Revenant

by Bevan McGuiness

  The necromancer loomed over Slave’s hunched form like a black fog. Slave awaited his fate with acceptance and terror. Sweat dripped off his trembling body while his hands rested on the sandy floor.

  ‘You have been busy, Slave,’ Sondelle grated. ‘Leaving the world in flames wherever you go.’

  Slave bowed lower, too weak to speak, too terrified to move.

  ‘What am I going to do with you?’ Sondelle asked. Slave held his silence, hoping it was a rhetorical question. ‘You owe me a great deal, you know. After you deserted me, I had to use that assassin Keshik to do your job and, while he did it well enough, I had to face Kielevinenrohkimainen weakened by raising his silly little bitch from the dead. Something else you did, I might add. Weakened as I was, Kielevinenrohkimainen was able to best me.’ The blackness surrounding Sondelle swelled to envelop Slave, plunging him into a darkness that not even his enhanced sight could penetrate. ‘There must be a reckoning, faithless slave,’ Sondelle rasped. ‘Wait here while I deal with things.’

  In a heartbeat, the darkness was gone, as was Sondelle, leaving Slave alone, hunched over, trembling in abject horror.

  Myrrhini, still alone in the impenetrable black of the underground tunnels, stamped her foot in anger. Naked and cold, she knew Slave could not be far away, but he was not answering. Even though he had said her clothes were on the ground behind her, she had not yet been able to find them. She sat on the sandy floor and wrapped her arms around her legs as she tried to keep what body warmth she had left. Despite the fact that she could not see anything at all, she could not bring herself to close her eyes. So she sat, naked, freezing cold, staring into utter black, alone and afraid. Miserable, she muttered every curse and insult she had ever heard, directing them all at Slave and his literalism.

  How could he have believed her when she told him to leave her alone? Did the man know nothing at all? Walking away into the darkness, leaving her here. Ice knew if he would be able to find her again.

  Myrrhini shifted uncomfortably on the cold sand, trying not to think about the reality of her situation if Slave really had deserted her, preferring to contemplate what she would say to him when he came to his senses and returned for her. She was halfway through planning the speech when the sound of footsteps broke the silence. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure whether the feet were Slave’s, but logic overwhelmed sense and she rose to her feet, turning to face him as he approached.

  ‘About time,’ she snapped. ‘I —’ The words she was about to say melted away, leaving no trace as the blackness faded to reveal a terrifying old man surrounded by a nimbus of arcane energy. His eyes crackled with power, burning as though filled with an overwhelming anger. Myrrhini shrank away, aware of her vulnerability, trying to cover herself with her hands. The man stopped, staring at her, contempt twisting his features into a sneer.

  ‘So this is the Eye of Varuun,’ he rasped. ‘The most powerful Mertian Seer left in the world, the one thing the Great Revenant feared more than anything. The cause of so much suffering, and here you are cowering in a cave, afraid of being seen naked by a man old enough to be your ancestor.’

  His contempt struck hard, changing Myrrhini’s fear to anger almost instantly. She drew herself to her full height and dropped her hands to her sides.

  ‘And who are you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Ha,’ the man said. ‘She has a backbone. No breasts, but a backbone at least.’

  ‘Bastard,’ Myrrhini spat.

  ‘Better. You need a backbone more anyway.’ He made an elaborate gesture with his hands and Myrrhini felt herself grow warm. She looked down to see herself clad in the most sumptuous rich purple robes.

  ‘It’s a trick,’ the old man said. ‘Just like this.’ He waved his hands again and the robes vanished to be replaced with an old sack that hung from Myrrhini’s shoulders. ‘You’re still naked, and powerless before me, but I choose to let you think otherwise.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Myrrhini repeated.

  ‘I am Sondelle. You have heard of me, of course.’

  ‘I have. And none of it is good.’

  Sondelle snorted derisively. ‘And your good opinion of me is so important,’ he sneered.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for something I lost a long time ago.’

  ‘Slave,’ Myrrhini guessed.

