless arm tearing free of his body. Blood and bits of bone fountained outward in a spray that fast froze on the icy terrain.
“Remember this day well, Mitsoumi,” Warthor coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “This is the day you injured the Invincible Warthor Ein.”
“Sometimes, Warthor, you just have to let the dead stay dead,” Joshua said. His face was solemn as he watched Warthor regain his feet. “I can’t let you unmake the world just to bring Dirge back. It isn’t what she’d want.”
Blood dripped from between Warthor’s teeth as his fevered eyes met Joshua’s eyes. “Friend,” Warthor said, his tongue snaking out to lick his own blood off his lips. “If I release my full power, you may survive, but I guarantee Mitsoumi will not. Make your choice now.”
“You have already made my choice for me,” Joshua said as he knelt down by Mitsoumi and placed his hand over the wounded shoulder. His hand flashed with heat, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. “Call me friend no longer, Warthor. After this, I will find you in a quiet place, and I will kill you.”
“Very well.” Just like that, Warthor Ein was gone.
“He’s going to kill Masataka and activate the Diadem,” Mitsoumi wheezed, “Joshua… you must… stop him. I don’t… matter.”
“I’m sorry, Mitsoumi, but I cannot sacrifice you too.” Joshua shook his head. “I just can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” Mitsoumi struggled against Joshua’s grip. “You must.”
Chapter 28
The scene changed, leaving us standing just inside Zef’s house on the hill. Where normally there was the bustling of travelers, the grumbling of guards in the rain swept night and the lights of some impromptu party, there was none. Blood-strewn bodies filled the floors and bloody handprints covered the walls. Mitsoumi and Joshua walked forward, and I followed along behind them, mouth agape. It looked like someone came through the place with a wrecking ball made of razorblades and hatred.
In the master room, Zef, the Black Prince, was pinned to his chair by his own long masamune. Zef smiled when we entered and Joshua rushed toward him. Zef waved him off. “Don’t bother, Joshua. This is nothing more than a small bother, a terrible trifle so insignificant in the vast expanse of time that it was hardly to be noticed,” he said.
“Was this all done by Warthor?” Mitsoumi’s words surprised me almost more than the scene because they just sort of tumbled out of his mouth.
“No. That would be wrong to say. It would be more correct to say this was perpetrated by Warthor Ein,” Zef replied.
“Ah,” Mitsoumi said.
Zef smiled, pulled the sword free from his body and stood, leaning heavily on it. “Come, let us take a journey young Mitsoumi.” He extended his hand and Joshua watched as Mitsoumi moved to follow the old man to a staircase.
“Down there is where you will find the one thing you have been wondering about for a very long time,” Zef said with a smile. “Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to proceed further, Joshua.” He waved the sword at the demon. “You understand?”
Joshua’s face hardened. “You’re going to let Warthor do this? Let him unleash the Diadem’s power?”
Zef’s shrugged and said, “I’m going to let destiny play its hand. I wonder if fate will call Warthor’s bluff.”
“Warthor’s bluff? What’s the bluff?” Joshua asked as Mitsoumi vanished down the stairs.
Zef laughed. “That if they don’t return Dirge to the living plane, he is going to shatter the gates of hell themselves and allow its denizens free reign to the living world.”
“What do you mean?” Joshua asked.
“Warthor doesn’t intend to use the Diadem. He wants to force the powers above to stop him. The Revenant’s Diadem is an item crafted through the sacrifice of souls. In recorded history, not a single one has ever been activated due to the vast amount of souls necessary to empower one.” Zef’s voice was a statue of calm. “Warthor won’t ever get the power to use it.”
“So what you’re saying is that even if Warthor absorbed every soul in existence, he won’t have enough for it to matter?” Joshua asked.
“Correct.”
“So what’s his game?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Zef smiled and poked Joshua in the chest.
The room changed so minutely that at first I almost didn’t realize that we were watching a scene play out in front of them in the same room.
“If too many souls are pulled out of the flowing river of birth and death, it could cause all of existence to evaporate. Even then, there still wouldn’t be enough power to bring her back.” Warthor’s voice carried a sullen almost petulant edge to it.
“My dear Warthor Ein,” Zef said as he looked up from his chair and smiled. “I have told you that over and over. Why does it surprise you now? Am I known for lying?”
“I have poured every ounce of my being into this.” Warthor held up the Diadem. “All of my sweat, all of my friendships have been lost to bring her back. It will not be for nothing. Now you will help me.”
Zef sighed and shook his head. “I will do no such thing. I merely take the dead. I am not responsible once they cross the bridge. I have told you this so many times, I have lost count.”
