She’d sensed Jason’s change before it happened, like a tsunami of invisible energy. As it rolled over him, Jason’s expression and posture fell away and the Incarnation of War melded into his place. And he grew. Shadows fled from his presence. The scarlet light burning from his Ring was more than illumination – it was the clang of steel on steel, of warriors screaming battle cries, and of soldiers dying on battlefields thousands of years ago.
His soldiers – versions of him called into being as she stared slack mouthed – charged. They at least retained human size. But there were so many! She scrabbled for the ashur. Without the spiritual cloak Darneth had provided, she felt naked.
The soldiers crashed into Raul. He deflected three attacks in a stunning display of swordsmanship. One duplicate fell, and hazed away in a swirl of sparks. But at a cost. A red-hot blade sliced across Raul’s shoulder, a mace cracked his forearm, and a dagger protruded from his stomach, its hilt still burning with War’s flame. Raul screamed, staggering.
“No! Stop!” Kate yelled. Her voice was a ring of violet radiance that swept away from her in all directions, and she stumbled. What…? Dizziness swamped her. She went down on one knee, opposite hand slapping onto the tiled floor for balance. On that hand, her ring blazed. It was the source of the violet light, and her dizziness. It was…
Revelation bloomed: it was the fucking Ring of Desire.
A window snapped open in her mind. Through it, years swept by. Of Ardeyn when it was young, of the Maker and his Incarnations… an Incarnation such as herself. She was a physical manifestation of the Seven Rules of Ardeyn, which kept Lotan the Sinner bound. They’d struggled for millennia, during the Age of Myth. Of course! How had she forgotten?
She’d been like a god. It was beyond wonderful! But was it real? Dana Scully would prescribe Kate a hefty dose of anti-hallucinogens. Because no, of course it wasn’t real, it was all a fiction given the guise of reality, her lurking sense of disappointment whispered. It was–
Raul cried out, breaking Kate from her insane recollection. He was still fighting, protecting her while she crouched on the floor. Blood pooled on the floor beneath him. He staggered and groaned with each parry and sword thrust.
But half War’s duplicates had stopped moving completely, their eyes glowing not red with War’s authority, but violet. Violet with clarity and devotion. To her. To Desire. She knew they would do as she demanded, at least for a little while. But how?
She let her fear of disappointment lapse, and the Incarnation of Desire’s mantle swept over Kate. Everything was different. Pain, fear, uncertainty, loss, and most importantly, fear of disappointment – were transformed to various textures of glorious existence. When last Desire walked, a newness had come into the Land of the Curse. War, the Maker, and some of her fellow Incarnations were changed, gaining memories of other people from another world completely different than Ardeyn. Excitement at the prospect of learning more had enflamed her, then, though Desire herself hadn’t fused with the mind of a mortal host. She relished that change in the others, though, anticipated what it might mean.
Then War, who’d always been her favorite Incarnation, murdered the Maker. Remembering the cut, the hot blood pouring from him, then nothing else until this moment, soured Desire’s delight. Anger warmed her, though it was an emotion she felt so rarely that she hardly recognized it. It seeped up from the one named Kate whose body Desire manifested within. Anger burned away second thoughts and second guesses, and scared mental voices like Kate’s, making her certain.
Here was War again, once more sending his duplicates to slay, as he’d slain the Maker. Not again, vowed Desire.
With a thought, she turned those duplicates of War she’d already bedazzled upon their fellows. The ones who’d been trying to hack through the swordsman’s – Raul’s – faltering sword defense turned and hurtled back toward their hulking master. Raul sank to the floor, gasping and bleeding.
Desire raised her voice and said to War, “Why did you forsake me, darling?”
War froze, avoiding looking directly into her eyes. He was vulnerable to her, but he knew it. He wasn’t an idiot, more was the pity. Instead of answering her directly, the incarnation clenched his fist and threw off another company of duplicates that smoked out of him, hornets from a kicked nest.
