“Me and Kugar…you know, we never—”
She put a forefinger on his lips. “I know this too. I understood it immediately. But it belongs to you two.”
They kept silent, then Dag sat cross-legged on the emerald green grass. “If we could choose who we loved, it would be much simpler, but much less magical.”
“Where did you read it?”
“An old epic poem about a small town in the desert.” He stood up and took a few steps, locked in his thoughts. “Shit.”
“You ask me why I’m in love with you,” Erin said. “The look on your face, as if you were always thinking something over. Those red eyes—Ktisis—I’d kill if they could look just at me, all day.” She tore a tuft of grass and watched the thin green leaves as they fell to the ground. “Yet your eyes always seek the unreachable light, unable to see the beauty around them.”
“You remind me Araya when you talk like that.”
“Araya takes drugs.”
Dagger went to the willow trunk. The bark had been partially removed in the past, as if by violent sword slashings. On the bare wood, he read several names bonded forever together in the eyes of the god. Many of them crossed in a letter they had in common. He found Olem and Missy: the end of the one was the beginning of the other. A little above, there was Hammoth and Valmara: a perfect cross. With a little effort he found Crowley and Aniah too: one alongside the other, since they had nothing in common.
Mom…he thought, while Erin hugged him from behind. “Why don’t you ask me who am I thinking about?”
“I always know when you’re thinking about your mother,” she said, pinching his nose.
“Promise me. If one day I come back to you with a demon inside, you will not follow me.”
The girl hugged him stronger, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “All men have a demon inside,” she answered. “Some manage to tame it, others follow it wherever it leads them, even down to the loss of all things…bringing to ruin also those condemned to love them.” She kissed him. “I can wait, like all women. But sooner or later I always get what I want. Now come and make me holy again.”
* * * * *
8. The night he died
Winter fell on Candehel-mas. Darkness won over daylight and the desert began to scream, in increasingly long and powerful gusts, all its hatred against the Fortress. The wind slipped into the Glade and inside the buildings scattered throughout the sacred forest, right into the slots of the underground training room where Dagger spat blood day and night. Olem was pushing his training beyond the limit, often depriving him of sleep and food. Days could pass before he allowed him to reach his comrades.
In the dead of a cold and desperate night, as the whole world slept, Dag was returning to his room when a purple glow gleamed across the black sky, nose-diving in the Glade. He saw it hit the roof of the abandoned tower and then glide over the treetops, across his entire field of view. After the noise, there was only the burning shadows of silence.
He ran at breakneck speed through the forest, following a trail of uprooted trunks and a sickly-sweet stench he had never smelled, not even in the filthiest corners of Melekesh.
A blinding light welcomed him. He shielded his eyes, walking slowly until it faded. Only then he saw Angra resting on one side. His wings were broken, his feathers blue, his breath fast and labored.
The last god opened his eye, turning the huge purple pupil toward him. “Dag?” His voice was tired. “I came back in the end, did you see? I would have never closed my eyes in that dreadful place. I would have never closed my eyes at home.”
Dagger threw himself against him, clenching his hands on the thick fur. “Don’t go! Please, don’t go away!”
“It was all an illusion,” the force added, as if he had not heard. “Forgive me, Dag. The temple was deserted: Tankars and Gorgors have crossed the Fracture and are now marching in the world Beyond, toward the portal to the Fortress. Everything will be at stake here once again in the presence of this cursed mountain.”
Under the broken wing, as if cherished by the god’s claws, Dagger saw the sword of manegarm, which contained Skyrgal’s soul, slip to the ground. It had returned to its original size. He noticed the symbol at the center of the hilt, a Spiral crudely drawn: the symbol of the forces, the Disciples, and of him too. The infinite ribbon that held together the twisted fate of the immortals.
He felt nauseous.
Angra seemed to smile and looked down on the sword. “I have used Skyrgal and he has finally had his revenge. The Unforgiven. I’ve always called him that, but how can I blame him when it’s me I can’t forgive? And how can I blame you, my boy? You never asked to come to this world. You’re so pure. So innocent. So blasphemous.”
