Sarrin clung to his hand as he slid into the widening fissure, dragging her with him. Bane clawed at the dust, seeking purchase in its shifting substance. Artan threw himself down on his chest and grabbed Bane's other hand, but Sarrin lost her grip and fell back with a cry of despair. A dark abyss yawned beneath Bane, exhaling noxious fumes and heat. Ethra crawled to Artan's side and gripped Bane's free hand, digging in her heels as she tried to stop his slide into the crevasse.
Right at the edge, she found purchase on the rocks, and between them they stopped his slide, but he swung from their grip on his wrists. The rumbling and shaking died away, leaving an eerie silence that only the harsh panting of the two people who clung to Bane's hands broke. He glanced down at the dim orange glow far beneath him, then looked up at Artan and Ethra. They hung on with all their strength, refusing to let him fall. A slight, sad smile curved Bane's lips as his eyes filled with resignation.
"Let me go."
"No!" Ethra shouted, getting a better grip on his wrist by hooking her fingers into the shackle.
Artan glanced at her in surprise. "You want to save him now?"
"Yes, now pull!"
Ethra heaved mightily, and Artan followed suit, but even their best efforts did not raise Bane an inch.
"You cannot save me," Bane murmured. "If you do not let go you will fall too."
Ethra gritted her teeth as Bane's weight tore her fingers from the shackle, leaning forward to renew her grip. Artan slid towards the lip of the crevasse, unable to find purchase as Ethra had done. Juvo ran up and grabbed Artan's legs, slowing his slide, then one of the soldiers took hold of Ethra's arms and threw his weight into the struggle. The other soldier crawled between them and tried to reach one of Bane's arms, but he was too far away. He took hold of Artan instead, and between the five of them they held onto Bane, but they could not pull him up, no matter how hard they tried.
Bane was at a ninety degree angle to them now, dangling over the abyss. Ethra hung on at its edge, her feet braced against the rocks, her arms feeling as if they would be torn out at the shoulders. She panted from pain and effort, her heart hammering, and Artan grimaced as his burnt hands suffered from gripping Bane's wrist. Bane glanced down again, then raised his head to look at Ethra. The hot wind that blew up from below lifted the jet wings from his cheeks, and his eyes glowed.
"Let me go."
"No!"
Artan cursed as his hand slipped, his fingers losing their strength. "We can't hold him!"
"We must! Pull, damn you!"
"It's no good, Ethra!" Artan tried to renew his grip, but Bane slid further over the edge, and Artan almost went over too. The soldiers pulled him back, but his hands slipped off Bane's wrist.
"No!" Ethra wailed as Bane's full weight swung on her slender arms, her ligaments popping. Artan grabbed her as she followed Bane into the gulf, pulling her back. She sobbed in despair as her fingers slid free of the cuff, clung to his hand for a moment, then lost their grip. She lunged after Bane as he fell, and Artan hung onto her legs, barely stopping her from going after him.
"No!" Ethra cried as Bane fell towards the red glow far below, his arms spread wide, his cloak closing around him like crimson-lined black wings. The manacles glimmered, and his eyes closed as his hair swept over his face in a gleaming ebon veil.
Artan hauled her back, helped by Juvo and the soldiers, and they dragged her away from the crevasse. She shook them off and jumped up to run back to the edge and look down, her heart filled with despair. The redness below had swallowed Bane, and she swung away and ran along the edge of the crevasse, searching for a way down. Artan gave chase, trying to grab her.
"Stop, Ethra, there's nothing we can do."
"We have to find a way down. We have to save him!"
"He's gone!"
She spun to face him, her dark eyes blazing in a pale visage. "Only if we give up!"
"He can't possibly survive that fall."
"You don't know that!"
"Why do you want to save him now?" Artan hurried after her as she strode along the lip of the crevasse again. "You wanted him dead!"
"Because now I know he was telling the truth."
"How?"
"I just do."
