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Chapter XI
The man is bleeding, and
heavily. That pack of mountain wolves has taken a lot out of him:
his precious energy as well as his blood. He wades through the snow
slowly, his feet sinking until the white death touches his knees.
A cold, biting wind whistles shrilly through the tall pass, freezing whatever
it touches despite the brilliant sun. The man pauses for a moment,
and gazes at the bright yellow disk in the sky; it seems a terrible hypocrisy
to him: to shine so brightly on a cloudless day and yet not give a touch
of warmth.
He wraps his thick, though
torn, garments about him and moves on. His sheathed two-handed sword
drags across the snow behind him at an absurd and almost uncomfortable
angle, and he carries his quarterstaff now - it is useless in the deep
snow. The blood flows from the wound on his shoulder and leaves a
gory, though crimsonly beautiful trail behind him. Gods, he thinks,
I've been up this mountain and I've run this passage at least a hundred
times. Where did those wolves come from? I thought I cleared
them out years ago.
The man starts as he sees
the large midnight-black form of a bird swoop past him. The creature
lights upon a tree nearby, and he sees that it is a raven. But there
are no ravens so high up the mountain. He stares at it for a few
moments, but then reminds himself that if he stays out too long he'll probably
bleed or freeze to death - or perhaps both. He moves on, but he can
feel a penetrating stare from behind him. He turns, only to see the
raven. The creature caws, and the sound sends shivers down his spine.
The man turns and begins to run, his legs still sinking deep, but pumping
rapidly now.
Suddenly he stumbles, and falls face-first into the snow. Oh
Gods, he thinks in his panic. What in the Nine Hells am I doing up
here? He had no reason; he had awoken this morning and had felt some
dire urge to walk the mountain trail. The idea had been pure folly,
but he could not have resisted. And now here he is, bleeding horribly
from a wolf-bite, lying prone in the snow, covered and soon soaking with
the stuff - and that raven...
The mountain wind howls
as if in lament, and the man cringes in terror. In a rush of panic
he gathers himself up, stands once more...
- And the glint of something
brilliant lying in the snow catches his eye. He bends down, and wraps
his numbing hands around a perfect crystal sphere. It glitters beautifully
in the bright sunlight. He smiles. Whatever force had brought
him out here, he thinks, must have been some kind of blessing. He
could live well for the rest of his life with the money he could catch
for this gem: it was larger than his fist. He looks to the raven
- it had caused him to run and then stumble, and must be part of the blessing.
The bird only stares at the gem in his hands with burning red eyes.
"Yes," he says. "I
have it now. I thank you, whoever you are."
The raven continues to stare,
and the man looks carefully at the gem now, too. There seems to be
some imperfection. He looks closely at the dark spot in the center
of crystal sphere. He looks for a long time until the tiny figure
of a woman in a black robe comes into focus. She is seated with her
legs crossed, reading a large book opened in her lap. Tall elf ears
stab out of her long black tresses, and she is incredibly intent upon her
reading. An almost imperceptible smile moves her lips.
And suddenly a tremendous explosion rips through the thin, cold air,
and razor shards of crystal are sent flying in every direction. The
man is knocked away and to the ground, the shards ripping through his face
and thick garments. He bellows in pain, but the soft snow catches
him gently.
He opens his eyes to look
though streams of blood at the black-robed elfin woman floating above the
snow before him. "Gods," he manages to mutter through the thick
haze of pain.
"Almost," the woman says
as she closes her leather-bound book. She stiffens suddenly, and
turns. The man manages to prop himself up on one arm to see her glaring
at the raven that still rests upon the tree-branch a half-dozen paces away.
The elfin woman sneers. "You." She thrusts one hand forward,
palm open and fingers extended, and a bolt of lightning arcs from her fingertips,
crackling through the air towards the raven. The tree bursts into
flames, and the man shields his face from the terrible heat.
The raven flies swiftly
out of the inferno, its caw seeming to be in a mocking tone.
"This is not over!" the
woman screams as the raven darts away. "This is far from over, Dymancil!"
The woman sighs as she watches the retreating bird, and begins to walk
away; she leaves not a mark on the snow.
"Wait," the man croaks,
and she stops.
She turns to look at him,
her deep green eyes burning with anger. "You're better off dead,
young man." She turns and walks slowly but purposefully away, heedless
of the man's slowly fading entreaties. The winter wind howls and
bites, blowing her hair and thin robe to one side, but she takes no notice.
The Black Chapel is near
Bridgeville, she thinks. I have a long journey ahead me.
I heard that sphere shatter.
