But they never could return for him. His father was dead, murdered as he looked on and so was … So was his mother, he realised. She'd been dead for years, back in his world. No dramatic turn of events had taken her from him. Just cancer. Rotten, black cancer had eaten her away from the inside. The goodness had evaporated from that poisonous old witch years before her death.
But he hadn't been alone then. She had been with him - the face from his dreams. She had helped him through. She had found him and brought him back to life.
He tripped over something hard on the floor, falling onto the rocks that protruded from the floor and hit his head. The world exploded in light, leaving trails like shooting stars across his vision. He sat and held his head until the beating stopped. Then he spat out the blood and dirt from his mouth. He ran his fingers over his face and felt it wet. In a panic, he searched the skin of his face and head for any tears or cuts, but couldn't find any. Then he ran his fingers over his wrists finding the familiar cut on his left, which had reopened. And then he felt a fresh, ragged cut on his right wrist.
The laughter that came from him gave him more pain than joy. This place, this fucking world he was caught in, conspired to recreate his physical condition back on his own world, his true time and place. And why wouldn't it?
Dragging himself back to his feet, he placed his wet palm against the wall once more and stumbled on. His eyes grew accustomed to the light and now he could make out a faint red glow from in front of him. It wasn't strong enough for him to make out the floor or the dimensions of this tunnel, but it gave him a target, a reference point, and he went towards it.
As he went, the glow intensified, and it began to throb. It pulsed in time with his heart, or his heart beat in time with the light, heightening his disorientation. Only the sounds of his feet hitting the dirt-covered, stone floor reassured him that he was not dreaming.
The frequency of the pulsing, deep-crimson light increased as he approached it, leaving his heartbeat behind. Wist wished he had brought a weapon with him. He knew he didn't need one, but its presence in his hand would have reassured him; something solid to rely on. Then he remembered Nikka's staff. He'd been so busy wishing for a sword or a bow that the handle of Nikka's ruined hammer lay forgotten, strapped to his back.
Wist reached behind himself, unfastened the staff and then flicked it around in his hand. He tapped it on the ground and let the sound reverberate around him. This was how blind men did it, he told himself. But he could not learn to do that now, so he bumped it off the ground in front of himself, to ensure that he didn't suffer another fall.
So he clattered his way along the path. If Tilden lay in wait for him, he would have plenty of notice of his coming. How Nikka would have laughed at him. Nikka had put himself between the crippled Giantess Haumea and the burning Giant. The Cerni sacrificed his life for Haumea, so didn't that make him as guilty as Wist? But Nikka had accepted his guilt. He had worn it like a suit of armour for all to see, and so he defeated its power to rule him. Nikka had never sought the forgiveness of a god or a mother, but of himself.
The light grew and it allowed Wist to move along the path without touching the wall or needing the staff. He continued to bang it on the floor anyway, in tribute to his friend Nikka. Tilden would hear him, and this time his brother could fear his coming.
Although the light was welcome, its crimson hue disturbed Wist. It made the blood on his wrist appear black. He felt as if the light tried to enter his body, break through his fragile skin and poison his soul. The light's beating frequency approached a crescendo and its strobing pulses cut him from time, severing his tenuous link with reality.
Wist turned a corner and the deep, pulsating red light drenched him. He had entered a huge cavern. It was almost as big as the one that held the lava lake, but this one was cold and lifeless.
As if it welcomed him, the flickering of the light abated and a gentle ochre hue replaced it, transforming the floor to lava.
Wist saw the source of the light. It was a stone. Not a glittering gem, but a plain stone that burned from within. And there in front of it was the Giant who had led him here. Like Nikka, this Giant had been incinerated, but the pile of ash that remained bore no resemblance to anything that had once lived.
