His heart jumped. “Bomarc!” The figure slid out of view into the surrounding darkness. Nothing answered his call.
“My One?” She glanced over. “Oh. The noisy pest took off.” She sighed. “You must stay focused.” Her tone darkened. A reddish glow filled her eyes. “Love me. Now.”
Love. What did it have to do with the Garmtur? What would altering his emotions toward her accomplish? What sense did that make? If he could love Hecate, how might it affect Sarai?
“You’re stalling,” she growled. “If you are to be my One, start acting like it.” She twined her fingers in the back of his hair and pulled him down. Her lips locked on his in hard kiss. He felt a sharp sting, and he tasted the coppery-sweetness of blood.
He flinched away. What options did he have? Even if he wanted to cooperate… Soon, Hecate would realize he couldn’t do as she asked. To aggravate matters, he sensed that the rift must be shut soon or it would be impossible to do so.
She smiled. “Mmmm.” She circled her lips with her tongue, obviously savoring his blood. “I see why you appeal.” The crimson on her mouth and the hungry gleam in her eye made Bannor flash on when he and Sarai had made love in the flats. The taste excited her then too. The flavor of a savant’s blood.
He needed a plan. Now. Think. “You know I can’t love you unless you love me back. It doesn’t work, otherwise.”
Her smile died. “Love you, too?” She glanced at a drop of his blood on her finger. Her eyes widened.
“You can love can’t you?” he pressed.
“Of course!” she snapped. A muscle in her cheek twitched. The dilemma was the same for her as it was him. He couldn’t love this malign immortal, and she in turn knew nothing of expressing it.
It gave him an idea.
Demons screamed, and the sky lit up as an arc of fire sliced overhead. Hecate/Sarai snapped around. The silhouettes of two star-white winged horses cut across the absolute blackness of the rift. A sword of flame waved above the lead rider.
Laramis and Irodee had arrived. Green shapes flooded into the sky.
“Meddlers,” Sarai mumbled in voice that sounded abruptly deeper and more resonant.
Bannor blinked and reeled back a step. In the moment it took to glance away, she’d grown to the size of an ogre. A dark glow surrounded her flesh like an armor of shadows, and his Nola sight now showed the elemental and magical threads feeding Hecate’s mystical abilities.
She turned to him, apparently feeling his attention. She ran her hands down her sides, sparks trailing from glowing orange fingernails. “Ah, forgive me. I forget myself.”
If Hecate would only get out of Sarai, then he could do something. “Maybe that body is a tiny bit confining?”
She glanced from him to the battle in the sky. Demons fell like a cancerous rain, bodies sizzling and exploding as they hit ground. Laramis and Irodee used magics he’d never seen. Blasts of fire, thunderbolts and dazzling shafts of silver light burst from their weapons cleaving through Hecate’s creatures.
“I don’t need all my strength to deal with them.”
“No, but you’ll need it all for me,” he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her around.
She glared at him with eyes of flame. When she moved to wrench her hand away, he grabbed her other wrist and yanked on her arms to keep her focused on him.
His voice rang clear. “You want the Garmtur, Little Star. You have to earn it.”
Her eyes became glowing slits. “Earn?”
He let the Nola flood into him. The world’s magical and elemental makeup sprang into view. He released the Garmtur and focused.
He must change rules that would leave Sarai unharmed.
“You want love, Hecate?” he paused, gathering his will. He clamped down on the huge wrists in his hands. “You want to hide in Sarai’s body.” He growled. “Then I wish you loved me like she does—body and spirit.”
The Garmtur exploded in him. It felt as if a hammer struck him in the chest. There’d be no fighting the backlash this time. His arms shuddered as the magic flooded through them into her huge form.
Hecate/Sarai’s face blanched, and she staggered. Lightning spiked through the clouds and booms stung the air.
Her voice echoed. “W-w-what did you—?” She jerked as blue tongues of magic struck around her like maddened snakes.
