by Neil Beynon
‘You believe he can be trusted?’
Hogarth paused. ‘He is a friend of the Tream. He came to help the children.’
‘And Thrace and Gobaith’s granddaughter was with him?’
Hogarth nodded. ‘Anya. Yes, she was with him. The Tream owe them a great debt.’
Beyond the flames, they could see figures moving in the flickering haze the pyre was producing, although there wasn’t enough visibility to make out who they were. The sound of steel on steel spoke of a fight going on within the fire’s circle. Shaanti brought water, forming a line from the Kurah stores and passing it along in buckets, but no amount of it was going to be enough. Hogarth looked above at the sentinels; he could feel a presence at the back of his senses, and he had never felt this before in all his time in the forest. The trees were awake. All of them.
He was afraid.
‘We need a miracle,’ said the thain, sounding more sober. ‘And I fear we have already had our fill today.’
Hogarth stared into the flames, trying to make out what was going on beyond. He didn’t believe in miracles. Someone was lying on the ground on the other side of the fire. They weren’t moving. At first the Tream king thought he was staring at a corpse. Hogarth only realised the man on the ground was a god when his eyes adjusted to the heat. Pan was staring up at the sky.
‘Pan,’ he said.
‘What?’ asked the thain, following the Tream’s gaze to the prone figure. She blinked. ‘You’re right! Is he dead?’
Hogarth shook his head. ‘His head and heart are intact. Pan!’
The god did not respond.
‘Pan,’ said the thain, as clearly as she could without shouting. ‘You must get us through the fire.’
Pan did not react.
‘I wasn’t asking,’ said the thain, her voice harsh.
Pan glanced at her.
‘I believe,’ she said.
The god groaned. He rolled to his belly and thrust his right hand into the earth. The spell looked to be draining the god down to a dangerous level, where his hair was turning white and his skin starting to crease. The smell of citrus and sulphur made uncomfortable bedfellows. The Tream found himself gagging as the fire in front of them was eaten by the earth. Pan collapsed back into unseeing paralysis.
They could see the ground on the far side now, and the people fighting in front of the cages. Vedic and Cernubus duelled with the intensity of a deadly ritual dance. Beyond them a girl leant, severely wounded, against one of the cages, from which eyes stared from the shadows. Hogarth barely recognised the bloody thing Anya had become.
‘It can’t be,’ said the thain.
Hogarth turned to look at the Shaanti ruler. He had hoped the old woman wouldn’t want to kill Laos. He saw his own feelings writ large across her face, the visceral hate, and there was little comfort that he, too, had felt that way towards the woodsman. The thain had gone grey with the sight of Vedic and was now fumbling for her bow.
‘That is Laos,’ said Hogarth, placing his hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘And he’s on your side.’
The thain blinked. ‘Why? Because the Kurah king tried to kill him?’
‘No. Because of Thrace’s girl.’ Pan pointed at the woman leaning against the cage.
‘I watched that man slaughter more of my kind than I care to remember,’ said the thain, still holding her bow as if to draw. ‘I saw the aftermath of his mercy. I saw the terror he cast amongst his own people. Now you tell me to trust him?’
‘Only Laos can do this,’ said Pan, trying and failing to lift himself up. ‘Look.’
The god was pointing at the Kurah who had been fighting and were now stopping to stare at the duel between the Priest and Cernubus. Pan tried to move again. Slowly the god pushed himself to his hands and knees, drawing breath to stand.
The trickster froze when Cernubus struck. One moment, Hogarth thought the god was able to get to his feet, and the next, the deity couldn’t move. The ground fell away from Pan as magic picked him up. In the distance, as if coming from a very long tunnel, was another voice. Only when Pan started to convulse in mid-air did Hogarth realise it was Cernubus who had spoken.
‘Stay out of this, goat,’ repeated the hunter.
Somewhere beyond, above the sound of the children crying, or the sword colliding with the spear, someone was calling for help.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Vedic did not move fast enough.
