Revenant

by Bevan McGuiness

  As the rodent had feared, Maida led her directly to the narrow alley, at the end of which was an unremarkable door. Without hesitating, Maida pushed it open and started down the precipitous stairs. She did not bother to close the door behind her, allowing the rodent to slip in unnoticed. The light from the fading day illuminated the steps all the way down to the first landing, but after taking a sharp turn to the left, the stairs were in darkness. Maida continued as though unaware of the lack of light, walking quickly and confidently. She passed the small alcove, a niche barely large enough to hold a man, where Slave crouched, watching the stairs. The rodent could smell him, recognising the conflicting scents of sweat and cold fear as the last Beq hid from that which brought him to quaking terror.

  Slave lowered his arm to the ground after Maida passed him and the rodent ran up the limb to nestle against his neck. She nuzzled him gently at the base of his ear before whispering, ‘She’s come from the wall. I don’t know how, but she came straight here.’

  Slave stroked the rodent as he sniffed the air. ‘Sondelle,’ he hissed. ‘He’s close.’

  ‘It is time that one died,’ Tatya said.

  ‘He’s died more than once,’ Slave told her. ‘He’s a necromancer. Death doesn’t mean the same to him as to others.’

  ‘What does he want with her?’

  Slave shrugged, trying to recall what happened the night he killed Maida. There had been something else at play, something dark that hid behind shadows, bringing a depth to the blackness that was not normal to the night. Keshik had once mentioned that he and Maida had been hired to kill the Rilaman noble under Slave’s protection because there was something ‘extra’ guarding the man. Had it been Sondelle? Why had Slave not recognised his presence if it was?

  Not that it mattered any more. Maida had died, Keshik had released Kielevinenrohkimainen and now they were all here dealing with the consequences of that act.

  So why am I hiding in a cave?

  He had no ready answer to that question other than he did not belong in the fight probably still raging above. That was Myrrhini’s, not his.

  But what is my fight?

  The answer came quickly and easily — Sondelle. The shapeshifter nestled against Slave’s neck was right: it was indeed time the necromancer tasted death again. Slave eased himself out of his hiding place and silently followed Maida as she led him back to his master.

  Slave moved like a shadow through the familiar tunnels, half expecting to see Duregs, half fearing to meet the Revenant again, but always alert for Sondelle. Maida walked as if trained to the dark like Slave himself, never stumbling, never hesitating at a choice of ways, never looking back. She moved with the athleticism of the warrior and the confidence of the woman who had killed, and would kill again. Slave could not help but compare her with Myrrhini. Delicate, fine Myrrhini with the flame-filled eyes, long slender limbs and unpredictable moods. As he slipped unnoticed through the darkness, it struck Slave that he had no idea how old she was. Or, come to think of it, how old he was.

  Tatya gave a low hiss, digging her sharp little claws into his neck. Slave raised his hand to stroke her, only to find his Claw in his hand. With a sigh, he lowered his hand — and Claw — and continued walking. Maida rounded a curve in the tunnel and vanished from sight, causing Slave to hesitate, taking stock of his surroundings again. He smelled the air quietly. The scent was unmistakeable. A chill ran through Slave’s mind and body.

  His master was less than twenty paces away.

  A low, murmuring voice broke the silence. Sondelle was speaking. Slave found himself breathing heavily. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat sprang from every pore while his Warrior’s Claw trembled with the shaking of his hand. The completely balanced confusion of earlier had shifted. Slave now felt he had the reason and ability to strike his master down, but even the thought gave him chills.

  From the darkness, Sondelle’s voice continued murmuring, too low even for Slave to make out any words. The tone was conversational, but that did not mean much; Slave had heard his master utter gut-wrenching commands in little more than a quiet monotone. He crept closer, moving to the bend in the tunnel, as close as he could without risking being seen.

  Sondelle’s voice became clearer as Slave moved until, by the time he stopped, the necromancer’s words were easily identifiable.

  ‘… you did die, but you were never free of its influence. When my slave broke the labyrinth’s seal, he released both of them. The first thing Kielevinenrohkimainen did was gather up the recently dead, to learn from them. You, being mine, gave me the chance I needed.’

