The Master

by Louise Cooper

  He felt her hatred of him, her desire for him, writhing under his control; he turned them into grovelling fear and let her consciousness flail in the emotion until he knew that agony and terror had devoured the last vestiges of her sanity and there was nothing more to be drained from her empty shell.

  Keridil, kneeling on the uneven rock, stared transfixed at the scene, though he was shocked beyond all ability to move or speak. Tarod continued to hold the shrieking girl in a pain-racked thrall, but bleak reason was struggling within him to be heard. There was nothing to gain from prolonging Sashka’s suffering; his revenge was done and in ashes, and no savagery he might inflict on her could bring Cyllan back to life …

  His vision misted as tears filled his eyes, a legacy of mortality that ate at his soul, and he spoke for a third time. Sashka shrieked, once; then her body twisted and collapsed to the crater floor, blackening, losing form, her flesh falling away from staring bone, bone darkening, crumbling as the last echo of her scream died with her withering corpse. A white, bloated worm writhed briefly on the fused rock; he pointed, carelessly, and it was gone.

  As Sashka’s last traces vanished into the hell to which he had consigned her, the mortal man that had been Tarod struggled back to the surface of the Chaos Lord’s mind. He looked down at Cyllan and found himself biting back a grief that couldn’t be assuaged; that owed nothing to Chaos’s legacy but stemmed solely from the humanity which had taught him what it was to love and be loved.

  Keridil was moving away. He had abandoned all pretence of dignity, and crawled on hands and knees to put as much distance between himself and the place where Sashka had been as he could. The hideous manner of her death was burned indelibly on his mind, but as yet it had no power to affect him; he could only stare, mesmerised, at his one-time friend and old adversary. His breath rattled in his throat.

  Around them, others were rising. Tarod sensed them, saw them moving uncertainly, sensed the crazed terror in their minds as they realised what he had done. He hated them all, and that hatred could make him destroy again …

  No. Not that. They didn’t deserve such blind retaliation; to harm them without reason would make him no better than Aeoris.

  He flung out a hand and felt the power surging in him.

  They dropped where they stood, like felled trees, cast into an instantaneous sleep that would bring few dreams and fewer memories. Now, only he and Keridil were awake and aware.

  Tarod looked at the High Initiate’s stricken face, and his loathing lost all meaning. What point was there in vengeance, when between them lay the dead body of the one human being who had mattered, whose life had been worth the price he had paid?

  He reached towards her and gathered her into his arms. Her blood was warm and wet against him and he raised her head, kissing her stained face, willing her to respond. She didn’t respond. Even Chaos couldn’t call back the dead.

  ‘Damn you … ‘ Tarod whispered, his voice breaking. ‘Damn you all … ‘

  Chapter 14

  They faced each other across a mental abyss. Somehow Keridil had found the strength to get to his feet, though his body was shaking feverishly and his facial muscles twitched with uncontrollable spasms. Between them, Cyllan was a still, stark testimony to Sashka’s last act of revenge. The knife she had used had been Keridil’s own; he had tried to stop her as she snatched it but in the confusion she had evaded him. Now Sashka was gone and he couldn’t bear to think on what manner of torment Tarod might have committed her soul to suffer. She was dead; that was all he could ever know. And while his mind screamed out in grief for her, his heart was torn in two by the savage lesson he had learned. Sashka had betrayed him. His love had meant less to her than the chance to vent her unassuaged spite on Cyllan, and through Cyllan on Tarod. Keridil had doubted her motivations for some while, but had pushed the doubts aside and refused to face them until this moment. Now, he felt shamed and used. The knowledge couldn’t kill his love for her - memories of her sweetness, her lithe body, her beauty, haunted him and would continue to haunt him through whatever life he had left; he would mourn her as any ardent lover would and should mourn. But he knew, now, what she truly had been.

  And Tarod … bizarre though it seemed, he knew that his friend-turned-enemy, despite the fact that he had shaken off any pretence of mortality, mourned for his lover just as he did. Though he’d never really known Cyllan except as an adversary, Keridil couldn’t help but admire the loyalty and courage she had shown, and her steadfastness. She, far more than Sashka, had proved herself worthy of the one who loved her, and the knowledge was bitter wine. Keridil deeply regretted Cyllan’s death - though how he could hope to convey that to the being who confronted him now, and hope to be believed, he didn’t know.

