Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is there a language I should use?”

  “It’s okay. It’ll be a good exercise, trying to follow along. I’ll go over it with her later to see how much she got and to answer questions.”

  “Always a teacher?” Amber asked, fiery form smiling brighter.

  “Sometimes a student,” I countered. “Such as on the subject of Sparky.”

  Amber winced.

  “Father? Could you please…?”

  “Right. The Mother of Flame. I forgot.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, about that incident.”

  “Yes. I was wondering when we would have a chance to chat.”

  “I’ve had some time to think about this and I haven’t enjoyed it. Before we get to whatever story the Mother of Flame told you, understand that I take whatever she says as a piece of manipulation, not the truth. Oh, the truth may be in there, but I’ve seen several examples of her manipulation, if not outright cruelty, to lead me down that road. I’m not intending to bash your personal deity, you understand. It’s… we don’t get along.”

  “Dad,” she said, and I felt my eyes widen. She didn’t used to call me that so often. “I know why you don’t like Her. I can see your side of it, even as I can see Her side of it. You’re not wrong, but you’re not in the right, either. You have a right to be displeased and mistrustful of Her… but there is much you owe Her, too.”

  “All right. I can admit that. I’m ready to listen—to you.”

  “Thank you. Let’s start with Beryl, my brother.”

  “Good start.”

  “Beryl was born with golden hair, not red. While yellow hair is not common south of the viksagi lands, it is not unknown. Beryl’s hair was not such a yellow, but a brighter, golden color, the mark of the Goddess upon a male child. At the time, there had not been a male child born to a fire-witch—a priestess of the Flame—since before Zirafel was cursed. They are the flame-crowned, the chosen sons of the Goddess.

  “While the priestesses can use the powers of the Mother of Flame for many things, we cannot call down the full power of all Her blessings. When Beryl grew to manhood, he would be able to do things we could not—and be unable to do some things we could. Different talents, different powers, different blessings. Nascent within him was the most powerful of all such blessings. He possessed the potential to draw down the Goddess. He could be Her consort on this mortal plane, rather than a sister whom She would aid.”

  “How literally do you mean that?” I asked. “The part about ‘consort’ and ‘draw down’?”

  “I mean, as a man, he would call to Her and She would come to him. Rather than reach through a priestess to work Her will, Beryl could call Her into this world in Her own form. Once grown, Beryl would have been able to channel such force that She could manifest on this mortal plane through his efforts. So, I suppose you might say I meant both of those literally.”

  “Huh.” I recalled a discussion with some gods. Creating an avatar on a mortal plane was a lavish expenditure of power even by their standards. But if you could get the mortals to do most of the work… Come to think of it, now I understand better how the Hand could summon an avatar of the Hunter to come after me, complete with green-fire-tongued hounds. A dozen cattle, properly sacrificed, maybe a small village—or maybe the contents of some city’s municipal dungeon? Would the Hand do that, itself, as an agency of the Church of Light? Possibly, but unlikely. Would magicians in the service of the Hand have done so? Definitely.

  I’m still glad the Hunter saw it as less of a contract and more of a bribe.

  “And this power,” Amber went on, “or this capacity for power, is part of what drew the dark thing to him. It could live within him, wearing his flesh, and his flesh would not be consumed from within by the power of the dark spirit. As you may have noticed, it occupied a succession of bodies, each of which declined in health despite all healing magicks.”

  “I figured it out in hindsight, yes.”

  “Using Beryl’s body, it would not have that problem. Another reason for choosing the baby was the fact he was a baby—defenseless and unable to resist the invader. He would grow to manhood with the dark soul as the sole possessor of the flesh and impossible to evict.

  “And the final reason… the knowledge that taking your son away from you would hurt you.” The flaming figure spread her hands. “That was the only reason it needed, of course. It is a creature of hatred.”

  “All right. I understand why it wanted Beryl. Now go over what happened.”

