Part 12 (1/2)

”What is this?” he whispered. A wave of earth-fae crested near his knee, sending a cascade of s.h.i.+mmering sparks up his thigh. He looked down at his body, expecting to find it also changed, but to his surprise his flesh was wholly normal; except for the droplets of power that clung to his legs, he looked as if he had just come in from a mundane walk in the park. ”What's going on?”

”This is the world the Iezu inhabit.” The demon's voice was surprisingly real, a lifeline of sound in a domain of dreams. ”Defined not by boundaries of matter but by human perception.” He brushed his hand against a nearby wall as he walked; the ghostly substance gave way like water to his flesh, and ripples coursed outward to the edges of the structure. ”This is how the Iezu see.”

Despite his tension, Damien was fascinated. ”Is that why you take on human form? So you can see the world as we do?”

”We never see as you do. At best we glimpse reflections of the material universe, filtered through your minds. Some of us learn to interpret these forms and can then interact with your kind. Some never gain that skill, and your world remains a mystery to them.”

He looked from the misty walls to the demon's rather solid form. ”Your body seems real enough,” he challenged.

”Merely illusion, produced for your benefit. Like your own body. Figments I plucked from your imagination, to clothe you in comfort while you brave the nether regions. Humans,” he said dryly, ”require such things.”

His mind raced as he considered the implications of that. ”Then if this body is hurt-”

”The wounds won't translate, no. Your real flesh is still in that bed,” he nodded back the way they had come, toward the boarding house, ”with just enough spirit remaining to keep it alive. But that doesn't make the danger any less real,” he warned.

”Why? If I can't be hurt in any permanent sense, what's the risk? No more than in a dream, I'd think.”

”Don't kid yourself.” The glowing fae whirlpooled around the demon's feet, then settled back into its natural current. ”First of all, any pain you experience in this form will be real enough as far as your brain is concerned. And if your spirit expires in this place, your body will never reanimate. Death is death, Reverend Vryce. Here and everywhere else.” They pa.s.sed what must have been a tree, a shadowy shape which glowed with a soft light where lover's initials had been carved into it: human perception, leaving its trace upon the Iezu's reality. All about them the world was a fairy landscape, with objects and buildings and even living creatures more or less visible as humans accorded them focus. And through it all flowed the fae, more clearly visible than Damien had ever seen it before. Far more powerful. Was this what Tarrant saw, when he viewed the world through an adept's eyes? It was wonderful, but also terrifying.

”And,” the demon added, ”there is one other very real danger.”

He made the mistake of looking down, and stumbled. The ground is solid only when I perceive it to be. The ground is solid only when I perceive it to be. He forced himself to look ahead, to take his footing for granted. It took enough effort that for long minutes he could not respond to the demon's warning, could only concentrate on his immediate physical need. When at last he felt sure of his balance once more, he asked him, ”What?” He forced himself to look ahead, to take his footing for granted. It took enough effort that for long minutes he could not respond to the demon's warning, could only concentrate on his immediate physical need. When at last he felt sure of his balance once more, he asked him, ”What?”

”Time is your enemy,” the demon warned him. ”In the shadow of the real world its pa.s.sage is easy enough to define; we still have the sun and the fae-tides to go by, as well as the actions of living creatures surrounding us. But what happens when we leave those things behind?” Even as he spoke, the walls about them seemed to grow mistier, less substantial, as if responding to his words. ”Your perception will be our only timepiece, my friend. And human perception is notoriously subjective.”

”So what? Say my time-sense gets stretched out for a while, or whatever. What difference does that-”

And then he knew. He realized what the demon meant. The knowledge was a cold knot inside him, that clenched even tighter as he contemplated how easy it would be to fail in this arena, and what the cost would be.

His body still lay on the bed, helpless now that he had abandoned it. It would require certain things to maintain its viability, so that he might return to it. Air and energy, food and water ... how long could a body survive without some kind of liquid? It seemed to him that three days was the maximum, but perhaps that was only when it exerted itself. Was there a wider margin when flesh was thus suspended, requiring little maintenance to keep its minimal processes working?

Three days. Not measured by a clock, but by his own internal sense. Three days in the real world might seem to be minutes here, or an eternity. And once that time had pa.s.sed, his body would wither and die, and the soul that it anch.o.r.ed would follow.

”I see you understand,” Karril said quietly.

”Yeah.” He grimaced. ”I'm afraid so.” They were moving through a different kind of neighborhood now; the shadow houses were farther apart, the sinewy tree shapes more common. ”So what should I do?”

”Only be careful. That's all I know how to tell you. No other human has willingly gone where I'm about to take you. And those who went unwillingly ...” he shrugged stiffly. ”They had other problems.”

He looked at Karril. ”Tarrant never came here?”

For a moment the demon said nothing. ”Not willingly,” he answered at last. Refusing to meet Damien's eyes.

The demon turned toward an arching form, and motioned for Damien to follow. Sparks glittered overhead as they pa.s.sed beneath what must have been a door frame, and over a smoky threshold. If being in the street had been disorienting, being inside this building was a thousand times more so. Damien had to stop for a moment to get his bearings, sorting out the path ahead from the lights and objects that bled in from adjoining rooms. There were people here, and their images seemed almost as solid as Damien's own. ”Self-perceptions,” Karril muttered, in answer to his unspoken question. They pa.s.sed beneath a glowing disk incised with glittering lines-a quake-ward, it looked like-and then another, with a sign in the lower left quarter that he knew to be Ciani's own sigil. Suddenly the two seemed familiar, and their height above his head.... He turned to Karril and asked, in a whisper, ”His apartment?”

