Dark God

by T C Southwell

  Martal left, and Ellese went to talk to the other healers out of Bane's earshot, leaving Tallis with him. She started to ease his head off her lap, intending to leave him to lie on the floor.

  "Do not go," he murmured. "The floor is damned hard."

  Tallis hesitated, undecided. She hated him for treating Mirra so cruelly, yet Mirra loved him. Now, groggy from the sleeping draught and almost too weak to move, all he stirred in her was pity. Certainly he was no danger to her, and she settled his head back on her lap, resolving to treat him as a patient.

  Ellese returned and knelt beside him. "Is he asleep yet?"

  "No," Bane said.

  Elder Mother smiled at Tallis. "Maybe we should sing him a lullaby."

  "What is that?" he whispered.

  "A song mothers sing to their children to make them sleep."

  "Ah. That explains why I do not know what it is." His words were slurred and his breathing had slowed.

  Ellese placed a hand on his chest, the powerful throb of his heart reassuring her. The rest of the healers had gathered on the far side of the chapel to talk or pray, and some watched Bane with a mixture of dislike and concern. Ellese shook him gently, and then turned to Tallis.

  "I think he is asleep." She paused. "I know you hate him, but we are making history here today, child. By saving him, we are saving the world. He is, after all, a god."

  Tallis frowned at Bane. "But... he is a man."

  "Yes. He is both."

  Tallis raised her eyes. "How can a man also be a god? Surely he can only be one or the other?"

  "It is possible, though it is rare."

  "How do you know?"

  "I witnessed the ritual Arkonen performed before he was born, and only a god can wield the dark power as he does."

  Tallis' expression hardened. "A pity he is an evil one."

  "But he is not. He uses the dark power, but his heart is good."

  "How can you say that after what he did to Mirra?"

  Ellese sighed. "Perhaps you would not blame him so much if you knew what was done to him in the Underworld. Also, the dark power corrupts, and he has been using it for four years, yet he remains pure at heart. That in itself is remarkable."

  "That does not excuse what he did to Mirra."

  "Maybe not, but he has changed."

  "I do not understand how she can love him."

  Ellese smiled. "Well, you do not seem to be afraid of him anymore."

  Tallis realised that she was idly stroking Bane's hair again, and snatched her hands away. "He is asleep."

  "And he is nice to touch, is he not?" Ellese stroked his cheek. "That is because he is a god, and also a gift of the dark power. It abhors dirt and flaws, strangely enough, and bestows a seductive aura. He was a handsome lad before he took it up, but it has perfected him."

  "And if he gives it up?"

  "I think its effects are permanent now."

  Tallis frowned down at him again, her hatred weakening.

  Ellese said, "He could have done a lot of worse things to Mirra, my dear. He did not ravish her, nor did he allow his men to."

  "He allowed them to do it to a lot of other women."

  "Yes, but he never did it himself. In fact, he did very little killing himself, when you consider how much he could have done, had he wished it." Ellese dipped her fingers in the pool of blood and held it up. "The blood of a god."

  The young healer grimaced, and Ellese dabbed it onto Bane's chest, where it slowly vanished. "The powers of a god."

  "Why did he not ravish her?"

  "Because he is not like that."

  Bane sighed. "You almost make me sound human."

  Tallis jumped in surprise, and Ellese smiled. "Only you could resist my potion for this long, Bane."

  "Interesting conversation... Try a lullaby. I should like to hear one."

  "Go to sleep."

  Bane sighed again, and Ellese gestured for Tallis to be silent, then rose and went to join the others. Tallis longed to question him about Mirra, filled with dread for her friend. She wondered what was happening to Mirra and shuddered as several terrible possibilities occurred to her. The fact that Bane had abandoned her only proved his lack of trustworthiness and disregard for her. After all Mirra's kindness and loyalty, he had betrayed her, and Tallis used this to stoke her hatred.

  Ellese waited half an hour to be sure that Bane was deeply asleep, then gathered the healers to pray around him while she attempted to call down the white flame again. For a while it resisted her efforts, and she feared it would not respond a second time, now that the immediate danger was past.

