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Chapter VIII
...And I cursed them
the moment I opened my eyes again. A wave of pain assailed me.
I felt something breaking inside of me with the sounds - the noises of
the priest as he ground and prepared his alchemy. Through hazy, pain-dulled
vision I could see only the slightest shadows of a dungeon, and a single
black-clad figure that moved lugubriously, as if perhaps the air were thick,
dark water. His voice reached me as if it were carried warily upon
the crests of slow, tiny waves. It was grinding and demonic, as if
the figure was filled Kraz himself.
Suddenly a long-forgotten
whisper floated into my thoughts: "Revenge, revenge, revenge," and Glymch's
demonic and sinister laugh. I burned with hatred, and the fire licked
at the wounds within. How I longed for the pain to stop. Melanie's
last, agonized gazed filled my memory, and I wished with all my being to
be where she was: dead and gone. I strained suddenly at the chains
which held me tight to the wall, but they would not give.
The knife slashed
out of nowhere, shining like a bitter star in the dim candle-light of the
chamber. I felt it rake across one exposed wrist, and then the other,
but I did not cry out. There was too much chaos within me for any
action. Pain and fear and remorse and hatred all mixed within my
heaving heart as blood dripped from the wounds like crimson tears.
The physical pain was agonizing, but it assailed me only in dense clouds:
terribly intense, and then like nothing at all.
Somewhere, deep inside
where I have retreated, I want to scream out, to curse the priest, to wail
all my pain away. I want to strain with all my strength against the
shackles upon my wrists.
The blood continues
to drip. It is the only sound, and with each drop comes a dull throb.
I am suddenly, achingly, conscious of tears running down my face.
I do not weep, I think. I have not wept in almost a decade and a
half. I cannot weep, I have no tears. I did not weep for Melanie
- or perhaps the river absorbed my tears.
The priest's liquid-slow
motions and horrible, grinding voice rip me back to the candle-lit dungeon.
Again, from some hidden alcove deep within me I wish to scream at him,
to let the burning fury within me rise like a tormented inferno and lash
him to ashes like the greatest, all-consuming conflagration.
And then I begin to
fade again, this time not inside, but into darkness. There is no
warm glow within me as I slide into death, the horrible tones and whispers
of the priest's incantation following me like weak little echoes.
No, it is dark and cold here, and I shiver deep inside the blackness.
The last stab of the
knife - to my heart - comes as a brilliant, merciful flash of pain.
And then a terrible,
earth-shattering scream erupts in my mind.
Like horrible and brilliant
flashes:
I remember forests
and the shadows of elves.
I remember Mother's
smiling face.
And I remember Father's
striking fist.
I remember the rank
smell of mead.
I remember terrible,
silent blows.
I remember Mother
lying dead upon the floor.
I remember a cry that
reverberated throughout the forest.
I remember Father
lying dead upon the floor.
I remember a bitter
victory.
I remember fleeing
- a utter panic enveloping my mind like a dark cloak.
I remember tears,
bitter, hot tears of loss
and anger,
and defeat.
I remember finding
the flaming horror.
I remember a demon's
laugh.
I remember a kind
face and place of sanctuary.
I remember finding
the road
and the unnerving wisdom in a pair of crystal blue eyes.
I remember the city
and thieves
and death.
I remember hunger
and cold.
I remember drowning
in a pair of forest-green eyes.
I don't remember anything.
I don't remember a
full stomach or a warm heart.
I don't remember cleaving
to someone
until I found comfort,
but that was taken away,
until I found love,
but that was taken away.
Sewer rats and street urchins
scrambling for the same crumb of bread. Jackals and hounds and flies
that were too slow. Dark shadows and blood enough fill all the rivers
of the world. The hate that burned inside everyone, that consumed
me.
All of this flooded
into me as I died. I had but two pinpoints of light, two small stars
upon the vast darkness of Nuin-Covl that spread like a plague across a
world gone black. Men have died with far more to live than me.
The cold was so horrible that it numbed me, and still I ached because of
the numbness. I turned and embraced the darkness.
Tightly.
The fire below me held
the glow of my life. Slowly but surely the raging fire waned and
waned and finally died. I was alone and forgotten in the midst of
an eternal darkness.
Or so I had hoped.
I felt my soul grasped
by a terrible, cold hand and dragged across the eternal and infinite vastness
that is the universe of Death. I screamed as it pulled me away from
the dark tranquility of my death and hurled me like a stone from a sling
of the gods into a bright, fiery hell.