The Sun greeted Wist when he looked upwards. It moved along, a long way up and it was obscured by clouds, but it was there and it shone down upon him. Wist could see snow as it blew across the opening above them, but any that fell into the tunnel was evaporated by the orange-red light of the stone. He gazed at the random patterns the snow made as it fell. A gust carried a thick clump of snow from above down. It melted as it entered the chamber, sizzling and popping as it went. The steam that it gave off began to fill the cavernous void.
'Tilden,' shouted Wist once more, but he received no reply. He tried to peer through the crimson mist, but the harder he strained his eyes, the worse his vision became. 'Tilden!'
The mist curled around Wist. It reached out like arms seeking to embrace him.
'There she is my Queen,' whispered a voice in the distance. 'She has returned. In the hour of our need, he has returned. Forget your prophesy. Vigopa has come to us, to reunite us with the Source.'
'Tilden. Show yourself.' Wist cried again. He swung his staff moving it from one hand to another. He tried to build up a rhythm in his swing, ready to connect with his twin brother when he found him.
'Can you see her, my glorious queen?' the voice said once more. 'Go to her and together you may banish the darkness from this world.'
Wist turned to and fro, trying to find the voice’s owner. Then another spoke; a higher, finer voice.
'Vigopa,' it breathed. 'Vigopa, come to me for you are lost in darkness.'
Vigopa? Who was Vigopa?
Then out of the red-tinged dark, a figured emerged. It was tall and slender, woman. She was dressed in white and a slight figure, for all of her height. The robe which adorned her rejected the red droplets that hung in the air. Wist ran his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes, which streamed with the moisture. It blurred his vision and made him unsteady, forcing him to stop swinging his staff.
'Behold,' said the original voice, Tilden's voice. Wist felt a shiver pass over his skin as the word was spoken. It was as if the air had been electrified and then abandoned to its fate. 'I have brought someone from our world, brother. Someone to calm you. Someone to put the pieces of our broken heart back together.' Each word stabbed at Wist, slicing at the cloak of dispassion in which he had tried to encase himself.
'Vigopa, come to me,' said the figure before him. ‘The Arkasona is here for us.’ Then it took another step forward. As it did, black venomous reflections usurped the light from above. A spear of ebony light slid down the shaft and struck the heart of the glowing stone. In an instant, it dissolved the gentle red mist and soaked them all in a malicious nether-light. But the figure before Wist shone through the darkness. And as Tilden had promised, she lifted his heart.
It was the woman from his dreams, the woman from his past. His lover, his life. She had put him back together. Wist had met her while he was a young man and she as young as he.
Then he was back in the prison of his past, the one from which she had freed him. With her love, she had picked the locks of his heart and released him.
But he had not been free. The resentment and culpability he felt towards his parents had continued to gnaw away at him. Then the monster within him had risen and recaptured his soul.
But she was always there for him, nursing him, forgiving him. And in turn, he had been there for her. During her darkest days, when she had revealed the blackest secrets of her past, he had accepted her without judgement, for, to him, she was beyond reproach.
He started at her in awe now, captivated by her timeless beauty. The love that they had made had shown him that there was hope, even for him. And he had shown her that she could love herself. That she was complete.
That she did not need him.
And it was then that she had left him. Wist had helped her to find the power to believe in herself, and then she had grown tired of his inability to do the same. He had believed in her; with his heart and soul, he had believed in her, but he could not wholly be free of his past. It had too much power over him. And she would not accept it.
So she had left him, and he had sealed his own fate.
As she walked out, the tears streamed down his face. All he could find to say was her name.
'Autumn,' he cried.
She had stopped for an instant and smiled at him. Then she said 'Goodbye William.'
William. That was his name. Wist was his name, but so was William. He was both, and he was neither. His name exposed the cracks in his mind once more, and the smouldering ashes behind his mind's defences sprung ablaze once more.
Wist slammed the end of Nikka's staff down onto the floor and he returned to the rock cavern below Pyrite. Flame burst from the ends of the staff igniting the mist. The fire burned red; just as the rock in the wall had under the light from the Ghria Duh. The figure before Wist retreated from him. She was not his love, but he didn't care.
