by Neil Beynon
‘Now,’ said the god. ‘I grow bored – let us end this.’
Anya burned with her fury. The feeling lit her up as if she were a golem from one of Falkirk’s stories, and she felt rage propel her forward. Anya stepped between Cernubus and the woodsman, her bow drawn. She wasn’t sure why.
Cernubus stopped and smirked. ‘Bored of you too, little one. Get out of the way.’
‘You’re not going any further.’
‘He’s not worth your life.’
Anya paused. ‘Maybe not, but he’s all I’ve got.’
‘Anya,’ said Cernubus, looking fixedly at the bow. ‘You have nothing.’
The bow flamed in Anya’s hands, forcing her to drop it. She pulled her blistered palms close to her chest instinctively. She sucked in air with painful, ragged gasps before Cernubus raised his free hand, lifting her off the ground as though he were clasping her around her throat, choking the life from her.
Vedic moaned behind her, clutching his scarred sword-arm as he writhed in pain, but it was as if he were far away, the sound muted and distorted.
‘Now, little one,’ said Cernubus, closing his upraised hand into a fist, ‘Golgotha awaits.’
Beads of light shot into Anya’s vision; the force of the spell that Cernubus was using to strangle her had tilted her head back, and all she could see was the night sky. The streaks of light looked like the sentinels had begun dancing for her pleasure alone.
‘Stop,’ said Vedic, clutching his arm, which felt like it was on fire.
His face contorted in agony. He suspected his own death was near and that he had failed, but still – he had to try.
Cernubus did not release Anya, but his gaze dropped to Vedic. The woodsman had managed to pull himself to his knees. His right arm hung limply from his side, and the god suddenly understood the curse that was burned into Vedic’s limb.
‘This is over, Vedic,’ said Cernubus. ‘You can’t stand; you have no weapon; and this one’s lungs are running out of oxygen. I don’t have to kill you, do I? If she goes, so do you.’
Vedic smiled. ‘I may not be able to stand, but I’m not weaponless. Not while you’re doing that.’
Cernubus laughed.
That’s better, thought the woodsman. He doesn’t understand. The scar where the arrow had scored him weeks ago was torn open from the fight, bleeding and angry. The wound throbbed with a pain that shot up his arm and down his spine, growing with intensity as Anya’s eyes flickered shut.
‘I wonder what happens if you mix two curses,’ said Vedic, smiling.
The hunter did not answer but tightened his spell’s grip on Anya.
‘Let’s find out,’ said the woodsman as he rolled for Danu.
Cernubus, one hand still controlling the spell choking Anya, threw Vedic’s own sword at the woodsman with his other. The missile narrowly missed, piercing the ground by Vedic’s feet. The forestal thrust his arm into the magic field trapping Danu and screamed.
All was light.
The woodsman’s arm shattered the cage.
The forest’s power shot through Danu once more and returned her to full consciousness. The forest sang; much of it howled chords of pain as the wounds Cernubus had left on the land bit deep. Behind this, going deeper, was the strength of what remained. The power surged away from where the forest had been chained by Cernubus, and flowed to her – and it was good. Danu stepped over the fallen body of Pan.
Vedic pulled his pain-ravaged body towards his sword.
Danu had watched the fight from her cell. She’d stood as close to the cage as she could without being knocked from her feet by the magic field that trapped her. She had no doubt Cernubus intended to kill her.
The thought was not a welcome one. She did not fear dying for herself, but she would not be the only casualty: there was the forest, the land and the mortals. Cernubus would not be able to sustain humanity if he succeeded: eventually, the humans – even the Kurah – would also pass, crushed under the weight of another despotic god that wanted nothing to change. Cernubus was a fool who thought he could bend the world to his own will and escape the hand fate had dealt him. Cernubus had never understood.
The hunter released Anya. The girl dropped to the ground where she stood, not moving save for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Cernubus stepped back.
‘It’s too late, Danu. You’re too weak.’
‘If you’re so powerful,’ she replied, ‘why am I still breathing?’