  At last it flared and drifted down to mantel Bane with its soft glow. Once again, she channelled the golden power into him, past the evil’s resistance. The healing light restored the last of the damage, closed the wound and left a faint white scar. When the light died, she sat back, satisfied. The assembled healers ceased their prayers and looked at her.

  Ellese said, "He is still weak. He has lost a lot of blood. As soon as he wakes we must feed him a strengthening tonic. Go and prepare one. Make it strong."

  Some healers left to prepare the tonic, and three helped Ellese to lift Bane onto a stretcher and carry him to his room, where they laid him on the bed. As the women filed out, Ellese looked at Tallis, who hovered at his bedside.

  "I will stay with him," the young healer said.

  Ellese nodded. "Good. Do not try to wake him. He needs to rest. I must speak to Martal."

  Tallis settled on the hard chair, and Elder Mother left her to her vigil.

  Ellese found Martal in the inner courtyard, trying to rally his few remaining men into some semblance of fighting readiness. Most were too weary to do more than gape at him, unable to absorb the terrible news that they might have to fight the horde of monsters again. Exhausted archers walked amongst the dead, pulling arrows from the bodies to fill their quivers. Soldiers sharpened their battered weapons with slow doggedness.

  Martal had changed into a clean tunic, but the death he had seen and the loss of most of his army haunted his eyes. For a man whose greatest pride was his fighting force, its loss was a heavy blow. Injured men lay next to the walls, bloody bandages binding their wounds, their expressions hard but resigned. Even they would rise to fight at the end.

  Martal turned as she approached. "How is he?"

  "Asleep. The healing is done, now we just have to wait."

  "I thought your healers had no more power. What about my wounded men?"

  "We do not. In our desperation to save Bane, we called upon the power of the True Fire, and the Lady granted us a miracle."

  His face twisted in disgust. "Why would she help to save that damned -"

  "Because only he can save us."

  "Why does she not do it herself?"

  "She has given us the means to fight the Black Lord in Bane. That is how she will defeat him."

  "And what will happen if he fails? Will she intercede?"

  Ellese shook her head, gazing across the trampled garden. "She cannot. Arkonen would slay her."

  Martal eyed her with an incredulous expression, then shook his head and turned to survey his men once more. "Then how about another miracle for my men? Use the flame on them."

  "It cannot be done. The Lady will not allow it to be used to save them."

  He snorted, glancing up at the sky. "How much time do we have before the monsters return?"

  "That depends on how far they fled when Bane chased them away."

  "A few hours then."

  "Probably."

  Martal sighed. "A hot meal would help to strengthen my men."

  "Of course. I will arrange it."

  Mirra woke to the familiar sensation of nausea knotting her abused stomach, and the dark power's foul touch chilled her skin. Opening her eyes, she glanced around. She lay on the floor of a temple, and she recognised it as the one she had visited with Bane in the Old Kingdom. The expanse of black marble stretched away to the pillars that upheld the stone ro
of, and red-robed priests stood like statues between them. Rolling onto her stomach, she raised herself, turning to face the altar and the golden throne behind it. A man sat there, a faint smile curling his sensuous lips. He was easily the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, even surpassing Bane's dark allure, but only just. Yet while Bane retained a certain wholesomeness that stemmed from the fact that he was flesh and blood, this creature was clearly not.

  Shimmering golden hair framed a flawless face constructed on classical lines, its every curve perfect, from the sweep of his dark brows to symmetry of his impeccable lips. Eyes the colour of a summer sky glowed between thick dark lashes, and the rest of him was just as perfect, tall and muscular. His silken scarlet shirt had wide sleeves and an ornate, gold-embroidered collar that seemed strangely old fashioned. Black breeches clung to his slender hips, revealing rather too much for her liking. Narrow black boots and a broad, gold-ornamented belt completed his outfit. Some of his accoutrements reminded her of Bane, who wore the same silken shirts and form-hugging trousers, only his were not revealing.

  The man rose and strolled towards her, and, from the evil that radiated from him, she knew he was the Black Lord. He stopped before her, and his smile widened as he basked in her scrutiny.

