by Jim Melvin
“This is no ordinary storm,” Nīsa said. “I smell no rain, yet I have never seen a cloud so dark.”
“Whatever it is, we’re about to find out,” the firstborn said.
The cloud passed over them in a rush, churning westward across the ocean. Within a few moments, darkness as impenetrable as a dragon’s scale engulfed them. Nīsa could not see his own hand in front of his face.
“What is it? What’s happening?” Nīsa heard Bonny say, and then she yelped.
“It’s just me taking your arm,” Lucius said.
“Don’t move!” Nīsa said. “If we panic, we’ll be lost to each other. This is sorcery on a scale I would not have believed possible.”
“Invictus . . .” Lucius said.
“I’m not so sure,” Nīsa said. “The air has a comforting odor. It is filled with Death Energy.”
Bonny yelped again. “Don’t do that!”
“I didn’t do anything,” Lucius said.
“Not you, Lucius. A Daasa just nuzzled my behind.”
Despite their frightening situation, Lucius and Nīsa both laughed.
“They must not be scared anymore,” the firstborn said.
“It’s not funny,” Bonny said. “They may not be scared, but I sure am.”
“We need to build a fire,” Nīsa said, still chuckling. Then he noticed a pair of purple lights near his left hip and felt a wet nose press against his hand. “The Daasa’s eyes glow,” Nīsa said.
“Yes, but not brightly enough,” Lucius said.
“I wonder . . .” Nīsa responded.
Among many useful items in his backpack, Nīsa carried a length of thin but stout cord woven from creosote fibers and camel hair, and he tied it around his companions’ wrists and then his own. “Let us go in search of muhly grass. It burns well when it is dry.”
“I am glad you have this rope,” Bonny said. “Whatever we do, we should stay together.”
“Agreed,” Lucius said.
Despite their temporary blindness, they were able to construct a dense pile of grass in the sand that stood as tall as a man. Nīsa swiped a shaving of flint against the blade of his uttara, and the grass sparked to life, illuminating a circular area about five cubits in diameter. The threesome added more grass and also found some leggy bushes and even a dried-up log from a fallen palm tree. By the time the sun should have been overhead, they had built an impressive bonfire, and now they could see for about twenty cubits; yet the darkness was barely dented beyond that.
Meanwhile, the Daasa seemed to have fully recovered from their initial discomfort, and they ran in and out of the firelight as if the entire thing were nothing but a wonderful game their masters had devised. Apparently, their superior senses of smell and hearing made it far easier to navigate in the darkness.
The game took on new meaning. Soon the Daasa themselves were adding fuel to the fire, mostly in the form of driftwood. They also brought more clams and crabs, and even a few flopping fish.
“What now?” Lucius said with a shrug. “Do we just stand here until this passes? Assuming it will pass.”
As the firstborn spoke, one of the Daasa charged over with a long stick in its mouth. Nīsa grabbed the end of it and won a hard-fought game of tug-of-war with the charming creature. Then he wound grass around the end of the stick.
“What now?” Nīsa said. “First we eat. Then we make more torches. After that we continue our march. This darkness might not be foul in all ways. If we can’t see, then we can’t be seen. Perhaps that might work to our advantage.”
Bonny smiled, her crooked teeth glistening in the firelight. “All right, Nīsa, I admit it . . . you have won my heart. But Lucius is still my man and always will be.”
Nīsa smiled back. “I mean no offense, but I prefer taller women.”
All three of them laughed.
Later, they sat by the fire and discussed the upcoming march. As long as they skirted the ocean, it would be relatively easy to stay together and not lose their sense of direction. Eventually, they would stumble upon the port—and the ships.
“I’ll be the first to tell you that I don’t know a thing about sailing,” Lucius said. “How big of a ship will we need to hold all the Daasa? Is it something that the three of us can manage on our own?”
“The three of us?” Bonny said to Lucius. “The two of us, you mean. You aren’t going to be much help.” Then she looked at Nīsa. “And I am taking your word that you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve sailed vessels on Ti-ratana and Keo, but never on the ocean,” Nīsa admitted. “Still, it comes naturally to me. I’ll be more of an asset than a liability.”
