by NS Dolkart
Maybe He just wanted her to think He was the wind – He was tricky, Narky’s God. Even now, He was lying to her with His presence.
Why are you showing me this body? Bandu asked. It isn’t real.
Of course it is not real, Ravennis said. We are not contained in bodies in Our world – that is why the Yarek’s physicality was such a danger to Us. But the lower worlds are different. Yours requires physical manifestations. This lowest world is a place of dreams, and so I have fashioned this dream body to meet with you. I wanted to be prepared for your arrival.
I am here for Criton, Bandu said, though He seemed to already know. Give him to me.
Ravennis laughed with a horrible cawing sound that grated at the soul as much as at her nerves. You don’t sound like you want him.
I don’t, Bandu answered. But I need him back anyway.
Ravennis turned His head all the way to the side to get a better look at her. You don’t want him? That will be a problem. Are you ready to pay the price for bringing him back with you?
Yes, Bandu said, though she was very aware that she didn’t know what that price would be. Phaedra had convinced her that this journey was necessary and that only she could make it, but she hadn’t known what Ravennis would ask of Bandu, and so she had spent most of her time discussing the risks of the journey instead. What would Ravennis demand of her, now that Bandu was finally here?
I am glad you have come, Ravennis said. You can help Me find him.
His words confused Bandu. Did the God of the Underworld not know where Criton was? How was such a thing possible?
Ravennis answered her question without her speaking it. I have been here less than a year, He said, turning the chaos that was here before Me into order. You will soon see how much work there remains.
The God rose, towering above her. Come, He said.
His enormous strides took Him to the other side of the room within seconds, and Bandu found that she was with Him already, as if she had somehow been sucked into His wake. The wall parted as Ravennis approached it and they passed through onto a sort of balcony that jutted out into the chamber beyond.
It was not a room, this chamber, and it was not filled with air. The substance in which they stood was too thick, halfway between liquid and gas, and the bodies of sleepers were suspended in it as far as the eye could see, above and below for what must have been hundreds of miles. The bodies were surrounded in globes of faint light that changed colors and rippled outward in all directions, and where they met each other a light flashed or a sound boomed, or a sudden landscape appeared and vanished again. Raven-angels flew among them, moving them this way and that with some logic that Bandu could not discern.
What they are doing? she asked. She could not decide if the bodies were floating in a sky or in a sea, or if they were even floating at all. They all looked like they were lying down, regardless of whether they were upright or horizontal or upside-down. Sometimes they turned over.
They are dreaming, Ravennis answered. The dead that you saw when you first came here are only the harmless ones, those who are safe to pile together as they sleep. My servants have been piling them up to make more room for these, the active dreamers.
Bandu couldn’t help but notice that some of the bodies were much smaller than the others. There are children here, she said. There aren’t in the piles.
Yes, Ravennis said. The dreams of children are too strong for the piles. Even in life, their dreams are more visceral. In death, they are dangerous. I have seen their nightmares come to life and devour the souls of other sleepers – those souls are now gone forever.
As they watched, the ripples of three dreamers came together with a flash, and at their intersection a monster bubbled into existence. It rose from the mud, a patch of mud that hadn’t even existed until it suddenly had. The monster had the head and body of a goat, but with three tails that looked like snakes, thrashing this way and that. It was brown and wet as clay, and it quickly turned on one of the dreamers above it and charged. Before it could get there, two raven-angels fell upon it and tore it to shreds. Then they took the dreamer’s body and pushed it upward, away from the others.
The guardians of the underworld are some of the oldest dreams, Ravennis said. They devoured their creators in days of old and broke free of their prison, but were too afraid to emerge into the light of the Gods. There are hundreds of them, patrolling the many entrances to this place. They see the dreamers as a treasure to be hoarded. I see them as children to be protected.
A naked baby floated past them, giggling, its face a vision of pure joy. Its skin was the pale tone of the mountain clans, its cheeks rosy. One of the angels who had fought the goat-monster turned and flew toward it at a furious pace, its claws outstretched.
Your angels kill the good dreams too?
When they can, Ravennis said. Sometimes a good dream turns bad, and that can be even worse than those that start that way.
Bandu watched in horror as the angel approached the baby, screeching. They reached toward each other, baby and angel, and then the baby grabbed the angel’s claws in its little fingers and pulled them off. The angel screeched again, trying to back away, but the baby floated forward excitedly and pulled its head off. The head and body shrank back into those of a crow, a transformation the infant watched in fascination. Then the baby lifted the crow’s head to its mouth and gummed at its beak, cooing.
Do the dreamers know this is happening? Bandu asked.
They do not, Ravennis said. They live immersed in their dreams, at least until one swallows them. Thankfully, that happens rarely. We are working to make it rarer still. With increased power in the world above, I will one day bring peace and justice to the world below.
Justice?
Ravennis gazed down at her with His crow’s eye. There is no justice in death. Not yet. Whether the dead dream well or terribly is a matter of their own haunting, not their virtue. The anxious dream anxiously, the unrepentant proudly. I would have the virtuous dream well and grant nightmares only to the unworthy.
