They told us that most of the time, Terzian refused to eat, and he could not sleep. He was wary of drinking the water they brought him, in case it was drugged. Pellaz had spoken to him alone. "For your son's sake, Terzian, let the evil go!" he had pleaded.
My father had simply replied, "I am not evil. I merely did what I had to do."
In the end, they realized that Terzian really would prefer to die than turn to the Gelaming. He did not want their absolution. They could not release him from whatever private hell he had put himself in. He wanted to die; nothing else. He could see no other future for himself. And so, they had taken him from the place where they had kept him for so long and put him into a suite of rooms in the palace Phaonica. They had given him attendants to see to his needs (to guard him) and eventually they had
left him alone. It was then that Thiede had said, "Terzian is finished. It does not matter what he's doing to himself." And it didn't.There was no moment of silence to let these words settle on the room. Cobweb had cried immediately Ashmael finished speaking, "And what now? What now, for God's sake?"
Ashmael raised his hands. "Be still, Tiahaar," he said. "Terzian will be brought back to you now."
"What will be brought back to us?" I asked sharply.
Ashmael glanced at me quickly and then at Cobweb. "Terzian. Your father."
"Terzian is finished. You said that. What will be brought back to us, Ashmael?"
The room was full of darkness. I felt cold. Nobody spoke. Ashmael lowered his eyes. Arahal had been staring at his hands for some minutes. "It is only right that your father should return to his family," he murmured, with difficulty. He braved looking me in the eye. "It is only right. He is dying, Swift."
They left us alone. I took Cobweb in my arms and we watched the last of the light fade from the sky outside. Neither of us wept. When it was nearly completely dark, Cobweb said, "I did not know about Gahrazel." His voice was clear, thoughtful.
"Leef told me," I replied huskily. I could not tell him about the forest. Perhaps one day, but not yet.
"It changes things, knowing that, doesn't it?" (Knowing what, Cobweb? How much do you know?) "It did for me when I found out," I said. "It did for a time ..." Cobweb stood up and walked to the window. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to cope with this, Swift. I'm not sure if I want to. In a way, I've got used to the idea of Terzian being gone. I think I want to remember him the way he was. I think I'm afraid of what they'll bring back to us." "We'll be together. I'll help you." "You're going north."
"Then I'll tell Ashmael not to do anything about this until I return." "If 'you return." He clasped his arms and sighed. "You're telling me I should trust these people, Swift? You're telling me I have to let them live in my house after what they ..." He could not finish. "You heard what they were trying to do."
"Swift! That doesn't make it right. . . does it?"
"I don't know. I don't know what I think, except that there are some things about Terzian, Cobweb, that you don't know about."
He turned on me, snarling, "Don't you dare to think that! Don't ever think you know more than me! I know what you're implying, I know all about that! I will never speak of those things, Swift, but just because of that, don't think I don't know about them!"
"Yet you loved him!"
"You think that's incredible?"
"Yes. You knew what he was, yet you loved him." I shook my head in disbelief.
"You don't know what he was, Swift." He stared out into the evening and there was utter, calm silence for a moment. I still did not think Cobweb knew everything.
"1 can't believe that Pellaz did that," he said, shaking his head. "I was wrong about so many things, wasn't I? Right from the beginning. Pell and Cal. The light and the dark. . . . Which is which? Aren't they both a little of each? The Gelaming have destroyed your father, Swift; think about that. Think hard. All that strength. . . . Now they will not let us keep even our memory of him intact. They will bring a shattered husk back to us that might not even look like Terzian anymore. Even at the end, they will not let him keep his dignity. They could end it for him! They could! So easily. Painlessly, kindly. But no! They have to ... they have to . . ."
He put his arm against the window and leaned his forehead on it. I had never heard him weep like that, loud, animal sobbing. His whole body shook. He had never wept like that. I went to him. Now we were the same height. I held him and kissed him, but I could not weep with him.