“My dearest friend,” Warthor said as he bowed deeply. “I will empower the Diadem. I don’t care if it annihilates all existence. It may not have the power to bring one girl back to life, but it has the power to tear open the gates of hell. I can bring her back that way.” Warthor reached out and grabbed Zef by the shoulder and shook him.
>
“I will do this, and unless you convince the others to bring her back, I will annihilate all existence. I will set this thing to absorb everything. I will use that power to obliterate all the realms until I can reach into hell and tear the gates down. I will break those walls down, and I will step foot onto the plains of hell themselves if I have to. I will slaughter all the demons of hell and all the angels on high. I will leave such a trail of death in my wake, you will wish you’d just brought her back.”
A silence settled over the room, so absolute in its entirety that it was very nearly a living thing. The silence was born in that moment. This was more than a threat. This was truth, and once it was spoken, it could not be unspoken. This truth could no longer be undone. It was as synonymous with fate as it could get.
Zef took a step forward and covered his hand with his mouth as if shielding the words from view. “Have you found a suitable host?” Zef’s voice was so soft that it was almost a whisper.
“Yes… there is a suitable host.”
Chapter 29
The scene melted together swirling into a mishmash of color and shapes before unfurling to reveal the great caverns beneath the house on the hill. The room sparkled like a thousand uncut rubies, and water the color of rust fell from stalactites like bleeding tears.
“Masataka!” Mitsoumi screamed and ran forward into the crimson waters as they gushed from the crystalline fountain. His brother lay in the center of a pool of scarlet. Black fog swirled and writhed around Masataka’s body like a sentient being. Atop Masataka’s head was a diadem of polished white gold encrusted with seven gemstones of different colors. One of the seven chakras was carved into each of the crystals.
“Brother?” Masataka reached up toward Mitsoumi and touched his face. Masataka’s wrist was slit from the hand to the elbow. Blood poured from the wound staining Mitsoumi’s skin and clothing.
“I thought you were dead,” Mitsoumi said and tears filled his eyes.
“I thought I was dead, too,” Masataka whispered.
“I’m sorry, Mitsoumi.” Warthor’s voice caused Mitsoumi to turn around abruptly, still holding his brother tightly with his good arm. Warthor was sitting on the ground with his face in his hands. He got to his feet so slowly it was like movement pained him.
“Warthor. Don’t say you are sorry to me ever again. Don’t say anything to me at all, especially if what you want to say next is ‘it wasn’t supposed to be this way.’” Mitsoumi stood, still holding his brother’s bleeding body. Blood flowed down onto his clothing, soaking him with its slick heat.
“Then I shall say nothing, because no matter how much you hate me, the door has been opened already. The fates will be able to do nothing but listen to my call. They will have to bring back Dirge or be forced to release hell on earth,” Warthor said. Warthor shook his head and looked heavenward. He spread his hands and gestured around himself. “No one has ever put them in their place. No one has stepped up and said, ‘I will undo everything unless you stop screwing with me.’ I am going to be that someone. They will bend to my will.”
“Or we will all die,” Mitsoumi said.
“Or we will all die,” Warthor replied. “That is always a possibility.”
“A possibility? Are you kidding me? You don’t think that the fates, the gods, or whoever you’re messing around with will end our world because they regard you as an ant who can’t threaten them? You don’t think they’ll sit back and say ‘have at it you idiot. See if we care?’ You are imposing human rationality upon things that are so alien to us we can’t possibly understand them!” Mitsoumi screamed.
“The real tragedy,” Warthor said, his voice punctuating the silence, “would be if the deaths of all our loved ones were in vain because we were too short-sighted to properly gauge our opponents. It isn’t like this is normal we’re dealing with. Maybe, just maybe, the fates will bend.”
“I…” Mitsoumi’s words were cut off by a resounding crack. The room began to shake, writhing beneath my feet like a live serpent. It knocked Mitsoumi from his feet, and he collapsed into the pool on top of his brother. White light exploded from Masataka’s body as Mitsoumi struggled to scramble backward out of the pool with his brother’s body in tow.
Masataka was babbling incoherently. The diadem atop his head was glowing so brightly that it was nearly blinding. Mitsoumi took a deep breath and pushed off the ground with his legs, his muscles straining under the effort. His boots slipped in the blood soaked earth, and he tumbled face first into the murk.
In the center of the pool, a whirling hurricane of white light swirled to life, sucking in everything and anything. Sheets of rock broke free from the ceiling, from the walls, from everywhere and flew toward it in a storm of debris.