The immortal fire
burned around and in and through me, torturing my lost and decrepit soul.
There were loud, cacophonous shrieks and grumbles pounding incessantly
upon my ears. And I knew that something had gone wrong. The
too-familiar mocking laugh of Kraz filling the universe cemented the thought
in my mind.
"IT HAS FINALLY
COME TO ME, AS I KNEW THAT IT WOULD," it mused. "IT
HAS GIVEN ME MUCH FRUSTRATION DURING ITS LIFE, AND ITS DEATH WILL BE THE
ULTIMATE IRONY."
I screamed my bitter
anger and fear at him, but he gave no heed. My hurling cries rebounded
like wind against the tallest and stoutest of mountains. I felt that
I could destroy him with my anger, but it was nowhere near enough.
"COME, COME,"
it beckoned, and then took hold of me like some rag doll. "YOU
MUST BE RETURNED."
Again a fire burned
beneath me, but it was grand and nowhere near close to death. It
burned a terrible crimson, like blood upon the street. Small demons
howled within the fire, flying in and out in their torment. I felt
myself being pulled down into the flames, and clawed at the nothing about
me in desperate panic to escape my fate. I entered the unholy fire
and screamed in bitter and terrible agony. The howling demons surrounded
me, and their cries mingled with a familiar, terrifying sound of a grinding
chant. In their black dirge the priests filled me a piece of the
crimson fire, and I felt it burn like nothing had ever hurt before.
Again a earth-shattering
scream echoed in my mind, and then it was issued from my throat.
I could escape it somehow, I thought. I must escape it somehow!
I longed for the cold blackness that was death, the infinite tranquility
that knew no chaos or blood or pain.
I am here, Kae.
The impression of a crystal blue eye appeared before me for an instant
and then was gone. I felt the universe shake and flashes of enormous
magic being hurled across the cosmos. For what seemed a torturous
eternity they fought, a god against an elf. The heavens shook with
their battle, and I was afraid.
And suddenly I was
freed. The demons fled, screaming still in their immortal agony.
Then the fired died, leaving a sudden vacuum that was filled by the coldness
of eternity.
And just as suddenly
I fell to the ground, my legs giving way underneath the unexpected weight
of the rest of my body. I lay unmoving upon moist ashes, drained
of the will to anything.
I closed my eyes,
praying for the darkness. A miracle, I asked the infinite, a single
miracle. Have pity upon a beaten and broken soul and kill me.
But there was only silence as a reply. In my mind I felt the heavens
turn and cast me aside, leaving me not to die, but in this eternal agony.
I wished for tears, but had none to shed.
I lay there upon the
damp ashes of the ritual fire all night, the bitter cold winter air biting
at my exposed cheeks and numbing the deep pain in my wrists. I was
not sleepy, and yet a deep weariness tugged at my soul. Terrible
visions and haunting memories tortured me all through the night, and the
wish for death consumed me like a great fire. It was the lowest of
all points in the universe and time: I lied sprawled and covered in filth,
bleeding onto the ground, my soul a will-less rag that blew to and fro
upon the bone-chilling winter wind.
The morning sun hit
me like a curse. I groaned and tried to hide my eyes from the piercing
light, clutching my fists tightly. "Oh, gods," I moaned, in some
futile but desperate hope to gain their grace again. "Oh gods."
The soft sound of
footsteps upon the forest floor drifted in through my cloud of agony and
pain. I looked through tightly squinted eyes to see a man in a grey
robe advancing slowly towards me. He carried a tall staff that looked
well-used and yet new at the same time. His dark brown hair was peppered
lightly with dots of white, and though his inquisitive gaze through youthful
eyes looked old and wise, and there were a few wrinkles upon his brow,
I could not tell his age.
"Hello there," he
hailed softly. His voice was rich and warm, and distantly familiar.
I did not answer him,
but pulled myself into a sitting position, hugging my knees to my chest.
I stared at him with a wary eye, lest this be some sort of trick.
"Who are you?" the
man asked. He stopped a few paces away and knelt down so that we
could look eye to eye. "And what are you doing in my forest?"
I did not answer him
for a long time, the cold morning air being filled only with the whistle
of the wind. Then a brilliant moment of truth: "I don't know who
I am," I said. "I don't know even what I am anymore."
The man looked pensive
for a moment. "How did you get here?"
