Death's Abyss

by S D Simper

  “I told you, Tallora,” deDieula replied, her patronizing tone thinly veiled, “Ilune granted me a portion of her powers.”

  “I don’t fear Yu’Khrall,” Dauriel said, her hands stroking soft lines against Tallora’s skin and hair. “We have Neoma. We have the orb. We have an armada of trained men prepared to sacrifice their lives for the opportunity to harpoon this bastard. I have no desire to defy my goddess’ wishes and slay Yu’Khrall, as much as he might deserve it, but even with Morathma here, we have every chance of success.”

  “The fastest course of action would be to simply banish Morathma,” Tallora said. “A few harpoons through his body and he’s banished, right?”

  Lady deDieula stared at Tallora with all the intensity of the sun, even as Dauriel said, “Possibly,” the empress said, “and it’s a likely enough chance that we should take it.”

  “Or,” deDieula cooed, a grin twisting her perfect lips, “Dauriel, you get to be known as the Solviraes who slew Morathma.” The words lingered; Tallora swore she felt all the air leave her wife’s body. “I would have to strike the killing blow, yes, but you would be the mortal who killed a god. Imagine it—Empress Dauriel Solviraes, Slayer of Gods, Destroyer of the Desert Sands. First you take his life, and then his kingdom. What better gift for your goddess, and what better legacy for you than Morathma’s head?”

  Tallora sat up and held Dauriel’s face between her hands. “She’s right, but . . .” Tallora’s gut churned, but she forced her words, knowing they must be said. “What of Yu’Khrall? We can’t forget what we came here for.”

  “We’ll defeat him too,” Lady deDieula said, but her attempt to literally wave away Tallora’s words with her hand only infuriated her.

  “I don’t think any of you truly understand what Yu’Khrall is. I watched him kill and eat a dragon. He’s literally as large as the city he destroyed. He’s the son of a god and can’t be treated like an afterthought.”

  “Don’t forget,” deDieula said, “that Ilune fought him before—”

  “And lost.” Tallora let the word linger, hoping it conveyed enough strength. “He was subdued by a god, but he also defeated a god. It was always a roulette, even with two against one. Now it’s two against two, but if we banish Morathma, we have a chance to succeed.”

  Ilune’s Herald shook her head, actively fighting a grin. “You’ve been studying history, you clever girl. A fitting follower of Staella, to offer mercy to that bastard—”

  “It’s not mercy! I’d also happily have Morathma’s head as a trophy, but we have to consider the greater good. Yu’Khrall destroyed Staella’s people.”

  “Well, they were predominantly Tortalga’s people, but I digress.” deDieula didn’t appear even a little bit angry, which only infuriated Tallora more. “I have every intention of killing Yu’Khrall. In fact, leave him to me. Let it be a climactic battle between Dauriel and Morathma—”

  “We’re not killing Yu’Khrall,” Tallora said, unease welling in her stomach.

  Lady deDieula waved off the remark. “I misspoke. Anyway, while you fight Morathma, I subdue Yu’Khrall, then, you channel Neoma, if you haven’t already, and lock him away. I grasp Morathma’s soul, tear it from his body, and destroy it.” She held out her hands, as though presenting a fine cake instead of battle plans. “I would happily bestow all credit to you—it would be your victory. It’s brilliant. And we may never have this opportunity again.”

  Dauriel had said nothing; Tallora might’ve forgotten she was there, except that her touch was a constant presence. Her gaze drifted down Lady deDieula’s body, the strange coldness of it suddenly cast in a different light. “You’re not the Herald of Ilune.” Tallora said. All of this, every meticulous puzzle piece, slowly formed an image she feared to face.

  “Am I not?”

  “Lady deDieula isn’t real, is she.” Tallora swallowed her dread, the words damning, possibly literally so. “You’re Goddess Ilune.”

  There was no change in her countenance—all remained the same, from her coy smirk to her palpable amusement—yet it somehow shifted from teasing to malevolent in a single moment. “You’re very clever.”

  She transformed before them, the grotesque shifting of her host sickening to behold as the flesh twisted and changed. Maysonge deDieula—or rather, Ilune—became a Celestial woman of unbearable beauty, pale and delicate, with rich black hair flowing down her back. Wings of translucent light floated behind her.

