Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (53 page)

“It wasn’t easy,” admitted the Burning Man. The bones under his feet blackened slowly from the heat. “I tracked down the burial grounds of every saint and holy man in the Forest Kingdom, every priest and hermit and religious nut, and had them all dug up so that their bones could be brought here to increase the Castle’s sanctity. The bones of saints have always been venerated, things of worship for the common herd. I just extended the concept. In the end, there were so many bones, I felt I ought to do something useful with them, so I had them made into this Ossuary. Isn’t it splendid? So much beauty that was only wasted in the cold earth.”

“How many?” asked Lament softly. “How many people did you drag from their graves, and from their rest?”

“Oh hell, I don’t know,” said the Burning Man. “I lost track after a while. My attitude then was, you can’t have enough sanctity. I had a lot of people working under me, locating the bodies, checking for frauds, paying off the right people so the holy corpses could be disinterred and brought here. Some of the people who did that for me are still here, down in the gallery with all the other sacrificed souls. Do you feel the same about them now you know what they did?”

“This is sacrilege!” said Lament.

“Nonsense. The church has always collected holy relics, so they could show them off to the faithful, for a small fee, as physical proof that what they were teaching was true. I thought you’d be more sophisticated than that, Walking Man. Bones are just bones.”

“They’ll all have to be returned,” said Lament. “So that the families of the desecrated dead can at last be comforted. You never gave a thought about the distress your grave-robbing would cause to the families of the holy men, did you? No, of course not. What was a little human suffering, compared to the glory of your Cathedral?”

“You see?” said the Burning Man. “You’re beginning to understand. But these bones aren’t going anywhere. What I did to them here can’t be easily undone.”

“I will see them all put at rest,” said Lament. “Whatever it takes.”

The Burning Man grinned. “Oh, I love it when you talk like that. Hell loves nothing more than to see a good man fail to keep his word.”

Lament ignored him, studying the ranks of display cases suspiciously. “What have you got here? More horrors, or the wonder you promised?”

“Depends on your definition,” said the Burning Man, leaning casually against a wall. The bones blackened and cracked under the heat of his flames. “What kind of wonder did you have in mind?”

“Well, the Grail,” said Lament, and then stopped as the Burning Man laughed again.

“Oh dear, are you still looking for that? And all the other religious paraphernalia? Rubbish, rather than relics. Most of it’s fake, anyway. If all the supposed splinters from the True Cross displayed in churches were ever assembled in one place, you’d have enough wood to build a new Ark. Junk is junk. But there are a few genuine wonders here you might like to see. One of the Transient Beings, The Engineer, passed through here briefly, and was much taken with my collection. He paused awhile to manufacture killing tools from the bones of saints. The holiest of bones to make the deadliest of swords. The ultimate perversion, the most delicious blasphemy. The Engineer only made six of these blades, but they went on to become very famous, over the centuries. You know them as the Infernal Devices.

“The Engineer took three with him when he left. They ended up in the Armory of the Forest Kingdom. Three swords remained here, waiting patiently for someone to come and put them to use. What do you think? Do you dare awaken them and take them for yourselves? You’re going to need powerful weapons when the time comes to face the powers and dominations beyond the Gateway.”

He gestured with a flame-wrapped hand, and as though a curtain had been swept from their gaze, the others suddenly saw the three Infernal Devices standing together in their own little alcove in the bone wall. Three great long-swords, in chased silver scabbards. Fully seven feet tall, and six inches wide at the crosspiece, their foot-long hilts were bound with dark leather. There was nothing graceful or elegant about them. They were killing tools, designed for butchery and slaughter and the ruining of lives. And yet still, somehow, there was a dark glamour to the swords; something that called to the darkest places in a man’s soul and promised satisfaction for his most private, bloody dreams. The Seneschal was already moving toward them when Hawk grabbed him firmly by the arm.

“Don’t get too close,” Hawk warned quietly. “You might wake them.”