Another long, empty
pause. "The tale would curl your hair, man. I do not wish to
repeat it." I looked at him for a long time as we sat there in the
clearing, the silence hanging between us like a thick cloud. Finally
I looked down to my knees, and said: "Would you kill me?" I looked
to him, trying to plead with my eyes.
He blinked, the look
of seriousness on his face never once shifting. "I cannot kill you."
I stood. "Yes,
of course you can." I walked to him, and he stood as I approached.
I laid my hand upon the staff in his grip. "Just take this stick
and beat me to death."
He shook his head.
"You do not understand. I cannot kill you."
"No," I said.
"I don' understand. I don' care, you bastard. Jus' kill me!"
He looked into my
eyes for a long time, long enough to let the silence begin to unnerve me.
"You do not remember me, do you, boy?"
I stared at him for
a long time, the whistling wind filling ears.
"You must think back
to many, many years ago," he said. "Many years ago to a moonlit autumn
night, and a horror you could not describe me."
"You are..." I began
slowly. "You are the man who found me the next morning. Your
name... your name is Camir, and you are a druid." I was no longer
looking at him, though I was staring at his face. My eyes were focused
on a dim and distant infinity as the memories poured back into my mind.
They were pleasant for once. Memories of lessons and hunting, of
peaceful evenings and warm autumn mornings. "You taught me, you fed
me." My gaze returned to him. "For the love of any god, then,
kill me! I beg you!" I sank to my knees, my hand tightly gripping
his grey robe.
Camir shook his head
again. "I cannot kill you, you must understand. You cannot
be killed. You cannot wish to die, you cannot wish the impossible."
I released my grip
upon his robe and looked down to the ground. It was a gesture of
ultimate defeat. "Then what am I to do?"
"You must accept the
inevitable," he answered, "for it is beyond your power. You must
do only all that you can do, and accept the rest."
There was another
long trial of silence as I mulled over this wisdom in my mind. Until
then, I had thought of nothing as inevitable, I had taken control of everything.
Anything that I could not have controlled was pushed from my mind, a frustrating
injustice that had fueled the fire within. To accept had meant weakness,
and weaknesses got you killed on the streets.
"But enough of this,"
Camir said. "You will have time to ponder things later. Come
with me out of the cold."
I nodded and followed
him mutely. We traveled in total silence through the forest, its
frozen quiet coalescing about us. We arrived at Camir's cabin yet
again, and a soft wave of nostalgia drifted over me. I knew this
little clearing well despite being away for nearly two decades. I
have not been to see Camir in centuries now, but the clearing of his home
is as fresh in my mind as if I had just left. It was a place of calm
and peace, a place of transition from one world to the next.
Camir led me inside
and before a warm fire. Strange, I thought to myself, that I did
not feel too cold outside. The bitter morning air had troubled Camir
visibly, but still he smiled at me. He offered me soup and I accepted
it more out of courtesy than hunger.
I sat upon the second
cot in the cabin, prepared as if Camir had known that I was coming.
More likely, I thought, that he had guests rather frequently - for a seclusive
druid, at least. Yet another silence settled between us in the cabin,
an uncomfortable one. Camir did not look at me anymore, averting
his eyes.
"My wounds," I said
at last, needing something to break the silence. "I have to dress
them."
"Wounds?" Camir asked,
looking up from his soup, but still not at me.
"Yes," I said.
"My wrists." I pulled my torn sleeve back to reveal my sliced
wrists. - And was shocked to see no wounds at all. My hand, palm
first, struck my chest, and I tore off my shirt. There was no wound
where the knife had been plunged. "What is goin' on?"
Camir sighed.
"Things far beyond your comprehension, boy."
"I don' wan' none
of your mystical panderin'," I snapped. "You know, don't you?
Tell me what the hell is goin' on?!"
Camir sighed again,
and silence fell in the cabin. "You do not want to know."
"The hell I don't!"
I roared, standing from the cot.
Camir made a physical
effort to look at me. "No, you do not," he said in a tone that left
no room for questions. He sighed again, and looked away. "I
wish to say that I am sorry, but I know you do not want any of my pity.
You are strong, boy, stronger than you may think, and you will need that
strength in the times to come."
"You're talkin' riddles
again."
"You cannot stay,"
Camir said. "This is not your place."
"How the hell would
you know?" I demanded.
