Blackhand (14 page)

Chapter 15

The world spread before Quintel like a sculpture of glass, delicate and translucent. At times, his senses spilled from their fleshy bonds and moved across the landscape like a cloud, seeing everything as if it were made of light. While his body continued its course southward, his detached consciousness roamed the landscape. He never lost awareness of his physical form, but it was only a fraction of his whole. He had many eyes now.

Of all the things he beheld, one saturated the entire world: The spirit of Sirian Ru.

The god’s presence filled the air, the earth, the invisible forces that created light. It was everywhere, permeating everything, holding matter together. But it had no mind. Ru’s influence maintained the world without consciousness, just as a human heart beat without need of command. Quintel sensed the god had amputated a part of himself to keep the world intact. The part of Ru that kept everything alive was detached from the being who lived in the twisted castle.

For Quintel, this was valuable information. It confirmed what the Abanshi and Vaerians already believed. Ru could be killed and the world would continue.

They traveled several days and nights, retracing their steps through the desert. Quintel's stride never faltered. Siyer, however, struggled. He had insisted on walking and trailed a good distance behind, ragged and limping.

Quintel sensed Siyer's weariness was not only physical. The focus of his life had been to allow the god access to the world. With the task completed, he knew Siyer was lost.

After two days, Siyer collapsed headlong into a salt dune, his body worn beyond its limits. He could not cross the desert again, regardless of his pride. Quintel stopped to help him.

“Continue without me,” Siyer said, his voice hoarse and burnt. Quintel paid no heed to the old man’s words and scooped him up like a bundle of dry kindling. He had become lost in the storm of new sensations and had overlooked Siyer’s condition. How could he see so much yet be so blind?

“Forgive me, Siyer, but I cannot follow your guidance,” Quintel said. “We must change our direction. You need water and food and that is the quickest route to their source.”

“You should not burden yourself with me... but your arms do seem strong,” Siyer said.

“Do not fear, old friend,” Quintel said. “You will not die before—”

A great weight pulled at Quintel from the distance. Darkness spread across the sky.

“What is it?” Siyer asked.

Quintel felt the god's manipulations on the other side of the world. He sensed a hole form in reality and knew that Sirian Ru had opened a gate to another dimension.

“The god opens a door,” he said, looking to the distance. “He sends for help.”

Siyer looked up at the darkened sky. “He can see us.”

Quintel saw the fear flit through Siyer's soul, but said nothing. He turned and continued with his human cargo. His enhanced perceptions did not tell him what help the god sought by opening the portal, but he knew it was bad.

“Our time grows short,” Quintel said, breaking into a run without notice of the extra weight. “We must warn our people.”

“We will,” Siyer said. “But now, I rest.” With that, he surrendered to the weeks of exertion and drifted into a restless coma.

Even with Siyer in his arms, Quintel was hardly aware of the trek, for as his legs cut away the distance, his mind explored the terrain before him. He looked across the curved vista of the world as if seeing it from a great height and discovered a narrow river to the west, its banks green with life.

When Quintel reached the river, Siyer was hours from death, a sack of flesh with only a lingering scent of spirit.

Quintel sat Siyer upon the bank and dribbled a handful of water down his throat. He tore a slip of cloth from his sleeve, soaked it, and placed it across the Vaerian's forehead. He repeated the process many times.

Later, he pulverized watercress and wild carrots and fed Siyer dollops of the mixture for the rest of the day. The process was slow.

Day became night. Although his body accepted the nourishment, Siyer showed no sign of awareness. Quintel tended to him into the next morning, when, finally, he sensed Siyer's spirit returning. A faint spark glowed within the ashes of his worn out body. His lips parted and a small moan escaped into the air. Quintel stoked the pale flame with droplets of water.

“Awaken, Siyer, our journey is not finished,” he said. At last, the old man's eyes opened.

“I live?” Siyer's voice cracked.

“Do not waste your energy talking. Heal yourself. The brunt of our task still lies before us.”

Siyer closed his eyes. Quintel saw complex strands of light reach out from the center of Siyer’s body and siphon energy from Ru’s amputated spirit, the energy that kept the world intact. No burst of power marked the effort. Just a strained return to wholeness. Siyer’s internal wounds faded.

Over the next few days, Quintel watched the horizon, taking his eyes away only to tend to Siyer. He could see Ru's approaching army, but it did not command his attention. His eyes were on the god. He could sense Ru's strange movements on the other side of the world. Ripples in the spiritual fabric of the universe came to him like the sounds of distant workmen; mysterious, indiscernible echoes of construction that never ceased.

Chapter 16

Propped against a tree stump, Siyer sipped water from a broad green leaf. He was not yet able to stand.

“So what do we do now?” he asked, his voice strong again.

Quintel turned from his station. He seemed hardly aware of Siyer's presence.

“We split paths,” Quintel said. He could sense the horde of the cold-hearted Thogs cresting the horizon. He knew the lands of the west slept, unaware their enemies gathered against them. For the short term, his mission would be one of warning. “You will travel to Vaer and alert your people of the god's threat. Have them prepare their armies.”

“And what will you do?” Siyer asked.

“I will warn the Abanshi and lead them against the Thogs.”

Siyer looked up at Quintel, his head canted.

“Haven't you forgotten something?” he said. “You were banished from the Abanshi six years ago. They are not likely to welcome your return. They are more apt to kill you on sight.”

Quintel had not forgotten.

“They may not welcome me but they will listen,” he said. “And I believe I can bring them a token that will redeem my previous offense.”

