“What is it?” Talin begged, holding on to Kreed’s pocket as if his life depended upon it. “What is the reason? Let me do it, let me kill her.”
Kreed’s voice shook. “I’m sorry, my boy. I can’t tell you. It’s an important part of the training. You must work out that little puzzle for yourself.” Kreed ran his fingers lovingly through Talin’s hair. “Once you do, you will transcend beyond your suffering.”
Talin’s face hit the floor, weighed down by an avalanche of sorrow. He had not the energy to tinker with mental puzzles. For that he would need sleep, and how could he sleep when the woman he loved the most was laid bare and broken before him? Kreed was his only salvation. His only way out. The only candle in this endless cavern of Despair.
Kreed sat on the floor with Talin, lifting his head and embracing him like a child. He stroked Talin’s face, pushing the tears away. “Embrace the Despair, my son. I know it hurts, but you must pull it into yourself. Let it become you. Take it all, and when you can’t take any more, I will unmake you.”
Talin writhed on the floor, spitting and wailing like a child as he attempted to rip Pineah’s limbs from his body. Kreed’s magic halted his fingers, her fingers, before they could do any real damage. Talin had nothing, not even freedom with his own body. Everything had been taken from him.
Talin lay on his back, heaving. Eventually his gasping sobs were stilled by a dull indifference. Voice steady and quiet, he spoke: “I give up. I give in. Father Kreed, take me now. I am yours.”
Kreed said not a word, shaking his head slowly back and forth, his eyes clearly stating that Talin’s mere devotion wouldn’t be enough. He needed more from Talin. He needed to take it all.
Talin sank deeper, pulled by the shadow’s edge into the Despair. A moan of tedium slipped from his lips. The sound scared him, cracking his mind further until he found himself in a fit of feathery giggles. This had to be a test. If not, there was no longer any purpose to his life. But he hadn’t the energy for a test. Not now, not after all he’d been through. He was so very tired. With every breath he felt more of his sanity dripping out through the ragged cracks in his skull. His patience and vitality trickled out soon afterwards. He was losing parts of himself. Talin could feel his magic in the darkness. It was different, however, as though twisted and distorted through a new lens. He used the grotesque magic to wring his very soul, eking out every facet of his pained existence. The process was excruciating, but after a few heaves, he expelled his pride, his comfort, his dignity. With another good push he vomited out his ability to love. He almost lost his sense of who he was. These parts did not go gently, as they were never meant to be separated from the soul. Out they went, screaming and bleeding, dragged by the fresh shadows of his mind. The pain rose to an unacceptable volume, then rose again. The agony ascended until it was no longer a sensation, but a state of being. The tides waxed and roiled, building to a crescendo of colors and smells that assaulted his every nerve and memory.
Somewhere in the madness, a shard of clarity made itself known, or perhaps he merely imagined it. It was the only coherent thought he was capable of, so he clung to it as a child clinging to a parent after waking from a nightmare.
Pineah.
She had done this to him. She hadn’t allowed him to stop it, even though it would have been all too easy. He could have feigned his betrayal, lied about his knowledge of The Sill, but not even that was good enough for her. Pineah was a liability; she got herself stuck here, allowed herself to be used against ordering her to stay home. Even now she slumbered peacefully while he suffered. She was no comfort in this room, nor had she been a comfort in life before his capture. She had done nothing for him in the arms of the enemy, no word of solace, no promise of escape. She hadn’t even given him a shred of gratitude for his sacrifices. Her mock-lovery did nothing to help see him through his ordeals. She had done nothing other than present herself as a trophy for the enemy. The only memory of her that would live on would be her cold limbs that had been foisted onto him. The wretched whore hadn’t even cried out when the guards came for her after the second time. She had indulged in their beasting.
Talin drunkenly brought himself to his feet, her feet. He wobbled, searching for her in the haze of his Despair. He worried he couldn’t find her, though part of him wished he never would. The cell was small however, and it didn’t take long for him to find her woven auburn hair, her inviting curves. The sight of her was startling, not because of what he must do, but because she was wide awake and staring back at him. Her sunken, missing eye no longer pained him, but her other eye did. She looked at him with such supreme accusation that he felt himself laid naked before her, all his shame and weakness open to her freezing judgment.