"Listen to me," Camir
said sharply. "There are things designed by powers greater than yours
or mine or even the gods, and those things are the inevitable. You
cannot stay here because this is not the placed designed for you, your
destiny lies far away from here."
"Then where, if you
know so much?"
Camir shook his head,
but did not say anything for a few moments. "You will need this,"
he said at last, producing a dagger in its sheath from a large belt-pouch.
"I found it near the clearing this morning." He offered it to me,
and the moment I clasped the hilt, I knew that it was Kes' dagger.
"You are never to lose that weapon."
I bit my lower lip.
"Camir, I do not wish to leave. To be truthful, I do not wish to
do anything except die." Camir opened his mouth. "Except you
say that I cannot wish the impossible, I know, I know." I placed
a hand upon his shoulder. "You of very few people have I ever trusted,
Camir."
"I know," he said.
"And I thank you. But you cannot stay, your place is elsewhere."
I moved towards the
door.
"Just one thing,"
Camir said. I stopped and turned to him. "What is your name?"
I blinked. It
was the ultimate question of my life. "Kae," I heard myself say.
"Just 'Kae.'" And then I turned and left. The cold winter wind
wound through the dense forest and snapped at my cheeks, but I paid it
no heed.
The fact that I could
not stay somehow rested well with me, though I had no idea where I would
go. I stood in the clearing, gazing about at the sleeping forest
about me. To take the same path that I had years before to me seemed
useless, and so I struck out to the south, to return to my place.
I traveled swiftly
and silently through the forest, both Camir's teachings and my natural
ability aiding me. It seemed, though, that moving silently was an
effortless action anymore; unlike before, I gave it no thought whatsoever.
The cold, sleeping forest seemed at once familiar and alien. The
bare branches and dead underbrush were comforting in their emptiness and
promise of no other people about, and yet such natural surroundings were
not normal, and set me a little on edge. The cold wind whispered
harshly to me, but I took comfort in it. There was an incredible
peace to be found here, I thought, and yet I was not comfortable completely.
The day was short
and faded quickly. I watched a sunset fragmented by the bare branches
of the thick trees. Though night fell swiftly, I was not tired; and,
having little trouble seeing in the pitch blackness, I traveled on, not
stopping once. I felt no hunger or fatigue, a strange, calming numbness
embracing me like a lover.
Towards morning I
reached the road that stretched from Near Capital to the east and across
the Mountains of the Unknown. I stood upon the path for a long time,
and watched the sunrise there. The thought plagued my mind, and would
not let me leave until I decided: to return perhaps to Near Capital, to
the slums and shadows of my youth. I could enter the Dark Quarter
like an emperor, the champion of the mighty Jack, the greatest thief in
the kingdom. And yet, while somehow alluring, the idea was repulsive.
The Great Citadel was a figment of my past, and held nothing but bitter
memories for me anymore. There was no need to relive the past.
It had been visited once, and once was more than enough.
I nodded resolutely
to myself, and picked a path along the edge of the Forest of Golden Trees,
still heading south, still returning to my place.
There was a general
numbness that pervaded in the silence as I traveled. I can remember
walking past a herd of deer, and not a one of them taking notice of me.
I felt, for once, as if I had some sort of purpose, some goal other than
the satiation of the fire within. I was returning to my place, even
if that place had been designed by another. I gave that idea no thought
at all, really, it was too unnerving to acknowledge.
But Camir's advice
plagued my thoughts. To not wish for the impossible, to not wish
to die. At first, the idea sounded like nonsense; everybody dies
eventually, no one was immortal. And yet, in some inner recess, the
idea made a twisted sort of sense. And to accept the inevitable,
to accept things beyond one's power. "You must do only all that you
can do, and accept the rest," he had said. Only all that I could
do.
The thought hung over
my mind like a cloud as I walked, every step returning me to my place.
Towards evening, the
roar of a river could be heard thinly in the distance, and as I approached
I could see it in the thick evening light, the sunset's burning reds playing
upon it lightly. Bridgeville was not far, perhaps half a day's a
walk. I would return before dawn.
High-pitched and light
laughter caught my attention, and my eyes quickly fell upon a fire blazing
not far from me, but well within the forest. I wondered who would
be so far out in the wilderness, and so I moved to see. They did
not hear me coming, of course, and the thick evening shadows wrapped themselves
about me tightly. I stood at a short distance to see a small band
of elves sitting about their fire, strumming their lutes and lyres and
singing in a half-drunken reverie. Warm light and joy emanated from
their camp like the hot summer sun, and I instinctively snarled.