  He raised his head at last and said, stumbling over the words, ‘I’m sorry. She didn’t deserve to die.’

  ‘No … ‘ The voice was so like the Tarod he had known in the old, lost days that its familiarity made Keridil shiver. He felt tears springing to his eyes, and they weren’t for Sashka but for something deeper; a trust, a kinship, something betrayed and gone beyond recall. There was so little left to salvage from this nightmare, yet he wanted to try. And if nothing else, he had a vestige of self-respect left to him.

  He said: ‘So, you’re victorious. At least now I know where I stand … but I won’t worship you, Tarod. I am what I am; nothing can change that.’ He looked up. ‘It’s one trait, I think, that we still share.’

  A startlingly human pain showed in Tarod’s green eyes, then he shook his head. The black aura still blazed around him, his face still bore little trace of humanity; but his resemblance to the one-time Initiate of the Circle was so strong as to be discomforting.

  ‘I don’t deny that, High Initiate; I’ve no reason to challenge it.’

  Keridil swallowed. ‘High Initiate? It used to be Keridil, in the old days.’

  ‘The old days are gone.’ A nacreous light glittered in Tarod’s eyes. ‘We can’t recall them.’

  Keridil nodded. ‘It could have been cleaner. Gods, I -‘ he paused, smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘I must be careful. I no longer know which gods I call on.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Tarod’s voice was cruel.

  ‘Perhaps it doesn’t; not when so much has been lost.’

  He hesitated. ‘I sensed - at least, I think I did - something of what took place when you … defeated them.

  So much of it could have been avoided.’ He blinked, bit his lip. ‘Couldn’t it?’

  Tarod didn’t answer. Instead he closed his eyes, sighed, and the sigh became a soughing wind that skittered across the crater. Far overhead the seven-rayed star still pulsed in triumph, but the victory was dust in his heart. He needed to forget, but he couldn’t forget, not while he still suffered the terrible conflict between the essence of Chaos within him and the humanity which he had adopted and which held him in a tighter grip than he’d believed possible. That humanity had driven him to stop Yandros from destroying the forces of Order altogether, and it had driven him to risk his own destruction in a frantic effort to stem the forces unleashed on the helpless world by the warring gods. Yet he couldn’t remain in this limbo between the two states of being; he had chosen a path, and it was impossible to turn back.

  Silently in his mind he formed a name. The wind rose to gale force; above them in the sky the seven-rayed star flickered as though a cloud had passed across it. Then came a sound like a door softly closing, and Yandros stood at Tarod’s side. His many-hued eyes were quieter than usual.

  ‘Brother.’ Yandros laid a hand on Tarod’s shoulder.

  The world is calm now, and Order vanquished if not yet entirely destroyed.’

  Tarod smiled tiredly but affectionately at him. ‘And again I am in your debt, Yandros. If you’d not lent me your strength when I called to you, I couldn’t have stemmed that tide alone.’

  Yandros made a dismissive gesture. ‘Why should we not have answered? We have no true quarrel with humanity, and certainly
no wish to bring destruction on this world. And this world is now ours to command. Our only enemies are Aeoris and his insipid brood - and those mortals who have actively connived with them against us.’ His gaze flickered to Keridil and the perfect, malevolent mouth curved in a smile which made the High Initiate flinch away. ‘It will please you, I think, to see them take a long while in dying.’

  Tarod looked bleakly at Keridil, then said, ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Yandros echoed the word. ‘My kinsman, I don’t understand you. The battle’s over; we have won. Order can be crushed to shards under our heel and will never trouble us again. All that remains is for us to see the destruction of their servants - beginning with vermin like this!’ He pointed at Keridil.

  Tarod hesitated, then shook his dark head. ‘No,’ he said again, and smiled sadly at his brother of Chaos. The barriers that had separated him from Yandros for so long were down now; there could be no more misunderstanding.

  ‘I made a great mistake, Yandros,’ he said. ‘I turned my face from my heritage - my own nature - and I fell into the trap of believing in the ultimate righteousness of Order.’