Bannor tottered away from her, pain shrieking through him. He prayed and hoped as millions of threads spun out from him. “I changed the rules.” His voice rang. “You wanted us to be able to join—you have to change. What would Hecate have become if she could love?” He fell to his knees. “Maybe—neither—of—us—will—”
Everything in view flickered.
Hecate/Sarai screamed, arching her body as if a blade had been thrust into her back. Her form blurred, and two outlines writhed in the brilliant light, one small and one large.
Another jolt rocked him. It felt as if he’d dived into a sea of acid. He couldn’t breathe. The pounding of his heart reverberated in his ears. In his Nola sight, magical threads whirled around himself and Hecate, lashing back and forth like broken ship rigging in a storm. He’d set the Garmtur in motion, and nothing could stop it now.
He refused to love death. Instead, death would have to love him.
He would give the goddess of torment love. To cherish body and spirit meant caring for something more than you cared about yourself. To fathom caring, one must once have been cared about. Heredity, experiences and environment shaped a person’s character, be it black, white or gray. The Garmtur molded things by altering the rules or circumstances governing that thing’s existence. What might have to be redefined for Hecate to be capable of expressing selfless adoration?
The Garmtur’s full power had been focused on making the light of personal commitment shine in the depraved persona of Hecate. It sought to restructure an immortal, a creature said to have no dreams, created to endure for all eternity.
He gambled that as a spawn of the Motherforce, Hecate could be unspawned. The resolution came down to his birthright versus hers.
She was the beginning of the circle, and he, the end.
Stars in the sky flickered.
Black turned light.
Light became—
Nothing.
***
He floated in a void surrounded by gradations of gray that swirled like eddies around a surf-besieged reef. He heard no sound, but vibrations ran through him like footsteps on a wooden floor. He registered no warmth or cold, only emptiness and him alone in it.
A hollow male voice resonated around him. “You know, Sproutboy, killing yourself wasn’t part of our plan.”
Attempting to focus on the speaker made him realize he had no body to orient with. Something said he should know that person, but everything, even his own name lay beyond recall. How did he get here? Why? A sense of urgency thrummed in him, something he must do.
“Man should know his limitations,” it said in offhand tone. “Yep, guy can burn his hand reachin’ for the stars.”
Why couldn’t he speak back? Limitations? Stars?
“Odin knows, I’ve been lonely, but I didn’t want to be kept company this way. Hoped some savant magic might get me another chance at life.”
He should know this person. What is this place?
“Said it yourself, to truly love somethin, it has to love you back. That witch loves you, you love her, black to white, white to black. It’s a circle! Don’t stop the heartbeat of the cosmos—it’s a bad idea. When alpha and omega merge you get nothing.”
Pain shot through him. The spirals of gray danced erratically.
“Change is death. Death is and causes rebirth. Them immortals don’t evolve because they weren’t meant to—it wasn’t in the plan. Mortals perish a little every instant, they begin each day as a different person from when they laid down to sleep.”
Death. Immortals. Change. Nothing made sense. It should make sense. Chaos all around him. He needed—what? He needed order.
He needed—
Light.
And there was…
***
His voice rang clear. “You want the Garmtur, Little Star. You have to earn it.”
Her eyes became glowing slits. “Earn?”
He let the Nola flood into him. The world’s magical and elemental makeup sprang into view. He released the Garmtur and focused.
He must change rules that would leave Sarai unharmed.
“You want love, Hecate?” he paused. A tremble shot through him. Something wrong. Something… nothing… darkness… chaos… black-to-white, white-to-black… His mind felt on fire. Why did it suddenly seem as if it had all happened before… over and over…
A circle. Alpha. Omega. Life and death juxtaposed. Beginnings and endings. Always ending where he began.
A huge wrist tore from his grip and steely fingers clamped around his midriff. “What I want is you out of my way…” He felt a sudden rush of acceleration, and wind whistled in his ears. Bannor curled into a ball to protect himself as a he hit the turf with a bone-jarring shock.
Dazed, he rolled to his feet in time to see Laramis and Irodee closing in on the ogre-sized woman that was both Hecate and Sarai. If he didn’t stop them, Sarai might die. If he did, Hecate would kill them. As he hesitated, the glowing white silhouettes of four more winged horses cut across the absolute blackness of the rift. In moments, the Queen, Euriel, Wren and Janai would be in the fray as well.