It sounded too much like the celebrations within a tavern, I thought.
And yet I felt compelled
to join them in their laughter and song. There was a magical quality
about their music and voices, a charming and alluring one, and soon I was
caught in their spell. I slid into the small clearing, emerging silently
from the shadows.
Silence fell like
an executioner's axe. Each elf looked at me in stunned shock, one
dropping his lyre from his lap. Slowly, ever so slowly, the look
of fear crept into their faces, a horrified gaze - as if they were staring
at the heart of oblivion.
I took a step back,
crouching defensively, and suddenly one sprang to life. "A demon!"
he cried, and fled into the forest. "Oh gods!" screamed another.
"Run! Run for your lives!" They soon transformed into an incredible
bustle and mangle of chaos, running this way and that, disappearing into
the darkness of the surrounding forest.
One was brave, it
appeared, or drunk. He grasped the nearest longsword and charged
me, screaming some terrible battle cry. My arm snaked out, caught
him by the neck, and I lifted him swiftly from the ground. He screamed
in mortal terror, flailing his arms helplessly about as I stared into his
eyes. I wrested the sword from his grasp, looked at its blade, gleaming
in the firelight, and then sneered in contempt. I tossed him to the
ground, and flung his sword to the side. He scrambled to his feet
and fled after his weakling companions.
I roared my anger
into the surrounding forest. "Think me a demon, do you?! You
have seen nothing of the tormented pits of Hell!" I turned and swiftly
made my way back to the river, following it to Bridgeville. The fire
had begun to burn again.
The guard at the East
Gate stood before the closed entrance and hailed me. I paid him no
attention, merely taking him by the neck and flinging his fragile body
against the city wall as I passed. He slumped silent, perhaps dead,
to the ground.
I shoved the huge
gate open with ease, and the moment my feet fell upon the Bridgeville streets
again I felt better. This was home, this was my place, and always
would be so. I traveled through the streets, fading in and out of
the familiar shadows. I visited alleys of the past, and scoffed at
the merriment within familiar taverns and innes.
I made my way to the
Duke's fortress, scaled the wall and sat upon the rampart like some foolish
jester. I was wildly drunk, returning to my place. A trio of
guards took notice of me, and charged, nearly tripping over each other.
I laughed at them, and then struck the leading two down with the same swipe
of my dagger. They fell to the stone floor of the rampart, gurgling
through blood for air. The third I took by the neck and held him
over the edge, his feet dangling helplessly in space far from the ground.
"I want you to deliver
a message for me, my good man," I said. "Can you do that?"
He nodded swiftly,
his eyes bulging in terror as I stared into them.
I grinned wickedly.
"Good. Now, I want you to tell the present Duke and the Captain of
the Watch that their general terror is back from the pits of Hell.
He did not enjoy his trip, and he plans on making everyone pay for it.
Do you understand?"
The guard nodded again,
still frantic.
"Calm yourself, man,"
I said. "If I had wanted to kill you, you would have been dead by
now." I tossed him back onto the rampart and scaled back down the
wall, disappearing into the shadows.
I watched the sunrise from
the top of my spire. It happened slowly, like the best sunrises do.
The sky turned an even darker black just before the dawn, and then, slowly,
faded to a thin grey. The clouds upon the horizon began burning as
a deep, angry red mixed with thick purples, which then shifted to brilliant
yellows. The sun itself crested over the mountains, an enormous golden
disc than burned my eyes. Its rays did not reach through the cold
winter air, but its stunning beauty cut through like a knife.
In a moment, I thought
of Melanie, and how she had adored the sunset when I had shone it to her.
"The sky is burning," I repeated to myself. "The sky is burning everything
away." With the brilliant sunlight I felt my drunkenness flee, leaving
me empty and hurting again. I cried out in agony and crawled back
inside, curling up against a wall, and cursing the sunlight as it intruded.
I screamed my pain against it, but the light paid no heed. It did
not dim, or shift, but merely remained.
I remained curled
against the wall all that day, wishing the sunlight and the pain away.
My happiness of returning, my beautiful and imagined purpose had been shattered
like so much fine crystal, left to glitter imperfectly upon the ground.
Finally, after the sunset, I stood and dashed out of my spire. I
fumbled blindly through the dark streets, wishing for the impossible: tears
at least, and death at most.