It was not that it was so loud - I heard it in my mind, just as I heard
the tree burst into flames, and the raven's mocking caw. I sat on
the roof of my spire, the bitter winter wind whipping at my cheeks, and
I snarled at that last sound. My fist clenched tightly in anger.
It had been
more than a century and a half since I first met Jaysin, but still the
universe streaked down its random path, headlong and at a break-neck speed.
The city of Bridgeville sprawled like a stinking wench at my feet as I
stood and began the descent down my spire. I kept this still as my
private spot away from the Guild, and not a soul knew where it was, or
to where I disappeared when I came here. In fact, I would disappear
for days at a time to wander the streets and shadows of Bridgeville, to
listen at the Dancing Maid, and watch the world from my spire. It
was perhaps not the best way for any mortal to lead a thieves' guild, but
it was the way that I had chosen to run mine.
And it worked perfectly.
My decrees were rare, and short. Excellence, nigh perfection, was
my main decree, and any thief found not worthy of this command was killed.
It thinned my ranks considerably at the outset, but the few that remained
were the best thieves in the city. The Guild flourished as never
before, and its dark shadow grew to span across the city, even into the
out-lying farms in the hills about Bridgeville. The commonfolk and
the Nobles alike cringed in fear at the mere mention of the Guild, and
the Watch recoiled in terror at the strength of my ranks or just my threats.
All the city and beyond lay in my grasp like some bauble in the hand of
a giant.
I would like to say that
I was greatly satisfied with this conquest. The blackness that reflected
my soul had spread throughout Bridgeville and the blade of the thief ruled
more than the decree of the King. But I was not. I spent much
time in my spire, reflecting, mulling, and wondering. The words of
the Kyie’s son, Narkim, plagued me for almost one hundred and fifty years
alongside the horrible look of defeat in Jaysin's eyes that reflected the
feelings - the few which remained - in my heart. The facts and feelings
and words haunted me like some terrible spectre of an unknown lie - or
else a hidden and terrible truth.
I left my spire and swept
quickly and quietly onto the street, melding with the deepening shadows
of the evening. I felt at home the most here: upon the streets embraced
tightly by the shadows. Not even the peaceful and silent sanctuary
of my spire gave the comfort of the streets, nor the sadistic satisfaction
of sitting upon my ebony throne in the Guild and issuing orders silently
like some sort of oracle.
Suddenly, a troupe of four
men erupted from an alley that I had just passed. I heard their heavy
treads from thick boots and the jingle of chain-mail. As I turned
I saw that each man bore a determined grimace upon his hirsute and experience-worn
face. Each brandished a broad sword that gleamed slightly in the
fading sunlight, but the magic in them was not strong. I could tell
that these men were not the common fool of the street, though their fate
would be much the same. Experienced and hearty soldiering adventurers
that they appeared to be, they were mortal, and my blade would slit their
skin as easily as any begging cur rotting to death in his own filth in
the darkest corner of an alley.
The first, and tallest lunged
at me, his sword brandished and menacing before him. I reached forward,
grabbed the blade with my hand and wrested it from his tight and powerful
grip. The sword cut into my hand, but there was no more blood there
to spill. My other fist found a solid home in the center of the man's
face, and the crack of the bones in his face breaking filled the street
along with the splatter of blood. He fell to the ground, senseless
and dying.
The other three, I saw,
were not quite so stupid. They began to encircle me. I did not move;
in fact, I stood completely straight, staring into nothingness, seeming
to ignore their presence. They froze for a moment, bewildered by
my illogical actions. In that moment I lunged at the nearest one,
sweeping his legs out from under him and slitting his throat before the
other two could move.
One of the remaining fighters
jumped onto my back, plunging his sword into it and through my chest.
I ripped him from me and flung him across the street. He smacked
against a wall, and slumped to the ground, his head smashed open from the
impact. I turned slowly, the sword still protruding from my chest,
to face the last soldier. He did not flinch at my gaze, but avoided
it none the less.
He crouched low, his broad
sword still clutched tightly in his grip. "You are the most stubborn
sonofabitch I've ever had to kill," he grumbled.
What a pity, I thought,
that I am already dead. I extracted the sword from myself as he looked
on, patiently regarding me, trying not to make the mistakes of his companions.
His first and ultimate mistake had already been made, however: he had attacked
me. He would not live much longer.
I looked about at the other
three bodies, their blood oozing onto the street like gorgeous crimson
cloaks. I smiled to myself at the sight, and then, suddenly, inside
I revulsed. This is what I have become, I thought. This is
what I have always been: a murderer, thief, liar, cheat. I had given
up upon humanity for centuries, but still something inside me recoiled
suddenly at this and every other atrocity against humanity that I had done.