Dagger buried his face against his side, choking back tears and beating him at the same time. “Why? Why didn’t you let mortals act on their own this time too? Why did you have to intervene?”
“Because now you…exist.” The god closed the eye that still saw, while the blind one was still wide open on the deep mysteries of the dark. His voice changed. Everything changed in him, slipping slowly toward eternal unconsciousness. “The sky is turning red, the return to power approaches. It was necessary to untie the Node you represent. I had to do it, somehow…I had to stop you for good.”
The boy stood up and looked at him, taking a step back. “What…?”
“Forgive me, Dag. Forgive me if I wanted to save the world that I love so much. It’s all arranged, you just have to make the right choice. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you’ll suffer. But it’s necessary.”
“What are you talking about? Speak!”
“You’ll know it when your dreams turn to ashes,” the force exhaled. “And, from ashes, to your grave.”
A gust of wind shook the treetops and the feathers withered, fading to black.
“After all…what is life but a dream?” said the god. Then, without a tear, Angra drew his parting groan from the mortals’ world.
“What did you do?” Dag growled. He rushed up to the divine corpse and punched it with all his strength. “Speak! Speak! SPEAK! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?”
But it was another god that answered him: “Blah blah blah! Questions, questions, questions!” the unmistakable voice of Skyrgal, rising from everywhere. “Hello, my son. We meet again, at last!”
“You…is it you who killed him?”
The boy heard his laugh, watching the handle of the sword sticking out from under Angra’s wing. He felt the evil aura of Karkenos making its way under his skin and probing his every thought and feeling.
“Oh no, it’s you who killed him. He died for you, to stop you. You heard him, right?”
“He was—” He paused, his voice tightened by the cold hand of terror. “He was my—”
“Your friend? The god of Creation? Oh, son: your innocence does not suit everything you’ve seen!” his father said, loosening the grip on his throat. “Well, don’t think I don’t understand you. I understand your desperate need to live a mortal existence, the long series of lies they call life. But it’s high time someone told you the truth—that light in the dark which illuminates, in a sudden glow, all the horrors we decide not to see, wiping out any artificial happiness and showing us the way. Since you were born, Angra has always known that the only way to stop me, to relegate me eternally to that sewer where he kicked me to, was to stop YOU forever. It must have been your dual nature, the paradox you represent, that confused him for a while: to intervene or not to intervene? Leave some humans free to soil their hands with the blood of a god, or put an end to it? Apparently, the carcass has finally made a choice.”
“He wanted to kill me?”
“If it were that simple, he would have already done it. But you’re Ktisis, remember? And you will die only with Megatherion, the end of the All. He had to find the right way to, let’s say, ‘put you aside’. I’m afraid he found it, and this was the real mission of his last journey. You don’t want to and can’t see. You still live in
the world where he was the good god who loved each of his children, especially you…who are alone.”
“He can’t have betrayed me. He wanted Olem to take care of me! We laughed together, we—!”
“I was there. I saw. The journey to the temple of Ktisis lasts only a few days for a human riding a mogwart, and he was a god riding the wild wind…so where has he been all this time? After all, why should he close the portal in the temple of Ktisis, when he could easily close the one located here, in the heart of Golconda? I understand your illusions, but they can’t be so big as to blind you to the evidence!”
“I just want to be…” Dagger brought his fingers to his eyes and felt that he was crying. “…human.”
“You can’t. Don’t torture yourself this way, I can’t bear it. Sincerity is one of the most honest forms of affection, remember? You must face reality: we didn’t create you just to let you go around and ‘be human.’” Skyrgal laughed at him. “If you could only see the blood-red carpet Angra has laid before you, what he has in mind for the eternal final blaze of your murky existence, you would find the help of someone like me all too acceptable. Do you want to keep on fooling yourself? Do it, if you will. I’m afraid things have gone so far that this will make no difference. You’ll find out the truth very soon, my son. You’ll discover it at the end of the road, as has everyone who has preceded you. And you will not come back either.”
“What do They really mean by that?”
“Who?”
“Your Disciples. There must be some deeper meaning to that.”
