Frowning, Moira put her hands out, brushing the rough surface. Deep within, a pulse of aythar responded to her fingers.
“Father!” she cried out, knowing that touch instantly. Unbidden tears made tracks down her dirty cheeks. Moira pressed her face against the cold stone and stretched her arms wide, although the rock was far too large for her to embrace it. Faintly, she felt it again, her father’s presence, like a ghost within the unyielding stone.
You know what this means, observed Myra quietly from the back of her mind.
Moira’s eyes clenched tightly, hot tears spilling from them as her face contorted into a grimace of pain. No! she said silently, trying to deny the truth in front of her. Mordecai had retreated into the earth completely, surrendering his humanity in order to escape his enemies.
It was one of the most common traps that the archmages of old had fallen into, pushing their abilities too far, they were often lost to the world of men. Moira’s father had become a part of the earth itself. He was gone.
The pain in Moira’s chest grew until she wondered if she might die of grief alone. Turning her back on the stone, she slid to the floor. It felt as though her heart had been replaced by a lump of red hot iron and it burned with a searing agony as she fought to draw breath. She was silent at first, unable to speak or cry, until she managed to draw air again. It came in with a rush before reemerging as a shuddering scream, but there was no relief in it. Instead, it sent a throbbing ache through the veins of her arms and legs as well as her throat. Her entire body ached.
“It hurts,” she said to herself in a thick voice. She tried to say the words calmly, but they came out as part of yet another sobbing cry, one that only grew louder as she repeated the words again. “It hurts! Why?! This isn’t supposed to happen!”
It was pure denial. The pain became anger and she burned with it. She was filled with black hatred, but she had nowhere to direct it.
Gram walked slowly down the stairs, but it wasn’t him. Moira could see that clearly even through her misery. His body radiated power as though he was made of a piece of the sun itself. The sneer on his lips seemed entirely proper. He didn’t have his armor on, but Thorn was in his hand.
“I see you found your father, what a touching reunion.”
His presence was overwhelming and in her magesight the room seemed to shimmer like the horizon on a hot day. Even the air felt heavy, as though it had become too thick to breathe. She was being smothered by the Shining God’s power.
Moira tightened her shield, trying to find relief from the god’s malevolent will. It helped somewhat, but it was not enough. Her body wouldn’t move and only the cold core of hatred and loathing in her heart kept her from giving in to the desire to prostrate herself before the false god. He killed my father.
“I wish that I had, beautiful child,” he told her, “but the coward escaped when he knew that he had lost.”
“He wouldn’t have lost to you,” she whispered.
Celior laughed, “Perhaps not, if he had been smart, but your father was ever the fool; his pride was his undoing. I only regret that I didn’t get a chance to educate him on his failure.”
Gram’s body was close now, leaning over, looking down at her with contempt. With one hand he cupped her chin, drawing her face up to meet his gaze, and then his hand dipped lower, to squeeze her breast. “You will be my consolation prize.”
Desire coursed through her, a sweet corruption as Moira’s will was suppressed by the god’s. She felt it from her head to her toes and most especially in her loins, a burning need for the man looming over her. Lust filled her being, a pure desire that touched every part of her, except the hard kernel of hatred that lay at her core. She hated him, she wanted him, and she loathed herself for all of it.
His hand gripped her hair and he dragged her mercilessly up, hauling her to her feet like a doll, powerless and limp. He pressed her back against the stone with his body and set his lips to her ear, “I promised your father that I would take care of you after he was gone. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
With the last of her will, Moira spoke the key words to the enchantment that made Celior immortal. They were hard to remember, but her father had drilled them into her and her brother countless times. She gasped them out knowing they were her last hope.
Celior straightened, pulling away, “What is your command?”
“Kneel before me.”
Gram’s handsome face smiled, and then his arm became a blur. Pain blinded Moira and she heard a sickening crunch as he backhanded her to the floor. Her cheekbone had been broken.
“Perhaps I misunderstood you?” suggested Celior, sneering. Then his face took on a look of concern, “Oh my, if you aren’t careful with that frown your face might get stuck like that.” Reaching down he pulled her up by her hair again before touching her swelling face with his finger. Pleasure ran through her like golden light even as the pressure caused more pain in her cheek.
Moira’s mind was reeling, but her hatred remained, “How?”
“Your father of course,” he answered with a smile. “I told you he was a fool. He fought me when he should have used the key from the start. I let him win, but I made it satisfying for him, all while I led him to the trap they had prepared for him. He used the key at the end, when he realized he had been tricked, but it was too late. As soon as he spoke the words, the railgun shattered his body. I’m surprised he survived long enough to end his own miserable life.”
“Railgur?”
“Railgun,” corrected Celior. “The wondrous weapon that the outsiders brought with them, the one that nearly killed you and this young man a little while ago. I must commend you on surviving it. Your father didn’t do nearly as well. It tore a hole through his body as big as my fist.
“I know that doesn’t sound as impressive as it should, but he was protected by a shield so powerful even I couldn’t pierce it at the time. Their weapon destroyed it and mortally wounded him with but a single blow. Isn’t that marvelous?”