”Of course,” the demon confirmed. ”What did you expect?”

From out of the shadows a human figure emerged, headed straight toward them. Damien moved to step aside, but Karril grabbed his arm and shook his head. In amazement he watched as the figure approached, its heeled shoes striking the floor silently, silver power lapping about its ankles. It was a woman, heavily made up and just a little past her prime. Her body was a parody of s.e.xual attractiveness, from her aggressively protruding b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her incredibly padded b.u.t.tocks, to the tight cinch belt which threatened to separate those two parts from each other. It was a surreal image, too grotesque in proportion to be human, too solid to be otherwise. When she had pa.s.sed by, Damien looked at Karril in amazement. The demon was smiling faintly.

”Your former landlady, I believe.”

”What?”

”As she sees herself.” The brief smile faded. ”Come on.”

They went down the stairs into the bas.e.m.e.nt, a trial all its own; Damien tried not to think about where the stairs were, or what they were made of, just trusted his feet to the surging waterfall of earth-fae where he knew that stairs should be. He stumbled once, but otherwise it worked. At the base of the stairs was a place filled with memories so sickening that Damien felt the bile rise in his throat again just to approach it. (Could he vomit here, he wondered? Would it do any good if he did?) Through the smoky film that was a door he could see a glistening blackness, like an oil slick, that covered most of the floor. As the earth-fae flowed into it, it, too, turned black, and its pa.s.sage sent ripples flowing thickly through the black stuff's substance. Hungry, it seemed. Terribly hungry. Despite the door's seeming barrier, a cold wind flowed from that place toward Damien, the first he had felt since true night fell. It tasted of blood and bile, and worse.

”Your perception,” the demon said quietly. ”I only make it easier to see.”

He could feel the dark power sucking him forward like a rip tide, and it took all his strength to fight its drag. Though he would have guessed it to be inanimate, it seemed to be aware of his presence, and bulged at the end that was nearest to him. Slowly the oily blackness seeped forward over unseen floorboards, making its way toward them. Toward him. him.

”They didn't expose it to the sun,” he whispered.

”I'm afraid they did.”

He stared in horror at the thing. His skin crawled at the thought of touching it again.

”They banished the Presence that had come for Gerald Tarrant,” Karril explained, ”But they couldn't erase its footsteps. That's all this is, Reverend-a faint echo of what came here before.” He looked at the priest. ”You're still sure you want to follow it?”

He whispered: ”Is that what we have to do?”

The demon nodded. ”Gerald Tarrant probably took a more direct route, but his struggle left a path marked in his soul's blood. That, and the residue you see here, are the only ways I know of to find him.” He paused. ”Are you still sure you want to go? Because if you're not, I would be all too happy to abandon this little pleasure trip, I a.s.sure you.”

For a moment Damien faltered. For a moment it seemed so impossible that he could survive this crazy mission that he almost stepped back, almost said the words, almost ended their doomed venture then and there. Had he really thought that he could stand up to a Power that even Tarrant feared, and emerge unscathed? The mere thought of touching this thing before him, no more than its residue, made him sick; how would it feel to plunge into it body and soul, without knowing if he ever would rise up again?

But then he thought of Calesta, and of the holocaust that demon had deliberately provoked in the east. He thought of Calesta's plans for his world, and of what would happen to his species if the demon should ever triumph. And he knew in that moment that it wasn't death which frightened him most, or even the thought of facing the Unnamed. It was the prospect of failure.

G.o.d, when I first took my vows, I said that I would be willing to give my life to serve You. I meant it. He breathed in deeply, shaking. But don't let that sacrifice be in vain. I beg of You. Use me however You will, take my life if it pleases You to do so, but help me free this planet from Calesta's grasp. I beg You, G.o.d.

”I have to try,” he whispered.

For a long moment the demon just looked at him. Could he read into his heart, see all the doubts that were there? Tarrant had said the Iezu had that kind of power. ”The path we have to take,” he warned Damien, ”lies through the substance of the Hunter's own fear. Are you ready for that?”

It seemed to him that the blackness was closer now. A foul odor rose up from its surface, a stink of blood and carrion ... and worse. ”He feared sunlight. Heat. Healing. All the things that life is made of.”

”Don't be naive, Reverend Vryce.”

The blackness was extending an oily finger now, that oozed slowly toward him. If he stayed where he was it would soon make contact. ”Death,” he said sharply. ”He feared that more than anything.” How could he face death without dying himself? Karril must know some special trick, or he wouldn't have brought him here.

”Not death,” the demon said.

Startled, he looked at Karril. The Iezu's eyes were dark, unreadable.

”Death isn't a thing or a place,” Karril told him. ”It's a transition. A doorway, not a destination. Think,” he urged. ”You know the answer.”

And he did, suddenly. He knew it, and grew weak at the thought. Was that what lay ahead of them? No wonder Karril didn't want to get involved.

”h.e.l.l,” he whispered. ”He feared h.e.l.l.”