"Even if you find a way down, and even if he survived the fall, he's dying."
She glanced back at him, scowling. "Then we must find a way to save him."
"Even if we find a way down, we can't survive down there."
"Stay here then, I'll go alone."
"Ethra!"
She marched away along the lip of the abyss. Artan signalled to his men to collect the provisions from the camp, and then followed her.
Bane lay on a cushion of air, his arms outstretched. This was it then, he was going to die. A quiver of fear went through him, and he thrust it aside. He would see Mirra again when he rose as a spirit god, although there would be a gulf between them. A faint smile curled his lips as he recalled her laughing face and shining blue-green eyes. The pain of the dark power gnawed at him, seeking release, and the shackles shone with soft pearly light.
Bane recalled her happiness on the day of their wedding, how her eyes had shone with joy and love as he had spoken the words that bound them. Never had he thought that he could bring her joy, and he had striven to do so ever since, to make up for the pain she had suffered at his hands. She had filled his life with happiness and laughter, and had taught him what it was to be loved. The thought of her sorrow when he returned to her a spirit god brought a stab of pain, and he mourned for the children they would no longer have.
The red glow beneath him grew rapidly nearer, and he braced himself for it, but it swept past with only a sensation of heat. He recalled the balmy summer days they had spent at play in the forest. He had chased her laughing through the trees and rolled with her in the leaves. They had had snow fights in winter, built snow men, had cold noses and wet clothes. They had had mud fights and swum in the lake, and he remembered being curled up by the fire with Mirra smiling at him, her heart shining in her eyes. Such tenderness and joy as he had not known existed, so precious, fragile and wonderful.
The air rushing past him slowed, then he struck something spongy and rolled down a steep slope, the impact knocking the wind out of him with a soft grunt. The slope levelled out, and his tumbling progress slowed to a halt. He struggled to fill his empty lungs, aching in too many places to count. Air rushed in, and he stared at the seething red glow far above him, surprised that he was still alive.
No swift end for him then, but a slow one as the dark power consumed him. The black fire seethed within him, ate away at the barrier of his flesh and filled him with its burning agony. He closed his eyes, too tired to care where he was or try to find a way out, and cast himself back into the peaceful shrine of his memories.
"Ethra, this is madness," Artan grumbled again as he followed her along the crevasse, the soldiers and Sarrin walking behind. "We're not going to find a way down."
The girl leant over the edge to peer at the wall of the crevasse before continuing. She ran ahead, and he cursed, trotting after her. She stopped and pointed.
"There!"
Artan's gaze followed her finger, and he gaped in amazement. A few metres ahead, a steep staircase led down the cliff, carved into it as if it was the wall of a castle and not a natural rock formation. Was anything natural in this place? Ethra darted ahead, and he trotted after her, catching up as she stepped down onto the first stair. The staircase sloped back the way they had come, vanishing into the seething redness far below.
A dozen objections to this crazy course of action popped into his mind, but he gritted his teeth, knowing that she would ignore them. He considered letting her go on alone, but that was a coward's way out, and who knew where the danger lay in this terrible place. Quite possibly it was safer to descend into this glowing abyss than it was to keep walking through the innocuous orange landscape.
Artan glanced back at Sarrin and the soldiers, who gazed into the cre
vasse with trepidation and wonder. When the priestess did not object, he followed Ethra down the steps, noticing that Sarrin paused at the top to bow her head and clasp her hands. From the look of what lay below them, they would need all the help they could get.
Kayos paused, distracted by a whisper in his mind, so faint it was barely discernable. A constant flow of prayers reached him from many distant domains, most of which did not impinge upon his consciousness unless they contained something that demanded his attention. He listened to it again, and this time heard the familiar name that had caught his attention. Concentrating upon it, he divined its source, a priestess of a light god named Armorgan, a stranger to him. It told him that Bane was in grave danger, but did not help to find him, other than to make him cast about for the right direction again and discover that it had changed.