  "You like it?" He gestured to himself. She sat up, unable to tear her eyes from him, and he laughed. "Of course you do. How could a mere mortal woman resist me? I have lain with a goddess and known the wonders of her realm and her favours. I have walked with angels and supped from fountains of ambrosia." He held out a hand. "Come, get up. I wish to show you many things, not least of which are the pleasures of the flesh, as Bane did not."

  Mirra rose without accepting his hand, fighting a strong urge to flee. Everything about him repelled her, but especially the dull red glow in the depths of his eyes. His hand flashed out and gripped her wrist, making her stomach twist as he dragged her closer.

  "I am so disappointed in that boy. You are quite pretty, yet he neglected you terribly. I shall not be so remiss. I gave him so much, and yet he betrayed me. How typically human. Still, it provided some sport. By now he should be dead, and if that wound did not kill him, my army will finish him off."

  Mirra's eyes stung, and she stifled a sob. Arkonen chuckled and led her across the temple, heading for the steps at the far end. The priests who lined it remained immobile, and she wondered if they were alive. Her bare feet pattered on the stone, hurrying beside his long, leisurely strides. She expected something terrible to be revealed at the end of the short journey, but was not prepared for the awful vista that greeted her when they reached the steps.

  Demons in true form stood around, most along the edge of the steps, which were red with blood. A massacre had taken place here, and, although no corpses were in evidence, from the amount of blood it must have been many hundreds of people. The charnel house stench made her light-headed, and the horror of it dazed her.

  Roaring fires burnt at the bottom of the steps, and a fire demon manifested in one and stepped forth. Tubs of water also stood nearby, and a water demon in true form lounged near one, translucent blue, his eyes flashing like sunlight on water. A huddle of silent children cowered at the edge of the steps, clinging to each other, their eyes wide.

  Arkonen gestured, and a group of about a dozen people was herded into sight, weeping and clinging to each other much like the children. The muscular men who herded them were either demons in human form or droges, she could not tell which. The people were all tattooed in the manner of the Black Lord's worshippers.

  Arkonen indicated them with a sweep of his hand. "See how they worship me, with ugliness. I hate ugliness. I enjoy beauty. My droges are beautiful, as are all who serve me. These, if they wish to be ugly, may be more so."

  The Black Lord pointed, and shadows streamed from his hand to engulf the people, who screamed in terror and pain. Mirra's stomach was already too knotted to do anything further, and she watched with horror, frozen by the abhorrence of it. The screaming people transformed, their clinging hands sinking into each other’s flesh, becoming a large, struggling creature with many heads and limbs. Scales appeared on their skin, arms became bat wings and faces turned into tooth-filled snouts. Black hair sprouted over other parts of them, and horns and spines erupted from their writhing bodies, which twisted into each other, forming a grotesque, many-legged monster that writhed and howled.

  Arkonen laughed and let the power die. The monster that had been twelve people whimpered and cowered, released from the pain. The Black Lord gestured, and the droges herded it away, prodding it with spiked lances. Another group was forced to the bottom of the steps, some of its members holding out their hands in supplication and crying out for mercy. The Black Lord smiled and lifted his arm again. Mirra turned her head away, unwilling to watch, but his grip on her arm tightened until she gasped.

  "You will watch, or join them," he said.

  Mirra obeyed, the tears that ran down her face blurring her vision. Silently she prayed, her heart overflowing with pity. Even death would not release these people from his torment, for their souls belonged to him. Arkonen transformed four more groups, then had two children brought from the silent group and slaughtered upon the steps. Compared to him, Bane's atrocities paled to insignificance. At last he seemed to tire of his sport, and turned to her.

  "You disappoint me, healer. I fail to see what Bane found so interesting about you. You do not even scream or beg me to show them mercy." She stared at his chest, and he sighed. "Of course, it would do no good. Perhaps you simply have more sense. But I think you will be livelier when I start to play with you."

  The Black Lord led her back to the throne, where he released her to clap his hands. A bevy of droge women emerged from the rooms behind the altar, clad in shimmering, gossamer clothes that did little to hide their lithe bodies. Jewels dripped from their hair, necks and wrists, winking in the dull light. All had an exotic look about them, their eyes slanted and skins dusky, with pouting red lips and eyes darkened by what appeared to be kohl. All had prefect features, flawless skin and milk-white teeth, yet an unmistakeable glint of malice shone in their eyes. They gathered about him, fawning upon him with stroking hands and eager smiles. He pushed Mirra into their midst.

