From the Ashes (7 page)

             
Stone snarled at the invincibility of his foe.

             
“You do realise, don’t you, that by delaying me you interfere with the plans of your very masters? The Avatars need me to fight their battles for them; by holding me up you’re going against them…”

             
The spirit grinned, soft, feminine lips parting to show those sharp teeth.

             
“Indeed. But we’re not in the domain of my mistress, yet, are we? And how else am I supposed to find my distractions?” She let out a melodious laugh. “It gets boring, at times, living forever. Don’t you agree?”

             
He growled.

             
“Then let me end your boredom for you, right now.”

             
Her dark eyes lit up with a savage glee as he stormed towards her at a sprint, letting out a feral cry of bloodlust as she lunged forwards to meet him, her clawed hands held high, aiming for his face. His own hands Stone raised high, to ward off the blows, meeting her hands with his, fingers interlaced as the two unstoppable juggernauts came together, irresistible force meeting immovable object.

             
A jarring impact. A cracking report, like the splitting of a mountain in twain and a shockwave lashed out from the collision, every pool of water exploding in a cloud of spray, every crustacean, mollusc and invertebrate that called the place home rendered dead in an instant.

             
Then silence, save the low sounds of straining groans. Of two mighty beings each striving, feet braced and fingers interlocked, to bring the other to their knees.

             
The very rock beneath his feet began to splinter, buckling under the titanic pressure as Stone roared, straining every ounce of his might against the snarling, spitting Nymph. The muscles of his huge arms, his sturdy core, his mighty quads, all the peak of human perfection; beyond, in fact, thanks to the ‘gift’ of his genes. A Samson. A Hercules. The strongest man that ever lived, dwarfing his slender foe in stature.

             
Yet the womanly figure against which he raged was no mere woman, but a spirit of Water, elemental force incarnate, her long, shapely limbs infused with the power of the irresistible seas, the swelling waves, the implacable tide.

             
For long, drawn out moments the two summoned all their strength against each other, till it seemed as though they had reached an impasse, the cracking, splintering torment of the ground beneath them making it seem as though the very caverns would fall before either of they would. But then, suddenly, without warning, one of the Water Nymph’s braced feet slipped, pale-green webbed toes finding no purchase in the empty air.

             
With a roar of triumph, Stone heaved upwards, lifting Nagini clean from the ground before charging forwards with her, carrying her backwards across the rocks, till the water and the jagged stones gave way unto a thick carpet of deep, moist moss, before finally reaching the end of the cavern, slamming together into the hard wall which cracked into a great, spreading spider’s web at the impact.

             
She writhed in his grasp, arms held wide to their sides with his hands still holding hers, her feet dangling a foot off the ground, his midsection pressed firmly against hers to prevent her kicking him, his bare chest pressed hard against hers, cold and soft, pinning her fast to the wall, their snarling faces close. He could feel her breath on his lips, pure, minerally and ice-cold, like a forest stream on a winter’s morning.

             
“You will yield…” he told her, his voice low, menacing.

             
“Never…” she replied, impossible to intimidate, impossible to placate.

             
He pressed his forehead to hers, long brown hair mixing with kelp-green dreadlocks, staring into the inky depths of her eyes as he changed his tactic, forcing his mind into hers, hoping to bring down the indomitable fortress from within. But the mind he found was unlike anything he’d encountered over his hundred years; for her soul was a raging eternity of elemental desire, the clamouring hunger of the sea to devour the land.

             
And he realised, now, why it was that she fought so hard against him, why she had met his every blow with an equal of her own and why she could never be defeated. For in her mind’s eye, this was a reflection of an eternal battle, an unending war; she was the ocean, insistent and roaring, lusting after the land that denied her. He was the rocky coast, steadfast and resolute. They would crash together, forever, until at last the cliffs would tumble into the sea and they would become one, the swirling currents enveloping the fallen stone in its cold, briny embrace.

             
And with that revelation, he knew how to end this.

             
Withdrawing from her mind, he pressed his lips against hers, so cold, so inhuman, yet still so feminine. She responded in kind, hungering, lusting, her sharp teeth tearing at his lips till warm blood trickled down his chin. Spinning, they moved from the wall, her legs wrapped about him now, his hands releasing hers to hold her, her claw-like fingernails digging viciously into the skin of his back, before they fell, locked together, into the deep, welcoming embrace of the moss.

***

He was safe here. No-one knew this place. No-one but the lowest of the low. The dregs at the bottom of the employment barrel.

             
People like him.

             
The darkness of the tunnel was warm – it was always warm down here – but still Naresh shivered. For even now, hundreds of yards of twisting, sprawling labyrinth away, the memories still followed him; his ears still ringing to the sounds of dying, the dull, meaty thud of blade carving into flesh. He held the dimly burning lamp out before him in a trembling arm as he rounded a corner, past the loose rock where he had hidden his contraband, heading down yet another narrow tunnel that led away from the main drag. Down, further, deeper into the depths, the air growing cooler as he descended.

             
Towards the Salt Stores.

