The Ghosts of Blood and Innocence (60 page)

Dressed, he padded from the room and went to Pell’s office. Tava-edzen must have been referring to Darquiel, and at first Cal was in two minds whether to go directly to his son’s room in the Tigrina’s apartments or not. But his instincts advised him he should investigate first, while the essence of the dream was still strong and vital. If Tava-edzen was attempting to contact him, he should act upon it without delay. And Cal intended to work alone: he didn’t consider waking Pellaz or contacting Velaxis or Thiede. He composed himself on the floor and focused his intention upon Anakhai. The ethers were disturbed; not as badly as when Ponclast had been freed from Gebaddon all those years ago, but certainly not how they usually were. Cal perceived a faint strand of awareness at the end of the shining cord of his will. Should he go to Anakhai through the otherlanes? Before he could make a decision about this, Tava-edzen made an extraordinary effort to contact him, because the message, when it came, was clear:
Go to Thanatep. Darq is in danger, terrible danger.

Cal knew he must keep this dialogue to the point. He could find out how Tava-edzen knew this information later.
It’s difficult to break into that realm. Is the danger coming from there? Shall I send Darq to you for safety?

Too late. He’s in Thanatep.

Cal was so surprised by this, it nearly severed his contact. The little fool!

The barrier has been breached,
Tava-edzen told him
. You’ll be able to get through.

Against his usual instincts, Cal made an offer:
Come with me,
he said urgently.
I can come to Anakhai swiftly and collect you.

Tava-edzen’s connection began to waver, but Cal could feel the har pouring all of his will into maintaining it. He was in awe of the Nezreka’s force, but then, of course, he had once been the legendary Manticker.
No.
Tava-edzen told him.
Unable. I’ll add my strength to yours. Only you can go.

Give me guidance.

I’ll try. Go now. Hurry.

Cal ended the contact and leapt to his feet. He closed his eyes, opened a portal.

To Darquiel, his conflict with Loki had become utterly surreal. They were fighting as spiritual creatures, no longer exactly in their own bodies. They tumbled and leapt and soared into the heart of Thannaril Above, where the tower of Mutandis shuddered to emanations from Below. Darq and Loki shrieked like maddened angels, tearing at the etheric fabric of each other’s beings. Personality was lost. All that existed was the essence of the conflict: one will against another. And in that elemental fight, so the towers suffered. Their fragile, untended stones began to crumble, buffeted by hurricanes of hostile force.

For a few moments, Darq came to his senses, outside of himself. There below, huddled against the wall of a tower, was Geburael, his face set in an expression of horror. Darq could see that the har had not helped initiate this fight.

His senses zoomed out. All around the city, attenuated spectral shapes were converging from the outer lands.  They must be Thanax, drawn by the heat of the event. Darq realised a dreadful truth. This was what the Aasp had wanted all along – Darquiel and Loki har Aralis in battle. They were both the products of unusual conceptions, possessed of abilities and awareness few other hara owned.  Their conflict would destroy what was left of Thannaril, the heart of Thanatep, and then no creature alive could reactivate the towers.

Even as Darq realised this, he was powerless to stop the inevitable. It could only be a fight to the death. With this realisation, he snapped back into the moment. He was an angel of devastation.

In Thannaril Below, Ta Ke writhed upon his black throne. He was so close to breakthrough, so close. If only he had others to help him, but destiny had decreed he must work alone. A sphere of energy was forming in Mutandis, which was the initial requirement for reactivating the towers. Ta Ke projected every shred of strength he possessed into its creation. Blood streamed from his nostrils and his tightly closed eyes. His body shook fiercely. Above him, through the strength of his will, and the pure sounds he could direct from the heart of the universe, Mutandis was rebuilding itself, atom by atom. And now this terrible maelstrom had come, tearing apart all the painstaking work Ta Ke had done. He cried out in desolation.

Lileem emerged from Mutandis to find herself in the heart of a storm of hatred. The air was full of the groan and thunder of cracking stone. For some moments she was disorientated and her first instinct was to flee back to the base of the tower and hide in Thannaril Below. Then she noticed a young har crouched against the outer wall of Mutandis, his hands over his head to protect himself from flying debris. Ducking the bouncing chunks of stone, she went to his side, pulled his hands from his face. ‘What’s happening?’ she yelled. Her words were blown away from her mouth; she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

The har stared at her; his eyes full of hopelessness. ‘They fight,’ he mouthed.