  Maida did not speak, so Sondelle went on.

  ‘What Kielevinenrohkimainen saw through your eyes, I saw. What it heard through your ears, I heard. I know why it is here. I know what it wants.’

  Slave drew in his breath sharply. If Sondelle was speaking the truth, his knowledge could be vital. Before Slave could make a move, however, Sondelle continued speaking.

  ‘What it wants here, of course, is secondary to what it really needs, why it exists. Why I needed my slave in the first place.’

  Slave froze, his fear built again. What did he have to do with Kielevinenrohkimainen?

  ‘He is the embodiment, the perfect embodiment of the Scaren race. Probably the last of his kind, almost certainly the last pureblood Scaren alive. And as Kielevinenrohkimainen is the Revenant of the Mertian race, it will tear the world apart to find him.’

  Wrong again, master, Slave thought. I have met it and it fled from me.

  ‘What do you want from me, master?’ Maida asked in a flat, unnatural voice.

  ‘Now that you know what Slave is, when you meet him next, Kielevinenrohkimainen will come to you.’

  ‘Where is Slave?’

  ‘He was not with you, fighting at the wall?’

  ‘No, master. He fled when the shapeshifters attacked.’

  ‘What?’ Sondelle’s voice rose to a shriek. Slave heard him push himself up slowly, as if injured. ‘My shapeshifters attacked without him? Without their Beq?’

  ‘Yes, master, they followed Myrrhini into the fight.’

  ‘So where is my slave?’ Light erupted from the walls, flooding the tunnels with stark white illumination, causing Slave to blink in the sudden brilliance.

  ‘Here, master,’ Slave said as he stepped around the bend to regard Sondelle.

  The old — no, ancient — necromancer looked different. Older, weaker, more frail, but his eyes held the same malice, the same sparkling, savage intelligence that had held Slave in terrified thrall most of his life. Under their piercing stare, Slave felt like a feeble child again, weak and helpless, needing his master to help him, to keep him safe. He was about to drop once more to his knees to seek his master’s forgiveness, when another voice intruded. A high-pitched voice raised in anger. A voice that Slave distantly recognised, a voice he had reason to heed.

  ‘You again,’ the voice shouted. ‘I killed you.’

  ‘No, Eye of Varuun, you did not kill me,’ Sondelle rasped. ‘But I am glad you are here. I have waited too long for this chance.’

  ‘Chance for what?’ Slave asked.

  ‘This.’ Sondelle reached inside his robe and pulled out a handful of powder. He shouted a string of syllables as he threw the powder to the ground. In the instant before it exploded into green flame, Slave recognised its smell. Instinctively, he raised his hand to his face.

  The green flame raged for a moment before fading, leaving behind a choking cloud of yellowish daven gas that enveloped both Maida and Myrrhini. Slave, far enough away to avoid the immediate effects of the cloud, hurled his Claw at Sondelle. It slammed into the old man’s face with a crunch, spraying blood far enough for some to land on Slave. He ignored the fine sticky droplets as he saw the gas fade. Myrrhini’s eyes flared with green inner fire, tiny flickers trailing down her cheeks like flaming tears as she stared at Maida.

  The Tusemon woman trembled as if cold. A black shadow hovered all over her body, s
eeming to seep out of her. It oozed out from her every pore like a hideous slime. She screamed in agony as the blackness forced its way out of her. When she collapsed, the blackness retained her shape for a moment before growing, spreading, filling the area.

  Deep within the black, three single points of light swirled in an intricate pattern, apparently focused on Slave.

  In response, Slave saluted by covering his face with the Claw as he had once before — when he first faced Kielevinenrohkimainen on the wind-swept plains of C’sobra. It did not surprise him that once again, the Claw had reappeared in his hand, as if summoned.

  This time, as then, the blackness recoiled at the sight of the Claw. But this time, the Revenant did not flee. It swelled further, spilling out into the tunnels, flooding everywhere with black, all except a circle of silver around Slave.

  ‘Slave!’ It was Myrrhini’s voice, calling with urgency. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I am here, Myrrhini,’ he replied, oddly calm now as if all uncertainty had fallen away, leaving only peace in the face of death.