Skyrgal grumbled slowly and hideously. “It means They no longer want to be saved. It means They know They are not part of this world any more and They accept it. It means no Redemption, if not the one that will come through you. When you see the end of the road, you never, ever want to come back.”
Then, only silence.
The noise of some approaching steps pulled him out from the semi-consciousness into which he had fallen. He instinctively grabbed the Sword, now silent, rushing headlong into the trees. With his old Spider’s agility he climbed an oak tree, looking for a branch strong enough to hold him and close enough to see what would happen.
Some Guardians of the Hammer came, followed by others of the Poison and of the Sword. Dagger found it curious how, at the sight of the dead god, all the orders seemed united by a common religious pain. A crowd of about a hundred men and women gathered around Angra, then Varg Belhaven arrived, accompanied by his eldest son Evoken, and Warren.
“Clear the area!” the Pendracon thundered, addressing his men. “Isolate the whole damned glade: no one may enter or leave without my permission!”
The Guardians of the Sword seemed about to protest, but those of the Poison put a hand on their shoulders, inviting them to desist. The forest rang of their footsteps, then silence resumed.
When they were alone, Evoken began to pace slowly around the god. “The wolf is loose,” he said solemnly. “And now he rides the lightning through the cosmic nothingness. He’s become the holy diver, lost in the midnight ocean, waiting to be born again.”
“Does he still exist?” Warren asked.
“In a form no more understandable to our eyes. He will incarnate himself elsewhere, in a time and a dimension that are not the present ones. It’s all happened before and everything will happen again, in the continuation of the eternal Spiral.”
Varg stepped toward the titanic corpse and searched under its wing. “No!” he thundered. “It’s not here. Get over with this crap, both of you, and look for that damn Sword! I don’t know what the fuck goes on in your mind anymore since you found those papers in the body of the petrified god. That Sword is the most important artifact. It’s always been! His damned soul!”
Evoken nodded, leaning elegantly to participate in the search, as did Warren.
The Pendracon kept on cursing. “It must be under him.” He tried to push the huge corpse to the side. “Oh, Ktisisdamn, help me!”
“I don’t think we can move such a scumbag even with all the Guardians in the Fortress,” Evoken calmly observed.
“So, what should we do?”
The eldest son looked around, his long, straight hair following his movements. “We have to get the names of all those who have come here before us. Someone may have taken the Sword. We will make room in our dungeons for new guests, hoping not to prolong their stay more than the necessary.”
Varg smiled at the idea. “So be it.” He turned to Warren. “Now it’s time to show us what you’re made of. You’ll be responsible for the questioning.”
“I’ll be happy to do it, my Pendracon,” the white blood said without hesitation.
“Let’s get back to the Fortress now. I promise you, I’ll find a way to turn this asshole over!” Varg Belhaven concluded.
The three disappeared. Dagger let time pass, crouched where he was. If they have isolated the Glade, how am I to get out of this situation? He found that remaining still was a good option, for the time being.
He was nearly falling asleep when two new shadows came, black in the night, as if emerging from the sleep of reason. One of them was limping, and dragged the leg in the dry leaves that covered the ground. The two stood where he could not see them, and they could not see him.
“Just as expected,” Olem’s voice said. “As the Fortress sleeps, Angra dies. This will speed up everything; we don’t have much time left.”
Dagger was about to get out, happy for the first time to hear the voice of his teacher, when he heard a mean and treacherous hiss: “Fear not. We Disciples will move soon, and our first strike is going to be deadly, as it’s always been. We will be particularly ruthless against the Hammer Guardians, who think they can put their hands on our infinite power. We’ll do it, yes; we will hit hard as we used to! So make up your mind now, Dracon. I won’t tolerate your hesitation anymore. If the Lord of Creation is dead, our road is finally open.”
“I—”
“Don’t say anything. And don’t try to lock your thoughts. You’ve never been able to, and that’s just your luck. Only so I could understand how to help you ease the pain. We’ll bring her back to life: this is the promise of the one and only First Disciple, words that you can write in stone. Just prove you deserve our trust and we’ll reward you as you requested!”
You are the traitor! Son of a bitch!