The spear head sliced across his thigh, opening a deep tear that he felt in the base of his spine, telling him something important had been severed, and he cursed as he spun away, favouring his injured leg. The woodsman brought his sword round in a high sweep that nearly shattered the god’s spear as Cernubus stabbed for another strike. His breath was coming in ragged gasps; his arms felt like lead; he bled from a dozen wounds; and yet he could still feel the fight that had never let him down. He had no room for another strike of his blade, but a well-placed elbow forced Cernubus to drop the spear, and a firm, unexpected headbutt sent the god sprawling away from his weapon.
‘You’re flagging,’ grunted Vedic, kicking the god’s spear further away.
He turned in time to see the god nip up and call the spear back to his hands. He noted the way the weapon took a short while to obey, a noticeable lapse, but not long enough to dissuade the god from coming at him again. The attack was clumsy – Vedic wounded him, but before the woodsman had even finished turning for a killing blow, the god had already healed.
‘You can’t win,’ said Cernubus, spinning his spear. ‘I am as the mountains compared to you. Timeless and forever.’
‘I don’t have to win,’ answered Vedic, spitting blood.
Cernubus looked up at the sky. They were moments from alignment. Below, Vedic could feel the presence that had been flitting in and around their battle freeze. Moreover, he saw the god flinch from it.
‘I do not have time for this,’ said Cernubus, extending his hand.
Vedic felt the magic crawl over his skin. The sensation was like cockroaches with sharp metallic limbs crawling over him, trying to pluck him into the air, trying to force his arms under their will and crush him into the ground. It drove him down to one knee.
There was a counter-spell. The magic was cool, like the soothing sensation of water sliding over him, and Cernubus cursed as Vedic opened his eyes. There was a new presence. The power was not underneath them but stood out in the open, stopping his destruction. At first Vedic thought Pan had intervened. How had the god overpowered the vicious Cernubus? How had he made his way over the flames?
Pan had not intervened. He was trapped. Danu had not broken her word and intervened. Instead, Vedic saw the Morrigan staring at them, without words, from just inside the far flames. She wore no expression. She was still caked in dust from wherever she had crawled back from, her arms hugging herself as she watched the unfolding battle. He wasn’t sure why she had stopped the hunter.
The god looked momentarily uncertain.
‘See, Vedic,’ said Cernubus, raising his spear. ‘Death has come to find you.’
Vedic laughed. ‘I am a little old for baiting.’
The god attacked. There was no joking, no attempt at toying with the woodsman this time as Cernubus made a precise and sustained series of thrusts and strikes. Vedic took a nasty slash along one of his arms as he tried to defend himself. The woodsman’s counter was slow but unpredictable, and the Eagle’s Claw bit deep across the god’s belly. Cernubus spun away, clutching at the wound that did not heal as before.
‘That hurts,’ said the god, bemused as his hand came away from the wound, still bloody.
‘Your power is weakening,’ said Vedic, trying to make out what had shifted the tide. He could see figures beyond the flames.
Cernubus raised his spear with his other hand. ‘You are deluded. The blood loss has gone to your head.’
Vedic shook his head as he walked closer. ‘No, I’m not. Your men have run away. They do not believe in you any m
ore, but they fear me. I have been seen not just by them but by the Shaanti. The priest who survived. They doubt you.’
Cernubus swung, but Vedic blocked and parried.
‘You are just a forestal,’ said Cernubus. His wound was starting to close, an obvious drain on his energy. ‘Belief cannot make you stronger.’
Vedic laughed. ‘Many would call me a demon, would they not, Anya?’
But Anya did not answer, lost in whatever darkness the god had consigned her to. Cernubus staggered further away. Odd, thought Vedic. I could have sworn she was watching me.
‘You’re dying,’ said the woodsman, dropping in pain to one knee. ‘And so am I. Look around you. What have you won?’
The hunter’s eyes danced across the fire, registering the faces beyond and their eyes reflecting the amber heat of the flames as he tried to stand. Vedic thought he saw a small flicker of a smile; a plan was formulating in the god’s head, and he knew he had to press on fast.