  ‘Yes, my slave. And now I have him, perhaps you and I can make use of his singular skills to finish the job he was supposed to have done for me in the first place.’

  ‘You and I have nothing to do with each other.’

  ‘You are wrong, of course, but it is to be expected.’ Sondelle gave another gesture with his hand and the whole chamber sprang into brilliant light. Myrrhini had to close her eyes for a moment with the pain of the sudden brightness. When she opened them again, she saw that she was indeed naked, but her clothes were close at hand. She snatched them up and dragged her torn tunic on. It offered scant covering and was stiff with congealed blood, but it was better than being naked. She fixed Sondelle with as fierce a gaze as she could muster, hoping that her flaming eyes might disconcert him at least slightly.

  She was wrong. He was not disconcerted by her flame-filled gaze, but he did seem intrigued.

  ‘So, those are the eyes of the Quanhtli,’ he mused. ‘I have often wondered what they looked like. And what do you See with them, Eye of Varuun?’

  Myrrhini felt her lip curl up in a sneer. She focused on her mystical sight, staring at Sondelle. He was surrounded in a wildly swirling mass of colours and images. His destiny was confused and complex, with thousands of interweaving threads, each one more convoluted than anything she had ever Seen. His life was vast, extending longer than she had imagined possible — hundreds, if not thousands of Crossings. This man, if it were a man any more, had lived far longer than anyone should. He was a remnant of times gone, when magic was common and the world was darker. He had seen, and caused, more death, more suffering than she had ever known. But towering high over everything, dominating his entire existence was one man — a man with dark skin, pale hair and eyes filled with violence — a man she knew as Slave.

  His face was not scarred in Sondelle’s life: it was angry, dominated by hate and a need for violence. Ranging behind Slave was a nation of the dead, the Scaren nation destroyed but for this one man. In his hand he held a sword — not a Warrior’s Claw, but a sword of a strange, milky-white translucent material. With a start, Myrrhini recognised Keshik’s sorcerous blade.

  ‘Seen enough?’ Sondelle asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ Myrrhini replied.

  ‘The man you call Slave is the last of the Scaren race. I thought that he alone could defeat Kielevinenrohkimainen and bring its essence, its great power to me after releasing it from its ancient prison. I had studied the ancient lore for so long that I believed I knew more about the labyrinth than anyone. I was wrong, and the accursed Readers had concealed from me the one thing I needed to know. Both the Revenants were sealed in the same place. They fed and learned from each other over their long imprisonment, and when released, they were more powerful than either one had ever been before. Where they had always fought each other as the Mertian and Scaren who created them had fought each other, now they had a common goal as you and my slave do.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘The utter annihilation of humanity. Revenge for their humiliation beneath Vogel.’

  ‘But the Revenant we fought had a human army; it did not kill them. It used them.’

  ‘I ask your own question — to what end?’

  Myrrhini’s eyes widened as she realised what Sondelle was saying. The Revenant’s army was always going to be destroyed. It was using them carelessly, with no regard to casualties. It did not care that the Tulugma attacked and tore its human army to pieces — they were always destined for death anyway. It was probably happy to keep the Tulugma chasing its army, killing the hated humans while it tracked down the last — or so it believed — of the Mertians.
r />   ‘No wonder it was so easy to harry them from behind,’ she said.

  Sondelle nodded. ‘You may not be utterly stupid after all. I may be able to use you yet.’

  Myrrhini felt her rage building again. How dare this relic speak to her like that! He no more belonged in this world than she did. And besides, she knew more than he did, even with his aeons of learning. He had no inkling that the Scarens might yet live on, hidden high in the mountains above Gielde.