Fisher shuddered suddenly, a cold feeling of utter revulsion running through her. For a time in the darkest part of the Demon War, she had wielded the Infernal Device known as
Wolfsbane
. The sword had proved to be alive and aware and utterly evil. It had sought to corrupt and possess her until she gave it up. And sometimes she thought giving it up had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Even now a part of her wanted to walk over and claim one of the Infernal Devices, take its dark power for herself again. To kill and kill, until all the world ran red with blood. She fought the feeling down, crushing it mercilessly, but was shocked at the effort it took.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” asked the Burning Man.
“Soulripper. Blackhowl. Belladonna’s Kiss
. With three Infernal Devices at your command, you could conquer the world.”

“Or destroy it,” said Hawk. “Those damned swords have their own desires. Let them sleep here forever.”

“I’ve heard the stories and the songs,” Lament said. “Could whatever’s inside those blades be the souls of saints, captive and corrupted?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said the Burning Man. “Whatever’s in them, The Engineer brought out of Reverie with him. A little bit of the dark world, free in the world of men. Sometimes you need more than one serpent.”

Hawk turned his back on the Infernal Devices, and after a painfully long moment, the others did the same. They all breathed a little more easily. Lament glared at the Burning Man.

“You said there was a wonder in here. A genuine wonder. Where is it?”

“On the altar,” said the Burning Man, reluctantly.

They all turned to look, and together they moved forward to stand before the altar constructed from human bones. In the middle of the altar lay a small wooden casket, six inches by four by two. Simple polished wood, with no obvious markings. Just two silver hinges for the narrow lid. It looked perfectly ordinary at first, but as they drew closer, drawn by some deep, primal attraction, they realized it was more than just a box. The casket had a presence to it, a feeling of enhanced, almost overwhelming existence, as though it was the only real thing in the room, or perhaps even the world. Just being in its presence was strangely comforting, the first time any of them had felt at ease since they’d entered the Inverted Cathedral. They felt welcome, like finally coming home after a long journey. And yet none of them wanted to pick it up or open it. None of them dared.

“What … said Lament, then had to stop and clear his throat, and start again. “What is this box? What’s inside it?”

“They know of this box even in Hell,” said the Burning Man. He was still back standing with the Infernal Devices, his gaze averted. For the first time he sounded uncertain. “The box is older than anything here. Christ made it when He worked as a carpenter with His earthly father, Joseph. It is said that within the casket is the original spark, from when God said
Let there be light
, and the universe began. The single spark of light that was the source of all creation, preserved forever in a small wooden box. Is that enough of a wonder for you?

“It’s said a man brought the box out of the Deadlands soon after their creation. Perhaps it was what the two sorcerers were fighting over. No one knows who the man was, though there are rumors. Some say it was the surviving sorcerer, much diminished. Some say he was called the Magus. No one knows for sure, even in the inferno. Someone gave the box to the first Forest King, who commanded this Cathedral be designed and built to honor it. Did the Magus give it to him? I don’t know. But he was right there when the King needed someone to undo the dreadful thing I’d done. Now he’s back at Forest Castle while matters threaten to come to a head at last, and the fate of the world shall be decided. Who is the Magus? What is he? I don’t know. All I can tell you is that he frightens me, and I have known the horrors of the pit.”

“Why are you keeping your distance?” asked Hawk. “Can’t you feel the peace there is here?”

“I can’t even look at it,” said the Burning Man bitterly. “Peace and hope are for the living.”

“Has anyone ever tried to see what’s inside the box?” asked Fisher.

“A lot of people have thought that, by all accounts,” said the Burning Man. “Why don’t you try?”

Fisher started to reach for the box, and then stopped abruptly. She couldn’t touch it. Deeper than knowledge, deeper than instinct, she knew that the box was a holy thing and she was not worthy. She said as much, and Hawk and Seneschal nodded. And then they all looked at Lament.

“I have given myself to God,” he said slowly. “If He wishes it, I shall take His casket out of this awful place.”

He reached out his hand, paused briefly, and then picked up the box with no trouble at all. He smiled, almost shyly, and held the casket up before his eyes, studying the workmanship at close range. “To touch something that Christ touched …” He smiled again, then put the box in one of his coat’s inner pockets. Everyone stirred unhappily as the feeling of peace and comfort diminished, and was gone.

