by Matt Hiebert
“I see the god in your breast fears something, little rabbit,” the Agara said, ignoring the human archers. “Gods fear death and love life. Is the god in you afraid I may harm one of these humans?”
Quintel could not hide his reaction. The Agara saw him flinch. Knowing, it dived directly into the archers, its wings scattering the Abanshi like toys. Grabbing one of the men by the neck, it shot back into the sky.
Launching himself from a high roof, Quintel lunged into the sky. No part of him wanted the human to die. At that moment a figure bolted from an adjoining street. It was Aul.
“Brother!” she shouted and threw her sword to him in the air. It flipped end over end and filled his fist just before he met the monster.
The Demonthane held the Abanshi soldier by both arms and opened its fanged mouth to bite off his head. Quintel's sword slashed a single stroke. The blow cut across the black gums of the monster just above the top row of its sword-like teeth. Quintel crashed into the Agara’s face. A curtain of black blood dripped from the Agara's mouth.
He had found its weak spot. It was soft on the inside
The Agara dropped the swordsman to the street, injured but not dead. Clinging to the creature’s neck, Quintel fired a fury of sword strikes into its face, trying to get it to open its mouth, careful not to break his borrowed blade. With his newfound knowledge, he looked into its body again, reexamining the placement of its power stone.
The Agara struck with one of its bladed hands. Quintel deflected the strike but it still sent him crashing through the timber roof of a large storehouse. The front wall of the building collapsed into the street.
He was on his feet in an instant, inspired by his discovery. Grom circled overhead, raging, frustrated that Quintel had harmed it twice now. It was not in control of its anger. Emotion boiled from it dark heart. Seeing him in the street, it dived.
With his sister's sword in hand, Quintel met the Agara's charge flat footed. Grom slammed into him and Quintel latched onto its massive head. They vaulted upward into the cloudless blue sky. With his free hand, he gripped one of the Agara's fangs like a handle and set his foot against its lower jaw. It tried to claw him off, but could not get leverage.
“I know your weakness, Demonthane,” he whispered. It was not enough that he had found the being’s vulnerability. He wanted the Agara to know it.
With every grain of strength he possessed, Quintel pushed the Agara's jaws in opposite directions, forcing its mouth to open. The Agara launched into a violent series of aerial acrobatics trying to shake him off. They climbed so high that blackness opened above them and all light remained below. They had soared to the top of the world.
The monster fought to close its jaws. Quintel shoved the sword inside its mouth, wedging the tip of the blade into its palate, the hilt against its jaw. If it closed its mouth the blade would penetrate its skull from the inside.
Then Quintel reached down the creature's slimy throat. The Agara figured out his plan and plummeted toward the ground. It shook its head and gagged. He felt the webby tissue enwrapping the great obelisk that held its soul. Quintel's fingers sunk into the webbing and tore out a fist-sized swatch of tendons and nerves. The Agara choked and convulsed, losing control of its limbs. Quintel's hand fished again, this time finding the smooth, warm surface of the power stone. His finger constricted over the stone and he pulled hard.
The ovoid ripped from its nest and black fire exploded from the Agara's chest. The shadowy spirit that filled its legs and arms snapped violently back into the black stone. The Agara's body went limp.
Falling to the earth, his arms wedged inside the Agara's mouth, Quintel tore the last few ligaments from the stone and pulled it free.
When he did, the Agara’s jaws snapped shut and bit off his right arm at the elbow. The shining tip of the sword pierced the top of the creature’s head.
Quintel felt pain. The stump of his arm shot jets of red blood that flew away in the wind as he plunged to the ground. He separated from the Agara and tried to stop the fountain of blood, but could not. He struck the ground at full velocity and bounced into the air. His guts tore from their holds and his bones pulverized. After another bounce, he settled into a twisted heap, shattered, but alive.