Bandu wasn’t fooled. You want to punish Your enemies.
Ravennis showed no outward sign of embarrassment. Yes, so long as I am allowed to. If My Master wills otherwise, I know better than to disobey. The Gods above are only just learning the dangers of opposing God Most High.
Bandu looked around. Why there aren’t any animals? she asked. These bodies are all of my kind.
Your wolf is not trapped outside, Ravennis said, answering the question she hadn’t asked. The monster that appeared to you in his guise was preying on your desires. But he is not likely to be in this chamber either. The souls down here mostly segregate themselves, fortunately for all. Fewer are lost that way. There have been a few animal souls that appeared here, but We have moved them elsewhere. Human dreams are not kind to them.
But let Me be clear, Ravennis continued. I do not know where every animal dwells, just as I do not know where precisely Criton’s soul has come to rest. There are whole realms in the underworld that My servants and I have yet to explore. The dragon souls, for instance, lie somewhere beyond this sea, and even I hesitate to seek them out.
Bandu’s estimation of Narky’s God kept falling. For all that He was bigger and stronger than Bandu, bigger and stronger than Psander, or Salemis, or the queen of the elves, He was still so much smaller and weaker than she had expected. He didn’t know where Criton was, He didn’t know where Four-foot was – what did He know? He wasn’t even one of the weaker ones – that was the worst of it. She could see now why the Gods had been forced to cut Themselves off from the elves’ world, why the dragons hadn’t been afraid to fight Them, and why They had relied on Their own God Most High to defeat the Yarek. She was glad she had never worshipped these beings.
Bring me to Criton now, she said. I don’t like this place.
We can search for him together, Ravennis answered. As I have told you, I don’t know where he is. Trust Me in this: I want peace in Ardis as much as you do.
She looked up at Him skeptically. Peace is good for the Dragon Touched too, and Criton’s God is bigger and stronger than You. He doesn’t tell you where to find him?
He sent you.
Ravennis took her by the hand and pulled her off the balcony with Him. They navigated the sea of the dead together, inspecting the bodies they passed. None of them looked like Criton. They had no features any of them, and it was only by coming close enough to feel their dreams that Bandu was able to identify them as not-Criton.
There has to be a better way, Ravennis said. Did you bring nothing that can help us?
Bandu let go of the God’s hand and reached into her satchel. The bucket was still there. When she pulled it out she found that it had mended itself. It was pulsing with power here in the sea of the dead, where dreams came to life. Its power drew the nearest sleeper toward her.
Is that him? Ravennis asked.
The body didn’t feel especially like a not-Criton, but Bandu shook her head. No. This is wrong.
The God took her hand again and they flew off, or maybe swam. It soon became clear that the bucket’s power was drawing all the sleepers toward it, and the monsters too. One terrifying white dog-thing came charging at them, roaring, “MOGAWOR!” – but the God of the Underworld only motioned it aside with the hand that held the boar’s eye. The Mogawor creature retreated as if struck, and they moved on.
They seemed to drift forever through the sea of the dead, passing through varied dream-landscapes and waving away their more dangerous inhabitants until Bandu finally lifted the bucket and pointed. That one.
Among all those floating in the sea, one body in the distance was drifting slowly away from them. How do you know? Narky’s God asked, sounding for a moment just like Narky himself.
Phaedra finds this in Criton’s house, Bandu said. Only bad things happen to him there. He doesn’t want this bucket; he wants to get away from it.
They sped toward the body. You will have to catch him yourself, Ravennis warned. The souls of the dead are too delicate for Me to touch without destroying them. That is why I have these angels.
Bandu and Ravennis were not the only ones who quickened their pace. By the time they reached Criton’s soul, it was actively trying to escape them. Even in its sleep, it was kicking and thrashing and trying to swim away. Bandu released her hold on the bucket and caught one of the body’s arms. It was cold and vaguely wet, and she nearly lost her grip as it tried to shake her off, but the arm was thinner than Criton’s arms had been in life, and she was able to close her fingers around it. Then Ravennis was pulling them away, through drifting souls and nightmares, back onto the balcony and into His throne room. When they arrived, Criton’s soul stopped struggling and stood somewhat limply at her side.
Ravennis let go of her hand and sat back down on His throne. You have done well. But Criton’s soul cannot survive leaving this place unless you pay for it.
Bandu nodded to show she understood. What do I pay?
Criton’s years among the living have run out. To bring him back, you must bind his soul to yours and let him feed off of you, taking a year of your life for each year he lives. Practically speaking, you will age at double the rate until he dies again, and if you die first, he will wither before his people’s eyes and join you here before the day is through.
Bandu blinked, standing before Narky’s God in shock. Criton did not deserve her years – he was not even her mate anymore! He had never been right for her, had never made her feel safe – why should she give half her life for him?
What would Vella say if she learned of this bargain? It was so wrong. It was unfair. Why should peace between Ardis and the Dragon Touched require this sacrifice of her?