The shock from the flames burned the air clean. It ignited the flailing figure's white robes, burning them to her skin in an instant.
'Vigopa!' it howled as the flames began to devour its body. They ate at the Intoli's flesh as if it were made from wax, every ounce of the flesh adding ferocity to the fire. It burned white and pure, and within moments, it eclipsed all other light in the room. Even caught in the thrall of his own passion, Wist was forced shut his eyes.
Then the cavern convulsed around him, but this time Wist didn't fall. Wist detached himself from it all, as if it were happening to a different person in a different time and place. He could still see Autumn's face, pitying his inability to escape the prison of his own making.
The tremors ceased and laughter replaced the tumult. Tilden's high mocking laughter skittered about the silent hall. It interrupted Wist's momentum, causing the flame in his staff to gutter, but it stay lit.
'Well, Brother, here I am.' Tilden said stepping out of the shadows and into the light of the Intoli's burning body. 'You have shown me your power. So use it on me. Extract your revenge.'
Wist shook with temptation. This was what he had sought since Tilden had slain Eliscius in Jerel's tower. This was what had kept him alive; the chance to avenge Eliscius and Faric.
'Wist, do not,' said a voice from behind him. While still pointing his staff at Tilden, Wist glanced over his shoulder. It was another Giant, and she too held a staff, but it was white and grey. It was the Giantess that Nikka had sacrificed himself for; Haumea.
'Do not Wist. You break this land, my land. The Intoli are a mad foe, but they may be opposed. You are altogether more terrible Wist. Do not slay my land.'
Tilden laughed. 'Cripples? Is that whom you have brought? Whores, tramps and magicians were not sufficient the last time, so you have widened your net? Is there no end to the people who are willing to die for you?'
This Giantess had left her home for Wist. She had faced up to the leaders of her race and journeyed far beyond the boundaries of her knowledge. Wist's staff flared into life once more.
'No,' said the Giantess.
'Shut up,' said Tilden. His words shot across the cavern on a wave of power and it knocked Haumea from her feet. He laughed at her attempts to rise. The staff in her hand failed to gain purchase on the wet stone beneath her, and she slid.
'I would dress you in motley, but you would make a pathetic fool. Grovelling suits you, cripple. Stay down.' More power passed from Tilden, but this time Haumea was prepared. She held her staff aloft from her prone position on the ground. Tilden spat on the ground and scoffed again.
'Maybe your love would take pity on you now?' said Tilden, returning his attention to his twin. 'But you drove her from you, didn't you? Was that my fault brother? Could you could deny your culpability?' Wist shook his head, but not in denial.
'You have ruined your life, as you ruined mine. You ruin everything you touch. Just look at me.' Tilden stepped into the full light of the dying flames that consumed the body of the Queen of the Intoli. His face was scarred and melted down one side.
'Finish what you started, Brother.' said Tilden. 'Kill me. Take your revenge.'
Nikka's staff trashed in Wist's grip.
Then fire as black as the hatred in his heart, erupted from him. It poured out from him in a torrent, aimed straight at his brother. The staff in his hands groaned, struggling to maintain its physical form under the pressure of the force that passed through it.
Wist's black theurgy surrounded Tilden. It rolled around him and formed a sphere from which nothing could escape. Wist bent the entire force of his will to it, pouring more and more of himself into it. The ball swirled and moiled. Then spots of red and orange mottled its intense ebony surface. A few of them burst, spilling their pus-like contents over the ball. They ran over it until they dripped onto the floor. Then red lightning erupted from its surface, connecting violently with the rock walls, sending shards of stone through the chamber. The red-black electricity reached out like fingers. They coursed along the walls, searching for a ground point to anchor themselves.
A single tendril of light from the black globe found the red gem on the wall. Then more and more threads joined it, forming a writhing pipe, like a sand-snake. Red and black streaks shot along its length, pulsing back and forth between the two points like an exchange of information.