She sensed the minds of War’s army kindling as they formed, each merely a clipping of War’s complete consciousness. Which was why they were even more susceptible than their progenitor. The Incarnation of War, for all his defenses, had a soft spot for her. Everyone did, but War in particular had willingly set aside his defenses on more than one occasion during their long struggles. She’d welcomed him then. As she welcomed his army now, with arms wide and a smile like an amethyst sun and the smell of lilac.
More than half instantly came under Desire’s influence, and she wasn’t even trying. Her own glamor dizzied Desire, swept her up, and made her laugh in delight as fighting ignited in War’s ranks, soldier falling upon soldier. The emotions they generated belied her knowledge that the duplicates weren’t fully real. When they killed each other, the cold, sharp stab she sensed was almost the same as when a normal Ardeyner perished. Except no spirits came free of the duplicate’s flesh, and their bodies dissolved moments later like fleeing fireflies. The mind they possessed cast no shadow in the afterworld.
Which was why Desire felt only a tug of remorse when she commanded each new wave of soldiers War hatched to kill their brothers. “I can keep this up all day, darling,” she told him, betraying no hint of that minor regret.
He pretended not to hear her over the clamor. She knew her words had registered. War’s sole reaction was to spawn yet another company and hurl them toward her. Desire smiled indulgently. He’d always been headstrong.
“War,” she said, “you can’t win me back by showing off. You never could. Remember our time in the Green Wilds?” She called up the sweet memory, and projected it with another violet wave. Every one of the duplicates, and War himself, paused to recall those golden hours so long ago. Memories of most creatures grow cold and shift with time’s passage. Not so for Desire. Hers grew only more grand and magnificent as time marched on.
War groaned, struggling to hold onto his army, and losing. To a one, they turned on him.
“Lotan take you!” War hissed. He dissolved his traitor army with an angry slash of his fiery staff.
“That’s no way to greet a lover,” she said, “even one that you spurned.” War glanced at her, and finally, deliciously, their gazes locked.
War stood long strides from Desire, but she could see his eyes. He certainly saw hers. She only had one chance at this, and Desire didn’t intend to waste her opportunity adding War to her retinue. Already his pupils were larger than normal, but as the moments passed and they stood unmoving regarding each other, the dark circles expanded. He was coming fully under her spell. Already, she doubted he remembered his own name. Soon, he wouldn’t be more than–
Desire and Kate both blanched when Raul’s life snuffed out.
All deaths saddened Desire, but for Kate, it was like being kicked in the stomach.
Desire’s mantle shredded and was gone.
“Raul!” Kate sobbed, spinning away from War. She rushed to the crumpled body. “No, no, no, please…”
The Incarnation’s easy mastery of exotic minds and wills, even those of the dead, was gone with her Ring’s mantle. But Kate retained the sensitivity to spirits she’d gained when she’d taken on the context of a shepherd when entering Ardeyn. A shepherd of the dead. Darneth had been her sole charge. And she’d lost him.
Now Kate sensed that same tentative energy before her that Darneth had demonstrated, a gray cloud on the edge of blowing away. Rather than a forgotten warrior of some previous age of Ardeyn, it was Raul. She could feel the man’s identity in the memory of his ephemeral eyes.
“Can you hear me?”
The vague shape, ceased its slow dispersal. “Raul?” she asked it. “Stay with me.
”
A man’s face smoothed out of the rough smoke around the eyes. Raul’s face. He blinked, colorless. His hands moved, affectless. But she could hear him. He said, “Where am I? It’s so cold…”
“You saved me,” she said. “From War’s army.” Which was true, as far as that went. If he hadn’t intervened, the very first charge of duplicates would’ve cut her into so many bloody ribbons. After that, though, Kate had found the power to save herself from War…
She glanced round quickly, realizing she’d turned her back on the Betrayer! But whatever whammy Desire had slapped War with still had Jason blinking and shaking. Yes, it was Jason, she realized, chiefly because he’d returned to his normal human size.
Desire … The memories and mindset of the Incarnation who’d possessed her were unbelievable. Inconceivable, really. Feelings so intense, so beyond her experience, she didn’t know what to think. Devotion, curiosity, clarity, and erotic desire! Erotic and downright… scandalous. Of course, to Desire, “scandal” was a word significant only to mortals. Seeing things simultaneously as Desire and as Katherine Manners was like double vision. A splitting headache threatened to descend on her with each heartbeat. She dismissed Desire’s memories, physically flinching back. To do otherwise risked insanity.
