Part 65 (1/2)
The king began to change.
Elias' silhouette bent and s.h.i.+fted, growing monstrously, even though his own contorted form was somehow still visible in the center of the darkness.
The deadening chill was inside Simon, too, seeping in where the flames of his fury had burned away his hope. His life was being drawn out of him, sucked clean like marrow from a bone.
The cold, cold thing that had waited so long was coming.
”Yes, you will live forever, Elias,” intoned Pryrates. ”But it will be as a flitting shadow within your own body, a shadow dwarfed by Ineluki's bright flame. You see, even with the wheel of Time turned backward in its track and all the doors opened to Ineluki once more, his spirit must have an earthly home.”
The sounds of the storm outside had ceased, or could no longer penetrate through the strange forces that clutched the bellchamber. The fountain of blue light flowing upward from the Pool had narrowed to a silent stream that vanished into the blackness of the swords' joining and did not reemerge. When Pryrates had finished, there was no sound in the dark room but the rapid chuffing of the king's breath. Scarlet flames kindled in the depths of Elias' eyes, then his head rocked back as though his neck had snapped. Vaporous red light leaked from his mouth.
Simon watched in horror; through the swords he could feel the way being opened, just as Pryrates had said. Something too horrible to exist was forcing its way through into the world. The king's body jerked like a child's doll dangling on a string. Smoldering light seemed to spring forth from him everywhere, as though the very fabric of his body was fraying apart, revealing some burning thing beneath.
Somewhere Miriamele was screaming; her small, lost voice seemed to come from the other end of the universe.
The bellchamber was gone. All around, angles as strange as if reflected in broken mirrors, stood Asu'a's needle towers. They burned as the king's body burned, crumbled as Time itself was crumbling. Five centuries were sliding away into the frozen black void. Nothing would be left but ashes and stone and Ineluki's utter triumph.
”Come to us, Storm King!” shouted Pryrates. ”I have made the way. The Words of Unmaking release the power of the swords, and Time turns withers.h.i.+ns. History is undone! We shall write it anew!”
Elias writhed, and writhing grew larger, as though whatever filled him was too large for any mortal form and stretched him almost to the point of bursting. A suggestion of antlers flickered on the king's brow, and his eyes were pits of s.h.i.+fting, molten scarlet. His outline wavered, a moving tide of shadow that made it impossible to discern his true shape. The king's arms parted. One hand still held the elusive blur of nothingness that had been Sorrow; the other hand extended and the fingers spread, black as charred sticks. Emberlight played in the creases.
The thing paused, flickering and s.h.i.+fting. It seemed sag gingly weary, like a b.u.t.terfly newly emerged from a coc.o.o.n.
Pryrates took a step back and averted his face. ”I have ... I have done what you asked, mighty one.” His smug grin was gone: the priest had willingly opened the door, but what had entered shocked even him. He took a deep breath and appeared to find some core of strength. His face again became feral. ”The hour is come-but it is not your hour, it is mine. mine. How could I trust one who hated every living thing to keep its bargain? I knew that once you had no need of me, your promises would be wind in darkness.” He spread his wide-sleeved arms. ”Mortal I may be, but I am no fool. You gave me the Words of Changing, thinking them a toy that would keep me childishly amused as I did your bidding. But I have learned, too. Those Words will become your cage, and then you will be How could I trust one who hated every living thing to keep its bargain? I knew that once you had no need of me, your promises would be wind in darkness.” He spread his wide-sleeved arms. ”Mortal I may be, but I am no fool. You gave me the Words of Changing, thinking them a toy that would keep me childishly amused as I did your bidding. But I have learned, too. Those Words will become your cage, and then you will be my my servant. All creation will bend to you-but you will bow to servant. All creation will bend to you-but you will bow to me!” me!”
The unstable thing at the room's center eddied like blown smoke, but its black, scarlet-streaming heart remained solid. Pryrates began to chant loudly in something only recognizable as language because of the empty s.p.a.ces between noises. The alchemist seemed to change, reeling in the red-shot darkness that surrounded the king like a fog; his limbs curled and snapped in a ghastly, serpentine way, then he faded into a coiling shadow, a wide rope of blackness that drifted around the place where the king or whatever had devoured him now stood. The shadowy coils tightened around the smoldering heart. The world seemed to bend farther inward, distorting the two shapes until only flame and steam and darkness pulsed at the center of the bellchamber.