  “This is what I have been told,” she began, “from both my mother and the Mother of Flame. When the demon destroyed Beryl and took his flesh as its own, the Mother knew of the deed—She does not see the future, you know.”

  “So I’ve gathered. Go on.”

  “Having become aware of this crime, the Mother spoke to Tamara during the dawn consecration rite, where the children are dedicated to the Mother. This was, I think, on the seventh day after our birth. That is when it should have taken place. So, Tamara lifted me up to face the dawn and the fires in the brazier swelled up. She held me in the flames and I laughed at their touch. Then she set me down and lifted Beryl up to face the dawn.

  “Had it been still my brother within the flesh, the fires would have done then what they did for me. This would have surprised my mother, of course; she had no idea that her son—a male child? Ridiculous!—could be a fire-witch. In truth, the first Consort of Fire in more than a thousand years.

  “Instead, the fires rose, as you or I might expect, knowing what we know, and the Goddess spoke from the flames, demanding the infant be hurled into the fire.”

  Amber paused. I didn’t like this story and I think she could tell.

  “Dad, this is where my mother lost some of her sanity.”

  “Go on,” I encouraged, gently. “I want to hear it all.”

  “As a priestess of the Flame all her life, it was her… purpose? Obligation? Duty? She had to do what the Mother said to do. Disobeying is like… like…” she groped for something, trying to explain. “If you were out for a stroll and heard a child screaming in terror and pain, could you continue with your stroll?”

  “That’s a silly question. No, I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Exactly so.”

  “I think I begin to get the point. Okay. So, Tamara has Beryl held up to the dawn, the flames jump up, the voice of her goddess tells her to throw Beryl into the fire. She doesn’t know flames wouldn’t bother Beryl, so her mothering instincts run smack into her religious training with a resounding thud.”

  “I’m not certain I would phrase it so, but the essence is there,” Amber agreed. “When Tamara refused her Goddess, the Mother reached through her flesh and took control. That action took precious time, for Tamara resisted. This warned the dark spirit within Beryl’s body and gave it the opportunity to flee. By the time the Mother could force Tamara’s hands to hurl the empty flesh into the fire, the thing was gone, vanished into the long shadows of sunrise.”

  “But, if Beryl is supposed to be this super-duper fire guy, what good would it do? The fires wouldn’t bother him.”

  “For that, I have only the Mother’s word. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “According to Her, the thing within Beryl would have withstood any normal fire, shielded within that house of unburning flesh. But when the Mother manifested to destroy it, the fires of the consecration rite were changed into the holy blaze you have seen before.”

  “Yeah, that’s a different kettle of plasma,” I agreed.

  “Within the manifested flames of the Mother, nothing made of darkness could exist. She would have burned the evil from the flesh, destroying it.”

  “And Beryl?”

  “When the dark thing took him, it destroyed the infant soul within. With the dark thing burned away, Beryl’s body would also have died. Then the Mother would have turned it to ashes wit
hin the divine fire.”

  I stacked more wood on the fire for Amber and walked away. A few minutes to think about this were not out of order. Nobody else seemed inclined to disagree, so I walked a bit and thought in silence.

  What would I have done?

  My newborn son is in my hands. I look into him and discover some dark Thing has crept into him in the night and eaten his infant soul. All that’s left is the flesh of an infant, looking at me with eyes that look like mine, housing something terrible that wears his flesh like a protective garment.

  He still squirms and wriggles, grasps my finger with his tiny hand, gurgles and cries.

  Inside, I can see the dark Thing that now owns the body. It’s learning to drive it, exactly as my son would have.

  Could I kill a baby? Could I stop thinking of it as a baby? It stopped being a child when its soul was destroyed.

  I don’t have a problem with killing monsters. I include human monsters; I am in a position to look into the souls of men and see the evil therein. I can be judge, jury, and executioner because I know what evil lurks there, what good shines through, and can take their measure with a sharp look and some concentration.

