“What do you mean?”
Parrish smiled. “Demons. Gods. They are the same thing. Some have simply not grown strong enough yet. The demons were punished for thinking they could match the gods in strength. They have been imprisoned where they could do no harm. Locked away in order to keep them from causing grief. But here is something to consider. Every cell has a door. Sometimes that door is open enough to let people through.”
“To what end?”
“To let the demons gather their strength.”
Bron shook his head. “You say the demons are like young gods?”
“Exactly so. They are as hatchlings waiting to grow strong enough to fly, only when they finally fly, they will move to throw down the gods who are above us all right now, just as those gods slayed their predecessors.”
Jahda nodded his head, a thoughtful look on his face.
“What makes you think they’ve grown strong enough now?”
“They haven’t, friend Jahda. But they are close.” He placed his thumb and forefinger in a circle that was broken with a hair’s breadth between them. “They are so very close and the wise, the brave, will join them before they overthrow the gods.”
“Even if they do overthrow the gods, Parrish, what good does it do us if the gods have destroyed the world?” Bron shook his head. He had no desire for false hopes as the world neared its end.
“Demons cannot create. That is what makes them weaker than gods. They can alter what they see fit to alter but they cannot create worlds or people. They need followers who are already there. To that end they will fight to save the world from the gods. They will fight alongside us.”
Parrish took a long breath and looked at each of the other kings with him. His eyes focused on Pardume for a moment.
“The gods have grown old. There was a time when they created all that they needed. They answered the prayers of their followers and they served us in much the same way that we serve our people. They were not always kind, but they were fair and they gave as much as they took. That time is long ago. Look back at the legends and you’ll see I’m right. The giants are gone. The beasts of wonder that once roamed across the lands have faded. The gods no longer offer rewards to the faithful.” Parrish shook his head and frowned. “They merely demand more of us. They are old, they are dying, but they cling to their power and fight for every last breath.”
“Where do you get this knowledge, Parrish? From your demon?”
“No.” Parrish shook his head. “From the gods themselves. From the Scryers, and from the Galeans who have read from their books.”
“What have Galeans to do with anything?” Bron shook his head again. He did not trust the Galeans; they were quick to tell lies, and also they used sorcery.
Jahda held up a calming hand. “There are those who say the powers of the Galeans are learned because the gods once shared their secrets.”
It was Bron’s turn to lean back and cross his arms.
“So, the demons plan to take on the gods and take their place as the rulers of the world?”
Parrish nodded. “That is what they have always planned. That is why they exist.”
“Then why don’t the gods just kill them?”
“For the same reason you do not wish to kill your son, Bron. Some day he will take your place upon your crystal throne should we live long enough for that to happen. That is what he is supposed to do. The demons do the same. Some day they take the thrones from their parents.”
“Kings do not kill their predecessors.”
“Speak for yourself, Dog of Kinnett. I took my birthright when the time came.” Parrish spoke softly, but Bron had no doubt that he spoke true. “It is time, my friends, that new gods took the thrones from the bitter, old gods we have served for all our lives. If we are wise and we are careful, this can all work to our advantage.”
Parrish leaned back again.
“First, however, we must make you an acquaintance of a demon.”
Bron said nothing more, but he thought, oh, how he thought about the possibilities.
Chapter Eight
Prayers
Myridia
In her dreams Myridia was back in Nugonghappalur. The sun was shining and the cold summer air caressed her skin as she waded into the ocean to fish. In her dreams Bellari was beside her, his handsome face looking at hers as she studied him and thought about the mating dance that would surely come. That Bellari looked unsettlingly like Garien made perfect sense in her slumbering mind, as such abnormalities often do when sleep has finally come and freed a soul from mortal problems. In those same dreams the world still made sense, and the gods were not angry enough to destroy it, and her body was not crushed under the weight of her responsibilities to the point where most of her muscles ached constantly.
In her dreams, happiness was still a real thing and her people were still alive and free from the wretched bastard that had brought her nothing but suffering with his actions.
Myridia woke to the sound of screams.
It was pure instinct that made her grab for the hilt of her sword.
Her hand found the grip and she pulled it close, rolled to her right and was standing in a heartbeat’s span of time.
And it was only then that she realized she could not see. There was nothing to see, not even a hint of light. Everything was black. Her free hand rubbed at her eyes and nothing changed.
She shook her head. She blinked a dozen times, listened on as the sounds of combat rattled and clashed all around her.
“What in the name of the gods?” Her voice cracked as she turned and tried to focus her attention on the closest noises.
“Whatever makes you think the gods have anything to do with this, my little bird?”
Not long ago that voice would have made her smile, but now the opposite was true. Garien’s words sent ice running through her.
Fear was not enough to make her stop. There was simply too much at stake, and so she thought of where his voice had come from and jabbed hard at that location with her sword, Unwynn.
“Oh, so close!” His voice was loud and filled with joy, and easily a foot from where she had struck. A step forward and to the right to compensate and she tried again. Only the air tasted her steel.