The key had been changed. Moira understood now. Celior’s words were meant to break her resolve, and somewhere deeper down she registered shock at his recounting of their final battle, but they didn’t work quite as the god intended. She was no longer the tender young woman who had first come to Dunbar and his painful barbs only served to add fuel to the fire in her heart, turning her dark hatred into a burning rage.
The pain of her broken cheek had made her vision blurry with tears, but the cold venom she felt helped focus her thoughts. Blinking away the tears her eyes focused firmly on the pompous deity’s beautiful features. I need more information.
“Who are these ‘outsiders’?” she asked. “Where did they come from? We have done nothing to them.”
Celior smiled, “Still trying to be clever? You’ll be discovering that first hand, my dear, although I have no problem sharing the knowledge. It will only deepen your despair. They call themselves ‘ANSIS’, not that the name means anything to me. The important information is that they are here largely due to your illustrious sire’s efforts. Much like the She’Har, they have crossed over from another plane of existence. When your father removed the Dark Gods from their place, the dimension that enveloped our own collapsed. Our world is now open to contact with other planes.”
His description reminded her of something her brother had said during one of his expositions about his experiments. She hadn’t been paying close attention, but she clearly remembered him saying something about translation being easier now than it had been in the past. ‘Translation’ was Matthew’s term for shifting things between dimensions. He preferred it to avoid confusion with ‘teleportation’, which was shifting something between locations within the same dimension.
None of that seemed remotely useful to her in her current situation, though.
Celior’s will redoubled and she fell to the floor as he released her hair. With one hand outstretched he stared down at her, enjoying the look of terror in her eyes as he rend
ered her helpless once more. It was a purely mental sensation, but it was so powerful that Moira felt as though a great weight had been set upon her body. She was limp and her mind paralyzed. There was nothing left to her but a dark impotent animosity directed at her captor.
One of the metal counters that lined the walls opened and from within its recesses something moved. A swarm of insect-like metal creatures issued from it, crossing the floor and heading in her direction. An even greater fear filled her then, as she realized Celior’s true intention. Despite her desire to flee, she was held immobile and her mouth opened of its own volition.
She was to be served up to the outsiders as a gift.
“Before you start your new life I should share one more thing,” said Celior, still using Gram’s mouth. “Everything you did here was pointless. This entire exercise was nothing more than an experiment for the ANSIS. They wanted to test the abilities of a human wizard. All those people died simply to provide information to them regarding your family’s magical abilities. Apparently they don’t have anything like our magic on their home world. Now they intend to see whether you can be a useful tool.”
A sharp pain cut through her fear as Moira’s broken cheek bone shifted suddenly back into place. It was done with the tiniest currents of aythar, an act of subtle healing that would be difficult to see in the shifting energies that surrounded her already. She recognized Myra’s agency behind the act. Hope rose suddenly within her.
Gram’s face twisted into a frown as Celior noticed the subtle change in her, “What is this?”
Moira’s mouth remained open and the metal parasites were only inches from her, Now! She wasn’t certain what her spell-twin had planned but she was sure they were out of time.
A warm blanket encompassed her soul and Celior’s crushing will was gone. It was a feeling of immense relief as Myra interposed herself between Moira’s mind and the cruelty staring down at them.
Moira seized the moment of respite and clamped her teeth together, snarling, “Tyrestrin!” The entire room flashed white for a second as lightning leapt from her hands to engulf the metal creatures crawling toward her face. After it passed sparks continued to dance between the small metal parasites for long seconds as they twitched, and then they were still.
“Bitch!” yelled Celior, furious, and his anger struck at Moira like a hammer.
Myra howled in Moira’s head as his rage tore at her, the pain was incredible, but she took it all, shielding her creator with her entire being.
Moira smiled at her tormentor, even as her assistant writhed in agony under his assault, “You can kill me, fiend, but you will never control me.”
Gram’s hand closed around Thorn’s hilt and he brought the blade up, laying the edge across her throat. “I am losing patience, girl.”
“As if I care,” she spat. “I’d rather be dead than have those things inside me. Just admit defeat and kill me, for you won’t have me unless you come in here and take me yourself.”
Myra’s screams of pain increased as the Shining God pressed even harder on her mind. Moira didn’t think her spell-twin could last much longer, but she forced herself to laugh anyway. Madness sparkled in her eyes, hiding the hastily conceived plan that was her last hope. She sent her thoughts to her spell-twin, Help Gram. Get him out of here. Don’t stop running until you get to Cassandra and then go home. Moira used her new freedom to push Myra aside, letting Celior’s wrath plunge once more into her heart.
No! cried Myra, but it was too late.
Moira opened her mind to Celior, giving up any attempt at resistance while simultaneously pushing Myra out.
Shrieking in victory, the god’s spirit dove into her, leaving Gram to fall limply to the ground.