  But a baby? Could I ignore the body and see only the soul—or the darkness taking the place of one?

  There’s an ethical dilemma question about knowing the future. It runs something like this. Given that you know a child will one day grow up to become a monster—you don’t think it or suspect it; you know it. It’s a certainty; it’s a fact—could you kill the child to stop the monster?

  Sparky could. I’m not sure I could.

  Is Sparky a deity? Not by my standards! But does her kind play by different rules than us more material types? Whatever they are, should they be held to the same ethical standards? Never mind morals. I’m not qualified to make moral judgments, no matter how often I do it. Should beings of their powers be held to the same ethical standards as people? Or higher, stricter standards? Or could their powers merit more relaxed ethics?

  Again, I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

  What it boils down to is the question: Did Sparky do the right thing? It seems like such a simple question. Some probably say yes, some probably say no, and I have to say I don’t know. I’m not sure what I would have done. Isn’t that the definition of right and wrong? At least, for an individual? What would I do? Our actions define us, don’t they?

  My pacing circled back to the fire. Everything keeps taking me back around to the fire again, one way or another.

  “Dad?” Amber asked.

  “O-kay. I’ve thought about it, and I’m not happy.”

  “I can see that,” she murmured, softly, no more than a rustling of flame over a low fire. She seemed to be looking behind me.

  “Is my shadow doing its thing again?” I asked, resisting the urge to look.

  “It looks unhappy,” Amber reported, faintly. Mary and Bronze nodded agreement. Mary’s horse stood there, trembling, whites all around its eyes. I think it would have bolted long ago if Bronze hadn’t been there. Mary might have bolted if Bronze hadn’t been there. My shadow can creep me out; I don’t blame everyone else for being nervous around it.

  “Fine.” I took a deep breath. “I dislike using you as a messenger between myself and the Mother—it smacks of two parents who won’t talk to each other and use their kid as a go-between. It’s unfair to you.”

  “I don’t mind, Dad. Really, I don’t. I act as go-between, as you put it, between the Mother and pretty much everyone else. It’s my job as a priestess.”

  “That’s good to know. So, tell her this: I understand what she did and why she did it. I don’t have to like it. The best I can do is accept it—which I don’t, or haven’t. Not yet, anyway, but I promise to work on it—without condoning it, hopefully without condemning it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Amber admitted, smiling radiantly. “I’m sure She will be pleased, as well.”

  “I didn’t try to be understanding because of her,” I replied. “I tried to be understanding because I still have a wonderful daughter and a fantastic granddaughter. The Mother of Flame still has a lot to answer for.”

  “Thank you. But how else has the Mother offended…?”

  “Zirafel. She cursed the place and everyone in it for daring to propose the idea of religious tolerance.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Her.”

  “Not to you, maybe. I know half a million souls who swear to it.”

  “I’ll bring it up the next time we talk,” Amber promised. “Thank you for being patient with Her.”

  “You and Tianna are the only ones who could get me to do that. I’m still suspicious of Sp—the Mother of Flame manipulating you into doing it for her own nefarious purposes.”

  “Well, I didn’t expect you to trust Her,” Amber admitted. “I do. My trust alone is not enough to calm things down between you two. I’ll work on it.”

  “Take your time. Speaking of working on things,” I changed the subject, “what’s going on with Tort? T’yl says she’s been missing ever since I left.”

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t come to me about it.”

  “Does Tianna know anything?”

  “She would have said something to me. I think.” Amber shrugged, a ripple of fire. “You know how children can be. You were a teacher.”

  “Yeah. Can I get her on a fire-call?”

  “Not as easily, but I believe so.”

  “Huh. No, I’ll see her in person, soon. If you would, ask her and T’yl what they know about Tort. They can look into it before I get there rather than be blindsided by the question.”

  “Happy to help.”

  “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I need to find a place to sit quietly and brood.”

  “I understand, Dread Lord.” Amber’s smile flickered into life and gleamed.