The whole of creation seemed to collapse in on this place, on this moment. Simon felt his own terror surge out, crackling through his arms, through Bright-Nail and into the midst of the clotted dark.
The blackness bulged. Tiny arcs of lightning flickered about the room. Somewhere outside, Simon knew, the Asu'a of five centuries before was burning, its inhabitants dying at the hands of Fingil's long-dead army. And what of everyone else? Was all Simon knew gone, borne away by Time's circling wheel?
The lightnings jittered about the chamber. Something pulsed at the center, a storm of fire and thunderheads that suddenly gaped, filling the room with blinding light. Pryrates, his real form restored, staggered backward out of the beating radiance, which promptly collapsed back into shadow. For a moment the priest raised his arms triumphantly over his head, then he teetered and dropped to his knees. A vaguely manlike form coalesced out of the darkness and stood over him, a scarlet suggestion of a face fluttering atop its misshapen head.
Pryrates shuddered and wept. ”Forgive me! Forgive my arrogance, my foolishness! Oh, please, Master, forgive me!” He crawled toward the thing, banging his forehead against the almost invisible floor. ”I can still do you great service! Remember what you promised me, Lord-that if I served you well I would be first among mortals.”
The thing retained its grip on s.h.i.+fting Sorrow, but extended its other blackened hand until it touched the alchemist. The fingers cupped his smooth wet head. A voice more powerful than the bell, as ragged and deadly as the hiss of freezing wind, sc.r.a.ped through the darkness. Despite everything else that had happened, Simon's eyes filled with frightened tears at the sound of it.
”YES. YOU WILL BE FIRST.”
Jets of steam lifted from beneath the king's fingers. Pryrates shrieked and threw up his arms, grabbing at the hand, but the king did not move and Pryrates could not free himself. Runnels of flame sped down the alchemist's robe. Above him, the king's face was an indistinct lump of darkness, but eyes and ragged mouth blazed scarlet. The priest's scream was a sound no human throat should have loosed. Vapors enveloped him, but Simon saw his thres.h.i.+ng arms steaming, cracking, shriveling into waggling things like tree limbs. After a long moment, the priest, all bones and burning tatters, fell to the floor and twitched like a smashed cricket. The jerking movements slowed, then stopped.
The thing that had been Elias slumped, head down, so that nothing could be seen of it but shadow. Still, Simon could feel it drinking the energies that raced through Bright-Nail, Thorn, and Sorrow, regaining the strength to control its stolen body. Pryrates had hurt it, somehow, but Simon could sense that it would be only the work of moments before it recovered. He felt a tiny flutter of hope, and tried to let go of his sword hilt, but it was as much a part of him as his arm. There was no escape.
As though it sensed his attempt to break free, the black thing looked up at him, and even as his heart stumbled and almost failed, he could glean its implacable thought. It had smashed Time itself to return. Even the mortal priest, no matter what powers he had wielded, would not have been allowed to close the door again-what possible chance could Simon have?
In this moment of horror, Simon suddenly felt the shock of the dragon blood that had once scorched his flesh and changed him. He stared at the unsteady black shape that had been Elias, the ruined husk and its fiery occupant, and felt an answering stab of pain where the dragon's black essence had scarred him. Through the pulsing unlight that moved between Bright-Nail and Sorrow, Simon felt not only the all-consuming hatred that had been the blood of the Storm King's deathly exile, but also Ineluki's terrible, mad loneliness.
He loved his people, Simon thought. Simon thought. He gave his life for them but did not die. He gave his life for them but did not die.
Staring helplessly across the short distance between them, watching as the thing regathered its strength, Simon remembered the vision Leleth had shown him of Ineluki beside the great pool. Such shattering unhappiness had been in that face, but the determination had been a mirror of Eahlstan's as he had sat in his chair and waited for the terrible worm he knew he must meet, the dragon that he knew would slay him. They were somehow the same, Ineluki and Eahlstan, doing what must be done, though life itself was the price. And Simon was no different.
Sorrow. His thoughts flittered and died like moths in a flame, but he clung to this one. His thoughts flittered and died like moths in a flame, but he clung to this one. Ineluki named his sword Sorrow. Why did she show me that? Ineluki named his sword Sorrow. Why did she show me that?