The world vanished then, and Moira found herself once more on the battlefield within her mind. Celior stared at her from ten feet away, shining and beautiful despite his true ugliness. His eyes widened in surprise as he beheld the secret image of Moira’s soul. She stood before him covered in black scales and armed with razor sharp talons, a monster of spirit.
What is this? he asked. I’ve never seen a human that looked like this on the inside.
Moira grinned, her mouth splitting impossibly wide to show an impressive display of dagger-like teeth. Who said I was human?
The god was undeterred. His face took on a look of determination and his body changed. Now he was clad in golden armor. Stepping closer he told her, You cannot win. Your power is but a drop beside the ocean within me.
Casually, Moira raised one talon and raked it across his chest, shredding the armor there as though it were made of tissue. Golden blood welled up and ran down his chest. Within you? Within me! The aythar here belongs to the victor, and you don’t even begin to have the skill to contest me.
Confusion was written in his features, What?
Celior tried to step away, but she stayed with him. Slashing sideways she tore through his breastplate and opened his belly before bringing her clawed hand up to show him the vital fluids that covered it. Staring wickedly into his eyes she licked the golden ichor from one talon. Welcome to your nightmare, puppet.
He shoved her back and a golden sword appeared in his hand. It came down on her shoulder in a powerful overhand swing, crunching through the black armor there. Red blood dripped down Moira’s chest.
Try again, she told him as the pain shot through her.
The Shining God decided to retreat and take the battle back to the physical world, but when he tried to remove himself he found the way blocked. Midnight mountains rose around him, filling his vision in every direction and enclosing the battlefield that was Moira Illeniel’s mind.
You were the fool this time, puppet-god. You will remain here until you are no more, or I am. This is my realm, and no one, not man, nor god, nor even beast, will leave it until I give them leave. I am the last of the Centyr and this is the one place you should never have dared to come. She dove at him and gripped him with clawed hands that had become impossibly strong. Struggle as he might, Celior could not shake himself free of her.
He turned on her in a fury, letting his fear and anger lend him strength. Daggers of gold appeared in his hands and he stabbed at her over and over, but no matter how many times he drove them into her she never wavered. Red blood ran freely from her blackened form as she held him tightly, laughing all the while.
How did you feel after my mother made you, puppet? she whispered softly into his ear, careful not to tear it free with teeth that had grown far too long. Did you think she loved you? Did you think she cared? How long was it before you realized that you were trash, created for one purpose before being abandoned to suffer for eternity?
Celior screamed in rage, but he found himself growing weak, exhausted. It was a feeling unfamiliar to him. Agony such as he had never known blinded him when he felt her teeth clamp down on his skull, ripping away his ear and much that had lain beneath it.
She tore his body apart, rending him limb from limb, but the god could not die. The immortality enchantment would not allow it, nor could she remake his personality while it kept his mind chained within it.
But she could hurt him, and so she did. She gave him as much pain as he had given her and still she continued. It went on for a long time, his body healing and reforming in her mind’s eye, whereupon she would start all over.
Occasionally he found the will to fight again, wounding her before she resumed her torture, but he was beaten and he knew it. Moira kept at him relentlessly, until the only thing left to him was pain. After an eternity he began to beg, Please, no more.
She wasn’t ready to stop yet, though. She had begun to enjoy it.
Anything… just let this end!
Moira ignored his pleading. Even when he fought back her own pain just reinvigorated her. She hadn’t truly expected to win. She hadn’t known what would happen when Celior first entered her mind. The discovery that her abilities gave her all the advantages had been exhilarating. Her opponent was no more diffi
cult to deal with than a normal human; he was less challenging than her spell-twins had been by at least an order of magnitude.
He whimpered and cried, and she punished him more. He killed my father. The anger made her feel powerful.
Only indirectly, said Myra, who hadn’t done as she had been told. She had stayed close by and now she returned, to witness the torment firsthand.
He led him into a trap! Moira snarled.
Myra remained silent and Moira continued, enjoying the vicious nature of her work. It felt like eons had passed before she finally grew bored with the task. Give me the new key, she commanded. There was no doubt in her that he would give her whatever she asked for then.
Celior complied, babbling the key phrase out as rapidly as he could manage.
She repeated the phrase back to him, and then he was hers. Now give your power to her, she ordered, indicating Myra.
The humbled god began at once, and new pain washed over Moira’s awareness as her assistant began to burn with the intensity of so much power. Outside, both of you out. This is too much, she told them.
The physical world made itself known to her once more as they exited her consciousness. She was lying on the floor of the chamber, still beside her father’s stone. Gram sat beside her, weary and panting. More of the metal insects littered the floor around them. Apparently the enemy had had more of them and had been trying to reach her while she lay helpless on the floor.
Relief showed in his eyes when he saw her looking up at him. That changed to alarm as Celior and Myra materialized beside him. Despite his weakness, Gram raised Thorn protectively and found his feet.
“Relax, they serve me wholly,” said Moira as she sat up. Gold light was passing between Myra and Celior as he gave her all the aythar he had collected.
Gram sank back down beside her, too tired to remain standing if there was no threat. “I thought you were dying,” he said without preamble.