  Tallora knew this image, though now she bore the color and substance of mortality, instead of her angelic light. “My herald is a real woman,” Ilune said, her grin spreading wide, eerily so. “The real Maysonge is fine, don’t worry—simply instructed to stay at home and lay low.”

  When Tallora forced her gaze away, though Ilune drew her attention like a black hole, she saw that Dauriel, too, stared at the God of Death, her own expression indecipherable. “Goddess Ilune,” Tallora said softly, “your mother said— You’re not supposed to—”

  “Would my mother be foolish enough to banish me in the middle of a fight? She needs me; I’ve invited myself.”

  When Tallora merely stared, Ilune laughed. “Find the flaws in my plan. If I can’t defend it, then dismantle it, please. But I do stand by what I’ve said. I won’t command it. I’m Dauriel’s ancestor, but I’m not her goddess. Besides, it would ruin the valiance of her victory against Morathma, if she did it by my decree.” She smiled at Dauriel with that sanguine gaze, and it made Tallora sick. “Think on it. But not too hard—your new bride is here. Make love to her while you can.”

  Again, Dauriel said absolutely nothing as Ilune saw herself out. The words lingered, leaving a cloud of dread in the air.

  Tallora touched Dauriel’s face, coaxing her to look away from the window and to her instead. “Dauriel,” she whispered, the weighty mood nearly suffocating, “Ilune is manipulating you. She wants something, but I don’t think it’s as simple as Morathma’s death.”

  Upon Dauriel’s familiar countenance was quiet contemplation. “She’s right, though.” Dauriel’s gaze filled with light. “I could slay Morathma. What greater legacy is that?”

  “Under any other circumstances, I would welcome this,” Tallora whispered, “but this was never about Morathma. It’s about Yu’Khrall—”

  “Isn’t it, though? If it weren’t for Morathma’s influence, Yu’Khrall would have never been released. And for him to help Yu’Khrall after his genocide of your people? What better reason to slay him is that?”

  “There are a thousand and one reasons to slay him, Dauriel,” Tallora pled, though it tore her heart to shreds to do so—it was all Dauriel had ever wanted, and Tallora sought to take it away. “But we might do away with him in moments if we only seek to banish him. Then we would win. Yu’Khrall has an orb.”

  “So do I—”

  “Losing means to condemn the whole world!” Tallora shut her eyes, furious at herself, at Dauriel’s ambitions, at Ilune and her pretty words. “There are times to take risks. But you don’t understand the threat of Yu’Khrall. You haven’t seen it. You haven’t had that gods-awful eye turned on you and known he was about to eat you. You don’t understand, because the world doesn’t understand, and your hubris is going to get you killed. If you die, Neoma is banished, and then what? Yu’Khrall turns your entire kingdom into a frozen wasteland. Are you willing to risk the lives of your people for a title?”

  For a blessed moment, Tallora thought she’d spoken words enough to sway her bullheaded lover. A blessed and beautiful moment, as Dauriel shut her eyes and sighed. “Morathma is the true threat,” she said, the words dashing Tallora’s hopes like waves against jagged rocks.

  “No, Yu’Khrall is. We can subdue Morathma another day—”

  “Tallora, I don’t want to fight with you—”

  “Then, listen!” Tallora was too furious to cry, too furious to even form cohesive words, much more inclined to throttle her love than try and explain. “This is a dream for you. I know that. And
I’m the bitch wife pleading at your feet for you to give it up. But you just don’t understand. My mother was killed, and you can comfort me sincerely in that. But my people are dead. They’re gone, and with them has died the dreams of thousands—do you know what that looks like, Dauriel? The sudden death of thousands? It’s a literal fucking bloody cloud. You see it; you breathe it; you taste it in the water. And if you don’t want that to be Solvira, you have to put their needs first.”

  Dauriel glowered, but she did not yell. “Ilune would never concoct a plan that condemned her people.”

  “If she’s as stupidly short-sighted as you are, she would.” Oh, that was nasty. Tallora shut her mouth, regretting it all as she stood up. Dauriel grabbed her hand; she batted it away. “I need to be alone,” she managed to say, and then Tallora ran from the room, her tears already falling.