"Gelaming do not like to kill," I said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Fall
Deviation is the hidden dawn of daunt. Phalanxes huddle in the kismet of deceit, Profligate cortege of freedom Mustered by the sanguinary evil.
The sky is darker in the north; leprous clouds boil across it. When rain falls there, it smells bad, or maybe it is the wet earth that is noxious. Nothing is ever quite as you imagine it. Usually it is either worse or better. Ponclast's domain was different to the mental picture I'd formed when listening to Gahrazel, but the horror, the darkness, the sheer barbarity were utterly as I'd visualized them.
We broke through from the other-lanes onto a scorched plain. Nothing grew there; its surface was pitted and gouged as if by a great battle. In the distance the great black walls of Ponclast's citadel reared toward a turbulent sky. Fulminir, a gaunt and skeletal shadow, whose poison seemed to spread outwards, tainting the land. Above us, the clouds growled and crackled with subdued lightning. Above Fulminir, the sky was dark red. We rode to within a mile of its walls and from there we could see the raw light of naked flame upon the battlements and dark shapes that might have been vigilant hara. Ashmael was leading us. He pulled his sparkling horse (so out of place in that land) to a halt and raised his hand. The only noise behind him was the jangle of bits against teeth and metal, the occasional snort. No-one in our company felt like speaking. We numbered maybe three hundred. Sighting Fulminir, many of us realized how few that was Maybe thousands of fit, vengeful Varrs waited in the darkness and we still had no way of gauging Ponclast's strength. A biting wind plucked at our clothes, our hair, the horses' manes. Beside me, Seel sat tall in his saddle and stared bitterly before him. I wanted to touch him, but it would not have seemed right in that place.
"This is far enough," Ashmael called, and the wind carried his voice away from us.
Arahal, just in front of me, backed his horse until we were level. "We don't want to have to stay here longer than is absolutely necessary," he said.
"That goes without saying," I answered. "But how long do you think this will take? Will it be a case of unleashing the power of the crystal and being back in Galhea in time for dinner, or are we going to be here for days?"
Arahal shrugged and gave me a hard look. My sarcasm wasn't lost on him. "Ponclast must know we are here. He will have felt us approach. It is a good sign in itself that there was no welcoming committee. He's still not sure of us. We could have been finished off easily coming out of the other-lanes."
"We must prepare now!" Ashmael shouted. "We are losing time." He gave the order for certain members of the company to dismount. We needed protection; they were to cast a web of power around us, which would hopefully repel any form of minor assault launched from the citadel.
I heard Seel sigh. "Look, Swift, look around you," he said with sadness.
"Mmm, grim, isn't it?"
"This was once a great city. All this black, barren soil. I can remember great buildings being here and thousands of people, and cars and televisions and cinemas and bars and ... oh, what's the point of even remembering. It might as well never have happened."
"Seel, how old are you?"
He laughed. "I was dreading when you were going to ask that! In old time, old enough to be your father, now—" he shrugged carelessly—"ageless enough to be your lover."
I raised one eyebrow, a trick inherited from my father. It is a gesture which can put a pleasing emphasis upon words. "Heresy!" I said.
"You have corrupted me, it seems."
"Do I ever seem too young to you, too childish?"
"God! What a place to have this conversation!"
"Do I, Seel?"
"Often!" He smiled and reached over to touch me. "Oh, it's not naivety; just exuberance! I can be a sallow, bitter creature if I get too wrapped up in the past. I'm still eighteen, my hair's dyed red, I smoke too much . . ."
"You never smoke!"
"That's now. Where do you want me? Now or then?"
"Shut up; you're mad!"
"No, this is madness." He indicated the land around us with a sweep of his arm. Cities once. Now a crater of despair. Hell had been there.
