Because of her…all this had become…
WOULD THAT I HAD NEVER MET YOU, LILITH…WOULD THAT I HAD NEVER SEEN OR TOUCHED YOU…
But he had and all his regrets were simply that…regrets. Even he could not go back and alter the past. The flight from the High Heavens and Burning Hells, the search for a place for the renegades to live, the creation of Sanctuary…they were all an indelible part of history.
As was Lilith’s betrayal.
Inarius gestured and a fiery line split the ceiling down the middle. The chamber shook as a gap opened in the center of the mural.
Without hesitation, the angel soared up into the air and out through the gap.
He had no fear of being noted. The mortals were naturally blind to his presence and his power shielded him from any others who might have been otherwise able to detect the celestial being. Inarius no longer even had to worry about the High Heavens sensing either him or Sanctuary, for he felt at last that his powers were vast enough to keep even the Angiris Council oblivious, especially with the everlasting war to further distract their attention.
And so, for the first time in centuries, Inarius soared high into the sky. He let his wings spread wide as he soaked in the sensation of being utterly free. It had been foolish of him to wait so long to finally fly again. Certainly, it had not been due to fear. No, Inarius realized that Lilith’s betrayal of him—even more so than the heinous slaughter of the other angels and demons—had struck him to the very core. Only for that reason had he kept himself confined to such mortal cloaks as the Prophet and others.
NO MORE…NO MORE…AFTER THIS FARCE IS AT AN END, ALL HERE SHALL KNOW OF MY GLORY, AS IS RIGHT…After all, if not for him, none of this would have existed. It was his right, his duty, to keep Sanctuary on the course he had planned. Lilith would be punished, the demons would be ousted, and the troublesome mortal would become nothing but a fading memory. Sanctuary would be as he envisioned it…or he would destroy it and begin anew.
The angel arced suddenly, soaring past the gargantuan cathedral and within seconds over the capital. Kehjan the city was vast enough to be a land unto itself and there were some who argued that the surrounding regions had been named for it, not the other way around. Such trivial matters were of no interest to Inarius, but he did find the lights from the capital interesting in a crude fashion. They vaguely reminded him of the brilliance of the High Heavens, a place of eternal illumination.
I WILL MAKE OVER SANCTUARY ONCE THIS INCIDENT IS AT AN END, he swore. I WILL MAKE MY OWN HIGH HEAVENS, ONE THAT WOULD BE ENVIED BY THE FIRST! It would require much sacrifice, especially by his mortals, but it would be done. He had too long suffered silently in squalor when, by rights, he could have lived as more befitting his role. He would create a paradise untroubled by petty feuds—
Without warning, a sensation of familiarity struck him so hard that, for a moment, the angel veered off course. Inarius corrected his flight instantly, then immediately turned about.
He had thought it her at first, but her presence was already known to him. No, this was another. Inarius felt what to a human would have resembled a fast pounding of his heart. First Lilith…and now one once nearly as close to the angel as she had been.
Above the cathedral again, the glorious figure paused to survey the dark lands surrounding him. Yet, a thorough survey of every direction revealed nothing. The brief glimmer was the only hint of this new return.
BUT, THEN, HE IS CLEVER, EVEN IF EVER MISGUIDED…AFTER ALL, HE MAY BE OF HER CREATION…BUT SO, TOO, IS HE OF MINE…
The resurrection of yet another old—and apparently living—memory would change nothing, however. As Inarius descended into the chamber and the ceiling began realigning itself, he already knew that, when the time came, he would treat the other just as he intended his former lover.
Even if it was his errant son.
Uldyssian rose from the simple blanket upon which he slept to a sea of new faces staring apprehensively in his direction.
“I couldn’t get them to stay any farther away,” Serenthia apologized as she came on his right. Her dark hair was bound back and she walked more like a soldier than a merchant’s daughter. Despite her growing proficiency with her powers, she continued to carry her spear in an aggressive grip.
“It’s all right, Serry,” he replied automatically, only afterward realizing that he had slipped back to her childhood name.
Her expression tightened and moistness appeared around her otherwise stern eyes. Only three people had consistently called her by that name once she had grown up. Two of those were dead, the last Achilios.
Rather than try to correct his error and likely compound the situation, Uldyssian focused on the newcomers. They were of all castes and ages and, as he knew would be the case, there were many children with them. The last greatly concerned Uldyssian just as it had when the Parthans had brought along their own offspring. Children had already died and those deaths more than any tore at his heart. Yet, no matter his entreaties against such, families still joined him.
I should be better able to protect them, he thought bitterly. If not for the children, then who most am I doing this for?
He never delved deeper into that question, for the answer ever revolved around him. He did this for those who followed his path, true, but also because of outright vengeance. There was no denying that at all, no matter how base such a reason was.
And that made seeing the new children only worse.
Straightening, Uldyssian accepted a water sack from Serenthia. He drank some of the cool liquid, then poured more of the contents over his head in order to wake himself up. Uldyssian did not care what the newcomers thought of his actions; if such a little thing turned them from him, then they were not ready.