‘Good question,’ said Cernubus.
The god sent magic streaming at Danu. The magic arced around her, whipping her hair up around her face but leaving her unharmed. The hunter poured more into the attack. She laughed, sucking in the power, drawing the attack, sputtering to a halt.
‘Is it my turn?’ Danu asked.
Cernubus looked down at Anya, her eyes now open and looking up at him.
‘It’s her,’ he said. ‘She’s fuelling your power. Somehow.’
‘Wrong again.’
Danu struck. She unfurled her arms, releasing a single burst of power that flared brighter than the suns and lifted Cernubus from his feet, sending him crashing through the trees into the distance, ploughing up the scorched earth as he was shoved through the glade into the lake.
‘Damn.’
Danu frowned, dismayed at the power of her own attack. In her mind’s eye, she saw Cernubus emerge from the detritus of trees as a stag, limping as fast as he could towards the Kurah camp. The hunter had escaped.
‘Am I dead?’ asked Anya, looking up at Danu.
‘No, child,’ said Danu, kneeling. ‘Far from it.’
‘Good,’ said Anya. ‘I still have things to do.’
Chapter Thirty
It is the landscape of my childhood.
The landscape of my escape. The Barrens stretch out as far as my eyes can see, and wherever my eyes fall, I can see there are Kurah warriors. I’m Anya, but in this dream I am Vedic, who is really Laos – the Kurah Butcher of Vremin and the man who nearly killed my grandfather, and who my grandmother spared for no reason I can think of. In my right hand, I am gripping a staff of worn wood, leaning on it, and my left hand is hooked on the breast of my dirt-encrusted, crimson-stained robe. I have a name now to go with the clothes. I cannot tell if the disgust is my own or his. The feeling is total.
From the heaving mass of soldiers, a rider approaches, his cloak swathed in purple and his head flecked with grey. I recognise the old Kurah king. The king’s familiar rasp sets my teeth on edge, though I can’t understand the words. He points at the forest, his meaning clear, and I shift my feet before replying. I turn to look back at the forest, a dark green monster that could swallow us whole without even blinking. The old king smiles wanly at me – he gestures at his men and shrugs. There is silence for a long while.
Two men detach themselves from the crowd. Archers, both of them, and they walk with reluctance over to where I stand. I speak, loud and clear. The king laughs, as do several warriors in the crowd. The two men do not. In fact, I notice that they do not look at or acknowledge anything, save me. Idly I wonder if they can see me as I actually am, as Anya. I walk towards the forest. I check that the two men are with me, and I wave them further apart, putting us in a loose formation as we enter the woods. The forest is cooler than the Barrens, refreshing in the muted sunlight beneath the canopy.
My companions are quiet now, searching the undergrowth for signs, looking across the trees as if hunting for someone, or perhaps for more than one person. I cannot tell. When the others speak, they do so in low, hissing tones. I find myself moving ahead, my body advancing with a speed that they cannot cope with. Deeper and deeper into the forest we go.
When I emerge into the clearing, I don’t recognise it. Not at first. There is no cabin, no area set aside for the chopping of wood and no sign anyone lives there. I blink in the sun. Eyes unable to adjust. I’m knocked from my feet to my belly. Hard pain ignites in my shoulder, agony unlike any I have encountered in my life. A
s I try to get to my feet, I feel a new sensation over the pain, the thing protruding from my shoulder blade, pushing against the breeze, a new addition to my body. As I face my attacker, my fingers confirm that an arrow has embedded itself there.
The bowman, one of the men who came with me into the forest, has strung another arrow and has it locked on my chest. His aim is true, steady and calm, but his brow is sweating, his face grey with emotions that make my stomach churn with fear. The bowman doesn’t just want me dead – he wants the killing to hurt. The wound in my shoulder is on fire, as if this were actually my body. I speak. I raise my arms slowly and insist harder – I do not need to understand my host’s – Laos’s – language to know he is daring them. I am inviting death. Briefly I wonder – if I die in this dream, will I die in the real world? Am I already dying, and this is just the strange echo of consciousness following a fatal wound? There is a faint memory that I am in trouble back where I was before I fell into this dream, that my neck should be hurting.