‘They have seen what I did to the Kurah king,’ said Vedic through ragged breaths. ‘Your own followers have seen me return when I should be dead, have seen me defy the king and you. They believe in me – Laos the Priest. I am the devil they warn their children against. I am the warrior that the Shaanti clans whisper about in taverns and that old warriors fear when darkness falls. They’re more afraid of me than of you.’
‘You’re just a man,’ said Cernubus, spinning in attack. ‘I am nearly as old as humanity. People believed in me. People feared me. I am the teeth in the long night.’
‘Gods are nothing more than our magnified reflection,’ said Vedic, blocking. ‘Don’t you know that by now? It was not a god, stone or otherwise, who destroyed Vremin. It was me. It was not a god who ordered the Shaanti army spiked at Medusa. It was me. I killed millions, enslaved thousands and took more lands than any general or priest in our history. What do you have? A sacrifice? Who do you really think they’re going to believe in?’
The god stared at the woodsman, his face uncertain.
Vedic faltered. The pain in his leg reached a crescendo as he tried to remain standing, his sword blade sinking into the ground as he leant on it. He coughed up blood in gouts onto the mud.
Cernubus straightened, his belly finally healing once more.
‘You almost had me,’ said the hunter. ‘Now, tell me, why do you look forward to Golgotha? What did you see in the darkness that so appealed to you? Did you see the faces of those who you sent before you? Did you see hell?’
Vedic smiled, tired. ‘No, you fool. I saw nothing.’
Cernubus smirked.
‘Really, I saw nothing,’ said Vedic, wiping his beard with his sleeve. ‘Void, darkness, everlasting nothingness. This is it.’
Vedic did not feel as confident as he made out. The woodsman could feel the blood loss from his wounds, particularly his leg, starting to take effect; pinpricks of light danced and wove through the air in front of his eyes. It was getting harder to focus on things, but there was a grimly familiar feel to all this. The sight of Anya, stoic in her determination as she pulled the sword from her shoulder with a scream, pulled Vedic back.
Cernubus turned to hurl his spear at the girl, trying to catch her before she got the keys and started freeing the children. Vedic saw his chance. He plunged the blade deep into the god’s back, through his heart and out the other side, forcing the god to drop his spear. Cernubus sank to his knees, clutching at the blade protruding from his chest, but the woodsman removed the weapon too fast for the god to gain a purchase.
‘It’s over.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Cernubus, raising his right arm.
Anya was thrown away from the door, rolling to a halt near the edge of the fire. She did not move but lay there, staring at the suns high above. Only her breathing indicated life, and here was Cernubus rising once more with his chest healing in front of Vedic.
‘The trickster’s magic isn’t strong enough for me,’ said Cernubus. ‘You’re dying. Can you feel the blood leaving you? It’s trailed all around here. Are you scared? You should be.’
Vedic’s head felt light; he wasn’t sure if he could stand up any more, let alone fight. He staggered back out of striking range as Cernubus advanced on him. The sense of familiarity was back again, only this time the feeling was far worse; it threatened to choke him, to pull him under into Golgotha.
The Morrigan made a step forward. Her face was still unmoving, but her own dark sword had emerged from the cloak.
‘You should not have come,’ said Vedic, raising his sword.
‘I promised you at the end you would see me again,’ said the Morrigan.
‘Take him,’ said Cernubus, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘I grow weary of this.’
The Morrigan looked at Pan and back at the hunter. ‘No.’
The word was said simply but brooked no dissent.
Cernubus turned to stare at her with disbelieving eyes, his spear pointed not at Vedic but at his former ally. The area around the scarred god’s heart, where Vedic had run him through, was a mess, and the wound was not healing. The Morrigan did not raise her weapon, but Vedic could have sworn he saw a satisfied smirk ghost across her face.
‘There will be no stepping back from this, cousin,’ said Cernubus, punctuating his words with the spear. ‘I will destroy you along with all the others.’