Psander’s words came back to her, from so long ago: “There was once a great warrior mage, whose wife died while she was still young. By magic, he tore his way into the underworld and retrieved her, and she lived with him another fifty years.”
Fifty years! Those could not have come entirely from the wizard, could they?
Psander says there is a man who brings his wife back for fifty years, she said. Does he give those years from his life?
No, Ravennis admitted. That man had an infant son whom he’d left behind when he took his journey. He traded the boy’s years for his wife’s. She never forgave him. Will you give Criton Goodweather’s years instead of your own?
Bandu recoiled. Never.
Then I am afraid this is how it must be. I do not have the power to grant him extra years Myself, much though I might like to. For as long as Criton lives, he will feed off you. Will you bind yourself to him like this?
Bandu stood for a moment in uncertainty. How much did she want this? Goodweather might live a long and happy life even without the peace Narky and Criton wanted. The Dragon Touched might win their war, for all that Vella’s dream suggested otherwise, and even if they didn’t, Bandu and Vella could flee into the mountains or further into the forest and raise Goodweather without any fear of being tracked. Many would die that way, but that was not Bandu’s fault, for all that her sacrifice might prevent it.
Or, she could accept the injustice of the underworld’s price, and save Criton’s people. Vella would curse her decision, but she would be secretly grateful for the results – she did not want her people to die. And Goodweather would grow and flourish in a world at peace, and might even meet her father again if Bandu chose to let her. Was she willing to make this sacrifice for Goodweather’s sake?
She was. Bandu sighed. I do it, she said. Show me how.
You know how to already.
Bandu nodded. She felt the flexibility of this place. She took Criton’s hand and plunged it into her chest, through meat and bone, until it touched her heart. When she drew it out, her body closed itself up again and only the blood on Criton’s fingertips remained.
“Come with me,” she said aloud.
Ravennis opened a doorway through the wall for her. Lead him up the stairway without letting go of his hand. He will grow more substantial as you go, but do not turn to see him until you are both standing in the sunlight. If God Most High wills it, it will be many years before I see you in My chambers again. By that time, I hope to be ready to receive you.
50
Criton
Criton groaned, trying to focus his eyes. His vision was blurry, and the light ahead was blinding. Where was he? Was that the entrance of the Dragon Knight’s Tomb up ahead?
Bandu was holding his hand, pulling him along. That was nice. She was pulling him toward the light, though, and he would have liked to spend a little longer in the darkness, at least to let his eyes adjust. He tried to pull back, but her grip only tightened, and she dragged him harder up the stairway.
A stairway. That was odd. There weren’t any stairs in the Dragon Knight’s Tomb.
“Bandu,” he said, “where are we?”
Bandu didn’t speak, didn’t even turn her head to look at him. She was still angry, then. He remembered the argument now: he had said he wanted to take another wife or two, and the results had been… predictable. So what was she doing back here? Had she forgiven him?
Slowly, slowly, his surroundings came into focus. They had almost reached the light by now, at the base of the tree. It must have been the Yarek, then, because it was far, far too massive to be anything else. These stairs were not stairs at all, but roots. He turned his head to try to see where he had come from, but there was nothing but darkness behind him.
“Bandu,” he said, “what are we doing here? The last thing I remember, I…”
It came back to him then. Narky, the Dragon Knight’s Tomb, the sight of Phaedra and the feeling of Belkos’ claws digging into his throat, breaking through skin and muscle, tearing into his windpipe. He had been dying not too long ago. Dying. And now he was here.
They reached the light, then the top of the stairway of roots, and finally the sweet dirt of the southern plains. It made no sense for him to be here; or rather, it made perfect se
nse, but it was impossible for him to believe it anyway. He couldn’t have been.
“Bandu?” he asked. “Was I dead?”
Finally she turned to look at him. “Yes,” she said, letting go of his hand. “I bring you back.”
“Does that mean… that you forgive me?”
“No.”
He had been trying to brace himself for a response like that, but it wasn’t enough. He had allowed himself to hope.
“You are not my mate now,” Bandu said. “You can take other women and do what you want. I don’t care. I’m not yours and you’re not mine. But now you go and make peace between Ardis and your kind.”
She turned from him and walked back the way they had come, just until she could touch the Yarek’s trunk. “Thank you,” she said to the great tree.
He stood, watching her. “I still love you,” he said.
She looked back at him coldly, so coldly. “That is sad for you.”
They walked away from the Yarek in silence, together and yet not. “How long was I gone?” he asked her at last.
“A long time. I walk here to find you.”
Over a month then. And in that time, how many had died? It was too much to hope that there had been no bloodshed in his absence – without his influence, his people might easily have decided to sack Ardis after all. But Bandu wouldn’t have any useful news for him on that front. She hadn’t stayed to find out what the Dragon Touched were up to, she had come after him.
He should have been so grateful for what she’d done. She’d brought him back from the dead, for God’s sake. Yet her rejection still stung. It hurt more than anything he had ever known, more than having his throat pierced by his cousin’s claws. It was hard to be as grateful as he should have been when she’d brought him back to such pain.