“Talin, my love, what have you become?” Pineah whimpered with her whore’s mouth.
Talin’s heart fell, though the sensation had lost all meaning to him, for his heart simply wasn’t there. He no longer had those parts of him that cared about Pineah’s squabbling. Her judgment. In fact, he didn’t care much about anything. In the quiet of his indifference, something began to fill the voids. It was sweltering, oppressive, and hellishly strong. He could hold onto it, trust it, use it.
His Hatred birthed itself, one facet at a time. Where he felt weak, the Hatred filled him with power. Where he felt shame, the Hatred lit infernos of pride. Where he felt lost, the Hatred forged his will into white-hot conviction. Talin had burned himself to a barren field of scabs and sinew, rising from the ashes as the phoenix of suffering.
Pineah opened her mouth, but stopped herself, instead focusing her eyes elsewhere. A peaceful acceptance softened her features, as though her mind was apart from the nightmare before her.
Talin’s munisica, her munisica, creaked and stretched, elongating and twitching with anticipation. His first step was timid, but the intent was clear. The fact that Kreed’s magic hadn’t stopped him was not lost on him. His next step was confident and stolid. He stood over Pineah, claws trembling at his sides. She was the final piece of the puzzle. After she slid into place, she would fall away and he would be rid of his most crippling weakness; Hope.
Kreed backed away, careful not to make a sound. “Come, Habbad. We’re being rude.”
Habbad’s eyes were glued to the scene before him. Kreed noticed something dark and beautiful gleaming in his little eyes. With a gentle nudging, Kreed led him out of the prison cell.
“But what if he actually does it?” Habbad asked after they popped through the wall. His wrinkled face soured with disappointment.
Kreed smiled. His young protégé had been making him smile more and more of late. “He just might. He is making tremendous strides in his training. With any luck he’ll be a different person when next we meet.” Kreed waved a hand, dismissing the guards who were lined up outside the cell. “Not today, boys.” The guards wilted, looking like starving men who had been denied dinner right at the table.
“But what if we miss it? Or what if he doesn’t do it?” Habbad asked, jogging to keep up. “It’s important, is it not? I feel I need to see it. For my own training.”
Kreed hummed with pride. Such a sweet boy. Kreed slowed his pace and mussed Habbad’s hair. “Young Talin is going through the most trying time of his life. The poor man is contemplating killing the person he loves most in this world. It’s very personal. We’ve no right intruding on such an intimate moment. If he goes through with it then we’ll find out tomorrow. If not, then his training continues. Think him an artist, a painter if you will. This is his first time. He’s painting a one-of-a-kind masterpiece, and he knows it. You can’t hover over his shoulder, rushing him and chucking your own ideas at him, not as he bares his very soul to the canvas. You can inspire him, but you cannot do it for him. It must be done with his own hands or not at all. And don’t you worry yourself over your own training, Master Habbad. Trust in me. You are right where you should be. You do trust me, don’t you?”
Habbad looked as if he wasn’t finished making his ca
se. He set his eyes down the dank hallway, resuming his look of stony indifference. “Of course, Father Kreed. I trust you with my life.”
“Good boy,” Kreed said, steering the two of them up a steep set of stairs. He was winded before he got to the top. “Habbad,” he breathed, “Why is it you want to see Talin kill his wife? That is a very nasty thing to want to see.”
Habbad floated to the top of the stairs, green light emanating from his palms and feet. “I…I am not quite sure. I suppose I want to see him do it because I know how he feels. If I could, I would have killed my parents…and Lexy. I would have done anything to stop them from hurting. It killed me inside, to witness their pain and not have the strength to end it. I want to see him do what I could not.”
Kreed finally caught his breath. He planted a warm hand on Habbad’s shoulder. “Do you resent me for what I did to your family?”
Habbad’s stoic mask darkened a shade. “I do not resent you, Father Kreed. You only killed the weakest parts of me. I’m stronger for your lessons.”