I looked at the man, as
he stared at me sullenly, and I thought how tired I had become of all this:
the blood and the lies and the power that I held in my hand like any cheap
little toy. In fury I stepped forward and, taking the man's sword
hand into mine, drove his own blade into his chest. The man stared
with amazement and glistening eyes for a brief moment and fell backwards
onto the street with my light shove.
I sheathed my dagger as
I stared at the four corpses about me lying like the points of the compass,
together completely surrounding me, entrapping me in their pools of blood
and testaments of death.
"Perhaps now you see why
my son sees this as disgusting," came a deep and familiar voice from beside
me.
I did not start when I saw
the Kyie there. Few things surprised me anymore, much less the return
of an old friend. I sneered and shook my head, but an inkling had
begun.
"Tell me, Kae," the old
elf said, "have you ever wondered just why you must kill and maim and threaten?
Why you must lie and steal and poor blood onto the street like some much
cheap wine?"
“I don't know!" I howled
suddenly. It was the fist thing I had said in a century and a half.
"It's what I do. It's what I am."
"Exactly," the Kyie said
calmly, with a schoolmaster's smile. "And that is precisely what you need
you to do; it is precisely what I need you to be."
"But I hate what I do!"
I said at last. "I hate what I am! This is not how things should
be. I should not be at all. This is an abomination and an injustice!"
And then, I heard again just what he had said in my mind. I glared at him
with terrible realization. "You did this to me," I growled.
"And you had a design and a purpose for this hell?" I remembered
suddenly the ages-forgotten impression of a crystal blue eye in the darkness
of Death. I seethed with hate, and rushed towards the elf.
"I should kill you for this!"
The old elf caught me by
the throat and lifted me off of my feet. "You shall not," he said
with that tone of voice that left no room for question. "And what's
more, it would make no difference. You are what you are, Kae.
And you need to be what you are. The Balance and the Universe need
you to be what you are."
"To hell with your sacred
Balance and this damned universe!" I cried. "I don't care if there's
a purpose to my wretched existence, and I don't care about your damned
plans or needs! You have given me ultimate power over anything mortal,
but you have left me completely powerless over myself! Do you realize
the injustice of taking a man's control over his destiny?!"
Stephan shrugged, and lowered
me to the ground. "At some time perhaps, long, long ago, I may have
been swayed by such a plea." He turned and began to walk away.
"But no longer." He took a few silent paces. "You see, Kae,
I am far less alive than even you. I must be, it is my role in Everything.
And at times I hate it beyond the passion with which you hate yourself.
But I have accepted it." He stared straight into my eyes. "And
so must you. It is the only thing that you can do; and it shall be
the greatest thing that you will ever do."
I screamed at him in pure
rage, and dove at the elf with my dagger brandished. He disappeared,
and I skidded across the filthy ground.
I felt like weeping, but
like blood, I have no more tears to shed. Blood, sweat, and tears
are left to the living.
I have never seen the Kyie
weep.
I returned to my spire, treading
slowly across the miniature cemetery that I had just created, and slipping
like the wind through the shadows of the streets. I arrived, and
climbed the stairs as if the entire body of Gaia had been laid upon my
shoulders to carry alone. I crawled onto the roof to see the sun
fade away into nothingness, Nuin-covl being dyed by the deep, ultimate
black of the night. There I remained until morning, brooding upon
the nonsense that the Kyie had spouted at me along with that of Narkim,
and Jaysin's defeat.
How can I relate to the
mortal the terrible blackness of immortality? It is a night without
the hope of dawn, it is a tunnel without the hope of an exit, it is a Pain
without the hope of relief. There are not sufficient words to describe
this beyond hopelessness and sorrow. I wished for tears that night
more than any other time in three centuries, for the weight of my blackness
lay upon me, crushing me slowly under its vastness.
I returned to the world with
a start the next morning. Sol rose from the behind the Mountains
of the Unknown that stood like great, grey giants on the horizon behind
me. The sky was splashed with early morning reds and oranges, and
the blackness of the night was fading slowly away to the west. But
I ignored the great beauty of the sunrise, instead leaping from the roof
onto the top floor of my spire, and sprinting down the stairs like the
wind.
I dove onto the streets,
weaving among the deep but fading morning shadows, and coursing through
the crowds in the Dark Alleys like a mad man. I reached the Bridge
in a matter of moments and rushed past the few Watchmen standing guard;
they yelled after me, but knew better than to give pursuit. I dashed
along the immortal grey stone length of the Bridge, the River Sern roaring
and rumbling beneath me, though I ignored its arrogant grumble. I
moved past the other set of Watchmen like lightning, and the crowds parted
before me like the earth before a serf's plow: people scurried and even
dove out of my path, and in my haste I gave them no notice. I had
but one objective.