I don’t see the wolf until she is on the bowman, just as he fires, sending the arrow into my thigh rather than my chest. I don’t wait around to see what happens but limp deeper into the forest, staff forgotten, and I hunt around the trees for the other archer. The screams of the mauled bowman go on for a long time.
Eternity must feel like this, I think. I have been walking for what feels like forever. I am deep in the forest. So deep I do not recognise a single landmark, and the only sound of life is the occasional cricket. But I can hear more. Something I desperately need. Water.
Somewhere nearby, there is running water. I cannot tell from where, but Laos seems to know as I change direction purposefully. The forest is lighter here, the sun’s tendrils penetrating deeper into the canopy as I emerge onto the edge of a small and rocky pool.
I freeze. I am not alone.
There is a woman in the water. She is naked, her skin gleaming in the sunlight, her hair spread in a peacock tail–like fan, black dreadlocks floating round her head. The woman is on her back, looking up at the sky, and as I feel my now-noticeably male body respond to the sight of her, I know this is Danu.
I drop to my knees, exhaling with pain from the arrow embedded in my leg. The undergrowth hides me, although I can still see down to the water. Below, in the pool, Danu pushes her feet under her and scans the edges of the water. She must have heard me. I press further down into the bushes.
She continues bathing, although I note, on the brief occasions I can bring myself to look, that she keeps her back to where I lie. The bathing seems to take her an eternity. My legs feel like rock by the time the goddess emerges from the water. That the pain has subsided is good, but I now feel sick from the loss of blood. When Danu does leave the water, she comes towards me, picking up a simple white robe that wraps round her with ease. Her skin is already dry from an unseen force.
The goddess looks directly at me.
‘Master Priest,’ she says. ‘You’re hurt. Please allow me to tend to your wounds.’
I raise myself up from the undergrowth. I hesitate, looking at the goddess for signs of duplicity, but eventually, pain wins out and I stumble down to where she stands.
‘That’s better,’ she says.
Taking my arm, she leads me to a boulder on which to sit. I stumble a few times on the way to the rock, but her firm hand keeps me on my feet, despite my size.
‘How do you speak my language?’ I ask.
I can understand Laos clearly now.
‘I know all tongues,’ she says. ‘But you are not speaking your language, and neither am I. You’re speaking Shaanti.’
‘Why?’
‘I prefer Shaanti to your language,’ she says. ‘It sounds better.’
‘Blasphemy,’ I cough.
Danu laughs.
‘Who are you?’
‘Don’t you know, Laos?’ she replies.
‘You know my name?’
‘I know lots of things,’ she replies. ‘I know you’ll die if I don’t treat those wounds.’
‘I am prepared,’ I reply. ‘My god waits for me. I have wrought his will across the land and have nothing to fear. I shall be with him in glory.’
‘Are you so sure?’
We nod.
‘Well, that’s good,’ she says, smiling again. ‘Faith is good. My own followers do not believe in such things, but I can see it’s a great comfort to you. Tell me, what have you done to serve your stone god?’
An image flashes in front of me: a burning city. I stood in its grounds in another dream, and I feel sick as I recall what I did. No. What I witnessed Laos do. This is just a dream. A nightmare. We look away.
‘You must know,’ I answer. ‘You seem to know everything else.’
‘You learn quickly,’ she replies. ‘Do you not want to tell me in your own words?’
‘I … I do not,’ I reply. Is it Laos or me? I no longer know. ‘Who are you? Are you a queen?’
She laughs. ‘If my people had a queen, then I would be it, but they do not. If I told you who I am, then you would not believe me. Worse, you might try to serve your god one last time. That would be disappointing.’
‘You’re safe from me,’ I reply, eyes unblinking. I can feel my stomach flipping over.
I have no idea why Danu would be different from anyone else, but I know my words are true. Perhaps she has bewitched him.