Lucius grunted. “You didn’t answer my question, Captain Bonny. How big of a ship will we need? And what about a crew?”
The smile left Bonny’s face. “I think we’ll need a mighty galleon—and at least a score of deck hands. Even that might not be enough, if we hit bad weather.”
“A score?” Lucius said. “Where are we going to . . .” But instead of finishing his sentence, the firstborn suddenly bent over and seemed to gag.
“Sweety, are you all right?” Bonny said, her voice at first amused but then concerned as the firstborn continued to cough. “Are you all right?”
Finally Lucius composed himself, and then he raised his face. In the firelight Nīsa could see tears on the firstborn’s cheeks.
“He is gone . . .” Lucius murmured.
“Huh?” Bonny said. “What’d you say? Who’s gone, sweety?”
“He is gone,” the firstborn repeated. “He . . . He! Don’t you feel it? Invictus is dead.”
7
THE OLD NIGHTMARE had ended, but a new one had risen in its place. Invictus was erased from the world, but Laylah still could not rest easy. The child in her belly—the one, by all rights, she should despise—had taken hold of her heart, and now he was all she could think about. Not even The Torgon, the love of her lives, seemed to hold precedence over this new being, which had chosen to take harbor from the storms of existence in the warmth of her womb.
Laylah knew it was a boy, could sense it with certainty. She also knew that he had suffered some level of physical harm. Her fetus had died before her own body, and so the amulet that had preserved her flesh had fallen short of preserving his. How severe the damage was yet to be determined. Perhaps her magic, combined with the miraculous healing powers of Death Energy, would prove enough to birth a healthy child. The boy was half Invictus, after all, which would make him strong. But strong enough?
Since Torg had rescued her on the peak of Catu by using the magical amulet to preserve her flesh during her brief death, Laylah had healed physically. But she had never recovered emotionally. Instead, her thoughts were wild and chaotic, and she felt no joy when by all rights she should have been celebrating. She and Torg were finally freed from the specter of Invictus. Why shouldn’t she be happy? She could not think clearly enough to even attempt to come up with an answer.
Now she and Torg were again being flown through the darkness on the broad back of Sakuna, the giant mountain eagle that was one of Jord’s many incarnations. Only this time, instead of flying northward toward Catu, Laylah assumed they were flying southward on a return trip to somewhere either Jord or Torg had chosen. How cold the air was, yet how warm the flesh of Sakuna beneath the fluffy feathers. Laylah nestled the side of her face against the eagle’s back. Torg lay beside her, stroking and cooing, but she took little pleasure in his touch. The wizard was the creator of the black cloud that had destroyed her brother, but in turn he also was the cause of her unborn child’s distress. Could she forgive him? Even while asking herself this question, a part of her knew that it was irrational to even think such a thing.
Laylah slept for an indeterminable length of time. When she finally awakened, the exposed side o
f her face felt frostbitten. She rolled over and sat up, nearly dislodging herself from Sakuna’s back. Torg grabbed her by the arm and held her tight. A part of her welcomed his touch, but another part recoiled. Would she ever love him in the same way again? If anyone had asked her then, she might have said no.
Laylah had no idea where they were going, but she could sense that they had traveled a long way and that Sakuna was weakening. The darkness was utterly relentless and all-encompassing. Not even Obhasa warmed the chill in her heart. She was blind to anything but the flickering orb of life in her womb. When the eagle finally landed on hard, cold ground, Laylah lost consciousness.
She woke again, this time inside a hut. A fire burned friskily in the hearth, providing warmth and light. She lay on a deerskin blanket strewn over a bed of straw, and when she sat up she found that she was alone. There was a stale odor in the air, and she wondered if it was coming from her, knowing full well that it had been long since she had bathed. But when she sniffed the skin of her arm, it smelled sweet. Torg must have cleansed her with his magic while she slept. The mildly unpleasant scent came instead from her surroundings—the very air itself.