  A blast of mental energy slammed into him, sending him crashing back against the wall. His head struck the stone hard, causing white-hot sparks of pain to scatter through his mind. He slumped, momentarily dazed as much by the shock as by the pain. A trickle of blood ran down his chin. Slave wiped it off with his hand, looking at the smear on his fingers. With his head ringing from the twin mental and physical impacts, Slave raised the Claw once again in salute.

  A blast of pure energy tore across the room from the swirling points of light, but it splashed impotently against the Claw like a wave against a rock, splattering shards of brilliant light over the wall. Slave lowered the Claw, taking up a fighting stance as he moved towards the centre of the darkness.

  The lights danced in an increasingly complex pattern, moving faster and faster as Slave approached. He raised his Claw again, not in salute, but as a threat, as if he were about to attack the swirling lights. The lights recoiled as one, shifting back, slowing in their movement, changing into a different pattern.

  Suddenly, Slave recognised the patterns. Each one was either an attack or defence move from the Tulugma. He remembered that this thing had known the man Tulugma — he was Mertian. It was no surprise then that these lights might follow his strategies. At the moment, they traced a defence move. Slave smiled grimly and pressed the attack with a move designed to counter the Tulugma defence. The lights fell back, shifting to a different pattern, a segue move leading to an attack. Slave countered it with a defensive move originating from Rilamo, taught to him by an assassin Sondelle imported from the elusive Exet sect.

  The lights flickered for a heartbeat before settling on the Tulugma Thrust, a rapid series of counterattacking thrusts designed to distract an opponent from a subtle low attack. Slave knew the move and shifted his weight to avoid the coming blow.

  Even though every move, each attack and defence, was being carried out at a distance of six or seven paces and not one blow ever landed, Slave knew if he faltered — or defeated the defence — the battle would have real consequences. While their fight was evenly balanced, it remained a sparring match. Sweat poured down Slave’s body. The still underground air offered no cooling relief and in this small cavern it was already becoming thick and foetid. Slave fought on against the untiring lights, matching their attacks with defence, attacking when the opportunity presented, dodging and moving with all his speed and strength.

  Slave had fought all his life, but never had he faced so implacable, so impossible a foe. Not a blow was struck, several paces separated them, yet they fought. And the fight was real, somehow. Slave was so focused, he failed to notice two things. He did not sense Myrrhini moving towards him from beyond the darkness that enveloped Kielevinenrohkimainen, and he did not feel the slowly rising black rage as it built deep within his gut.

  Despite what he missed, he felt the building pace of the fight, he felt his speed pick up in response, he felt the burning in his muscles and he felt the savage joy of the battle running through him like wildfire. Slave pressed the attack, moving towards the swirling, dancing lights. With every step, the lights moved faster until they were a blur, but Slave tracked them, countering their every move.

  Had he been able to pause, to think, he would have laughed at the absurdity of having such a battle with no contact, no real opponent — yet the thrill of the contest drove him on. Sweat poured off him, his body screamed in protest at the ongoing drain of energy, but he pushed, the black rage building behind his mind, as if preparing to pounce.

  Another blast of energy spat out from the blackness, again splattering off Slave’s Claw, sending shards of light like glowing drops of water to every corner of the room. In the heartbeat’s pause, Slave noticed Myrrhini standing uncowed by the violence around her, watching from somewhere behind him. Her stare was so intense he almost looked around.

  Even such a brief hesitation was enough. The lights of Kielevinenrohkimainen’s mind sprang forward like a striking snake, slashing towards Slave’s face. His Claw swept upward in a futile attempt to ward off their attack, but they evaded his slash and slammed into him. Searing agony shot through him as the points burned into his flesh. He screamed and dropped to his knees as they burrowed their way inward like white-hot pokers.

  This momentary loss of control was what Myrrhini was waiting for. She watched as Slave allowed his Claw to slip from his grasp. The moment it hit the ground, she turned her daven-enhanced gaze to Eztli-Ichtaca. The Revenant, held back by her power, raged at the edge of her vision. With the raw daven coursing through her mind and body, her view into the strange world was clear and sharp. Everything was laid open for her to See. She knew how this monster could be defeated, but it would come at a cost. Slave’s energy was failing — she could See his destiny slipping away. The time was right. He was nearly empty of himself, primed for what had to happen.

