It surprised him that they
appeared to be so content when their world was so dead and ugly.
Since they did not react to the sudden appearance of two gods, he
assumed that Lyriasharin had cloaked them in invisibility. She
could not hide the greenness that spread from her feet, however,
and the people soon spied it, crying out in delight at the miracle,
some falling to their knees to pray. The goddess gazed at the
shattered stones.
"This was created by Mar'kenin,
Master of Runes. A wise man, quiet and watchful, a trifle devious
too, as you discovered."
"The runes made no sense."
"You could not read them. He was
a master, you are little more than a boy, and trained by one who
knows even less of runes. Arkonen was not trained in rune magic. He
was only an uneducated peasant. Becoming a god through my
foolishness did not add to his knowledge, so all he knew of magic,
the demons taught him. Demons know rune magic, but they did not
teach him more than the basics, I would imagine. The runes were
coded. Only Mar'kenin knew how to read them."
"He set a good trap."
"He intended it to kill
you."
"I was injured."
The Lady smiled. "A great feat,
to even injure the Demon Lord. Being a god, albeit a young and
inexperienced one, even then you were far more powerful than any of
these mages ever were. Now you are more powerful still."
"I would have limped for the
rest of my life, if not for the healers."
"A tribute to his wisdom, if a
painful one for you. Mar'kenin was a frail man, sickly since
boyhood. A scholar. He became ill while studying to create the
trap, and soon after he had inscribed the runes, he succumbed to a
lung sickness. He did not seek the aid of a healer. He looked upon
this as the pinnacle of his power, the culmination of his life's
work." She walked away, turning to watch him restore the fifth
ward.
Bane summoned the power from his
bones and spread his hands, commanding the shadows that streamed
from his palms. Once again there was a rushing together of stone, a
grating rumble as the shattered standing stones reformed. In just a
few minutes, they stood tall and proud once more. Only the brown
grass where they had lain showed that they had ever been broken.
The people in the garden gaped at the reformed circle, forgetting
the blooming greenness of their vale in their amazement, some
walking closer to peer at the stones.
When he had restored the
pentagram to the stone, the Lady looked at the descending sun. "We
must hurry, I wish to leave before dusk. I do not enjoy your
nights."
She folded her hands.
They stood beside the lake on
the isle of Lume. The lowering sun burnished the still water with
ruddy light, turning it fiery gold. The crater loomed over them in
a jagged barrier, forbidding view of the sea beyond. The cottage
huddled on the black beach, looking forlorn, as if it missed its
owner. Bane grimaced, barely dry from his last wetting, and the
Lady smiled at his pained expression.
"Tellgar created this one. A
wonderful old man, Master of Links. Renowned for fence sitting. He
never took sides, always awaited the outcome. So he fought you, as
he promised he would, to make you use your power and hasten your
death, but at the same time he tried to warn you, to make you trust
Mirra and aid her in her task. He even appeared to her in a mirror
in his house to reassure her of your inability to kill her,
thinking to give her courage."
"She did not tell me."
"She was wise not to. Your
arrogance, at that time, would probably have made you try to prove
him wrong."
Bane nodded, frowning at the
memories. Then, mindful of the Lady's haste, he stripped off his
cloak and shirt. The goddess gazed at him with admiring eyes, and
he looked away, embarrassed.
Her delighted
laugh rang with bell-like purity. "Ah,
My Lord, do not be disconcerted. You will have to get
used to the admiration of women. You will receive a lot of it. If
not for your lovely mortal healer, I would be tempted to try to
entice you myself."
He shot her a
shocked glance, and she sobered. "Does that seem so odd,
My Lord? In you, I would have a true
equal, as I did not in Arkonen. Although you are still mortal, you
possess almost all of the characteristics of a god now, and, in
time, you will gain the rest."
He opened his mouth to ask a
question, but she held up a hand, indicating the sinking sun with a
flick of her eyes. "Hurry."
Bane turned and waded into the
lake, shattering the reflected sunset. In the cold depths, he
recreated the solid ward, setting the shadowy pentagram above it,
but forgoing the complex magic necessary for a link, since it was
strong enough by itself. When he emerged, the sky had turned from
gold to red and, as soon as he dressed, the goddess clasped her
hands again.
The cold mountain wind cut
through his wet trousers, chilling him. The cave gaped in the rock,
rotted timbers and the scattered remnants of pots and tools
testifying to the fact that it had once been someone's home.
The Lady said, "Ronar, not a
master, but a dear hermit. A shy and silent recluse. A powerful
mage, but a jack of all trades, as was his wont. He survived his
ward and lived for another two hundred years, guarding it, but
knowing that he would not live to meet you."
"It was easily broken. A simple
trap."
"He was a simple man, and a bit
of a sceptic. He felt that he had done enough."
Bane entered the cave, taking
only a few minutes to restore the ward. The sky's red hue deepened
and dimmed as the sun sank behind the mountains, casting long
shadows that stretched dark fingers down from the peaks. As soon as
he came out, the Lady folded her hands.
They stood in the church's
wood-panelled room. Muffled chanting came from the worshippers in
the chapel. Bane stared down at the shattered mosaic, remembering
this, the first ward. Mirra huddled against the wall, his army
slaughtering the townsfolk, their screams echoing through the
streets. At least people had returned to the town, or perhaps some
had survived his invasion, hidden in cellars and lofts.
The Lady stood close by in the
cramped room, the faint scent of flowers clinging to her. "This was
Trasson's ward. He was not a master, but a religious man, and
conceited. He was the least of the mages, which was why I gave him
the first ward, the last to be created. He did not expend much
power in its creation, but his arrogance in not explaining to the
people why he marched into their church and described an arcane and
evil symbol on their floor enraged them, and they stoned him to
death when he was finished. They could not be rid of the ward, so
they sealed it off in this room, and have always believed it to be
evil."