Kreed raised an eyebrow, chuckling though a grin. “And you deserved it, didn’t you. You little scoundrel.”
The tiniest smile cracked Habbad’s grumpy face. “I know I did. I’m sorry for disappointing you so. Will you ever forgive me?”
“I forgive you, my son, but I will never forget. Ever.” Kreed bored his stolen eyes into Habbad’s. “Ah, Corpulants take me. I never could stay angry with you, Habbad. I’ve always had a soft spot for you.” He gave Habbad’s shoulder a squeeze and continued walking.
Kreed saw Habbad’s mind working through his lined brow. He decided to give the boy a moment to ponder as they worked their way out of the dingy prison. The hall eventually opened up into a dimly lit atrium, which looked as if its walls and broken statues had survived an age and several fires without a proper cleaning. It was a hideous sight, unfit for use. The building ought to be condemned. Kreed had to stop his mind from drafting the decrees before he got too far. He couldn’t shut the place down; where else would he put his prisoners? It was an awful shame that none of the Underkin could be spared. He was desperate for a labor force. A few of those little blighters could have the whole room shining within the hour. In the morning he would send his emissaries to Amoskeag and Faron to broker a trade for more Underkin, if they had any left that was.
They popped through the main door, stepping out into the balmy air and crooked streets of Costas’s Infinity District.
“You do seem to take favor with me,” Habbad said, eyeing Kreed’s misshapen bone-creature, Baedine. She waited obediently for them at the nearest light post. “I must be special. I’m the only Underkin left in Costas. Perhaps even the world. Why is it that you kept me around? The magic that you’ve taught me is practical and powerful, but you must have priests who are better spell casters than me.” Habbad swerved to the opposite side of Kreed when they neared Baedine.
Kreed sucked on his lip. The boy was too smart for his own good. He let the question hang for a moment. “Come Baedine, that’s a good girl,” Kreed cooed to the nightmarish creature. He tried to whistle, but air rushed through his broken teeth.
Baedine’s head bobbed as she whined and skittered over to Kreed, licking his hand. The creature’s hobbled framework of bones and open flesh was only half covered with skin. She had taken to eating her own pelt when her next meal didn’t come soon enough. She was absolutely repulsive and smelled like a bad wound, but she was the only thing left of his sister. Kreed knew that Habbad abhorred her, though the boy would never say it aloud. The repulsion was not entirely unfounded. Habbad’s Hatred for Baedine was matched equally by her desire to tear at him with those broken rib bones that were her teeth.
After walking a few blocks, Kreed finally found words delicate enough to answer Habbad’s question. “You are special indeed, Habbad, and I would know. I’ve been inside more minds than the stars in our skies. However, you have a certain quality inside of you that is very hard to find. This quality is not exclusive to you, but in your case it’s an untapped ocean the likes of which I’ve never seen. It’s potent, yet entirely virgin and pure. The fact that you have yet to discover it on your own is no small miracle, given the trials that you’ve survived. And before you ask, the answer is no. I won’t reveal what this quality is, or the purpose of your training. Just as our friend Talin is a painter, you are a sculptor. I’ll cut out my own heart before I meddle with your life’s work. I will give you one little hint, however. I intend you to be my equal before we are through.”
Habbad gazed up at Kreed, utter disbelief etched on his face. “But, how is that possible? You’ve countless cycles of knowledge and experience. I couldn’t hope to equal you in any field of magic, or anything else come to think of it.”
Kreed decided to let this question stand unanswered. Both his students were progressing rapidly. Too much too soon and everything would be spoiled. He swooped down and plucked Habbad up, plopping him on his shoulder. “Ah Habbad, I do grow weary of this heavy talk. What do you say we take a turn through the Valley District on our way home? You’re overdue for a change of wardrobe. I’d like to see how debonair you’d look in a proper suit. You are my first protégé after all.”
Chapter 8
Desert Titans
“Goran stop! They’ll kill you!” Cole’s voice broke over the moaning desert wind. He tried forcing Goran’s attention through their bond, but Goran’s blood-lust was absolute. Cole had never seen the mirak move so fast.