  With her rising rage, she felt something else, something she had started to feel in the domed room where she and Slave had faced the avatar of Kielevinenrohkimainen — power. Ever since the Blindfolded Queen had torn out her eyes, Myrrhini had been feeling the hints of arcane power buried deep within her. She had touched it without knowing it before meeting Quetzalxoitl and afterwards she had been able to call upon it. Her ability to fly was a part of it, as was the wave of power that had come over her in the domed room. This was more than flight; this was an ability to reach deep within herself and draw out real power to use as she saw fit. A flash of insight cut across her mind. The ancient Mertians were fearsome sorcerers. They had to be to raise Kielevinenrohkimainen, as were the Scarens, to have raised that thing she had already defeated. She, Myrrhini, was pureblood Mertian. Power was her heritage. This was why the Revenant had feared her. This was why the Acolytes had sought her and spent their meaningless lives trying to subdue her.

  They all feared her.

  And they were right to do so.

  ‘You are a dangerous old fool,’ she growled at Sondelle. ‘You know less than you realise.’

  Sondelle made a harsh, grating sound that Myrrhini thought might have been an attempt at laughter.

  ‘I? Know less? I know more than anyone alive.’

  ‘Really?’ Myrrhini put every hint of sarcasm, every possible trace of insult she could muster into that single word while the power built within her.

  It was Sondelle’s turn to step back as if he had been struck. His face mottled with anger at the affront. He raised his hand, preparing to summon forth some sorcerous response, but Myrrhini was ready. As he jabbed his hand towards her, she sent a wave of raw energy out of her fingers straight at the old necromancer.

  She was unprepared for the sensation as the power rippled through her, causing her whole body to shimmer and spasm with its passage. It was not pain — it was closer to ecstasy, leaving her gasping with the shock. Sondelle found his own spell destroyed, shredded by the unhindered energy that smashed through his defences and sent him crashing backward, almost knocked senseless by the shattering impact.

  Myrrhini took a deep, ragged breath. She blinked, trying to clear her vision of the flickering lights that erupted before her in reaction to the blast of magic. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her legs were weak, but she felt more full of life than drained of energy, as if the power that had surged through her had not fully gone out, but left something behind.

  ‘What was that?’ she whispered.

  Sondelle groaned, trying to rise. The light that he had brought with him was fading, the total darkness of earlier returning. Myrrhini felt a frisson of terror at the thought of being once more left alone in the dark. She moved to crouch beside the barely conscious necromancer. He did not stir and she could not bring herself to touch him. Her fear rose as the light dimmed further. She was about to cry out at him, to try to arouse him when she stopped, feeling foolish.

  Surely the power she had just felt could be used to bring a little light. She rose, giving Sondelle a pitying look as she walked away into the darkness. At the edge of Sondelle’s light, Myrrhini raised her right hand. She thought about light for a moment before tiny blue flames flickered into existence, dancing on her fingertips. Instead of hot, these flames felt cool. She smiled and the flames burned brighter.

  ‘Afraid of the dark?’ she chided herself. ‘Not any more.’ She was true Mertian, come into her power. She would find Slave and, united, the old races would rise again.

  Nothing could stop them.

  35

  Keshik grabbed Maida’s hand and ran up the stairs after Bai. To have found her alive again after so long had left him numb at first, confused and uncertain. But seeing Maida brought back his focus. Bai might have been his first love, but Maida was his last. No one, nothing, could replace the flame-haired Tusemon beauty in his heart. He ran with her up the stairs, pleased to feel her return the grip on his hand. They ran hand in hand, like children.

  They ran hand in hand into chaos.

  The first thing that struck them was the noise. Yelling, screaming, the sound of crashing masonry greeted them as soon as they slammed open the door at the top of the stairs. Outside, a mass of people were running out of control along the narrow alley. They were neither brandishing weapons nor showing any intent beyond flight. They just ran.

  Bai, standing at the doorway, was speaking rapidly to the two men beside her. Maida recognised Paraskavios and the scarred guard. Bai’s tone was one of command, brooking no debate. The men listened intently as she gave instructions, then hurried to obey, heading outside into the chaos. Bai closed the door after them. She rested her hand briefly against the wood before turning to face Keshik and Maida. Her eyes flicked down to where their hands remained entwined.