As if perhaps mocking
me, it began to rain. The bitter cold winter rain deluged upon the
street, soaking me in a only a few moments. But I paid no attention,
too wrapt in my own pain.
I did not even hear
them approach, but the first blow knocked me to the ground with ease.
I opened my eyes just in time to see a pack of the Guild's jackals descend
wildly upon me. Their blades and clubs sent terrible, brilliant bolts
of pain all through my body as I felt them tear into me. My blood
spilled from a hundred different wounds when they had stopped, and I was
surrounded by a numb haze. I closed my eyes and reached for the merciful
blackness that danced lightly at the edge of my consciousness.
But the blackness
faded slowly away as I reached for it. I screamed in terror in my
mind, and rolled onto my side. As the pain faded, I opened my eyes
and found myself staring into a puddle, the winter rain still beating upon
me. The light from a torch held by one of the Guild thugs was reflected
in the pond along with my face.
The terrible spinning
chaos of the universe froze for an eternal moment, and time ground to a
terrible halt. I had no human face. My eyes grew wide in horror
as I stared at the bloody, black visage that stared back. Sunk deep
into my skull, my eyes glowed a deep red, and my skin was a burnt black,
now covered in running blood. Hideous wrinkles crisscrossed my skin.
I drew a breath to scream, but coughed on my own blood. Gods,
I thought. This was why Camir could hardly look at me. This
is why the elves had cried "Demon!", this is why that guard was so horrified.
I shuddered in horror when I saw the terrible justice of my fate.
But despair, it seems,
would not remain in my heart - or what was left of it - for long.
My mind returned to my plethora of wounds, and the Guild jackals who were
still standing about me, like vultures circling above carrion. I
felt the fire kindle slowly again, the wrath that I had known so well filling
me once again.
I leapt to my feet,
and grinned demonically at the thieves still surrounding their prey.
I pulled myself fully erect, letting the blood dribble from my chin, and
laughed at them. "Fools," I gurgled. The look of horror upon
their faces would have shaken even the stoutest of men. But I was
a man no longer. My hand snaked out, grasping the nearest thief,
and tore his head from his shoulders. I sprang upon the rest, my
dagger brandished, and the blood of a dozen men mingled with the last of
mine upon the rain-drenched street. The tiny rivers which the downpour
had created swiftly carried away the crimson wine as I tore into them.
In only a little while I stood in the midst of a dozen corpses, and for
the first time in my life, I felt perfectly at peace.
"Brethren," I said
as I knelt, placing a hand upon a twisted corpse. "I must have your
pity. I cannot join you." The cold winter rain whined and poured
its sympathy upon the street. I stood suddenly, and looked to the
heavens. "And you!" I screamed to the gods. "I want nothing
of you any longer! You have forsaken me, and now I forsake you!"
I took to the street
with a wild fury in my stride. A horrible, all-consuming insanity
filled me now, and my destination was sure.
I arrived at the House
of Sabbat in short order, and burst into the foyer, tearing the front doors
from their hinges. The rain, pushed by the bitter winter wind, followed
a short distance, and a few torches upon the wall snuffed out as I entered.
I took one which was still burning from the wall and stormed into the sanctuary.
"Father!" I roared.
"Father Kent!" I lifted a stone pew with one hand and tossed it away.
"Father Kent!"
At last he appeared
from his private chambers behind the dias. "What are you doing?!"
he cried.
I lifted another pew
and hurled it away. "Tell me, Father," I said as I approached, looking
him in the face. "Who could save your soul after all the gods have
died?"
He looked at me dumbly,
perhaps a mixture of sleepiness and the unusual question.
"No one!" I roared.
"And the gods are dead, for I have killed them." I pushed Father
Kent away, and set the torch to the wooden crucifix that hung above the
dias. It would watch me no more.
"What in Lord Sabbat's
sweet name are you doing, you monster?" Father Kent cried.
"Monster?!" I roared
as lifted the pulpit, tearing it from the stone dias, and flung it into
the pews. "You have not seen monstrous things, Father!" I began
to set fire to one of the banners that hung on the walls of the sanctuary.
"Stop this!"
Father Kent wrapped his arms about mine, but I pulled him off of me with
little effort and flung him across the chamber.
"I will not stop until
this building lies as heap of rubble and ashes on the ground!" I roared.
I took a pew and slammed it into the wall of the sanctuary. The stone
pew exploded through the wooden wall, and I cackled with glee.