Wist knew that this was out of his control. He should have stopped it. This was what Tilden wanted. But his emotions controlled him now, and he was their tool. He was the weapon by which they would achieve the destruction of everything.
Above it all, above the crashing of rocks and crackle of energy he heard his brother laughing. And he could see the Waren. The animate darkness that Tilden allied himself with was here, and they pushed into the edges of his vision. They came to witness their triumph. They came to see Wist destroy the world and set them free upon the universe.
But then a voice came back to him; the voice that had triggered all of this. The voice that he had loved more than all others; Autumn's voice.
'William,' she had said. She was the only one who had called him by his full name. Even his mother had shortened it. And he had loved her for that. And he had loved her for everything else.
She left him because he had pushed her away. Deeming himself unworthy of love, he had poisoned what they had. The guilt he had carried for years couldn't cohabit with the happiness she had given him. One of them had to go, so he had driven her out.
She had gone and she had been right to.
He deserved the punishment, for the fault was his. This world was not to blame. So he did the only thing he could do; the same thing he had done when he was a child, when he had seen his father's murder. He shut himself away.
One by one, Wist closed the doors of his mind, trapping emotions and memories behind them. Piece by piece, he swallowed the resentment and hatred until he thought he would choke.
The staff fell from his hand, and then everything began to unravel. The conduit between the black sphere and the glowing stone tore apart in violent convulsions. Then the deep-red semi-circle that surrounded the stone erupted sending spears of red stone in every direction.
Then the black sphere that surrounded Tilden began to pulsate. It throbbed and distorted turning faster and faster, growing less stable with each rotation. The shapeless Waren loomed. This was what they had come for.
The black orb bulged at one side and then tore from axis to axis. Then black violence shot from the sphere. It blasted upward, tearing through the rock and opening up the roof of the cavern wide to the sky. On and on poured the blackness, like a lanced septum, it spewed forth its dark load. Then the black column dissipated, and Wist fell to the ground.
He smiled then. The world remained. They had failed. Then Wist saw the black disc slip over the Sun and the world was plunged into per
petual darkness. Tilden laughed again.
'You fool. You cannot kill me. And now you have made my victory secure. You cannot win.'
Wist said nothing, because he felt nothing. He felt Tilden vanish with the Waren as the snow fell straight upon his upturned face. Somewhere in his mind, he was aware of the presence of someone else. Gentle hands slipped under him and he was lifted up. He thought he might have heard someone sobbing, but he was not there.
Part of him watched the black rock pass above his head. He should have been concerned. But Tilden was wrong. If he stayed here, deep inside himself, then Tilden could not win. The further he retreated into himself, the more people he could save.
25 Waiting for the Sun
The outcast, the broken, the cripple and the lost girl gathered above the battlefield. It was quiet now, but so was the whole world. A thick blanket of snow covered the land and the shame of their kinfolk.
They sat there in silence throughout the night. They all knew that they had to make a decision, but none of them had the heart to make it yet.
Aviti watched for the Sun, in a desperate hope that it might arrive in the morning. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, to watch the Kalsurja – the Ghria Duh – the black sun - disappear over the horizon. Tyla had spent the whole evening tending to Wist, to no avail. He was still unresponsive. He would eat and drink when prompted and would even walk if pushed in the right direction.
Sevika would follow Tyla and would respond when Aviti questioned her, but at other times, Aviti forgot that Sevika even existed.
A glimmer of light appeared over the horizon. Then hope was extinguished when the Kalsurja rose. Its inky black tendrils bled over the land, leaching hope and life from whatever it touched. Aviti could have wept.
'What now?' said Haumea. It was the question Aviti should have asked last night. She exhaled and gazed at the dark sun. It slithered into the sky. She was glad that Nikka was not here to see this. This would have broken his heart.
She stood up and looked into the sky. The stars were still there, burning, trying in vain to combat the darkness.
The Redemption of Wist Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3: The complete collection Page 58