‘You cannot destroy death,’ said the Morrigan. She pointed at the fire, and the faces grew easier to see beyond. ‘You see, your fire grows low.’
Beyond the falling flames, clansmen and Tream lifted their weapons. Vedic saw a nod from an anxious Hogarth, but Pan still hung suspended in the hunter’s power. Cernubus was not done yet.
‘You’re next, hag,’ replied Cernubus, bringing his spear up.
Vedic saw Anya roll to her side, clutching at the keys as she did so, and he drew the air from his lungs in a battle cry as he charged, limping, at the god. Vedic struck with a rally of blows in furious succession as he sought the advantage over Cernubus, pushing the god far from Anya. The girl had turned her back on the battle, rotating through each key as systematically as she could as she moved from cage to cage, freeing the children.
Vedic wasn’t sure where they could go with the fire looming close, but now at least they had a chance. Cernubus, distracted by the Morrigan, had only just managed to get his spear up in time to block the woodsman, and the impact sent the god in a spiral that presented its own opportunity for a strike. The hunter slashed the spearhead down Vedic’s back.
The woodsman felt his trunk erupt in flame, his sword dropping from his hands as he sank to his knees in agony. There was nothing left. He had done all he could, and as the god made his way towards him, he could summon no more strength. Vedic watched in a daze as Anya turned from the last-but-one cage and saw Cernubus going for Vedic. He couldn’t get to his feet even as she ran with her sword raised for the god; there was no strength in his legs as Cernubus dodged her strike and brought the butt of his spear up into her jaw, snapping her head back. Anya fell like a puppet with her strings cut, and he could not tell this time if she was breathing. Everything hurt as badly as everything else. He was dying.
The Morrigan turned to look him right in the eyes. Still she did not move to take him but tilted her head in a way that had always reminded him of a crow.
And he remembered why this all seemed so familiar.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I’m dying, thought Vedic. This is what I saw in the Mnemosyne.
He felt like brittle rock. He wondered if that was how the stone god had felt before the scarred god killed him.
Vedic looked round at the mud and the fire and the people-shaped smudges in the distance, and the sense of déjà vu was overwhelming.
Cernubus probed again with his spear, and Vedic parried without thinking. It would be easier to let the hunter end this now, but the alignment was still happening, and the woodsman needed to hang on for the moment to pass. Besides, in his premonition of his death, Cer
nubus wasn’t who he had seen kill him. There was power in that thought. Vedic could feel the heat of the fire all around, even though the flames were dying faster than he was. The receding heat brought the warriors beyond into sharp relief, and they looked like the Shaanti that he spent his youth killing – they appeared as wraiths, impossible ghosts that move of their own accord. Just like he had seen all those years ago on the side of the lakes, with the Morrigan. Might that mean the warrior that wielded the killing weapon was here?
I thought I understood, and I did not.
Cernubus bore down on him with the spear.
I wish Danu was here, thought Vedic.
The forestal did not know where the energy came from to lift the sword in his hands. He thought he could sense Anya in the back of his head, as he had realised she had somehow been during his nightmares of his time as Laos. Perhaps the energy was Danu sending a final burst of power. It didn’t matter. The energy allowed him to block the god’s blow, though the strike felt like it had enough force to drive his arms out of their sockets and through his back. The Shaanti broke forward and tried to attack, to bring the scarred god down.
The distraction, short-lived, allowed Vedic to regain his feet. Cernubus drove off the Shaanti and grabbed one of the children Anya had managed to free, tossing the boy towards the fire.
Vedic turned from the god, half running, half limping to catch the boy. There was movement behind him. He was expecting the strike of the spear, but a Tream leapt like a shadow come to life and grabbed the boy from mid-air.
The woodsman saw the Tream roll to the ground with the child tucked under him before they disappeared into the dark. The god swung his spear at Vedic. Vedic parried. There was no time for a protracted duel. How to stop a god?
The ghosts of the Shaanti stared at Vedic. He was aware that he was near death, because the hallucinations were fast and frequent, and he could no longer tell what was really happening to him.