Laylah was dizzy, weak, and a little nauseated, and at first it was difficult to stand. But then she saw Obhasa leaning against the wall near the door, and when she staggered over and grasped the sturdy shaft, blue energy blazed from the ivory and warmed the palm of her hand. Feeling steadier, Laylah opened the door and peered outside at a wall of black tar. Air as cold as the bitterest winter slapped her in the face.
“Torg?” she said in a whisper. “Torg?” she repeated, just a little louder. And then: “Torg!”
She became convinced that he had deserted her. And why not? She deserved it for how rude she had become. So when the wizard suddenly emerged from the darkness, she was caught by surprise and screamed as loud as she ever had in her life. Torg took Obhasa from her and leaned the staff against the outside wall. Then he wrapped his arms around her.
“Laylah . . . it’s me . . . it’s all right. I heard your call and came as quickly as I could. I’ve built a fire, though you can’t see it from here. Jord is roasting venison. Are you hungry? Thirsty? There is also wine.”
“We’re . . . I’m . . . very hungry and thirsty,” Laylah said.
“Come then, my love. I will show you the way.”
He took her hand and led her into the abyss.
Eventually, they found light again. Jord, adorned in alabaster robes, stood near the spitted carcass of a large buck suspended over a fire that illuminated a circular area about ten cubits in diameter. The Faerie’s welcoming smile appeared genuine.
“Trials are yet to come, Laylah, but for now you are safe in the house of Jord,” she said.
“Are any of us safe?” Laylah said.
Torg answered. “We are what we are—living beings doomed to suffer and die. But we are not without the ability to end our suffering. And as you now know firsthand, death is nothing to fear. You also are a Death-Knower.”
Laylah looked into his deep-blue eyes, which were as beautiful as diamonds. The first stirrings of her former adoration emerged from the horror of her sufferings.
“How did you manage all this?” she said, gesturing toward the darkness.
Torg grimaced, but then his face softened. “As you might guess, it was not just me. Peta, Jord, and Vedana played roles even larger than mine.”
Then he briefly explained to her what had occurred since Invictus had taken her from the Green Plains, though the expression on his face became filled with anguish when he described Rathburt’s selfless act of heroism.
Laylah listened intently, then nodded. “And Peta is gone?”
“Yes . . . it appears so.”
“Did she tell you how long the darkness will last?”
“No. But I would guess several more days.”
“And Invictus?”
“Dead.”
“You are certain?”
“Aren’t you?”
Jord stepped between them. “Invictus’s body is no longer. Of that there is no doubt. But as I said before, trials are yet to come.”
“Tell us,” Torg said.
“I cannot,” Jord said.
“I don’t want your help, anyway,” Laylah said, her voice as cold as the icy wind. For reasons she could not define, she wanted to slap Jord in the face.
“Do you want mine?” Torg said.
After a long pause, Laylah said, “Yes.”
The wizard smiled with apparent relief. “Much has occurred. It is no wonder that you are confused. In fact, you are alive only because of the energy you consumed in the Realm of Death.” Then he smiled again. “Together, you and I will face whatever trials are laid before us. And whatever has happened to your child, I will be there for both of you.”
Then he took her in his arms. This time, she did not resist. When he held her, she felt blue-green power surge from his flesh into hers. But around her abdomen, there was a separate golden glow, dense and foreign. If Torg sensed it, he did not say.
Laylah drank water instead of wine and eventually ate far more than was typical, her hunger as intense as the darkness. Torg used Obhasa to guide them both back to the hut, and they lay down together and wrapped themselves in the deerskin blanket. Jord did not join them.
Torg was tender with her. He did not attempt to even kiss her. Instead, he just held her, his hard stomach pressed against her buttocks, and he placed his hand lovingly on her belly and left it there. Though the air in the small hut remained stale, Laylah could smell his sweet breath, pleasant and intoxicating. Her earlier anger began to take on a sense of irrationality. Of course it wasn’t his fault that the baby had been harmed. How could he have known? And of course Invictus had to be destroyed. Laylah put her hand on his and sighed.