  * * *

  Early daylight did little to warm Tallora. A cold breeze whipped across her face, and she wrapped her arms around her figure, savoring the subtle smell of her wife in the shirt and breeches.

  Tallora loved her so, and tomorrow she would be dead. Within hours, they would come across Stelune. Ilune would fight Yu’Khrall; Dauriel would fight Morathma. Tallora would likely die in the collateral damage, but if she didn’t, there was no use for her back in Solvira.

  She should be with Dauriel. She should be comforting her in these final hours, lavishing love upon her. But tears streamed down her face as she watched the horizon—tears caused by politics, ancient feuds, and her stubborn wife.

  Instead, she stood at the edge of the railing, the salty air familiar and comforting. When a shadow passed over her, she ignored it, but then a figure appeared. Ilune joined her as she gazed upon the path ahead. Tallora’s soul felt dark in her presence, and she shied away.

  “Care to unburden yourself?” Ilune said, sweet and smooth.

  “Not to you,” Tallora whispered, uncaring if she blasphemed. She’d likely be dead in a few hours—and if she was not, Dauriel would be—so what did it matter if she were rude?

  Fluttering laughter left Ilune’s lips—bright like a bird and just as charming. “My mom always was the better listener. Both of them, really.”

  Tallora swallowed her tears, wiping the few still trailing down her face. When she looked up at Ilune, she was reminded of how the goddess could walk the plane without a host—this body was no living being. “Why do you care so much about Yu’Khrall? I understand your feud with Morathma. He was cruel to you and hates you for all you are.”

  “He hates me because I’m not his,” Ilune whispered, and there was cruelty in her smirk.

  “You’ve fought Yu’Khrall before, yet no one knows why. You cursed him—why?”

  “I’m a goddess of many mysteries—”

  “But this one has an answer.” Tallora glared, uncaring if she were struck dead.

  Her smile lost that wicked edge—not kind, no, but amused. “You must think I hate you, but I really don’t at all. You frustrate me, and you dare to challenge me, but I respect you all the more for it. Not many have the spine.”

  “Certainly not Khastra,” Tallora muttered, and to her surprise, Ilune burst into a fresh fit of laughter. Frowning, she watched Ilune’s amusement—she had to clutch the railing lest she fall. “Am I that funny?”

  “No, no,” Ilune replied, wiping her eyes as though there were tears—there were not. “Well, yes, you are, but no. Khastra certainly has the spine, though she can be easy to talk in circles. I do try not to though. Feels wrong. But Khastra will absolutely tell me if I’m full of shit.” Her smile softened as it had days ago on the docks, and Tallora thought it the strangest sight of all. “I’m the luckiest woman alive, to have her.”

  Though fascinated, Tallora refused to follow the distraction. “You never answered my question.”

  Ilune’s smile disappeared, though its shadow remained. “You’re very persistent. You’ll make a fine monarch—”

  “Are you going to tell me or waste my time?”

  “Now, now,” Ilune said, chiding her as she might a child. “I like you, but I’m known to change my mind.” She looked back to the sea, and Tallora spared a moment to admire her wings, their translucent undulations like an undersea creature. “Yu’Khrall is of grand interest to me. He’s a person of powerful blood, yes, but it’s his body that makes him unique. He’s the largest leviathan to ever swim in the seas. I am a woman who takes what she wants. And I wanted him.”

  Tallora cringed at the implication. “You wanted him . . ?”

  Ilune laughed, Tallora’s discomfort apparently hilarious. “Oh, no—not like that. While I have had strange men, Yu’Khrall is much more valuable dead than alive. I want him dead. And then, I shall grant him new life.”

  Realization settled, the reality oddly more horrifying than the prospect of Ilune engaging in intercourse with a gargantuan eldritch monster. “You want him undead. Then you can control him.”

  “And then Solvira well and truly owns the seas.” Ilune’s smile held wicked intent, that same vicious glint Dauriel had been granted. “When I failed to slay him, I cursed him so my mother would be forced to put him down. Silly me, assuming that him rampaging through the seas and consuming its citizens would be a reason to kill him.”

  Tallora stared in horror, unable to form a reply, but Ilune laughed and continued. “Congratulations, however—you were right. I did send the dream to the merfolk advisor once I learned his plan. But I didn’t tell him enough for it to be damning to me—not according to my mother’s laws, at least. Who am I to deny myself another opportunity to succeed?”