The West Gate. I arrived
through a knot of people just in time to see the heavy iron gates part
before the outspread arms of an elf in black robes, her dark hair flowing
down well past her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkling with a brilliance
I had long forgotten. She pushed the huge doors back with her sheer
will, and the crowds stood still in stupefied awe. She looked about
with an appraising gaze, as solid as a statue for a moment, then began
boldly down the street.
I faded back far into the
shadows, but followed her closely. It was not difficult; this woman
attracted quite a crowd of gawkers, who kept a respectable distance.
But I was beginning to lose her, so swiftly took to the rooftops.
She moved with superb grace,
like a cat, but also with purposeful and defiant strides. I could
feel the power of magic radiating from her like a lamp. She looked
at everything with a swift and somewhat wary appraisal, never slowing her
stride. Three hundred years, I thought, is a long time to train.
She stopped almost abruptly
in front of the Dancing Maid, and stood before it with her hands firmly
on her hips, staring at the almost ancient edifice. With almost a
grim look of determination, she went inside.
I followed without a second
thought.
The moment I entered the
tavern, a hush came over the entire room. This was typical, and I
hated the noteriety, but awe has its uses. I looked about the tavern
with a cold glare, as usual, and was almost shocked to see that she was
sitting in my customary corner, arms folded almost arrogantly - and she
was watching me closely.
I approached slowly, and
stood motionless at the table. She continued to stare at me intensely,
and there was a grim determination still set in her jaw.
At last, the elf motioned
for me to sit. "They say you're the best."
I did not answer, but continued
to stare at her.
"And they say you do not
speak to anyone." She almost smiled, it seemed to be that satisfaction
of finding a rumor to be true. She took a breath, and exhaled it
with a sigh. "But it doesn't matter, really. I want to hire
you, oh Master of Thieves."
It was not surprising that
Kes did not recognize me. She had known me as a child of nine; I
was now a monster of three hundred. I leaned slowly back in my chair,
my eyes never leaving her; she did not flinch under my deathly gaze.
She took the hint and continued:
"I want to hire you to destroy the Black Chapel, and assassinate the head
priest."
I raised my eyebrows in
surprise. The Black Chapel? Glymch? Ghosts, once long-forgotten,
began to float from my past. The long-dead feeling of terror began
to eat at the edge of my consciousness. What foolishness! I rebuked
myself. And yet, to be truthful, I remembered the bitter taste of
fear again.
"They say you wouldn't take
money," Kes continued. "Not that I have anything to offer you.
But, I am willing to make a payment in... other ways. I am a very
powerful wizardress." No longer a mage,
I thought to myself. But a full wizardress. Indeed, I stared
at her for a long time. In many ways, I could see the Kes that I
had known three hundred years ago in the eyes of the woman before me.
She could be kind and sentimental, as before, but there was no longer even
a hint of foolishness or naïveté in her eyes. There was
a worn and beaten look beneath the Kes that I had known. She had
been entrapped for three centuries, completely alone except for the occasional
haggle from the demon that had placed her there, or its god. There
was the heavy weight of great knowledge upon her shoulders, also.
The spellbook, I reminded myself. In three hundred years any fool,
much less a mage, would have been able to study and understand the arcane
and monstrously powerful lore within that tome. Kes emanated an aura
far more powerful than when I had known her in my youth: I had felt her
coming that morning, and the powerful magic that surrounded her was thick
about me now, too.
Suddenly, I stood and began
to leave. This was not the Kes that I had known, nor did I have any
obligations to her if it was. If she had designs upon the Chapel
of Kraz, that was her problem, I wished to have no part of it. To
be truthful, I was not a little afraid of what I may find in that so long-forgotten
place. What is more, I did not wish her to see me like this.
"It figures," she said as
I reached the door. She cast her voice across the entire tavern.
"It figures that a thief should be so cowardly."
I heard a collective gasp
issue from the patrons of the Dancing Maid. They had seen me kill
for a drunken gaze leveled in my direction, much less such an insult.
I stopped, and turned to glare at her again. Kes stared into my eyes
without so much as a single shiver. I have no wish to kill you, elf,
I thought, and left.
"I should know better than
to listen to pilgrims," I heard her say as I walked through the doors and
onto the street.
Suddenly, the ground beneath
me rumbled, and something in the recess of my mind recoiled instantly in
terror. A huge tower of flame erupted before me, and I leapt back
a half-dozen paces. The dark visage of Kraz appeared within the towering
inferno, and it glared at me. I felt, for the first time in centuries,
a piece of sheer terror rise from the recesses of my soul and hold me tight
in paralysis.
