Healed by Hope

by Jim Melvin

  At that moment, a silent promise was spoken to Nimm. She would be rewarded for her bravery—in her next life. She would be reborn not into material wealth and prosperity, but as a spiritual teacher of great renown.

  Nimm’s fear vanished. She smiled and then giggled.

  Which caused the boy to frown.

  58

  SNOW GIANTS LOVED to jump—and they were very good at it. Leaping from ledge to ledge and peak to peak was the next best thing to flying.

  Yama-Deva pounced into the crevasse with ease. When he approached the Death-Knower, Deva felt a strange combination of happiness and anger. He felt delight over being in the presence of such a wonderful being, while the remnants of Mala felt rage over again facing a dreaded enemy. But the joy was the greater.

  “Don’t look so disappointed,” Deva said, scratching the stump of his left forearm with his right hand.

  “Disappointed is not the word I would use, but perhaps it is appropriate,” Torg said, shifting uneasily as his eyes darted about.

  “It appears we’re both headed to the same place,” Deva said.

  Despite his obvious distress, the wizard chuckled. The sound warmed the snow giant’s heart. “Apparently so,” Torg said. “Though as you can see, I have been impeded.”

  “Would you care for some assistance?”

  “You would help ‘a fool and a coward, worth less than the filth on the soles’ of your feet?”

  Now it was Deva’s turn to chuckle. “So you remember all the way back to our first encounter at Dibbu-Loka? It appears that you hold a grudge.”

  Torg managed a grin. “I told you then that you would be converted. How does it feel to be yourself again?”

  Deva pondered this question. “I’m tired. You can only do so much living in one lifetime. Sometimes it’s best to move on.”

  Torg nodded. “Wise words, snow giant.”

  Deva smiled, revealing long, white fangs. “Would you care for some assistance?” he repeated.

  “I suppose I would.”

  Deva’s smile faded. In a near whisper, he said, “Invictus is near. I can sense it. I thought I had killed him.”

  “You did not?”

  “We’d better find out.” Then Deva turned and knelt. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come then, my . . . friend.”

  Deva jumped.

  And ran.

  With Torg on his back.

  59

  IN A MATTER OF moments, Torg and Deva came to a towering bulwark of ice. The snow giant bounded up it with ease. Torg dismounted, and together they stared down into a massive bowl. A league distant, four dark specks stood near each other. Each glowed with its own particular aura: yellow, white, crimson, or green.

  Yellow was the brightest.

  “A female dragon was here not long ago. I can still smell her,” Deva said. “And I smell the Faerie on you. That is how you came to be in this place, I suppose.”

  “It is.”

  “And the boy?” the snow giant said. “On him I smell Invictus.”

  “Not Invictus, exactly . . . more like a continuation of his karma, but with memories somehow intact, would be my guess,” Torg said. “But how can you even tell there’s a boy down there when they’re all so far away?”

  “I am a snow giant,” Deva said.

  Torg nodded. “Our only hope is that he has not yet regained his full strength.”

  Deva gazed skyward. “That might not be our only hope.”

  Torg arched an eyebrow. “What do you sense?”

  It surprised Torg to see tears in the snow giant’s massive eyes. “I am Himamahaakaayo—and I am not. As my time nears, my sight increases. The future unfolds before me, as if the present has increased its speed. I once believed that I was destined to die alongside Invictus, and yet I survived the fall of Uccheda. Now I see that I was correct, after all.”

  “You are beyond me,” Torg said. “I will not argue, like I did beneath Uccheda. But will you carry me one last time? Laylah is in danger.”

  “The world is in danger,” Deva said.

  Torg started to climb onto his back, but the snow giant raised his stump and stopped him. “Torgon, you say that you will not argue, but when the time comes will you trust me and do as I say?”

  Torg did not hesitate. “I will do my best.”