Masataka’s eyes flashed open as he squirmed and wriggled against Mitsoumi’s grip, suddenly desperate to break free.
“You have to let him go, Mitsoumi.” Warthor’s voice seemed so far away that I barely heard it. Mitsoumi must have heard though because he closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he released his brother. Masataka leapt forward as the Diadem started to crumble. His wounds burst open as he reached the hurricane. He turned and smiled.
Light exploded outward from the whirlwind, flinging Mitsoumi backward against the walls. Beside him Warthor lay crumpled into a bloody heap on the floor, his body pinned beneath a giant stalactite. Blood flooded from his wounds, spiraling toward the whirlwind like a macabre sandstorm. The sky above them split open and white light poured in, bathing everything in a grotesque crimson hue.
Silence.
It was as if the whole world fell away into the abyss. There was no sound. There was nothing but white light. Masataka’s hand reached up and touched the Diadem against his forehead.
It was over. The silence of it rang through the air like a gunshot.
“No… It can’t be,” Mitsoumi cried, rushing toward his brother and sweeping him into his arms. “You’re alive.”
Masataka’s face was a mask of blood. His flesh was burned to pinkish scar tissue where the diadem sat. Even still Masataka smiled. “She’s alive, brother. I felt her come back. I felt Dirge come back to us.”
Chapter 30
“And what’s the point of showing me that? To make me feel guilty?” I screamed as the scene fled and I was left staring into Zef’s stupidly smug face.
“You must understand the stakes involved in bringing you back. You think people do what they did lightly?” Zef’s voice was a raging monsoon. I clapped my hands over my ears to drown it out, but it still pealed like a church bell in my head.
I knew it wasn’t easy. I knew they gave up pieces of their lives to bring me back. But still, I wasn’t quite sure what they were going for. It wasn’t about me at all. It was about Dirge and what Zef showed me made it even clearer.
I was not here because anyone wanted me. I was here because they wanted Dirge back. Deep inside myself, I’d always known that, and now, now, I knew without a doubt it was the truth. Hell, Masataka said as much to me when we were face to face. I was not Dirge, and he wanted nothing to do with me. Still, my father and mother had been able to get past that. They had raised me as their own, never once hinting I’d replaced their child. Caleb, despite all his faults, had done his best by me until I’d embarrassed him. And I knew, despite that, he’d get over it. Because he cared about me. So why was I throwing a pity party about being the reincarnation of one of the greatest Dioscuri who had ever lived?
“You forget I can see your thoughts,” my father’s voice said. Above me the light shifted into a bluer shade. The moonlight above me dripped with indigo. “You don’t need to speak. It’s unnecessary.”
The figure of my father stepped onto the rooftop in front of me. He stood there, eyes blazing like blue fire, and regarded me for a long time, head cocked to the side. He looked up at the moon and seemed to be trying to breathe it in. “My dear brother and sisters, you forget that this is my place. You have no power here.” He glanced at Zef and the
Black Prince, quite simply, vanished.
The Blue Prince must have moved, even though I didn’t see it. One minute he was across the roof staring at me, the next he was looming over me. The scarred face of my father was only inches from mine. It was twisted with insanity. My cool, calm father, a rock among men, was now a gushing fountain of crazy.
“Why have you come here? Did you mean to trade yourself for your father?” The Blue Prince, still in my father’s body, licked his lips and reached his hand out. His fingers brushed my face, and the coolness of his touch sent shivers down my spine. He held up his other hand, and I could see that it was already starting to burn away. Bits of flesh were already starting to flake off. He’s barely inhabited my father for a week, and his body was already going to ashes.
“N-no,” I stammered, and for some reason, my knees started shaking. I gulped and took a step back. I wanted to shrug away his caress, but I couldn’t.
“Tell me, little girl, tell me why you have come here? Are you looking for more memories? Are you looking for something else?” he asked as he turned and swung his arms in a wide arc.
I took another step back, but even as I did so, he was upon me. His hand wrapped itself around my throat and held me aloft so quickly, I didn’t even have time to register it happening. I reached up, grabbing his wrist with both hands, my feet kicking wildly, but not making any kind of contact. Very slowly, almost deliberately he stepped forward until I was hanging over the edge of the building.
“If I was to say there were two kinds of people, I’d be about half right, because at one time, there were two kinds of people. There were us and them. Now it’s different. It’s me and you and them.” My father smiled at me and licked his lips. There was a strange gleam in his eye that I really didn’t like.
The Hatter is Mad: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Lillim Callina Chronicles Book 2) Page 14