The horrific visage smiled
maniacally at the chaos it had caused: commonfolk and merchants flew this
way and that in utter panic, screams rising into the air and mingling in
terrible cacophony. Then he smiled at me, his magical eyes deep shadows.
"SHE HAS ESCAPED ME!" he roared, rattling the sturdy
buildings about. "SHE WILL RETURN!"
Kes emerged from the Dancing
Maid and stepped forward with defiance. "I will not. There
is little that you can do to me, now, Kraz. I am versed well in your
sorcery."
The god laughed, the deep,
rumbling sound echoing like a continuous thunderclap throughout the streets.
"THAT ART IS ANCIENT AND PITIFUL COMPARED TO ME NOW. YOU SHALL
RETURN, OR YOU SHALL BECOME LIKE HIM."
I sneered, unsheathed my
dagger, and leapt at the tower of flames. It was a futile gesture,
and I knew it, but I could never let such an atrocity happen to Kes.
Kraz laughed at me as I
passed easily and unharmed through the flames, and the sound grated at
my nerves. Suddenly, the fire of pure rage that burned at the center
of my soul began to burn brightly again. I was seized suddenly by
a sense of purpose once more. I growled at the god in barely-suppressed
rage.
"YOUR PETTY ANGER
WILL DO YOU AS MUCH GOOD AS HER MAGICAL ARTS, MY PET," the god
blared. "STAY OUT OF AFFAIRS THAT DO NOT CONCERN YOU, AND REMAIN
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACKNESS IN THE WORLD."
I howled in rage, and lunged
at the flames again. This time, they disappeared, and I was left
alone in the middle of the street, my dagger brandished and my senses bristling
with anger.
I looked to Kes, who stood
upon the porch of the Dancing Maid, staring at me in thinly-veiled disbelief.
"You hate him that much? His dear pet hates him that much."
I jammed my dagger back
into it sheathe and screamed to release my frustration. The sound
carried across the city like wave of terrible thunder, louder than Kraz's
bellows, and every mortal ear cringed in terror.
Kes stared at me for a few
long, silent moments as the street slowly returned to life about us.
"I don't have to give you a payment," she said. She reached into
a pouch and produced a brilliant, red gem about the size of her fist.
When I looked at it closely, I could see streaks of black coursing through
it. "Do you know this gem, demon?"
Though her appellation was
not quite right, I recognized that cursed gem, and nodded.
"Then you know what it can
do." Kes looked at the ruby for a few moments. "I have used
this before, but now I know the depths of its powers." She looked
up to me. "I know how to defeat that dark god with this."
I almost laughed.
To think that a tiny bauble could defeat a god!
"Do not mock me, Master
of Thieves," Kes said, a scornful gaze leveled at me. "I do not speak
of trivialities or dim hopes. Those are quite useless." She
looked at the gem again, as if plumbing its depths. I suddenly sensed
the enormous power that radiated both from her and the ruby, and grimaced.
She said, "I was given this by an elf in tattered brown robes who met me
in the mountains. Perhaps you know this pilgrim mage?"
I allowed myself a shake
of the head. What did it matter if I did or did not know Narkim or
his father? But this made a twisted sort of sense, and it made me
very wary. The House of Kyie had a hand in this, and nothing from
them, I have learned, is not deliberate.
Kes shook herself from her
reverie. "Tonight, then, at the West Gate," she said. "I have
matters to attend to and preparations to make." She stood gracefully
and left. I noticed that she did not walk now, but floated just a
hand's width above the ground.
The date could have been
set for the next year, it did not matter to me. I felt filled again
with terrible purpose. As I stared at the spot where the avatar had
stood, the seething flame that burned at the core of my being flared to
life again. I was set again upon death and destruction. The
blood would flow.
"As much as Father says we
need you, Kae, I will always hate you."
I looked up to see Narkim
sitting across the table from me. Then I continued listening - not
to him, but to myriad conversations of in the Dancing Maid.
"You could care less about
my discourses," Narkim said, "but I am here to tell you a few things, Kae."
I looked to him again after
a few moments, annoyed.
"This is why you are," the
elf-mage said. "And if you succeed, you are to finish the job.
There will be more tricks and shades than in a thief's lie. And you
will find more truth in destruction than in the recesses of the Dark Alleys
or the sunrises from your spire."
I glared at him. No
one knew of my tower, and the invasion upon my private secrecy was a transgression
that I should have killed him for.
"Like my Father, you will
not kill me, Kae," Narkim said. "And, like him, it would make little
difference if you did. We are the Master Thieves of this world; we
are like the Guild and yourself: perpetual. You are far from alone
in your immortality, Kae, Jaysin should have at least proved that to you."