  ‘Now,’ she barked.

  With a shattering bellow, the Revenant of the Scaren race burst out of the world of could be, back into its last Beq.

  Myrrhini watched as Slave’s natural eye went from raging with anger and pain to black and his silver eye glowed with unholy glee. The Revenant took him utterly, filling him with inhuman fury, hatred and power. Words of ancient malice spat from his lips. Slave shook himself like a dog, reached out his hand and the Claw flew up into his grasp. He raised the weapon in salute, and threw himself back into the fight. He moved with liquid grace and blinding speed, an animal with a single focus. Myrrhini had seen him fight before, but never with such unbridled savagery. Nothing alive could have stood in the face of this attack.

  Unlike the bizarre ‘fight’ between the lights and the Claw before, this was real. The lights slammed into the Claw, sending sparks into the air that burned wherever they landed. The air was filled with the smell of scorched skin, hair and cloth as Slave suffered hundreds of tiny wounds. It was not all one way — Slave’s Claw bit into the darkness whenever he landed a blow. Soon there were rents in the black through which light could be seen. The Claw was doing damage to Kielevinenrohkimainen’s presence as it had done to the Scaren Revenant before.

  The battle raged on. Kielevinenrohkimainen’s lights burned and slashed while Slave’s Claw spun around so fast it seemed to make a single silver ring around him. Even in the white light Sondelle had created, the silver ring glowed bright against the blackness of Kielevinenrohkimainen’s presence. Within the ring of silver metal, Slave fought with manic focus. Myrrhini, still caught up in a daven-induced Seeing, reached out with her mind into Slave’s body and held back the last vestiges of his self-awareness, his humanity, to allow the Revenant total control. If his body survived, he could never forgive her, but it would not matter.

  Kielevinenrohkimainen was the Revenant of the Mertian race. Myrrhini was pureblood Mertian, a Seer, the Eye of Varuun — she was Kielevinenrohkimainen as Slave was the Great Revenant. Now that she had power over the Great Revenant, she could control it in this worl
d. She could keep his blackness at bay.

  With Slave utterly gone in the Revenant, Myrrhini reached out to Kielevinenrohkimainen. There was no pause in the fight as the Mertian Revenant rejoined with its people. Myrrhini felt herself growing into full power. She Saw Slave through the mind of her power as he should be seen — the greatest warrior alive in full possession of his abilities, at the supreme height of his powers. He fought with the speed, strength and skill that only a Scaren Beq could ever know, creating around him a dynamic silver ring within which nothing but he could survive. Inside his defensive ring of steel, muscle and sinew, the last Beq was at peace with himself, doing perfectly what he had been born to do, what the Scaren had always been born to do. Myrrhini had been wrong all along. The peace of the Scaren could never be hers; it was always only ever his.

  Myrrhini put the thought aside as she revelled in the immense power that flooded every portion of her being. She felt her will swell with unbounded energy until she believed she could do anything. With a whisper, she absorbed the blackness that fought Slave to stand as a woman before him. For an instant, Slave stopped, as if unable to comprehend the change that had just occurred. He stared at her, his silver eye glowing, his chest heaving from exertion. His Claw hung low from his bloodied hand. With a smile, Myrrhini gestured to the Revenant that still dwelt within Slave, meaning to send it away, but Slave saw the movement and responded as if it were an attack. He sprang back into battle, once again swirling into a ring of blade and muscle that would slice her into pieces in an instant.

  Shocked into action, Myrrhini threw an attack back at him, seeking to disrupt his perfection. Her magical energies splashed over the silver ring, leaving Slave unharmed, unhindered and still advancing on her.

  ‘Slave!’ she cried. ‘I can stop this. I can control the Revenant. Let me do it.’

  Slave did not appear to hear her voice, did not hesitate or slow down as the madness controlled him. Drawing once more on the vast power of the Mertian Revenant, Myrrhini encased Slave in a shimmering silver globe. He threw himself at it. The Claw slashed through its barrier in moments, but it slowed him down long enough for Myrrhini to shout a command to the Revenant controlling Slave.