Kayos glanced back at the Hound that followed him, closer now and gaining rapidly. The Hound was no danger to him, but the one who followed it was. He wondered what kind of danger Bane could be in, and whether he would be able to help him. If Bane was somehow incapacitated, leading a dark god to him would be a singularly bad idea. He considered forming another Eye, but that would take precious time he could not spare.
The shackles Bane wore should not put him in any great danger on their own. They were not designed to kill, only to prevent a dark god from using his power, and Bane had other powers that spirit gods did not possess. Again he wondered what other effect they might have upon a mortal dark god, but put his concerns aside. For the moment, all he could do was find him as soon as possible. With a gesture, he formed a glowing pit and stepped into it, Mirra, Mithran and Grem following close behind.
Bane became aware of a presence beside him through the haze of pain that clouded his mind and opened his eyes. He lay on an expanse of greyness that looked like rock, but was soft and spongy. The creature that watched him was almost invisible against it, the exact same mottled grey shade, a hulking, cloaked form that was vaguely man-shaped. It looked like a part of the landscape that had become sentient and separate, but was certainly not alive. He sensed no dark power within it, but no light either.
It retreated when he looked at it, and then shuffled closer again, more boldly. As it drew nearer, he was able to make out more details, and his skin crawled. It looked like an ancient, decaying man with a long ragged beard and tattered robe, its gnarled hands as bent and twisted as tree roots. Its eyes, which were fastened upon the shackles, looked like glistening grey slime. It crept closer, crouched and reached for him with a claw-like hand, and he summoned what little strength he possessed and sat up.
The creature cowered with a whimper, and then reached for him again, as if unable to resist the lure of touching him. Its cold, spongy fingers touched his hand, and it gave a hoarse cry, shuffling closer. Bane snatched his hand away, but it grabbed his wrist, suddenly fearless. To his amazement, it spoke in a grating hiss.
"Enslaved one. Powerless. Mortal. Dying."
Bane jerked free, frowning at it. "What do you want?"
It gave a rasping chuckle, and the ground beneath Bane moved. It surged up behind him, forming a wall at his back, then fat, spongy tendrils sprouted from it and oozed around his arms, pulling them back against the wall. Bane struggled, but soon realised that he pitted his depleted strength against the ground itself. The flat terrain reformed into walls all around him that gave off a dull greyish light and a rank stench. The creature bounced with glee, hissing. Bane glared at it.
"Release me."
It did not appear to hear him, for it continued its macabre celebration, waving twisted arms. Deciding that talking was wasted upon it, Bane turned his attention to the substance that held him prisoner. It quivered when his will touched it, and the ragged creature stopped its horrible dance and turned to him. The thick pulpy loops parted, and he yanked his arms free, then climbed to his feet, tottering. The ground surged, making him stagger, and he sensed an increase in the awareness around him. The grey creature hopped and flailed again, hissing.
Thick fingers of the soggy ground thrust up, trapped his legs and yanked them from under him. He fell back against the wall, where more tendrils pinned him to it. Bane took hold of the substance with his will and moulded it, making it ooze and writhe, but this time another intellect fought him for control. The sense of a brooding presence all around him grew stronger, becoming oppressive, and the rank stink increased.
Bane bent his will upon the fabric of his prison, commanding its retreat, but seethed and reformed, defying him. The grey creature lunged at him, and a glinting bone fragment appearing at the end of one of its fingers. It slashed his wrist, opening a shallow wound that dripped blood onto the soft ground. The grey substance writhed and surged over his legs, and the creature hopped over him and slashed his other wrist. Bane bowed his head and closed his eyes as the dark power seethed through him, igniting his blood, pouring out with it and making the shackles flare.