  With Torg again astride his back, Deva descended the wall in two leaps and then sprang, twenty cubits per stride, across the floor of the bowl. The rushing wind filled Torg’s eyes with tears. Or was it just the fear that Laylah had been harmed? Would Invictus attack as soon as they arrived? If the boy wielded the sorcerer’s previous strength, they would stand little chance of defeating him. And what of Vedana? Surely she also was there. What role would she play in the end?

  They arrived at the scene of a stalemate. Laylah, Vedana, and the boy formed a triangle around the little desert girl, who lay immobile on her side. Had Invictus injured the innocent child? Torg would not have been the least bit surprised.

  “It took you long enough,” the boy said to Deva in a high-pitched voice that was otherwise eerily mature. “You and I need to leave.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Vedana said to the boy. “It’s time you start doing what you’re told.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You’ve always been a brat,” Vedana snarled.

  Torg approached Laylah cautiously, not sure how she would react to his arrival. When she turned toward him, he half-expected to see the face of an old woman, aged by innumerable toils. Instead, his beloved still was beautiful. But never before had he seen such sadness in her expression.

  “I’m sorry for what I did to you,” she murmured, “but I needed to see for myself if there was any . . . hope.”

  “And?”

  She shook her head.

  “Enough of this,” the boy said. “Time grows short! Mala, carry me from this horrid place. Together, we shall return to Avici and reclaim what is rightfully ours.”

  Deva looked at Torg, his expression betraying nothing of his true thoughts. In a low voice, he said, “Stand aside.”

  “The hell we will,” Vedana shouted. Then she turned to Torg and Laylah. “Are you going to let the two of them get away with this? Once they’re gone, it will begin anew.”

  The boy chortled. “You would join forces with the one who murdered your father?” he said to Torg. “How interesting . . .”

  Torg’s eyes glowed like cinders. He stomped toward the boy. “What . . . are . . . you . . . saying?”

  “She had her way with him, like so many others,” the boy said. “As you can imagine, it wasn’t the least bit pleasant for daddy.”

  Torg stopped and turned slowly toward the demon. “Is this true?”

  Vedana shrugged dismissively. “Who cares? We have more important things to deal with, you dimwit.”

  The boy shook his little fist. “Grandmother, have you been listening at all? I’ve already grown beyond your ability to harm me. You’re too late.” When he turned to Deva, his left eyebrow twitched. “Mala, it’s time to go. They think I don’t know, but I do. They expect that I’ll just stand here and let it happen.”

  “What are you raving about, boy?” Vedana said. “You’re as loony as the crippled girl.”

  “Grandmother . . .”

  Deva ignored them both and turned to Torg and Laylah. “Torgon,” he said with urgency, “I asked you earlier if you would trust me and do as I said.”

  Torg continued to glare at Vedana.

  “Listen to me now,” Deva said. “It’s time for you and Laylah to leave.”

  Torg pointed at the demon. “Not until this is settled.”

  And Laylah said, “I’m not go
ing anywhere.”

  “If you don’t, you both will die,” Deva said.

  “Let them die!” the boy said to Mala. “Who cares? You and I are all that matter. But I do need your help. My new body isn’t capable of running very fast, and time grows short. We need to go soon.”

  With quickness that surpassed even Torg’s abilities, Deva scooped Torg up with his right arm and Laylah with what remained of his left. Then the snow giant bounded away. Only Bhojja herself could have run faster. Torg’s arms were pinned to his sides so tightly he couldn’t wield Obhasa or draw the Silver Sword. Laylah screamed in outrage and unleashed a torrent of white energy that caused Deva to moan. But the snow giant did not let go, and in less than ten long breaths he reached the ice bulwark, rushed to its summit, and cast them over the far side. Torg tumbled and rolled almost to the base before finally regaining his footing. Deva stared down at him, waved the stump of his arm, and then vanished.

  “Damn you!” Laylah was shouting. Then she turned to Torg. “Why did he do that? Does he want Invictus to live?”