Danu smiles. ‘I do believe I am. I am Danu.’
‘That’s a nice name,’ I reply, like a dumb boy.
I am unable to hold her gaze.
‘Isn’t that the name of the Shaanti god?’
‘Goddess, and not the only one. I have many kin,’ she replies.
‘You’re a goddess?’ I ask, my face twitching into a frown. ‘You’re a handsome lady, but you know too much, and I cannot listen to this blasphemy. There is only one real god, the stone god, and he does not walk the lower realms.’
Danu pushes us back onto the boulder, chanting softly under her breath, and she draws the arrow from my thigh – the wound closes as soon as the arrow is withdrawn, and leaves me staring. I paw at where the wound has been, looking for a scar, looking for anything that shows a sign of the injury, but there is nothing.
‘How?’
Danu smiles. She leans in to grab the other arrow. I’m no longer aware of the second wound, just her body pressed against my leg, the swell of her breast on my shoulder as she clasps the arrow embedded in me and draws the shaft out in one swift motion. I gasp for air, but again there is no blood, no scar. The goddess looks at the arrow with disdain before casting it aside.
‘What are you? A witch?’
‘You know,’ she replies. ‘You just don’t like it.’
‘But …’ I stand.
I listen, unable to look away or close my eyes. I can hear the moment of clarity in my … in Laos’s voice. I can hear the horror that is so close to what I feel but so much worse when passed through my voice. ‘If you’re a god … then … what of my … what have I …?’
I drop to my knees. I am in Laos’s memories all at once. His entire past that is not mine collides in my skull. The city screams all about me; the light burns my eyes; the girl falls from the tower; the boy looks at me with eyes falling dull with death; and the ghosts of the dead sing out as one. Laos killed them all. Vedic killed them all.
‘All the things I’ve done in my life!’
Danu does not move to me. She nods. She’s enjoying this, and I realise I am also enjoying the woodsman’s pain. I want him to feel like this. I want him to feel the weight of the ghosts on his back, of the broken lives, of my grandfather – wysgi-laden breath gagging me as I drag him home after another night of drinking. I want him to hear every scream lest he forgets. I want to hear every scream lest I forget.
‘Yes, Laos,’ Danu answers. ‘All those people, all those innocents. Their blood soaking the ground, their cries circling you like crows wherever you go. All those lives broken, the detritus you left behind. All of it for no
thing. Predicated on a lie.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Yes, you did,’ she says, finally drawing close to me. Grabbing my chin, forcing my eyes to hers. ‘You knew.’ She looks deep into me. ‘You … are not as I expected. Is that what my sister saw?’
I try to look away. I can’t.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I didn’t know.’ But my voice sounds hollow.
A beat passes. Gazes lock.
‘What should I do?’ I ask. ‘Should I worship you instead?’
Danu does not turn away. There is hunger in that look, contradicting her words. ‘I have no need of fanatics, intoxicating though they are.’
‘What should I do?’ I plead.
‘I could kill you,’ she says, tilting her head. ‘To tread here is a death sentence to most men.’
‘What would happen to me then?’
‘You’d be dead – whatever do you mean?’
‘You’re a goddess,’ I reply. ‘Surely you know what lies beyond.’
Danu laughs. ‘Ah, no, I do not. Beyond the trip across Golgotha, I know little. Perhaps there is a paradise awaiting the just and a hell awaiting the wicked – in which case, you, I fear, are in trouble. I suspect I would be too. Perhaps there is paradise for all. Perhaps there is a hell for all. Perhaps there is nothing. No god knows.’
‘But you are immortal?’
‘Compared to you? Perhaps, but not in the truest sense. All things die. I am no different, and I don’t know the secrets beyond any more than your own god would, if he stood in my place.’
‘I will not beg for my life.’
‘No, I know you won’t, but you’re afraid. I can smell it on you. Like all the other apes, you fear the dark. Sometimes I think the universe would be better if you’d remained in the trees and left us in the shadows.’
‘I want to make things right,’ I reply. ‘While there is still time.’