This young mage was truly
beginning to annoy me. I stood, gripped him by the collar, and lifted
the short elf far off the floor. I stared into his eyes, but he did
not flinch - in fact, he stared back with as much defiance as I stared
with anger.
"This is why I hate you," he said. "You are the purest of all black,
and yet you are the most wonderful thing my father has ever created.
You are more his son than me."
I made to throw him out
a window, but he disappeared in my grasp. I growled, and stomped
out of the tavern.
Poor Narkim; I will begrudge
that elf my pity.
When I arrived at the West
Gate shortly after sunset, Kes was ready and waiting. Her hair was
tied tightly back, and her black robe was neat and looked almost prestigious.
She carried under one arm a large, leather-bound book, and held in the
other hand a new staff of yew that held the ruby at its tip. Her
face was again set with grim determination. I nodded to her as I
approached, and she nodded to me. She turned and with a gesture from
her, the iron gate swung open of its own accord, and we marched out into
the fading dusk.
By midnight we reached the
last rise before the Black Chapel and paused there for a moment to gaze
at the enormous shadow that stood atop the hill opposite from us.
There was a deep scar, I remembered, that I had left upon the floor of
that chapel, and a threat made when I had gouged it out.
This is far from over, I
thought to myself. But the ending would come soon enough. Like
the flood waters of the spring, I felt myself inexorably rushing towards
the confrontation within that black and evil structure that stood before
us like some awesome monument.
Kes licked her lips.
"They know we're coming, of course." The magical tome that she had
been holding before had disappeared halfway through our short journey.
The feat of magic unnerved me as all magic did, but I had pushed the uneasiness
aside. "I wonder why they haven't sent anything to stop us."
Because both Kraz and Glymch
know this is the way it has to be, I thought to myself, but did not waste
the words. I took one step, and then another, and began towards the
Black Chapel, walking towards destiny. Kes followed closely.
When we approached, the
chapel seemed to loom over us like a giant, but I gave it no heed.
A deep grimace of determination had set itself on my face, and the fire
within burned bright and hot. I paused and looked at Kes as we reached
the huge, black double doors that led to the sanctuary. Kes closed
her eyes, took a deep breath, and then nodded. It was now or never,
I realized, and “never” would not come.
I kicked the doors open
violently, baring my dagger and lunging inside to rip through the wall
of flesh that I knew was standing there. Priests of Kraz fell to
the ground like so much wheat beneath the harvester's scythe. They
fell back like a hound lay into by a mountain wolf, and Kes followed close
behind. She held a golden dagger high in the air above us, and chanted
in some arcane tongue as I moved slowly but inexorably down the length
of the sanctuary. I noticed that as the magical shadows advanced
upon us, one by one they would turn away, as if driven off by some unseen
force.
Soon the priests were nothing
but a bloody mass at my feet, a simple task that I knew was nothing compared
to the real mission before us. My dagger dripped with their blood
and I was spattered with it; and my fire grew with the killing. The
shadows were easily held at bay by Kes' magic, and we looked about at the
too-empty sanctuary. A calm wafted over us in the dark, motionless
chamber, and for a moment I almost lowered my dagger.
”There will be more tricks
and shades than in a thief’s lie.” Suddenly I picked up Kes and
dove to the wall as a fireball rolled down the aisle from the far end of
sanctuary. Glymch's hideous laughter filled the chamber, and I snarled
in hatred.
"It seems my greatest playthings
have returned for another day of fun," he cackled, and then I saw him appear
upon the dais at the end of the chamber.
I leapt to my feet, and
began tearing my way through the many rows of pews that stood between Glymch
and myself. I lifted the heavy stone pews and flung them to the side
like so many rags. I took little notice as lightning bolts flew over
my shoulder from behind to strike the dais, nor did I pay any attention
to the streams of fire that Glymch hurled at Kes and me. Shadows
flew back and forth across my path, but I did not pause. I was set
upon an inevitability and nothing was going to stop me from my goal.
I reached the base of dais
where Glymch stood, and he laughed at me still. "You are very strong,
Kae," he said. "But you are not strong enough."
I sneered at him.
"We shall see what Truth reveals."
"Truth!" Glymch howled.
"You, of all people, speak of truth! The creature whose existence
is steeped in lies and murder, vengeance and blood! Ha!"
A blinding ball of deep
blue magical energy careened across the sanctuary to strike Glymch directly.
The priest howled in pain, but remained standing. I lunged at him,
my magical blade bared and dripping still with the blood of his followers.
I struck his chest with a force that would have crushed the stone walls
of Bridgeville, knocking him hard to the ground. I attacked the priest
savagely, my dagger rising and falling, rising and falling again and again
and again in a relentless rhythm. Blood poured from myriad wounds
onto the black dais, running like so many mountain streams of thick red.