  “She still banned you from coming here,” Tallora said, seething as Ilune merely smiled at the horizon.

  “I don’t fear my mother’s wrath. I don’t fear anyone. I certainly don’t understand why they’re both keen to appease Onias. With our combined power, of course we could destroy him. Perhaps they’d let me own him as well. That’s the thing about death, Tallora—it’s the great equalizer. If I deem you unworthy of the Beyond, it’s no stretch of power at all to pluck your spirit back. It does not matter what you achieve in life; you all die in the end. Then you become mine. Even gods. Even Dauriel. Even you.”

  Ilune’s apparent indifference only enraged Tallora more. But there was nothing to say, so Tallora merely spat at her feet. “You’ll fall for your hubris someday. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I’ll be the first to laugh and slander your name.”

  “I was imprisoned for hubris before,” Ilune said, her smile wicked and lovely and enough to make Tallora sick, “and I’d do it again.”

  Tallora could say nothing to that. She could say nothing at all and instead backed away, too disgusted to speak to this monstrous woman—who had founded the very kingdom Tallora might rule and whose blood ran through the woman she loved.

  When Tallora returned below deck, Dauriel hadn’t moved. She remained at the edge of the bed, her face blotchy and red, evidence of tears apparent even as she tried to wipe them away.

  Whatever else Tallora felt toward Dauriel, underneath the anger and pain, there was pity. Pity for the woman who had no aspirations except to die.

  They didn’t speak. Tallora gathered her wife into her arms and pressed her face to her chest. It was as Dauriel had said—she did not want to fight.

  Tallora clung to her, letting one hand trail up and gently thread into her hair. When Dauriel pulled away, their mouths met. Tallora kissed her gently, no urgency despite the looming heartbreak rumbling like distant thunder. Instead, they kissed like summer rain, warm and soft, immune to any faraway storms. When they fell into bed, they touched as the meeting of the sun to the horizon, shining bright despite the oncoming dark.

  Their space became peace, a realm for them to rule as lovers, as gods, as equals, and when Tallora let Dauriel inside her, it was a meeting of souls.

  Outside, the world turned. They clung desperately to peace.

  The midday sky became as night.

  U
pon the deck of the ship, Dauriel held an orb of depthless power, and high above, clouds gathered to block the sun. Thunder rumbled, an omen of the battle to come.

  Tallora stood beside her, wearing her wife’s clothing and a blanket from her bed to protect against the whipping, winter winds. “That was once the dragon’s power?” she whispered, her gaze drifting between the artifact and the sky.

  “Just as Yu’Khrall stole Yaleris’ orb,” Dauriel whispered, giving an affirming nod, “this was taken from Rulira.”

  “And so you’ve truly become my dragon empress?” Despite the tease, Tallora struggled to smile, the coming conflict churning her gut. “My dragon empress against a demi-god wielding a dragon’s power?”

  Dauriel smirked, vicious and cruel. Her body glowed, the orb flashing, crackling with lightning as silver flame rose at Dauriel’s feet. High above, thunder rumbled; when Tallora looked up, dark grey clouds slowly swirled to cover the sun. “I’ll be a god, even if it’s only for a moment.”

  Tallora could hardly breathe as she took in the visual. “So Rulira was a dragon of . . ?”

  “The sky,” Dauriel finished. “Just as Yaleris was water and ice, Rulira ruled the skies. All her power rests in this orb.”

  The armada had spread wide, separating lest they be swept away by Yu’Khrall in one swipe of his tentacles. Something sparkled upon the horizon, but Tallora’s eyes could not quite make sense of it.

  Not until a shining star flew through the air to join them. Tallora clung to Dauriel as Ilune descended, victory in her grin. “Not much to see,” she cooed, her wings unquestionably magnificent as they spread wide, nearly bridging the width of the ship. She hadn’t bothered to resume her disguise. “I’m expecting a surprise.”

  Tallora squinted back upon the sparkling object on the horizon, realizing it might be . . . ice?

  High above, the dark clouds slowly swirled, an expansive whirlpool in the sky. “How shall we continue, Empress Dauriel?” Ilune said, and Tallora sensed the weight of the question. This was Dauriel’s moment. Or at least, the beginning of it.