  But Torg barely heard her.

  His attention was drawn to a disturbance in the sky.

  60

  DEVA COULDN’T ALLOW it to happen. Invictus already had wrought so much damage. If Torg and Laylah were to die, what hope would Triken have of recovery?

  Finally, the snow giant comprehended the source of his compulsion to come to this place. The Vijjaadharaa had been speaking to him, and now their voices were louder than ever. Deva complied, grabbing and carrying both Torg and Laylah away from Invictus. The sorceress lashed out with white magic, searing his flesh. But Deva was accustomed to pain; perhaps more so than any being to ever live. And so he held on just long enough to reach and climb up the huge wall of ice and toss the two of them over the far side.

  As he watched them tumble down, an unexpected surge of grief struck Deva. This was the last time he would see Torg and Laylah, at least in this lifetime. Even worse, never again would he commune with the snow giants or enjoy the beauty of Okkanti. His long life would soon end—and deservedly so. Still, in his final moments he felt sad.

  Deva waved at Torg, sighed one last time, and then raced back toward Invictus. The Vijjaadharaa, trillions and trillions of them, urged him to hurry.

  “Easy for you to say,” Deva shouted out loud as he ran. “You hold all the cards.”

  When he returned, he found that the boy was attempting to run away. But his little legs were betraying him. He had managed only a few hundred paces in the time it had taken the snow giant to run six miles. Vedana was following the boy, but at a safe distance, while the little girl lay alone in the snow, shivering and forsaken but no longer looking frightened. Deva now knew that her role had been as crucial as his, and that the Vijjaadharaa would reward her in her next lifetime—and beyond.

  Deva towered over the girl and smiled. “It won’t be long now. And I promise it won’t hurt. All the pain you’ve suffered is about to cease.”

  Surprisingly the girl smiled back, though the rest of her body was lifeless. “The green lights told me to trust you.”

  “Let’s trust each other, my dear.”

  Deva lifted her as easily as an ordinary man might lift a newborn baby, and then he sprinted toward Invictus. Deva expected Vedana to try to stop him. But the demon seemed almost as paralyzed as the little girl, and she stopped and allowed him to run past, unchallenged.

  “I wish someone would tell me what’s going on,” Deva heard Vedana say.

  When he reached Invictus, the boy seemed relieved. “Ah, Mala . . . finally. Pick me up and take me to Avici. There’s work to be done.” Then he spied the girl. “Put her down. She’s the problem, you fool!”

  Deva laid Nimm on her back on the snow. “Close your eyes,” he said softly. The girl smiled—and complied.

  “Good,” Invictus said. “Now, carry me out of here.”

  “I’ll keep you warm,” Deva said. Then he reached down with his right hand and lifted the boy in his arms.

  “Keep me warm? Don’t be stupid! Cold is the least of my worries.” The boy looked skyward nervously. “It’s them I’m worried about.”

  “I won’t leave you,” Deva said. “The three of us will face the end together.”

  Meanwhile, Vedana had approached within a stone’s throw. “What are you up to?” she growled. “What are they up to?”

  “See for yourself,” Deva said, gazing skyward.

  Invictus began to squirm. Golden energy seared Deva’s sinews. But it was no more painful than the chain he had borne for so many years.

  Deva held on.

  It wouldn’t be long now.

  61

  THE VIJJAADHARAA were not warriors. Their function was to guide, not to fight. But neither were they powerless. As individuals, they had little puissance. But when trillions and trillions came together, they became formidable by any standard.

  Sakuna followed the ruined dragon downward, watching as the Vijjaadharaa nudged the flaming carcass this way and that, adjusting to whatever occurred on the surface of Nirodha.