The only way to save Sarai now was to separate her from the immortal. Do that, and Hecate would regain all her strength, and the whole grisly circle would begin again. Trapped in Sarai’s mortal shell, Hecate possessed only a fraction of her full power. She would never be more vulnerable. Dying isn’t so bad; it’s the waking up afterward… Immortals couldn’t die, but they could be dispersed. It might be centuries before she plagued mankind again.
To save Sarai, he needed to change Hecate—make the unkillable so that it could not reform.
To preserve all, Sarai must die.
Sacrifice her life and his.
Lords give me strength.
Two heartbeats left.
To say—
Goodbye.
***
Alpha and Omega—seems like I have heard that somewhere before…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
* * *
Chapter Seventy-Two
« ^ »
Bannor focused his passion, renewing the hold on the Garmtur that he abandoned in the confusion. No one touched Sarai except him.
He made a clawing gesture, snagging the conduits of magical force that Hecate was energizing to destroy Laramis and Irodee. He squeezed the channels he’d gathered in, clamping them shut with the strength of his will. The backlash knocked him down like a fool-punch to the face, making his body convulse as if he’d grabbed hold of a lightning bolt.
Hecate screamed and gripped her head. The ground rumbled, and storm clouds boiled. She staggered like a drunk on uneven ground, and then crashed to the turf. In the sky, dozens of her demons erupted into plumes of smoke, their remains falling like slushy rain.
Sitting in the mud, Bannor concentrated on his fist, imagining Hecate’s power source clasped in it. He fought the backlash trying to overwhelm him. Laramis and Irodee still bore down on the prone goddess. He swung his free hand, envisioning his fingers snagging the threads of the paladin, his wife and their flying mounts. Explosions wracked the air right, left and above of Hecate as he yanked the two warriors off course, sending them skidding and tumbling across the plain.
The world grew dim, then brightened again. His heart thundered, and his arms shook. Though the Garmtur was an extension of his mind, his only reliable control came from pantomiming his actions, letting the metaphysical hands of the Nola echo his desires. Through the Garmtur, he felt Hecate struggle, her immense strength threatening to burst free. He took hold with the other hand. Beads of perspiration ran down his face. Cold storm gusts stung his skin.
Hecate rolled onto her knees, and trained fiery eyes on him. Though her body trembled, she grinned. “Getting tired, Garmtur?” As confident as her words sounded, her tone betrayed fear. “I will break free. It’s only a matter of time. Something we both know I have plenty of.”
Bannor swallowed. Behind Hecate, he saw the Queen and the others closing in. Laramis and Irodee and their mounts were recovering.
He must end it, before someone interfered again. It took all his effort to speak over the strain. “Don’t make me—kill you. Tan’Acho cannot be achieved this way. We cannot join—our union would not be evolution, but oblivion. Let Sarai go.”
“Liar!” Hecate burst out. Rocks and trees near her shattered, sending fragments of wood and rock bouncing across the plane. “It must be true. There has to be more than—this.” She slammed a fist in the parched ground. Blood-colored tears leaked from her eyes.
“There is—but this is not it. Only one creature in this universe can change you, and I am not that one.”
His grip wavered. Portions of her power slipped through. Her body stiffened. The goddess grimaced. Her fiery eyes narrowed. “You’re wrong. Your power can make it true—force it to work.”
A horse whinnied. “Kill her!” Wren yelled. “Don’t let her go!”
Hecate looked over her shoulder to the squad of horses that had landed. Wren and the Queen dismounted and stood in front of Euriel and Janai. Hecate gave him a sidelong glance and her mouth quirked. “Yes, Bannor, kill your Little Star.” He felt her test his hold with a sharp pull.
“You will not come back this time,” he said. He paused, gathering the strength to speak and be heard. He had to convince Hecate, make her give up. Sarai’s life hung in the balance. “You will not reincarnate. Those rules I can change.”