Glymch howled in pain, real, total, physical pain, as I killed him.
My rage burned pure and total, consuming me completely as I drove my dagger
again and again into his chest and head.
Suddenly, the howling figure
beneath me disappeared, dropping me sharply to the ground. The dais
was clean, as was my dagger of his blood. I snarled at myself as
I realized I had just mutilated a mere phantasm.
A deep, mocking laughter
filled the enormous chamber, shaking the walls and throwing Kes and I to
the ground. Gods, I thought, what now? I saw Kes stand, the
staff held tightly in her hands, and then a scream of terror caught itself
tight in my throat as that tower of flames erupted about her, engulfing
the elf in its inferno.
Kes jumped at the sudden
attack, but then a grimace of purpose and anger contorted her face, and
she gripped the staff tightly with both hands. With a throat-tearing
scream, she dispersed the flames, scattering them across the chamber into
nothingness.
For a long moment there
was an utter silence within the Black Chapel as Kes and I stared at each
other.
"Oh, this is far from over,
playthings," Glymch's voice resounded from the walls.
I turned to the nearest
wall and punched it. The thick black marble crumbled beneath the
force of my blow. I moved on down the wall, tearing it apart piece
by piece with my bare hands.
"Oh, no," came Glymch's
taunt. "That simply will not do." To my utter horror, the wall
began to simply reform where I had smashed it to shards. I turned
to Kes with my fists clenched in rage, shaking in frustration.
Suddenly, the raven flew
in through the open doors at the other end of the sanctuary. Kes'
eyes glazed over with rage as she spied the demon, and she screamed at
it with a cry that would have frozen the blood of most men. She pointed
the staff at the bird, and an arc of lightning carried across from the
ruby tip to the raven, and then the bird burst into a spectacular ball
of flames. Coupled with a terrible roar that tore at my ears like
glass, a brilliant light suddenly filled the sanctuary as Dymancil was
defeated yet again.
The roar of the again-defeated
demon was drowned suddenly by another, more deafening sound. Again
the entire chapel shook until the roof threatened to crack and crumple
onto us.
Instead of another tower
of flames, I saw the very stone of the dais begin to melt, and then mold
itself into a humanoid form which stood easily the height of five men.
The figure towered above us, and looked down with menacing eyes that burned
a deeper red than mine own. A thick air of searing heat filled the
chamber, along with terrible waves of dread and terror that I fought with
all of my strength. The darkness of the chamber grew deeper, and
I heard the shadows rejoice as they cowered in the corners. This
is no mere avatar, I thought. This is the god Kraz himself.
His sheer might filled the air, and I felt the flame inside rage against
it brighter than ever before.
"THIS YOU HAVE DONE
FOR THE LAST TIME!!" Kraz roared at Kes.
Kes glared at him for a
long moment, then, chanting her words of arcane magic, took the staff into
one hand, and flung it like a javelin at the god. I watched with
mixed horror and almost hope as the staff floated through the air, its
swift flight suspended and desperately slowed in my mind. It whined
though the air like an arrow headed for the heart of its target.
Kraz caught the wooden staff in his hand like a tossed twig, and laughed
at Kes' folly. He crushed the staff and ruby into a small pile of
dust, and let it fall slowly to the floor, his cackle sending shocks of
horror down my spine. "THIS BAUBLE CANNOT HURT ME, FOOL!"
Perhaps, I thought as I
looked at my fist clenched tightly about the hilt of my dagger, the blade
that Kes had given me so long ago. Perhaps it could not, but I know
that I can. I hurled myself at the black figure before me, my dagger
flashing in the light cast from my glowing red eyes. It sunk true
in Kraz's chest, and the god howled in unexpected pain. I plunged
it in again, and again he wailed. The black giant sunk to it knees
with a tremendous crash, but I held on and climbed to stare the wounded
god in the eyes.
"How...?" Kraz whimpered.
"I am not your creation,
Kraz, or anyone's" I whispered demonically. "I am my own."
I drew my dagger far back and plunged it into the black god's visage.
A tremendous howl erupted from him as the black giant shattered beneath
me. The scream of the defeated god tore a hole straight through the
roof of the chapel, and I was blown back across the sanctuary. Shards
of black marble flew in every direction, scraping across my skin and burrowing
through my body, but I felt no pain. The fire within drowned it all
away.
I slammed against the far
wall, and lay upon the ground a few moments to gather my scattered senses.
When I leapt to my feet, I saw Kes standing were she had been. Guarded
by her magic, she was untouched by the shards of Kraz's roar of defeat.
But she stood stock still, staring into nothing.