Garien’s hand, colder than ice, touched her face briefly and as she swung she knew it was a mistake. The attack was too wild and she lost her balance. As she tried to compensate, her foot caught a rock or some other obstacle, hard to say in utter darkness, and her momentum did the rest. Her left knee crashed into a stone and if she had not been blind already the searing pain of that blow would have been enough to do it. Still she kept the sword.
“You’re very good at this.” The mocking tone meant nothing. The only important thing was that he spoke from close by and directly above her. Unwynn’s tip caught flesh when she thrust it upward.
Garien hissed and she felt something wet touch her arm. It was as cold as winter water in a small pond, but it was thick. She swept the sword in a short arc and Garien cried out a second time.
Rolling to her feet was not so easy this time. The pain in her knee howled and her leg felt too weak to hold her, but she managed to get into a proper stance again.
No words. She did not have time for them and she needed to hear past the sounds of combat nearby.
The cacophony was there. She recognized Lyraal’s battle cry and thought it was Memni’s scream that came from a distance away. Swords clashed and clattered, amid a storm of voices.
Garien dared touch her again, this time his hand ran along her back. Instead of swinging the sword she stepped back and lashed out with her free hand. As she suspected he was goading her and all she made contact with was the wind.
“It’s not too late, Myridia. You can join us. Join me.” His voice was a mockery. He tried to sound promising and seductive, but she could hear the laughter in his tone, rippling just below the surface. The worst part was that she knew it was a ploy and that it was working. In her soul she wa
s still mourning the man she had known and this thing, this spawn of shadows, was toying with her.
She knew better, but she took a chance and tried to cut the bastard in half.
And missed.
The Night People, she knew, were either demons or the spawn of them. They were infected with the vile power of the very creatures the gods had sent down to the world to punish humans.
“Why are you so angry? I’ve made you an offer, Myridia. We can be together. We can talk as we did before and we can do so much more. All you have to do is join me, come with me. And we can be together. And your people will be safe. No one is dead yet. No one has to die.”
Oh how easy it should have been to strike him, but the voice moved too quickly. It did not circle her, but came from one place and then another with no logic and she could not chase it. The ground was too uneven, as she had already learned the hard way. A misstep and she fell again, and if she fell the wrong way bones might break. Her knee was still weak, still in pain, and warmth was running down her shin.
Myridia moved one leg backward and braced in a better stance for fighting. Her arms trembled with the weight of the sword, at first light and easy and now enough to make her arms weak.
A small noise, little more than the sound of a pebble moving, and this time when she struck out the blade cut deep and Garien cried out in pain.
“Bitch! Ah, damn your eyes, you c–” She turned her body on one foot and whipped the sword around in a hard slash. Cloth and meat parted under the strike.
Garien fell back, and she heard his body hit the ground.
Slowly, carefully, Myridia set her foot back on the ground and braced herself in a proper stance. When he spoke again it was from a few feet away. He had learned that she could sting even without her eyes.
“We are not done yet, Myridia.” His voice sounded pained. She did not dare let herself smile. Demons lied. They were masters of deception. The gods warned of that constantly.
Her arms ached, the muscles in her back shook with effort; still the blade stayed at a guard position and still she listened.
Slow, steady breaths. There was nothing to be done with the sound of her heart beating too fast.
Lyraal let out a scream of rage and not far away something shattered.
“I will have you.” The voice came from inches away and yet when she lashed out with her arm, there was nothing,
“You will be mine.” Again, this time the breath ran across her face and her left earlobe. She drove in that direction with her body and cursed as the rock near her foot caught her toes and twisted her leg.
Finally she spoke, a small prayer to her gods. “I would serve you, my lords. For as long as you need me, I would serve you, but now I need your help.”
She moved at the sound of someone panting, and though she managed to avoid the worst of it, Garien’s carving blade cut across her ribs. It wasn’t the blade she used, but the hilt of her sword that crashed into hard bone and soft flesh.
Garien cursed again and fell. Myridia thrust with the point of the sword and Unwynn cut into him again.
“How do you do that? You’re fucking blind!”
Another thrust, and another kiss of the point into the bastard’s flesh. Garien hissed and scrambled away, forgetting his attempts at stealth.
“Leave now, go far away and I will let you be.” Her words were false bravado. Still, she knew she had hurt the demon-pet.
Whatever it was he threw smashed onto her just above her right eye and it was her turn to cry out. She still saw nothing, but she felt blood run down her face and into her open, blinded eye.
The fighting continued. The screams went on, pain and fury and occasionally the maddening laughter of the Night People.
Her face ached, her leg throbbed, and her muscles twitched and threatened rebellion.
One breath, barely a sigh, and again she stabbed. A miss. Again she stabbed, to the left of where she had thrust before, and this time Garien cried out again. Rather than pull back she lunged and felt the sword drive deep. There was resistance, of course, but Unwynn was sharp and her arms were strong and her weight was enough to aid in the thrust.