  Invictus had been the most powerful being to ever live, but the great dragons were next in line. Their massive bodies were bloated with crimson magic, and Sovaōōa was no exception. When her sizzling remains finally smote the ice, there would be an explosion of titanic proportions. Yet that was only part of what was about to occur. Jord, in her incarnation as the mountain eagle Sakuna, would follow behind the dragon and unleash the combined power of her kind. Everything within a league would be incinerated, and there would be lesser damage far beyond that. In his previous existence, Invictus would have survived a cataclysm of even this magnitude. But in this new body, he did not yet wield enough might to save himself.

  Jord’s time on Triken was about to end. Like the snow giant, sadness also struck her. Memories of Ugga and Bard surged through her awareness. Watching each of them die just one time had been almost intolerable; yet living beings were forced to watch loved ones die hundreds and thousands of times over the course of their existences. Jord the Faerie should have been celebrating the cessation of emotional suffering, but she realized with poignancy that she would miss life’s sweetness and beauty.

  Was life worth living? In her final moments, she discovered that it was.

  The flat white surface of Nirodha seemed to rush toward her, rather than she toward it. She tucked her wings tight against her body, extended her neck, and torpedoed downward, positioned only a handful of cubits from the tail end of the crimson flames. The dragon’s carcass would strike. And Sakuna would follow a moment later. After that, the Faerie’s essence would return to the cosmos. She might even be assigned Invictus as her first patron. No, that wasn’t right. The sorcerer would be given to elders who—this time—would not permit him to direct his own rebirth. Instead, they would place him where he could no longer do any serious harm. Perhaps he would become a rabbit, a mouse, or even a worm. And in the lower levels he would remain, where he would be trapped in an endless succession of deaths and rebirths.

  And so, for everyone else the nightmare would end.

  Except for one thing.

  Life and Death had been appeased.

  But not yet Undeath.

  The cataclysm would destroy Invictus, but not his creator. Jord knew that Vedana would receive payment for her role in eliminating the Sun God—in the form of freedom. Peta had not lied, after all. The demon would be released from her realm and become a living being.

  What happened after that was beyond Jord’s knowledge.

  In her final moments as a mountain eagle, Jord saw several things with her magnificent vision: Yama-Deva struggling to retain his grip on Invictus, the little girl lying on the ice with her eyes clamped shut, the physical incarnation of Vedana shielding her face against the blinding light.

  Right on
target, the dragon struck.

  For Jord, there was one final moment of awareness.

  Then searing pain.

  Followed by . . .

  Peace.

  Placidity.

  And the resumption of servitude.

  As a reward for her toils, Jord was assigned the privilege of helping guide Nimm to her next lifetime—where the little girl would be great among the great.

  62

  IN THE MOMENTS before the explosions began, Vedana’s perceptions were strangely muted. Ever since Invictus had cast aside the amulet, her plans of training him to do her bidding had been shattered as easily as a shard of ice. Even the brain damage that she had hoped would make him compliant had only served to make him more unpredictable.

  Vedana felt betrayed. Peta had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she would be freed from her prison and released into the Realm of Life. Would Undeath not be appeased? How unfair was that!

  If she could just clear her thoughts, maybe she could figure some way out of this. There was a fire in the sky. Coming her way. Should she flee? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t seem to make any decisions.

  The portion of Vedana that still resided within the Realm of Undeath decided that enough was enough. It was time to regroup. A portal was opened, and her dark essence reached out to grasp her physical incarnation and yank it back inside. Simultaneously the world was thrown into chaos.

  There was a titanic whoooomp!

  And another.

  Then everything went blank.

  When Vedana awoke she was lying naked on the crest of a mountain of ice. For a while she simply stared at the passing clouds. Parts of her body were moving in strange, fluttering motions that she found confusing—until she realized that she was shivering. For the first time in her long existence, Vedana was cold.

  When she sat up, she felt a stabbing pain in her lower back. In her various incarnations, Vedana had experienced pleasure and pain, but it had been in a muted sense that was nowhere near to this extent. Now she grimaced and cried out as tears leaked from her eyes and froze on her cheeks.