  Yandros’s lips quirked, but before he could comment Tarod continued. ‘I know what you’re thinking - you warned me before I took incarnation on this world, and you’ve tried to warn me since. I would be tainted by those I moved among, and the purity of Chaos would be diluted by the catechisms of Order.’ His eyes narrowed.

  ‘You were right - and yet you were wrong.’

  ‘Wrong?’ Yandros shifted a little; his voice held thoughtful amusement and the rock beneath his feet changed form with disturbing abruptness.

  ‘Yes. I was tainted - and yet I learned lessons which, without the shackles of humanity, I couldn’t have begun to understand.’ Tarod’s eyes clouded for a moment.

  ‘I’ve brought us perhaps the greatest advantage over Aeoris and his kin that we’ve ever possessed, Yandros.

  The advantage of understanding, from experience, the hopes and fears and ideals that plague those not imbued with our immortality.’

  Yandros looked speculatively at Keridil, who was watching him uncertainly. He touched his tongue to his lips. ‘You intrigue me. When we first sought to infiltrate Aeoris’s stronghold, I didn’t imagine that such complications would result from the experiment.’

  ‘No more did I. But perhaps it isn’t possible - even for the likes of us - to masquerade as mortals, and to take on mortal form and life, without gleaning something of mortal thought and emotion.’

  ‘Emotion?’ Yandros raised his eyebrows.

  Tarod looked back at Cyllan’s body; felt something within him constrict. ‘Emotion, yes. Though that isn’t the province of humanity alone.’

  The Chaos Lord acknowledged the point with an inclination of his head. ‘She served us well; she was faithful to you. It seems such a waste … ‘ he drew the coruscating brilliance that cloaked him more closely about his frame and stepped around the corpse to confront Keridil directly. ‘And you. We meet again, High Initiate of the Circle, and under happier circumstances - at least for us. What have you to say, now that your gods are vanquished?’

  Keridil didn’t flinch. Once he had been afraid of Yandros, and he knew that to face up to him now was insanity; but it didn’t seem to matter. So much had been lost, so much had changed; if all he had left was his integrity, he could at least hold to that.

  ‘I have served Order all my life, Yandros of Chaos,’

  he said. ‘And whatever else I may be, I’m no hypocrite. I won’t change my allegiance to save my neck; or to save my soul, for that matter. I’ll admit to you - and if I’m damned for it I don’t think I care any more - that my conscience didn’t rest easy with what Aeoris meant to do, and I … ‘ he hesitated, ‘I’m not entirely sorry that Tarod chose as he did. But that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to forsake all I’ve ever believed in, and worship Chaos simply because Chaos has triumphed.’ He looked at Tarod. ‘I like to think you might understand that.’

  ‘It’s as it should be,’ Tarod replied softly, causing Yandros to look at him in surprise. His green eyes were narrow, but he smiled as he turned to his brother. ‘Keridil Toln was the first true friend I had in this world.

  He betrayed me, but he betrayed me for what he believed was a sound principle. He’s learned a great deal since then, I think. Above all he’s learned the meaning of equilibrium, and if we destroy him, we’ll waste something that could prove invaluable.’

  ‘Equilibrium?’ Yandros queried gently.

  ‘Yes. Your own words, if you recall them. What use is Order without Chaos to challenge its rule? And by the same standard, what lies ahead for us if nothing opposes our ways?’ He looked up at the empty sky. Both Moons had set, and the seven-rayed star no longer shone overhead. There was nothing but darkness. ‘Will we stagnate, as Aeoris and his brothers stagnated, so secure in our reign that we become anachronisms as he has done?

  The world sickened under that regime, and almost died.

  I wouldn’t want to see us make the same mistake.’

  Yandros was watching him, and the expression in his deep-set, everchanging eyes ran a full gamut of reaction. Amusement, anger, speculation, respect, affection; it was impossible to judge the thoughts behind his unhuman gaze.

  Tarod said: ‘Perhaps Aeoris would have demanded an eye for an eye; but we know better. That’s why I say that Keridil should live - wherever his loyalties lie.’