Olem cleared his throat. “It’s time for decisions. It’s time for decisions for everyone,” he replied. “Now let’s get away. Within a short time, the fucking Hammers will have locked us in here.”
The other one produced a wet rattle and then said, “I don’t think so. Only I still know every passage of this damned structure. I wouldn’t miss this show for anything in the world after four hundred years of long waiting. Die, old despot of a rotten world! Die…and hallowed be thy name.”
Dagger poked his head out and looked at the two shadowy shapes moving away. Olem and a tall, deformed figure wrapped in a cloak. If they found him he was certain they would kill him. Then he would rise again, in chains in some dark room away from any possible help. He went down from branch to branch, carrying the heavy Sword that contained Skyrgal’s soul. He watched Angra one last time, then he disappeared. He aimlessly marched through the trees, lost as in a dream. Getting away from the Glade with that Sword in his hands would not be easy, so he looked for a hiding place to spend the night.
He glimpsed a reddish glow in the damp mist, and followed it to its source. He found himself at the foot of five gigantic oaks. They were joined together in a single, bizarre structure placed on the boundary between the forest and the cemetery, between life and death. A flight of stairs had been dug through the tree trunks, now penetrating the wood, now becoming a seemingly precarious bridge suspended in the air, twisting and turning on its way to the top.
Guided by the ethereal light coming through the small windows carved into the bark, he reached the large pentagonal terrace opened in the tree crown. He was struck by the breathtaking
view on the entire Glade.
Silhouetted against the silvery waterfalls, he saw the shadowy shape of Araya sitting with crossed legs. Above him there were only leaves, myriads of leaves, supported by an intricate network of branches.
“He decided to stop you, but why?” the shadow against the light whispered.
“Araya?”
The lizard Dracon picked up something from the floor, and carried it to his mouth. The shadow of his jaw moved slowly. “Now that my perception is altered, I see everything; all that will be. And I’m afraid.”
The boy walked to his side, watching him. Araya stared into space, chewing a piece of a chopped mushroom lying next to the light green plant of his foot.
Araya took another bit and put it in his mouth. “You’ve already made your choice. But you don’t know, Kam Konkra. It’s all done, all gone. You will sacrifice everything for the only kind of devoted, total, and unconditional love in the world. It’s just that you don’t know. No, you still don’t know.”
“You’ve already said that.”
Araya turned and stared at him. There was a different light in his eyes. They were dull, lifeless, as if the cracks of his pupils—open on the darkness of his consciousness—had taken over the golden irises. “The silence or the roar?” he hissed. “Creation or Destruction, what will your choice be? Who will you follow to the end? If you come back to life, we’ll all be dead, all dead and redeemed. The purple wind has blown away the thin layer of sand covering the horror—the horror! The knowledge that was to be forgotten, this struggle of mine, our long history, generations of warriors drowning in a useless past…nothing but a blink in the face of the infinite and silent BOOM!” He spread his arms, throwing back his head. “Can you hear the final thunder roaring? What lies in the deep of the great All? In the horrors of the sidereal abyss, beyond images of distant lives where everyone can buy his salvation on tidy shelves, even though at a short distance, on the same world—the same world!—children are beheaded and their parents hanged in the name of what? What, if not the silent veneration of the universal chaos, of the suppression that everything moves and everything changes? BOOM! Their pain runs through me! I see it! I don’t want it! BOOM! I close my eyes and listen to the last childish scream, before his head is separated from his body under his father’s eyes! BOOM! It would have been better to see you climb those stairs? God is alone! God is pain, when a mother brings out the dead body of her son from the rubble of a ruined house, sacrificial victim gutted on the altar of black basalt built by man for man! BOOM! Ask the sheep if for their beliefs they kill on god’s command! BOOM! It could be my home, my children, my life! Why is it happening,? Why? I am pure! I don’t want to see, I don’t have to! I…” Araya opened his eyes. Then the membranes. Then he looked at him. “Oh. My boy, what are you doing here?” He frowned. “One moment. What the Ktisis am I doing here?”
Dagger 2 - Blood Brothers - A Dark Fantasy Adventure (Born to Be Free series) Page 19