  ‘The army is no longer waiting outside on the plains,’ she said simply. ‘For some reason, they have decided to lift the siege to all-out attack.’ Bai raised her eyes to hold Maida’s gaze. ‘I don’t suppose you would know anything about that, would you?’

  ‘How would we know anything?’ Keshik said.

  ‘A small fleet full of Tulugma and the agents of the Blindfolded Queen?’

  Keshik shrugged. ‘You knew about them.’

  ‘Only because you told me.’

  ‘You think that has prompted the army to attack?’ Maida asked.

  Bai shook her head. ‘No. They had settled in for a long siege, no question of that, and more people inside the city is just less food for the rest of us.’

  ‘What else has happened?’

  ‘That Mertian witch. My money is on her having something to do with it.’

  Keshik released Maida’s hand to draw his swords. ‘I say we go and find out,’ he said.

  ‘On your own?’ Bai asked. ‘I know you are good in a fight, but alone, in that?’ She waved her hands vaguely at the noises outside the door.

  ‘We won’t be alone. I have a few Habigga with me.’

  Bai’s face creased into a grudging smile. ‘Ah, the Silent Ones. How many?’

  It was Keshik’s turn to return the smile. ‘You don’t expect me to answer that, do you?’

  ‘No.’ Bai threw open the door. ‘Go on.’

  Keshik moved quickly — with Maida close — out into the panicked throng.

  They were swept along in the rush. It took every bit of Maida’s strength to keep up with Keshik as people jostled around her. She was shoved, kicked and elbowed indiscriminately but within moments she sensed a sheltering presence hovering at her side. She looked around to see the grim eyes of a Habigga. A heartbeat later, there were three, then six, then she and Keshik were moving quicker, smoother, more purposefully, through the mass. People moved out of their way or were shoved aside. Maida wanted to shout, to ask where Keshik was taking them, but she knew there was no point. Neither could he hear her over the noise, nor would he answer her, not yet.

  A whistling roar cut across the din, bringing a moment’s silence, followed by an increase in the panic, then screaming, then running. Not even the Habigga around them could slow this animal herd mentality as hundreds of people surged forward. In the narrow confines of the alley where there was nowhere to hide, people ran in search of shelter. The roar overhead built and changed tone as whatever it was came closer.

  With a shattering impact, a huge missile smashed into a building just behind Maida. She craned her head around just in time to see the missile explode into a thousand pieces, sending a thick yellow fluid cascading down the wal
ls into the alley. A gap opened among the panicked throng where the fluid fell. A few were not fast enough to avoid the flow, unable to escape the yellow stuff landing on them. Where the fluid met flesh, smoke erupted, eliciting renewed screams, of agony this time as the unfortunates started to dissolve. Maida stared in disbelief as the writhing people slowly turned into puddles of smoking yellow ooze.

  A sound like a sigh ran through the watching crowd before another loud whistle announced a second missile. As one, the crowd moved, seeking desperately to evade the horror that was falling from the skies. Maida and the Habigga were once more carried along.

  ‘We need to get to the walls,’ Keshik shouted into her ear.

  Maida did not bother trying to speak over the din, she merely nodded. Keshik started edging his way through the crowd, moving towards the side of the alley, seeking respite. Another whistling projectile flew overhead, bringing increased panic on the fleeing townsfolk. For a moment, the protective ring of black-clad Habigga broke, allowing Maida by a wide-eyed man stumbling past her. There was a flicker of metal, a bright spray of red and the man vanished underfoot. Maida had no chance to speak as she was urged onward again.

  Keshik drove hard to his left, forcing a path through until they reached yet another of the labyrinthine alleys. Without pausing, they hurried away, down the dark passage between the overhanging buildings. The noise was quickly muffled, changing into a dull indistinct roar. Once out of the press, Keshik looked around, seeking some indication of where they were, then hurried on. Maida tried to see what Keshik had seen, but saw nothing beyond the narrow strip of grey sky between the looming buildings. She guessed he was doing what all good leaders do when in doubt — act like they are not in doubt and make a decision.