But no one left. They all stood patiently waiting. He hid a frown, having secretly hoped that some of the parents would take their young and ease his guilt a little.
“You all come to me for the same reason, I hope,” Uldyssian declared. “You know what the gift means…”
Several heads bobbed up and down. Uldyssian estimated more than a hundred newcomers. They filled most of the clearing where he slept. His own followers had blended back into the jungles, watching both hopefully and warily. Each convert was to the others a new miracle.
He saw no reason to waste more time with speeches. He had promised the Councilor Senior that he would take his followers away from Toraja, and Uldyssian had always been a man of his word.
The son of Diomedes stretched forth a hand to the nearest, an older woman whose head was protected by a multicolored scarf. Uldyssian sensed her wonder and fear warring with one another and realized that she had come here alone.
“Please…” he murmured, recalling his own long-dead mother. “Please come to me.”
She did not hesitate, which was a credit to her more than him. The woman was thin and had a pinched face, but her eyes were a beautiful brown and he suspected that in her youth she had been quite alluring.
No one questioned what an elderly person was doing among the rest. Age did not seem to matter much when it came to the gifts, save that those below ten years seemed to take longer to develop any sign of success. Possibly this was some natural factor to keep them from harming themselves or others, as could sometimes be noted with some animals.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mahariti.” Her voice was strong. She did not want others to consider her a foolish old crone unworthy of this moment.
Nodding his approval, the former farmer took her left hand in his. “Mahariti…open your thoughts to me, your heart to me. Close your eyes, though, if you wish…”
She left them open, as he had expected. Again, Mahariti rose in his estimation…
A peculiar buzzing filled the air.
Uldyssian had but a single breath to react. He glared at empty air.
A moment later, three spinning objects converged on his location—and crashed against an invisible barrier as if against walls
of iron. The deadly objects tumbled to the ground, where they were revealed as arced pieces of metal with small, glittering teeth all along the edges. Had they struck Uldyssian, he had no doubt that he would have been dead in an instant…and possibly with his head lying unattached to his body.
From among the waiting figures burst two unkempt, insignificant-looking men. Yet, as they charged Uldyssian, their forms shifted and they became Peace Warders.
From nowhere, one produced a short lance that he threw at the son of Diomedes. The sharp tip had an odd red tinge to it. At the same time, the second cast another of the savage metal weapons.
But before Uldyssian could act, the whirling weapon abruptly turned and headed back to its wielder. It caught him in the chest, cutting through the metal breastplate, then the cloth, flesh, and bone underneath. The Peace Warder went flying back among the Tarajians, who just managed to avoid his bloody body before it crashed in an ghastly pile.
Uldyssian concentrated on the lance, but although it slowed, it did not stop. The red tip could only be demonic in origin. Serenthia leapt forward, using her spear to knock it off course. It went spinning past him.
Before the other Peace Warder could do anything else, some of the new Torajians seized him. He let out an oath, which turned into a cry of pain as the crowd began to tear him apart.
This was not what Uldyssian had in mind. This was not battle, but butchery. “Stop!”
As he spoke, he used his abilities to gently move aside those holding the Peace Warder until only the villain himself remained. The Peace Warder tried in vain to regain his limbs. He stood at an angle that should have made him fall on his back, only Uldyssian keeping that from happening.
The warrior’s every muscle strained as Uldyssian loomed over him. One hand twitched and the son of Diomedes noted that a dagger hung near the fingers.
“I can let you take that dagger, if you like,” he said without emotion. “But it’ll do you no good.”
Yet, still the man struggled for the feeble weapon. With a sigh, Uldyssian straightened the Peace Warder, then let the one arm move.
The hand immediately grasped the blade. The Peace Warder raised the dagger up—and to Uldyssian’s startlement, slashed his own throat.
A hush fell over the throng, but as Uldyssian—stupefied by the suicide—let the bleeding man drop, he saw that they assumed that their leader had caused the warrior to slay himself. They thought that the fatal strike had been Uldyssian’s punishment and proof of his power over such assassins.
Still managing to hide his shock, Uldyssian stared at the Peace Warder. The man gurgled twice, his body twitching…then stilled.
All the while he wanted only to kill himself! He’d failed and knew no other course…Such fanaticism astounded Uldyssian. Perhaps the man had believed that he would suffer some more terrible fate, but somehow, that seemed doubtful. In fact, Uldyssian had been toying with the notion as to how to let the assassin live. Enough had perished last night, and now with the coming of the new day, more bloodshed had happened. He was sick of it all.
But you chose this course, he reminded himself.
“Master Uldyssian! Master Uldyssian!”
Uldyssian gratefully looked to Romus, any interruption welcome. The former criminal pointed behind himself, where two other Parthans were dragging a limp form toward the rest.
A third Peace Warder. Only now did Uldyssian think of the fact that the first attack had come from farther back.
“We found him just within the jungle,” explained Romus, rubbing his bald pate.
As the other Parthans dropped the body, the cause of death became very evident. Someone had expertly cut down the assassin with an arrow to the base of the neck, apparently relying on honed talents rather than still questionable powers.