Hecate gritted her teeth. She studied him, sparking eyes digging into him and his resolve. She sighed and stopped resisting.
Nearby, he saw Laramis and Irodee poised only ten paces away. The paladin and his wife looked like the avenging Ajeer of the legends. The glow of otherworldly power surrounded them in golden halos. He realized then that all the time that he’d been running from Hecate’s avatars, he had been keeping company with the avatars of other gods. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t seen it before, but now it didn’t matter.
Hecate glanced at Laramis, and then focused on Wren. “If your threat worries me,” she growled. “What shall you do about them?”
“Give me back Sarai. This is between you and me.”
“No!” Euriel yelled.
“Make not pacts with demons, Bannor. She honors not her word!”
“I didn’t ask you here!” He yelled. “I did not want any of your help!” He swung a hand to include all of them. “I only wanted to be happy!” Bannor stared hard at each of those who he’d called friend and ally. He felt the tears burn his cheeks. “I won’t let her destroy the only thing I hold dear!” His gaze locked with the Goddess. Bleakness filled him, but he had to try a last time to save his love. “I cannot give you Tan’Acho—it can’t be had like this. Give me Sarai. Let me give you something else.”
With delicate care, Hecate pushed herself to her feet. Her pale hair was shot through with silver. A glimmering of lavender shone in the ebony black of her eyes. He still saw the vestiges of the woman he loved in the thing that had possessed her.
Hecate peered to her right and then left. Laramis, Irodee, Wren and the others stiffened as the immortal’s gaze passed over them. She ran a tongue over her lips, as if savoring the taste of something remembered. “If what you say is true, all too fair, Garmtur. You have the advantage.” She glanced again at the group containing Wren. Her gaze returned to him, and she smiled in a way so reminiscent of Sarai it made him shiver.
“Bannor.” The name sounded alien on her lips. “I give you your Star. Give me another. Give me—her!” She stabbed a finger at Wren. The savant’s hands rose defensively. “I return your
petty life and happiness, but she was promised to me long ago. She has been nothing but a thorn since. To you, as well, it seems. So the giving should be sweet.”
Euriel moved to shield her daughter with her body. Opposite them, the glow around Irodee now flickered with rage.
No one said anything. Perhaps they were stunned. Maybe they waited to see how he would respond. His heart felt ready to leap from his chest. Hecate scrutinized him with a twisted smile.
Wren’s life for Sarai’s. Such a simple trade and also contrary to everything he believed in. He had no right to give Wren, or anyone, into another’s possession. Just as Hecate had wrongly taken his love.
Black talons ripped at his chest. All his power, yet the inevitable stormed toward him like a juggernaut. He longed for Sarai. To get that creature out of her body. To hold her a last time. Hold. He must act. His grip was failing. A finish. An end. He must kill love to stave off death.
“No.” Inside, it felt as if he’d turned to ice. Never to know her touch again in order to save people he did not know, to protect principles that never seemed to apply. “You know I can’t give you that.”
Hecate’s eyes flared. “Give it not then, Fool. I shall take it!”
The surge of elemental force came so fast that it seemed to sear his soul. Mystic threads lashed out from Hecate’s hand, slamming down Euriel and engulfing Wren.
The goddess’ power burned, but he held on though it felt as if he would turn to char. Wren had become a brilliant blaze of light as she countered the goddess with her Nola, redirecting and dissipating the energies. Even limited by Sarai’s body, Hecate possessed more than enough power to exhaust and finally crush Wren.
Laramis and Irodee charged in, weapons gleaming. The goddess smashed them with a wave of stone and an eruption of fire.
“Stop, damn you—stop…” Tears filled his eyes because he knew she wouldn’t. The goddess was beyond caring and reason. She only knew how to take. She had never known desire without satisfaction.
He clamped down again on the cords of reality that tied Hecate to her power, a hand above and one below. He gritted his teeth and pulled in opposite directions. Hecate’s ties to the Motherforce frayed and popped, mystic power spewed out like blood from severed arteries, sprays of color filled the night like clouds of ignited phosphor.
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