The Seneschal sniffed loudly. “If you ask me, there’s far too much religion in this quest. Religion should keep its distance from real life. It’s far too distracting.”

“Come on,” said Fisher. “Your grandparents were the High Warlock and the Night Witch. You should be used to weird shit in your life.”

“Well, yes, but that’s just
magic
. Magic’s everywhere. This is
religion
. If I actually believed in any of this, I think I’d be getting very worried.”

They left the Ossuary behind them and continued the long climb up the gently curving wall of the Cathedral. They were all tired now, that bone-deep weariness that’s worse than pain. As they passed from floor to floor, and from level to level, increasingly slowly now they were finally nearing the top, they began to feel changes, in the Cathedral and in themselves. Pressures and influences came and went like tides. Distances varied, coming closer and backing away, all without moving. They all felt like crying or laughing, and didn’t know why. The base of the Cathedral seemed impossibly far away now, and they felt that if they should by some chance fall from the narrow stairway, they would drop and tumble forever, and never reach an end. They began to wonder if they would climb forever and never reach the spire. Or if they had always been climbing, and everything else had just been a dream along the way. Sometimes it seemed there were more than five people climbing the narrow steps, and sometimes less than five, and both perceptions seemed entirely normal until they were over.

As they finally drew near their destination, climbing doggedly on past pain and tiredness and everything else the Cathedral could throw at them, the Burning Man began to taunt them, saying that when the Transient Beings broke loose, this time the Wild Magic wouldn’t be limited to just a long night. This time not just the Demon Prince and his demons, and not just the Northern Kingdoms. When the Gateway opened, the Blue Moon would shine forever, and Reverie would swallow all of reality, making reality a part of itself. Wild Magic would finally run free, unchecked by such human concepts as logic and order, cause and effect. It would be Chaos Unleashed. Everything would be possible. Every dream they’d ever had, especially the bad ones. Hell on earth, eternally.

“Personally, I can’t wait,” said the Burning Man, and they all winced at the harsh sound of his laughter.

“You are testing my faith,” said Lament. “I won’t listen to you, liar.”

“What use is faith in a place like this?” asked the Burning Man. “In the end, you’re just a man, and the Transient Beings are so much more.”

“Why are you so happy about these monsters breaking loose?” Hawk asked him. “What’s in it for you?”

“When Reverie is all there is, all restraints will be broken, all the locks on all the doors shall shatter, and every demon in Hell will be liberated. The dead and the damned will walk the earth again, and I will be there with them, finally no longer burning.”

“You see,” said Lament. “You still know hope. You still have faith in something.”

The Burning Man stopped on the stairs and looked back at Lament, and his words came fast and viciously. “You say you gave yourself to God, Lament, but did you really do so of your own free will? Did you ever really have a choice in the matter? Or did God direct those demons toward your monastery? Did He send them there to kill your brethren, destroy their innocent lives and your simple happiness, just because He needed a new Walking Man? Would a good and loving God do a thing like that? Or is everything you are, and everything you’ve done, the result of a compact you made not with God, but the Enemy?”

Lament cried out, a terrible pain-wracked sound. The others looked back as Lament buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. None of them knew what to say to him. The Burning Man went back down to the step above Lament, and leaned down to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder.

“There, there. Let it go. It’s not so hard to give it all up. Better to have no faith at all than to believe in a lie. Throw away your tyrannous conscience; you won’t feel nearly so bad when it’s gone.”

The shoulder of Lament’s coat burst into flames as the Burning Man took his hand away. Lament slapped at the fire with his bare hand, beating out the flames, trying to use the pain to center himself again. It was only when the flames were out, and he looked at his scorched and blistered hand, that he realized the truth. He should have been invulnerable to the Burning Man’s touch, but that strength was based in his faith. As doubt undermined belief, he became human and vulnerable again. Lament took a deep breath and pulled the tatters of his faith around him. He had to believe. Or everything he’d done, all the people he’d killed, was nothing more than a monstrous lie. He tried to remember when his faith had been as much a part of him as the air he breathed and the blood in his veins, but that seemed impossibly long ago now. He should never have come here. Never allowed his pride to bring him to this terrible place.