He lay there for some time, trying to stop the bleeding throughout his body and reform his bones. After a few minutes, his innards found their proper location, his bones knitted and he stood. The stub of his right arm ceased bleeding.
He walked over to the Agara’s body. The large black stone protruded from the fanged mouth like a strangled man's tongue. His severed hand still gripped the stone.
Quintel looked at the end of his arm -- two white bones protruded from a nest of mangled red flesh. It was a messy amputation.
He studied his wound and considered what could be done. There was no way to reattach the lost limb but he could not go without a sword arm.
Tapping into knowledge he did not fully understand, he sent his will into the stump and commanded his body to form a new hand. The laws of nature groveled, but obeyed him. Bone and muscle reached out from the severed member, weaving and stitching themselves into existence, crawling and twitching outward with a life of their own. A hand and fingers took shape. Tendon and muscle covered new bones. Soon, a fully formed arm and hand appeared.
But something was wrong.
As the forearm and hand took flesh, he saw there was no color to the appendage. The hairless arm was as black as the Thog stones. The palms, under the nails, the veins, everything was the color of coal. He moved the fingers and wrist to make certain he could control them. The hand was his but it was not like the one he had lost. A part of him cringed at the change.
Quintel picked up the large Agara stone and pried his old arm off. He had lost his hand, but the Agara had lost its entire body. He could see the creature's red soul inside the elongated sphere, swimming back and forth like a fish in a bowl, still wanting to fight.
Holding the stone at arm’s length, Quintel studied it in a way he had not before. His spirit's eye traced its surface and shape. He deducted its origins by tapping into the primitive memories of his god half. From there, he discerned how Ru conceived and created the object. While the Thog stones were produced in mass, Quintel saw this one was unique. It had been painstakingly crafted and nurtured. It was the prototype for all the others.
Ru must have hated letting the Agara crawl inside it. The thought brought a part of Quintel pleasure, but it was not his human part.
He was not sure what to do with the object. The Agara was still inside, and Ru could grow another accommodating body -- an improved one -- in very little time. He could not leave the stone with the Abanshi because they could never defend it. And his trust of the Lanya was thin.
The stone would have to stay with him. As Quintel probed the miniscule grains that formed its physical appearance, he realized that in some way, the stone was not actually there. It was a piece of the spirit world pulled into the tangible world. Although solid, it vibrated upon another plane. That’s what made the stones indestructible.
He tucked the heart under his blackened arm and turned toward the city. Time for him to rejoin his people. The battle was won but the war still spread before them like an uncharted desert.
Leagues in the distance, he sensed the Vaerian army arriving from the most-western end of the world. While their ability to mobilize their forces was impressive, they were days late. Quintel wanted to speak with their leaders about Siyer and his situation with Yuul. They might have priests who could help him control his power.
The return of Lanya would also interest them.
Chapter 30
A dozen mounted Abanshi rode down an escarpment to meet him. Armed with pikes and lances, they had intended to help him with the Demonthane. Again, their action was only a brave gesture. There was no way they could have aided him; Quintel saw them as a liability. As long as they were near him, their lives were in danger. Watching the soldiers' dancing lifelight Quin
tel knew what needed to be done. He just wasn't ready to do it.
“The Agara's corpse is over there,” he said to the mounted warriors. “See if we can learn anything from it.”
The soldiers galloped by and he felt their awe. All of them believed in his divinity. All felt as if they viewed the incarnation of a god when they looked upon him. The sensation made Quintel stop. He had massacred fifty thousand Thogs, he had slain an Agara with his bare hands. He realized that indeed these were great feats. Why didn't he feel pride over their doing? The tasks had been automatic to him. While he had desire, both human and divine, to destroy the unholy creations, he felt no sense of accomplishment now that he had done so. He believed they were only obstacles between himself and Sirian Ru.
Quintel hoisted the Agara's stone upon his shoulder.
“What do you plan on doing with that thing?” a voice called to him with familiarity. It was Aul. She rode upon the same gray mare she had before the battle, although now both were stripped of their armor.
