Blackhand (36 page)

“To what end?” Ana asked.

Blackhand took another look at Aul and brought his marked hand to her face, touching it for the last time. Was that love that stirred within him?

“I do not know,” he said. “But I am going to ask them.”

Chapter 41

He left Jura in search of the warrior-witches. Finding them was not hard. The Lanya could no longer hide from him. Now he saw their island clearly, floating apart from the world to the south, hidden in clouds and magic but bare to his sight. He headed toward them without regard to route or road.

In complete control of his power, Blackhand was unburdened by the god's fear and sorrow. The trembling being that had lived in Quintel’s breast was gone.  His mind could be everywhere at once without conflict. When he looked across the convex surface of the world, he saw a place at rest. The nations had joined under Aul and worked as one to better humanity. No wars raged. No more monsters roamed the earth. The gods were sequestered. Man had at last achieved peace. Sirian Ru had lied.

As he journeyed to meet the witches, he knew he was walking into a trap. The Lanya had killed Aul to bring him back into the world and they had succeeded. Their action had torn him away from the dream and set him tearing across the earth. For some reason, they wanted him angry. They wanted him to come to them enraged. In that they had also succeeded.

He wasn't sure what he would do when he confronted them. He thought perhaps he would simply destroy them. They had tried to capture him once and he believed that was their intent this time. But with the limitless strength that now boiled through his limbs, he knew they would fail. There was no force that could hold him.

Yet he was also aware they were the ones who created him. It was their guidance that let him merge with the god and gain control over his power. They had wanted him to become Blackhand. Quintel had been a man trying to control the might of a frightened god. Blackhand was a being without definition. They had given him this, perhaps to their own end. But why?

In the end, he was just another product of their plan and that fact angered him even more. The anger was not like the nausea that rose from the emotion when he was a man. Rather, it was a burning that singed him from all sides, almost a feeling outside of himself. Had the Lanya manufactured this as well?

As the Abanshi Mountains disappeared behind him, Blackhand let his thoughts turn inward. He wanted to know more about himself and so explored the remnant memories of the two beings who became him.  He saw the arc of Quintel’s life from the moment of his conception to the time he made the final fold in the Lanya’s spell. It was a narrative filled with pain, emptiness, loss. Moments of joy punctuated the story, but they were fleeting and rare. The memories of the god were simplistic in comparison. Here was a being unborn, an entity who simply realized it existed, begotten with all the knowledge it would ever need, never changing. Its memory was a featureless white shelf spanning forever. He saw the god’s complex and flawed relationship with humanity, its compulsive desire for their attention, driven by a need it never questioned or analyzed. In all, it was the lesser of the two beings who made him.

As he turned and studied the images of his dual past, he found few answers to the questions that pushed him forward. Why was he so angry? What compelled him to confront the Lanya? Why did Aul’s death mean so much? He felt millions of lives salted across the tabletop of the world. How could one outweigh the rest? The questions circled upon themselves.

He allowed his mind to wander back to Sirian Ru on the far side of the world. The god had continued his work while Blackhand slept. He saw Ru had been busy during their conversation. New monsters were growing in the dark factory, mammoth creations that made the god’s previous efforts trivial; monstrosities that had the power to kill him.  He would have to deal with them soon.

Blackhand felt Ru’s mind near. He was invisible to the god, yet somehow, Ru could still tell where he was. The god’s perception sniffed around him, never focused. The merger had occurred to make Ru blind to him, yet the deity still followed his steps.

Then Blackhand realized how. Removing the Agara blade from his rotting belt, he looked into its red heart. He could see Grom beneath the sword’s black surface.

“It is you the god’s eyes follow,” he said to the Agara within the blade.

Grom stirred. His previous wielder did not have the power to address him.

“True,” Grom answered. “My spirit cannot be hidden from him.”

Blackhand saw the Demonthane no longer viewed him as an enemy, but as something else.

“Your tone has become humble,” Blackhand said. “Where is your hatred for me? Has the taste of Thog blood converted you?”

“No,” Grom answered with a small laugh. “I care not which side triumphs. The man who bore me before was an abomination, a hybrid who should never have existed. You are something new to the world, a being without name, perhaps greater than the gods themselves. My defiance would mean nothing to you and thus nothing to me.”

Blackhand knew the Agara was right. What world was this where gods lied and demons spoke the truth?

He thought about discarding the sword, but its threat was still real. If Ru retrieved it, the god could build another body around its core. While such a creature would not be a danger to Blackhand, it would cause him another distraction, and he had already suffered many.

And besides, he might soon need the tool.

“You will stay with me until your use is fulfilled,” he said to the Agara. “I will decide what to do with you after that.”

He reset the blade in his belt and continued walking. Sirian Ru’s mind followed clumsily behind, busy with other tasks, turning an unfocused eye in his direction out of caution, but ignorant of his intent.

After many days, he arrived at the southern edge of the world. The Lanya were waiting for him. They had docked their island on the earth’s rim to allow him access. Their confidence rubbed him. He was not there in good will. He had come with force, looking for answers.

For whatever their elusive reason, killing Aul would be an act with accountability.

The floating city was made from glass, gold and silver. Great arching structures rose across the surface of the island following organic geometries that made them appear grown from seeds rather than constructed. Symmetry and order defined the buildings. Each resembled a flower adorned with sparkling jewels. They flowed into one another as if cast from a single mold. This was not a city built by hands, but a kingdom raised by magic.