Maybe that’s what’d happened to Jason – when Jason merged with War, and gained War’s memories of battles, stratagems, and strife going back thousands of years, he’d lost his mind. Maybe she should strip the Ring of Desire off her finger and throw it in that Pit that Gamma had shown them.
But… The Ring had also become her spirit focus, when she translated into Ardeyn. And the outline of a plan that came to her, right then, required that she keep it, and fucking hell, keep Desire, too.
“Raul!” she said, “I can save you! Or at least keep you safe, until we figure something out. Listen… Curl into my Ring, like Darneth. He’s gone. There’s a place for you. Will you do that? Can you?”
For many long seconds, Raul’s shade did nothing. The expressions of life no longer flickered across his face. Micro-expressions, tells, all the body language a living creature communicated simply by being physically present were absent in Raul’s shade. She had no idea what he was thinking. Or if he was thinking. Was he confused? Why didn’t he listen?
“Raul, we don’t have time. Please!” She offered the back of her hand, as if he was a gentleman in a period piece, who would take it and lightly brush his lips.
Instead, Raul’s uncertain outline melted into so much swirling vapor. He smoked into the Ring.
29: Emancipation
Carter Morrison
In stories, especially novels and on TV, the main character is always getting knocked out, or even fainting. In reality, it’s really hard to “knock” unconscious a healthy adult, unless you’ve come dangerously close to killing the poor bastard, or inflicting permanent brain damage. If you’ve beaten someone so badly that they go into a coma… well, figure it out for yourself.
On the other hand, after being punched in the back of the head by a golem, it’s sort of surprising my skull wasn’t crushed like an egg. Then I would have been unconscious just long enough for my brain to completely starve from lack of oxygen. By mere fact I was able to consider it, it was obvious I’d escaped that outcome. What I’m trying say is that, for the record, I didn’t go unconscious.
But fuck if it didn’t hurt.
Pretty much I was a puking, mewling mess. Barely able to move my fingers, resisting wasn’t an option when they dragged me and Siraja into that crack at the bottom of the crater. Plus, I was bleeding. A lot. Apparently, that was something they had right in stories – head wounds bleed like the promise of no more tomorrows. A coppery sweet taste in my mouth sickened me, so I spit, but avoided actually retching. Much.
Wiping my mouth was impossible, because iron manacles pinched my wrists and clanked tight when I tried. My arms were stretched above my head. While not being unconscious I blearily recalled being dumped in some sort of cage.
Scooting myself closer to the bars provided enough slack in the chains so I could sit up straight. The ache in my head threatened to split it open, and nausea followed. I gasped, waiting for the dizziness to recede. When it finally did, the awfulness of my situation was fully revealed.
Rather than a cage, I was in a cell, one of several sunk into the stone around the edge of some larger cavernous chamber. The restraining bars were embedded in the solid stone. There were some stand-alone cages, too, hanging from the rocky ceiling.
A large area between the cages held a massive sculpture resembling some kind of mythological flying beast. Light spilled from its interior, flickering from several fist-sized holes piercing its side. A muttering buzz also issued from the object, which reminded me of thousands of roaches swarming over each other.
The cells held prisoners besides me. The closest was Siraja. She sat, hands bound behind her, facing the main chamber and the buzzing statue, manacles secured to the bars. She turned her head and blinked at me a few times, but offered no audible comment. The leather armor I’d grown accustomed seeing her in was absent. My own outerwear was missing, too, as was Jushur. Crap.
“Are you all right?” I asked the qephilim.
Siraja gave a cautious nod, but remained quiet. Her eyes and ears flicked from me back to the main open area containing the cages.
My talent whispered to me that she was indeed hale, save for a few bruises and an all-consuming anxiety. She was much healthier than me, in fact. My head was foggy and simultaneously felt as if it was in a vice: probably a concussion. A stabbing feeling near my abdomen whenever I shifted meant some bruised or even busted ribs. Could there be some internal damage? Best not to think about that, I decided.