He stopped and cocked his head at her. “I do not know yet. The Agara is still trapped inside. It cannot fall into Ru's control again.”
“We can protect it within our vaults,” Aul offered. “They are buried a mile beneath the earth.”
Quintel shook his head. “No human precautions will suffice. The thing must stay in my sight until I figure out what to do with it. Did you collect the stones from the dead Thogs?”
Aul dismounted. In the distance behind her, the men had found the Agara's body and were debating how to get it back to the city.
“We've gotten most of them. Ninety wagon loads,” she said. “We have a company of men sifting through the ash for the rest.”
“Good,” Quintel said. He could see in Aul's heart that she was not sure how to treat him. She was not willing to merely bow down to him. But she also accepted the fact he was some sort of supernatural entity. For the first time in her life, Aul believed she might be addressing a superior, and she had no idea how to react.
“Will you be using the stones to create your own monsters?” she asked, feeling bold in her question, testing the boundaries between them.
Quintel looked at her, shocked by the suggestion but showing no expression. He had never thought of such a thing. The idea was repulsive. What did Aul think he was? Ru's creations were sacrilegious. What violations had the god committed to gain such knowledge? What travesties had he embraced? Ru's creatures were... abominations. Quintel remembered that was the label the Agara had also given him.
“No,” he answered. A heaviness settled upon him. Where did he fit in among the travesties? Was that why the Lanya had treated him with contempt? Was he like the Thogs? The Agara? “Throw them over the edge of the world.”
He turned and headed up the escarpment toward the capital city. At that moment, Aul noticed his blackened hand. She had thought it colored with the Agara's blood.
“Your hand!” She exclaimed. “Has it been stained?”
“The Agara bit it off,” Quintel said. “I commanded the limb to grow back and this is what came.”
He saw her reaction to the blackened member. The response was not unlike his own. Somehow, the hand seemed to be more than a replacement for his previous one. It had significance beyond giving him symmetry. It marked him.
Aul did not want him to see her discomfort and changed the topic.
“There are reports that the Lanya have returned,” she said. “And their reception of you was not generous.”
Quintel kept moving up the steep slope of the escarpment. He hadn't sorted through all the events of the last few days. He wasn't sure what to tell her about the Lanya.
“We had a misunderstanding,” he replied, not turning around. Aul said nothing but he could feel her watching him trudge up the rocky hillside.
“It's unfortunate you have to lug that cursed rock around with you,” she shouted as he reached the top of the escarpment. “If only it were something useful!”
As soon as the words left her mouth the idea came to him.
“You have a good point, sister,” he called back to her. There was something about Aul that moved Quintel. She reminded him of Aran.
Quintel thought about what she had said. He did not feel comfortable disposing of the larger stone with the others. Unlike them, it was not a merely a motivational force. It held a living Agara. He wanted it close. If he had to keep the stone, it should be useful to him. As he walked alone across the empty landscape, he studied the stone with the whole of his consciousness. He crawled within its structure and saw how the Agara fit inside. He saw how it maintained form under the strain of its occupant.
Holding the stone before him, Quintel allowed his will to flow over its surface. He somehow understood the object. He knew how he could change it. The Agara inside saw what was happening, but could do nothing to stop him.
In his hands, the stone began to transform. Since it was a product of will and consciousness, those were the forces that could act upon it. Steel could not break it, fire could not burn it, but willpower could forge it into any shape he wished. And Quintel had learned one very valuable lesson during the past two days. He needed a sword that would not break.
The god in him came forward to help with the task. Somehow, the fragment knew exactly what to do and how to do it. As if following some instinct, the divine sliver reached out and caressed the Agara stone, commanding it to reform into the image within Quintel's mind. The godly sliver guided his attention along certain lines within the stone, revealing hidden grains of construction that could be convinced to take new shape.