It was yet another death, but one that could not have been avoided. The Peace Warder had brought it on himself. “Good work, Romus.”
“Wasn’t my doin’, Master Uldyssian.”
The other two also shook their heads. Uldyssian digested this for a moment. “Then who?”
But no one took credit.
Frowning, Uldyssian knelt by the body. The shot had been an excellent one, as he had earlier noted, the work of a obviously skilled archer. A slight shift in direction and either the shot would have missed or the armor would have deflected it.
There was a dark substance on the shaft. Uldyssian rubbed some of it off. His brow furrowed in perplexity.
It was moist dirt…moist dirt covering most of the arrow, as if someone had once buried the bolt.
Five
He was cold. Even in the steaming jungle, he was cold. In fact, he was never warm anymore except when near them…or perhaps her. Yes, he thought it was likely her. Who else could it be?
It had been a risk, taking such action, but the Peace Warder might have otherwise escaped. Whether that counted for something, his dulled mind could not say, but he had decided it was best not to take a chance. An arrow through the neck had done the trick.
But now he had to move away as quickly as possible from the others. He dared not be seen. They would identify him as a threat…and he was not so certain that they were wrong.
The bow slung over his shoulder, the figure pushed through the thick plant life. Now and then, when he was forced to lean against a trunk, he left in his wake fragmented handprints of dirt. Soft, moist dirt. It seemed no matter how much he tried to wipe his hands clean, there was always more.
He suddenly tensed, aware that he was no longer alone. Something large but lithe slipped through the jungle, aware of his own movement even though he had thought his steps silent. One hand slowly went for the bow—
A savage, feline countenance with two long saber teeth thrust through the brush ahead. The jungle cat snarled.
But just as quickly, the snarl turned into a hiss. The beast recoiled.
He lowered his hand. He should have known that there would be no danger. Like all animals, the cat could sense the wrongness of him.
As much out of disgust for himself as it was impatience to end this little farce, he took a step toward the great feline. The cat immediately retreated an equal distance, spitting as it moved.
“I have no…time…for you…” It was the first words he had spoken in days and the croaking sound of it repelled him as much as it seemed to the animal. Without any more pretense, the massive cat spun around and fled, his tail between his legs.
The bowman stood there for a moment longer, drinking in the creature’s reaction. It only verified his own thoughts of what would have happened if anyone had seen him.
But he had to stay near. Not only because he wanted to, but because something compelled him. Even now, the urge to turn about grew stronger. It would not be too much more before he would have to turn back. He could even count the number of steps left, but still he knew that he would try his best to add just one. An innate stubbornness demanded that much independence of him.
The cat was long gone. Shoving aside a broad leaf the size of his head, he moved on.
Behind him, on the leaf, he left yet another dirty print.
It took well into the morning to deal with all the new converts, but despite his promise, Uldyssian refused to leave until everyone understood just what it was he had awakened in them. That did not mean that they would be able to wield any power, but at least there was a chance that it might somehow serve them should danger rear its head…which he felt it would soon enough. Fortunately, other followers, especially the Parthans—who had been able to practice longer—would be constantly trying to encourage their Torajian brethren.
“Nephalem” had been Lilith’s word for what they were becoming, but that word not only left a bitter taste in Uldyssian’s mouth, but also did not fit right…at least where he was concerned. From the Torajians, he had come across another title, an ancient one that even sounded a little like the first.
“Edyrem.” It meant “those who have seen” and to Uldyssian that was a perfect descrip
tion of him and the rest. He had already used it this very morning and seen how easily it slipped off the tongue. Already, many were using the term rather than the old one…
They left the vicinity of the city the moment he was done. Despite the sun being high in the sky, it seemed almost like dusk. The foliage was so thick that the light came for the most part in minute shafts. That was not entirely undesirable, for the jungle already sweltered. The Torajians did not mind it so much, but most of the Ascenians—Uldyssian included—were already covered in sweat.
The one obvious exception was Mendeln, naturally. He trudged through the jungle as if more comfortable in it than even the locals. With his dark garments, Uldyssian’s brother should have been dying under the sweltering heat, but not one drop of moisture had so far formed on Mendeln’s calm countenance.
Uldyssian’s gaze shifted to Serenthia. She, like him, showed signs of the heat, albeit not quite so severely. He looked at her closely, seeing for the first time how beautiful she was as a woman, not simply a friend he had always thought of like a sister. How he envied now Achilios’s place in her heart, a place he had once held, but had squandered. Any thought of making an advance toward Serenthia Uldyssian quickly crushed; he still felt directly responsible for the archer’s terrible demise.
Serenthia paused to drink from her water sack, but as she lifted the opening to her lips, her grip slipped. The sack fell, its contents spilling all over the ground.
He reached for his own. “You can drink some of this.”
Retrieving the sack, Serenthia shook her head. “Save yours. We passed a stream just a few yards back…and besides, this’ll give me a chance to deal with some private matters.”
“Someone should go with—”
She gave him a grateful smile. “I’ll be fine. You’ll probably be able to see the top of my head most of the time.”
Scales of the Serpent Page 6