I wondered whether Ponclast was standing on the walls of his citadel, laughing at us. Three hundred Gelaming. Was he just waiting to see what we'd do before he unleashed his hordes? Did he know about the crystal? The air smelled cleaner once the shell of strength had been constructed mound us. Hara began to construct a tall tripod of black, gleamless metal. At its summit was a shallow dish waiting to receive the crystal. I watched Arahal take the simple wooden box out of his jacket. It was lined with velvet. Inside it, reposing in dull, dark silk, lay our only hope. I could see it shining through the wrapping, emerald green, mazarine blue; holy fire. Thin vapors coiled out of it like ice in warm air. Arahal would not touch it with his bare hands. He had put on leather gloves.
We spoke the prayers, intoned the invocations for spirits of protection. The crystal was raised into place and all our faces shone in the glow of its clear, fluctuating light. Ashmael clasped two legs of the tripod in his hands and gazed upwards. His eyes flared green like an animal's eyes. He spoke to the crystal, softly, encouraging. Its flickers ceased for an instant; it listened to him. Ashmael's voice was crooning. He used few words, but his meaning was clear. Within the glowing points, an entity writhed, a living form of the essence of two bodies. Conceived in desire and focused by will. "Turn your eyes to the walls, beloved. They are weak. They are weak but they obstruct you. What is within them shall burn you if you do not burn it first. It offends you and it hurts you. Reach out and remove it. Make it disappear. Breach the walls and fill the space within. Make them feel your power, beloved. Enter their minds and make them sleep. Take the fire from them and all will be quiet. The badness that hurts you will die away. But first, you must breach the walls . . ."
Slow, lazy beams the color of spring leaves and dawn skies rotated leisurely in the air above us. Powdery azure smoke fell to the ground. The crystal began to sing. At
first, a careless, humming sound. The beams moved slightly faster, reaching further. We joined in its song and it seemed a thousand thousand voices rose in response. I shielded my eyes; the brightness was so intense.
"Go to the citadel!" Ashmael ordered. The power needed little encouragement now. It was acting independently of him, mindless, but eager to instil its song into any mind it encountered. We were immune. We knew the song already. For a moment, the light bunched and reared into a great, spinning column, black dust rising from the earth, forming streaks within it, and then, with a great, shattering howl, the power surged toward the citadel, rolling like waves, cataracting, bounding, half-seen creatures ridingits crests. There were shapes like vast wings, long, lidless eyes and lithe, clawed fingers within it. A peal like laughter or water.
It hit the black stone with a sound like the earth splitting and a massive crack snaked sedately through the walls. I was expecting foul ichor, black blood, to come pouring out of the breach, but nothing like that happened. As the greeny-blue light of our power crawled over the walls of Fulminir, something rose up beyond it. Something sickly yellow, high into the sky. It leaned toward the light; a column of leprous, evil smoke. When it touched the spirit of the crystal, a terrible sound brought the taste of blood to our mouths.
Ashmael shouted something. His eyes were wild. Everyone was tense, staring upwards, toward Fulminir. Seel was at my side, quite calm. He said, "Ashmael will now panic." I could only stare at him in horror. In the sky above Fulminir, the light, the child of our crystal, and the oily, black smoke demon that was the child of Ponclast's sorcery were entwined in combat. Horrible, deafening scrapings and squealings ripped the air.
"It will beat us," I said. "It will beat us." I felt Seel's hand take my own. "Never. Come with me."
We stood beneath the tripod, looking up. The beam was weakening. We could see that. I was trembling. Seel put his hands on my arms and turned me to face him. His eyes were the eyes of a stranger. His hair was moving, as I had always expected it could, of its own volition.
"That is another of our children," he said, jerking his head upwards. "The child of Grissecon."
I was numb. "Don't say that... it is hurting. Oh, Seel, I can feel it!" I could. It was like being ripped apart. Seel made that happen. He made us be in tune with it. Hysteria raised my voice to a squeal. Seel shook me firmly.
"Shut up! Listen to me. We have the power; only us. Do as I say! Do you hear me?" He looked incredibly fierce; a Seel unknown to me. I nodded. "Then be naked, Swift."
"What?"