Something was moving at the edge of his vision. Binabik and Miriamele, freed by Pryrates' death, reeled a few steps forward. Miriamele fell to her knees. Binabik staggered closer, head held low as though he walked into a powerful wind.
”You will destroy this world,” the troll gasped. Although his mouth was stretched wide, his words seemed quiet as the whir of velvety wings. ”You have lost your belonging, Ineluki. There will be nothing for your governing. You do not belong here!” You do not belong here!”
The clot of darkness turned to look at him, then raised a flickering hand. Simon, seeing Binabik quail before the destroying touch, felt his fear and hatred rise anew. He fought against that surge of loathing, although he did not know why.
Hatred kept him alive in the dark places. Five centuries, burning in emptiness. Hatred is all he has. And I have hated, too. I have felt like him. We are the same.
Simon struggled to keep the image of the living Ineluki's suffering face before him. That was the truth beneath this horrible, burning thing. No creature in all the cosmos deserved what had happened to the Storm King.
”I'm sorry,” he whispered to the face in his memory. ”You should not have suffered so.”
The surge of energy from Bright-Nail suddenly grew less. The thing that held Sorrow turned back to him, and waves of terror broke over Simon again. His heart was being crushed.
”No,” he gasped, and groped inside himself for a solid place to stand and live. ”I will ... fear you, but I ... will not hate you.” will not hate you.”
There came a still instant that seemed like years. Then Sir Camaris rose slowly from his knees and stood, swaying. In his hands, Thorn still throbbed with blackness, but Simon felt the drain of its forces weaken, as though what he himself felt had somehow run down through the point of connection into Camaris as well.
”Forgiven ...” the old knight croaked. ”Yes. Let all be ...”
There was a wavering at the center of the darkness that was the Storm King. For a moment, the scarlet light grew less, then died. A glowing red haze leaked free, agitated as a swarm of bees. In the center of the shadows, wreathed in smoke, the pale visage of King Elias s.h.i.+mmered into existence, his face contorted in pain. Wisps of smoke curled from his hair. Flames darted on his cape and s.h.i.+rt.
”Father!” Miriamele's entire being seemed in her cry. Miriamele's entire being seemed in her cry.
The king turned his eyes to her. ”Ah, G.o.d, Miriamele, ”Ah, G.o.d, Miriamele, ” he breathed. His voice was not entirely human. ” he breathed. His voice was not entirely human. ”He has waited too long for this. He will not let me go. I was a fool, and now ... I am ... repaid. I am sorry... daughter. ”He has waited too long for this. He will not let me go. I was a fool, and now ... I am ... repaid. I am sorry... daughter. ” He convulsed, and for a moment his eyes blazed red, though his knotted features still remained. ”He is too ” He convulsed, and for a moment his eyes blazed red, though his knotted features still remained. ”He is too strong ... his hate is too strong. He will ... not ... let me ... go.... strong ... his hate is too strong. He will ... not ... let me ... go.... ” ”
His head began to sag. Emberlight bloomed in the cavern of his mouth.
Miriamele shouted wordlessly and lifted her arms. Simon felt rather than saw some fleeting thing snap past him.
A feathered white shaft sprouted from Elias' breast.
For a heartbeat the king's eyes were his own once more, and his gaze locked with Miriamele's. Then his features twisted. A roar louder than thunder tore from the king's gaping mouth and Elias toppled backward into shadow. The roar became an echoing, impossibly loud shriek that seemed to have no ending.
For a fleeting instant Simon felt an impossibly cold something something scrabbling at the place where the dragon's blood had entered his heart, seeking to find refuge in him if its other host was denied to it. The thing's hunger was all-swallowing and desperate. scrabbling at the place where the dragon's blood had entered his heart, seeking to find refuge in him if its other host was denied to it. The thing's hunger was all-swallowing and desperate.
No. You do not belong here. Simon's thought echoed Binabik's words. Simon's thought echoed Binabik's words.
The clawing thing fell away, shrieking soundlessly.
Flames climbed up and outward where the king had stood, mushrooming beneath the roof of the bellchamber. A terrible cold blackness was at the center of them, but as Simon watched in shattered awe, it began to fragment into darting shadows. The world tipped again, and the tower shuddered. Bright-Nail throbbed in his grip, then dissolved in a whirl of black; a moment later, he was holding only dust. He lifted his trembling hand near his face to stare at the sifting powder, then stopped, astonished.