I approached and she said:
"It didn't work. All that time and preparation, and it didn't work."
She gazed at her empty hands, and then up to me. "I would have been
dead had you not been here."
I froze. Kes would
not have feared death in this battle, there was a fate far worse than that
awaiting her. A terrible whisper from my distant past floated through
my mind like an autumn wind: revenge, revenge, revenge.
"Glymch, you bastard."
I drew my dagger and plunged it into the priest's chest. Kes' face
contorted in surprise, but I saw the demonic visage of Glymch flicker from
beneath the phantasm. My rage burned pure as I tore its head from
its shoulders. The priest howled as I killed it at last. I
dropped the severed head to the ground, and spat upon the corpse.
I looked to see Kes' body
where it really was: ripped and shredded upon the ground only a few paces
away. Blood poured from her wounds onto the black marble like so
much wine, but this spirit was not cheap. I knelt beside of her,
and suddenly she moved. She opened her eyes as I took her into my
arms. Blood flowed down her scraped and mutilated face, her black
hair sticking to her skin and her robe soaked with thick blood. She
opened her eyes to look into mine, and she drew a breath - slowly, as if
a great weight rested upon her chest. "Do you know..." Her
voice was little more than a whisper. "Do you know, that once, many
years ago, I held a little boy much like this, here in this damned place."
She took another slow breath, her agony painted vividly upon her face.
"His name was Kae, and that bastard Glymch had taken him from me.
I knew that we would all die getting him, but life wasn't worth - " She
stopped suddenly, wracked by terrible coughs. It was a long time,
or it seemed to be, when she at last coughed up a handful of blood.
"Life wasn't worth living without him." She looked into my eyes again,
and I could see that they were glazed over with the closeness of death.
"I don't know why I'm telling you this, but that boy was like a son to
me. He was more, we shared a soul, almost." She breathed heavily
once more, making every effort to cling to life. "I loved that boy.
I am glad that I did not see him die." Kes closed her eyes and rested
her head against my chest, her lithe and blood-covered hand clutching my
torn black chemise. "Remember that little boy for me."
I sat there in silence for a long time, surrounded by blood and shadows
and destruction. I heard her breathe for the last time, then hugged
her dead body close and dear to my chest.
Slowly, I felt the fire
build again, to a height I had not known before. It was not so much
that Kes was dead; I envied her that. It was that I had been robbed
of one of my kin, I had lost the most precious thing to me in order to
destroy my greatest fear. It was a terrible irony, but I was not
laughing.
I turned to nearest pew,
lifted it like a rag-doll and tossed it through as black-stained window.
I tore into the walls, the floor, the dais. Everything I turned to
pure rubble in my rage. I tore marble and brick apart from itself
with my bare hands and lay to waste in a few short hours a structure that
had taken men decades to build. My utter rage was poured into the
destruction of everything about me.
As the sun rose, cutting
through heavy grey clouds, I completed Kes' tomb: a huge construction of
shattered marble that stood upon the center of the dais. The first
rays of the dawn struck me as I stepped away towards the center of the
ruins. As I stood staring at the tomb with numb and exhausted eyes,
a few drops of rain struck the marble. The goddess Lark shed the
tears I could no longer cry.
There, within the ashes
and rubble, amidst the pouring rain, I was reminded of the ruins so many
years ago of the House of Sabbat. Like the Chapel, I had destroyed
it in a blind, all-consuming and insane rage, my sheer wrath more than
my inhuman strength tearing down the walls and blasting the fire.
The wailing of the shadows and the screams of Glymch and Kraz melded in
my mind with Father Kent's tears.
And suddenly I realized:
there were powers greater than the gods. But such powers were not
that of the Kyie or Narkim or the sorceries of a million mages. Those
powers were me. No god would ever stand for the destruction of anything
it calls holy, much less itself. And yet those with a will strong
enough can destroy and create and control like any puppeteer or carver.
Everything then was at my
fingertips. The chaos that is the universe and I became one and the
same, I both its creator and creation and it the same. It was ultimate
power and infinestimal helplessness. Like me, it was a paradox.
It was a lesson.
It was a Truth.
Fate, like every artifice,
is solely the creation of man; chance is the weapon and tool of the universe
that men often call fate in their need to explain and set order to the
chaos. True fate is not random, though it crushes chisels as well
as chance does.
Fate cannot be mastered,
for it is total and inescapable. Such an absolute would not exist
without man. The chaos of the universe is the ultimate first and
last, Everything falling and rising within it. Everything a part
of it. It is humanity in its folly that has receded from the chaos,
thinking it the beginning and not the all. It takes the greatest
strength, I have learned, to admit the Truth.