If someone hadn’t relieved me of Jushur, I would’ve asked it what to do.
Though I bet the sanctimonious thing would tell me to see to my own wounds. If I could break a rope, or mend it by naming it, it would tell me that I could rend flesh, or repair it, too, even if it was my own. Easy for it to say.
Although, imaginary Jushur had a point. After all, the sphere was a product of my own creation and will. As most things here in Ardeyn were… Even if it’d all grown far more real than anything I could’ve ever imagined when I’d started coding the Land of the Curse so many years ago.
Anyway, according to the context of this place, all I needed was a name to conjure with… And I knew my own name.
“Carter Morrison,” I whispered to myself. The words burned my lips as the sound emerged, then spread until I was engulfed in a conflagration of sensation. It wasn’t exactly searing pain, though not far off. A yelp escaped me as what felt like fire seared my skin. I’d just made my final, most lethal mistake.
Then cool relief followed. There was no burning, no bonfire with me as the kindling. Nor any hint of the pain from broken ribs, the foggy feeling from the concussion, or any other hurt.
Huh.
Flush with success and perhaps slightly high from the sensation of perfect health still tingling from the tip of my head to my toes, I named the manacles, loosening them so they fell off, and then next cell door lock, triggering it open. Whoa.
“Carter!” hissed Siraja.
“Hold on,” I said, and ambled over to the winged vessel and glanced into one of the many vents. OK… not roaches. Tiny little lizards, each burning like a red-hot ember in fire, scuttling over each other and some larger, burnt object. Something vaguely human shaped lay curled inside, with a few blackened bones poking out.
“Oh jeez,” I croaked. “Is that a person?”
A rough voice answered, “If Mehvish is the spy who stayed up on the rim when you descended, then no, she got away. We sacrificed this slave in her place.” The speaker stepped around from the opposite side of the vessel. The tattooed, wrinkled face and white cloak of Greeter, back in human form, smiled at me. He still clutched his bone flute, but had added a circle of white metal at his temples. A crown?
“You,” I sa
id. I’m witty like that.
“You have no power here, namer.” He pointed to the white circlet. “This protects me from mental influence or attempts to compromise my loyalties.” Not a crown, then, but something of power.
“What protects it?” I said, as the circlet’s name found me.
Greeter frowned, even as I asked the metal to stretch so that it slipped off his head. It settled loosely around his neck.
His first reaction, the same one he’d relied on when he’d ambushed us on the crater floor, was his downfall. If he’d just removed the circlet, he might’ve beat me. But that’s not what he did; he triggered his ape-otheosis with a snarl.
Greeter grew, but I held the circlet’s size in place with a whisper, so that whatever magic the soul sorcerer used, it didn’t affect the stiff band as it did his cloak and other equipment.
A strangled growl became a gasping whisper as the massive white ape, scrabbling at his neck with oversize claws, stumbled about the cell-lined chamber, knocking into the free-hanging cages dangling from the ceiling. I scrambled back so I wasn’t crushed underneath when the huge creature finally toppled over. The winged vessel wasn’t so fortunate.
The container overturned with a clatter, spilling scurrying fire lizards everywhere, as well as the charcoal body, which broke into pieces.
Siraja yelled, “Carter, you toad fondler, look what you’ve done!”
Red embers, each a tiny creature, raced everywhere like ants when some dipshit kid kicks the colony over. Except these things were each as hot as a poker.
Turning, I hustled to Siraja’s cell, jumping between momentary clear spots on the floor, between scrabbling red dots. Sudden sweat stung my eyes and dryness tightened my throat; the little bastards gave off a lot of heat.
The little fuckers sensed me, crawling after me as I closed on Siraja.
There were too many to individually name; I could maybe tell a handful to run away, but hundreds of others would take that time to burn us into carbon footstools. I had the vague sense that had I been the Maker, I wouldn’t have been bound by such a restriction. But the Maker, I was not.
The Myth of the Maker Page 26