Garien hit the ground. She heard him fall and roll and hiss his agony into the air.
Not far away her sister cried out, a sound she had heard many times in her life, but this was different. This was a long howl of pain. She heard it, but she could not see and could not hope to reach that far without injuring herself.
Garien whimpered and the sword found him again. The flat of the blade struck him and she pushed, slapping him across his body.
Myridia said, “Lift the shadows or die.”
Garien laughed, but it was a weak sound. “I do not control the shadows, little bird.”
Rather than listen, she struck, stabbing into him with the point again. He stopped laughing and groaned as he tried to break away.
No. She would not have it. Myridia stabbed again and missed again, and found flesh. He was wounded and could not flee as quickly as he wanted.
“I’ll see you dead, bitch!”
The blade moved to the sound of his voice and she felt flesh part and the tip slice across bone. She could not see, but supposed it was his pretty face she carved into by the way Unwynn danced.
Garien wept and despite herself, Myridia smiled.
How far her prayers had to go she could not say, but it seemed they were answered at last. The darkness broke apart and through a gray fog she could see the ruin of Garien’s pretty face and his bloodied form. He was trying to stand and holding his hand over his left eye.
No words for him. Myridia stepped forward and let out a whooping battle cry. Unwynn cut deep, hacking his left arm away from the rest of his body and cutting into his ribs before she wrenched it free.
Garien staggered away, coughing blood.
The darkness was still there, but not as complete as it had been. She looked carefully as she chased after her onetime companion. It was the same everywhere she looked, the shadows clung to her followers like heavy spider webs, only giving up their positions reluctantly. The gods fought for them, the demons fought against, and neither truly seemed to hold proper sway but at least there was enough light to see.
Lyraal cut her target in half. The sword she carried dripped with gore and she stepped past the closest enemy with a snarl and moved toward the next. Myridia followed her example and took five steps toward the nearest of the Night People. He was a giant, and in a time not so long ago they had shared a meal and laughed together despite the way the world was failing.
Ian, the strongman, slapped her back with one savage blow. He did not taunt as Garien had, he did not speak at all; instead he simply attacked. Myridia’s knees wobbled and then gave out as she hit the ground.
Before she could rise, a booted foot stomped down on the hand holding Unwynn. She gasped and let her weapon go as the heel crushed her hand harder.
“There we go.” Garien’s voice once again had its previous mirth. “That’s better.”
She looked toward him and saw his smile as he loomed far above her. Even as she looked, however, he was fading into darkness again.
“What is happening? What did you do?”
“I wanted to see your smile. So I gave you a lie. Silly bird. Your gods don’t care about you. They didn’t clear your eyes. I did. The shadows belong to us, the night is our slave. I only took it away for a moment, so you could see your friends before we kill them all.”
“No!” She tried to fight, to pull her hand free, but Garien’s heel crushed down all the harder and two of her fingers flared into explosions of pain.
“Welcome back to the darkness. All you have to do is join us and this all goes away.”
“Liar! You follow demons, all you know is lies.”
“Say as you will.” Her eyes were once again useless, and then Garien pressed down again, until another finger snapped. “Tell me, Myridia, where are your gods now?”
Interlude: Lowra-Plim
> The gods, it is said, can be fickle. Some prayers they hear and others they choose to ignore. Some prayers are not to their liking and others find them if not kind at least sympathetic.
Their servants, the Grakhul, asked for help and they did not seem to notice. After a time, they changed their minds.
They gave their orders.
Lowra-Plim heard the commands of the gods and obeyed.
It shook the ice and snow away and rose from its place at the top of the mountain. Wings spread and a summoned wind lifted it into the air.
Countless eyes roamed the landscape and saw the problem. Tainted humans had wandered into and then out of a demon hive. Whatever they had been, they were no longer.
A shift of the body and Lowra-Plim dropped from the sky, catching the wind and directing its fall from the heights. From far away Dowru-Thist called out to say it was coming as quickly as it could, but Lowra-Plim felt no need to wait.
The shadow forms were winning their battle against the Grakhul. How could they not? They created darkness and blinded their enemies. It could not say if they deliberately left the pale women alive but suspected the answer was yes. More meat to taint and offer to the demon that created them. The gods would hear of this and likely expect something to be done about it.
Lowra-Plim called the wind to stop its descent, and the air blasted the area around it, sending snow, dirt and small stones skittering across the frozen ground. The Grakhul struggled on, but many of the shadow people stopped and turned to see the interloper.
They did not seem impressed.
“Go back to your masters. Leave here and leave these people.”
One of the shadow people spoke. “We seek these people. They are to join us.”
“They do not want to.” Lowra-Plim stepped closer to the tall shape.
The shadow-thing stepped closer as well, a sword held in its hand. Like the body, the sword flicked and warped as if being cast against a dozen different surfaces, stretching and adjusting as shadows do.
Fallen Gods Page 19