Arcs of energy crackled over the black stone's surface. It stretched and folded beneath his will, taking the form of a long one-handed sword. At first the weapon looked crude and simple. Then details appeared. A fuller ran down the length of the blade; a hilt shaped itself to the grip of his new hand. The edge flattened to impossible sharpness.
In a few moments, he found himself holding a perfectly forged weapon. Black and without sheen, it seemed to melt into his same-colored hand. The Agara within glared back at him with malevolence. Violated.
A slight smile pulled at the edge of his lips. His sword would never break again. Quintel stuck the blade in his belt and continued toward Jura.
He had learned something new. Touching the stone with his thoughts, willing it to change shape, watching the god emerge to help him, all combined to open a door. The events let him peer into another world. None of those acts came from his human self. They were not like wielding a sword to kill Thogs, or climbing a wall to avoid detection, or running for days without stopping. They were not even like the times he journeyed across the physical world without his body.
Creation through willpower, rearranging matter to conform to his thought -- those were the acts of a god. They made him feel complete.
He saw the capital city miles away and walked leisurely to get there, still healing the last of his wounds. He looked forward to speaking with the Vaerians. He hoped they had some lore or science that could help him master his power. Quintel needed guidance on how to destroy Ru. His Thog army was crushed, but the god still sat in his perch. Until Sirian Ru fell, Quintel could not rest. But was he ready to face such a task?
By the time he arrived at the city gates, the victory celebration had begun. The city square, where he had been kept prisoner earlier, had transformed into a sprawling party. Although only noon, drunkenness permeated the lifelight of every man and woman he saw. Even the ones who had lost loved ones at the Iron Gate celebrated, for the deaths had not been in vain. A steer turned on a spit in the middle of the square. Musicians paraded the stone streets playing tones which competed with the overall roar of the milling crowd. Bands of Vaerian soldiers mingled with their Abanshi counterparts, listening to the story of Quintel's butchery of the Thogs.
A woman in the crowd recognized him.
“The Thog Stacker!” she shouted. “He is here!”
All turned and silence fell upon the ce
lebration. Quintel walked into their midst, suddenly conscious of his feral appearance. His clothes were in tatters and stiff from the dried black blood of the Thogs. His hair hung in filthy ropes and he smelled of rotten flesh and gore. A god he did not resemble.
The Abanshi soldiers who had been audience to the fight were the first to fall to their knees. The other Abanshi citizens followed. The visiting Vaerians, still not believing the tales told by their allies, dropped their gaze out of politeness but did not kneel.
“Stand up!” Quintel said to them, made uneasy by their adoration. “I am not to be worshipped. I am one of you!” While some eyes dared to look up, no one stood.
The sound of horses came from the gate behind him. It was Aul and her entourage returning with the Agara's body, which they dragged behind their mounts. The site of her people bowing to Quintel caused her anxiety. She swallowed hard and looked at him seeking some sign to confirm this was what he wanted.
“Tell them to stand, Aul,” Quintel said, but it sounded like a command.
He saw Aul's lifelight shift. Rainbow rings of luminescence moved from her chest to her head. Her crown of determination adjusted and shimmered gold. She had come to some kind of understanding, some sort of realization, about him. She dismounted and held her hand in the air.
“Rise, my people!” she said to the kneeling crowd. “My brother is not served by your veneration.”
Tentatively, many of the Abanshi stood. Others kept their eyes on Quintel while Aul continued.
“Although a god lives within his heart, Quintel has not been sent to us as a king,” she said, her voice resonant with authority, as if the meaning of his existence was about to fall from her lips. “His power does not come from the blind faith of followers. He does not seek to lead armies that hang upon his every command!”
Aul walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. Even Quintel was mesmerized by her certainty. He saw fire dance through her mind. He saw complete confidence fill her lungs and throat. Everything she said was true and a part of him wished he had the qualities that gave her such surety. She could not know these things for fact but she made herself believe she did.