"Do it, Swift!" There was no way I could argue with him. He scared me. He was different. This was a Seel who could kill. Ashmael, wide-eyed, stared at us maniacally through the legs of the tripod. "Seel!" he shouted. "Seel! Seel!"
"It's alright." That was all he said, all he had to say. Ashmael dropped his head. My fingers fumbled with fastenings to my clothes. "Help him!" Seel ordered and hands were upon me, ripping, not bothering with fastenings. I had heard of pelki and I thought it must feel something like that. To lose control of your body. To have other people move it for you. I resisted the urge to struggle. Shivering, I was on my knees in the black earth, naked and defenseless, three hundred pairs of eyes upon me and God knows how many more beyond the walls.
Seel dragged me to him and we sat on the ground beside the tripod. His hair was across his face; I did not know him. "Trust me, Swift!" My leg was twisted beneath me. I could not move. Seel straightened it out.
"This is the most vital Grissecon either of us will ever have to perform," he said. "Do as I say. It will not be much. But concentrate!"
We sat facing each other. He arranged my limbs and pulled me onto his lap. I was not prepared; it hurt horribly. Flashes of red appeared in the light around us. Seel held me against him and I could feel his heart beating and buried my face in his hair so I could not see them watching us. But I could hear the crooning. Seel threw back his head and screamed out in a language unfamiliar to me. It was like gibberish, but I understood the meaning. He called to the crystal, ordered it to feed from us, let our strength combine with its own. Seel's fingers pressed the base of my spine and he moved within me, seeking the special places so that desire flamed inside me; I had no control over it. I was mindless, like the power, just body, just essence. The pain made it like perversion. I was making noises and when I heard them, it was as if they came from somewhere else. I opened my eyes and saw a dozen greenish fingers of light tentatively reaching down toward us from the crystal. Seel bit my ear and I winced. "Concentrate! Power!" he cried. "Power! Power!" I threw back my head, my eyes snapped open again and the radiance burned into me. I howled and felt the core of heat build up within me. I dragged it out of myself. I was rising. I was becoming stronger and stronger. Bigger; rising. We were so tall, we filled the sky. Like Gods, like angels; pure fire, nothing else. The moment came.
Deep within me, the burning serpent bit the star and with a wordless scream, a great tide of energy burst out, like an exploding sun. Around us, the Gelaming fell to the ground, hiding their faces, curled up. I was ignited again (it so rarely happens twice like that), and in a glorious blaze of light, shaped like a towering figure with wings across its face, its feet, its back, so full of light, so ultimately wondrous, the child of our essence reached out one lazy arm and touched the walls of Fulminir. Ponclast's demon seemed piteously small beside it, quivering, shrinking. I was laughing out loud, crazily. Through tears of laughter, I watched as, like powdering rock destr
oyed by rain, the walls of Fulminir crumbled. Great chunks of stone rolled earthwards, revealing the dank innards of the citadel, spiked towers, curving walkways and squat, blackened buildings. The citadel was wrapped in the blue-green radiance of aruna power. Frothing, fizzing, the child of the crystal jetted up into the air and exploded in a million droplets of sparkling foam, drifting downwards like bubbles, descending like sleep on the streets of Fulminir.
Seel and I shivered together, spent on the ground. The light had left us. The bowl on the tripod was empty. Someone came over and wrapped us in cloaks or blankets; something. Rain began to fall and I looked up into it, blinking.its crests. There were shapes like vast wings, long, lidless eyes and lithe, clawed fingers within it. A peal like laughter or water.
It hit the black stone with a sound like the earth splitting and a massive crack snaked sedately through the walls. I was expecting foul ichor, black blood, to come pouring out of the breach, but nothing like that happened. As the greeny-blue light of our power crawled over the walls of Fulminir, something rose up beyond it. Something sickly yellow, high into the sky. It leaned toward the light; a column of leprous, evil smoke. When it touched the spirit of the crystal, a terrible sound brought the taste of blood to our mouths.