In a short while the entire House was either aflame or ruined
stone. I stood in the center of the sanctuary, screaming and laughing
like a mad man. Burning bits of wood fell about me like rain, and
the heat of the inferno wafted across me like a great, searing wave.
I cackled in mad glee. "You see this!" I cried to the heavens, motioning
to the ruins about me. "This is what you have done to me, and what
I shall do to you for the rest of eternity! You have turned away
from me, and I shall do the same!"
I began to walk out
of the flaming House, when I noticed Father Kent's inert form amongst the
burning rubble. I treaded across the wreckage to him, flung the man
over my shoulder like a small sack of wheat and tromped out of the House.
I flung the priest to the street once we were clear, and waited for him
to regain consciousness. Father Kent groaned and leaned upon his
arm to lift himself from the cold, wet street.
"So, Father," I said.
"Who can save your soul now?"
He rubbed his eyes
and looked at the raging inferno that was his precious place of worship.
"Sweet mercy of God," he mumbled.
I yanked him to his
feet. "Your god has no mercy!" I yelled. "Look!" I motioned
to the burning House. "Look at what can happen with such a merciful
god!"
Father Kent fell to
his knees, the tears streaming down his face. "Oh God, oh God."
I sneered. "You
cry when tears are warranted, father? I never cry." I turned
away from him and left, walking slowly in the frigid rain.
There was, of course,
one place more to visit.
I burst into the front
gallery of the Guild, the door splintering into a million tiny shards before
me. I took the sack from my back, opened it, and flung a dozen heads
into the room. Shrill screams erupted, and people scurried like frightened
dogs away from the bloody carnage that I had spilled at their feet.
"These are yours,
you bastards!" I yelled. "Take them back."
A man, perhaps half-drunk,
erupted from the crowd and charged at me wildly. His knife struck
true in my chest, and a bolt of pain went searing through my body, but
I managed to ignore it. I took the man by the neck and held him high
aloft. "You little fool," I sneered, and flung him across the wide
room. He struck the far wall with such force that a thick line of
blood followed him down to the floor. I took the dagger from my chest,
and flung it to the ground. It stuck in the thick stone. "Where's
Karl?!" I barked. "Where is that filthy coward?"
"No man insults the
Master Thief of this Guild and lives," Karl said as he emerged from the
shadows of the room, his short sword brandished.
I chuckled.
"Then you are in luck, Karl, for I am not a man, and I am not alive."
"Big riddles from
a little man," Karl said.
"Little man!" I cried.
"This," I pointed to myself, "is the 'little man' who has haunted and tormented
you for fourteen years! This is the 'little man' that has slaughtered
dozens of your best assassins and out-stole every thief in the city!
This is the 'little man' who assassinated the Duke and still evaded your
little ambush! 'Little man', indeed!"
"Enough words," Karl
sneered, and lunged at me with swift and practiced grace.
To me, however, the
motion was desperately slow. I grasped Karl's hand and twisted it
inside so that the Master Thief was impaled upon his own blade. It
took but a moment, and was the perfect anticlimax to the man's life.
I looked about the
stunned chamber, where a dreadful silence pervaded like a black shadow.
"A petty fool," I said of Karl. I lifted the corpse and tore the
head from the shoulders. Holding it by the sandy brown hair, I presented
it to the rest of the Guild. "This serves as a warning to everyone,
for all time! You bleed, you cry in pain, you love. You are
mortal and you are weak. I am the rogue of rogues and I am forever!"
I flung the head into
the crowd and left, merging again with the damp, cold shadows of the street.
The universe had wounded me, mortally, and I vowed to myself to wound it
in return for the rest of eternity. The fire that had been burning
within me for so long roared back into demonic life. As I scaled
my spire and stood upon the roof, I looked over the sleeping city and howled
my torment and anger.
I am forever.
I am forever. I am forever. The thought is a terrible one which
you will never understand. I have learned well that there is the
inevitable, and that even the gods are ruled by powers greater than their
own. Sometimes, seeing the great cycle of everything in the universe,
I wonder if all this horror that has been my life and my existence is self-perpetuated,
the real genesis far before me, or the Guild, or Jack. But what of
any of it?
And I would not care
anyway. My burning anger is what I am, and it burns against you as
brightly and as hotly as it does against the powers that have done this
to me. Not even Stepan has earned my forgiveness. And no one
ever will.