             
Contrary to what the name might suggest, these dark cellars weren’t used solely for the storing of Salt, but instead for the salting of meats, keeping it dry, therefore less likely to go off for longer. Other goods, too, he had had to drag this way from time to time in his time toiling under the Pen. Herbs, spices, cheeses, wine; anything that enjoyed a cool, dark place to call its home and wouldn’t spoil too quickly. They could be dragged here, left, then retrieved whenever the stores in the Pen above grew low. Few were the people that knew its location.

Ideal.

The cramped, narrow tunnel blossomed out into a cellar, not much taller than the corridor itself but far wider, stretching onwards some twenty yards. He stopped at the entrance, waving the lamp out in front of him, left and right, eyes straining in the orange light. Boxes, crates, large sacks, rack of wine, wheels of cheese. This would do. This would last him till the madness was over. He made his way, carefully in the gloom, threading his way past the stores of food and drink till he reached the end of the cellar. A large wooden crate, easily big enough to conceal a man behind it. He turned, keeping his eyes on the entrance to the cellar, to the tunnel beyond, straining for any hint of pursuit as he slowly backed his way behind the crate.

He had made it. He would be safe here. He let out a long and juddering sigh of relief.

“What’s the matter, friend?” A voice from over his shoulder, sudden, rasping, heavily accented and frightfully loud in the silence of the cellar. “You look like the seventy-seven djinns are after you…”

Chapter Three
:

He was on a rocky outcrop, he noted, and surrounded by darkness, as the sharp and familiar taste of translocation faded from  his tongue. A ledge, a bridge almost, several yards wide and stretching out before him for quite a way. As the dizziness subsided, Stone walked forwards till he reached the very edge of the precipice, looking down into the yawning depths below. An orange glow bathed his face with its warmth and, with a shiver of recognition, he recognised the lake of magma, the black island of onyx stone.

              He was in the lair of the Avatar of Fire.

             
Stone frowned; he remembered the first time he’d set foot in this place, recalling being trapped on that island below, gazing about at the cavernous walls across the lake of fire. There had been no ledge, no precipice. Only smooth, unhelpful rock. A cold, prickling feeling and he turned, craning his neck up, up, up. Gazing into the face of eternity.

             
We’ve been expecting you.

             
The soul shattering volume of Earth’s words blasted Stone clean from the outstretched finger, hurling him out into the void where he plummeted helpless towards the burning magma below. The wind whistled past his ears as the searing hot bed of death raced up to meet him, but Stone wasn’t scared, for if they truly were expecting him, then…

             
Sure enough, a tinkling of Sylphin laughter and a cooling, supportive breeze that carried him, altering his trajectory away from the lethal sea of fire and towards the black island where he landed, in a half crouch, bones jarring with the impact but otherwise unharmed. He rose, shaking his vision free from the vibrations of the landing, turning to look behind him at the audience he knew would await him.

             
A raging, howling tornado of fire and embers.

             
A looming mountain, ankle deep in the sea of magma.

             
A swarm of swirling, looping fireflies that cavorted and laughed in the air.

             
And, but ten feet away, the power of endless oceans bound and condensed into the form of a woman, petite and slim.

             
Stone sniffed.

             
“Been a while. How you guys keeping?”

             
A pause amidst the maelstrom of competing elemental furies, a moment of silence. Then Stone was brought to his knees by the cacophonous noise of the end of the universe.

             
The sound of the laughter of the elements.

             
Finally, after long seconds, the din passed and Stone clambered, trembling, back to his feet. Thin trickles of blood leaked from both ears.

             
“Remind me,” he gasped in evident pain, “to never invite you to a comedy club…”

             
The shapely form of Water made her way towards him, briny foam splashing from each footfall, a warm smile on her cold face.

             
Welcome home, Stone. There were times we didn’t think you’d return to us.

             
He nodded.

             
“There were times I didn’t even think I’d return to myself. But here we are.”

             
How did you make your way here? Only Wrynn has the power to come and go as he pleases.
             

“Nagini.”

              The Avatar of Water raised an eyebrow, the simple act of which probably swamped a continent on an unnamed world light years distant.

             
Truly? My handmaiden is a formidable sentry. How did you persuade her? She is very closed minded.

             
“Oh, she opened up in the end.”

             
The Avatar smiled, knowingly, and he knew that she was playing with him. Little got past you when you were a quarter of the universe.

             
“However, to business.” He spoke to the audience at large now, unwilling to allow the thought to register in his mind that he was addressing the masters of the universe as though he were at a board meeting. “You know why I’m here; we face a dark army. My former Councilmembers are empowered. My Clansmen under their control. And they summon allies from beyond the Veil to aid them. We have only a small force with which to try to stop them making their way through the Portal. So I need your help…”

             
Fire spoke, the sound like that of a raging forest-fire consuming all in its path.

             
What would you ask of us?

             
Stone gazed up at the twirling tempest of flames, his enhanced eyes watering as they strove to cope with the intensity.

             
“I ask that you return my shamanic powers to me. Restore your blessing. Your spirits shy away from me,” he continued, “scared of what I’ve been, of whatever traces of the enemy linger within me. But without their aid I don’t think I can defeat the foes we face.”