An enervating apathy stole over him, much like he had experienced during his fall, and he was tempted to release his tenuous hold on life and take the long plunge into death. Something deep within him rebelled against the idea of being slain by a decaying ghoul and its semi-sentient surroundings, however. Better to die from god-made shackles than animate dirt. Once again he reached out with his will, only with more determination now, and more concentration. His inborn power over the elements was weak. He had not needed to use it much, for even when he cast out the dark power, he replaced it with the blue.
Now his life depended upon it, and when he reached the level of power that he usually achieved, he pushed harder, striving for more. He opened his eyes and glared at the ghoul. The ground shuddered and heaved, and the ghoul gibbered and sank into it up to its knees, but what was happening to it distracted Bane. It changed, taking on a more life-like aspect, its skin turning pale, and its clothes becoming separate from its body. He stared at it in amazement, realising that it was using the dark power in his blood to remake itself. It came closer to collect the blood that dripped from his wrist and smear it on its body, its transformation accelerating.
Rage flared in Bane, and he frowned. He would not be sacrificed to give another power. Lifting his head, he reached deep within himself, seeking the god power that resided somewhere at the centre of his being. His mind seemed to burn as he strained at the bounds of his ability, striving to push past and claim that which had been created in him before his birth. Pain lanced his brain as he struggled to break the bonds that held his full power in check, but he pushed harder, gritting his teeth. His wrists burnt, and he turned his head to frown at his right arm, where a dull red glow came from under the wrist guard. A glance at his left wrist found the same red glow, and his frown deepened. Hidden under the wrist guards he never removed were the rune scars he hated, and whose purpose he had not understood, until now.
Someone had bound his power within him, preventing him from using all but a little of it, and he knew who that had been. Arkonen, who had made him a god, named him a curse, and tried to ensure that he would not achieve his full potential. The realisation brought a fresh tide of rage to bolster his flagging resolve, and he pushed harder still, straining at the chains that held back his power. The burning in his wrists increased, and the light brightened beneath the wrist guards. He became aware of a dull burning in his nape, where more rune scars marked his skin.
At last, he knew what purpose the rune scars served. They had bound his powers at infancy, and he strained at the bonds, fighting to break free. The light under the wrist guards brightened further, turning yellow, and the pain increased with it, but that only made him try harder to break free. His hands clenched, his knuckles whitening, and his eyes bulged with effort. Sweat popped out on his brow and ran down his cheeks, but he refused to give up, gasping as the pain of the rune scars became agonising. Still he fought to be free of the chains Arkonen had placed upon him when he had been too young to even remember it, his hatred of the dark god who had mutilated him growing to
an all-consuming fury.
A wave of something indefinable seeped into his ken, and he became aware of a gradual increase in his sense of his mind's power, as if new pathways formed in his brain, and the pain of his struggle faded to a dull ache. This was intangible, unlike the dark power; it was a part of him, an ability he had hardly used. The light beneath his wrist guards died, sending a last malevolent shaft of pain from his wrists and nape. A burden seemed to lift from him, one of which he had been unaware until it vanished. The new sense of power suffused him, making his head seem heavy, but at the same time buoying him with its purity. It owed nothing to the darkness that had been his only weapon, until now.
Its simplicity and strength amazed him. This talent stemmed from his godhood, and suffused him. He reached out with it, and a ripple passed through his surroundings. A strangled cry made him look at the ghoul, which had fallen to its knees, and stared at him with almost human green eyes. It had achieved a close resemblance to a living man now, a pale-skinned, dark-haired mage clad in silver-trimmed black robes. Bane paused, studying it.
"No, please," it begged. "I've been trapped here for an aeon, helpless. I wish only to regain some of that which I lost when I died here."
Bane's lip curled. "You are an abomination. You gave sentience to this place, and it gave you form. Now you seek to use my power to gain a droge body. You have no right."
"What harm do I do? You are dying."
"That does not give you the right to steal my power."
It stretched forth its hands in a pleading gesture. "Please, I only want to be able to leave this place."
Demon Lord V - God Realm Page 7