  Yandros considered for a few moments. ‘If he can learn, perhaps he deserves the chance to profit from his past mistakes. You speak of equilibrium, Tarod, and I think you are right. Order and Chaos are old enemies, but old enemies are also old friends. Aeoris must be taught that he has nothing to gain from tipping the balance so far in his own favour. The conflict between us can never be resolved - the balance must be maintained, for anything that is to grow and prosper must by nature contain its intrinsic opposite.’ He smiled wolfishly.

  ‘Opposition will prevent us from becoming complacent.

  Very well.’ He looked at the High Initiate with a new interest. ‘Keridil Toln may live.’

  Keridil shut his eyes tightly. He had been prepared and willing to die, yet the relief of his reprieve was indescribable. He couldn’t assimilate the reality of his situation; part of him was still convinced that this was a nightmare from which he would, at any moment, wake.

  He opened his eyes again and saw the two unhuman figures gazing at him. He was beyond fear now; all he felt was a strange, detached sense of sorrow to which he couldn’t give a name.

  He looked down at Cyllan and said involuntarily, ‘I wish - ‘

  ‘No.’ Tarod’s voice was savage. ‘Don’t say it. Don’t ever dare to utter it!’

  Yandros regarded him, and a faint frown creased his cruelly perfect features. ‘Did she mean that much to you? Don’t answer me as a man or as a Lord of Chaos.

  Answer me as Tarod, who is both.’

  The green eyes narrowed with pain and Tarod looked away. Yandros sighed. He gazed down at Cyllan, then held out his left hand. At first Keridil thought it must be an illusion, but his doubt didn’t last. Cyllan’s eyelids fluttered; a soft sound escaped from her lips and her body tautened. Then intelligence flooded into her amber eyes where there had been nothing but the glaze of death, and she whispered a word, just recognisable.

  ‘Tarod … ‘

  Tarod turned quickly away, his face tortured.

  ‘Yandros, you can’t - she’s dead; I watched her die!’

  ‘Peace.’ Yandros was still looking at Cyllan but he reached out to touch Tarod’s arm. ‘I’ve not reanimated her. This is not merely her soulless body which moves and speaks. She lives.’

  Tarod stopped, turned his head to regard the Chaos Lord in shock and confusion. The power to defy death, to reverse the stroke of its hand, was one that he knew Yandros alone in the Chaos realm possessed … but it was a power Yandros had not chosen to command for thousands of years.

  Yandros took Cyllan’s hand and drew he
r to her feet, though she could do nothing but stare back at him in mesmerised confusion. He smiled and laid one hand first on her bloodstained face, then on the ugly wound between her breasts. At his touch, the blood and the gaping gash vanished.

  ‘I owe Cyllan a personal debt,’ Yandros said with gentle amusement. ‘And if by paying it I can also ease my brother’s distress, so much the better.’

  Cyllan was beginning to recover from the inertia of shock; she put a hand to her face, tried to speak, but found no words that could express what she felt. Her eyes, suddenly wild, focused on Tarod and she made a violent movement to free herself from Yandros’s hold.

  He released her and she ran to the dark Lord, stopping only when they were face to face as though at the last she lacked the courage to reach out and touch him. He said nothing, but held out his hands towards her; hesitantly she went to him, and her shoulders began to shake as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Yandros approached them. ‘Make your farewells, Cyllan,’ he said. ‘Tarod and I must depart this world, and you must remain behind.’ He paused, smiled.

  ‘Unless, that is, you are prepared to make the sacrifice that will allow you to come with us?’

  Slowly she turned to look up at him, not comprehending. Tarod, however, realised what Yandros was saying, but the Chaos Lord forestalled him as he made to speak.

  ‘Chaos is in your debt,’ he said to the bewildered girl.

  ‘And it is within my power to grant you a gift which will, should you accept it, allow you to stay with Tarod.’ His eyes changed suddenly to a burning, searing crimson.

  ‘For all time.’

  Cyllan began to understand, and her skin crawled with a resurgence of hope which she hardly dared acknowledge. Her throat dry as the dusty crater bowl, she whispered. ‘You mean that I -I might - ‘

  Yandros smiled again, this time with a touch of ironical humour. ‘Is the prospect of life in our realm so very daunting, Cyllan? You know more of Chaos, I suspect, than any other mortal in your world.’ He reached out and lightly touched her arm, tracing the scar which he had inflicted back in the Castle of the Star Peninsula.