"I am surprised they did not
tear down the church."
"This is not a rich town. They
could not afford such an expensive gesture. It would not have done
them much good, since the ward was indestructible until you came
along. Unfortunately, there were only five master magicians in the
world at that time, so two of the wards were set by lesser mages,
hardly a challenge for you. I am sure you noticed that there was no
trap in this ward, which is because Trasson did not survive its
creation.
"By setting it
in a church, he hoped to protect himself from the
demon hounds that were sent to stop
the mages. Even with six in place, they still rose. It did not
work, since there is no white fire here, and, therefore, no
hallowed ground. But the priests were forced to banish the Hounds
that came to the church, thereby protecting him. Many perished,
which added to the town's ire, since they blamed Trasson, quite
rightly, for luring the demon hounds here. Despite its weakness, it
was this, Trasson's ward, that finally bound the demon beasts
below."
Bane released a trickle of power
from his fingers, causing the smashed tiles to scuttle back to
their places and weld themselves together again. Then he drew a
black pentagram in the air above the solid ward.
The Lady
regarded him with soft eyes the colour of sun-gilded spring shoots.
"And now,
My Lord, I would
like you to accompany me to Eternity, to rest, and so we may talk
some more. I also have a gift for you."
He raised his brows. "I had not
thought it possible for me to enter your realm."
"All things are possible for you
now, although without my invitation, you would be forced to enter
it through the World Gate, and you know what that would
entail."
"I would not attempt it."
"I know. That is because you are
a dark god with a good heart, something I have never heard of
before. Light gods tend to guard their realms jealously, since they
are hard to create and offer us safety from those who would harm
us. But I trust you, and, after you have travelled there with me,
you will be able to do so at will."
Bane inclined his head, and she
clasped her hands. They reappeared in a garden of glowing
whiteness. Its brilliance hurt his eyes, forcing him to squint
until the discomfort eased. A path wound between banks of
cloud-like formations covered with twinkling stars. Tree-like
growths with silvery trunks spread filigree branches covered with
misty leaves that shimmered and waved in a cool breeze. The
mother-of-pearl sky shone with ever-changing rainbow hues, and tiny
winged wraiths flitted across it. He looked down at the blue flames
that licked at his feet, finding that a nimbus of blue fire also
edged his invisible aura of dark power.
The Lady led him along the path,
the land vanishing into misty whiteness all around them. They came
to a delicately carved gazebo made from ivory or alabaster, in
which a cloud-like couch floated. Lyriasharin settled upon it and
waved her hand, causing another to appear beside her, which she
indicated with a smile.
"Sit, let us talk."
Bane lowered himself onto the
fluffy couch, which looked too flimsy to support him. Lyriasharin
gestured, and two golden goblets appeared in her hands, filled with
pearly fluid. She offered him one, and he sipped the drink, which
had a fascinating taste that changed each time he drank it.
The Lady smiled at his rapt
expression. "This is ambrosia, the food of the gods. You will be
able to create your own soon. Although you were born a god,
attaining your power has taken your entire life, and you are still
not full-fledged.
"Being a god is relatively easy,
unless we are threatened by our own kind, our opposite, of course.
I have the power of life and creation, and the ability to sustain
three realms. I am unable to destroy or kill innocents, however.
That is the power of a dark god, such as you. Dark gods sometimes
enslave my kind and steal their domains, since they cannot create
their own. But light gods are not easily enslaved.
"Sometimes we find a mate and
conceive offspring, but this is rare. Usually we are solitary
creatures who surround ourselves with our creations, or, in the
case of dark gods, elementals and the corrupted children of light
gods."
Bane gazed down at the pearly
liquid in the golden cup. "How can a union between a god and a
mortal work?"
"There is nothing to prevent it,
save for the differences between them, but offspring cannot be
conceived unless the god is mortal, as you are, or the mortal is
raised to godhood, as Arkonen was. If you choose to be with Mirra,
and keep the dark power, your children will be demigods, with some
of your powers. If you relinquish the dark power, they will be
extraordinary mortals."
"What else do I need to know
about being a god?"
She smiled and sipped her
ambrosia. "Not much. You have almost reached the stage where you
will start to hear prayers, which can be distracting."
"I doubt anyone will pray to
me."
"You will be surprised. Black
mages will pray to you for power. The people of the Old Kingdom
will worship you and praise your name. Others may call upon you
when they wish to curse their enemies or ask for your aid in their
petty wars."
"I see."
She tilted her head. "You seem
displeased."
"It sounds tedious."
"You do not have to answer their
prayers. Generally, dark gods do not, except when they wish to
entertain themselves by getting involved in a war."
Bane gazed at her. "Why is Mirra
only a mortal? Would it not have been better for her to be a
goddess?"
"No. Had she been born a mortal
goddess, you would have seen her as a threat, and driven her away,
since you could not kill her. If I had been able to make her a true
goddess, you would have fought with her, and either enslaved her or
driven her away."
"You cannot make her a
goddess?"
She shook her
head. "I am a relatively weak goddess,
My Lord. I gave half my power to raise up Arkonen,
then forfeited it when I cast him down the first time. Even before
that, I was not powerful. My father is a powerful god, but the only
way I can create a true god now is to give birth to
him."
"Could I make her a
goddess?"
She looked
away, her expression pained. "Yes,
My Lord. You could make her a dark goddess, steeped in
evil, her soul corrupted by it. Her mortal body would wither and
die, and she would become like Arkonen, with a droge body or a dark
form."
"Why could she not keep her
mortal body?"
"Because she was not born a
goddess. Her body cannot adjust to the changes now. I am surprised
that you would even consider it."
He shrugged. "I am just curious.
Can a god change their power? Can a dark god become light?"