It was obvious to Lileem that she and this har couldn’t remain outside. She took hold of his clothes and dragged him into the relative shelter of the tower. They were both panting like exhausted dogs. ‘Who are you?’ Lileem demanded.

‘Geburael har Teraghast,’ said the har. He had a cut on his forehead and now wiped blood from his eyes. ‘And you?’

‘Lileem… Kamagrian…’ She had no idea if he’d know of her or her kind.

But Geburael nodded. ‘I know of you. You know my hostling, Ponclast.’

Lileem smiled sardonically. ‘Small world… or rather multiplicity of worlds! What a strange way for us to meet.’

Geburael grimaced. ‘I know you were in the city below. Have you just come up through the tower?’

‘Yes. What the hell’s going on?’

‘The Aralisians are fighting,’ Geburael said. ‘Loki and Darquiel, sons of the Tigron.’

Lileem leapt to her feet. ‘What? Why? We have to stop them.’

‘You can’t,’ Geburael said. He coughed. ‘I think it’s meant to be.’

‘I don’t care!’ Lileem cried. ‘They’re tearing this place apart and that mustn’t happen. Ta Ke has nearly finished working on Mutandis. Get up, Geburael! You must help me stop this fight!’

Geburael made a helpless sound. ‘You can’t stop it; they’re like elementals. I couldn’t even get near them. Believe me, I want to stop it as much as you do, but it’s hopeless.’ He moaned, pressed his face against his hands. ‘I brought Darquiel here. It’s my fault.’

Lileem couldn’t be bothered to comfort or argue with him. Neither was she prepared to stand by and do nothing. She ran out into the storm of stone and dust.

In a pool of calm within the madness, Diablo sat in Apanage and shivered. He could feel the fabric of the towers starting to unravel around him. It would soon be over. As he’d lain in Loki’s arms, he had perceived Darquiel and Geburael break into Thanatep and, even at the height of aruna, had informed Zikael by mind touch at once. Geburael was a fool. He would need severe chastising later. But at least he had brought the abomination to this realm, albeit for the wrong reasons. As for Loki, he had turned out well. Diablo had been a soume-well of dark strength for him; Loki was now more than ready to take on the abomination and complete something that had been started so long ago. When it was over, Diablo would consume the remains, as should have happened back in the beginning. Ponclast hadn’t been strong enough. He’d been weak, ravaged by his exile in Gebaddon. No, it was up to his sons to finish his business for him.

Diablo rocked back and forth, pouring all of his spite and meanness into Loki’s conditioned mind
. Tear. Rend asunder. Destroy.
He was the battery of Loki’s power and he was inexhaustible. Not even a demon like Darquiel could stand up to it, for he fought alone.

Tears ran down Diablo’s face as waves of hot and cold energy streamed through his flesh. He felt he was Darquiel’s complete opposite; dark and shriveled in places where Darquiel expanded like a sun. This demon was an insult to all who had born and suffered in Gebaddon. He was the Gelaming’s ultimate sneer at those they had oppressed and disempowered. For a brief moment, Diablo cursed the fact that the Hashmallim had given him awareness. When he’d been ignorant, almost like an animal, there hadn’t been so much pain.
You must help me end it now,
Diablo thought.
Let me destroy their shining avatar as they destroyed all our hopes.
He sensed Zikael observing him, but the Hashmal wouldn’t manifest now. What was happening was a ritual that only hara could perform. It was Diablo’s job to make sure it produced the right results. He cared nothing for the desires of the Hashmallim and the Aasp; he saw them merely as tools to achieve his own ends.

Then Diablo sensed a new presence. At first, he ignored it as inconsequential, until a voice penetrated his mind.
I should have finished you off at Fulminir, you scrap of offal!

Diablo opened his eyes, while the major part of his being still concentrated on feeding Loki with power. He saw a tall pale shape standing before him, which gradually swam into focus. It was the har who had prevented him from killing Pellaz har Aralis at Fulminir, the har Diablo had occasionally observed throughout the years; he had planned all kinds of satisfying ends for him. Calanthe.

Diablo snarled; a low venomous sound.

‘Please,’ said Cal in a reasonable tone, displaying his palms. ‘
Do
take me on, Diablo.’

This was just a minor irritation. Diablo knew he had the power of the Hashmallim at his disposal and through them the mightier power of the Aasp, those shadowy entities he had never encountered. It would take very little concentration or effort to squash this Wraeththu fly. There was no point in attempting to communicate. He leapt up and lunged forward, but Cal did not attack or defend himself. He merely grabbed hold of Diablo’s arms and hauled him into the otherlanes.

