Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (39 page)

While Podhana pondered the dilemma, rays from the morning sun crept into the courtyard and filled it with yellow light. Suddenly a shadow loomed over Podhana from above. Podhana jerked around, then shielded his eyes as he looked up into the face of the snow giant. Though Yama-Deva remained beautiful, there was anguish in his expression that had not been there just a while before.

“I was naïve to believe that I could return to a life of pacifism,” the snow giant grumbled. “I have caused too much harm and experienced too much horror. My brother was slain in an attempt to rescue me from doom. I shall see to it that his death was not in vain.”

Deva pushed past Podhana and approached the spire. With one stroke from his boulder-sized fist, the door blew apart.

WHEN DEVA HAD knelt in the depression Invictus’s blast of power had created, a sudden flash of memory burst into his awareness, during which the snow giant recalled his final moments with Utu. He remembered his brother taking him in his arms—and in response, the thick links of his chain going icy cold.

Had Invictus not intervened, Utu would have succeeded in wresting Deva from the spell of Mala, which in turn would have returned control of his body to its rightful owner. But the sorcerer’s crackling bolt, a thousand times more powerful than any feat of magic Deva had ever witnessed, crumpled Utu’s beautiful body, while at the same time reigniting Deva’s chain. In fact, if Utu had not taken the brunt of the blow, it might have cracked the bedrock beneath the fortress and started an earthquake.

Later on, it had taken the power of Bhayatupa to finally wrest the chain from Mala’s body. It also had cost him his left hand, a small price to pay for such a gift. Now Deva knelt in the rain amid his brother’s muddied ashes, crawling toward the three holes he himself had bored into the granite with the trident Vikubbati. The two outside holes remained open, but the middle of the three had been filled with molten stone that now was cooled and hardened. Deva recognized this as the work of Invictus. The sorcerer must have visited this same site sometime recently and decided to bury Utu’s ring of
Maōi
forever.

The tragedy struck the snow giant like an unexpected slap in the face. When Utu had dared to come down from the mountaintops, he had left behind the only way of life he had ever known. Deva had earned renown among the
Himamahaakaayos
for his wanderings. But even he had never voluntarily left the foothills of Okkanti, while Utu had come all the way to Nissaya in an attempt to rescue his brother from Invictus’s clutches. And how did Deva plan to reward his brother’s bravery? By crawling back to Okkanti and hiding in its peaks like a coward?

Years of misery and guilt had wrested Utu away from
Santapadam (the Path of Peace). But it took only a single moment to turn Deva off the path. He stood and stomped toward Nissaya’s interior.

“Where are you going?” Ukkutīka said.

Deva had forgotten the Asēkha still was with him. “I have changed my mind,” he growled. “Before I can return to Okkanti, there is work to be done.”

“And what might that be?”

Deva grunted. “Don’t fret, Asēkha. Your enemies remain my enemies.”

Now, with his remaining fist, Deva battered down the wooden door of the tower. To squeeze into the opening, he was forced to bend at the waist. When he stepped inside, the scent of evil assaulted his nostrils, but he did not fear it. Instead, he was flooded with a desire for vengeance. The creature known as Mala had enjoyed killing. The one known as Yama-Deva now experienced a similar urge. Down the stairs he went, his head bowed low, his broad shoulders rubbing against the walls on both sides. Far below, he heard growling, meant as a warning. But he was a snow giant, whose strength was limited only by his hesitation to wield it as a weapon.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Deva entered a storeroom with a ceiling high enough to enable him to straighten to his full height. Without warning, a fountain of crimson fire struck his face, driving him backward a single step. The next moment, molten liquid splashed on his chest and abdomen, burning like acid.

The resultant agony reminded Deva of Invictus’s chain, though the pain was not nearly as severe. How could these pathetic creatures hope to match what Invictus had already done to him? Deva laughed, and the sound caused the chamber to quiver. He heard the witch whimper and the Stone-Eater squeal. But he would not show mercy. He was Deva, but he also was Mala. And beyond both of those personas, he was an enraged brother seeking vengeance.

Deva strode into the room, kicking aside brooms, buckets, and boxes. The witch, now in her hideous state, tried to scurry past him. If she had chosen his left side, she might have made it, but she went to his right, and Deva reached down and snared her by the waist. When he lifted her, she swung her oaken staff at his head. He blocked it with the stump of his forearm. When the staff struck his flesh, the wood exploded.

With his remaining hand, Deva squeezed. Though the witch was engorged with demonic magic, she remained at her core a creature of flesh, bone, and blood. The flesh compressed, the bone pulverized, and blood spewed from her mouth. Deva dropped her crumpled corpse, which landed on the stone floor with a thud.

Next, the snow giant turned on the Stone-Eater, who cowered somewhere in the far reaches of the chamber. There were plenty of places to hide in the smoky room, especially for a creature several spans shorter than an ordinary human male. But Deva could sense the heat of his presence, and he clambered toward it.

As if convinced of his doom, the Stone-Eater emerged from a pile of debris, his arms held high in surrender.

“Wait
 . . .
wait
!” the creature said. “I am Glax, brother of Bunjako, who fell at Nissaya! I am and will always be your faithful servant. Please, Lord Mala. Do not slay me.”

“Is that who you think I am?”

“Lord?”

“When you look at me, you see Mala?”

“To be honest, Lord, I can’t see much of anything through the smoke. But who else could you be?”

For a moment Deva felt his rage begin to cool. If the Stone-Eater had remained quiet, he might have spared him. But Glax, sensing an opening, stepped much closer.

“Shall we leave the chamber together, Lord Mala? We will slay anyone who stands in our way.”