Where the island met the earth, a troop of the silver clad women awaited him. He approached boldly and without concern. Their chains could no longer hold him. Their swords could not harm him. Closing the distance, Blackhand saw the warrior-witches were unarmed, their armor ceremonial.

As he grew nearer, he felt something bloom deep inside of him. A warmth spread throughout his body with every step he took toward the city. It began in his chest and moved into his throat and loins. There was no resisting the sensation and he felt himself encouraging its rise. By the time he reached the bridge that straddled the two parcels of land, the warmth had filled every cell of his body and his anger diminished. He knew he was being manipulated, that the Lanya had bewitched him. But he was powerless against the spell. He tried to resist but found himself moving forward.

The sentries parted to allow him entry. Their gold eyes never left him, but their expressions were soft and welcoming.

Entranced, Blackhand passed the sentries and stepped upon the golden streets of the city. The warmth dispelled all of his questions, and he recognized the feeling from the bits of memory left from Quintel and the god. The sensation was love. Despite his resistance, he  loved the Lanya.

Deeper he walked into the graceful metropolis. Lanya warriors lined the streets in silent greeting, kind smiles upon their lips, their souls open to him and unhidden. He looked into their light and felt the expanse of their lives. All were ancient. Most of them were as old as the world itself, or least the piece that had survived. He saw their magic and the mathematics that formed their philosophy. Beautiful and rich. He saw the fullness of each of them and they shared every moment of their lives with him, withholding nothing. He saw they loved him in return, without reserve, without judgment.

Soon he had forgotten why he came, but knew where he should go. Following the gently winding streets, he found the queen’s palace and entered its ornate portal. Inside, stepped rows of seated Lanya lined a long hall. All of the women were dressed for ceremony.

At the center of the room sat the Lanya queen, naked upon a great, jeweled throne. A couch covered in silken sheets rested before her. Her golden skin glistened and the vision of her bare flesh brought forth desire beyond his control. A great lust filled him and he had no wish to make it stop. Its fire made him feel whole. It gave him answers.

“Come,” invited the queen, standing.

He walked over to her and she took his blackened hand gently. Her touch filled him with completion. She walked him to the couch before the throne and stroked his dusty arms. Her eyes did not leave his as she removed his belt and tattered clothing. Soon they both stood naked before the hall of attending Lanya.

She lay back upon the couch, parting her legs and pulling him down upon her. She kissed his lips softy and he entered her.

The spiritual world rejoiced and the physical world trembled at their union. With every movement of his hips, the remaining universe celebrated and its gratitude consumed him.

“You have slept long, Blackhand,” she said to him through panting breath. “We were afraid you would forget her.”

The passion devoured him and he wanted nothing but to be inside her body. There had been no pleasure born before this in the world. She shared her ecstasy with small moans and each told him what to do to bring her more. He wanted her to feel as he did. Aflame. As his eyes locked with hers, they became one.

He emptied inside of her. Her legs stiffened and wrapped around his waist. She arched her back and a cry escaped her throat.

Drained, he remained within her. Fulfilled, but not wanting to let go.

She smiled and touched his face with bronze fingers.

“Never again,” she said. And with that, she reached between his legs and ripped the loins from his body.

All went dark.

When he awoke, he lay fully clothed at the edge of the world where he arrived. But the floating city was gone.

He stood and surveyed the boiling clouds for any sign of the Lanya. There was none. He searched the entire rim of the world, but it appeared they could indeed hide from him.

Had it all been a dream?

His black blade was tucked in his belt, but something else was missing. Now he knew it had not been an illusion, for he was leaving the city with less than he came with. The Lanya queen had taken from him the thing she wanted and disappeared in the mist. Again, he had followed their plan, fallen into their trap. With the enchantment expired, his anger had returned. Somehow, in some way, the Layna would pay for their acts. Blackhand turned and headed back to the Abanshi.

On the opposite side of the world, he sensed Sirian Ru working, never stopping. The god had something coming for him. Blackhand could see a heavy gray light glowing upon the horizon and it was a horror. Something enormous.

He and Ru were not finished. Although he did not have Quintel’s ingrained drive to kill the god, Blackhand knew he had a destiny to fulfill.

No, not a destiny.  A duty.  A promise to keep to a dying universe.

Walking north, he let his thoughts move to that piece of him the Lanya queen had taken. He could not let her have her way, so as he had done with his blackened hand, he replaced the missing part with another.

Blackhand headed to Jura because that was the one place he called home. Although he was not welcome there, he had nowhere else to go. He knew they would do nothing to stop his return and perhaps they could help him kill Ru and finally put an end to everything.

His pace north was not rushed. He enjoyed the beauty of Ru’s world. The god had made a titanic sacrifice to keep it whole. A tight weave of power bound together everything around him and gave it law. The god had amputated a part of himself to make the law real.  Quintel examined the binding strands that held everything together. Ru was wrong. When the god died, it was possible the world would continue without him and the universe would not end. But it did not matter to Blackhand. Ru was going to die. That was the extent of his promise.

The moment he entered the Abanshi city, Blackhand felt something happen on the other side of the world.  A gray flame ignited. Dark wings stretched wide. Ru had hatched his new monster, gigantic, covered in scales, a thing that could fly.  He sensed his arrival in Jura had triggered its release.

“Why are you here?” Ana said to him at the entrance to the castle. “Banished twice, you return again and again. You have no honor for our law. We do not want you here.”

“I have no other place to go,” he said. “I can return to the wall, but to what end? Even in control of my power, I cannot traverse the barrier. I hope the Abanshi can help me finish my task. I hope that you can help me slay Sirian Ru and put an end to all of this.”