  "Take her away and see if you can make her a little more... interesting."

  The droges pushed her from the temple, and Mirra was glad to quit the Black Lord's presence. The women jabbed and poked her, sniggering. Mirra glanced down at her arm, which burnt where Arkonen had held it, and found that her skin was discoloured.

  The Black Lord wandered over to the throne, looking thoughtful. He knew that Bane still lived, and had just recently entered into a vulnerable state, one that promised sport, perhaps even victory. The Demon Lord was asleep. Arkonen settled on the throne and closed his eyes, sending himself into Bane's dreams.

  Tallis jerked from her reverie as Bane gasped, and his brow furrowed in a fierce frown. His hands clenched and his lips drew back in a snarl, then his back arched as if in a seizure. Tallis jumped up and rushed to his side, her heart hammering with dread. Not knowing how to help him, she ran to summon aid.

  Ellese burst into Bane's room, the panting young healer and several older ones hard on her heels. She strode to the bed and stared down at his twisted face. He writhed, his eyes closed, his teeth gritted.

  "What is it, Mother? What is wrong with him?" Tallis cried.

  Ellese shook her head, wondering if it was the sleeping draught. That seemed unlikely, and she cast about for a better explanation. Then it dawned on her. "It must be the Black Lord. He is attacking Bane in his dreams."

  "What can we do?"

  "Nothing, except stop him from hurting himself. He is trapped in the dream until the draught wears off."

  Bane clawed at his chest, raising red welts, and Ellese turned to the healers who crowded the doorway. "Fetch ropes and cloths, hurry!"

  Ellese sat on the bed and gripped Bane's wrists, pulling his hands away from his chest.
Despite his weakness, it took all of her strength to hold him down, and Tallis joined her, sitting on his legs. He strained at some invisible enemy, his muscles writhing and sweat dewing his skin.

  "This will exhaust him further," Ellese muttered. "Which is the Black Lord's intention."

  "How can he be attacked in a dream?"

  "I do not know. The ways of gods are mysterious, and when they fight each other, horrific."

  "Can he be killed like this?"

  "I do not know that either. I certainly hope not."

  Ellese looked around as the healers returned with ropes and cloths, gesturing at them to hurry. They wrapped the cloths around his wrists, two women clinging to each of his arms to hold them still, and bound them to the bed frame. His legs were similarly fastened, and Ellese, alarmed by the way he ground his teeth, forced a gag into his mouth. When he was safely trussed, she sat back with a sigh, her face grave.

  "That is all we can do."

  Bane turned, seeking the Black Lord in the seething inferno into which he had been plunged moments before. It had taken him by surprise, and the first wave of fire to engulf him had raised ugly, painful blisters. Now his power protected him, but Arkonen hid amongst the flames, waiting to leap out and strike him. The dream belonged to the Black Lord, and Bane exerted his will on it, trying to overcome Arkonen's control. He had encountered the Black Lord many times in this tenuous, unreal world, but had not considered fighting him in it. He had no experience to draw upon; only logic guided him, as well as a deep knowledge of the dark power and what it could do. At first he had tried to break free by waking, but Ellese’s sleeping potion denied him that option, he found.

  Angrily he swung around again, seeking the shadowy form that menaced him. A blow on his back sent him hurtling forward, flying through the fire. He regained control and stopped his plunge, spinning to face his elusive enemy. A black shape loomed, then he was hurled into darkness, tumbling over and over. He tried to grasp something to stop his descent, striving to regain a solid footing. His fall continued, his hands found nothing to grip, and the endless void mocked his attempts. Stretching forth his will, he took hold of his surroundings and slowed his fall, righting himself. Laughter hissed in his ears, and he turned to search for its source. Arkonen appeared, a hulking, formless blackness that grasped Bane with shadows and fear. Bane gripped the shadows and twisted them, but they slipped from his hands, writhing away.