Deva smiled. “For the last time, my name is not Mala.”

Then he smashed his fist onto Glax’s skull.

When Deva emerged from the spire, Podhana approached, almost timidly.

“They are no longer,” Deva said, his voice angry and dangerous. “See for yourself.”

Though it now was well past dawn and the storm had passed, the stone streets of Nissaya still contained puddles and pools. The sun rose warm and inviting, but there was little else pleasant about the day. In fact, Deva found the heat threatening. He was in no mood for anything but the dark obsession of vengeance.

“I go now to Avici,” Deva said, asking for neither advice nor permission.

“And once there, what will you do?” Podhana said, leaning wearily against Obhasa.

“I will seek out Invictus—and end his existence.”

“I am not Invictus and do not have the might to thwart you,” Podhana said. “But are you so certain that you have the strength to slay the Sun God? Even Lord Torgon failed in the attempt.”

Deva snorted. “As I have so recently been reminded, certainty is a luxury shared by the sheltered and naïve. I am certain of nothing, other than my desire to punish the being who murdered Yama-Utu.”

“Allow us to join you,” Podhana said. “The Asēkhas are not weaklings. We will fight to the death at your side.”

“Join me if you will,” Deva said, “but I will not tarry on your behalf.”

And then he thundered through the city, sprang up an inner stairwell of Hakam, and leapt from bulwark to bulwark, much like Utu had done not so long ago. The snow giant landed in the gray grass a quarter mile from Balak and sprinted eastward, leaving Podhana and the Asēkhas far behind.

Without the chain to weigh him down, Deva ran almost as fast as a dragon flies, reaching the southwestern border of Java by noon. Before dusk he approached the forest’s northern range, and there a strange assemblage of beings greeted him: two hundred score Pabbajja rising from the turf like ghosts. Though Deva’s mission was urgent, he stopped to hear what they might say. One of the Pabbajja waddled forward, apparently their leader, though eerily similar in appearance to the rest.

“My name is Bruugash, and I am overlord of this cabal,” the strange little creature said.

Deva’s memories from his time as Mala included the slaughter of Bruugash’s people at Nissaya. Now Deva’s guilt was renewed, and he gasped when Bruugash added, “Yama-Utu once walked among us, and we melded our minds with his. Therefore, we know you, Yama-Deva
 . . .
through your brother’s memories.”

“My brother’s memories are from a time long past,” Deva said. “Pay them little heed.”

“Yama-Utu was obsessed with rescuing you. I see that he succeeded.”

“My brother is dead
 . . .
slain by Invictus,” Deva said. “Could I have saved him? Perhaps. Did he save me? That is a question I am not in a position to answer. But let it be known that I intend to avenge his murder. I go now to Avici to confront the Sun God.”

“We will come with you,” Bruugash said. “Some of us already have gone that way. The rest are through with cowering.”

“The Tugars also wanted to join me, and I told them the same thing I now tell you. Do as you please, but do not expect me to tarry.”

“You are
Himamahaakaayo
,” Bruugash said. “But even you cannot confront
Suriya
alone. Wait here for the Tugars to arrive, and we will march on Avici together.”

“Numbers mean little to Invictus. Above all others, I should know. The only thing that gives me a chance is my knowledge of his habits. My only hope is to catch him unawares. To do that, I must go alone. Feel free to follow, but do not do so if you value your safety.”

“No place is safe anymore,” Bruugash said.

But Deva did not hear, racing off again.

By midnight, he had left Java behind and now sprinted alone down the middle of the long stretch of the road called Iddhi-Pada that ran from the forest to Avici. During all this time, he saw no living beings, as if the foulness that arose from the tower named Uccheda had frightened everything off. Deva did not doubt it. If it weren’t for his rage over Utu’s murder, he too would be running in another direction. A part of him craved to veer east, rush across the Gray Plains, circumvent the Salt Sea, and return to the peaks of Okkanti. This was the truly wise course: the
Santapadam
(Path of Peace). But the part of him that controlled his decision-making would not allow it. He would face Invictus, even if he stood little chance of defeating him. And this time, if chance allowed, he would not show mercy.

As he ran, Deva replayed his years spent as Mala, cringing at the litany of atrocities he had committed. Then he remembered, all too clearly, a moment when his sanity temporarily had emerged from the chains of its imprisonment. Invictus had lain helplessly in his arms, sickened and weakened by the solar eclipse, and Deva had been presented with the opportunity to slay the sorcerer.

Then, mercy had stayed his hand.

Now, how he wished it had not. It staggered him to realize the suffering he would have prevented had he performed a simple act of murder.

This time, mercy would not prevail. Either Invictus would die. Or Deva would die. And if the sorcerer attempted to enslave him again, Deva hoped that he would be able to take his own life while he still was capable of doing so.

Suddenly, Deva stopped.

Then he collapsed to his knees in the middle of the road. And cried out.

The other snow giants were calling to him—with their minds. Though Okkanti was more than one hundred and twenty leagues from where he stood, Deva could hear their voices.

“Violence begets violence,” they chanted, over and over. “This is the law
 . . .
immutable.”

Deva couldn’t stand it. He fell onto his face on the hard road and sobbed. A being of peace—whose simple curiosity had led him into dangerous territory—had been subverted into a monster.

So many had suffered because of it.

Deva could hear the snow giants lecturing him: “Absolute power corrupts.”

And then Sister Tathagata joined in: “Without enlightenment, suffering is inevitable.”

“Leave me
alone
.”

The chanting continued.

But one familiar voice was silent. Bhari, wife of Utu, was not among them.