“He’ll set the pace then,” Roth said, his eyes darkening with a foreboding gloom as if he knew they were charging death. “What are you all hesitating for? Move your hides before I rip them off!”
Even under the shadow of four of the most titanic enemies they had ever encountered, the unit Feared their ancient Master above all else. Emerald wings cut through the wind and munisica burst from their sheaths as the unit sprung to action, leaving Cole and Roth on the ground.
“Don’t let them grab you!” Roth roared into the sky. He dropped his gaze, giving Cole a serious look. “Human, you better be ready for the fight of your life. Get that Rage going.”
Cole did not hesitate. While the Colossi were certainly the biggest threats, they were not the immediate one. Even in battle Cole knew Roth wouldn’t tolerate hesitation. He plodded over the crusty dirt, clutching his broken ribs as Roth kept pace slightly behind him. If only Eliza or Lileth could have healed him before they took off. The rising pain made it exponentially more difficult to focus on any sort of magic. He wasn’t ready for the fight of his life. He wasn’t even ready to fight off a stiff breeze at this point. At the moment he felt like a very ordinary human limping towards four impossible nightmares. He called for his Rage, demanding it, but the magic wouldn’t flow. His hands were bare and his naked feet hurt on the rough crust.
Goran met the smallest Colossus; the mirak was only half the height of its shin. He flew like a brindle missile, scaling the giant’s leg, running up its side and around its torso. Goran didn’t waste a movement. He constantly tore parts from the Colossus, littering the ground with a steady rain of blackened limbs. The titan struck with its massive fists, but the mirak was too quick, darting and swinging all over its body. The damage was relatively minor, but if Goran had enough time it looked like he would peel the whole thing apart like a rotten onion.
Seeing that Goran was handling himself, the others flew past the first Colossus and assaulted the other three. Cole couldn’t tell which set of green wings belonged to whom, but he guessed Sitra to be the one spending entirely too much time perched on the face of one Colossus. She simply wasn’t as fast or as perceptive as Goran. Time and time again she narrowly missed being snatched by fingers larger than the whole of her body.
Cole was very close now, but he felt no closer to being any more than a frail liability. Slowed by his injuries and unaided by magic, it was all he could do to keep up his sprint. He could hear Roth’s footsteps thundering beside him and feel the disappointment in his
glare.
Cole neared Goran’s Colossus, Fear taking his heart and thrashing it against his cracked ribs like a dog shaking a rat. He was at its feet now, jumping over the charred limbs of the chosen that Goran had ripped off. They writhed with jerky motions, looking as though they were trying to reassemble themselves. Cole knew this was the time to act, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do without his magic. Fear froze him in place. He winced, dreading punishment from Roth, but his Master lunged over him, diving headfirst into the belly of the Colossus.
“Roth don’t!” Cole screamed, his voice weak with horror. Roth must have been going for the priest, but he wasn’t entirely shrouded. He would be torn apart by the hardened bone-nest in the giant’s belly.
Cole berated himself, his Rage finally flickering into a little candle that melted his Fear. His friends were risking their lives, missing death by an inch here, a fraction of a second there. But here he was, cowering in his enemy’s shadow and indulging in a few cracked bones and bruises. Now was the time to act, he could finally feel it.
A massive hand twisted through the wind, trying to reach Goran. The other sped like a charging elephant towards Roth, who was too busy tearing at the titan’s belly to notice. The fist rushed closer and Cole readied himself to jump. He knew his Rage wouldn’t carry him that high yet. The magic simply hadn’t boiled up enough. He looked to one of the titan’s legs instead, imagining how he would scale it.
Like a diving falcon Goran appeared from nowhere, crashing into the arm that was only feet from Roth. Goran tore into the giant’s wrist with terrifying violence, his roar so loud that Cole had to clap his hands over his ears. Cole was suddenly glad to be on the ground. Goran was so lost in his own Rage that Cole wasn’t entirely confident his friend was capable of distinguishing between friend and foe.
Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers Page 14