  “I’m surrounded by comediennes,” I noted. The fire flared brighter for a moment, then subsided to glowing coals.

  Saturday, January 24th

  Everyone was good about giving me the rest of the night to brood darkly at the Edge of the World. I’m not pleasant company while I’m depressed. Bronze was about the only person I could tolerate; she left me alone, too, and encouraged Mary and Firebrand to do the same.

  As for my thoughts on the Edge, they’re mine. Not coherent, possibly not even comprehensible at the time, they flowed like tumbling river rapids. Sparky, Beryl, Amber, Tianna, gods, kings, good, evil, life, and death. Lots of death. All of these, swirled around and mixed, re-mixed, reduced, combined, scattered, gathered, and sorted.

  Well, maybe not sorted. Swept into neat piles. Neater piles. Okay, kicked into the corners.

  When the prickling sensation of sunrise started, I rose from the Edge and my meditations on the abyss.

  What would I see if I were on the other Edge, in Tamaril? Does the sun come out of a hole in space? Or does it simply flare into being and start to rise? More important, do I really want to know? It’s not going to make sense to me anyway.

  The interior of the Theatre of the Sun—the tunnels and halls under the seating, within the structure itself—was more than adequate as a dark place. I waited out the dawn, cleaned up, and walked back to our camp.

  Actually, something so opulent doesn’t seem like a camp. Headquarters? Base of operations? House? Residence? I need a thesaurus, or some other dinosaur familiar with words.

  Mary met me at the door to our chambers, kissed me quickly but thoroughly, and led me to breakfast. She didn’t say anything as she made sure I was as comfortable and well-fed as possible. It was like some sort of TV sitcom—the man comes home in a foul mood and the lady has his martini and slippers ready for him. Weird. Not exactly suspicious or unwelcome, but definitely weird. A good weird, I grant you.

  And effective. Under the influence of warmth, food, comfort, and more than a few hugs and kisses, my mood lightened. I guess I’m not cut out to be a darkly tragic figure living alone in some
decaying mountaintop castle. This shoots down all my plans to be a stereotype.

  Sitting on my lap and dressed to kill—literally; she was in her form-fitting tactical wear—Mary popped something she fried for breakfast into my mouth. While I chewed, she scratched at my almost-beard and ruffled the fluff on my head.

  “It’s going to be magnificent when it grows out,” she decided.

  “I’ll see about hurrying it along.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. More?” she asked, holding up a fork.

  “No, thanks. I’ve had enough for breakfast.”

  “Okay. What do we do now? Wait for Amber or T’yl to call back?”

  “We probably should.”

  “Ooo, I heard a ‘probably’ in there,” she squealed, sitting up straight. “Does this mean we might do something else?”

  “I really do need to take a look and see if I can find Tort. I’m suspicious and unhappy about her being missing.”

  “Okay.”

  “No comments about being overly attached to my pets?” I asked. She kissed the tip of my nose.

  “We’ve been through that. Besides, if I lost a pet, posting notices and driving around the neighborhood wouldn’t be out of place. And caring so much about a pet tells me quite a bit about you.”

  “Like what? No,” I contradicted, “I changed my mind. Don’t tell me.”

  “As you wish. Do we do this here?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I want access to a variety of things which require an active civilization to manufacture. I think we need to go to my mountain, first.”

  “Fine by me. I’ve been looking forward to seeing the magical kingdom. What does going to this mountain entail?”

  “I’m not sure. Getting there shouldn’t be a real problem. A day or two to find and prepare a doorway or arch somewhere around here, some scrying to pick an arrival point in Mochara…” I shrugged. “Call it three days and we’ll be riding into Karvalen.”

  “I thought Karvalen was one of the kingdoms?”

  “Karvalen is the kingdom of the living stone, so yes. Rethven is an old kingdom that fell apart. Since then, Karvalen has re-conquered the bits and pieces of Rethven and united it. The original mountain, however, was named Karvalen.”