Diablo screeched in fury as the hectic vortex enveloped them. He fought with all his strength, but Cal was like vapor, enfolding him totally. They tumbled in and out of the otherlanes, through multiple realms and lightless voids. Cal was taking Diablo further and further from Thanatep, so that his connection with Loki was broken. Diablo could no longer perceive what was happening in that realm. He gave up trying to attack the essence that held him, and concentrated simply on escaping it, but Cal was too strong, too driven. He was driven by love, not hate, and Diablo found, too late, that his bitterness was no match for it.

After what seemed like many days had passed, but was perhaps only minutes, in the strange time-sense of the otherlanes, Cal dragged Diablo into an uninhabited realm of bare, wind-scoured mountains. It was perhaps a temporary area, much like the one Zikael had created for Loki, that had been formed for a purpose and then abandoned.

Diablo thought he might have a chance to escape now, but Cal, trained by Thiede himself, put restrictions upon the fabric of the realm, so that portals could not be formed until the wards were removed. Cal released Diablo and folded his arms.

Diablo sank to his knees. He needed to restore his strength before he could attempt to vanquish this Gelaming warrior, for that was how he perceived Cal.

‘I could leave you here,’ Cal said, ‘like your hostling was left in Gebaddon. Would that be a wise choice, do you think?’

Diablo did not answer. He was putting every shred of effort into preventing his body from trembling.

‘Diablo, anger and hatred are a sour code to live by,’ Cal said. ‘I know. Can you be redeemed? I could take you to your hostling. You could live with him, if you’d only give up your purpose to destroy us.’

For a few mournful moments, Diablo saw the truth in Cal’s words. He saw himself with Ponclast again. His heart hung in the balance. But it was short-lived. He could not live as a Gelaming prisoner, whether it was with Ponclast or not. His head snapped up. ‘I’d rather die than submit to your will!’ With these words, he leapt for Cal’s throat, meaning to tear it open with his teeth.

Cal staggered back with the impact, then flowed with it. Diablo found himself falling forwards as Cal virtually floated back to the ground. He looked into Cal’s deep violet eyes, which were serene. ‘It’s your choice,’ Cal said. He flexed his body and became partly etheric. He plunged his right hand into Diablo’s chest and closed his fingers around the heart. ‘You poor wretch,’ Cal said. ‘Did you really think you could be stronger than me? I end it now, Diablo. I release you. If you ever return, do so in light.’

For a brief moment before the darkness took him, Diablo cried out like a desperate harling. The horror and loneliness of his existence crashed through him. Ultimately, he gave himself willingly.

At the very moment that Cal stopped Diablo’s heart, Darq’s mind found a quiet place in the middle of madness, and here he regained his identity. He saw what was happening and the senselessness of it. While his etheric body still battled with Loki, his inner mind came to a quiet realisation: he did not have to win this fight to be victorious. The way to win was simply to end it.

All around Thanatep, immense presences hung in the sky like pulsing vessels of light. They were beyond form; the Aasp and the Zehk. Darq observed them and could only perceive them as greedy, selfish beings. They were spectators, gloatingly watching the destruction of the realm that had been designed to control them. They were without compassion or feeling of any kind. All they craved was the essence of realms and the nourishment it gave them.

A soft feminine voice flowed through Darq’s being:
become yourself again.
It was Divozenky.

Darq paused for a moment longer, gazing around his inner self, with a wistful fondness.
I like the har that I am. Thank you, Divozenky.
Then he willed himself back into a corporeal form. He would not be an instrument in the schemes of selfish beings.

The moment Darq made this decision, he was free of Loki’s assault in the upper air. He did not fall to the ground, but merely found himself there, kneeling before Mutandis. For some seconds, the realm was utterly still. Darq was entirely surrounded by a ring of Thanax, but was not afraid of them. Although they were strange to look upon, they possessed their own beauty; attenuated forms with smoking eyes and waving hair. They might have come to feed, but they were not hostile to him, as Loki was. They also had a keen interest in what was happening, even if they didn’t know why they did. Darq could sense that more and more of them were being attracted to this site. Did they have a purpose or were they only witnesses?  Their ghostly hair waved in the soft breezes of Thanatep, their smoking eyes were fixed upon him.