“Beloved . . .” she purred and then fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed of the silence of death and was comforted.
From then on, time passed in peculiar fashion. There were no hints of day or night, only darkness and increasing cold. But Torg was with her. And eventually they did kiss and make love—outside in the shivery wind, so as not to destroy the hut. The first time the wizard achieved orgasm inside her, she screamed out of fright that her baby would be killed. But she soon sensed that all was as before; whatever protected her from Torg’s outrageous bursts of energy also protected her unborn child. Afterward they had sex more and more frequently. Whenever the wizard climaxed, large areas of illumination sprang forth, and in the midst of her bliss Laylah caught glimpses of rolling lands and tall trees. Once he took her to a faraway place, and when his orgasm flashed outward, a line of white pines almost as tall as the behemoths of Dhutanga was revealed. The trees glowed like magical green spires. This amazed Laylah.
Over time, the darkness began to dissipate; like all things, even it was impermanent. Laylah imagined that she could see faint touches of light in the sky. And then she no longer imagined it. There truly was light.
One morning, they stepped out of the hut, and a sky that appeared heavily overcast but otherwise ordinary greeted them. A forest surrounded them, as beautiful as any she had seen in the more southerly portions of Mahaggata. Though it was late spring, the leaves on the trees were ablaze with color. Apparently the strange darkness and cold had tricked the trees into thinking it was autumn.
That night, the sky was clear. Laylah was disappointed that it was the time of a new moon. It had been so long since she had reveled in the moon’s reflected light. Yet perhaps it was fitting. As the moon began to emerge from the darkness, so would she.
The next morning, the sun rose bright and cheery, and the day grew comfortably warm. At first the abundance of light hurt their eyes, but they adjusted quickly. Laylah and Torg laughed and played, prancing naked through the woods like wild animals. Jord was nowhere to
be seen, but Laylah didn’t care one way or the other. Why should she be embarrassed? She was beautiful, and so was he.
Finally, she looked into her beloved’s eyes and said, “He’s really dead.”
“Yes.”
“We’re free?”
“Yes, my love . . . we’re free.”
She giggled, then burst into full-blown laughter. He joined her. They made love on a blanket of pine needles and nearly started the forest on fire. Torg had to extinguish the blaze with puffs of magic. His panicked expression was hysterical. She laughed until she cried.
“What now, beloved?” she finally was able to say between intermittent recurrences of giggling.
“My love . . . my queen . . . it’s time to go home.”
Even as he spoke those words, Bhojja thundered out of the trees and knelt before them.
Seeing the light
8
THE HIGHEST-RANKED black knight to have survived the wars was a husky commander named Sugati. Despite all the horrors that had so recently occurred, Sugati somehow managed to stay perpetually good-natured. And through sheer will, he inspired the defenders of Nissaya to remain calm, despite the suffocating darkness, by leading prayers to the creator and giving numerous less spiritual pep talks. The commander took a special liking to Elu, treating the Svakaran like a general while also encouraging his burgeoning relationship with Essīkka.
Several hundred people had been lured to the fortress by the glowing Maōi on the battlements of Nissaya, and Sugati had asked Elu and Essīkka to assist in greeting them and making sure they were made comfortable. Among this new batch of refugees was a variety of Mahaggatan natives, several dozen Senasanans, and villagers from the Gray Plains.
Though the Maōi spewed enough illumination to make the darkness tolerable, it still had been a spooky time. Ghosts now haunted the labyrinth of streets and courtyards within the city, shrieking and moaning. Some of the living—Sugati included—were deaf to this horrible cacophony. But many, including Elu, could hear it all too well. Only when he was shut inside Essīkka’s bedroom did the Svakaran gain relief from the sounds of torment. Elu wondered if Nissaya would ever be free of the ghosts. If not, perhaps it was a good thing. The world should never forget the horrific slaughter that had occurred within the fortress walls.