Siyer scooted higher against the tree stump. “What token?”

Quintel looked upon Siyer and saw worry braiding a yellow knot in his breast.

“Huk's head.”

Siyer showed no outward reaction, but Quintel saw argument tint the yellow knot red.

“Are you sure?” Siyer asked.

“Do not be afraid, Siyer. I know what I am doing. The plan may seem suicidal, but in truth, I will be in no danger.”

“But returning to Huk's fortress is...”

“…Exactly what I must do to strike a blow against the god. Without Huk, the vanguard of Ru's armies will be crippled. I sense the warlord is no longer addicted to the serum. He grows physically and mentally stronger at the moment we need him weakened. If we do not disrupt the progress of Ru's strategy, the Thog armies will crush the western kingdoms.”

“Your new eyes tell you all this?”

Quintel nodded. “They do.” 

He saw Siyer was not satisfied.

“I would prefer following a more fluid strategy,” Siyer said. “Your powers are new and untested. Have you forgotten all that the game has taught you?”

“The game was tool to prepare my mind for the joining. Does a man carry his boat once he has arrived on shore? Now that I have merged with the god, I have left the tool behind.”

“I do not know what you have become Quintel, but when I look at you, I do not see the man I knew. Nor do I see the god I served for a lifetime. You are both, yet neither. What am I supposed do? I have already given my life to this cause. I must follow it to the end.”

“When you are ready to travel, we will part,” Quintel said. “You will go west. I will head south to Huk's fortress.”

Chapter 17

By the following day, Siyer’s strength returned and his spirit grew strong, but doubt still laced his soul. Quintel wanted to offer him words of comfort.

“Don't worry, Siyer,” Quintel said. “All will go as planned.”

He saw Siyer was still not convinced, merely compliant. “As you say, Quintel.”

With those words they parted. Siyer took a straight path to the west. Quintel headed south.

Quintel covered many miles in only a few hours. He had no supplies or weapons to burden him, and his new strength gave him the speed of a bolting deer. It had taken him weeks to reach the Desert of Salt from Huk’s fortress, but he would need only a few days to make the return journey.

As he charged across the countryside, his mind brushed against something unusual many miles away. A human. Quintel first saw the being as a flicker on the horizon. Adjusting his attention, the flicker became a complex sculpture of blooming light.

He saw a young Forestland woman gathering water from a well. A halo of golden light encircled her head and braided down her neck where it joined a bejeweled vest of red and blue luminescence that were her heart, lungs and other organs. Her lifelight was nothing like Siyer’s. Where his light had been sharp and defined, hers was rounded and soft.

As his mind lingered on the woman, her very thoughts took shape before him. He sensed her feelings.

She was hungry and slightly ill… An injury to her foot distracted her from her task… And something tugged at the pit of her stomach… Something cold, horrifying.

Quintel stopped running and fixed upon the woman, peeling back her essence layer by layer, trying to find the source of her terror. No matter how deep he reached, her thoughts never revealed themselves to him completely. He saw impressions, feelings, flitting images. And he saw the thing she feared. She had seen one of the Thogs.

He continued his journey south.

As he moved deeper into the Forestlands, he thought about Yuul, the child-god who created him. No, not created. The god had not made him. It had left him something. A part of itself.  A part that would surely be missed. What had gone wrong? Why had the god panicked during their encounter? He relived the exchange in his memory. He tried to see it with his new eyes, but they did not help him.

He turned his attention inward, to the part of him that was not flesh. His god half. Perhaps he would find something there if he looked close enough. But all he saw was light. Blinding blue-white light. Not a memory or feeling to be found. Just power.

Another night. Another day. Never stopping.

On the third evening, he encountered a Thog column moving across a valley road. The creatures were identical to the one he had seen at Huk’s banquet. Broad and heavy with muscle, they carried crudely crafted bows with arrows as long as spears. Iron axes hung from their belts.

At the center of every Thog — in the same place a man’s heart resided — a cold, dark fire burned.

He could see through them, and unlike the two humans he had studied, with their rich spectrums of experience, the Thogs cast a uniformly gray light. No variation could be found in their gloomy luminescence. Each light was ashen and artificial.

He paced the company for half a day, but learned nothing from them. As far as he could tell, they had no leader and didn’t seem to communicate. Rather than traveling together, they were simply headed in the same direction. Each had been set forth with a single goal.

Quintel was not ready to test his powers in combat, so he kept to places where they could not see him. Often, he took to the treetops and silently leaped from tree to tree, leaving no tracks behind him.

He encountered many more military units, both human and Thog.  He listened to the human cadres closely, overhearing the banter between soldiers, the plots between officers, and the speculations of traveling civilians. He not only heard what they said, but saw their souls. The chattering warriors shared great confidence. They were ready for war, sure of victory. Huk's new creatures gave them courage.

After a few days, he arrived at his destination and perched himself in the crook of an oak tree outside Huk's fortress. While he waited for nightfall, his mind wandered the fortress looking for any threat, any hidden magic that might be protecting the warlord. There was none. Although a hundred armed warriors clanked through the stone corridors, no threat to him existed.

His awareness crawled through the small castle until he found Huk striding through the courtyard with a group of generals trailing behind him. Quintel saw he was strong and healed.

He smiled. So, Siyer’s herbs had finally cured the warlord.

As the night awoke, and lamplight flickered in the fortress windows, Quintel climbed down from the tree. Guards paced the ramparts along the wall, but they never saw him. He moved across the open ground like a phantom, flitting from shadow to shadow, always standing where the guards could not see.